Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry James Potter, The boy under the stairs, had always been good at listening to voices in his head. Voices kept him out of trouble. They told him to duck when Aunt Petunia swung a pan at his head, they showed him just what to say to be allowed to eat dinner, how to do his chores to the best of his ability so Uncle Vernon wouldn’t be angry. Harry knew that hearing voices was abnormal, and freaky, but since he supposed he was abnormal and freaky anyway, it was ok. Harry’s trust in voices meant that when a soft, gentle murmur asked him to walk and keep walking out of Privet Drive at 5 years old, all he could do was oblige. The young boy took no notice of the voice at first, it had been with him as long as he could remember, as a sort of guardian angel like he had seen on the telly. But the voice was insistent. It sounded like a warm hug, like home, like his mother. Harry had always wanted a mother. Privately, he had wondered whether Aunt Petunia would be his mother, but her cold, impassive face and sharp eyes told him that she’d rather he didn’t exist at all, let alone be her son. Perhaps the voice could fill that void, and the voice, so calm and nurturing, seemed to agree.

Lady Magic had come to Harry Potter, and Lady Magic was so very cross with Albus Dumbledore.

Harry made it out of the suburbs unseen and undisturbed. He was used to being ignored, but not by members of the public. Usually when he was by himself some kind ignorant stranger would take him back to Aunt Petunia, back to Privet Drive, and he would end up with bruises around his wrist for the trouble. Maybe adults were all too busy today to notice him, Harry thought. He didn’t think anything terribly important was happening today, it was only his birthday after all, but he had been wrong before, like when it was christmas and he had been allowed to scavenge the turkey for scraps (though he had to fight Marge’s dog, Ripper, for them). Harry’s stomach rumbled hungry at the thought of food, and if a woman left a store bought sandwich on her seat (turkey and stuffing!) well, he was sure she wouldn’t miss it. 

His feet ached by the time he stepped into a small pub that he doubted he would have noticed if the  voice hadn't asked him to look for it. 'The Leaky Cauldron' it was called, and it was the type of establishment that Uncle Vernon would turn his nose up at, saying that a 'man of good stature' would never be caught in a place like that. Harry didn't know what stature meant, but he didn't like his uncle, so disagreed anyway. Inside was a great deal warmer than the windy summer outside, and Harry's hands were pleased with the warmth. His clothes were quite threadbare and didn’t offer any protection from hot sun or bitter cold. The voice told him to keep his head down and make his way to the back of the pub, greeted by a large brick wall. Harry pressed a small pale hand on the dark brickwork, and he felt a hum in his head. It broke away immediately, opening up to the brightest and strangest scene that the young boy had ever witnessed with a deep rattle.

The archway led onto a large cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight, and many strange people, which he was sure Aunt Petunia would call ' freaks’ clustered together in large numbers, wearing strange brightly coloured clothes that looked a bit like fancy blankets. Harry wanted to wear one now, and was sure he would wrap his ratty thin duvet around his shoulders in the privacy of his own cupboard, pretending to be just like them. The winter sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. 'Cauldrons- All sizes- Copper, Brass, [???], Silver, Self-stirring, [????]' , said a sign hanging over them. He didn't know what some of those words meant, but he was deathly curious. Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as he made his way up the street, trying to look at everything at once.

 'Focus,' the voice supplied, 'There will be many trips back here, but you mustn't tell your relatives.' Harry nodded absentmindedly, listening to a woman outside of a strange shop as he passed talking about dragon livers and things called sickles. He wondered what sickles were, but hoped that his friend would tell him soon enough.

After a slow walk through the bustling crowd, Harry had reached a snowy-white building which towered over all the other shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors was a funny little man with a long beaky nose and a very short build. He averted his eyes, knowing better than to stare. Harry didn't want to offend the odd looking man, especially as he was no taller himself. He felt a weight drop into his pocket, and pulled out a small gold key.

 "what's this?" He whispered to the voice. 

“Ask for counsel with Irontooth, tell him you want an inheritance test and to accept your lordships immediately.” Lordship? He didn't know much about lords, but at school they always talked about Lords and Ladies from a long time ago. With knights and dragons and roundtables. He was a lord? “Yes, to many families. Currently, a very wicked old man is using the power that is rightfully yours. You are here to claim it.” Harry nodded solemnly, and marched up to the end desk with another funny man at it, writing away with a brown feather quill.

"Hello, sir?" He stammered out, trying his best to be polite. The man turned his nose down on him, staring with a piercing gaze, and a mildly incredulous look on his wizened features. “I’d like to speak to Irontooth please." The man nodded, seemingly pleased with the boy's manners. Many wizards believed themselves to be above goblins, the same goblins that made their finest silver and ran their economy and laws without fault. Seeing such a genuine and earnest boy treat him with such respect gave him a certain level of rapport with goblinkind. Griphook was unlikely to forget it. 

"Your key please, sir" Harry pulled the slight key out of his pocket, and it suddenly jumped into the hand of the man. He would have felt almost relieved, if he wasn't so thrilled by the small trick, as there was no way such a petite five-year-old would have been able to jump high enough to give him the key without it. "Please, follow me." Harry did, jumping to follow Griphook's slow pace with an excited bounce. He led the boy through a large wooden door, which gave way to a huge cavernous space, with rocky outcroppings and stalagmites aplenty. Griphook ushered him into a minecart and off they went through tunnels and dark patches and more winding track than Harry had ever seen.

This was the best five minutes of his life.

By the time they arrived at another long hallway, much like the marble one upstairs, but carved straight out of the earth. Dim lanterns floated near the ceiling, casting yellow glow over the halls. Harry was quickly ushered into a smaller office, where another funny man was waiting for him. Irontooth.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" Harry nodded quickly and sat down in his chair. 

“You've done well,” the Lady voice chipped in, “but I will take it from here.” Harry felt the oddest sensation of lukewarm water covering his body from the head down, and suddenly he was weightless, floating in nothing and feeling just the same. He couldn't see anything, pure pitch black but it didn't concern him, he didn't feel the need to see. He could hear a distant conversation as if whispered through a keyhole across a long room. He willed himself over to it, and suddenly he was back in the office, standing next to where his body was, watching as it gave a subtle wink with glowing gold eyes. Was this what they called an out of body experience? Harry certainly wasn’t in his body, but something was, something otherworldly . The not-Harry held his hand out to Irontooth, who cut it with a thin knife straight across the palm. Harry flinched, looking at his own hand, but feeling no pain of any sort, and no mark either. When he looked at the not-Harry there was no wound, and the blood from his hand was suspended in the air, turning into sepia tones and unfurling into a long piece of parchment. Suddenly, he felt a tug on his navel, and the not-Harry was nowhere to be seen, he, the real Harry James Potter, back in the chair, in the office, underneath Gringotts.

Irontooth cleared his throat. "Harry James Potter, Current Heir Potter, Lordship acceptance pending, and in line for the Peverall, Slytherin, Le Fay and Black titles, hereby declares his lordships and inheritance valid and in order, in name of magic so mote it be." A soft glow emanated from Irontooth's oak desk. Fading into existence was a small cushion, with four rings on it. "Mr. Potter, do you accept your lordships? As acquiesced by your blood and by right of conquest?"

"Yes sir!" Harry whispered reverently Some of the words the goblin was saying meant very little to Harry, but these rings looked expensive, and even if they meant nothing, they were his - and that mattered. Harry hadn’t owned anything before.

"Please put on these rings, on the same finger if you will, Mr. Potter." Harry did so, and although his fingers were too small for the large rings, they shrunk down to fit him snugly, before combining into one small golden band, with the markings of a strange language that Harry didn’t recognise. Inside a triangle, lay a serpent and raven intertwined behind a crescent moon . "With these lordship rings, you will be subject to none but the most harmful curses, and no poisons but the most potent. You also have several manors and libraries to your name, all of which are enclosed in this list here." He handed the child a small scroll, sealed in a shimmering silver wax. "Additionally, there are now several new bank vaults unsealed and accessible to his lordship alone." Vaults? Did he mean bank vaults? Did he have money? 

“Aye my child, more than you have ever dreamed of. But take a small satchel of coins, 500 galleons- we will return for you to collect more.” His voice had delivered on every one of his boyhood hopes and dreams; money and power. Suddenly Harry didn't feel quite so small anymore. 

"Did his lordship require anything else?" the goblin asked, his long clawed fingers steepled in front of him, with a calculating gleam in his eye.

"500 galleons from one of my vaults please, Sir." Harry said, doing exactly what the voice had asked of him. After being handed a weighty satchel of tinkling coins, he followed another goblin out of the tunnels and back into the lobby, where he slunk out the front door, trying not to be noticed. The crowds were immense and Harry had to quell the panic rising in him at the size of it. He realised that he had no idea what he was doing, where he was, or where to go next, so with a steadying breath, and clenched fists, he trudged off the steps of the bank and into the crowd.

“Where to next, miss?” He whispered into his shirt. Being this small certainly had its benefits, he was able to duck and weave through the crowd.

“The Library.”

Chapter Text

Once Harry had left Gringotts his mind was reeling. So many odd sights and people couldn't possibly exist in the same realm as he, right? He pinched himself, just to be sure, feeling lightning pain blossom over his alabaster complexion. 

And nothing happened.

With all the logic of a five-year-old, Harry came to the conclusion that no, he really wasn't dreaming. He felt a sense of belonging and wanted to protect this magical place. It was his, he thought, and he wasn't going to let anyone else take what was his ever again.He could feel a buzzing in the air that sank into his skin, it electrified him and filled him with a sense of childish glee. For that moment, it didn’t matter that he had to go back to the Dursleys- it didn’t matter about Aunt Petunia’s frying pan, or cruel words- it didn’t matter that Dudley was loved in ways he no longer was, because the Dursleys weren’t here. They didn’t belong here, would never come here, and this was a sanctuary from them. Harry walked aimlessly through the crowd, looking at the wide array of strange people. There was even one with bright pink hair! 

'Turn here,' the voice returned, and once more Harry happily obliged.

He turned down a small alley with thick broken cobblestones and tall looming buildings on each side. Harry felt small and closed in, but pressed on down the poor excuse for a street until he came across a tall, thin wooden door that had been painted in green a very long time ago, if Harry had to guess. The door seemed very old and cracked peeling paint fell away in jade scraps in several places. Above it, a small sign swinging in invisible wind that read 'Wendene Library,' in faded gold script. He pushed open the door, needing a surprising amount of force and heard a small bell chime as he walked inside. Compared to the dismal and somewhat sketchy outside, inside was magnificent, with long rows of tables and bookshelves that disappeared into a ceiling Harry couldn't even see. Above his head, books danced into place, swooping like brilliant swallows migrating from the fiction section to potion books. Small white candles hung from nothing above the tables- some empty, some covered in sepia parchment- but whenever wax dripped it vanished into nothing, leaving underneath spotless. The air of knowledge was almost overwhelming for the five-year-old, and he stood and stared at his surroundings for a solid five minutes until roused from his stupor by the voice once again.

'You have much to learn about this world, but for now, I will read to you. Simple children's stories and basic spells will suffice for now. You will be great, Harry Potter, I will endeavour it.'  Harry nodded mindlessly, strolling through bookshelves that ordered themselves. He felt a pull here, like there was an invisible string that tugged him to a small section in a clearing in the shelves. The books here didn't move at all, the wax from the candles didn't melt, and the dim light allowed him to only see a few feet ahead. He stumbled over a snag in the carpet, and in an effort to right himself his fingers brushed against the spine of a particularly thin book. At once it jumped into his hands, and when he tried to set it down on the shelf it refused to leave, pages bristling almost indignantly at his efforts. He held the book up to the nearest light, trying to read the dirtied cover. 'Th? L??e O? S?u???te M??icke'. Some of the calligraphy was indistinguishable from the cracks in the blue leather, and when he cracked open the front page his name was scrawled under a short list of people who had borrowed the book before him.

'I suppose you can borrow a couple extra books if you wish,' The voice supplemented, and a stack of other books appeared before him, each one with his name on the inside cover. There were children’s stories he had never heard of, like the warlock’s hairy heart (which mildly repulsed Harry) and the fountain of fair fortune, but there were other books too, books on history and etiquette, some on a odd sounding thing called ‘Quidditch’ and one strange book about familiars- like witches and their black cats. 'Let's leave, you should return home before it gets too dark.'

The way home seemed far quicker than the journey there, perhaps because of his protected treasures safely tucked in his Button Moon backpack, but perhaps also because he wasn't thinking about his home this time. His mind was focused on funny men in magic banks, and flying books begging for his attention. And that night, if his dreams were full of Babbity Rabbity and her cackling stump, his current favourite, as read by his voice, instead of brilliant green and the darkest night, he really didn't mind.

--

Lady Magic had business to attend to, as she left her surrogate son asleep in his small and dirty bed. She had a few people to visit. As the powers that be, (her and her siblings) her jobs had dwindled over the centuries. No wizard practiced the old ways in the so-called new world, and her reasons to stay a part of this Earth was a list growing shorter by the day. But not after Harry. That night in Godric's Hollow was the culmination of such evil and malice, the corruption of such unbridled purity that it was her duty as  Magic, and as a mother to all magical life to intervene. She would raise Harry James Potter as her own, and she would build him from the ground up, outside of Dumbledore's chosen one, and outside of her sister's prophecy.

'Maj!,' Destiny squealed, launching herself at her older sister with glee. Lady Magic sighed, peeling her sister off of her and giving her a fixed glower. Destiny’s short, spiky hair seemed even spikier as she perked up in the presence of her sister. Lady Magic had been away for a while now, since 1981, attending to the prophecy child and doing the best she could to protect him from harm from those abominable muggles. Magic set Destiny back about a foot from herself, pinning one sharp eye on her sister’s heart shaped face.

'Do you know why I'm here, Des?' She asked, knowing full well that of course, she did: she was Lady Destiny, it was her life's work to know.

'I'm sorry Maj, most folks take no stock in the prophecies I impart on those with the gift. Especially not that one,'

'But you didn't think that perhaps a maniacal dark lord wouldn't act upon any threat to his power?'

'The future is a river with many offshoots, I'm telling you Magic, he wasn't supposed to even hear it. If Dumbledore hadn't-'

'Dumbledore?'

'Aye, one of my daughter's told him immediately after I told her, and it just so happened that Dumbledore chose to arrange a meeting in front of one of his loyal followers.'

'How did you not foresee it?'

'I didn't think it was in his temperament to be so callous, I didn't expect that to be the chosen outcome to all of this mess- it just wasn’t fated.'

Fate, temperament, choice. Another mess to unpick, Lady Magic surmised. This web of problems was becoming far larger than she expected, the balance of what is good and what is evil becoming an ever-present challenge. Killing Dumbledore wouldn't change a thing, no, he would die a martyr. She must dismantle his livelihood first.

'How is the boy?' Destiny prompted, changing the subject, her violet eyes seemed oddly wet, perhaps she blamed herself for the awful predicament Harry James had found himself in since Samhain 1981.

'Sleeping peacefully, I hope. I am too glad to not have your wisdom Destiny, I would hate to know the hardships he would have faced without my guidance.'

Destiny smiled weakly, having already seen the path the boy would have tread. She had suffered in her heart as he had suffered in his self, which only strengthened her resolve to aid her sister.

'You know I cannot tell you what to do, it is forbidden, but know this, what you have done so far has already saved him so much hardship.' Destiny came forward to embrace Magic again, and this time, she allowed it. ‘The boy will face challenges, but he will overcome all of them. I just hope Fate and Love finish with their conniving soon! I can’t see a thing with those two meddling in the tapestry.” Magic chuckled, cupping Destiny’s cheek and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

‘Not a force on this plane could stop Love and Fate when they’re up to something- you know that.”

“I do! But everyone seems to be up to something, and unlike with mortal creatures- I have no idea what the future holds for us.” Destiny pouted, and looked far more like a child than an immortal, all seeing being had any right to be. “I hate not knowing things. I’d ask Time but he’s always playing cards with Death. Never has time for his little sister anymore.”

“Perhaps you could join them playing cards? Or what about Life?” Destiny scowled

“Inventing new creatures again, no doubt. Apparently she’s been listening to some of my mortal daughters and turning their dreams into reality. I don’t understand the appeal.” 

“Well it’s something to do, I suppose.” Magic said wearily, feeling every bit the age she was (though she couldn’t quite recall just how many years it had been now. It was terribly easy to lose count). 

“Oh Maj,” Destiny said softly. “You’ve overdone it again.”

“It’s fine.” Magic reassured her with a small smile “My Progeny can fix it- he is my chosen.” Destiny seemed to have a far away look in her eyes when she nodded at this assertion.

“Yes, he is.”

Lady Magic smiled once again at her sister, this one much more firm and determined, before gathering her skirts and disappearing into the mortal realm once more.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was perhaps the best student Magic had seen since the times of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. He had a hunger, a thirst for knowledge unparalleled, and politely demanded answers with a cool and collected logic. 'This was not how it was supposed to have been', she thought to herself on many occasions, 'He is no longer a malleable soldier of the light. He is my ward.' 

Potions, he devoured with a bright and jovial interest, Transfiguration he mastered with ease. He dismantled charms at eight years old, sending blue butterflies around his room mindlessly, with nary a thought. He lived and breathed ancient runes, mastered basic combat spells (much to Magic's chagrin) and knew the rules of wizarding etiquette like the back of his delicate hand. But the best and most surprising gift that her blessed child possessed, was the ability to talk to snakes.

--

It was a warm August morning, the air thick and almost suffocating. The young boy, only 7 years old, walked through brittle yellow grass, dried by the baking sun and a hosepipe ban that left the neat rows of houses of Privet Drive in a middle class uproar. In the edge of his vision, he saw movement, and froze. 

'what is it?' he murmured, hesitant to make his presence anymore known.

'A simple serpent, child. Do not fret, None can harm you here.'   Harry nodded, and continued on his journey, picking his way through the scrub and tall, dry grass. He trusted Magic implicitly, and he hadn’t yet been steered wrong by her.  The shape followed still, never closer or farther away. When the unbearable sunkissed fields gave way to cool shade under canopies, the young child turned around.

Stop following me!' he hissed at the snake, angry that his day of exploring was overshadowed by a serpentine threat. Up close the snake was smaller, the tall grass giving it a bigger presence as the animal crushed it under its belly. In the specks of sunlight escaping to the floor the dark rings of his head glimmered, and the boy felt an urge to pet it. Harry had never seen a snake before, they didn’t tend to hang around cities and there were hardly any in Britain anyway. The snake was long and wide, but he could see the point of it’s spine through its back, suggesting it had been a very long time since this particular fellow had had a decent meal. Its diamond shaped head had risen up to try and meet Harry’s own, and a black forked tongue flickered in and out, smelling the air.

'A speaker!' the snake exclaimed 'My Hatchmates were right, we haven't met a speaker in many seasons.'

'A speaker?'

'Yes hatchling, that of serpent tongue, heir to Salazar himself.'

'You mean I'm not speaking English?'

If snakes could laugh, the serpent did so, in harsh wheezy breaths punctuated by the flickering of its forked tongue.

'As if a mighty serpent would ever speak such a lowly human language. You amuse me, two-legger.'

'You didn't answer my question, Snake, Why are you following me?'

'To see if the rumours are true, I have travelled for many days to find you Speaker, yet your size is disappointing. Will you grow like a basilisk? Or remain as small as a worm?'

'I'm only seven Snake, I'm going to be taller,' He huffed in indignation. He had always been small for his age, but he had other talents that weren't dependent on his height. Besides, who was this snake to insult him like this? He took enough insults from the Dursleys, he didn’t need extra ones from a reptile that didn’t even have legs.

'Blessed be the day Speaker, Take me with you on your travels, I vow to serve you well.'

'Take you with me? Like a Familiar?'  The serpent laughed again, and Harry narrowed his eyes. Were all snakes this… obnoxious? Or had he just been blessed with the fortune of meeting the only arrogant snake?

'What hubris! No, a simple companionship, I am the best company a simple wizard could ask for.'

'Do you have a name?'

'We do not require names like you humans do, but if it pleases you to name me, it must be a fine name indeed!' The child thought for a second, pondering on what name was befitting for a snake with such an ego.

'I guess we can be friends- I’ve never had one of those before. So how about… Ouroboros? I think I read about it in an old book, it’s greek.'  The serpent smiled, which was weird in itself- a wide, fanged grin that unsettled the boy.

'The beginning of a great companionship indeed, two-legger.' The newly named Ouroboros wound its way up Harry’s leg, and settled down around his shoulders. The weight was comforting, almost, like a hug. Ouroboros’ cool, dry scales, weren’t slimy like Dudley had snakes were, in fact they were quite nice, and kept the sun off the back of his neck rather pleasantly.

Harry spent the rest of the day, and summer, exploring the parks and rivers by Privet drive with his new reptilian companion, and if Ouroboros had come to appreciate Harry’s talents (for only a formidable wizard could have such a great companion) he didn’t mention it. Perhaps, just perhaps, he thought to himself, Harry the Speaker wasn’t just any speaker, but his.

Chapter Text

By Nine years old Harry had far outgrown the small cupboard he called home. The dust and the spiders may have been his roommates for years, but even Ouroboros, who curled tightly into Harry's chest as he slept was becoming claustrophobic, or the snake equivalent. Magic had to work a solution, without alerting Dumbledore- or anyone for that matter- that anything was amiss in the Dursley's cruel and unusual routine. One that never actually came fully to fruition.

'My child, today we are going to get you a new room, a portable one at that.' She said softly, rousing Harry from his light sleep.  Since bringing Harry to the wizarding world properly, he had been able to curtail the Durlseys’ habits, leaving him far more freetime outside of muggle school. It had only taken a few episodes of ‘accidental magic’ to curtail their abhorrent behaviour. Aunt Petunia had reached for the frying pan to give his head a smack and suddenly she was holding Ouro instead. A switching spell. Dudley had tripped him and Vernon had gone to clip him round the ear for being clumsy and suddenly the Sunday newspaper he was holding caught aflame. The tended to pretend he didn’ exist after that- and it worked for everyone- Harry included. However, he was still living in the cupboard under the stairs most nights. Magic had said that they had to stay put to not arouse suspicion from anyone who might be watching him- though all that did was make him exceptionally paranoid, looking out the windows for eyes looking back, and searching around dark corners. Harry smiled, stretching himself out from his sleeping position and tucking Ouro under his neck as the snake wound lazily around his neck, a perfect circle.

 'Really?' the boy asked, 'what kind?!' Harry wondered how they were supposed to get a whole new room under the nose of magical spies, but he supposed if anyone could do it- it would be Lady Magic.

'One with everything you could ever need.'

 --

Harry slipped into Diagon Alley pressing his fringe firmly down on his forehead. There was no reason to get recognised now, after four years of childhood espionage. He felt a familiar tug in his navel (what a normal wizard or witch would pass off as a gut feeling, or perhaps just poor indigestion), and made the elective decision to turn down a long winding road. Many of these wizarding streets were thin and long, and this one- Stardew lane- was certainly no exception. The hustle and bustle of these market lanes were second nature to the boy, and he picked through the crowd with a comfortable ease. Turning again he found himself in a decidedly darker lane, if one could call it that, but the shop was right there, just off of the corner. 

'What am I buying?' The child asked his companion, gold coins jingling in his weighted pockets.

'A simple travelling case, perhaps a school trunk. I shall do the rest.' He nodded and stepped into the shop. Inside was a complete mess of suitcases, briefcases, trunks of every colour sort and size. Some tried to sort themselves out, obviously perturbed by the mess they were left in. Briefcases rattled in place, smaller luggage indecisive, sorting themselves by price, then deciding colour was best, then size, then price, all over again.  The man at the counter was a portly gentleman, with a great bushy beard and a receding hairline. His eyes were kind and his suit, clearly muggle in fashion, was a royal purple, with yellow pinstripes on the blazer.

'How do you do young man! What brings you to my humble shop?'

'Hullo sir, just a simple school trunk,' The shop clerk smiled brightly and ushered the child over to the wide array of school trunks. A stack of different varieties of luggage were piled precariously on top of each other, in serious danger of toppling over with the smallest breeze. The man slipped his wand out of his sleeve and tapped the top of the pile. Instantly, they all jumped to attention and separated out in an orderly line in front of the pair.

'Any catch your fancy good sir?' He asked, cheeks rosy with merriment. There was, in fact, one that did catch the eye of the boy, a large thin trunk with silver clasps, made out of a deep blue leather. Harry pointed at it, and it stepped forward. 'A fantastic choice! Ashwinder leather, absolutely stylish, and fireproof too.'

Ouroboros hissed at the mention of Ashwinder.

'It's barbaric really, how dare they turn such a beautiful beast into a piece of luggage!' Harry made a face at Ouro's outburst, whispering a muted apology.

' They're already gone, Ouro, surely there's no harm in buying it now?' Harry reasoned , but the serpent was already sulking, head tucked firmly into the child's collarbone.

 'How about that one sir?' Harry said, pointing to an even darker blue one, almost indigo in colour, and had a slightly iridescent sheen on the surface.

'Another fantastic choice! This one is faux leather, which is far more receptive to enchantments, a featherlight charm and several protection wards already placed on it.'  Faux leather, much more pleasing to his serpent companion, Harry thought.

'I'll take it!'

The faux leather was cool and soft in his hands, and the clasps begged to be opened.

'Do you like it Ouroboros?' Harry asked the snake, bringing him out of his sulk.

'Yes, much more fitting of a simple human.' Ouroboros sniffed indignantly, looking away from the boy. He smiled to himself, knowing his friend liked it.

 --

By the time he got home it was dark, and as he slipped into the back garden, out of sight from nosey neighbours and annoying pet dogs, he couldn't help but buzz with excitement. 

'What have you done to the box?' He asked his friend.

'You'll see soon enough, now inside before you catch a cold young man!.'  when he rushed into his cupboard, eyes bright and curious, he couldn't help but throw himself down onto the dirty mattress, and throw open the clasps in delight. He peered inside eagerly.

But he couldn't see the bottom.

A ladder was hooked on to the inside of the trunk, and he climbed down into the space without a second thought, marvelling at the impossibility of it all.

 'Wow! This is amazing! Is it all for me?'

'Aye, just for you, and your studies.'

The room was large and lavish, a small living room and bedroom adjoined, with a separate room for a bathroom and a wall to wall row of bookshelves filled with every title imaginable.

'My ward, this is all for you, for the rest of time, My brothers and sisters, your honorary uncles and aunts aided me in the tomes on the wall, and of course, the decoration.' The living room had a plush leather sofa in the middle, with an oak coffee table that had some candles and a plant pot in the centre- an intricately weaved rug protected most of the floor and glittered in the soft white glow of the gas lamp hanging above it. It was an eclectic mismatch of the very old and the fairly modern- with a large painting of several figures he didn’t recognise on the walls. The paintings moved, as all wizard paintings did, and it was strange, to be standing in Privet Drive and yet being surrounded and comforted by magic so viscerally. 

Ouroboros slithered down the child, who was seemingly starstruck at the idea of a proper room to call his own. In the corner was a small nest of pillows, and a large lamp. Yes, this was lavish enough for a regal animal such as he, and so it was fit enough for his Speaker. Harry went off to explore the bedroom which had a bed (yes- a real bed with a real mattress and fluffy goose feather pillows!) and a nightstand in it. There was also a writing desk in the corner, with several quills and stacks of blank parchment waiting to be used, and Harry had the urge to run over there and touch the feathers, to see how soft they were.

'Thank you, Mum. This is all I could have ever asked for.'

Magic hummed thoughtfully, warmed at the sentiment.

Chapter Text

‘Happy birthday, Speaker,’ Ouroboros hissed into Harry’s ear. It was July 31^st, 1991, and if the pink streaking the sky was any indication, it was far too early to be awake. The boy scrunched up his face, batting his friend away from his ear.

‘Ouro! You know I hate it when you hiss in my ear like that,’ he exclaimed, sitting upright to rub the sleep out of his eyes. If snakes could smirk, that’s what he did; a lopsided serpentine grin that split his fanged maw in two. Eleven. At long last. Nothing felt different, but then again, nothing ever did at six in the morning.

‘It’s not every day a snake’s speaker turns eleven no?’ Harry smiled, brushing his hand against the smooth scales of his companion.

‘I suppose you’re right,’

‘As per usual,’ He replied, slithering off the plush bed and around the small stack of presents at the foot of it. His tail flicked over a small burlap bag, tied together with a single piece of string. ‘Open mine first speaker!’

‘You got me a gift too?’

‘Aye, of course. The perfect gift for a serpent’s companion.’ Harry leaned forward to pick it up, whatever was inside was warm and moving? Tentatively, he pulled open the bag, making sure his face was far away from whatever moving thing was inside.

‘Mice?’

And there was at least a dozen small white mice crawling over each other, squeaking merrily as if they were also wishing him a happy birthday.

‘Of course! What better present than the gift of feeding your favourite serpent a tasty meal?’

Harry laughed, shaking softly as small peals of joy radiated from him. He took a small mouse of the bag, and placed it on the floor. Immediately it began to squeak and run around on the plush carpet. Ouroboros’ tongue flickered, and in a single moment, the mouse was no more.

Harry opened the rest of his presents gleefully, vanishing the wrapping paper with a tap of his finger, just like Lady Magic taught him. Inside was a journal, Two new cloaks and a small pile of books.

‘You get your Hogwarts letter today, my ward.’ Magic said, tidying up the books into the bookcase. ‘I’m sure your... relatives will be so kind as to leave the letter on your doorstep, as instructed.’ Harry nodded, caressing the smooth leather bound journal in front of him. It felt special, and the boy had a very sudden and instant desire to know why.

‘What do I use this journal for?’ he asked, leafing through the pages. The pale sepia was clear and unmarked, but he could still feel that unmistakeable pull.

‘It is not what you will use it for, but what I will.’ She replied, ‘pay attention, closely now son,’

The lights appeared to flicker on the walls, and he could almost make out something forming on the page. He squinted, trying to make out just exactly what the shape was, and suddenly he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

‘Where am I?’ the boy asked, feeling weightless and impossibly heavy. He could see nothing, an inky blackness that covered everything, but at the same time still see his blue and gold bedroom, the pile of unwrapped presents, and Ouroboros chasing yet another mouse. In the distance he could see the figure of a woman, long black hair sweeping the floor and a Celtic gown adorned with gold stitch upon her. He floated forward, and walked too, and as her form became clearer, so did the familiar feeling of home.

‘You are in my domain, my ward.’ The woman said, training her soft periwinkle eyes on her boy.

‘Mother?’

‘Aye, it is I. I’m sorry it has taken so long, but I couldn’t risk taking you here before you were ready. I’m afraid your core has been too unstable until now to do so.’

Harry ran at Lady Magic, jumping into her arms with tears in his eyes. His mother-his mother! Real and physical and here (and not here) all at once. It was all he ever wanted, he was sure it was all his birth parents ever wanted too, but his mother was here, with her arms around him and he could feel her squeeze him gently, wiping his tears as his body was racked with sobs.

‘You’re –hic- really –hic- here?’ He blubbered, sitting in her embrace.

‘Yes my love, and anytime you wish to visit I will be here, waiting with open arms.’

‘Are you trapped here?’ She smiled a soft smile, breaking out on porcelain features.

‘No, I am not a tangible being, and in this place neither are you. I can travel where no mortal can tread, I am every spell you will cast and the very core of your being. But to you? I am your mother, and that will never change.’

Harry nodded, sniffing as he used his sleeves to wipe his red rimmed eyes.

‘I can see you whenever?’

‘Just open your journal and you’ll be brought here, to me. Now go, I think breakfast is in order.’

Harry blinked and he was not floating anymore. Everything was tangible and real, and he grasped at the bed sheets beneath him, feeling their soft fabric under his hands. Home again.

Upstairs, a letter addressed to Harry James Potter sat, waiting to be read.

Chapter Text

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September, we await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Harry brushed his fingers over the thick parchment, stroking over the jade calligraphy that said July 31st. That was this morning, so he supposed he needed to send it off now. Was Hogwarts far away? Harry wondered where the school was, or what it looked like. He knew about its founders, Lady Magic knew them well in her day, and he felt connected to Salazar Slytherin in his own right. His Lordship ring glinted in the light through the enchanted windows. Today it was a springtime garden in Japan, the cherry blossoms tumbling lazily in a light breeze.

He imagined a sprawling campus, white marble, and large gardens. He wished for magical creatures around every corner, and a fantastic array of spells in the air.

"Mother?" he asked, rolling up a small reply to the acceptance letter into a scroll.
'Aye, my ward,'
"I don't have an owl, how am I going to send a letter?"
'Would you like one?' Harry nodded eagerly, a small grin touching his lips. 'Perhaps soon my heir. For now, there is an owl waiting outside for you. Just tie the letter to him, he'll know exactly what to do.'

Harry left his cupboard, locking his trunk behind him as he went. Stars forbid that one of his relatives gets into it. Not only would Ouroboros gladly make a quick meal out of Dudley or Aunt Petunia, but he was sure that in a few years Vernon would be just a snack too. 

Outside was quiet, most of tidy, boring Privet drive had left for work on a sweltering Friday morning like today. On the tidy, boring manicured trees (albeit yellowed by the sun) was a brown speckled owl. It seemed that nobody had paid it any mind or bothered it in any way. Harry had noticed that most normal people, Muggles, his mind supplied, hardly noticed anything peculiar. Perhaps it was better that way. The owl blinked at him, brilliant amber eyes boring into his jaded green. The boy, now eleven, held his arm out, and the bird landed on it immediately, holding out a leg for a letter to be tied.

-

Hundreds of miles away, expecting a very important letter, Albus Dumbledore paced in his office.

Everything was going completely to plan. He had ensured it. With Arabella fig surveying the area, though she didn't really know for what purpose, the brilliant, no, genius man, had ensured his soldier of the light was completely alone. Cupboard under the stairs, no friends, the Dursleys. There was no conceivable way that the boy would not be pining for the image of his parents, yearning for the light magic, desperate to please any person that showed interest or attention.
Good Witches and Wizards of course.

Fawkes looked at his master in disdain, disappointed in what the Grandwizard had become over the years. A twisted, sickened old man, disconnected from the struggles of real people, sitting in his tower, surveying current events like a game waiting to be played. This time though, he felt a difference in the air, something, ancient. The phoenix chirped quietly, feeling it resonate in the air. Aye, something was different indeed. Something ready to tear Albus apart at the seams. If the bird was capable, perhaps he would have been excited.

September 1st was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

This trip to Diagon Alley would be the biggest in his life. Once again on a Sunday, when the Dursley’s were at church and the cul-de-sac was quiet, Harry slipped away, embarking on the same journey he had done for years; two buses, a tube, and a snake that hated being jostled by strangers. He wondered how many mice he needed to give to make up for this.
He started with a trip to the bank, same as always. Collecting enough golden Galleons to make a muggle blush and worked his way down the equipment list.

Uniform
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

 
Easy enough, he supposed, spotting Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, the only shop that did a Hogwarts uniform and going inside. At the front desk was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
‘Hogwarts, dear?’ she asked when Harry started to speak. ‘Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.’ In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.
‘Hullo,’ said the boy, and Harry looked over immediately. ‘Hogwarts too?’
‘Aye,’ he replied.
‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the blonde. He had a bored drawling voice, drenched in privilege. Harry knew that he was an important person to make friends with immediately, and tucked that information away for later. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully my father into getting me on and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’ He smiled politely, humouring him as he went on. ‘Have you got your own broom?’
‘No.’
‘Play Quidditch at all?’

‘Mother wouldn’t let me,’ he replied, and it was true. Lady Magic much preferred it when the boy had both feet planted firmly on the ground, besides, he didn’t have anywhere to play, the Dursley’s small but manicured garden was hardly a discrete place to play. Instead, he listened to the wireless, Puddlemere United Vs Chudley Cannons, Appleby Arrows vs Falmouth Falcons.
‘Well I do- Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?’
‘More than likely Ravenclaw,’ Harry reasoned, his love for books at the forefront of literally everything he did. ‘But my parents were Gryffindors.’
‘Well, no one really knows until they get there do they, but I know  I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family has been- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’
‘There have been some great witches and wizards from Hufflepuff you know.’ The blonde boy made a face at this, clearly, Harry had said the wrong thing.
‘Have there really?’
‘What about Newt Scamander?’ He could almost hear the gears turning in the other boys head, and slowly but surely he started nodding.
‘I suppose you’re right about that. My names Draco, Draco Malfoy.’ He stuck out his hand, expecting a handshake. Madam Malkin dug a pin in and he retracted it rather quickly. Harry hid his amusement at this.
‘Harry. Harry Potter.’
‘That’s you all done my dear, we’ll owl you the finished items.’ Harry nodded and stepped off the stool, glad he could leave as to not be confronted with the no doubt open-mouthed gaping the blonde boy- Draco- was doing behind him.

‘See you at Hogwarts I suppose,’ the boy called out, and Harry nodded distractedly, pulling his list out of his trouser pocket. Next? A wand.
A wand indeed. This was what Harry had really been looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Harry didn’t sit on for fear it wouldn’t support his weight. Harry had strangely as though he had entered very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxed piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic, almost, but not quite like his mother.

‘Good afternoon,’ said a soft voice. Harry jumped. An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
‘Hullo,’ said Harry awkwardly.
‘Ah yes,’ said the man. ‘Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You have your mother’s eyes. It seemed only yesterday she was in here herself buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.’
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes put him on edge.
‘Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it- it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard of course.’
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
‘And that’s where…’

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger.

‘I’m sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it,’ he said softly. ‘Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…’
He shook his head, and then to Harry’s relief, backed away.
‘No matter! A wand for Mr. Potter. Let me see,’ He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. ‘Which is your wand arm?’
‘My Right?’
‘Hold out your arm, that’s it.’ He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said ‘Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.’ Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
‘That will do,’ he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. ‘Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.’

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
‘Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try- ’ Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
‘No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.’
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

‘Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.’
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden chill in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.
 ‘Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well ... how curious ... how very curious ...’
Harry put the wand back on the table frowning. Something was very, definitely wrong with that wand. It made his neck prickle and his belly ache.

'curious?' Harry asked, setting the wand back on the table. As soon as it left his hand he felt less sick.
'I remember every wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather- just one other. It is very curious indeed that this wand works for you when its brother... why its brother gave you that scar.'

Harry swallowed.

'Could I maybe, try another please?' Mr. Ollivander nodded, putting it away.
'It just may be Mr. Potter, that the wand chose you because of the scar, not despite it. Don't worry, wizards may have more than one wand choose them, we'll find one for you yet.'
Ollivander pulled out three more boxes, Harry felt his magic swirl. One of them was the one, he was sure.

'First one, go on and give it a wave! eleven inches, Pine, Dragon Heartstring- supple flexibility' Ollivander snatched it quickly, not wanting an accident.

'And the next, just a swish now,  Ash, Phoenix feather, twelve inches and quite whippy.' Harry felt a stirring in his chest but again placed the wand onto the ever-growing pile.

'Finally, twelve inches, Acacia, Phoenix feather, nice and springy- that's it!'

Harry gave it a subtle flick and a cloud of brilliant silver bubbles escaped the end of the wand. It was beautiful, a rich brown with dark streaks, detailed carved flourishes embedding into the hilt. It sat comfortably in his hand, like an extension of self and the wand seemed happy to be there.

'Fantastic! Brilliant!' Ollivander clapped, cheering for him like he had won a Quidditch game singlehandedly. Harry smiled softly. 'Rather tricky and temperamental wand, of course it would be perfect for a gifted wizard such as yourself. A proclivity for transfiguration too. My stars Mr. Potter. You will go on to do great things.'
Harry paid for the wand quickly and left, feeling grateful that he was out of the piercing gaze of the wandmaker. Having no energy left, and equipment list finished years ago, the boy decided to just go home, content with his wand, and his wand content with him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It's all very familiar. The many smooth scales of Ouroboros moving gently over his soft skin, the intake of air as he hisses, and the soft 'smack!' of his tail as it slaps the boy on his cheek. Harry awakes from good dreams, in the softest bed he's ever been in, completely wide awake, and apparently the first one up.

'Good morning, Speaker! I thought you'd like to be up first, so you could speak to your brood mother without interruption.' It seems Ouro thought of everything, the slim diary sitting on his pillow next to the crumples where his head was. Harry rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses, relaxing as the world sharpened. Each four-poster bed's curtains were drawn tightly shut, thick blue velvet that made him feel enclosed, but in a comforting way. He felt safe, and unwatched, completely alone which was a luxury he seldom had.
'Thanks Ouro, there's still some mice in the trunk for you, unless you wanted to explore the forest.' the serpent's maw stretched wide, a facial expression that the boy had come to learn was sheer joy.
'The red one has a rat that I cannot wait to torment. Until later Speaker.' Ouroboros slithered off and out the common room quickly, ravenous for his breakfast, seconds and mid-morning brunch.

Harry picked up the book he had left behind. The edges weren't as sharp as they used to be, constant use eroding them away with hours of steady touch. He opened the book to the middle, staring intently at the margins until black ink swirled his vision and he was no longer in Hogwarts. He was no longer anywhere, but was everywhere, all at once.

He sat in the void for only a minute, before the form of Magic scooped him up in her arms and gave him a tight, warm embrace.
'Congratulations on making Ravenclaw my ward, I always knew that was where you truly belonged.' She said, peppering kisses on his face until he laughed. Harry sat, knees tucked underneath him across from his mother.
'Thank you mother, but I'm a little worried about something.' Harry looked down at his lap, wondering whether he should have said anything at all. Concern for her son flitted over he once impassive features, and Magic reached out to pet the young boy's hair.
'My ward, you can tell me anything, what worries you so?'
'My scar. At the feast last night I looked over at Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell and my scar hurt quite badly. I was going to tell you last night but I was so excited to make friends I forgot all about it. At least Ouro didn't.' Magic frowned, taking in this information. A magical scar hurting like that was no coincidence, especially if it hadn't hurt at all since that night ten years ago.
'I'm sure there's nothing to worry about,' she soothed easily, 'But I will look into it. The only thing Severus Snape seems to be hiding is that ugly brand on his arm, but Quirrel? I am not so sure as of yet.' Beyond the void, Harry felt curtains being drawn. The other boys seemed to be waking up.
'I think I need to leave,'
'Then leave, my pet, I will be here when you return, I always am.' Harry nodded, feeling a rush of air as his curtains opened.

When he blinked it was Lewis' face that came into view.

'Morning Harry!' The boy said, extremely cheerful despite how early it was. It seemed Phillip was not so passionate about the morning hours, and he trudged off to the bathroom, mumbling about how if he was running a school, everyone would get a lie in.
'Good morning Lewis,' Harry replied, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. The floorboards were cool under his feet, and his toes curled as they made contact. In the void, there was no temperature, nothing to feel hot nor cold at, and certainly no freezing towers in September. Scotland definitely had a mind of its own weather wise.

'Are you excited to get our timetables this morning? Eddie said last night that Professor Flitwick was handing them out before we go off to breakfast- What lessons are you most looking forward to?' Lewis' excitable personality was infectious, and Harry soon found himself in a friendly, albeit loud discussion about what lessons were arguably the most interesting, ('Charms!' 'No, Defence!') as they busied around getting dressed. Phillip joined the conversation easily, but Justin was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was just too hungry to wait for the rest of them. Harry didn't think that was the case.

Dressed in his school robes, shirt tucked in and an extra pair of socks to ward off the Scottish air, Harry left the dormitory and went down the stairs, bumping into Padma and (unfortunately) Hermione on the way down.
'Hullo Harry!' Padma said, clearly relieved that she didn't have to bear the burden of Hermione's 'I know everything' attitude by herself much longer. 'Did you sleep well?' Harry nodded, talking about how beautiful the view was from the Ravenclaw tower, and Hermione, not liking being ignored, stalked off to grab her timetable and leave, much to the groups' unabashed delight.
In the common room, Professor Flitwick was orchestrating piles of timetables that went flying around the air, searching for their person. Harry's made a beeline for him, smacking him squarely on the nose before dropping quietly into his hands.

'My Apologies Mr Potter!' The small wizard squeaked, but Harry barely noticed it, fixated on the organised chaos floating around their heads. Padma tapped him on the shoulder, breaking his stare from the papers, and apparently pulling Lewis, who was equally as impressed, out of his too.

'Here,' Padma said, pulling out her wand. It was almost white in her hand, made out of a soft birch and had three thin rings just above the handle. 'My father taught Parvarti and I a spell he thought would come in handy while we were learning our way around. Point me Great Hall!' The wand pointed straight forward, and it seemed to the untrained eye like nothing had happened. But as they continued to follow its direction, the wand spun wildly, settling on left, then right, left again, and so on, leading them through the winding corridors and to the Hall in perfect time. Harry was visibly impressed with Padma's easy use of magic.

'How did you learn a spell so soon?' Phillip asked, clearly impressed but also envious.
'I spent the summer with family in India. We don't use wands there so there was no trace- I could do whatever spells I wanted.' Harry tucked that information away for later use, thinking it could be quite useful to train during the summer if he was in a different country.

'Be careful Hermione doesn't hear that- she'll be furious that you're at an advantage. Might even go straight to Dumbledore.' Harry laughed out loud, taking a seat in between Phillip and Padma, slapping the former on the back for making such a good joke.
'Is there many countries that don't have the trace?'
'Yes, Brazil doesn't, but they don't use wands either. Neither does Japan- they trust their students to not be silly with their magic. I think Northern Ireland doesn't care, but most of them live in all magical communes, so it doesn't matter as much. China has a massive problem with the trace though, with such a huge population it would be so easy to let something slip to the muggles. The trace doesn't come off until you've completed and passed all your NEWTS.' that was a lot of information to parse at once but was valuable knowledge all the same. Harry grabbed a piece of toast, mulling over his thoughts on the trace as a whole with some jam and a light spread of butter.

Breakfast, much like the feast last night, was a massive affair, every kind of egg, bacon, sausages, toast, all kinds of cereals and even baked beans were available. Even Harry, who never had a heavy breakfast, ate more than usual, all the foods on display too tempting to pass up on. As he read over his timetable, (potions first, followed by herbology and charms,) he saw a shadow pass over the parchment. Looking up it was none other than Draco trying to match up what classes they had together.
'Potter! Do you have potions first?' Harry nodded, finishing off his toast and dusting the crumbs off of his lap.
'Yes, Draco, then Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Charms with the Gryffindors. Your first lesson is with us.' Draco grinned wide.
'Good! My godfather teaches potions here, he's a brilliant teacher and you're all going to love him!' Harry recalled Snape's sour expression over dinner last night and severely doubted that he was an enjoyable teacher to anyone but the blonde.

--

The dungeons were cold and damp like they ought to be, Harry mused. The Ravenclaws seemed to press together closer than usual, but the sea of green robes seemed completely at ease in the dark corridors. The Potions room itself was fairly large, with thick stones the size of Harry's head lining the walls, and shelves upon shelves of all sorts of pickled animals in small glass jars.
Snape started the class by taking the register, almost spitting each name as the timid answers all seemed to fuel his sneer. Upon reaching Harry's name he paused.

'Ah yes,' he said softly. 'Harry Potter. Our new celebrity.' Nobody in the room laughed. Harry had been kind to the Slytherins, which was something no one expected from the dark haired boy. Of course, it helped that Draco Malfoy, the boy everyone seemed to want to be friends with in Slytherin (no doubt due to being to soul beneficiary of the Malfoy fortune) his friend. When Snape had finished the list of names, he scanned the room, dark, coal eyes lacking even the slightest bit of warmth.

'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.' He spoke in barely more than a whisper but the class was already hanging off of every word. If Mcgonnagal seemed like someone you shouldn't cross, then Snape was someone you shouldn't even try to be friends with. His whole demeanour was that of a cat playing with its meal. 'As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron, the dance of shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you can't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.' More silence followed his spiel, Harry looked to Padma with raised eyebrows, surprised that a teacher could call his students 'dunderheads' and get away with it. Hermione Granger was at the edge of her seat, almost desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead. Harry thought that that attitude would go down terribly with the professor, and Harry hoped for the muggleborn's sake that she grew out of it soon.

'Potter!' Snape said suddenly, knocking Harry out of his glassy-eyed gaze. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?' Harry was surprised that he'd start by asking questions right away when there was no expectation to know everything before they started school.
'the draught of living death, sir?' Harry said hesitantly. He recalled going over all his textbooks in the run-up to the beginning of term, remembered Magic going over all of them with a sweet tone. He had learned a lot then but was unsure that he could learn a lot from Snape's attitude. Snape, to his merit, seemed unfazed that Harry had answered him correctly. Clearly, his pre-formed opinions on the boy weren't exactly factual, but he pressed on regardless.
'Correct.' He said, almost having to force the words out. god, forbid he ever praised James' boy. 'Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?' Bezoar, Bezoar, Harry thought back to leafing through 'one thousand magical herbs and fungi,' remembering that a bezoar would take care of most of the poisons that the lordship rings wouldn't.
'In the stomach of a goat?'
'In the stomach of a goat, sir,' The professor amended, 'Final Question then, What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?'
'There isn't one. They're the same plant, sir.'
'And which plant would that be, Potter. You can't expect everyone to make way for your half answers.' Harry's brown twitched, and he was irritated this professor had struck a nerve so easily.
'Aconite, sir.' he gritted out, clenching a fist under the table, cleverly hidden from view. Snape's gaze left the younger boy, and he turned to the rest of the class.
'At least someone here decided to open a book before turning up. What are you waiting for? Write it down!' After a brief scrabble for quills and parchment (except for Harry who thought a Quill was rather too annoying when a ballpoint pen was far more useful) the class settled.

The lesson didn't get any easier though, Snape put them into pairs (and of course he chose them) putting Harry with a boy called Blaise Zabini, and Padma with Draco. Of course, Harry was sure that the potions master didn't realise that this merry band of Ravenclaws actually seemed to get along with the Slytherins quite well, after all, ambition for greatness, and ambition for knowledge were two sides of the same coin.

Blaise oozed charm and confidence, and instantly Harry wanted to be his friend. He was witty and kind and smart, seemed to know what he was doing, and was way more put together than Harry had ever been.

They worked as a pretty efficient team of first years. Harry weighed the dried nettles and crushed the snake fangs, (albeit slightly uncomfortable at the idea that those fangs were somebody's once upon a time) while Blaise read the instructions out loud and stirred the big cauldron. As they let it simmer, Harry looked distractedly around the room, before realising Lewis was about to put the porcupine quills in a cauldron that was still on the flame.
'Lewis! stop! You need to turn the flame off first or else it's going to go everywhere!' Snape, to his displeasure, was in earshot, spinning his battish robes around to berate Harry for anything he could think of.

'Interfering with someone else's potion were you Potter? Not very noble of you is it? One point from Ravenclaw.'
'But sir,' Blaise started, turning the Zabini charm on max. Harry hoped the fact that he was a Slytherin was enough to stop Snape 'turning nasty' on him, he didn't want to lose a friend over a cure for boils. 'Potter was simply making sure Thorverton didn't explode the potion, he had made a simple mistake.' the potion master's lip curled, but he rescinded the point. Tacking on another for Slytherin while he was at it.

Merlin and Morganna, Harry wondered just why the potions professor seemed to hate him so much.

Chapter Text

It had taken days for Draco to come out of his shell after the potions incident. He was absolutely mortified that his own godfather, someone that although strict had never been outright cruel to him, could be so callous to a first year- not to mention Harry freaking Potter and his best friend. It was coaxing from Padma and a nervous smile from Neville (The newest addition to their blossoming friendship circle) that lead the mouthy blonde to the door of Professor Snape's office, incensed that his Godfather should apologise to Harry, pride allowing it, or at least stave of the scathing remarks about his friend.
By the time he had reached the door, Draco felt butterflies burst into life in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't spoken to Severus since he had started the term and was worried he would no longer be treated with the same regard. Steeling himself, he rapped twice on the tall door and waited with bated breath.

'Enter.' He heard Snape's voice drawl from inside, and the boy cracked open the door.
'Uncle Sev?' The professor was at his desk marking papers, and he looked up to greet his Godson.
'Draco, what an unexpected surprise. Come in, and shut the door behind you.' Draco timidly walked into the room, Malfoy features carefully schooled into a cool expression. The door closed with a small 'click' and suddenly he didn't have much to say. 'For Harry.' He reminded himself, remembering the forlorn face of the raven-haired boy after he had left potions. 'He deserves better.'
'I was wondering why you don't like Harry very much.' The blonde said quietly, finding the knotted wood of the polished desk suddenly very interesting.
'Potter?' the older man sneered, leaning back in his plush chair. 'why do you want to know about Potter?'
'Because!' Draco huffed indignantly, 'He hadn't done anything wrong- and he's my... friend.'

'Potter is as arrogant as spoiled as his father was,' Snape retorted, 'He deserves to be taken down a peg.'
'Down a peg? Down a peg?!' Draco stood, fists clenched. 'He grew up in the cupboard under the stairs in his aunt's house- that's spoiled to you?!' he looked the potions master right in the eye, irate and upset on behalf of the first friend that his father hadn't bought, perhaps this was the true meaning of Slytherin loyalty. 'Actually, I don't want to know the answer, my father is going to hear about this.' and with that, Draco stormed out, leaving the door ajar so Snape had to actively close it.

Hopefully, Harry's life will be just a little easier now.

---

Harry woke up the following morning slightly nervous. He had a flying lesson that day with the Slytherins, which was great for spending time with Draco, but he was terrified of making a fool of himself. Magic had never let him fly, he had never even owned a broom. He pulled on his robes, the first to rise as he had become accustomed to, and sat on the edge of his bed.

'Ouro I'm scared.'
'Scared Speaker? Of what? I will crush it with pleasure.'
'It's not a thing you can crush, silly snake,' the Ravenclaw chuckled, forgetting about his worried for a moment  'I'm worried I'm going to be made a fool out of today. I've never ridden a broom before.' The serpent's amber eyes bore into the boy's, thin slits portraying a sombre expression.
'Are you, or are you not, my speaker?'
'Of course I am!'
'And of course, you know I'd eat anyone who dared besmirch the name of my speaker- yes?'
'I mean, I suppose.'
'Then you have nothing to worry about.' Ouroboros rubbed his nose along Harry's cheek. 'why don't you introduce me to your hatchmates this morning? I'm sure that would... keep them in line.' He did that funny, wheezy laugh again, and burrowed into the boy's neck.

Lewis screamed when Harry opened his curtains, wondering how in the name of Merlin and Morganna (and all the stars that ever were and ever will be) he had managed to keep that dirty great snake a secret from literally everyone in the school?!
'Is it? I mean, can I? Does it bite?' Harry grinned, unwinding his serpent from his perch on his shoulders,
'Only when I ask him. His name is Ouroboros.' Phillip looked over from his spot, lounging on the loveseat by the window of the dormitory.
'The snake that eats itself. An old magical symbol for Salazar Slytherin.'  Harry nodded, impressed with the random facts the other boy always seemed to come out with.

'It was the name he preferred, refused to accept a 'common' name.'
'Wait,' this was Justin this time, usually standoffish, but unable to resist that Ravenclaw curiosity. 'He preferred? How do you know?' Ouro looked straight at Justin, cocking his head as he studied him.
'He told me. He's really arrogant, actually,'
'Am not!' Ouro hissed.
'You absolutely are, don't try to pretend.' Harry hissed back.
'How, are you not a Slytherin?' Lewis deadpanned.
'Honestly, I'm really not surprised at this point, is there nothing you can't do, Harry?' Phillip said amused.

Hopefully, Harry wasn't going to add flying to that list.

--- 

The field outside was already cold, but Magic had blown a warming charm over Harry before he left the castle, along with a kiss and a wish of good luck. Really, he felt very lucky. Small patches of puddles littered the ground, and it grew increasingly hard to avoid them. Up ahead was Draco, already standing by a broom, amongst the several lined up in two rows.
'Harry! Over here!' The Slytherin called, Blaise to his left. Harry jogged up, pleased to see Draco's relaxed features, far less tense that he had been only the day before. 'I'm so excited! All of summer is spent flying at the manor, you'll join me this year, won't you?' He nodded, feeling the cool sensation of anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Madame Hooch walked up to greet the first years, although short, she seemed agile, with short, white hair and brilliant yellow eyes.
'Well, what are you waiting for?' she barked, 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!' A few stragglers hurried towards available brooms. Harry looked down at his own. It was old, and some of the twigs at the end stuck up at odd angles.
'Stick out your wand hand over the broom,' Hooch called from the front. She had the kind of voice that screamed 'Aunt Petunia,' Slightly nasal and too demanding. 'and say, up!'
'UP!' Everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Draco's was up instantly too, but Padma's only rolled on the ground, and Hermione Granger's didn't move at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could smell fear. The slight quaver in the Granger girl's voice betrayed a sense of very sensibly wanting to keep both feet firmly on the ground. As soon as Harry's hand connected with the broom, he felt the weight of it, and was sure that the rest of the lesson would go somewhat smoothly.

Madame Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry and Padma were only slightly pleased when she told Hermione that her grip was all wrong, and she couldn't pick that up from a book.
'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard.' said Madame Hooch. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle- three- two- one' The whistle bleated, and Harry kicked off, rising easily a good ten feet into the air. He felt weightless and free, rocking slightly on his broom like it was an extension of himself. Draco rose to join him immediately, followed by Padma who was just a little bit underneath, clearly not wanting to go so high- just in case. With another blow of the whistle, Harry sank back to the ground, slightly deflated that he had to come down so soon. He wanted, as most people did, he supposed, to soar through the air and breakneck speeds. It was his calling, he was sure.

'A commendable start, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Five points to both houses for following instructions.' Harry could have sworn he heard her mutter, 'unlike those bloody Gryffindors,' under her breath, but he couldn't be sure.
'We're going to set up teams now. Basic exercises. Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you're the heads of each team, pick your members.'
In the end, Harry's team ended up with Padma, Phillip, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott. Draco picked Lewis, Justin, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle. The latter two would probably make formidable beaters. Unfortunately, Hermione was left out, and Draco 'graciously' chose her last. (Although Harry had shot him such a pleading look he wasn't sure he'd be able to refuse).

The Game was basic, just passing the Quaffles into small practice hoops that were a lot shorter than the real ones on the pitch. By halfway each team were about even, With Harry and Phillip, Draco and Justin, practically carrying their team. It was a fair match, until, from the other side of the field Harry spotted Justin gearing up to throw a small object, he couldn't quite make out, directly at the back of Padma's head.

It was instinct. Harry, at least 30 feet up, Padma only 8, A dive from the other side of the pitch. The Ravenclaw flattened himself against his broom, raring it to go faster and in a moment he had swooped from above and caught the object in his right hand, just seconds before it would have made contact, and more than likely knocked the twin from her broom.
'Steele just what exactly are you playing at? This was Quaffles only!'

Justin only looked on in shock for a moment, before Harry turned around on his broom to see the whole class was staring at him.
'Mr Steele, 10 points from Ravenclaw for playing dirty. You'll also be receiving a detention- my broomshed definitely needs reorganising- by HAND.' Madam Hooch shouted from the ground. 'Mr Potter, please land and come with me.- class is now dismissed.'

Chapter Text

Harry struggled to keep up with Madam Hooch’s quick pace, her long strides being three of his own. He wasn’t sure where he was going- was he in trouble? He knew it was a dangerous move but honestly, he wasn’t thinking, he just wanted to protect his friend. His heart lurched into his throat at the prospect of being kicked out in his first week. How could he face Lady Magic after that? She’d surely be disappointed in him.

It took a few moments but suddenly Harry recognised where he was going, it was the way to the Ravenclaw tower. Was she taking him to grab his bags? Making a show of kicking him out? Her face was an unreadable mask, amber eyes looking forward, never back at him. Instead of going straight to the top however, the Quidditch instructor stopped halfway to the common room, and knocked on a slightly off-coloured stone brick in the side of the tower. It seemed to shimmer slightly, small swirls of blue magic sparking outwards before fading away. And then, where the stone was, there was a door.

The door opened with a small squeak, and inside was professor Flitwick, the head of house. ‘Rolanda! Come in, come in, and you have- Mr Potter with you?’ He ushered them inside, offering them a cup of tea. The charms professor’s office was small and round, though clearly had a few undetectable extensions on it due to the size of the tower compared to the office. The windows that should be looking out onto the Hogwarts grounds seemed to be looking out on a tropical beach somewhere nice and sunny. Immediately Harry wanted to be able to use that on the windows in his bedroom. Flitwick gestured for them to sit down, conjuring two small round stools with bright blue cushions on them, before almost skipping round to the other side of his desk. It was littered with paperwork, two sheets of which seemed to be a cat and a dog teasing each other.

‘Fillius,’ The white-haired woman started, ‘Mr Potter here is an exceptional flyer, we might just have a shot at winning the cup this year if you give him permission to play.’ That was definitely not where Harry thought the conversation was going at all. He expected to be yelled at, perhaps hit, and strung up from the ankles in the dungeons like Filch always muttered about. He wasn’t going to be punished for such a dangerous move?

‘Really?’ The charms professor seemed to jump up in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. ‘You really think so? We haven’t won since you played chaser back in ’78!’

‘I do.’ She turned to the boy, somewhat forgotten in the surprise of the proposal. ‘Mr Potter, have you ever played Quidditch before?’ He shook his head.

‘Ridden a broom before?!’ He shook his head again. She bit back a gasp in surprise. ‘All natural talent then, just like his father.’ The boy bit back a question about his father. Sometimes he still felt a pang of longing for them. He had never talked about them before.

‘Mr Potter!’ Flitwick clapped his hands, laughing all over himself like he had just received a tickling charm to the behind. ‘Would you like to play Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?’

Seeker- something that was his. But he was also a first year, they weren’t allowed to play- surely?

‘But sir,’ he started, ‘I’m just a first year- I’m not allowed to play.’ The professor waved off his concern,

‘Poppycock- That rule is in play for the safety of first years, there are sometimes exceptions made for brilliant players like you. Youngest Seeker in a century, you’ll be.’ The raven-haired boy, now youngest seeker in a century smiled wide.

‘I’d really love to sir.’ Flitwick, if it was even possible, smiled wider than before. Harry sipped his tea politely, noting the overall too-sweet taste.

‘I’ll send a message to Mr. Davies immediately. I’m sure you’ll do Ravenclaw proud Mr. Potter.’ And with that they were waved out of the office, leaving behind the smaller gentleman merrily writing out a missive, and scolding the paper cat for biting the dog (who happened to be the minutes to the last prefect meeting).

--

As soon as Harry stepped out onto the grounds again he was ambushed by three flashes of blue and green, knocking his glasses askew.

‘Harry!’ Padma cried ‘You’re not in trouble, are you? I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault that you got into trouble!’ Harry patted her on the back, a signal for her to stop choking him so tightly.

‘Don’t worry Potter my father will hear about this. He’ll make sure that Steele gets expelled, not you. Don’t even bother packing.’

‘If we make a petition, I’m sure they’ll let you stay!’ a third voice, Harry assumed was Thorverton’s, added to the mix.

‘Guys, guys! I’m perfectly fine. I’m not in trouble at all.’ He reassured them. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his robes from being assaulted with affection. ‘Flitwick’s putting me on the team. I’m Ravenclaw’s new seeker!’ Draco looked at him blankly, Lewis and Padma responding in kind.

‘Are you serious? That makes you the youngest seeker in a century!’

‘Quidditch is so dangerous Harry! What if you get hurt?!’

‘We’re totally going to crush Slytherin this year if you’re good enough to bend the rules for!’

‘Hey!’

‘Sorry Draco…’

Harry just grinned at his friends, feeling warm at the thought of friends that both cared and supported him in equal amount. Neither Ouroboros nor Lady Magic could fill the gap that true friends his age could, and he felt just slightly less alone.

Stormy grey eyes bore into him from across the field, fists clenched in anger.

--

With the excitement of that morning over Harry fell into hyperfocus. Transfiguration was by no means easy, and as he walked into class his confidence in being able to actually turn a matchstick into a needle (He was told by Clearwater that that’s what the first class always was), waned considerably. He was already drained from flying, adding the stress of not being good enough on top of that was a recipe for disaster.

‘You have performed admirably my ward, I am so very proud of you.’ Magic whispered, caressing his face softly with the tingle of familiar magic. Harry blushed, barely concealing the prideful smile on his face. Doing Lady Magic proud was all he could ever ask for, and he thrived on her words of encouragement.

‘Thankyou mother,’ he whispered into his blue striped scarf.

The Transfiguration classroom was quiet as Harry slipped into a seat next to Padma. The Ravenclaws were paired with the Gryffindors, which Harry knew would probably end in disaster, he had heard rumours of what the Finnegan boy had done in charms, and wasn’t sure exactly how one could blow up a feather from ‘wingardium leviosa’ but was hesitant to find out what he could do with a simple ‘ignium acus,’ [1]; perhaps set fire to the table.

On the desk was a lithe tabby cat with dark rings around its eyes. It stared at the door with a haughty intelligence, seemingly waiting for something. The cat seemed to shimmer slightly in place, it looked, to Harry, like it moved on the spot, like someone speeding up a small action, and then reversing it, all at once. This was no normal cat. Perhaps this was the professor?

The class sat like that for only a few moments more before the Weasley boy, with his shirt untucked and hair a mess, came banging in, rushing to the available seat, next to Granger, with a look of relief as Professor McGonagall didn’t appear to be in her seat. The cat gave the Gryffindor a pointed look before leaping off the desk and transforming into a woman. Harry didn’t even need to look at the rest of the class to see their surprised faces, almost collectively the first years gasped in surprise.

‘Mr. Weasley, I presume?’ She asked the latecomer in a clipped brogue accent. He nodded, paling considerably, which was impressive given his milk like skin tone. ‘I don’t appreciate lateness, perhaps we should get you a watch?’

‘I’m sorry Professor, I got lost.’

‘Ah, then perhaps a map is more in order. Don’t be late again.’ With one last glare she turned towards the board with a sweeping motion, spelling out ‘Welcome to Transfiguration.’ on it with a tap of her wand.

‘Transfiguration is the art of change. It is spelling one thing into something else, such as a hedgehog into a pincushion. But can do more than that, it can conjure things from seemingly thin air, following a few strict laws. And it can vanish them just as easily.’ To demonstrate, the professor tapped the large wooden desk with her wand, muttering something under her breath. It turned into a pig, oinking for a short second before she turned it back.

‘Now I just transfigured my desk into a pig.’ She said plainly, pacing the rows of the desks. Harry felt immediately respect, seeing her as a fair, yet no-nonsense professor. He would have to endeavour to always hand in his essays on time with her. ‘But my desk has never been, and will never be a true pig. Can anyone tell me why?’ Immediately, Granger raised her hand, waving it about with an air of self-importance. Harry thought for a second and raised his hand too.

‘Mr Potter, if you please.’

‘The desk only appears like a pig. If you were to cook and eat it in the transfigured form, then eventually the pieces would turn back into a desk, and you would have gained nothing but an upset stomach.’ Harry heard a few chuckles from around him and was pleased a few people found him funny. He pressed on. ‘At the basest level, it is still wood, so doesn’t have any of the organic material found in a true pig.’

The Professor regarded him for a second with a fierce intensity, before the barest hint of a smile graced her features.

‘Correct. 10 points to Ravenclaw for an astute observation.’ The chalk on the desk danced up and ran across the blackboard, taking brief notes. ‘Transfigurations only appear to be another object. They are not truly ever that object.’ Harry grabbed his quill and jotted it down in bullet points, and after he finished, a matchstick appeared on his desk.

‘In order to gauge where you are all at practically, I want you to try and turn the matchstick into a needle. Don’t worry if you cannae get it right, I don’t expect you to right away. The incantation is ‘Ignium Acus,’ and goes as follows.’ The thin woman pointed at the matchstick on her own desk, giving it a half turn as she spoke. ‘Ignium Acus!’. The voice was clear and commanding, and immediately the matchstick turned silver and pointed, at the other end was a golden eye, she clearly had an impressive eye for detail.

‘Starting small is important, the differences between a matchstick and a needle are minor when compared to air and water, or even a desk and a pig. You may begin now.’

Harry pulled out his acacia wand from its holster and hesitated, the incantation on the tip of his tongue. He remembered a lesson Lady Magic taught him that summer, how spells actually worked, and what magic, and in extension, she, truly was.

‘Magic is all about intent. You must pull the concept from your heart and push it into the object. Imbue it with your idea my son, Tell your magic what you need and it will answer readily.’

‘But Mama, what if I can’t?’

‘You can, I chose you as my ward, my anchor on this plane, for a reason child. I have gifted you with knowledge with the promise that you will use it well and wisely.’

‘Anchor?’

‘Aye, I am but a concept. That night on Samhain 1981 was an act so horrid and cruel that I could touch the Earth once more. It had been years since anyone had opened their souls to my embrace and there you were. Innocent and tainted, unaware and yet your very core was crying out for a mother’s touch. I linked myself to you, and thus this world. And you will forever be in both realms and neither, all at once.’

‘Ignium acus.’ Harry touched the matchstick, foregoing the half turn flourish. He felt a tingle from his chest, flowing lazily down his wand arm and by extension the polished wood held tightly in his grasp. The matchstick shimmered for a second, and Harry willed the matchstick to transform into a needle. It needed to change and adapt. And then, it did. The waxed end of the match folded in on itself and morphed into silver. Within the second it had become a perfect replica of the one professor McGonagall had shown to the class, complete with the little golden eye on the end. Harry raised his hand, more than a little smug that he had done it so easily, but in awe of himself and the potential of magic. This time it was personal. How far could he go with magic? Desks to pigs, but what about rocks? Houses? Mountains? Could he transform the planet?

‘Mr Potter how can I help you?’ The professor walked over, clearly expecting something akin to Finnegan’s disaster (he really had managed to set the desk on fire. Which was aptly fixed with a swift ‘aquamenti’) The boy held up a perfect needle in his hand, setting his wand down on the desk.

‘I did it.’ He said quietly, and the professor transfigured it into a matchstick, then back again, in disbelief that it wasn’t just a needle he had stowed in his bag.

’15 points to Mr Potter, for being the first to correctly transfigure his matchstick.’ He felt all eyes on him and blushed fiercely. He didn’t like being the centre of attention. He liked doing well and being talented but being the centre of attention and being Harry Potter would no doubt lead to trouble sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

Harry was just coming down from the high of getting a spell right first time when he was ambushed and dragged into a small alcove behind a tapestry. It was dark as pitch and Harry’s breaths came out in strangled pants of terror- was someone angry with him? Was he going to be hurt?

‘Lumos!’ a voice he recognised whispered behind him.

‘Lumos!’ a similar voice whispered in front.

In the soft glow of their wand tips, the grinning faces of the Messers Fred and George Weasley came into view. Harry stopped panicking, sliding his wand, which he hadn’t noticed drawing, back into it’s holster.

‘Hullo Harrikins!’ They said in unison, and Harry hadn’t realised just how strange it was to be thrown behind a tapestry until they acted just like they had on the train.

‘Fred? George? Why did you drag me behind a tapestry?’ Fred, Harry guessed, grinned in front of him, and he was sure his other half matched the expression behind.

‘We heard a rumour,’ said George,

‘Nothing more than heresay we’re sure,’ added Fred,

‘that you, my good sir,’

‘Are the youngest,’

‘Seeker,’

‘In a century.’

‘Congratulations!’ they finished in unison. A small smile graced Harry’s face, and he wrung out his hands on his robes.

‘Yeah, I was made Ravenclaw Seeker this morning. Why does it matter?’ A hand ruffled his hair from behind, and Harry hoped the subsequent blush was hidden from the soft Lumos.

‘We’re the Gryffindor beaters, of course.’

‘So we’re your direct competition.’ Oh, were they here to scope out the new addition to the team? Scare him? Rough him up so he couldn’t play so well? Harry quite liked the twins and was severely afraid of the thought that their kindness was all fake.

‘Of course Wood would never let us go easy on you,’

‘Even if you are an ickle firstie,’

‘But,’

‘We might anyway.’

‘After all, our dear Ronald has been quite rude to you,’ Harry felt warm at the sentiment, a soft glowing flame that felt oddly like his Mother Magic’s caresses when he was stressed or upset.

‘Thanks guys, but I’m sure I don’t deserve it- It’s not like you control what Ron does or says.’

Fred sighed dramatically

‘If only my little Potter!’

‘Tis but a shame that compulsions are illegal,’

‘After all the world over would benefit from him keeping his mouth firmly shut.’ Harry giggled, pressing a hand over his mouth to supress the childish glee. These boys were certainly funny.

‘Enough waxing poetic Forge,’

‘You’re right Gred, I’m sure Harrikins doesn’t want to be late for lunch.’

‘That indeed, but of course, if he does want to find us again,’

‘If he does, all he has to do is come back here and say our names.’

‘That simple? My what a work of genius Gred!’

‘You’re most correct Forge, only the infamous pranksters of Gryffindor could have come up with something so clever.’ George winked at him, whispering Nox as both their wand extinguished their light, and Harry was pushed out of the Tapestry. Shaking his head and mulling over the strange experience, the youngest seeker in a century walked to the Great Hall, greeting Draco whom he hadn’t noticed was rather late to lunch himself.

--

The Great Hall was packed with students all eating their lunches with glee. It seems Harry hadn’t missed lunch at all. Instead of the strict house table rules present on celebratory nights, like the opening feast, Harry could see many students sitting with others of different houses, such as Draco, Padma, and Neville, all sitting at the Ravenclaw table, with a seat open for him.

‘Harry!’ It was Padma, waving happily while tucking in to a large jacket potato. Harry had only ever had the microwavable ones, and the idea of a fresh and fluffy one covered in copious amounts of butter had him salivating.

‘Hey Padma, Draco, Neville.’ Harry greeted his friends, slipping into the empty seat and adding a generous portion of jacket potato to his plate.

‘I can’t believe you got your transfiguration on the first try.’ Draco said indignantly, grumpily spooning a mound of peas into his mouth.

‘I told him all about it Harry, but he didn’t think it was actually possible- apparently no one in Slytherin or Hufflepuff managed to get it perfect!’ Neville seemed a lot brighter and confident than the stuttering mess that had introduced himself to Harry only a few short days ago. Perhaps it was good company- ones that heaped praise, but Harry was glad of the change.

‘That’s a point- how in the world did you manage to get it perfect right away?’ Padma inquired. Harry just smiled wryly and tapped his nose.

‘C’mon Padma, I have to have some secrets after all!’ her face fell immediately. ‘But maybe I could help teach you so you’ll get it perfect next time?’

‘That would be lovely Harry! But that reminds me, Roger Davies- Ravenclaw Quidditch captain? He asked me to tell you to meet him on the Quidditch pitch after dinner, I think he wants to test your skills!’

--

The air was dramatically cooled by the time Harry had got onto the grounds, and he pulled his cloak tighter to ward off the chilly air. He could spot Davies already, walking around the perimeter of the pitch with his wand out, muttering words in a language he hadn’t yet come across, and forming complicated patterns with the mahogany stick. He stopped suddenly, and with a quick slash of his wand the air shimmered, encircling the whole pitch in a slightly pink hue.

‘Davies!’ The older boy turned, smiling, and walked towards the centre of the pitch where a squat pine chest sat, bucked with large gold clasps.

‘Hullo Potter, Congratulations on making our new Seeker, Flitwick told me as soon as he could. I was actually expecting you to be a little later than you were, it’s quite the task to fight the crowds in the Great Hall.’ Harry shrugged smiling, it was at least an advantage in large crowds to be so small for his age- slipping through the student was an easy task when any gap would fit you.

‘What were you doing to the edge of the pitch Davies?’ Harry asked curiously, inspecting the edges of the shimmers. He passed his hand through them, feeling the slight tingle that was unmistakably the Captain’s magic.

‘Good eye Potter- They’re Norwegian Quidditch wards. They’ll keep the snitch inside the grounds of the pitch, so I don’t have to go hunting for it later. Training snitches can be a little faulty, I don’t want to take that risk.’ No wonder Harry couldn’t understand what he was saying, Lady Magic had never taught him old Norse so he had no reason to know. But it was fascinating, nonetheless.

‘Norwegian huh? Does Latin or Greek not have an equivalent?’ Davies smiled at the question, clearly proud of the little Ravenclaw for intelligent questions.

‘I’m sure they do, but Norse magic works much better with the Hogwarts wards themselves, I don’t have to use as much magic to power them- after all Scotland was settled by Norse wizards centuries ago. It just seems to work more efficiently- Something my own captain passed down to me, and his before- don’t tell the Gryffindors!’

It seemed like Harry was about to ask another question, but the heavy looking chest between them jerked slightly, and it seemed to bring Davies back to Quidditch immediately.

‘So! Seeker! You know the rules of Quidditch?’ Harry nodded enthusiastically.

‘I listen to the UQC [1] commentaries every week!’

‘Right. Hooch thinks you’re a fantastic flier, so I’ll let you borrow my broom tonight- I don’t mind coaching you from an old shooting star. We’ll do drills first, catch the snitch, and then we’ll see how you are at dodging Bludgers. Mount up! We have until curfew!’

Harry groaned inwardly, thinking of the rather tedious essay he put off coming here, and how it seemed much nicer to be writing about Goblin wars than this.

--

From her place in the void Lady Magic watched Quirinus Quirrell pace in his chambers, muttering erratically to himself. He seemed to have been doing this for hours, and the carpet was already showing signs of wear in a straight line down the middle.

‘The stone has made it to Hogwarts- right under Dumbledore.’ An unfamiliar voiced hissed. ‘You have failed me yet again Quirrell, and if it wasn’t for our precarious position, I would not hesitate to Crucio you. In fact- I still might!’

‘I’m sorry Master!’ Quirrell pleaded, the stutter that been so prominent outside of those four walls vanishing most suspiciously. ‘I will do anything to please you!’

‘Unwrap me! I wish to be free!’ With clearly shaking hands, the professor unwrapped the turban, kneeling in front of the mirror in such a rehearsed way that it was clear this was a usual occurrence. On the bald head of Professor Quirrell was the ghastly and warped face of the once handsome Tom Riddle. Distorted into a snake like parasite marring the back of assumedly an innocent man. ‘You have failed to serve your master, and for that you will be punished.’ Quirrell whimpered.

‘Find out the protections around the stone. This shall be done by the end of the year or you will pay with blood!’ he nodded obediently, and with a small noise of satisfaction, what was left of Lord Voldemort became silent once more.

Lady Magic looked closer, peering into the visage of the half-formed man. No mortal creature was capable of such wicked perversions of nature. This was the work of the darkest magic- perhaps that which called her to the Earth once more.

Curious. It seemed she had another mystery to solve.

Chapter Text

Harry’s entire body hurt when he woke up the following morning. Each of his muscles had a throbbing ache and bruises from undodged Bludgers littered his lithe form. Patting around for his glasses, Harry struggled upright, wincing at the effort. He spotted a small jar of bruise paste on his bedside table, unsure if it was a plucky house elf, Davies, feeling guilty for near murdering a firstie or his mother. He swiped it anyway, slathering the thick grey substance on the worst areas and searching for Ouro in the wrinkled blue sheets.

‘Ouro!’ he called, giving up his search when he realised any of the lumps in the bedding could be his faithful familiar.

‘Good morning speaker!’ Ouro, as it turned out, was under the pillows not the duvet, and if his hands weren’t covered in paste, he would have smacked his head with annoyance for missing something so obvious. After a brief assessment of his wizard, Ouro reared his head back and bared his fangs aggressively. ‘Who dared to fight you like some common meal Speaker?! They will pay with blood and flesh!’ It took a confused minute of silence before Harry realised he did, in fact, look like he had been in a fight.

‘Don’t worry Ouro, nobody fought me, I was training for Quidditch.’

‘The Bird game? I dislike birds very much speaker. If you would ask it, I shall eat the poultry, so you have no competition.’ Harry grinned at the serpent as he wound around his arm lazily.

‘That’s not necessary Ouro, don’t worry. I can eat them myself.’

‘Good. You must show dominance over the winged beasts. A particularly nasty one devoured my brother in the nest. I found him many seasons later and delivered my most potent venom.’

‘Wonderful story, but I think I want my breakfast before I lose my appetite.’ Harry grimaced and forced his joints to propel him to the bathroom. A nice hot shower and a change of robes would do him a world of good. Ouroboros didn’t want for long, he cared for little else but his master and his meals, so set off to find the biggest and fattest rats he could. Only the best for the great Ouroboros.

--

It was early when Harry set off for the Great Hall. He wanted to speak to Lady Magic in peace, without having to rush off to grab a meal, or be bothered by well meaning friends. His mother seemed busy of late, the link between them, although still pleasantly warm, far cooler than before.

The tables were empty, save a couple of seventh years smattered around the house tables, probably desperately studying for their NEWTS. Harry grabbed a few slices of toast, eating them as quickly as he could so he could leave. At the other end of the table was Justin, angrily stabbing a sausage with a fork. He had tried several times to make friends with the stormy eyed boy, but each attempt was harshly rebuffed, the last one accompanied by a stinging hex only stopped by a hasty shield Harry didn’t even know he could do. He wondered what he had done to upset Justin, was it Ouroboros? His friendship with Draco? His scar? As if he could hear Harry’s thoughts, Justin looked up from the opposite bench, only to glare at the black-haired boy which as much anger as an eleven-year-old could muster, and go back to stabbing his meal. Breakfast, Harry thought to himself, was over for him. He left the hall quick, settling down in a small alcove after checking the time with a quick tempus charm. Only 6:30. He had plenty of time to speak to mother. With the ease of practice Harry flattened himself against the stone walls and plucked out his journal, staring intently at the pages as they swirled into inky black.

He could never get use to the feeling of nothing. A complete absence of the smallest of physical sense was always slightly unnerving, especially when used to the draughty and cold halls of Hogwarts castle.

‘Mother?’ He called, patiently waiting for her figure to emerge from the abyss. It took longer than normal, and Harry was biting his lip with nerves. There was always the voice in the back of his head, one that suspiciously sounded like Petunia Dursley, that told him everyone he cherished would abandon him, much like his parents. But Harry knew better. He waited. And his patience was rewarded when Lady Magic scooped him up in a flurry of cerulean robes and kisses.

‘My Ward! Your presence here is always a gift!’ Harry giggled, allowing himself the childish curtesy in the complete privacy of the void.

‘Blue robes today? I thought you preferred Green?’ Magic’s pleasant features smiled warmly, small dimples forming on her rosy cheeks.

‘House pride my little Ravenclaw! I remember when Hogwarts was built. Rowena Ravenclaw was a child of Magic, my protégé. I shall ask Death, but I am sure she is proud of you too!’ The small boy blushed, wringing his hands out in a sudden bout of shyness from the overwhelming praise.

‘Death? Is he a being too?’

‘Aye. He had been watching you intently. As has Destiny and Time. Fate, Life and Love are apparently busy running the universe, but they care a great deal too. We are your family.’

‘How come I haven’t met them?’

‘It is a great strain for even a half-mortal being to accept the strain of meeting us. I had to make sure you could physically handle it, and by Yule you shall be.’

‘could I meet them over Yule?’ He asked, vibrating with excitement. His family! He had a family that wasn’t just mother. Beings who cherished and cared, that watched him out of love not spite or duty. He felt warm all over. Lady Magic smiled again, but in a flash her face fell.

‘My childe, I’m afraid I must warn you of a terrible danger now. Quirrell, your defence professor? Be wary my love, he is not who he says he is. He is a beast most foul.’ Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Quirrell? But he’s so…’ his face scrunched as he tried to find the correct words. ‘timid. He’s nothing like Snape.’

‘I have seen the transgressions of your potions master. They are easily overcome.’ With a tap of a pointed finger on his head, Lady Magic turned her back to Harry. She produced an ornate mirror out of nowhere, turning around to show Harry’s now more orderly and slightly reddish curls.

‘It did not occur to me before but when you were a mere babe, certain protections and glamours were put in place. I did not think to check on them until I realised Severus’ problem with you. You no longer resemble your father. As it should be. You never truly did.’

‘Why would someone do that? Who did it?’ She only hummed thoughtfully.

‘Why indeed. Perhaps the Machinations of a bumbling bee run deeper than I previously thought. Merry day to you ward, it is time you leave my home for now, you have ten minutes to get to class.’ Harry nodded, the feeling of a light breeze on his ankles, and the freezing stone his back was pressed against returning to him faintly.

‘I will heed your warning Mother. Merry day.’

Chapter Text

Red. Hair. The boy had RED HAIR. How had he managed to break the glamour? Albus paced in his office, chewing furiously on a lemon drop. Fawkes looked on disinterested, watching the old man weave his own destruction. It was carefully constructed and so subtle that he knew that someone dangerous had undone it. Someone threatening his plans.

It was clearly Lord Voldemort.

But what would Lord Voldemort want by breaking a glamour on the Boy who Lived? How would he even get into Hogwarts’ impenetrable wards? He couldn’t have done it under the nose of the Great Albus Dumbledore! Or perhaps, a more troubling thought, the boy had done it himself. Yes! Maybe the boy was just that powerful that he had broken the glamour as accidental magic! What a formidable tool he would be one day. He was glad for the time the glamour had lasted. Looking so much like James had made Petunia and Severus resent him, and that was all he needed. Albus Dumbledore stopped pacing and slumped into his chair. Fawkes trilled in mock sympathy.

Around his cluttered office the portraits of the previous headmasters and mistresses muttered to themselves, discussing just how far the once great Hogwarts had sunk under the tutelage of the ‘Great’ Albus Dumbledore.

Oh how far they had fallen.

--

Severus nearly gasped at Potter’s boy as he walked into his classroom with neat curly RED hair. He could almost be mistaken for a pitiful Weasley but it was too dark by a couple shades. This was Lily’s hair. Was it a trick? Did the brat do this to torment him in his grief? Parade around Lily’s sacrifice to push him from the school and back into mourning? It seemed more natural to his features, the clear Potter curls distinct from his memory of Lily’s pin straight hair. Not a trick then. The Potions master doubled his occlumency- just in case- and forced himself through the lecture with added venom at the Ravenclaws. Red hair. How curious indeed.

--

“Harry! How come your hair is red?”

“O-oh My muggle hair dye washed off.”

“Oh.”

Chapter Text

September turned to October in the blink of an eye. The clouds swirled with the promise of rain and the nights crept closer to morning every time Harry went to sleep. He disliked winter. It was a cold and unforgiving season, and he was sure that if it wasn’t for Lady Magic winter would have claimed his life long ago. Today was Samhain. All Hallow’s Eve, or Halloween as the muggles called it. Realising the date as he scratched it into the top of his parchment that morning lead to a horrible feeling of dread settle over his stomach. He didn’t want to go to the Halloween feast that Draco was excitedly talking about, he didn’t want to gorge himself on sweets like Vince and Greg, or complain about the muggle traditions taking over with Padma, where “India still celebrates with the olde magic- as it should be done! Not this muggle nonsense!”. His family had been torn from him that night, and his near eidetic memory forbade him from ever forgetting.

A scream- his mother’s?

‘Not Harry! Please, Take me instead! Please not Harry!’

‘Stand aside silly girl! Stand aside!’

‘No! Not my Harry!’

A flash of green and a thud. He heard infant cries- his own? The hooded figure raised his wand to the infant, warped and pale as bone. He could see green light budding at the tip as the dark Lord Voldemort studied his prophesised downfall.

‘Avada Kedavra!’ Light blinded him, swallowing him and then, he was floating, he couldn’t feel the softness of the cot and the warmth of the blankets around him fighting off the autumn chill. He felt a tugging sensation in his navel- No! He could see his mother reaching for him, emerald eyes brimming with tears. Mum! Mum! And then, there was nothing.

Harry shook himself from the maudlin memories, focusing back on his classwork. Today they were learning the levitating spell- Wingardium Leviosa. Most of his accidental magic as a child had been levitation- reaching things from high shelves, levitating books back into place. The intent was the same, he could feel the magic bubbling under his skin, begging to be used. From across the room he could see Granger and Weasley bickering. Why Flitwick had thought that mixing up the houses was a good idea was beyond him, but whatever Weasley had said must have prompted some form of reaction from Granger, as the jabbed her wand angrily at the boy, before performing the incantation perfectly, a satisfied smile on her face. The expression reminded him of Dudley. Harry scowled away the thought.

“Oh well done! See here everyone Miss Granger’s done it! Five points for Ravenclaw!” The small charms professor seemed to almost topple off his chair with pride, but Harry was sure it served only to enlarge her ego. Not to be outdone, Harry flicked his wand too, raising the feather much higher than Granger’s with a practised ease.

“And Mr Potter too! Take another five points!” 

The Muggleborn witch glared at him with a thinly veiled rage, Harry smiled sweetly back. It really was no wonder she didn’t have any friends.

--

“Honestly she’s insufferable! Padma you’re doing it wrong! You’re supposed to give a swish- not a flick! Oh Padma it’s not Ignium A-cus It’s Ign-i-um A-cus! Oh Padma arranged marriages are so old fashioned- you really should follow the muggles it’s much better!” Padma vented to Harry and Neville, pacing in the courtyard. “She really needs to learn how to talk to people, it’s no wonder no one wants to be around her. She’s NEVER going to get a worthy husband or wife like that!” Neville smiled sheepishly in response to the dark-haired girl’s ravings, but Harry whipped his head around with wide eyes as a bushy haired girl stormed passed. That stopped Padma in her tracks, as her face blossomed into a blotchy red blush.

“Oh Godric, I didn’t mean for her to hear me!”

“Perhaps we should research privacy spells later then?”

“Harry!”

--

At lunch, Harry only picked at his food, having to be coaxed by Padma and Draco to eat anything at all. He didn’t want to be around them. He didn’t want to be around anyone at all. The only thing he wanted was to go to sleep and pretend he wasn’t an orphan living with relatives who hated him and a disembodied voice that tried to help. It was because of the maelstrom of sombre thoughts running around his head that Harry didn’t notice the approach of his detested potions professor, clearly trying to not look as sour as usual.

“Potter.” He said, looking physically ill at the idea of being kind to James’ boy. But he wasn’t just James’ boy, was he? He was Lily’s, Green eyes and red curls and all of her sweetness and bookish charm. His heart ached. Harry shook himself out of his stupor, visibly surprised at the presence of the professor.

“Yes, sir?”

“Come to my office immediately, there are some things we must discuss.” And with a curt nod to his godson, he turned on his heel, robes billowing as Harry scrambled to keep up.

The walk to Snape’s office was silent and awkward, the taller wizard refused to slow his pace to accommodate his short companion, and so for every step he took, Harry had to take three. Harry wondered if he was in trouble. He didn’t recall doing anything to slight the man, or anyone else for that matter, but perhaps Snape didn’t need a reason, after all he hadn’t needed one before to treat him so callously. When he opened the door Harry peered inside, afraid to see dangerous weapons or vampires or ghouls hiding inside to do him harm. It wasn’t enough to not see them, many thought that Severus Snape was a vampire himself, and he never did anything to dispel the rumours of it.

“Am I in trouble sir?” He asked timidly, as the door slammed shut behind him. The professor’s desk was neat and orderly, a small wooden box sitting on the top of it, stacks of parchment sitting to the side.

“No Potter, you are not. I trust you understand the significance of this day?”

“Halloween sir?” Snape bit back a remark about his intelligence. Perhaps the boy was being intentionally evasive.

“No, the other significance. The day you defeated the Dark Lord.” Harry looked down at the floor, clutching his satchel tight as he fought memories of that night.

“You mean the day my parents died, sir?” Snape flinched, and the Raven debated whether to call that a victory or not.

“Yes. I am sure you do not want to celebrate the same way as your peers. Lily- Your mother- you look just like her you know that?” His words seemed softer, almost bitter. Harry wondered if that was the sound of regret.

“I have been told that sir, did you know my mum?”

“From childhood. We grew up together.” The older man walked around the desk and opened the small box. It was engraved with silver, “November, 1981” and was covered in a fine layer of dust. Inside were many photos and letters written in beautiful calligraphy. All of them were of children, some of the pictures moved but most did not. Harry hesitated but picked up the photo at the top of the pile. In it was a fiery-haired girl with brilliant green eyes and ivory skin, next to her, a mousy haired girl with a pinched face who seemed to be rather grumpy. A third person walked into the frame, a young boy with long dark hair and a crooked nose. He hugged the red-haired girl lightly and she laughed at something he said. Harry looked at it slack-jawed.

“That one has myself, your mother and your aunt Petunia we were close until eleven, until Petunia started hanging with that oaf Dursley, and your mother and I came to study here.”

“Thank you for showing me this sir,” Lily’s boy said with shining eyes. He went to put the photo back in the box when Snape stopped him.

“Keep it. I owe you that much for my… indiscretions this term. I…. apologise. You had done nothing to me.” Harry nodded numbly, holding the photo delicately as to not damage it in any way. Struck with an idea, he pulled out a piece of crumpled parchment and his wand, transfiguring it into a beautifully ornate silver frame.

“It’s alright sir. It happens a lot.” And it was true, all his life Harry had been shouldering the burdens of others, being the object of many people’s ire for things that weren’t his fault nor in his control. Like who his parents were, a prophecy made by someone before he was born, the doorstep he was left on in November ’81.

“You have a gift for transfiguration, much like Lily.” Harry beamed at the thought.

“Really? What else was she good at?”

“Potions, Charms, she learned how to transfigure flowers when we were thirteen, she left them everywhere, but she never transfigured Lilies, ironically enough. Said that it would be as obnoxious at that potter boy.”

“My dad? You knew him too.” The dour man paused for a second.

“Not very well. Lunch is almost over, you must have classes to be getting to.” Harry nodded, seeing a tense subject obviously hanging in the air. Perhaps his father didn’t like Snape, he was a Slytherin after all and he knew his dad was a Gryffindor. They probably didn’t see each other often.

“Thank you again sir, really. I’ve never really known much about my parents.” And Lily’s boy left his office, clutching the frame as if his life depended on it.

Chapter Text

For the rest of the day, Harry carried his precious cargo in his robe pocket. It was just large enough to hide the gilded frame completely, and he unconsciously brushed his hand across it, in a sort of disbelief that he had a connection to his mother. The Potter trust vault was self-refilling but was only full of galleons. All the precious mementoes and trinkets the small wizard craved were locked away in a Gringotts vault out of reach. As the only surviving Potter he was the head of house, but he was also still a child, and so the boy lord would have to wait until emancipation, or the tender age of seventeen, whichever came first. Seventeen seemed like worlds away to the bitterness of eleven, a grown up like those that ignored him in the muggle world or revered him like an especially valuable object in this one. Seventeen was a mystery and would remain one for the time being.

Between the looming presence of the Halloween Feast and the present time was a tedious lesson in the History of Magic. Professor Binns was the boring remains of a man so one track minded that he didn’t notice dying and simply got up to teach the day after his death. The noteworthy charm of a ghostly professor wore off rather quickly- he seemed to be stuck on a loop of sorts, teaching the same four Goblin wars over and over in a low droning voice. Perhaps, Harry mused, catching the stray thought as it drifted by, not all of him had unfinished business, and the part that stayed vengefully wanted to torture generations of students with a failed History grade.  The Ravenclaw shuffled the small cards he had made on the Goblin rebellion of 1509, and the uprising of Gotnurk the Greedy in 1362, setting them aside for more parchment. Perhaps he could get started on his transfiguration essay, or perhaps he could work on the anima charm he found in the library. It made drawings move, however crude they were, and he wondered if he could ruin Aunt Petunia’s beautifully painted living room with a fierce snake that would hiss every time she said something about his mother. Or perhaps a great dragon that would breathe crayon fire whenever Uncle Vernon drew in enough breath to bellow his name through the house. Harry remembered the adorable paper kittens that had terrorised the desk in Professor Flitwick’s office, perhaps he could charm the prized roses in the garden to scream when the Dursleys walked by, or the toilet seat to bite!

He folded a spare bit of parchment into a sort of bird shape, it was crude but it did look sort of like a bird. The ‘head’ of the bird was slightly crumpled but the wings seemed okay with flight, and with that brief assessment Harry pulled out his wand.

‘avis anima’ he whispered, and the parchment bird jerkily flapped his wings. Harry grinned, scooping the fragile object into his hands, and blowing it across the desks. It landed rather bumpily on Padma’s parchment and hopped around in a circle before unfolding once more. Padma looked up from her work in shock, before a small smile graced her features. She rolled her eyes at the childish display but was at least happy that her friend was in a better mood.

Between them, was an empty desk. No one had seen Hermione Granger for hours.

--

Lewis, Harry and Padma sat on the Ravenclaw table, sorely missing their Slytherin and Gryffindor friends who had to sit on their own tables for the feast. The Great Hall was decorated wonderfully, massive pumpkins that Harry had seen growing in the Gamekeeper’s hut were carved with intricate patterns, he was sure Flitwick had had a hand in them, along with Professor Sprout, because they seemed to wink at him when they thought he wasn’t looking and every now and again they seemed to change positions. Candles filled the air a warm glow, far removed from the dark and starry sky that the ceiling above displayed. The moon was full and unyielding in its silver light. Harry didn’t much have an appetite, but the vast array of food was even larger than usual, and the rich aromas permeating the air seemed only to serve Padma’s incessant encouragement for him to ‘try this’ and ‘try that’. Harry conceded that as one of his closest friends he’d try a few things. And with a few nibbles of a chicken drumstick and a handful of steamed vegetables, he pushed his plate away.

“Have you seen Granger this afternoon? She wasn’t in History of magic, and she’s not here either.” The boy asked, in an effort to distract the other Ravenclaws. Padma made a face, setting down her golden fork on an equally golden plate.

“I haven’t seen her since I upset her this morning. I feel terrible about it but I haven’t been able to find her to apologise. Parvarti said she was in a bathroom somewhere, but I don’t know.”

“Seamus told me earlier that Lavender said that she overheard Pansy Parkinson telling Millicent Bulstrode that Granger was in the girl’s bathroom in the dungeons. No one really goes in there so I’m not surprised- whatever you said hit a nerve Pads.” Lewis said in between bites. For some reason, he seemed to know everything that went on between the first years, if it wasn’t so useful Harry would be worried about how exactly he got the information.

“Well it’s fine, I share a dorm with her and she has to sleep at some point, so I’ll just suck it up and apologise then. Parvarti would have a field day if she found out I’d been so crass.” Harry bit back a chuckle at his friend’s predicament.

“Can’t be anything but perfect Padma, how would you find a good husband?”

“Bite me Harry!”

The massive oak doors to the hall swung open with a loud bang, and immediately there was silence. Professor Quirrel ran down the centre of the tables, looking positively frantic and white as a sheet.

“Troll! In the D-dungeons! There’s a t-troll in the dungeons!” He screamed, before promptly fainting on the floor. Who was supposed to deal with the beast now, if their Defence teacher was taking a nap on the flagstones? The students burst into conversation, some looking pale and sickly with fear, the younger years unsure if this was some Halloween prank they hadn’t heard of before. The noise was deafening and Harry fought the urge to cover his ears.

“Silence! Prefects escort your students to their common rooms! Teachers please, with me. Go- now!” At the very least Dumbledore was good in a crisis, except for the fact that the very place he had told the Slytherins to go was where the troll was. Snape stormed over to the Slytherin table instead of following the other teachers, barking a harsh order to go to the library and shut the door behind the students. Madam Pince, who never really left the shelves of books unattended, was apparently once a formidable duelist, and would protect the students in lieu of the safety of the thick common room walls while they went to deal with the troll.

As the first years filed out of the hall one by one Padma gripped Harry and Lewis’ arms tightly.

“Granger doesn’t know about the Troll! If we go now we could beat the troll to the bathroom and get back before we’re missed!” With stern features that seemed almost too old for an eleven-year-old, Harry nodded, turned, and followed them down to the dungeons, gripping his wand tight in his hand.

--

The first thing that Harry noticed as he stepped into the tiny girl’s bathroom, was the stench. It smelled of everything foul that he could think of, rubbish, sewers and Dudley’s sweaty gym socks all rolled into one terrible odour. He covered his nose with the sleeve of his robe, but it didn’t help. It seemed that instead of finding Granger before the troll did, they found the troll as it found Granger, if the bloodcurdling scream was anything to go by.

“Padma, Lewis, either side of me.” Harry barked out an order, and the two scurried to comply- there was something in Harry’s voice that told them he knew what he was doing, and after all, he hadn’t been wrong yet. “Granger! Stay put and don’t make a sound, we’re going to lead it away from you.” Harry’s mind was working a mile a minute trying to work out what to do. Trolls were dangerous, and their skin was highly resistant to spells. There only weak point was- their eyes!

“I’m going to blind it, Padma, grab Granger while it’s disorientated, Lewis, break the mirror- I don’t care how. Diffindo!” With a sharp slash of his wand, the Troll roared, dropping its massive club to clutch it’s bleeding eyes- in a split second the mirror smashed behind it, as Lewis cried out a strangled ‘bombarda!’ that he didn’t expect to work. It was weak, but it did the job, and the troll swung it’s heavy body around to find the source of the noise. Padma had dragged the nearly petrified Hermione Granger over from her corner of the bathroom, and now they were all by the door. The terrified muggleborn was covered in plaster from the troll’s brutish entrance to the bathroom, but she was otherwise unharmed. Harry eyed the club on the ground, and levitated it with a clever idea in mind. The club rose steadily in the air, and Harry floated it away from the troll before slamming it into its head. Trolls may be spell resistant, but blunt force trauma would put anyone down for the count, and the beast’s head crumpled inwards, splattering gore over the cracked mirror. Lewis grabbed at the door, having seen enough action for one day, and the lucky four scrambled out into the corridor, only to come face to face with the teachers who had finally caught up.

“And just what were you four doing out of your common rooms? You had strict instructions to stay there and-“ Professor McGonagall was stopped mid-rant as she eyed the corpse of the troll they had all come to fight. “Explain yourselves immediately.”

“I was hiding in the bathroom because I was upset professor. I was homesick and didn’t want to go to the feast. If Harry, Padma and Lewis hadn’t found me to warn me about the troll I’d probably be dead.” Hermione said, lower lip quivering as she tried to hold back tears. Harry appreciated the small lie about why she was in there, perhaps she wasn’t as much of a teacher’s pet as he initially thought.

“I blinded the troll with a cutting charm, while Lewis disoriented it by blasting the mirror. Padma grabbed Hermione but I wasn’t sure we’d all be able to escape before it realised where we were.” Harry said bluntly, eyes boring straight into the Transfiguration professor’s. He had done the school a service by finishing the troll, and he had saved Granger, surely they couldn’t be mad at him for that?

“Harry levitated it’s club and smashed his head in. We all owe him our lives!” Padma finished, words coming out fast and jumbled in an effort to take the ire off of Harry. The staff all seemed to be speechless, almost in awe of the fact that four first years had managed to take on a fully grown mountain troll and kill it without any injury.

“I expect this kind of foolishness from Gryffindors, not Ravenclaws. You’ll each have detention with your head of house for jumping headfirst into danger without alerting a teacher.” Professor Snape sneered at the group, “But, it is commendable that a group of first years took on a mountain troll with a handful of spells and came out unscathed. 30 points to Ravenclaw, for resourcefulness in the face of harm.” With a withering look directed solely towards Harry it seemed, the potions master stalked off, a noticeable limp in his left leg.

“Is anyone injured?” Asked the soft voice of Professor Dumbledore, who had for some reason stayed quiet during the whole ordeal. They all shook their heads, Harry very eager to get out of the sight of the headmaster as soon as possible. “Harry, my boy, can you come to my office? I’d very much like to get your side of event fully, for the records of course. The rest of you can go off and tell your wild adventure to your friends,” His eyes twinkled merrily, and to anyone else he seemed perfectly harmless in nature. Harry, however, knew different, he had felt the brush of a legilimency probe against his mental barriers and felt Lady Magic’s warmth settle firmly around his shoulders. This would be a long night indeed, but with Lady Magic, Harry Potter felt invincible.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore looked down at Harry with a kind grin, wrinkles creasing in the corners of well worn dimples.

“Now Harry, that was some impressive magic,” his tone was soft, unassuming and warm. Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine, then the brilliant fire of Lady Magic rest around his shoulders. Reassuring, comforting, furious. “But the damage to that poor mountain troll was rather intense. Where did you learn those violent spells?” Harry blinked, rather confused and irritated at the question.

“Violent spells- Diffindo? Sir? It’s just a cutting charm, tailors use them all the time.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely, like this was a question he was trying to solve.

“Indeed, indeed, that is not the problem my boy.” Hot anger flashed across Harry’s face. Why did he have to be here? He had saved his friends from a dangerous beast, surely he deserved to just go back to his common room and go to sleep.

“Well, sir. What is the problem?”

“That you felt it necessary to injure the troll so badly, Harry. Surely you could have just ran to a teacher? Your professors were just around the corner?”

“My apologies Headmaster. Quite frankly none of us had any idea where you were, as I’m sure you know mountain trolls can run extremely fast. We would have never been able to outrun it and would have possibly died trying to do so. I did what needed to be done.” Dumbledore nodded gravely, feeling every bit his age as he tried to hack at the vicious brick walls Harry was building.

“I’m… sure you did Harry.” The older wizard shuffled some papers with a glint in his eye, leaving the latest Daily Prophet on top, headline stark against the pale ivory of the newspaper parchment. ‘BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS! GRINGOTTS SECURITY BREACHED’. Seeing the distraction from the conversation as an opportunity to exit, Harry stood up.

“May I be excused now professor? It’s rather late, and I’m rather…shaken up. I’m sure you understand.” The small Ravenclaw smiled a charming smile, a familiar one that sent a shiver up Albus’ spine.

“Ah, of course my dear boy. You can server detention tomorrow night with Professor Flitwick. I’m afraid you did behave rather recklessly after all.” Without so much as another word, Harry spun on his heel and stalked out of the office, fire boiling in his heart.

--

As soon as he got back to the common room Padma and Lewis ran up to him, wanting to make sure he was alright.

“Harry! I’m glad you’re back! What did the headmaster want to talk about?” Harry grimaced, remembering the awkward and unpleasant encounter.

“Apparently in a kill or be killed situation, the headmaster thinks it’s appropriate I die instead of harming another living thing.” Hermione, who had been hanging back by the fire, still deathly pale (and quiet for the first time since they’d met her) looked over in shock.

“You don’t really mean to say he told you that?” Harry just shrugged, having realised a while ago that above all else, Granger worshipped authority figures, no matter how corrupt or actually poor at teaching they were.

“In as many words. He was also showing off a prophet from a few months ago. There’s no reason for it to be on his desk so I have to assume he wants me to investigate for some reason. Who knows what else he has in the cards for me he’s been trying to manipulate my life since I was born. I just want to go to bed guys, I want to tell Ouro what happened and go to my detention without being attacked.” Hermione looked almost distraught and guilty, an impressive array of emotions for one face to express at once.

“I just want to thank you guys for saving me. If you hadn’t have shown up- I’d surely be dead. I-I know I’m not easy to be around, it’s just there’s so much to learn and it’s all so new and exciting that I get carried away!” she looked down at the floor, staring intently at a very interesting patch of cerulean carpet while her eyes brimmed with tears. “I was wondering if we could be friends?” Padma bit her bottom lip, clearly debating what to say next. This was a side to Muggleborn Hermione Granger that she had ever seen, she was clever but clearly out of her depth in the wizarding world. Maybe she could teach her?

“Yes. We can be friends. I’m sorry for what I said about you earlier today. It was undeniably harsh, and I know you didn’t deserve it. If you would like, I’ll teach you wizarding customs. Perhaps you won’t feel so lost?” In a blur of bushy brown hair Padma was engulfed with an armful of witch. It took her a paralysing moment to respond, arms jerkily wrapping themselves around Granger’s form.

“Thankyou Padma! I promise I’ll be open minded and less rude!” Harry and Lewis looked at each other helplessly. Girls.

--

In the highest tower, Albus Dumbledore paced back and forth, deep in thought about his newest and most troubling pupil. Harry Potter was intelligent, charismatic and confident. All the traits that should have been stomped about of him living with muggles. He had a small group of friends that flocked to him despite blood and house, and he could lead them without them even feeling lead. There was something familiar about it all. The followers, the charm and wit- that merlin damned smile.

It was Tom Riddle.

Oh yes, he could see it now. That night something terrible happened, all those years ago, and poor baby Harry’s soul was latched onto by whatever was left of Lord Voldemort. Separated from protective magics it grew and festered and now there was the reincarnation of Tom Marvolo Riddle walking Hogwarts once again. Building followers, an army, without making the mistakes of his previous life. And what’s worse is the Malfoy brat hanging off Potter like a disease. He was sure with the benevolent guidance of the great Albus Dumbledore, that this new Tom Riddle could be moulded. It would take work, elbow grease for sure, but if anyone could do it- it was him.

But where to start?

Watching the pitiful form of his once master burn a hole into the rug, Fawkes trilled, mourning the lost of a truly great wizard, and the rise of a dark one out of the ashes.

Chapter Text

The following day was a flood of whispered rumours in alcoves and blank stares in their direction. It seemed like overnight the entire school had found out about the fours’ tussle with the troll, and no one was more furious than Draco Lucius Malfoy.

“What in Godric’s name were you thinking?! You could have been killed going after Granger of all people! I thought you were a Ravenclaw, but I guess I better go ask the sorting hat to try again because Ron bloody Weasley would have been more careful!” His pale skin was flush with brilliant pink, and his eyes were bright, sparkling with anger. The other three looked sheepish at least, Padma patting Malfoy on the shoulder.

“We should have told you what we were doing Draco, I apologise. We were only thinking about Hermione’s safety- after all I was the reason she wasn’t safe in the first place.” Her matter-of-fact tone was befitting of a doctor’s clinicality, but it did the trick to diffuse the Malfoy rage and Draco huffed indignantly.

“I cannot believe the rumours Parkinson was going on about this morning.” The blonde took his place opposite Harry on the table, spooning a handful of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Did you really kill the troll? AND you got detention for it? Rotten luck.”

“It’s better than dying I guess but I understand why they gave us detention.”

“Did Granger get one?”

“No, I didn’t.” Hermione appeared behind them. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed and black circles ringed honey brown eyes. Her hair was bushier than normal, if it was even possible. She sat down next to Draco, who wrinkled his nose but didn’t respond.

“Good morning Hermione.” Lewis chirped from beside her; no matter what he always had a sunny disposition. He offered her a ladle, “Porridge? It’s rather good this morning.”

Harry looked out over the sea of blue to the red. “Do you know where Neville is? He’s not usually late to breakfast.” Padma’s expression soured.

“He’s with Seamus and Dean this morning, apparently he didn’t want to be isolated in his own house, so he’ll spend breakfast in Gryffindor from now on.” Harry hummed in acknowledgement, eyeing the cheese scones with intense deliberation. Padma huffed good-naturedly, and moved two onto his plate. “Stars Harry you’re skinny as it is, just eat them!”

Cheese scones were his favourite.

--

It was in charms that Harry realised he wasn’t going to be able to spend the evening researching runes as he planned. While praising Harry for his natural elegance with aquamenti, (as opposed to Finnegan’s explosion of boiling water that no one was positive was possible with such a spell) he slipped a thin white piece of parchment on the desk. The looping cursive script was a date, time and where. His detention this evening with Flitwick. Harry liked Flitwick, he was kind and jovial and seemed to genuinely appreciate Harry’s love of charms, which was something only one other person had ever done before, Lady Magic.

After dinner Harry shrugged apologetically to his friends and walked the long corridors to where he remembered Flitwick’s office being. The stones seemed to wink merrily at him as he knocked on them, and the stones, turned door, swung open to reveal the charms master.

“There you are mister Potter! Now the headmaster asked me to oversee your detention, and I’d like you to just complete a simple essay about the anima charm. I heard you were quite fond of it from your friend, Miss Patil.” Harry smiled, as Flitwick laughed, his face ruddy with glee. “It’s one of my favourites as well.” The paper cat and dog were long gone from his desk, but a set of trilling paper birds perched on the top of a muggle desk lamp that lit classwork he appeared to have been marking. Harry dropped his bag down on the plush rug and pulled out his quill to begin writing.

It had only been about twenty minutes into the two hours he was assigned, but Harry had finished quickly, and who could blame him? It was his favourite charm currently, one that he was still working to perfect.

“Sir, is the anima charm the only animation charm that people use?” Flitwick, who had been shuffling some papers on his desk, set them down to look over his spectacles at him.

“No it’s not actually. Anima works best on lightweight objects like parchment and canvas. There are other charms, Dos anima and calx anima, that work best with wood and stone respectively.”

“What about flowers? Could I charm a rose, for instance, to act like a dog?” Flitwick chuckled at the image.

“That’s quite the imagination Mr. Potter. You certainly can but it’s not quite an animation charm in the same way.” He pulled out his wand, beechwood with long squiggly waves etched into the handle. “Observe.”

On his desk was a small tulip Harry hadn’t noticed at first, it hadn’t bloomed at first, but when Flitwick tapped his wand to it, it bloomed magnificently. The petals transformed into a snout, and long floppy ears, and the tulip began to bark happily at the young boy, who patted it gingerly like it was going to bite. Aunt Marge’s Ripper certainly did.

“You can also turn things into flowers, like so.” Another tap of the wand and a thin sheet of paper rose up and folded into a flowerbud. It then bloomed into a lily, wilted, and bloomed again in a continuous loop. It was breathtaking. The paper didn’t quite look like paper anymore, it had the soft velvet look of a real flower petal, and the faint speckling of auburn pollen in the air. Harry was enraptured by the loop, birth and death and rebirth again and again. “You know,” Flitwick said, breaking Harry from the spell. “You mother, Lily, was a charms prodigy. Her favourite was this one too. The charm is Silve anim and I’m sure you’ll perfect it in no time.” Harry nodded, and Flitwick handed him the paper flower, still blooming and dying in a beautiful cycle. “Go on then Mr Potter! I’m sure that constitutes your detention for today!” And with a heavy head, thoughts swirling, he left, back up to the common room.

--

The following weeks were spent practicing quidditch and charming paper flowers. His paper flowers bloomed as he wanted, but the wilting blackened the stem, and the flower was stuck as soon as it had come to life. The first game was looming this afternoon, and the stinging nettles of nerves were blooming in the pit of his stomach.

“You’ll be fine Harry. Go on have some toast, you’re going to need your strength.” Padma had a concerned expression, eyebrows knitted together as she moved to butter some toast for him.

“Don’t worry Potter it’s just the Puffs Ravenclaw is going to crush them, their only good player is that fourth year Diggory- you could fly circles around him!” Draco thumped him on the back. “We’re all going to be in the stands supporting you- the whole of slytherin too! Ravenclaws and Slytherins always support each other.” Harry smiled weakly and nibbled at his toast. Yeah. He was going to be fine.

Davies shows up moments later, and Harry follows, filled with a static nervous energy that kept his fingers twitching even as he hurried to keep up. The changing room was full of chatter, as the Ravenclaw quidditch team sat in a row, waiting for Davies and Harry to file in.

“So Guys.” Davies started, a serious expression spreading over his features. “The first game of the season. I’ve been looking at Puff’s strategies, we’ve practised, and Potter can outfly all of us here.” Harry went red and the beaters chuckled. “We’ve got this. Harry, don’t dawdle, get that snitch as soon as possible. I want a quick and easy game. Bexley, Quirke, keep the bludgers off Potter, Rickett and Fleet have a nasty swing. Corran Balaji, follow my lead and flank where you can. We’ve got this in the bag.”

The stands were packed with already cheering students. He wasn’t sure from this distance, but Harry swore he could pick out his friends, even Draco, gathered in the Ravenclaw stands. Harry gripped his nimbus in very tight fingers. The two teams, brilliant blue and sunny yellow met in the middle of the field. Davies towered over Cadwaller, but as tall as Davies was Cadwaller was wide. They shook hands, mounted their brooms, and the whistle blew. The game had begun.

Instantly Harry rose over forty feet, scanning wildly for any glint of gold as he looped and dived, warming up for the game. He wanted this to be quick, but things seldom were, and Diggory was a sweet kid, but a formidable seeker.

“Corran catches the quaffle right away, no hesitation from this Ravenclaw chaser! Rickett and Fleet are chasing close but not as close as Davies. This is already shaping up to be an exciting game ladies and gentlemen! Corran passes to Balaji, who catches with ease. Fleet hits the bludger but oh! Quirke is faster, he’s looking at a nasty bruise tomorrow! Balaji aims for a hoop, and! Oh what a miss! Cadwaller hits it out, right into Appleby’s arms! Being captain of the Hufflepuff team, Cadwaller hasn’t let a quaffle in in years, and it looks like that streak is going to continue!” the commentator booms over the stadium, and yet Harry can barely hear it over the thundering of blood in his ears. He sees Diggory dive, and pulls to do the same until wait- bluff! Harry sees a flash of gold across the stadium. In an effort not to give it away, Harry follows a lazy loop in that direction, keeping his distance from Rickett who seems to be lining up a shot.

“Appleby passes to Jones, Jones to Doherty and back again, it seems they’re trying to confuse Ravenclaw’s beaters but-! Now that looks like it hurt! Bexley smashes the bludger right into Appleby, she drops the quaffle! Can she regain it again! No! Davies swoops in and thunders across the pitch. He passes to Corran, and she aims again and! Score! I guess Cadwaller can’t keep his streak forever! Ten points to Hufflepuff!!”

There’s something wrong with his broom. There’s something REALLY wrong with his broom. Harry tries to move forward but his Nimbus bucks him. His grip slips, and he’s hanging on thirty feet up, by his hands. The snitch has drawn Diggory in but he hasn’t moved closer. He hears gasps from the audience but he’s panicking so much his vision blurs.

From the stands, Draco turns to Hermione.

“Look at Quirrel, he’s murmuring something! I think he’s jinxing the broom!” Hermione gasps.

“But he’s a teacher! Why would he do that?”

“Does it matter Granger?! Agrippa’s tits we have to distract him! Come on!” The pair sneak through the stands to under the teacher’s section. Draco looks helplessly at Hermione but the muggleborn is determined.

“Flamente,” she whispers, and a small jet of flames spews out of her wand. Quirrell’s on fire now and he jumps up in stuttered surprise. Hermione looks through the commotion and sure enough Harry’s broom had stopped trying to kill him.

Harry pants from the effort as he manages to begin to descend. He’s lost sight of the snitch, he thinks, and the cheers mean that someone’s scored again. There, close to the ground, there it is again. Diggory looks at him, to make sure he’s alright and Harry nods. The kindness of Hufflepuff’s will forever astound him. They begin to dive and Diggory's fast but Harry is faster, he flattens himself against his broom and Diggory pulls up, knowing he can’t make it, Harry jumps, hitting sand as he almost swallows the snitch whole. He holds it up, beaming, and the crowd cheers.

“Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Ravenclaw wins!”

Chapter Text

November slunk behind December like a wounded animal, cautious and bitter. The weather was as horrendous as any Harry had ever seen, and he was eternally grateful to the Ravenclaw fourth years that taught the lower years the impervious charm, so he could at least walk in the cold without being soaked to the skin. Draco was jealous that the Slytherins never acted like that, all cold words and sharp edges, but Draco could navigate it as easy as breathing, and that, Harry was jealous of.

As the November rain gave into frozen slush, and the festive decorations began to fill the halls Harry’s mood was uplifted. He was excelling in potions, with the proper guidance and tutelage of a professor that did not hate him, his friends seemed to get along famously, even Hermione, who now seemed to fit better in the group than ever before. The Yule holidays were looming, and Lady Magic’s promise of meeting more of their extended weird little family filled him with waves of sparking excitement that made him grin when no one was looking. It seemed that it was most of the group that were staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. Draco was going home to his illustrious manor, and Hermione was desperate to visit her parents and tell her about her crazy adventures in person, and not over letter, and many of the Weasleys, including Harry’s personal favourite- the twins, were staying as their parents were going to Romania to visit their oldest son, Charlie. Unfortunately, this also meant his least favourite, the loud, brash and obnoxious Ronald Weasley, was also staying. But that was okay, Harry wasn’t nearly as bothered about the first year’s presence as he probably should have been.

Tonight was the last night with all the school in the castle, and once again Draco was pleading with Harry to spend Christmas at the manor, Harry had half tuned him out, reading a rather good chapter about the ethics of blood wards, but there was not a book in the world  that could stifle the presence of a Malfoy, and so Harry sighed, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his slim nose, and looked towards the blonde with an exasperated expression.

“Honestly Draco I can’t. Your father probably hates me, I know it, he knows it, Merlin, even Padma told you it was a terrible idea. I’d love to spend Yule with you, but I would much prefer being around only people that like me.”

“He’d be on his best behaviour though, I promise.” Harry gave the slytherin a look that promised pain if he didn’t stop, and somehow it must have struck a chord with Draco, because he finally relented. “Fine. Fine! It’s your loss honestly, Father’s peacocks are amazing, and the grounds are most beautiful when covered in snow. But I suppose, if you’re really that sure father doesn’t like you we’ll have to settle for letters over Yule.” Draco huffed and draped himself over a plush chair in the Ravenclaw common room like he was more liquid than person. Him and Neville were almost part of the furniture these days, as there were no rules about other houses coming in, as long as they knew the answers to the riddles, and Draco, however annoying he could be at times, was incredibly sharp. Harry smiled, triumphant.

“I’ll send Hedwig with my present, you’re going to adore it I promise.”

--

Harry woke on christmas day already dressed in his finest pyjamas, as he couldn’t bear to wait even one moment before running into the common room. Padma, and her twin Parvarti, who had moved into the Ravenclaw dorms overnight, were already waiting, and the massive pile of presents was larger than any Harry had ever seen.

“That’s an insane amount of presents. The elves did an amazing job.” He said, eyes still wide as they drunk in the scene. The massive fir tree was decorated with all sorts of blue and silver baubles, little porcelain doves that perched on some trees, chirped, and flew around in circles as if they were truly alive. Definitely Flitwick’s work then.

Three large piles of wrapped presents were set apart from the large ones by the tree, and it was clear the Patil twins had been awake much earlier than he was, no matter how early he had risen.

“This one is yours,” Parvarti said, pointing to the present stack closest to him. Harry picks up the first one, a book like shape that appeared to be from Padma. It was wrapped in silver paper with blue bubbles that raced around the page. When he poked one, it burst, and reformed again before continuing to move. Carefully unwrapping it, because tearing such pretty paper would be a travesty, Harry unearthed a beautiful book about Indian Quidditch, with an incredible detailed illustration of two men standing on brooms and throwing hexes. The title was inscribed in green, stating ‘Jahdu ghend’ which Harry assumed was the name of the slightly different sport.

“Wow Padma this is amazing thankyou!” Padma blushed and grinned at him.

“In India the beaters can hex other players, and they get extra points for performance. There are more rules, I’m sure, but I’m not much into Quidditch, not like you are anyway.”

“Open mine!” Harry said quickly, “It’s the one in the gold paper, on top!” Padma, being far less careful with the wrappings, quickly found the velvet box, and the beautiful necklace inside. It was a simple blue teardrop crystal, on a silver chain, but as girls that young do, Padma squealed, showed it to her sister, who also squealed, and put it on quickly, thanking Harry profusely for his thoughtful gift. Parvarti received a similar one, with a red jewel instead of blue. Harry smiled inwardly at his obvious expertise- you could never go wrong with house colours.

Unwrapping the other gifts quickly, Harry noted his growing collection of ‘things that were his and could never be the Dursley’s ’ A beautiful bottle green cloak, and a small silver dragon statue that actually moved from Draco, a rememberall and sneakoscope from Neville, which turned red immediately as Ouro slithered down the steps, not enjoying being woken up to a bed empty of his speaker. Professor Snape had sent him a photo album with copies of photos of Lily, and even a few of his father. Despite his obvious distaste for James Potter, the face the dour man had gone out of his way to obtain copies of photos with him in warmed his heart, and he hoped desperately that the professor liked his gift of a transfigured flower, a Fressia that bloomed into a Canterbury Bell. A pile of Zonko’s pranks and gag gifts from the Weasley twins, and a few muggle fiction novels from Hermione, who clearly had fantastic taste. The books in question were Alice In wonderland, Through The Looking Glass, and the first in a series of Lord of the Rings. Harry was excited to sink his teeth into them, and would have been more than happy to begin when Parvarti pointed out a small present, wrapped in brown paper that neither of the Ravenclaws had noticed earlier.

“It’s addressed to you Harry, but has no sender.” Strange, Harry thought, before testing it for harm. The tests came back negative, so he opened it, but there was something familiar about the aura, old, ancient even, and cold. It was a cloak made from a silvery fabric, that seemed to move like water as he went to try it on.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, turning to the girls. “Does it suit me?”

“Harry! You’re literally invisible!” a note fell to the floor, having clearly been included in the wrapping Parvarti had read.

‘It is time this was returned to you, use it well.’ and Harry was inclined to follow this sage advice, he most definitely would.

--

Whilst the Patil twins had gone to join Neville and build a snowman of epic proportions with the second years, Harry had returned to his dormitory, swung the curtains shut, and pulled out his familiar journal. Today was Yuletide, which meant it was time to meet the rest of his family. Pressing himself flat against the headboard, he flicked through the sepia pages and steeled himself.

Suddenly he was falling and then he was not. The inky blackness stretched out for miles, and yet seemed to stop short a few feet away. It wasn’t cold, nor warm, but goosebumps raised on pale flesh anyway, and Harry rubbed his arms in an effort to get rid of them. He felt cold, more cold than he should be for the abyss. He turned in a circle, eyes squinting in an effort to see clearer. There, in the black, was an even darker black, like the void itself amassed into a shadow darker than anything had a right to be. Was this a relative? Was this Time or Death or Fate? Lady magic preferred a mortal form, but she was more than that and never expected Harry to believe otherwise. Harry swallowed thickly, moving a few, tentative steps forward.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”  The darkness seemed to shift around him, like thick coiling tendrils retracting and pulling into a dense inky mass. Harry tried to make out what the form was, but couldn’t, the darkness was impenetrable, like a wall of shadow all around him. Two glinting yellow lights flashed from far far above the small boy, who felt increasingly smaller in their presence. They seemed to be descending lower and lower, until the form of a tall, pale boy with piercing amber eyes became visible amongst the shadows. His hair seemed to be a void deeper than the abyss of Lady Magic’s creation, and his eyes glowed, illuminating hollow cheekbones and a pinched face that housed a dangerous smile that had far too many sharp teeth.

“Hello Harry Potter- destroyer of worlds. I, am Death.” He wore a simple black cloak that seemed to shimmer and shift as he walked, as if it couldn’t decide whether it was real or not, and a crisp white shirt with pressed black trousers. Harry drunk in Death’s form with morbid fascination, feeling the sheer power radiating from him as it forced his hair to stand on end, as if his entire body was trying to escape the lure of death’s final embrace.

“Hello Death.” Harry said, cursing himself for his wavering voice. Lady Magic had said that Death liked him, found him fascinating and was invested in his life, so why was he shaking so much?

“You have no need to fear me mortal.” Death said plainly, grasping Harry’s chin between surprisingly strong fingers. Death’s nails were black but it didn’t look like paint, and the absence of colour disappeared up his sleeve as if his skin was charred. Death’s golden eyes bored into Harry’s own, and he felt the fear evaporate and his shoulder sag, relieved from a tension he didn’t know he was holding. Death grinned, a feral wicked grin that had sent warlords begging for mercy, kneeling at his feet.

“The stench of power and death is strong with you mortal. For a mere infant of the human race the hunger and power inside you makes me salivate. Yes indeed, Magic was correct in her assumption of your magical prowess, I can only regret not taking you under my own proverbial wing.” His brows furrowed in confusion- stench of death? How could someone smell like death unless they were dead?

“What do you mean- stench of death?” Death let go of his face, allowing Harry to rub his jaw and feel the intense coolness that his touch had left behind.

“My own magic you see, a curse of my own design, so flawless in its use that you cannot dodge it- cannot escape it- except you.” Death stalked around the Ravenclaw, looking him up and down as he assessed the boy’s build, and his hands that shook slightly with a subconscious tremor. “You did escape it, and it lingers still, unable to complete its task, unable to return to its master. It’s only natural then that I should take a vested interest in you, master of my own power, a mere mortal yet controller of gods.” If it were possible Death’s wicked grin stretched further, ivory skin pulled taut like it was about to tear as it made way for more and more teeth. “And that boy, the insect that thought he could usurp the reach of death. Vol-de-mort.” He purred the name affectionately, the french rolling off a pale grey tongue “Flight of death. You sent him running into the hills of albania, a shadow of life, a mere shade of death. Neither living nor dying just- being. And yet I still have to wonder how you did it?”

“Death!” A clear voice shouted from behind, as a small child strode up to the pair, thankfully breaking Death’s unyielding stare. His hair was a brilliant gold, and fell in neat waves around his heart shaped face. His skin was honey and eyes a molten silver. If Harry was asked to describe what a god looked like- this would not be it. Death looked at the newcomer, unperturbed by his sudden appearance.

“Hello Time. I was just making our young mortal’s acquaintance. He is fascinating you know? So fragile, so breakable, yet absolutely indestructible. I fear that perhaps he is beyond your grasp as much as my own.” Death seemed to giggle at this, but the boy- Time, was unperturbed.

“I see. Hello mortal. Harry yes? I, am time, a pleasure.” He stuck out a hand for Harry to shake and Harry grasped it firmly, then fell to his knees.

The battlefield was charred, ash floating in the air along with the stench of the broken and bloodied. He surveyed those still fighting, black cloaks and masks as white as bone, ordinary wizards and witches, some that seemed familiar and yet so alien. He looked at his hands, the white scars of ‘I must not tell lies,’ etched firmly into the grime and blood that marred his once pale hand. Across from him was someone who was once a man, now nothing more than the shell of one. His face was twisted into a snarl, white skin pulled taut over snakelike features.

“I’m sorry Tom.” He whispered, his voice was deep and raspy, as if he had not spoken in a long time. He raised his wand.

Harry woke up in his bed gasping and struggling for breath. The smell of smoke and death seemed to linger on his clothes, and he swore, if only for a second, the scars he had not yet received still stayed on his perfect stretch of skin. On his blankets was the book, closed once again and he was reluctant to touch it, for fear it would transport him back to that hellscape.  

In the void space, Death turned to Time, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect that. How are you going to explain this fiasco to our sister?”

Chapter Text

Dear Harry,

Happy Yule! I hope you’re having a fantastic holiday, father tells me that the Hogwarts decorations are always amazing- not as brilliant as the Malfoy Yule Ball’s naturally, but those balls are always full of stuffy wixen and prissy pureblood girls trying to get into a betrothal contract with an eligible scion. Parkinson used to be so fun at these festivities but even she’s become obsessed with marriage. She’s eleven! Besides, who’d want to marry her? I certainly wouldn’t.

Thank You for your gift! I had no idea that muggles had such advanced writing equipment, I thought they all used quills like the rest of us, but these p̶o̶n̶s pens are brilliant! There aren’t any inkpots to knock over, and these fancy pen lids don’t have the same problem of self-inking quills, which stain everything if you’re not careful. I also adore the beautiful journal you got me, but honestly, your house pride is worse than mine, and Malfoys have been Slytherin for countless generations.

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Draco Lucius Malfoy,

Heir to the ancient and most noble house of Malfoy.

--

Dear Harry,

Merry Christmas! I hope you had good company in Padma and Neville, and enjoy reading the books I sent! They’re my personal favourites so if you want any more book recommendations I’d be happy to send you a list! (Well I might anyway) I really appreciate the books on the sacred 28 and wizarding politics, they go really well with Padma’s books on wizarding etiquette- did you plan that? Anyway, my parents really want to meet you after all the stories I’ve told about you, so perhaps you could come over during the summer! We’re trying to get our house connected to the floo network like Neville suggested, but it’s rather awkward since muggle houses these days don’t usually have fireplaces, just little radiators. Maybe we could say we’re just old fashioned.

Anyway! I hope this letter finds you well, and Professor Snape isn’t giving you a hard time over Christmas of all times! I know he’s been better recently but still, his attitude was appalling!

Yours,

Hermione x

--

To Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

It is with regret that Gringotts bank must inform you that your access to the Potter vaults has been rescinded with the approval of one Harry James Potter. This includes the return of 3,246 galleons, the Potter family grimoire and the Potter family silverware. It has been noted by Ironclaw, chief overseer of the Potter accounts, that the Potter family cloak of invisibility, previously owned by the late Lord Potter has been returned to Harry James Potter on the 25th of December 1991.

Regards,

Ironclaw, clansmen of the silvertongue warriors, chief overseer of the Potter accounts.  

Chapter Text

He dreams of death and destruction that night. Lazy smoke trails up from burning buildings, he can feel the heat of the inferno on his skin. Whispers, thousands of them buzz around his head, overwhelming his senses, dropping him to his knees. He’s an adult again, he thinks. ‘I must not tell lies,’ his hand says. The wand in his hand is not his own, it’s a warmer wood, shorter and thicker, ‘Vine, Dragon heartstring, 10 ¾ inches.’ the wand supplies. The cold cobblestone should not be cold, it deserves to smoulder like the bodies lying in piles of snow. The flames licking their air hungrily, climbing higher and higher in their quest to devour, burn, destroy, devour. He sees shapes in the flames, large serpents and winged beasts. He stands, wand that is not his gripped in a hand that is. He runs, fast, and he does not look back.

Harry awakes, shaken and alone. He fumbles for his glasses, blurry shapes seem like enemies in a dark dormitory. It’s late, or early, he cannot tell and isn’t sure he wants to. The familiar shape of Ouroboros lies beside him, staring yet fast asleep. When he was younger Harry used to watch the rise and fall of his tiny chest, watching his dull eyes watch nothing. In awe of the life around him, the magic Ouro’s presence proved was real.  Did snakes dream? Harry doesn’t want to wake him, so grabs his wand to check the time. It’s two in the morning, and he just knows that he’s awake by providence. Beside him, Ouro stirs, glassy eyes turned to life.

“Speaker?” he hissed out “wizards are supposed to sleep when it is dark. Have you decided to change your mind about the best hours to hunt?” Harry stroked his scales softly, fingertips brushing over their keeled edges to ground himself to this place. Hogwarts is still, so still, it feels lost to time. If he didn’t leave, perhaps it would remain twilight forever.

“I couldn’t sleep, Ouro. You don’t have to worry about it, go back to bed.” Ouroboros ignored his request, slithering across his speaker’s lithe form in a serpentine attempt at comfort. His warming charm had worn off in the night. Harry casts another to protect his friend from the bitter chill. At the end of his bed is the brown paper package, undisturbed from where he left it that morning. ‘Use it well,’ he recalls it saying, and before he can change his mind, he wraps Ouro around his shoulders, heavier than he used to be, but Harry is as well, slips on his shoes and grabs the cloak.

Perhaps a walk would clear his mind.

--

The corridors of Hogwarts were emptier than Harry had ever seen them. The moon hung in the sky, illuminating the cold flagstones and Harry’s path forward. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t much care either, wandering aimlessly from Ravenclaw tower seemed like the best way to forget the images of pain haunting his sleep, and it seemed that everyone at dinner, including the teachers, were rather complacent on yule. All the professors had partaken in professor Trelawney’s sherry collection, except for Snape, which was who he didn’t want to disappoint the most by getting caught out after curfew. The windows let in enough light to cast shadows on the wall behind him, but Harry couldn’t make out his own shadow at all. It was as if he wasn’t even there, the light passed straight through him, sound couldn’t leave. Using his wand, he cast a Lumos, and found that the light didn’t escape his cloak at all. ‘What kind of magic,’ Harry thought to himself, ‘could go against the laws of physics?’

At the end of the corridor, a shadow approached. With his poor eyesight, Harry couldn’t make out what it was, only that he didn’t want to be caught, even accidentally by something or someone bumping into him. Explaining what he was doing out of bed, and how he came across an invisibility cloak would be too much trouble- so, he hid.

An open door to an empty classroom was only a few paces back, and Harry slipped inside with a practised ease. Hiding was a way of life at the Dursley’s, he didn’t not want to be noticed and bothered, and that same principle applied to being in the wizarding world, deified or vilified, without room to just be. Harry controlled his breathing, and adjusted the cloak to make sure that it completely covered him and Ouroboros, who seemed to be on the lookout for prey, and reared back in case his venom was needed.

‘Is anyone there my sweet?’ a sickly sweet voice called out, it was the caretaker, Filch, a nasty squib who hated anyone with magic but seemed to hate purebloods most of all. It didn’t matter that Harry was actually a halfblood, the name of Potter was good enough to forfeit that luxury.  Mrs Norris, now obviously the shape that Harry had seen stalking down the corridor only meowed back in response, walking completely passed the classroom that Harry hid in the corner of. Filch passed by moments later, his beady little eyes squinting through the gloom as he tried to figure out if anyone was there. Satisfied with his search, the grubby man kept walking, allowing Harry the pleasure of having a normal heart rate once again.

He looked around the room, dust particles illuminated by the fading moonlight. There was an empty blackboard at the back, with a few desks and chairs pushed into the walls to make room for a large ornate mirror, with gilded gold edges.

‘Is it normal to house shiny objects in the middle of wizard habitats speaker?’ Ouro hissed quietly into his ear. His forked tongue tickled Harry’s neck, and he had to resist performing a full body shudder at its touch.

‘No. I’m not sure but housing a mirror like this is definitely suspect. Perhaps they were just asking for someone to find it.’

The boy stepped towards it, spotting intricate carvings along the top and sides of the mirror’s frame. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. The mirror said. Harry wondered what it meant. He took off his cloak to see himself in the mirror, chances are that someone wouldn’t intentionally leave a random mirror in a classroom, so there must be something more to it, something Harry hadn’t yet understood. He saw his own reflection gaze back into himself. Green eyes on green eyes, and then, it wasn’t just him. Beside him was a tall figure, possibly male but there were no features distinguishable on the pale frame. As much as Harry tried to make them out, they escaped him anyway, too blurred to appreciate, but he knew they were smiling, even if he didn’t know why. The form had their hand intertwined with his own, and Harry longed for that kind of easy familiarity. Behind the duo was Lady Magic, Death, Time and a few others including a man with messy black hair, and a woman with bright green eyes. His family, gods and humans alike. He stared, and stared and he couldn’t look away. All of his family in one place, Death, who seemed far less dangerous trapped in a mirror, Magic, with that sweet sincere smile she always had when Harry visited, Time with an unknown woman with short brown hair chatting excitedly about something no doubt as random and as ridiculous as their last conversation. His parents, Lily and James, embraced and staring at him, eyes full of so much love it made his eyes water. Ouroboros brought him out of his stupor, with a dry bite to his hand.

‘Speaker? You’ve been here for far too long, we should go.’ and it had been hours, and the sun was climbing into the sky, greeting the world with pink and orange, and Harry realised how tired he felt and knew that he should climb into bed and sleep for at least a little while before Padma came to pester him about an essay or two. He got up, cold knees creaking with disuse, pulled on his cloak and left the mirror.

He didn’t want to come back.

Chapter Text

Harry thought about the mirror often, often enough that Padma began to worry when he stared off into space like he had a problem to solve. The Yule holiday passed like this, in comfortable silence, Harry, reading about magical artefacts or legilimency, or runes, but not really. Padma, reading about heroes and beasts, or charms, but not really. She studied Harry’s face intently, concern evident on her delicate features.

‘Harry, what’s wrong?’ Harry break from his reverie, eyes focusing back on the present, on Padma, as she sat next to him in the comfortable blue armchairs of the common room. ‘You’ve been staring into space constantly for the last few days, is there anything I can help with?’ Harry just smiled wryly, setting the book onto his lap and taking Padma’s hands into his.

‘Actually, there is.’

The pair left the common room, Padma taking two steps for every one of Harry’s. He walked with purpose, grim determination on his features as he retraced his steps from a few nights ago, the empty classroom, door still ajar, waiting patiently for him like it expected his return any time now.

‘The mirror,’ Harry said quietly, unwilling to completely break the spell of the silence around the classroom. ‘Look into the mirror and tell me what you see.’ Padma did so, dark brown eyes staring intently at her reflection before widening in surprise.

‘I’m a charms mistress, a-a member of the wizengamot, my sister is there too, she’s smiling so sweetly she’s proud of me. My grandmother! My grandmother is there too! But- but she died when I was five how is this possible?’ Harry stared at the reflection of the two unknown boys, stared at Death and Time and Magic, no doubt Love and Destiny too.

‘I don’t know. I can only imagine it shows what you want to see, I can see my family, but, my parents are dead so it can’t show the future.’ Harry didn’t want to mention the deities, or the faceless figure he had come to cherish since seeing them for the first time. Those secrets were his and his alone, not even Padma, dear as she was to him, would ever understand, or ever find out.

Padma traced the odd looking runes on the mirror’s frame, a puzzled expression on her face.

‘I think these are the english alphabet, do you think? No that would be too simple.’

‘Think what, Pads? You’re very rarely wrong.’

‘Maybe the text is just backwards. It’s on a mirror after all.’ Mulling it over for a second, Harry nodded, pulling out a scrap of parchment and a pen to write the letters backwards.

‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire. You were right it was reflected. Stars know why it was, but it was.’

‘Oh!’ Padma seemed excited, positively vibrating on the spot as her eyes gleamed with an  epiphany. ‘I’ve heard of this mirror, Nonna used to tell me stories about it when I was a little girl. The mirror of Erised, shows your deepest desires, many wixen have wasted away in front of it, entranced by the images of things that they can’t obtain. Only the happiest man in the world could stand in front of it and see only himself.’ Harry couldn’t help but laugh

‘Those are the kinds of stories parents tell their kids here? Talk about morbid.’ Padma only grinned in reply.

‘I know, but here’s the bigger question, what’s it doing in the middle of an abandoned classroom anyway? Anyone could stumble across it!’

That was a good question, actually.

--

In the Gryffindor boys dormitory two boys get changed for a quick beaters game against each other before the train comes in delivering the rest of the students back at school after the holidays. It is only because they’re alone that they notice a small leatherbound book appearing on the table between their two beds, it seems as old as the restricted section books in the school library, but it’s not a book either of them had heard of before, and the title has faded to much to completely make out. ‘Th? L??e O? S?u???te M??icke’ was all that was visible, and the tiny author’s name, written in emerald ink, ‘Cassandra Valbatsky’. The name was just as unfamiliar as the book, and the twins looked at each other confused.

‘Not yours Georgie?’ George shook his head and Fred’s brow furrowed. Perhaps this was revenge for one of their many pranks, so one couldn’t be too careful. Picking up his wand, Fred levitated open the cover, George casting a small shield in case there was a nasty charm hidden inside. Nothing. The book seemed innocent enough, and there wasn’t a quidditch game in the world that could be more interesting than a mystery book of mysterious origins on a mysterious topic. Brooms forgotten, they sat on the nearest bed and began to read.

‘15th October 1458, To anyone who finds this book I give thee a warning- There is no magic as ancient and deadly as that of the soul, many witches and wizards have gone mad in their quest to seek the power over it, and many more have died trying. Soulbonds cannot be forced, cannot be broken, and must not be tampered with, for the safety of everyone, and the sanctity of magic. Use this book wisely, and use it well. -Cassandra’

George turned the page as the warning sunk in, neither him nor his brother were on any quest for ancient magic, and whatever force had left this book in their possession seemed to agree with them. They’d be careful sure, but the tiny, hidden part of them that was blue and bronze shone through, they had to know more.

Chapter one- soulbonds.

Soulbonds are the greatest ties between wixen possible. Bonded mages can draw power from each other, read each other's minds, and a fully realised soulbond creates an intense surge of power for all bonded. There are four types of soulbond, platonic, romantic, duo and triad.

Platonic-

Platonic soulmates are magically powerful but do not have the same romantic pull, they remain brothers and sisters in all but blood and draw strength from each other but can survive the breaking of a soulbond. Soulbonds can be created through the sharing of blood and an intense emotional and magical connection. The triple fold tie is especially powerful in a triad bond.

Romantic-

Romantic soulmates are the strongest of the two, being able to sire extremely powerful offspring and read each other's minds. However, if this soulbond should break, with the death of any of the bonded, or its rejection, then all bonded will most likely die, succumbing to an overwhelming grief that depletes their will to continue living.

Duo-

Duo bonds are simply between two wixen, and are extremely stable. These bonds become the foundation for most soulmagic and two bonded are usually opposites that balance each other out.

Triad-

Triad bonds follow the arithmetic truth of three being a magically significant number. Therefore triad bonds are more powerful, if less stable. It’s likely triad bonded wixen will not be complete opposites. Triad bonds are more common with magically identical twins, who share a magical core (albeit enlarged) as their magic is most complimentary to a single other.

Fred skipped a few chapters, skimming them slightly as he tries to find a less dry section. They’d read the whole thing, of course, but that would take time, so he’d try to find the most important bits now.

Cor Carecerem

The Cor Carecerem potion enables the drinker to find his or her soulmate or best magical match in a twenty-four hour period. The drinker’s sight becomes black and white for this timeframe, and their bonded will appear a dark gold.  For full effect the potion must be brewed starting at the summer solstice to be finished by its equinox. Each ingredient must be added under the light of a new moon, and placed under stasis until the next ingredient is ready. Failure in any of these steps will result in a potion that will turn the drinker golden for twenty-four hours, or, if irreparably ill followed, death. It is optimal that the intended drinkers brew the potion themselves to infuse the brew with their magic. It is important to note that not every wix will have a soulmate match, but this potion will also find those most suited to a formed platonic bond, who will shine with a pale golden light.

Ingredients:

Copper cauldron

Copper stirring rod

Jobberknoll Feather

Knotgrass

Aconite

Ginger Root

Eye of Newt

Moonstone

Essence of wormwood

Large pot of purified seawater.

Fred looked at his brother intently, before letting out a large huff. ‘Jobberknoll Feather? Essence of wormwood? They’re not exactly giving those out for free, how are we supposed to find these?’

‘Well I’m sure Snape has most of these, if we distract him we could get a few supplies and start it when we get back to the burrow.’ George looked pensive as he thought about their options. There was no proof that they had a soulmate, and if they mess up the potion it’s likely the results would be disastrous. But… they were left this book for a reason, and they weren’t that bad at potions. Maybe they could even give Snape a copy of the recipe if it worked, Jobberknoll parts weren’t cheap. Besides, Valbatsky had said that magically identical twins were likely to have one, and the weasley twins, much like generations of prewett twins before them, had been just that.

‘I guess that’s our summer plans then, Freddie.’

Chapter Text

The abyss was thick, like tar, and drenched in the sweet smell of Magic in its purest form. Death and Time were waiting for the arrival of their favourite sister, passing the time by playing a game of Egyptian cards.

“You know,” Death said, with a menacing grin on his face, “Magic is going to tear you a new one for scaring her ward.” Time made a face, placing the sphinx card down on top Death’s Bennu.

“It was hardly my fault, it’s been a millennia since I’ve interacted with mortals, the last time that happened the russians invented the time turner. Sphinx tops Bennu, by the way, do you have Ammit?” It was Death’s turn to scowl, as in fact, he did not. Picking up two new cards from a small deck on the side, Death placed another Sphinx, before sorting his cards in order of worth.

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it, I watched him for a while afterwards, you know? Even Life was angry that you had upset the poor boy. While I find it hilarious, he is my Master, whether he knows it or not.” Time placed another card, and Death grinned “Ha! Apep! That’s another counter for me my friend.”

“How am I supposed to fix it? I can’t exactly undo the gift of Time. The poor lamb’s already been rewired.” Time handed over one of his precious golden counters, and in chalk Death drew another line. Their game had been going on for centuries, and both were around even in the amount of games they had won. The air in the void shifted, and Time packed the game up with a snap of his fingers. Magic was coming.

“Sister!” Time exclaimed, reddening beneath the collar just a little. “It’s been too long, are you well?” Magic, not one for pageantry when angered, just stormed towards her brother with an angry expression.

“Am I well? Am I well? Brother are you a God or not? Control your bloody powers before I deem it fit to relieve you of them! My son was traumatised at his visions, and I’m sure you don’t want to see the outcome if I get involved.” Death, who had stood off to the side to avoid his sister’s wrath, placed a comforting hand on Magic’s shoulder.

“Sister,” he demurred, “It was an accident, leave our poor brother alone hmm? How about occlumency? With a little gift from you and I young Harry should be able to block the visions much easier.” Lady Magic thought for a second, relief flooding Time as her expression became calmer.

“Yes, you’re quite right brother mine, Harry should feel much better with a little occlumency. Perhaps I should teach some extra steps to him this summer. He just about managed a mental shield before the start of term.”  

“That’s settled then!” Death clapped his hands together, “How about another round of cards Time? To celebrate? Magic would you care to join?”

“I can’t, Death, I’m afraid there’s something wrong with one of Harry’s professors. He positively reeks of your essence, I believe that perhaps the Riddle boy has found his way into Hogwarts.” In his shock, Death’s form flickered, a small glimmer of a skeletal figure underneath.

“Riddle? Thomas Riddle?” Time arched an eyebrow as Death’s eyes glowed with joy.

“Dear sister how about I accompany you? I’d love to see my darling Riddle again. The one that got away, oh how I long for his embrace.” Time simply straightened out his tunic and patted Death on the shoulder.

“Enjoy your Riddle hunt brother, perhaps Destiny would enjoy a round of cards instead.”

--

The spring term at Hogwarts was positively flying by, classes blurring into boring lectures and slumps over library tables with books upon books upon books. Madam Pince never let him take out more than three at a time, and Harry took great pleasure in sneaking back after hours with his cloak to read to his heart’s content. He’d learned many things in the dark; warding, protection, nasty hexes and runes. He learned how to make things unnoticeable, and how to make people forget what they should have never known about. Perhaps it was because of a childhood of solitude, but he much preferred this studying in silence, a small jar of bluebell flames and his trunk, stuffed full of old tomes, than the useless chatter and bickering of his friends. Sure, he enjoyed their company, but it was too much a lot of the time, overwhelmed with their presence, but unable to slink away as often as he wished. Much of this time was spent with Ouroboros, who understood, as only serpents could really, Harry’s need for solitude and quiet, as snakes only met others to be born, mate and kill. You could get away with most things under the cover of darkness, Harry mused to himself often, as even the portraits were asleep and the teacher’s preferred to sleep and pretend that teenagers would respect the rules set on them, and things wouldn’t go bump in the night.

It came as no surprise then, that on one of these nights, on the way back from the library around midnight, that he came across an incensed Severus Snape, threatening the defence professor, Quirrel. Harry flattened himself against the stone wall immediately, invisibility cloak covering his small frame and masking his presence from what he knew would be an uncomfortable conversation. Quirrell was stuttering worse than before, appearing clearing anxious and deathly pale.

“...d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places Severus…” He only managed to catch half of the sentence, but it seemed they hadn’t been there long, and Harry tried his hardest to calm his breathing and still his pulse, he couldn’t cast a silencio or muffliato so close to the professors, the rush of magic would be obvious.

“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private.” Snape said icily, “Students aren’t supposed to know about the philosopher’s stone, after all.” Harry idly looked around the corridor, and it was certainly private enough, there weren’t any portraits in this section of the castle, no windows to let in the moonlight, and it was far enough from the library and main bathrooms that no student would have a feasible reason to walk this way, unless of course, they were out of bounds after curfew. Quirrell began to mumble and Harry strained to hear it- he couldn’t risk moving closer for fear of exposure, the potions master, after all, was a renown spy, he would be detected easily, Snape interrupted him anyway, with his crisp, curt tone.

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”

“B-b-but Serverus, I-”

“You don’t want me as your enemy Quirrell,” Snape said,  taking a step towards him. Quirrell stepped back almost immediately, and the Ravenclaw wondered, not for the first time, how he became a professor in defence.

“I-I don’t know what you-”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.” Snape’s lips spread into a wicked sneer “there’s only four more to figure out Quirinus. Come back to me when you’ve figured out where exactly your loyalties lie.” without even so much as a glance towards the professor, Severus Snape stalked off, leaving Quirrell pale and still standing in place. Harry scurried off, trying to figure out just why on Magic’s green earth the philosopher’s stone was in the castle, when it had lived just fine for five centuries with the Flamels, and why Snape- or Quirrell was after it.

--

Exams were ten weeks away and it seemed that all of Ravenclaw house noticed this at once. Hermione and Padma were in a frenzy, dragging both Harry and Lewis into late-night study sessions that Draco and Neville were, fortunately, able to escape only because of houses. That did not, however, excuse them from every free period and lunchtime spent holed up in the library, or practising common charms in abandoned classrooms (of which Hogwarts had many). Padma had finally thrown off the strange stupor she had been in after seeing the mirror of Erised in person, and it showed with the fervour of which she threw herself into learning the twelve uses of dragon’s blood,  and wand movements she had practised hundreds of times over. Harry, confident in his abilities, simply carried on learning and exploring new things, ‘the Basics of Arithmacy’, ‘Occluding the Mind’, ‘the Wizengamot: Simplified’.

The weather had finally taken a turn for the better too, as January turned to February turned to March and April. Sure, there was rain and wind some days, but the others were warm and pleasant, and the happy group of friends took to studying by the lake, in a small copse of trees that shielded them from most prying eyes without the use of magic. Ravenclaw thrashed Gryffindor, who hadn’t managed to replace their seeker with anyone good. Harry had confided in them about the strange scene he had come across between Snape and Quirrel and Hermione who thought it was incredibly suspicious wondered who of them was after the stone and who wanted to protect it while Padma did her hair in pretty updos, and quizzed her on pureblood etiquette. Hermione soaked it up like a sponge, and it showed in the grudging respect Draco gave her, along with permission to use his first name. In confidence some weeks before, Draco had said that he didn’t dislike mudbloods for being mudbloods, as he so crassly put it, but their ignorance of wixie tradition impacted the way purebloods lived. Their rituals and celebrations being traded in for muggle ones, and judeo-christian ideologies. ‘Without true worship of magic,’ Draco had explained ‘Her gifts could be taken, and magic’s blessing lost to us all. It’s already started with the old rituals, necromancy was once just for communicating beyond the veil but it’s so completely banned by the ministry, and the education so restricted, that Samhain might as well just be Halloween.’ Harry mulled this over pensively.  It was true that the integration of muggleborns had flushed out more olden traditions, but if muggleborns were shunned, how could they be taught?

And that was the question wasn’t it? It seemed that most were content to lie like pigs in mud, content with the stagnation of progress and the removal of grand traditions that their forefathers had held so dear. But Harry was not most people, and he had seen firsthand the way Lady Magic sometimes trembled, sometimes shook, sometimes greyed when she thought Harry wasn’t looking. He could understand how dark lords could rise and inspire rebellion in the masses, he could understand hatred for muggleborns.

He understood, and so he would change it himself, if he had to.

Chapter Text

Summer had finally descended on the Scottish Highlands, just in time for exams. Perhaps, Harry thought on more than one occasion, that this was Magic’s way of punishing him for not speaking to her often, but he was still too afraid of what had happened with Time to return any time soon. Revision had reached fever pitch in Ravenclaw house, and Hermione was driving everyone crazy with the fanatical way she studied History and Charms and Transfiguration as if she hadn’t learned anything over the year despite the several times she had to owl order new parchment after filling up yards of it with notes. It had been a gruelling couple of weeks, but Harry was sure he had at least gotten exceeds in all subjects, both practical and theory, as he made a pineapple both tapdance and perform a beautiful pas-de-deux with an orange in charms, to Flitwick’s delight, and transfigured a mouse into a snuffbox encrusted with rubies and embellished with gold, just to butter McGonagall  up since he was sure she was still upset about his sorting into a non-Gryffindor house.

The final exam being History of Magic was boring, and the room was far too hot for anyone’s liking.  Harry, Padma, Draco and Hermione decided to hide under the shade of a large oak tree by the black lake, glad that their exams were over, and that their homework would lighten drastically for the last few weeks of the year. Padma was happily braiding Hermione’s hair, conjuring pink and blue flowers into it as she went, and Draco seemed to be soaking up the sun like a cat and was going slightly pink in the sun’s heat. Harry was leaning against the trunk of the tree, watching the clouds drift by when a particularly concerned, nervous voice broke him from his reverie.

“Harry! Guys!” It was Neville Longbottom, running up towards them, heaving in great lungfuls of air, it was clear that this was important, and that whatever it was, Neville had come straight to them. Pride and loyalty burned in Harry’s chest, it was nice. Padma stopped her braiding, murmuring a spell that finished it off quickly and Draco sat up, far more alert then he had been seconds before.

“What’s wrong Neville? Come, sit down, you look like you’ve run all the way here.” Padma said kindly, though her face was schooled into careful seriousness. The Gryffindor collapsed in a boneless heap, still panting heavily.

“Weasley’s decided that Snape is going to go after the thing hidden on the third floor! He was talking to Seamus and Dean, saying it was the philosopher’s stone and that because Dumbledore is at the ministry today he’s going after it tonight!” Draco clapped Neville on the back, pulling out a vial of silvery liquid.

“Take this Longbottom, it’s just a calming draught but it looks like you’re going to have a panic attack any second.” Neville just smiled weakly, uncorking the vial and swallowing it with a grimace. The effect was instantaneous, the tension completely disappeared from Neville’s shoulders, and his breathing evened out.

Thank You Malfoy, I appreciate it.” Draco simply waved it off. Harry looked pensive at this information, Weasley wasn’t smart enough to figure all of that out by himself, and he was wrong about Snape anyway, was this a setup?

“Can you remember anything else, Neville?” The boy shook his head, pulling up small clumps of grass idly.

“Not really, Weasley said he was going to go there just after dinner and catch Snape red-handed.” Hermione snorted in a rather unladylike manner.

“He really thinks that a first year is going to be able to stop Professor Snape? Not only is he a teacher, but he’s also a formidable duellist!” Harry nodded at Hermione’s outburst, it was true that a first-year wouldn’t be able to help much, nevermind one as lazy and incompetent as Ronald Weasley, but it was also true that it wouldn’t be fair nor kind to send him off to his death like that. After all, Harry had a distinct advantage, he had Lady Magic.

“We can’t just stand by idly though,” Harry muttered, stroking his chin. “We’ll have to go after him, after all, it’s not Snape I’m worried about. It’s Quirrel .”

---

The clock chimed ten in the Ravenclaw tower, and Harry met Hermione and Padma at the bottom of the dormitory steps. There were still some upperclassmen milling about the common room, but none paid attention to the shadowy alcove by the stairs, and none could pay attention after Harry swung his cloak over the trio.

“Wait until someone enters the common room, curfew just struck so it shan’t take long,” Harry murmured into the girls’ ears. They both whispered back their agreement and understanding, and as soon as another student opened the door, they were out and down the steps, on the way to the third floor.

It felt forbidden and wrong to be doing this, Harry felt like he was betraying Magic by actively seeking out danger, and mentally berated himself for his Gryffindorish tendencies, but it’s not like Weasley deserved to die for his stupidity, and it’s not like he was just going to allow Quirrell to make off with the stone, if it was actually the stone that he was after. The third floor seemed empty for a moment before Neville and Draco shimmered into view. Draco looked especially proud of himself, having disillusioned himself and Neville, a third-year spell. Harry pulled off the cloak and packed it into his pocket, which had been spelled with an undetectable extension charm for exactly that purpose.

“Neville, Draco.” Harry greeted both of the boys, “Were there any problems getting here?”

“No, I got Neville from the Gryffindor common room, we saw Weasley take off past us, but we were invisible at that point. I’ve set up a caterwauling ward to go off on the other side of the castle in ten minutes, Filch shouldn’t be a problem either, especially if he tripped it early.”

Harry smiled at his friend’s genius. Hermione looked around at each of her friends, clearly anxious about the situation they were about to get themselves into, it broke a good seven school rules and although less uptight than she used to be, her hands still twitched at the thought of being caught and expelled.

“Padma and I spent all afternoon looking through books about popular defences in the library, we heard rumours that there was a three-headed dog guarding the stone-”

“We don’t actually know if it’s the stone!” Padma interjected, but Hermione only waved her hand dismissively.

“Semantics, whatever it’s guarding you just have to play music and it goes to sleep, easy as pie.” With all of that taken care of, Neville handed Harry a small music box and prepared himself to unlock the door.

“ Alohamora! ” Neville whispered, and the door creaked open slowly, inside was a great huge best, bigger than any Harry had ever seen before, with three monstrous heads. A harp was already playing in the corner, which put the group of first years on edge. If music was already playing, that means that someone had already come this way. Facing Quirrell was most likely inevitable now. In the corner was a shaking heap of black robes and orange hair, quickly identified as Ronald Weasley, Draco walked over there and poke him with his wand, muttering a Silencio to ensure he didn’t scream in surprise.

“Shut it, Weasley! We don’t know why you were stupid enough to do this by yourself but since Dumbledore’s not here we’ll have to do it ourselves, stop shaking!” Weasley seemed to be trying to shout obscenities at the young Malfoy heir, growing redder and redder in the face as he realised his voice had been taken. Hermione and Padma had begun to move one extremely heavy and sharp looking claw away from the trapdoor in the middle of the floor, with the help of Harry and Neville, while Draco kept Weasley company, much to his chagrin. The door opened, the music stopped, everyone scrambled through the floor unscathed.

They had landed on something surprisingly soft, Harry had realised, muttering a quick Lumos to see where exactly they had ended up. They could hear the Cerberus barking rather madly as it tried to bite them through the floor, but it couldn’t even fit a paw inside the trapdoor, to everyone’s relief. Harry felt something tighten around his ankle, something slithered around his waist.

“Harry!” Draco cried out, struggling against the leafy constraints “What is this? How do we get out of this one!”

“Stop moving!” Neville hissed, being as still as possible. “It’s Devil’s Snare, if you stop moving it will let you go!” Neville fell through the plant, lading on the stone below with a thud. “I’m fine! Just stop struggling! Trust me!” Padma and Harry fell through next, looking at each other with matching grins of relief.

“Ronald! Stop wiggling for Merlin’s sake!” Hermione shouted, “It’s going to crush you harder the harder to try to get out of it!”

“It’s already eaten three of us, Granger! I’m not going down without a fight!” Draco fell through next, Harry fired off a cushioning charm to save him some bruises later.

“We’re running out of time Potter! Is there anything else we can do? Because it’s clear Weasley hasn’t a lick of common sense.” Hermione landed gracefully on her feet a moment later, scowling in a frightening fashion.

“Lumos Solem!” She cried, and a great beam of light flared out from the tip of her wand, burning away the powerful vines keeping Weasley in place. The plant writhed and screamed in pain, before retreating as far away as possible from the Ravenclaw witch.

“Nice one Hermione!” Padma cheered, but Neville looked on forlorn.

“What a poor, poor plant. Professor Sprout has probably been looking after that plant for decades!”

It was at this moment Harry decided to look around the room they were in, it was a long stone corridor, fairly narrow and quite damp. Mould seemed to creep up the walls and it was clearly a disused part of the castle, with the amount of cobwebs spinning out from the corners of the ceiling. They pressed on silently, and a tad bit fearfully, as if expecting Quirrell, (or Snape in Ron’s case, as no one had bothered correcting him) to jump out and fire off curses in that awful stutter of his at any moment. All they could hear now was their footsteps, and the gentle dripping of water down the walls as the passageway sloped downwards. Harry cast a Silencio on his shoes and encouraged the others to do the same. The element of surprise, and their numbers, would be the only advantages they would get.

“Can you hear something?” Padma asked quietly, gripping her wand so tight her knuckles bleached at the pressure. There was a faint rustling and clinking noise coming from the door up ahead.

“Could it be a ghost? Peeves maybe?” Draco asked and Hermione shook her head in disagreement.

“I don’t know, it sounded like wings, maybe?”

“A dragon?! Gringotts has dragons I don’t see why this mess wouldn’t!” Neville gulped fearfully

“I think we’d hear more roars if it was a dragon Nev,” Harry soothed, “But look! There’s light up ahead.”

Ahead was a brilliantly lit chamber that had the group squinting as they adjusted to the new levels of light. Around the room raced a huge flock of birds, too high up to see properly,  they didn’t look very dangerous, but Harry supposed that if enough of them came at him at once, the end result would be quite messy.

“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross?” someone, probably Neville, whispered from behind.

“I vote Weasley tests that theory since he’s the reason we’re all here.” Draco drawled, though his shoulders were too tense, betraying his nerves. Ronald took exception to that, however, and set his jaw firmly in an angry expression.

“I’ll do it! But not because you want me to, Malfoy, but because I’m not a Slytherin coward like you!” With a small bout of hesitation, he ran across the large chamber, surprisingly fast, and tried the door on the other side. The birds kept flying above, paying him no notice, and the door, unsurprisingly, was locked. As the group walked up to the large door, Neville cast Alohamora again, but even that didn’t work.

“However we’re supposed to get through that door, it must have something to do with the birds,” Hermione said thoughtfully

“‘Mione!! They’re not birds!” Padma pointed up, eyes wide with excitement. “Look! They’re keys! ” Everyone turned to look at the birds above, and they glinted in the torchlight. Padma was right, each ‘bird’ was actually a key with wings.

“That's great and all, but how are we supposed to catch one? How do we know which key is the right one either?” They all studied the room, trying to figure out what to do when Neville spotted broomsticks in the corner. “Well, I don’t suppose we could just catch them?”

“Yes! We could! Can you see that key flying slower than the rest? Its wing is broken, probably from being shoved through the keyhole!” Hermione clapped her hands with pride, pleased with herself for solving another puzzle.

“I do not trust those brooms,” Draco shuddered “Doesn’t anyone know a summoning charm? I’m sure you could just summon it instead, we don’t all have to be Gryffindors you know,” He said haughtily.

“Oh all right Draco, no need to be a twat about it,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “Accio broken key!” The key in question, a large silver one with bright blue (albeit bent) winds flew towards them at top speed. Harry caught it deftly in his left hand, and unlocked the door. These challenges were surprisingly simple, and Harry wondered if the next was going to be easy, or get progressively more dangerous.

The room they walked into was extremely dark, but as they stepped into it light flooded in, revealing the edge of a huge chessboard. They were standing behind rows of massive chess pieces, each carved from enormous pieces of stone.

“What do we do now?” Padma asked, afraid of the answer.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco asked, “We’ve got to play our way across.”

Behind the white chess pieces, was the next door.

“I think we might have to be chessmen,” Neville said, with a clear tremor in his voice. Normal chess was one thing, but Wizard’s chess was infinitely more dangerous, and there was a chance one of them wouldn’t make it out unscathed. Not for the first time that evening, Harry was reminded of his shortcomings, he was horrible at chess.

Draco walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. Immediately, the stone sprang to life. The horse huffed and pawed at the ground, and the knight turned his head to look down at the young heir.

“Great knight, do we have to join your ranks to get across?” The knight nodded, the sound of grinding stone coming from the movement. “Don’t be offended guys, but are any of you that good at chess?”

“I am!” Weasley said indignantly, “The best in my family.”

“The best of the Weasleys? Indeed. What an achievement.”

“Draco can you put the Malfoy-Weasley blood feud aside for even a moment? Our lives are on the line here!” Neville scolded, every inch the Longbottom heir he was raised to be.

“Fine Longbottom. Weasley! Go be the other knight, Harry, take the castle, Padma, the bishop, Hermione you can be a bishop as well, Longbottom take the pawn at B7.” At Malfoy’s commands, each piece jumped aside to make room for the young and extremely nervous wixen.

“We’ll have to wait for them to start, White moves first, always.” At this, a white pawn moved forward two squares. Draco started to debate with Ron the most bloodless way to move across, directing pieces one each.

“Potter! Move four squares to the left, take the knight.” All of them were pale and shaking as a few black pieces, thankfully actually stone and not flesh, were obliterated by the white forces. With a single wrong move that could be one of them, and they were running out of pieces. Perhaps too late, Draco had realised that in order to win as quickly as possible, the pawn at B7 had to be taken. Longbottom.

“Neville,” Draco started, “I think you’re about to be taken and-” he flushed, trying to keep a handle on his breathing, Malfoys, after all, did not cry .  

“Do it.” Neville said calmly. There was a fierce determination in his eyes. “If you do it, Harry will be about to checkmate the King right?” Draco nodded, not trusting his voice. “Then do it, order me to move. We can’t stand around all night can we?” Draco looked at the other boy with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry. Neville, take the bishop at A4, the king will probably take you, but then-”

“Then we can win.” Neville said, trembling. He moved over to the bishop, who bowed, signifying it being taken, and moved from the bored. The faceless king loomed over Neville, before smacking him to the ground with a stone hand. Neville fell to the floor, pale and unconscious. Harry moved to checkmate the king, eyes never moving off the fallen form of his friend. The king’s sword clattered to the ground, the door at the end of the chamber opened. Everyone left their squares, running over to Neville.

“He’s still breathing, I’ll- I’ll stay with him, Ronald, here,” Padma handed Ron a music box, “Get out of here, we need a teacher, I don’t know any healing spells and he’s bleeding quite bad.” Ron nodded, running back the way they came with grim determination. He felt guilty for being the reason they all came this way, if he hadn’t decided to catch Snape trying to steal the stone, Neville wouldn’t be injured.

“We’ll go on, be safe Pads,” Hermione said, hugging Padma close, Padma only nodded, blinking tears away.

“Give him hell Harry.”

--

They had passed a mutilated Troll on the way passed, and Hermione blanched at the sight. She hadn’t quite gotten over Halloween, and the smell was so awful that they had to stop so Draco could quietly vomit in the corner, as elegantly as one could vomit. The Troll was missing its eyes, and its head had a large dent into it, with a bloody piece of rock laying to the left. The now trio stepped over its legs quickly, anxiously awaiting the next room and hoping that no one else would get hurt.

The next room wasn’t scary at all, just a table with a piece of parchment and a neat row of bottles. They stepped over the threshold and immediately black flames sprung up from both directions. Hermione stepped over to read the parchment, hoping the answer would be quick to solve.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle-wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side

Second, different are those who stand at either end

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third as you see clearly, all are different size

Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Seven vials of varying sized sat innocently on the small table. Hermione pondered the answer for several minutes, a furious look of concentration of her face, before she snapped her fingers.

“Got it!” From the line, she plucked the smallest vial, from the middle, and a rather large round one from the farthest right. The smallest one, she handed to Harry, smiling softly though it didn’t reach her eyes. “This one will take you forward through the flames, but there’s only enough for you. You’re the best at defensive spells, it’s only fair it goes to you.” The other one, she held out to Draco, “There’s enough for both of us to drink this one and move backwards, we might be able to levitate Neville up the trapdoor if both us and Padma work together.” Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulder, and looked him right in the eye.

“Don’t be stupid Potter, you hear me? I’ll kill you if you die on me!” Harry nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I promise that if I die I’ll come back to haunt your pale skinny arse. Now go on back, I’ll go, be a hero.” Harry swallowed the potion quickly, shivering as his veins turned to ice. He dashed through the flames before he could talk himself out of it, and descended into the black.

--

 Harry drew his faithful wand as he cautiously descended the stairs, at the bottom in a small room was a large ornate mirror, and Professor Quirrell. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stopped just short of the last step.

‘Magic?’ He thought, and he prayed to all that was holy that Magic heard him.

‘My childe, what have you gotten yourself into?’ Lady Magic’s voice was music to his ears.

‘I’m sorry, Weasley was going to get hurt, and we couldn’t let Quirrell run amok, you said he was dangerous!’

‘My sweet boy, it is not him who is dangerous, it is his master. Keep him occupied, I will step in the second you ask me to.’ Harry nodded, tightening his grip on his wand.

“Fancy seeing you here Professor,” He said nonchalantly, portraying a kind of confidence he certainly didn’t feel. “I assume that the Troll on Halloween was just a failed distraction?” Quirrell whirled around, shock evident on his features.

“Potter! What a surprise! Well I’m not surprised you figured it out, you don’t know what’s good for you, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“At least I decide where I stick my nose, professor,” The boy retorted coolly, “pray tell, does your master instruct your every move? You don’t seem like the most competent wizard, Snape’s been onto you from the start.” Quirrell snarled and slashed his wand, ropes sprang up from the ground, ready to ensnare the young ravenclaw who muttered ‘incendio’ and burnt them to ash. In an instant both were in a duelling stance, Harry narrowed his eyes, rolling his wand between his fingertips.

“The mirror,” a cold voice stated, seemingly from nowhere. “Use the boy to get the stone from the mirror.”

“Y-yes master,” Quirrell replied, beckoning Harry to come over. Harry complied, if only out of a Raven’s curiosity. “Boy! What do you see in the mirror?” His reflection, alone in the mirror, winked at him, holding the stone in his hand before putting it in his pocket. Instantly, the pocket of his robes felt heavier. He had the Philosopher’s stone.

“I see myself, of course. That what you see in mirrors idiot.” Harry replied sarcastically. With his right hand, Harry drew several small circles with his wand in the air, leaving purple sparks in its wake. The chain of wards interlocked, and he pulled the small red rock out of his pocket, and dropped it inside the invisible box.

The stone disappeared. Elsewhere in the castle, Ouroboros curled around a strangely warm red rock, that had appeared in his master’s trunk.

“Impudent boy! Don’t lie to me! I can sense it- the stone is no longer in the mirror- where is it?! Give it to me!” Harry stepped back to face the man and his ‘talking turban’.

“Why would I give you the stone? Immortality and endless gold, why should I give that to you? I think it would benefit me more, if I kept it.” Harry stated coldly, regarding the pathetic parasite hidden behind his defence professor. “Show your face Lord Voldemort. The stone is no longer here for you to take.” Quirrell shakingly unwrapped his turban, unveiling the horrific mass of twisted flesh that was the remnants of the Dark Lord.

“You will rue the day you opposed me boy.” The Darkest wizard in history spat, serpentine eyes flashing furiously. “If you had joined me, I would have given you all your desires. Power, fortune, fame. But now you shall only receive death!”

“You are of no use to me Voldemort. A parasite, less than human, a mere first year bested you, outwitted you. Perhaps you should be trying to join me! ” Harry swung his wand in a wide arc, a smattering of golden lightning hanging in the air. “Now!” Lady Magic acted immediately, forcing Voldemort out of his host. Quirrell screamed in pain, before he was silent once again. Harry looked over the man to his reflection in the mirror, and the corpse at his feet. Lord Voldemort was gone for now.

Darkness consumed him.

Chapter Text

The first thing Harry notices as he wakes is a bone-deep, horrible ache all over his body. He’s lying on a bed, he thinks, and judging by the powerful white light hurting his eyes even when they’re closed it must be morning. The smell of antiseptic and lemon permeates the air. He must be in the hospital wing.

“Good morning. My dear boy,” a quiet, elderly voice spoke from beside him. Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, slowly opening them and wincing at the bright light. Without his glasses, he could only make out the shape of garish magenta robes, and a tall pointed yellow hat.

“Good morning…. Headmaster.” the boy rapsed. Headmaster Dumbledore handed him his glasses, and a tall glass of water. Harry sipped it gratefully, feeling far more refreshed and sharp than he did moments before. “What happened? With Quirrell- and the stone?” The old man, feeling every inch his 110 years, sighed wearily.

“I’m afraid professor Quirrell is dead, my boy. I believe that your late mother’s protection, given to you on that Halloween night all those years ago, lashed out against him and Voldemort.”

“So,” the boy started, contemplating his hands, “I killed him?”

“Quirrell was dead the minute he allowed Voldemort to share his body. He is a cold, cruel man, as soon as young Quirinus outlived his usefulness, I’m afraid his life would have been forfeit.” Harry nodded thoughtfully as if taking the headmaster’s words to heart. Playing innocent and naive was tiring. He knew what kind of man Voldemort was, he grew up learning about tragedy and prophecy, and he knew what he was going to do to Quirrell- would do again, to Voldemort.

“And the stone? If Quirrell didn’t get away then do the Flamels have the stone back?” Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles at the young boy. His gaze was piercing, but he didn’t feel a touch of legilimency accompany it.

“I’m afraid that no one knows what happened to the Stone. By the time I had arrived, the mirror of Erised was shattered, the stone either missing or destroyed, and you unconscious from magical exhaustion.”

“The Stone was in the mirror, right sir? Quirrell was staring into the mirror when I arrived, he seemed angry that he couldn’t get to the Stone. Do you think maybe it was destroyed when the mirror was shattered?”

“It’s a possibility my boy, but there’s no use wasting life pondering what ifs,” The man smiled, and Harry could almost forget that this same man battled dark lords in 1945, “I believe your friends are outside, even Mr. Longbottom.” Harry watched the bright robed wizard retreat, before wiping the stupid expression off of his face. Lady Magic was right when she said Voldemort would return eventually, and he had nearly gotten his friends killed to go after a magical artefact that Quirrell would not have been able to get without someone pure of heart.

“Harry!” He was broken out of maudlin thoughts by several bodies slamming into him at once.  Padma and Hermione were crowding around him with red-rimmed eyes, clearly, they had been out of sorts with worry. Neville, Draco and Lewis were behind them, smiling, but not willing to give up their masculinity to give their friend a hug.

“Hey guys- I need to breathe!” Harry said, grinning ear to ear, the girls stepped back immediately, with sheepish expressions.

“We’re just happy to see that you’re alright Harry!” Hermione said, conjuring a vase for the flowers she had bought him. They were all varieties of lilies, and Harry appreciated the gesture.

“Thank  you, I’m just glad everyone else is fine as well- how’s Weasley been?” Draco made a face.

“Annoying. He’s been swanning about like a hero, but I think he’s smart enough to not say anything to us, he’s even left Neville alone.” That was… good, at least. The hubris of the youngest Weasley son would undoubtedly be his undoing, but as long as they could keep him from becoming too unbearable, Harry wouldn’t really have to step in. He didn’t like it when people were a menace to his friends.

“So what happened after I went to the room with the mirror?”

“Well,” Padma started, “Draco and Hermione came barreling back, and between the three of us we managed to levitate Nev up to the third floor. Weasley had run off to the Owlery to get Dumbledore, but apparently he had already returned and was on his way. We took Neville to the infirmary, while Dumbledore came to er- well I’m not sure what he would have done, since apparently Quirrell was already dead and gone, so,”  Before they could carry on the conversation, however, Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the corner, effectively shooing off the small gaggle of first years collected around his bed. She sat him up and waved her wand from head to toe, muttering to herself as a floating quill ran a mile a minute to scratch it all down on parchment.

“How are you feeling Mr Potter?” She asked, sharp brown eyes scanning his face for worrying symptoms.

“Achy, but I feel fine within myself. What’s the diagnosis?”

“Just some magical exhaustion. Heaven knows what that infernal Headmaster was doing, making it easy for a group of first years to get near those Morganna damned enchantments. You’re free to go now, but don’t be going around casting too many spells! The leaving feast is this evening anyway, so I’m sure come next school year you’ll be right as rain to continue your schooling.” Harry nodded, smiling politely as he stood up to carry his things.

“Thank you Madam, have a good day.” He smiled and walked out.

--

Harry walked to the Leaving Feast with Padma and Hermione in tow. Phillip, who hadn’t actually seen him since the night they had gone down to face Quirrell, brightened immediately after seeing him, with Ouroboros wrapped around his neck. The Great Hall was decked out in Slytherin green and silver, with brilliant ornate banners on the ceilings. Obviously, Slytherin had won the house cup.

“Harry!” Phillip chirped, a wide smile splitting his features. “Ouro was very persistent in following me here, I think he must have known you’d come to the feast, so I looked after him for you!”Ouroboros immediately slithered up Harry’s wrist and slipped under his blue and bronze robes.

“I’m happy you’re healthy, Speaker, your Hatchmother has been upset that you’ve been sleeping, and I couldn’t ask anyone to conjure fat juicy mice without you.”

“Hello to you too, Ouro,” Harry grinned, feeling far more at ease with his deadly serpent familiar around his shoulders. A loud chime sounded around the room, distracting Harry from his hissed conversation. It was Dumbledore, with his end of term announcements.

“Another year gone!” he said cheerfully, “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into a delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are a little fuller than they were, and now you have the whole summer to get them nice and empty once again… Now, before the Feast the House Cup needs awarding, in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points, in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two, Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.” A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table, and Harry could see Draco banging his goblet on the wood. It was amusing watching the put together Slytherins act like what they were for once- children. “Yes, yes, well done Slytherin. However, some recent events must be taken into account.” the smiles on the Slytherins’ faces faded a little. “Now, first, to Ronald Weasley-” mutterings broke out across the room, Harry felt confused, but wasn’t that surprised. Trust Dumbledore to pull something like this so publicly. “I award twenty-five points, for heroism in the face of adversity.” The large Gryffindor jar in the corner filled up a little more, but Gryffindor would not be winning with only twenty-five extra points. “Now, to Draco Malfoy, I award twenty-five points, for the best game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years.” Draco ducked his head a little, pink colouring his face. “To Hermione Granger and Padma Patil, I award thirty points each, for being true to their friends even when it wasn’t easy. To Neville Longbottom I award twenty points for noble sacrifice, and to Harry Potter, I award thirty-five points, for pure nerve and outstanding courage.” Hermione, who had already calculated the whole thing in her head, looked towards Harry with wide eyes.

“Harry! That means Ravenclaw wins the house cup!”

“Now,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, “I believe that means Ravenclaw is now in first place, with five hundred and twenty-one points.” He waved his wand and the banners instantly transformed into blue and bronze. Ravenclaw house cheered, while Slytherin looked angry and forlorn. Professor Flitwick, barely looking over the table with his miniature height, was clapping wildly, and grinning ear to ear. He seemed to be so excited that he could almost topple out of his chair.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, and he was pleased that all his friends and himself passed with good marks. Hermione, of course, had gotten perfect scores on everything, and Harry wasn’t far behind. (He had gotten Edwin the Elder and Uric the Oddball mixed up, and forgot  one of the uses of foxglove in Herbology.) Even Neville had gotten good marks, perhaps because of the Ravenclaws that made up the majority of his friends. He did flawlessly on herbology, and even passed potions, much to his complete surprise.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty and their trunks were packed. Ouroboros was happy to recline in the trunk for the whole journey home, relaxing in a charmed basking spot beneath the windows of Harry’s collapsible apartment inside. Neville’s toad was found lurking in the girl’s toilets on the fourth floor, Hermione had made sure all her library books were returned, and the Stone, (safe and sound) was locked away as deep in his trunk as he could manage, with all of the wards and concealment charms he was capable of. The small group of firm friends bustled onto a compartment, each in silence. They were reflecting on the amazing, awe-filled year that they had had, and the adventures that had brought them together.

“Are we going back to the muggles this summer, Mother?” Harry thought to himself, curled up into the corner of the compartment. He was still quite tired as his magical stores replenished, and felt his eyelids drooping slightly even then.

“No, my child.” Magic said softly. "Never, ever again."

--

Harry walked into Gringotts, shrunken trunk in his pocket and long green cloak over his shoulders. Walking over to the nearest bank teller, the boy bared his teeth, a sign of respect for Goblins.

“Greetings bank teller. Harry James Potter to see his property manager.” the Goblin nodded, scratching something down into the parchment with a long black quill.

“This way, Heir Potter. Irontooth will see you now.” Irontooth’s office was just as large and magnificent as the last time he had been there. On the wall hung several sharp weapons, axes, broadswords and maces, each of solid Goblinmade silver. Irontooth was sitting at his mahogany desk, in a sharp suit, writing in a thick ledger.

“Heir Potter, I have been expecting you.” Irontooth bared his teeth, and Harry responded in kind.

“A pleasure, Irontooth. I am in need of lodgings for this summer, what residences are available for me to stay in currently?” Irontooth pulled out a leatherbound book and flipped through it for several moments.

“Currently, your best options are the Peverell house, in Wales, or Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. There is also the Potter cottage, in Godric’s Hollow seized by the ministry, Slytherin Castle, as yet not found, and the Black country house, in Northumberland.” Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Peverell house. How long until it’s habitable? It must have been years since a Peverell has visited.”

“Immediately, Heir Potter. House elves and warding has kept the house in perfect shape for three centuries unattended. A portkey can be created for you at your pleasure.” Harry nodded, and a small silver coin of unknown currency was placed before him.

“The activation code is ‘Great adventure’. Pleasure doing business with you Heir Potter.”

“And you too, Irontooth. Great Adventure!”

This summer, he was sure, would be a good one.