Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He couldn’t find the platform. Harry gnawed at his bottom lip with increased trepidation, and his grip tightened around the handle of his new trunk. King’s Cross Station was nearly impossible to navigate at this hour, and his fellow would-be passengers jostled Harry and obstructed his view of the platform numbers. It was utter madness. He craned his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, but was unable to see anything aside from the dull wash of greatcoats and handbags that marked the noonday crowd’s tumult. Harry sighed and pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose, which had become slick with sweat.

At this rate, he was going to miss his train. And what then? Go back to the Dursleys? He’d be laughed at like a fool. Would he beg to sleep in the cupboard again, do chores, and attend the much-maligned Stonewall High? Harry didn’t think that he could bear the shame. Not when he was so close to freedom.

It was then that a large man pushed past Harry, and nearly knocked him to the ground in his haste to make his train. Harry stumbled back at the blow, and accidentally rattled Hedwig’s cage. The imperious-looking snowy owl uttered an irritated hoot and ruffled her feathers in displeasure. Harry staggered upright, and pet Hedwig’s crown to calm her. She nipped lightly at his hand, and then rubbed her beak along the slant of his palm. Harry smiled at that.

“Thanks, luv,” he whispered to her. Harry was grateful for the easy, unconditional love of animals. It was the only love he’d ever known.

Another passerby jostled Harry, and he scowled at her retreating figure before dragging Hedwig and his luggage over to the nearest wall. He leaned against the cool brick and closed his eyes. All I need to do is figure out where Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is. After that, I’ll be on my way to Hogwarts. This is the start of the rest of my life. His mouth formed a determined line. I’ve got this.

Harry set his trunk on its side and climbed on top, using it as a makeshift stepstool in order to get a better vantage point. He brushed sweat-damp bangs from his eyes and surveyed the area, looking for the elusive gold-plated number nine. After several moments of searching, he spotted it near the far end of the landing. He grinned in triumph and hopped off the lid, then hefted his luggage upright. Harry wove his way through the mass of bodies, hugging Hedwig’s cage close to his chest as best he could. When he neared the pillar, he encountered a rather large group of ginger-haired children. A plump, kind-faced woman—who appeared to be the matriarch of the family—was leading them in the direction of Platform Nine.

“Come along now, children. You’re going to miss the train if you don’t hurry it up. Fred, George—you first, then Percy and Ron. I’ll follow behind with Ginny,” she instructed, pointing at the pillar.

Although Harry was baffled by the statement, since as the woman had advised her brood to walk into a brick wall, he figured that it could be another secret entrance like the one he’d walked through at the Leaky Cauldron. The fact that the red-heads were dressed in sweeping, colorful robes lent credence to this theory. Harry resolved to observe them and then imitate whatever action was needed to open the gate.

“Yes, mum,” chorused a pair of twins, who were presumably Fred and George. Each wore an identical grin that spelled trouble, and had a general air of good humor about them. They were the kind of people Harry had always watched with envy from afar, and wished he could be friends with.

The twins set off at brisk pace towards the pillar, and disappeared into the brick with little fanfare. They hadn’t tapped the wall like Hagrid had done back in Diagon Alley, or even recited a spell; they just walked straight into the entrance. The rest of the family followed suit, until Harry was left alone in Kings Cross Station once more. He stared at the wall. It looks simple enough. What have I got to lose by trying to enter—my dignity?

“What do you reckon, girl. Should we give it a shot?”

Hedwig inclined her head in apparent assent.

“Alright, then.”

He released his grip on the trunk handle and strode over to where they had vanished, and reached a tentative hand out. His entire forearm was enveloped by the wall, which gave him the appearance of missing a limb. He waggled his fingers, and felt nothing but air on the other side. It… actually worked. A wide grin stretched across Harry’s face, and he barked out an excited laugh.

“I love magic,” he whispered, and then stepped into the magical world.

As he entered into Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, muggle-populated Kings Cross transformed into something vivid and otherworldly. Wizards and witches milled about, and conversed loudly as they hustled their children onto the gleaming scarlet locomotive. All manner of birds swept through the air, backlit by variegated sparks and enchanted paper airplanes. Wrought-iron fireplaces lined the left side of the platform, and would periodically spit out people in a swirl of emerald fire. Robes, books, and luggage came alive with the flick of a wand, and would follow their owners around like loyal pets.

Harry had never seen anything so fantastic. It was as though life had been breathed into his gray little world, and he never wanted to leave. If this was just the train station, he could only imagine how brilliant Hogwarts itself would prove to be.

“Well, what are we waiting for, Hedwig,” he murmured, “an invitation?”

He hefted his trunk aboard and began to wind through the Hogwarts Express, but found that most of the compartments were already full. Laughter, accompanied by the occasional loud bang or shriek, echoed from behind each door until he arrived at the final carriage. It was there that Harry finally found an empty compartment. The other only occupant was a battered leather suitcase.

Harry sighed in relief, then carefully set Hedwig’s cage down and collapsed onto a plush seat. He wished he was brave enough to try and join the other students, but feared the reaction his apparent infamy could cause. Especially since he was still so ignorant about the magical world. He hadn’t yet found his footing, but was glad for Hedwig’s companionship and looked forward to what the year would bring. Anything was better than the Dursleys.

Hedwig chirped at Harry. There was an aggrieved look on her face, and she ruffled her plumage expectantly. Her intent was evident. Harry glanced at the door. It couldn’t possibly hurt to let her out, right? There was no one around to protest, and Hedwig had already spent so much time in a cage. His relatives’ disdain for her infuriated him. He decided that if anyone had a problem, they could take it up with him. Harry unhitched the latch and Hedwig swept about the cabin before settling upon his right shoulder. He winced at her sharp talons, but the pain was nothing compared to her clear loyalty and affection for him. He leaned his head into her downy chest. Hedwig hooted and nipped at the shell of his ear.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, girl. It’s funny, really. You’re all I have.”

Harry gazed out the window. They had just left London and were now in the English countryside. It was beautiful. The grass was lush and impossibly green, while the sky above stretched on for what felt like forever. He would have been content to sit there and stare for the duration of the trip, but was interrupted by a loud explosion.

The top of the suitcase blew open, and thick clouds of smoke billowed out as a long snout emerged. The creature snorted, and blood-red flame exuded from its nostrils. It poked out a forked tongue and revealed several rows of rather vicious-looking fangs. The ascent continued. Next came two multicolored, pupilless eyes that glittered like gemstones, followed by a pale, scaly body as the great beast began to maneuver itself out of an improbable prison.

Harry gaped at the sight. There’s a… dragon in that suitcase. There’s a bloody dragon in that suitcase. He laughed, somewhat hysterically, at his own rotten luck.

“Oliver! What in Circe’s name are you doing? Get back down here!”

The dragon—who was named Oliver, apparently—snorted one last jet of fire, then slowly retreated back into the suitcase. The only sign that the creature had ever been there at all was the faint smell of ash.

Harry could have collapsed in relief. Hedwig, who had become displaced during the commotion, returned to her previous perch with an irate hoot. He wanted to comfort her quite badly, but couldn’t seem to find it within himself to even speak.

“Are you alright up there? I hope Oliver didn’t give you too much of a fright,” the same voice from before called out, closer this time.

A boy peeked his head out from the opening of the suitcase. He looked to be about Harry’s age, and had an unruly shock of auburn hair and bright hazel eyes. His freckled skin was covered in soot and plasters, but there was an excited grin on his face. Harry moved closer to the stranger.

“Er, I’m fine, thanks. By any chance, are you aware that there’s a dragon living in your suitcase?” Harry asked, still somewhat baffled.

“Well, are you aware there’s an owl perched on your shoulder?” The other boy said, and inclined his chin in Hedwig’s direction. Harry laughed at that.

“That’s Hedwig—she’s my friend,” he replied, and stroked her soft head. A look of approval crossed the other boy’s face.

“That’s a fitting name for a dignified creature such as her. You’ve already made Oliver’s acquaintance. He’s an Antipodean Opaleye, a relatively rare breed of dragon native to New Zealand. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. His kind isn’t particularly aggressive, and generally prefers to feast on sheep. As long as you respect him, no harm will come to either you or the lovely Hedwig.”

The boy was inordinately composed, as though they were discussing something as banal as the weather, rather than the behavioral patterns of dragons.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Harry said sarcastically.

“I’m glad you think so. There are too many wizards and witches who remain ignorant of the mutual respect needed to connect with magical beasts,” the boy said, either ignorant of or pointedly choosing to disregard Harry’s snide tone.

“Why are you keeping Oliver in a suitcase? We’re well on our way to Hogwarts. Don’t you think that someone would—I don’t know—discover his existence at some point?” Harry said.

“Oh, that. You needn’t worry. Oliver will behave himself at Hogwarts. He just got a little too excited, that’s all. He’s usually more well-mannered. As for my suitcase, come and take a look for yourself.” The boy gestured for Harry to follow him into the suitcase, gingery head disappearing as abruptly as it had arrived.

Harry turned towards Hedwig. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we—just follow a strange boy into a suitcase?”

The owl made a vague sound of affirmation, and Harry felt a jolt of nervous excitement at that. He crawled over to the opening and swung a leg over the side, plunging them into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Harry missed the ladder. His foot caught a rung as he pitched forward into the suitcase and collapsed in a heap on the ground, hair and spectacles askew. Hedwig had departed mid-fall. Her amber eyes surveyed him somewhat reproachfully from her perch on a rough-hewn bookshelf, which was replete with thick tomes and journals. Harry groaned and, not for the first time that day, questioned his own intelligence. Why must I go looking for trouble? He thought. Surely my life is difficult enough already. Hedwig hooted at him in an irate manner, and he wondered what it said about him that she already considered him in need of managing.

“Sorry about that, girl,” Harry said.

He brushed dirt off his shirt and pants, then orientated his spectacles. His flank and torso ached from the fall, but Harry ignored the pain. Years spent with the Dursleys had helped with that.

“Are you quite alright there, mate?” The boy said as he reappeared from behind a curtain over near the end of the small room.

He looked aghast at Harry’s disheveled state, and quickly made his way over to where he lay sprawled. “Here, let me help you up,” he said, and extended one calloused, long-fingered hand for Harry to grasp.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

Had they been on the playground back in Little Whinging, or in the schoolyard at the local primary, then Dudley or one of his friends would have laughed at him and pushed him down. Maybe kicked dirt in his face or crushed his spectacles. He’d been degraded, he realized. The more Harry saw of the magical world, the more he came to understand just how badly he’d been treated.

And though they had just met, there was no way around it; this boy radiated kindness unlike anyone else Harry had ever met. Even Hagrid. He wasn’t much used to decency, but he now found he longed for it more with each new taste he was given. Harry could not return back to dark cupboards and cold nights. Weeks spent without even a smile or a hand on his shoulder. Being starved for love.

“Oh, it was nothing,” the boy said.

He grinned crookedly then, and in the dim light his eyes appeared the most peculiar intersection of green and brown. Harry felt his face turn red and he rubbed the back of his neck. He was—handsome, he supposed. What girls dreamed about. Nothing like stick-thin, unkempt little Harry.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. The name is Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, aspiring magizoologist and intrepid adventurer. My friends, however, call me Newt. And you are…” He trailed off.

“Alright, Newt,” Harry ventured, “mine’s Harry. Harry Potter. As for my own accomplishments, I am reasonably self-assured in the knowledge that there’s nothing even remotely spectacular about me,” he said.

Aside from a minute twitch, Newt expressed no visible reaction to the infamous name, and instead returned the gesture with an excited vigor that seemed to come almost effortlessly to him.

“It’s a pleasure, truly,” he said, then released his grip on Harry’s palm and guided him in the direction of the curtain. “Harry, you’ve arrived at a rather interesting time. It’s around this hour that I usually feed my creatures—a task you’re more than welcome to assist me in, if you’d like. This is the conservatory” Newt said and led him into the next room.

“I’d be happy to…” Harry trailed off in wonder.

It was spectacular: coils of living vine slithered through their pots like serpents; brightly-colored blossoms wilted and bloomed within seconds as they cycled through permanent death and rebirth; fat round seeds floated above them, spat from the mouths of flowers as red as blood; jewel-colored roots protruded from both planters and ceramic vases alike; toadstools the size of Harry’s head sprouted from dead logs and released spores that almost resembled sparks; and, most peculiarly, tiny, shimmering faeries had nested within the thick greenery, and giggled as they fluttered about. A faery drew close enough to Harry to tweak his nose.

To the left, a large pewter cauldron sat atop a long table, and expelled the occasional thick cloud of violet smoke. It emanated a light, almost floral order, which intermixed with the natural fragrance from the vegetation. Numerous flasks covered the tabletop, each one stopped with a cork and labeled in the same unruly scrawl that was undoubtedly Newt’s. There were more journals and books in this room, and some were even aged enough to where the titles had faded away. A chipped, canary yellow teapot hovered above the volumes, pouring out steaming amber liquid into ceramic cups that had been shaped crudely into ducks.

“This is fantastic,” Harry breathed.

Newt’s embarrassed flush could be seen even through the thick layer of soot that covered his face. “It’s nothing, really. You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” he said, and after gathering up an armful of glittering, star-shaped leaves and several vials, gestured for Harry to follow him through the next curtain at the end of the conservatory.

Hedwig screeched and resumed her tight hold on his shoulder. Harry caressed her head. Newt nudged the curtain aside with his shoulder, which awarded Harry a glimpse into what appeared to be an impossibly boundless landscape. Harry felt as though the air had been knocked out of him. There’s no bloody way this is possible… He nearly stumbled in his haste to follow after the other boy.

The air was even warmer here. His duct-taped, battered trainers sank into the lush earth as Harry stepped into a world that transcended his own. Extraordinary creatures swept through the sky, and some even moved so fast as to become a streak of color. The land below branched off into several distinct kinds of terrain, with each home to an assortment of fantastical beasts. There were dense forests that teemed with bird-like beings; a mountain range whose inhabitants ascended its precipitous slopes with impressive ease; and a vast desert home to sinuous reptilians, who flexed their muscular bodies as they basked in the hot sand. But what caught Harry’s eye the most were the spheres of water that moved through the air like bubbles. They rippled much in the way a lake would, and accommodated a wide variety of magical sea-life within.

“I’ve never seen anything quite this wonderful,” Harry confessed.

For all that Diagon Alley and Kings Cross had left him breathless, there was nothing that could possibly compare to this—an entire wilderness held within the confines of a suitcase.

Newt grinned at him, eyes crinkling. “I’m delighted to hear that. Do you have any idea how many witches and wizards turn their nose up at this sort of thing? That they think they’re somehow above these creatures. It’s—sickening. I won’t stand for it. Not anymore. I’m going to educate the magical world about them. Make it known that they are not without feeling. That they are just as capable of sadness, love, and even happiness,” he declared, then walked over to the edge of the forest and tossed the leaves into what appeared to be a large nest.

Newt was so sure of himself. Who he was. What he wanted. It was entirely altruistic. Harry had only ever wanted love. To have his own room. His own toys. A better life. He felt ashamed.

“I bet you’re a shoo-in for Gryffindor, then. I’ve been told it’s the house of the brave. Must be perfect for an adventurer such as yourself,” Harry said. He trailed after Newt as the ginger made his way into the wood.

“Definitely not, I’m afraid. What makes what I do so difficult isn’t the serious danger involved. It’s connecting with the animals. That’s not courage, it’s empathy.”

How was it that Harry feared being placed in the house Newt aspired to? He’d been filled with dread at the idea of being sorted in with the “duffers,” as the pale boy from the robe shop had said. Harry wanted to live up to his parents legacy, not to mention the mystique around his newfound past. Gryffindor had seemed to be the clear choice. It was where he could be more than what he was. But in Hufflepuff, perhaps he could be himself and accepted for it. Kindness. Hard work. These were traits he valued. What was so terrible about that? Especially if Newt was there…

“Hufflepuff sounds brilliant,” Harry said.

Newt looked excited by that. They had arrived at the end of the forest, and stood before a steep cliff. He offered his hand to Harry again, who accepted it readily, and pulled the shorter boy close to his side. He then whistled and stepped closer to the edge, clearly waiting for something. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest. This had been the best day of his life.

Naturally, that’s when the serpent arrived.

Chapter Text

It happened in an instant. A massive serpent surged out of the dark pitch at Newt’s command, quickly uncoiling the great length of its long, sinuous body. Three separate heads branched off from a sinewy torso, bejeweled with glittering, multifaceted orange and black scales. Each crown bore a twin set of poisonous green eyes, neatly bisected by split pupils. Forked tongues curled around long, needle-sharp fangs, drenched with an opaque, syrupy venom. Harry’s eyes widened, breath hitching slightly. The creature was beautiful, it was terrible—at once the most enthralling and frightening thing he’d ever seen. Did all wizards feel like this—as though they stood on the precipice separating wonder and terror? If this was how life would be for Harry from now on, then he could hardly wait. He grinned, wild and uncaring.

“Ramona, mummy’s here! It’s time for din-din,” Newt cried, releasing his grip on Harry’s hand to uncork the three frothing vials and brandish them in front of the beast.

The head farthest to the left snorted, turning towards the one in the middle. “There he goes again, calling us Ramona. What a daft bastard. I’d have eaten him ages ago if he weren’t so bloody sincere,” she complained, voice a low, sibilant hiss.

“Mmm,” the middle head agreed, sounding as though he were barely paying attention.

The one on the right groaned, venomous drool sluicing out of the corner of his mouth. “Why even bother with him, Rachel? You know there’s no point in talking to Clyde when he’s having one of his visions. I doubt he’s even aware Newt’s been addressing him as ‘Ramona’ for the past several months.”

“Mmm,” Clyde murmured dazedly, cementing the other’s point.

“Even so, he’s far better company than you are, Roderick. All you do is criticize us and moan about how horrid your life is. It’s unbearable,” Rachel bit out, curling around Clyde in order to look Roderick direct in the eye.

Roderick sniffed imperiously, twisting away from her. “Honesty is an admirable quality. Perhaps if you had any, you’d understand,” he sneered.

“How dare you!” Rachel screeched, looking apt to eat Roderick alive. “You ungrateful little prick, I’ll ki—” Her hateful shriek was cut off by Harry, who had quickly grown weary of their bickering.

“Would you kindly shut the hell up!” Harry yelled, stepping closer to the serpent almost involuntarily. Each head immediately froze, thickly-corded muscles tensing as they collectively turned to affix him with an icy, unblinking stare. Harry swallowed thickly, now filled with a horrible amalgamation of dread and regret. Why can’t I just leave well enough alone? He despaired, slowly backing away from the beast.

“A speaker?” Rachel hissed, body poised to strike. She shot forward, faster than Harry could follow, until they were almost eye to eye. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air around his face. Harry shied away from the appendage, shuddering minutely. I suppose this bloody reptile is finally going to do what Voldemort couldn’t—actually kill me. He could already imagine the headline: Boy-Who-Lived Dies Horrible, Pathetic Death Via Snake. Wizards Everywhere Severely Disappointed. Harry’s lips curved into a grim smile at the thought. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen beneath expectations.

Harry glanced over at Newt, finding that the other boy looked utterly thrilled at this particular turn of events. The vials had been stuffed into the crook of his left arm, freeing up his hands to take notes on a battered notepad. There was a streak of violet ink smeared across one of his grubby cheeks. A small green head peeked out of Newt’s sweater pocket, before uttering a high-pitched squeak and recoiling upon seeing the beast.

“Hush, Pickett,” Newt whispered, petting the creature’s head and inching closer to Harry. Their shoulders brushed slightly, filling Harry with a nigh excruciating gratitude for Newt’s presence. At the very least, he and Hedwig wouldn’t die alone here.

“What is your name, Speaker?” Rachel asked, twisting to make room for Roderick and Clyde—who’d apparently become lucid enough to entertain a conversation.

“Er… Harry?” He replied nervously, wary of setting her off.

“You don’t sound too sure about that, Harry,” Roderick observed dryly, eliciting a giggle from Rachel.

“I bet his real name is something ghastly, like Eugene,” Rachel added.

“He does look sort of like a Eugene,” Clyde drawled, monstrously large snout nosing along Harry’s flank. It was strange—while the others sounded like they were English, Clyde was distinctly American. Harry couldn't even begin to guess as to why that was.

“I feel pretty sure. It’s not often that one forgets their own name, you know,” Harry bit out, initial trepidation having been replaced by annoyance.

“There’s no need to act so defensive, Harry. I was merely making an observation,” Rachel chided. Roderick and Clyde nodded in agreement.

Harry sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Please forgive my rudeness,” he said sarcastically, insincerity plain on his face.

Clyde hissed out a laugh. “The kid’s got bite. I like it.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? ” Roderick grumbled, sounding aggrieved.

“It’s not often that any of us have the opportunity to converse with a human, Roderick. I suggest you stop acting as though you’re somehow above being excited about the prospect of speaking to one of Salazar’s descendants,” Rachel advised, eyes narrowing into slits.

Speaker? Salazar’s descendant? What the bloody hell does any of that mean? Harry made an attempt to voice these questions, but was summarily ignored as the serpents continued to converse amongst themselves.

“I suppose you may have a point,” Roderick confessed, the admission obviously forced. Clyde chuckled, playfully nudging the other male. Roderick rolled his eyes long-sufferingly.

“Hm. I thought so,” Rachel simpered, then turned back to Harry. “Now, my dear speaker, what brought you to our lovely abode today?”

“Well, as strange as it sounds, it all began when a dragon crawled out of this suitcase and into my train compartment…” Harry trailed off, noting the spark of recognition in Rachel’s eyes. “I assume you know Oliver?” He questioned, unsure if the other creatures were able to communicate with each other.

“Yes, we know of… Oliver.” Rachel spat, garnering nods from both Roderick and Clyde. “That imbecile has been nothing but trouble ever since he arrived. He’s set fire to this forest on multiple occasions, filched meals from his fellow inhabitants, and breaks out whenever he has the opportunity. The last time it happened, Newt had to chase the bloody idiot around Cardiff for nearly ten hours. Now that was a disaster, and almost landed the poor bastard in a muggle jail cell. Newt has a good heart, but we do have to question his judgment sometimes.”

Harry could envision Oliver as being a bit of a menace, especially considering how easily he’d escaped from Newt’s suitcase. At least that particular incident occurred in the presence of a wizard—as untrained as he may be—rather than someone completely bereft of any knowledge concerning magical beasts. A dragon running amok and wreaking havoc in the muggle world would certainly constitute a predicament, to say the least.

“I can see how that might be a problem,” he admitted, causing the three heads to laugh uproariously.

“Hmm. Such a good little speaker,” Rachel crowed.

“I agree. He’s a massive improvement over the last one we encountered,” Roderick added, wresting a fanged grin from Clyde.

“Yeah, that guy had all the personality of a damp napkin. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to be rid of him,” Clyde remarked nastily.

Harry’s brow furrowed, and was reminded of his earlier confusion. He coughed loudly and raised his voice. “What do you mean by that? Can’t all witches and wizards understand you?”

The heads appeared visibly shocked by his inquiry, and shot each other loaded glances. They appeared to be having a silent debate as to who would answer him. Eventually, Clyde huffed out an annoyed sigh and turned to face Harry.

“Kid, you’re talking to a snake. That really isn’t a talent present in the average human,” Clyde offered, creeping closer. “Only those with the blood of Salazar Slytherin can speak parseltongue—the language of serpents.”

“W-what?” Harry stammered, chest tightening. A feeling of intense despair crept along the length of his spine, terribly familiar. His hands trembled faintly. “No… it can’t be,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

According to Hagrid, only the most vile and depraved of magic-users wound up in Slytherin. His parents’ murderer—a wizard so fearsome that his very name was considered taboo—had been placed into that particular house. If those were merely followers of Salazar Slytherin’s ideals, then Harry could only imagine how monstrous the man himself must have been. Was he destined to end up like them, bound by some twisted legacy to follow the same dark path? Harry couldn’t accept it, no—refused to. His blood wouldn’t determine his future. He had allowed it to control his past, and for what—rags in lieu of proper clothes, a grimy cupboard for a bedroom? Adhering to classical notions of what constituted a proper ‘family’ had gotten him nowhere. The Dursleys loathed Harry even in spite of his close relation to them, and took pleasure in degrading him at every turn. That wasn’t love, or anything close to it. If Harry ever wanted to find the affection he so desperately craved, then he would have to form those bonds himself.

And what better place to find compassion than Hufflepuff? A place brimming with those unmatched in their strength of loyalty and kindness appealed to Harry on a very visceral level, and sounded as though it could become a real home for him one day. Gryffindor, Slytherin—he wouldn’t wind up in either house, declining to follow in the footsteps of his parents or dreaded ancestor. Harry would forge ahead with blind enthusiasm, upending any and all expectations of him. Deviating from the norm was nothing new for him, so why begin yielding to assumptions now?

A wicked grin slowly curled across his face, exposing the sharp jut of his eyeteeth. “That old bastard’s going to be rolling in his grave when I get myself sorted into Hufflepuff, then,” Harry declared, conviction deepening with each word that fell from his lips.

Roderick looked utterly appalled by the statement, but Rachel and Clyde burst out laughing, forked tongues lolling out of their mouths as they swung their heads around wildly.

“Well, damn kid. That might just be the funniest thing I’ve heard in quite some time,” Clyde chuckled, a note of genuine respect present in his voice. Rachel hummed in agreement.

“No, you fools! It’s madness, utter madness,” Roderick cried. “The boy cannot be allowed to besmirch the vaunted name of Slytherin in such a manner.”

“Vaunted name? Wizards haven’t respected Salazar or his house in decades, and that Voldemort nonsense certainly hasn’t helped matters any,” Rachel retorted.

“Voldemort was an anomaly. There have been many great witches and wizards to come out of Slytherin in recent years.”

“Hah! You mean his lackeys?” Rachel sneered, enraging Roderick.

“I’ll have you know there’s nothing cowardly about respecting a predetermined hierarchy—” Roderick’s furious tirade was cut short by Clyde, who looked deeply bored by their discourse.

“Enough talk of politics, you two. It’s tedious to listen in on, especially being as hungry as I am,” he said, jerking his head in Newt’s direction. “Speaker, if you would…?”

“Oh, right,” Harry blurted, turning to face Newt, who remained bent over his notebook jotting down notes. Pickett was tangled in his fringe, the creature’s leafy appendages entwined with the thick auburn strands. There was even more ink splattered across Newt’s freckled skin, and he was gnawing distractedly on his bottom lip. The sight ignited a soft warmth within Harry, and he was left more charmed than ever.

“They’re ready for supper, Newt,” Harry said, startling the other boy out of his engrossing task. Newt quickly pocketed the book and quill, slipping the vials back down into his clever hands.

“Of course!” He said, lips quirking upwards as he uncorked the bottles and drained their contents into each maw of the serpent. They writhed in pleasure, a torrent of foamy bubbles streaming from their mouths and into the air. Light from the false sun above glinted off the spheres, reflecting dozens of miniature rainbows onto the dense foliage surrounding them. They pressed at his face and clothes, releasing the faint aroma of peppermint when they popped. The faint wetness left behind was wonderfully refreshing, and when Harry licked at his lips he found that they tasted sweet.

“You truly are exquisite, aren’t you?” he whispered, eyes wide as he followed the upward path of the bubbles. They twisted around the serpent’s tremendous body and through the many branches of the wood, then were subsumed by the vast stretch of blue sky. It was unspeakably beautiful.

When the deluge of bubbles finally began to peter off, Clyde lowered himself back down to Harry’s level. He grinned lazily, eyes half-lidded with contentment. “It was nice talking to you, Harry. Come visit us again, sometime,” he drawled, before winking and slipping back into the darkness along with Rachel and Roderick.

Once they were gone, a heavy weight wrapped around Harry’s biceps and twirled him about. It was Newt, looking positively ecstatic. “You’re a Parselmouth!” The other boy exclaimed, sounding delighted. It was the exact opposite of the recrimination Harry was expecting, and he was filled with a fragile sense of euphoria. He carefully placed his hands atop Newt’s, gently entwining their fingers.

“And you’re alright with that?” Harry asked, tentative.

“It’s bloody fantastic! Parselmouths are fascinating, their research on serpents even more so. You must tell me, Harry—what did she say?” Newt inquired, eyes bright with excitement. Harry grinned in spite of himself, desperately happy to have befriended someone like Newt.

“Well, about that—they don’t really appreciate being called ‘Ramona.’ The middle head goes by Clyde, and he’s one lazy bastard. To the right of him is Roderick, who’s a bit of a finicky prick. His counterpart is Rachel, who seems to take great joy in needling him,” Harry explained, trying his best to articulate precisely just how each personality came off to him.

“Incredible…” Newt muttered, letting go of Harry and resuming his feverish note-taking. “I really must apologize the next time their feeding time comes around, then. I’ve been calling them Ramona for months!” He agonized, tugging at his hair and disturbing Pickett, who let out an unhappy squeak.

“What are they? I’ve never heard of anything quite like it,” Harry said.

“That, my dear Harry, was a Runespoor. It’s a magical serpent native to Burkina Faso. I created a nutritional potion that would mimic the nutritional effects of their native diet. The bubbles just happened to be a happy accident.

However, what’s most well-known about Runespoors is not what they consume, but rather, how they behave. According to the handwritten accounts of Parselmouths such as yourself, every Runespoor displays the same habitual trio of personalities, albeit with minor differences depending on the individual. The middle head is the dreamer, and can become preoccupied with intense visions for days on end. To the right lays the critic, who bears the deadliest venom of the lot. The left one is the planner, and directs nearly everything the serpent will do. The information you’ve provided me today about Clyde, Roderick, and Rachel seems to align fairly well with this pre-existing mold,” Newt answered, a note of pure wonder present in his soft voice.

“I’m glad to be of service,” Harry replied, meaning it.

Newt looked pleased by the admission, though somewhat abashed. He tugged lightly at his collar. “Um, would you perhaps enjoy meeting some of my other creatures? Feeding time is over, for now, but there’s lots to see. We can even say hello to Oliver along the way, if you’d like,” Newt offered, sounding enthusiastic about the prospect.

“I’d love to,” Harry beamed, thrilled that the other boy seemed to desire his company.

Newt grinned, grabbing Harry by the hand and breaking into a run. Hedwig released her hold on Harry’s shoulder and took flight beside them, a white blur in the midst of the dark forest. Pickett was barely visible within the tangle of Newt’s unruly hair, but he uttered a cheerful cry in response to the change in scenery, causing both boys to laugh. A warm, heady feeling coursed through Harry, and he was suddenly struck with the realization that wherever Newt Scamander went, he would follow.

Chapter Text

Harry and Newt burst onto a vast meadow, feet sinking into the rich soil. The dark forest canopy broke to reveal a long stretch of gray sky, covered in heavy, pregnant-looking clouds. Beneath was verdant earth, roughly halved by a narrow, winding stream, overgrown on both sides with thick vegetation. Small clusters of wildflowers were scattered throughout the plain, bright spots of yellow and pink amidst the green. Azure blue vines poked out of the ground and curled into bell-shaped blooms, humming softly as they emitted hazy balls of light. Fairies darted between the luminescent orbs, translucent wings mirroring the spectacle of color. Their playful laughter created a veritable symphony, beautifully accented by the soft purring of the vines. Higher still were undulating globules of water, each containing a miniature underwater ecosystem. Herds of plump sheep munched contentedly on the lush grass as they roamed freely. Farther out, the land dipped into a low valley, silvery line of water ending in a lake so clear it nearly became a perfect reflection of the sky.

Harry’s lips curled into an elated grin, involuntarily tightening his grip on Newt’s hand. This is… wonderful, he thought, reveling in the clime. Everything was so cold and so fresh here, and a soft breeze pricked lightly at every inch of exposed skin, carrying with it the sharp scent of spearmint. Harry’s eyelids fluttered softly, and he sucked in a low, deep breath—he had never tasted air this clean before. Little Whinging, London… they all paled in comparison to this glorious wilderness. His heart thudded wildly, beating a staccato rhythm in his chest. It struck him then, with a startling intensity, that he could stay here forever and be content. Hedwig seemed be of the same mind, as she hooted eagerly and soared upwards, soon obscured by the clouds entirely.

Newt rubbed a calloused thumb along Harry’s own—briefly, comfortingly—as though he were making it clear that their imminent separation was only temporary. It was a deeply appreciated gesture, and Harry shot the other boy a grateful smile. Newt’s eyes crinkled gently, and there was a slight skip in his step when he moved forward to summon Oliver. He cupped his hands around the lower portion of his face and uttered a loud warbling noise before calling out “Oliver!”

A deep, rumbling snort echoed from above, followed by a massive jet of red fire. Flames lit up the gray wash of sky, curling around the clouds and illuminating them with a strange, unearthly glow. From the inferno a shadow appeared—quickly taking on the familiar shape of Oliver. The great, opalescent beast rocketed downwards, sinuous body spiraling wildly as the speed of his descent increased. Light glinted off his coat of jewel-like scales, coalescing into a riotous explosion of color. Right as he neared the ground, Oliver’s wings flared open, thrusting him back and slowing his fall. He settled on the ground in front of them, landing punctuated by a guttural roar. Harry barked out an disbelieving laugh. He hadn’t quite grasped the sheer scope of the dragon back in the train compartment, but Oliver’s enormity was certainly apparent now. Newt drew nearer to the dragon, and Harry followed close behind.

“Do you trust me, Harry?” Newt asked, glancing his way. It was a strange, out-of-place question—one that sent a jolt down Harry’s spine. His kneejerk reaction was to say that no, he didn’t, because Harry didn’t really trust anyone. Like, at all. It was a habit ingrained in him after years of mistreatment, after years of having only himself to rely upon. But before the words could fall from his lips, something stopped him. Perhaps it was the sincerity in Newt’s gaze, or the fact that Harry had come to admire him with an almost desperate intensity—or, rather, that he was so very ready to finally have a friend to call his own. Whatever the cause, Harry found himself nodding slowly.

“Yes… I do,” Harry said after a moment. The comment elicited an elated grin from the other boy, freckles standing out in stark contrast against the faint indents of his smile lines. Harry’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“Great! Hop on, then,” Newt exclaimed, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pushing him forward. Harry stumbled along to where Oliver lay curled, nearly bumping into the creature.

“Hop… on?” Harry repeated dumbly. Newt barked out a low laugh and clapped him on the back.

“Yes! Oliver loves showing off his aerial skills, and it’s always a good time to take a little joyride with him. Now, he may look rather intimidating at first, but in all actuality he’s just an overgrown puppy. As long as you respect him, he’ll take care of you,” Newt said, curling one of his arms under Harry’s and attempting to heft him onto the beast. Attempt being the operative word here, as Harry was rather heavier than he appeared, and because Newt was a gangly eleven-year-old devoid of any real muscle mass.

Harry, for his part, continued to exist a state of disbelief. Oliver’s just an ‘overgrown puppy?’ Of course he is—how could I have ever possibly thought otherwise? The fact that he’s a great, bloody dragon that can breath fire means nothing in the face of his stunning personality. Only you, Newt—only you… He mused dazedly, remaining thoughtlessly immobile.

“Come one, Harry—it’ll be brilliant,” Newt grunted, refusing to abate in his quest. “I’ll be up there, too. So, if anything goes wrong, I’ll be there to catch you.”

“Really?” Harry asked, torn from his reverie. Newt nodded, looking serious for a moment.

Harry sighed and swung his right leg over Oliver’s neck. leaning into the length of the creature’s spine. Once settled, he let out a nervous little huff, tightly wrapping his arms around Oliver. His scales felt sleek and cool to the touch.

“I promise you’ll be safe—well, reasonably safe,” Newt said brightly, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a full-sized broomstick. It was old, but well-loved, with a worn handle and a frayed mess of bristles at the end. Harry didn’t even bother gawking at the magical display—if entire worlds could be contained within the bounds of mere luggage, there was no reason why a broomstick couldn’t be stored in a pocket. The more Harry thought about it, the less he was sure if there were any limits on magic.

Newt hopped on the broom, whistling sharply as he shot into the air. Oliver gave a loud snort and followed suit, quickly darting after the boy. Harry pressed his cheek into Oliver’s neck, cold wind whipping bitterly at his face. They soared ever higher into the sky, past the floating oceanic ecosystems and up into the clouds. Oliver swerved wildly as they broke through the thick mist, the world around them blurring into a haze of color. Harry laughed madly, a joyous elation replacing his initial fear. Flight was far more exhilarating than he could have ever imagined. He felt buoyant, imbued with a weightlessness that left him very nearly breathless. The false sun was hot on his face, and he threw his head back, basking in the glorious warmth. It was a stark contrast to the wintry world below. Harry laughed again, grip on Oliver loosening.

Just ahead, Newt slid into a steep drop, disappearing into the heavy wash of gray. Oliver growled and dove after him, wings flattening against his muscular back as they spiraled into free-fall. Harry yelled incoherently, tossing his arms up. A deluge of flames erupted from Oliver’s maw, coursing over them as they careened downwards. Once they passed back through the cloud top, they were treated to a rush of cool, misty air. Rain began to pelt the two of them, drenching Harry’s clothes and obscuring his vision. It mattered little, though—he was having far too much fun to give a damn. Harry ran a hand through his unruly tangle of hair and whooped excitedly. Thunder rumbled and rolled, and Oliver growled in tandem with the tempestuous weather. Soon enough, lightning arced through the sky, casting an unearthly glow upon the heavens. This… this is what it means to truly live, Harry thought feverishly, briefly closing his eyes. If he never touched the ground again, he could die happy. A wild grin curled across his face.

Newt was a now mere shadow in the distance, movements fluid even in the midst of the storm. Harry stroked Oliver’s coat of scales and urged him forward, sending them rocketing into a fierce roll. They swiftly advanced on Newt, who pulled up sharply and wound his way around them. His cheerful laughter resounded loudly, eliciting a low growl from Oliver, who extended his massive tongue and licked a long, wet stripe up the length of Newt’s face. His hair now stood violently on end, and his eyes were wide—but when Pickett let out an irate squeak at having been so rudely disturbed, Newt’s look of shock quickly faded into one of mirth. Harry pressed a hand to his mouth in order to muffle the string of rather unmanly giggles that threatened to burst free. In the end, Oliver really just was an overgrown puppy.

“Laugh it up now, Harry. You’ll be on the receiving end of his affections soon enough,” Newt bit out, giving him the two-fingered salute.

“Oh, sod off, you prick,” Harry replied easily, returning the foul gesture.

Newt grinned madly. “You really are a bit of a bastard, aren’t you?” He asked, genuine affection coloring his tone.

“I like to think that I’m just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,” Harry responded, meaning it. He knew that there was no malice in Newt’s comment, only a baffled sort of wonderment. It was refreshing.

“Agreed,” Newt said, drawing closer. His eyes were a rich green-brown. Harry’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’re very interesting, Harry. I can’t wait to get to know you better,” he continued, voice lowering to a near whisper. It was intense.

“...The same goes for me, Newt. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you before,” Harry managed after a moment’s pause, flustered by the compliment.

“I—” Newt’s reply was abruptly truncated by a loud crack of thunder, which was then followed by a startlingly close lightning strike. Harry jerked back in surprise, but Newt’s reaction was a only mere twitch of his left eyebrow. Pickett, however, squeaked in fright. Newt idly petted the creature, then pulled out an old, battered pocket watch from his coat pocket. “We should probably get going. The train’s going to arrive at Hogwarts soon,” he sighed, motioning for Harry to trail after him.

Both boys sped towards the lake, sweeping along the crystalline surface. Harry ran a finger through the water, finding that it was surprisingly warm. It would be splendid to take a swim here sometime, he thought, withdrawing the appendage. Everything about this place was wondrous, though—by far and above the most extraordinary thing Harry had ever seen. There was so much to explore, so much to do. He felt that one could spend decades in here and never experience the whole of it.

As they soared over the forest, a regal hoot echoed from behind, and a heavy weight settled on Harry’s shoulder. Hedwig nipped lightly at his ear, then pressed her feathery head into his hair. He smiled and leaned into the touch, grateful for her presence. Soon they arrived at the veil separating Newt’s quarters and the wilderness. Oliver slowed into a sleek glide as they swiftly approached the ground, wings angled towards the sky. He uttered a low growl when Harry slid off his back, but it was mischievous rather than threatening. That seemed to be the running theme with Oliver. Harry certainly didn’t mind—it gave him character.

“Thanks for the ride, mate,” Harry said, stroking Oliver’s snout. The dragon snorted and licked Harry’s cheek, drenching his already wet face. He laughed and gave the beast a great big hug, uncaringly singing his shirt.

“So, you’ve gone from doubting Oliver’s existence to giving him hugs,” Newt commented, walking up to them. Pickett cheeped brightly, poking his head through Newt’s tangled nest of hair. It was almost unbearably cute.

“Can’t I change my mind? I just got a bloody ride from the beast,” Harry remarked, winking at the other boy.

Newt barked out a laugh and roughly patted Oliver’s muzzle. “I suppose not. It’s really the worst of us who are incapable of change,” he remarked idly, strange eyes half-lidded in contemplation.

Harry lips thinned, curling into a faint grimace. “Of that, I’m certain,” he said, bitterness plain in his tone. Harry was never one to suffer gracefully.

A pained look crossed Newt’s features. “I’m truly sorry to hear that, Harry,” he replied, briefly placing a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder. The touch was fleeting, but treasured. Harry grinned, more shyly now. Newt returned the gesture, eyes crinkling, before turning to wave farewell to Oliver and starting for his quarters.

Harry gave the dragon once last pat and followed after, carefully pushing aside the veil as he entered. Hedwig released her grip on Harry, soaring over to roost in a bookshelf. Newt stood off to the side, an alcove Harry had missed in his first trip through. A mattress was situated deep within the corner, covered in a several thick layers of warm, brightly-colored quilts. Large, fluffy pillows were piled near the wall. At the end lay a wooden trunk, clothes peeking out from the aperture. Another doorway was located adjacent, opening concealed by a threadbare curtain covered in hand-stitched ducks. Harry was hopelessly endeared by the sight.

“Aer calidus,” Newt muttered, pointing the tip of his wand at his torso. A gust of warm air shot out, drying his hair and clothes. Pickett let out a pleased chirp at the change in temperature. Newt flipped open the latch of the trunk and began to furiously rifle through its contents.

“A hot air spell?” Harry asked, stepping closer to the other boy. Newt nodded, seemingly too engrossed in his task to vocalize a proper answer. After several additional moments of rustling through the clothes, he tossed a dark green jumper on the bed, followed shortly by trousers and pair of striped socks.

“While I could preform the same spell on you, and the repair the damage that’s been done to your clothes—this seems like the better option,” Newt said, motioning at the pile.

“If you don’t mind?” Harry asked, all too eager to get rid of Dudley’s clothes. They were soaking wet, singed at the hem, and much too large for his skinny frame. The idea of wrapping himself up in something warm was very appealing.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Newt replied easily, tossing them his way. “You can change in the washroom. It’s just behind that curtain.”

“Ta, mate,” Harry said, before heading over to the loo to redress. The clothes worked well, as Harry only had to roll up the sleeves for them to fit. While Newt was taller than him, he was just as skinny as Harry. “What should I do with these?” He asked, exiting the room and balling the wet rags up in his hands.

“Unless you have any particular desire to keep them, I could vanish them for you,” Newt responded, wand at the ready.

“That’d be brilliant,” Harry said, setting the clothes on the floor.

Newt scrunched his face up and murmured a low incantation. “Evanesco,” he breathed, and they vanished without a trace.

“Fantastic… do you think you could teach me?” Harry gasped, awed by Newt’s apparent skill in magic.

“Certainly,” Newt said, pocketing his wand. “We can practice as much as you want down here. Though, I do need to forewarn you that I’m a rather poor teacher.”

Harry laughed. “We’re well-matched then, because I’m a poor student.”

“I suppose one thing’s for sure—we won’t be bored,” Newt replied, eyes alight with a feverish excitement. He grabbed Harry’s hand, grasping it tightly. Harry grinned at him, a strange, heady feeling coursing through his veins.

Chapter Text

Harry and Newt climbed out of the suitcase, sprawling back onto the plush seats. After a moment’s pause, Newt pulled the case into his lap and fastened it shut, then tapped his wand once on the side. It immediately began to shrink, folding in on itself until Newt could fit the item in the palm of his hand. He pinched the case between his thumb and pointer finger and deposited it within his coat pocket. Harry gaped.

“Wicked,” he whispered. “How’d you do that?”

“I did nothing. This was built into the case. It used to belong to my mum, who was an expert in the field of ancient runes—nearly unparalleled, in fact. She engraved sigils into the leather that enable the case to expand and contract, as well as a variety of other functions. I’ve had this for years, and still have yet to discover the full extent of what it can do. She—” Newt’s reply was abruptly cut off by the sound of the compartment door being thrust open.

In walked two girls, each the distinct opposite of the other. One was very tall, with a strong, rawboned face and pale skin. Her hair had been cut into a blunt bob that ended right above her chin, lending her an even more severe cast. There was a red and gold crest stitched into the lapel of her robes. The other girl was a head shorter than the first, though her wild mass of curls almost made up for the disparity. Her eyes were a bright hazel, and gleamed with a keen intelligence. Her robes were the plain black of a first-year.

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one,” the shorter one asked, brushing an errant curl out of her eyes.

“We’ve been going up and down the train searching for it,” the second added, distinctly American. Harry was reminded of Clyde.

“I’m afraid we haven’t seen one,” Harry replied after a moment. The shorter girl’s face scrunched up in dismay, causing a faint whisper of pity to form deep within Harry’s gut. He wondered how long they’d been attempting to find the creature.

“What breed of toad are you looking for, exactly?” Newt inquired, getting to his feet. “That might narrow down the list of places where it’d be most likely to hide,” he continued, stepping closer to the pair.

“I have no idea. We were just trying to help some kid find his pet,” the taller girl offered, rubbing the back of her neck.

“You’re right! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” the other blurted, clearly beating herself up about the oversight.

“We could always just go ask him, and then re-think our strategy from there, Hermione,” her friend said, attempting to console her.

“But Tina—” Hermione’s response was abruptly truncated as, yet again, the door was shoved open. This time, however, three boys entered. Harry immediately recognized one of them as the one he’d met back in Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He cut a striking figure, with his colorless hair and deep-set, narrow eyes. His companions, though, were strangers to Harry.

“I heard Harry Potter’s on this train. Have any of you seen him?” He asked imperiously, absently gesturing for the others to remain behind. Hermione’s face twitched in annoyance, and Tina’s eyes narrowed. They were clearly as impressed as Harry was with the boy’s demeanor.

“That’s me,” Harry piped up, rising to his feet. The boy gawked at him, flushing a bright red.

“You?” He exclaimed, stepping closer. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Well, you never asked,” Harry said. Newt muffled a low laugh, causing the boy to pivot towards him. A predatory look crossed his sharp features, anger quickly morphing into malice.

“Newton Scamander—back from your little jaunt through Europe, I see. I’m sure your brother would just love to know what you’ve been up to. Perhaps I’ll owl him once we arrive at Hogwarts,” he said, a nasty grin playing about his lips.

Newt’s mouth thinned into a  grimace, eyes shuttering. There was a pain present there—visible in the tense line of his shoulders, in the faint tremors of his hands. A fierce protectiveness unfurled within Harry. He felt compelled to act.

“Now listen here, you little twat. If you say one more nasty thing to him, I’ll knock you out,” Harry said, moving in front of Newt. He hoped that he looked suitably menacing.

“You dare threaten me, Potter?” He gasped, clapping a hand over his chest.

“Since I have no idea who the hell ‘you’ are, the answer is yes,” Harry said.

“I am Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy—” Draco’s tirade was rudely interrupted by Harry, who couldn’t help but interject.

“And who is that, exactly?” He asked snidely. Draco’s angry flush deepened.

“Someone far more important than you’ll ever be,” he hissed, waving a finger in Harry’s face.

“Really? He defeated a Dark Lord as a baby, too? We should really start a club then,” Harry retorted, batting the offending appendage away.

“My father is a very prominent figure in the Ministry of Magic. You’d be wise not to alienate his only son,” Draco said.

“Oh, would you shut the hell up?” Tina groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Draco sucked in a shocked breath of air, looking aghast at her. Hermione looked just as surprised, though there was a clear note of wonder present in her gaze.

“It appears that rubbish can, in fact, float across the pond,” Draco sneered after an awkward pause, one where he’d obviously been collecting himself. Despite it being an admittedly rather poor comeback, Tina still scowled, grip on her wand tightening.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m done with your nonsense,” Harry spat, pushing back his right sleeve.

And then he punched Draco in the face.