Chapter Text
It was two in the morning and Phil was, once again, in the library – engrossed in a book about Caribbean mer-people. Some of his classmates thought his dreamy state was brought on by the dirigible plums he kept on his windowsill, but in reality sleep deprivation played the biggest part. He glanced guiltily up at the hourglass on the wall.
He had been thrown out of the library two hours ago by Madam Prince (who ushered him angrily off to bed); but Phil had long since mastered the art of tiptoeing back in after hours, and his housemates liked him well enough not to spill on him. The library was peaceful at night. Some of the books snored gently, the dry air fluttering their pages. If he listened carefully he could hear the hoots from the owlery. The fire was burning low in the grate, warming his orange socks. He’d had to put them out twice already, too caught up in his book to notice when they caught alight until the black, acrid smoke reached his nose. The flames were a flickering turquoise that didn’t burn his skin but scorched angry black holes in his less fortunate footwear.
He turned a page, enjoying the quiet crinkle of thick paper sliding over itself in the silence.
His tranquillity was broken abruptly however by a bang and a crash as the library door exploded inwards in a tumble of rubble. A dark haired slytherin stood framed in the doorway, frozen in horror as a fine layer of grey dust settled on his pyjamas.
“I think someone may have heard that.” Phil said conversationally.
The boy swore at him, jumping forward and spinning round to attempt with some success to clear up the mess and set the door back in its frame. After a moment of watching him struggle, Phil got up to help. Together, they stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Ah.” Phil said. “I think, possibly, it was supposed to go the other way up.”
The boy swore again, flushing angrily. Phil sniggered. “Personally, I use the back door. It doesn’t have any protection on it. But then again, I don’t get quite the entrance you managed.”
“Shut up.” The boy mumbled, pushing his floppy brown fringe out of his eyes with a huff. “I was in a hurry okay? I have an essay due in tomorrow that I should have handed in last week and I completely forgot until just now. I had a nightmare that McGonagall turned me into a chicken and served me to first years coated in batter.”
Phil laughed as the skinny boy shuddered.
“What year are you in?” Phil asked, taking pity on his lanky frame and baggy blue pyjamas.
“Third.”
“I’m in fifth. Trust me, I know she seems pretty scary but she’s not actually going to transfigure you into a table. More likely she’ll just make you write lines or something. Seriously, sleep is more important. Also not blowing yourself up.” Phil smiled.
Dan ignored the second remark. “I already have detention from Snape though!” His voice was high with anxiety. “He hates my guts. He’d love any excuse to get me into even more trouble than I’m already in. And anyway, I don’t wanna piss McGonagall off. Preach what you practice, you’re still awake too. I just need to get this finished. Thanks for helping with the door, I’ll, er, leave you to sort that out.”
Phil tsked. “Honestly. Hopeless Slytherins.”
“Stupid Hufflepuffs. Sticking the door back on upside down.”
“That was you!” Phil exclaimed.
“No, that was you trying to be helpful. I had it just fine until you had to butt in.”
“Really? That’s not what it looked like.”
“Stop distracting me. I’ve got a foot to write by nine and I don’t know anything about intra-species transfiguration. Go fix the door.” A grin had slipped onto the boy’s face despite himself, and he turned away – striding swiftly through the rows of books, his pyjamas billowing majestically in the wind behind him.
Phil rolled his eyes and turned to the door with a chuckle.
~
“Are you really stuck?”
Phil’s voice made the boy start, and he knocked over his ink pot – black ink pouring viscously all over the rows of messy scrawl. He cursed, trying to mop it up with his sleeve and turning angrily to Phil. “Jesus. What am I going to do now?! Such a Hufflepuff!”
“Sorry,” Phil sighed. “I was just trying to help – I was going to say what you’d written was wrong anyway. Intra-species is different animals in the same species. You’re writing about inter-species, changing it from one animal to another.”
The boy moaned loudly, burying his face in the mess of parchment and ink. “I’m so screwed,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the table. “I haven’t got a clue what to write about.”
“I’ve already done that essay,” Phil said gently. “Let me help.”
“It’s like three in the morning. You need to go to bed.” The boy shook his head.
“What’s your name?” Phil asked.
“Dan. Seriously, don’t mess yourself up just for some stupid scrawny third year.” Dan mumbled, his eyes dropping.
“I’m Phil, nice to meet you. And don’t be silly, I’m going to help you. I’m a Hufflepuff, remember. It’s our job.” Phil grinned, reaching forwards tentatively to ouch Dan’s shoulder reassuringly.
Dan flinched, his eyes narrowing, but he sighed. “Are you sure? I’m not going to try too hard to get rid of you, I could really use the help.”
“I wasn’t sleepy anyway.” Phil grinned.
~
“Um, Phil… Wake up Phil. It’s time for lessons. You need to wake up.”
Dan was still in his pyjamas and his eyes were heavy with sleep. He tugged uncertainly at Phil’s robes and Phil stirred, glancing groggily up at Dan with bleary eyes.
“What time is it?” He said, his voice hoarse.
“Eight-thirty.” Dan yawned, rubbing his eye with his fist and clutching a roll of parchment to his chest.
A small sixth year girl walked past with her bag, surveying them curiously as she settled down on a table with a cup of steaming coffee.
“Um. You’ve got ink on your face,” Phil sniggered. “Just – there. And there. Also there. You might want to take a bath actually.”
“Oh God,” Dan moaned. “I really have to run. Thank you so much, Phil. And sorry I kept you up all night.” Dan rubbed sheepishly at his face, trying to hide the blush that was creeping into his cheeks from the girl giggling at him across the room.
“S’alright,” Phil yawned. “I have a free after charms. I can curl up in front of the fire and have a nap.”
Dan smiled, biting his lip. “Bye then. Thanks. For the door as well.”
“Crap!” Phil gasped. “I forgot to fix the door! That’s probably why there’s barely anyone in here, oh my god.”
Dan’s eyes widened in horror. “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to deal with that then. Give my love to Madam Prince.” With that, Dan set off towards the back door at a sprint.
Phil groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Bloody Slytherins.” He muttered under his breath.
Across the room, the small girl stifled a giggle.
~
The Great Hall was packed for lunch and Phil sat down with a yawn on a bench full of his friends.
“Have you been up all night reading again, Philip Lester?” Carrie scolded. Her soft curls tumbled down to her shoulders in a golden waterfall. Both fifth year Hufflepuffs, they’d been friends since the first day they’d clutched terrified at one another before sorting.
“I was doing a good deed,” Phil protested. “Helping a little third year with his homework.”
Carrie narrowed her eyes. “Phil. How much sleep did you get?”
“A couple of hours maybe…” Phil ducked expertly out of the way as Carrie made to hit him with a heavy book.
“I hope you didn’t do it all for him. You’re too much of a pushover Phil, they’ll never learn that way.” she frowned.
“No! I just helped. The poor kid was terrified, he nearly set the whole library on fire trying to break in.”
“A bit like you did in your first year?” Carrie raised her eyebrow.
“We don’t talk about that.” Phil grinned.
Carrie sighed dramatically. “You’re too good, Phil. You’re going to make yourself sick. Oooh, post.”
Hundreds of owls descended on the great hall with a beating of wings and rustling of feathers, making their way to their owners and hooting dolefully. Phil’s owl, a small tawny named Eric, alighted in his sandwich and gave him an affectionate nip. Phil offered him a bacon rind in return and slipped the small package from his legs. A letter from his parents and a photo of his little brother waving up at Phil from his birthday cake. Phil smiled fondly.
It wasn’t until Carrie leaned forwards to retrieve her own parcel that Phil spotted a familiar face in a far corner of the hall, staring wistfully up at the cloud of owls circling amongst the candles. Dan was sat on his own. As Phil stared, Dan turned and gave him a cautious smile before blushing and looking down intently into his soup.
Phil bit his lip, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Chris, broomstick over one arm and a red and gold scarf wound proudly around his neck.
“Alright ladies?” He grinned, ruffling their hair. “Has Phil been up all night trying to make a love potion again? Or is he just going for the undead look? I’ve always thought you’d make a hot vampire, Phil.”
“It was one time.” Phil mumbled, his face burning.
Carrie jumped to his rescue with a devilish grin. “Talking of love Chris, is that a certain dreamy Italian Ravenclaw I see just behind you?”
Chris straightened up as if he’d been electrocuted, spinning round to glance not so subtly over his shoulder.
PJ Liguori stood behind them, engrossed in conversation with a group at the Ravenclaw table. He had transferred from an Italian academy three years earlier with not a word of English, so Chris had decided to communicate his feelings through song.
“What was it the little cupid sang right in the middle of the Great Hall, at breakfast, in front of the whole school?” Carrie continued, enjoying herself. “Your eyes are as green as a fresh prickled toad? Was that it? My, Chris, you have a way with words.”
“Shut up shut up,” Chris hissed. “Might I remind you he still doesn’t know it was from me and I’d like to keep it that way, thanks.”
“Oh dear,” Carrie sighed. “My boys. You’re both so completely hopeless with the whole love thing. What am I going to do with you?”
“We all know you fancy Phil.” Chris said harshly.
Phil and Carrie turned away from each other awkwardly.
“Har har,” Carrie muttered. “Very funny.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Budge up a bit. If I sit just right I’ve got a beautiful view of that glorious Italian behind.”
Grudgingly they moved apart to accommodate Chris’s lanky frame.
“How’s it going with Suzie then?” Chris asked Phil.
Phil shrugged. “Same old really. She was complaining that I smell like soil all through charms this morning.”
Carrie snorted. “You don’t smell like soil, Phil,” she sniffed his hair. “Okay, maybe a little bit. But it’s a woody smell. It’s sweet as well. You smell warm. Like cinnamon.” Carrie fell silent suddenly, seeming to realise she’d said too much.
“You spend too much time in the greenhouses,” Chris interjected wisely. “You and your bloody plums. And all the other weird crap you’re growing in there.”
“Plants are nice,” Phil smiled. “They’re not as annoying as people. Mainly because they don’t speak. And none of them are called Chris.”
Chris ignored him. “I reckon you should break it off with Suzie. It’s clearly not going anywhere, you haven’t even kissed her yet for God’s sake. Now Carrie here, Carrie is a fine specimen of a woman.”
“Shut up, Chris.” Carrie muttered.
“I’m serious!” Chris carried on. “You two would be great together, you just don’t see it. You’re like an old married couple already. I tell you I arrgh!”
Chris was cut short in a strangled yelp as a certain tall Italian with curly hair and sparkling green eyes leant over their table and flashed them a heart melting crooked grin. “Hi guys,” his voice was low and melodic like smooth, dark, Italian chocolate. “Mind if I take this bread basket? We’re all out.”
Chris opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.
“Yeah, go for it.” Carrie sniggered.
Amidst their stifled giggles, Phil caught sight of Dan again on the other side of the hall. He was staring at the three of them with that same, wistful look in his eyes. As he noticed Phil looking he blushed quickly, looking away and then getting to his feet and walking quietly out of the Hall. Phil watched him go.
~
“Ave insidium apricot something something ball sack.”
Phil sniggered as Chris kneaded his forehead in frustration, his wand pointing limply at a determinedly inanimate quill.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes.”
“No, really? And there I was convinced Merlin named a motion spell after his left testicle.” Carrie grinned. They were lounging comfortably on a worn pink sofa in front of the Gryffindor common room fireplace, their feet resting dangerously close to the quill Chris was trying to animate. “What exactly is it that you’re trying to do to the poor feather anyway? That eagle didn’t get plucked to have obscenities yelled at its feathers, you know.”
Chris sighed. “I just want it to sing the national anthem in a Scottish accent. Is that too much to ask?”
Phil and Carrie both laughed, and as they did Phil’s eyes strayed to the window. A figure was battling slowly through the thick snow, making his way towards the forbidden forest. He was tall with brown hair and his robes hung awkwardly off his slender frame.
~
The next morning, Phil made a point of looking over at the Slytherin table for Dan. He was sat in his usual place, at the very far corner, on his own. Phil couldn’t help notice the wishful (if not hopeful) expression on Dan’s face as he glanced up at the post owls.
Eric didn’t have anything to report, but he’d popped in to visit and now nestled comfortably against Phil’s chest, helping himself to cereal. Phil ran his thumb gently over his feathery head, still watching Dan. Suddenly, he had an idea.
“Eric, stop eating my cereal,” he murmured, “I’ve got work for you.”
~
Phil wished he could have taken a picture of the moment Eric landed in front of Dan with a hastily scribbled roll of parchment taped to his leg. Eric puffed out his chest, standing to attention. Dan glanced up and down the table, clearly convinced the small owl had got the wrong recipient, then tentatively reached out to read the name on the scroll. His face a picture of disbelief, he untied the parchment and flattened it out to read (paying no attention to Eric, who was now enjoying Dan’s unattended orange juice). Even from across the hall, Phil could see Dan’s cheeks redden and a smile creep across his face. It had been nothing special, and Phil had simply signed it with ‘your friend’, but clearly it had been a welcome surprise to Dan as almost immediately he began scribbling a response on the back of the parchment. He tied it back to Eric’s leg and watched him keenly.
Almost too late, Phil realised his plan. He was watching to see which student the small owl returned to. Quickly, Phil gathered up his bag and slipped quietly out of the hall – not ready to blow his cover just yet. He waited by the marble staircase for Eric to find him and eagerly opened up the scroll.
Dear ‘friend’,
Thank you very much for your letter. Your owl is cute. Now I’m sending him back to you to find out who you are.
Dan
Phil grinned. As long as he didn’t get up and follow Eric out of the door, his plan would have failed. Already Phil was settling down on the bottom step to write his reply, determined to be more careful this time. He would send the letter after potions, he decided. That way Dan wouldn’t be able to trace him.
-
Dear Dan,
Nice try. I’m a little bit ahead of you though. Since you replied to me however, that makes us pen pals, and now we’re pen pals you have to tell me about yourself. And maybe I’ll tell you a bit about myself in return.
Your friend
-
Phil got the reply halfway through history of magic. Keen, he grinned to himself.
-
Oh great and mysterious ‘friend’,
What do you want to know? This is a bit unfair, you already know my name but I don’t know anything about you. Since you are entertaining me however (and your owl is cute), I will provide you with the basic facts. My name is Dan Howell. (If you know my surname already I may have to report you for stalking.) I’m muggleborn, from a delightful little town called Wokingham. I’m Slytherin’s only 6ft 14 year old and I was birthed into this world on the 11thof June. Your turn – give me some clues!
Dan
-
Snow fell thickly on the grounds, covering the mountains with layers of glittering white.
-
Dear Dan,
Muggleborn and a Slytherin? That’s pretty cool. How is life over in snake land anyway? (This is a clue. I’m not in Slytherin.) I’m 6’2, I feel your pain. The owl’s name is Eric, but he also responds to feathery idiot, Mr Stupid and Your Majesty. I think he likes you. I am, in ironic contrast, a pureblood Hufflepuff and I was born on the 30th of January. I like rock music and goblin death metal.
Oh great and mysterious friend
-
The snow fell like a rain of stars, swirling and dancing in the lights that streamed out of the castle windows.
-
Anonymous,
Muggleborn so I didn’t know anything about Slytherin house. If I had, I would have probably begged the sorting hat not to put me there. I didn’t know anything about the reputation and It’s awful. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been here three years and I still don’t have any friends. Honestly, I’d rather be a fucking Hufflepuff – at least they all seem to talk to each other. Over here it’s just clique after clique. There’s the ‘my parents are death eaters’ clique which seems to consist of half the house. Then there’s the ‘my parents are rich and very important’ group and their customary followers: the ‘I wish my parents were rich and important and maybe if I hang around with you I will be instead’ lot. Then there’s just the absolute slimeballs. They’re not all as horrible as everyone makes out though, some of them are pretty kind and stuff. But making friends isn’t high on any of their agendas. There’s a lot of introverts and people who just don’t want or need company. I’m introverted, I know I wouldn’t be great with absolutely loads of friends, but just one would be nice.
Eric is cute then, I like ‘Your Majesty’. I wish I had an owl. I still listen to muggle music, death metal sounds good though – maybe you can recommend me some good bands?
Sorry, I had a bit of a rant there. Your turn.
Dan
-
Phil bit his lip. This scroll was considerably thicker than usual, and he tied it carefully to Eric’s leg.
-
Dear Dan,
I’ve already told you – I’m your friend, seriously – if you ever want to rant I’m here and I’m listening. Once you’ve figured out who I am, you’re welcome to come sit with me if it gets a bit lonely over there. I can’t imagine what it would be like, I’m just a Hufflepuff but I wouldn’t switch houses for the world. Everyone looks after each other here. I’m introverted too though. I like to read a lot, especially late at night when there’s no one else in the library. (Have you guessed who I am yet? I’ll keep going.) I’m in my fifth year. My friends are great but they’re mostly extroverts, so having some alone time is good, it helps me recover. Gardening’s good too.
You don’t know any wizard music?? What have you been doing all these years?! Start with the Weird Sisters – ‘into the night’ is good, also ‘do the hippogriff’. They’re pretty mainstream so it’s a good place to start your journey, god knows how you’ve survived on muggle music – I’ve heard that stuff, it sounds like banshees gargling polyjuice potion or something. I mean it though, when I say we’re friends. I realise I’ve kind of forced myself on you so don’t feel like you’re obliged to reply or anything, it’s giving Eric a good work out though – god knows he needs it.
Are you going to the match tomorrow? My friend’s a chaser for Gryffindor so we’ll be there to cheer him on against your lot. Do you fly? I fell off my first lesson and have been too scared to get back on a broom since. Shh though, I’ve told all my friends I get air sickness.
Your friend, the expert door fixer.
-
The four long tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted sky (today, a clear and vibrant morning blue). Phil sat down at the Hufflepuff table next to Carrie, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. He had only just started his cereal when there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping packages or letters into the chattering crowd. Phil held his breath, pushing his bowl to one side and starting intently up into the mass of feathers to try and pick out Eric.
A parcel landed in his cereal with a splash and he reached for it eagerly, only to realise that it belonged to the gangly sixth year next to him and to awkwardly pass it over, dripping milk on his robes. Suddenly, Eric was in front of him, hooting in welcome. Eagerly, Phil snatched the offered letter out of his beak and folded it open.
-
Dear… Phil?
I hope I got it right otherwise this will be really awkward.
Thank you though, everyone always goes on about how kind the Hufflepuffs are but I always thought you guys were just wimpy and over romantic. You’re actually really, really, (and unnecessarily) nice. Yes, I fly – that’s actually what I’m doing while you’re reading. I’ve never told anyone this before but I like to fly over the forbidden forest mainly. You see some pretty cool things and for someone brought up without magic it’s all the more amazing to see all the other magic things happening that you wouldn’t normally see in school. Like last night, probably the best night I’ve ever had at Hogwarts. I was skimming the trees really low looking for centaurs as they sometimes stop and talk to me. I saw this strange silver light glowing up from a glade so I landed a little way off and walked up, thinking I might see a unicorn and I was right – you’re never going to believe this, but I watched a unicorn give birth. It sounds a bit weird when I say it like that. Honestly, it was the most amazing and beautiful thing ever – there were centaurs keeping guard and all sorts of animals watching from the trees because it was just so, magical I guess. The baby was tiny. It looked like molten silver all shimmering and with tiny little spindly legs and a stumpy horn. Afterwards, the mum let everyone in the glade go up one by one and have a look at the baby – not too close obviously. I wasn’t going to because I felt like I was gate crashing a bit, but one of the centaurs (some macho dude called Bane who’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend. Wow. Horse dudes, I’m embarrassing.) pushed me forwards and told me it would be disrespectful not to pay my respects after watching.
Sorry about all that, I just haven’t been able to tell anyone what with the no friends thing and it’s just been this amazing thing inside of me that I really wanted to share so you’re the unlucky recipient. You probably think I’m so weird now.
Thank you for the music recs, I think I’ve heard of them – they’re the hairy ones, right? Yeah I’m going to the match, I’ll probably glare at you from across the stadium for supporting the enemy.
Thanks a lot, seriously having someone to talk to makes my day. You really don’t have to do this though, befriend some awkward third year because you feel sorry for him. I’m not complaining though, you’re ridiculously nice.
Dan
-
Phil finished reading with a smile and glanced over at the Slytherin table. Dan was watching him nervously, and as he caught Phil’s eye he flashed him a tentative grin. Phil’s smile widened into a beam and Dan almost visibly relaxed, blushing into his green and silver scarf.
~
They wrote to each other for four weeks, every day without fail. Despite the age and house gap, they had a lot in common. They saw things in the same way. They liked the same music and a lot of the same food, and they both supported the Hollyhead Harpies quidditch team.
Phil was curled up in a squashy armchair writing a reply to Dan’s latest letter when he was interrupted by a tapping at the window. Eyes wide with surprise, he opened the catch to let Eric flop inside with a shiver. That was strange, they’d never sent more than one letter to each other at a time before getting a reply. Curiously, Phil straightened out the parchment.
-
Phil,
You have to help me, I’m seriously failing transfiguration. I spent all morning trying to change a beetle into a button but all I did was give the beetle a lot of exercise. That’s barely even second year level, and McGonagall’s threatening to move me down into her first year class. I think I’d rather die. I know it was a while ago, but you seemed really good at the theory at least and it’s not like I have any other friends I can turn to – please, please will you help me out? I get it if you’re busy, seriously you don’t need to waste your time on my stupidity but like, if you’ve got nothing on, I’m dying a little bit.
Sorry,
Dan
-
He really did look like death when Phil turned up to the library two hours later, textbook under one arm. Dan was sat at a table in a far corner under a high window, pouring over a book with tired, straining eyes. His skin was paler than usual and he had dark purple shadows under each eye. He seemed almost to be shivering, and Phil approached cautiously.
“Um, Dan?”
Dan jumped, spinning round to spot Phil and then looking down suddenly, awkward and shy all of a sudden despite weeks of communications.
“Wow. It’s weird to be talking to you properly, you know, after all this time. Hi. You look terrible.” Phil smiled gently.
Dan looked up again, reassured by Phil’s relaxed tone. “Hey,” he said shyly. “Thank you so much for this, for coming to help. Um. I don’t know where to start really. I’m bad at everything.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Phil grinned. “Shall we start with the basics then? So I know what you’re doing wrong?”
“Like I said, pretty much everything. But yeah. Basics. Okay.” Dan took a deep breath.
Suddenly, without thinking, Phil pulled Dan into a hug. Maybe it was the defeated slump in his shoulders, or the eyes that seemed to be threatening at any moment to brim over with tears; but for whatever reason Phil held the skinny boy tight as though he could wrap his whole body around Dan and protect him from the world.
“Don’t worry,” Phil said. “You’re going to be okay.”