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Chapter Text

Harry is five when he realizes something is very wrong. 

Ever since he was born, he hasn’t been able to see at night. He thought it was normal, that nobody can see at night, but he brings it up at four to his aunt and she informs him, very rudely, that he’s not normal and even more of a freak because of it. He gets glasses later that year but they do nothing to help him at night. 

When he finally goes to school, it’s his teacher who notices he’s acting differently. His teacher notices how he’s squinting so much that his eyes are almost closed behind his glasses. His teacher notices that when he writes something on the board, Harry will stand up and get closer to the board just to see it. His teachers notices all of these things and places him at the front of the class and further up without him asking him to. It definitely helps for the remainder of that year.

When he turns six and goes back to school, his new teacher has already been informed by his old teacher that he needs to sit at the front. But the front doesn’t help anymore because he can’t see, his glasses don’t help. He has to stand up and almost place his nose against the board to make out what might be in front of him. 

When he turns seven, he starts going to special classes every other day to help him learn how to live now that he’s totally blind. Luckily for Harry, the Dursley’s aren’t informed of this class because his teachers assume the Dursley’s know, that it was them who suggested he take the class. Unbeknownst to them and Harry, it was Harry’s first teacher who suggested Harry start learning braille and how to navigate properly. 

He spends all year in pre-Braille training and the next year actually learning the language. When he’s nine, the teachers pitch in to buy him a cane because for some reason, he doesn’t have one yet. He stopped wearing his glasses the year before and gets complimented all the time on his green eyes. He’s glad he has a distant idea of what green looks like because nobody seems to know how to describe it. 

He’s honestly surprised by how little this has affected his life with the Dursleys. He used to drop things and burn things and mess up the garden but now that he’s had a few years of getting used to being blind, he doesn’t do those things as much. Sometimes he burns the food, sometimes he messes up the garden, sometimes he bumps into Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon and they yell at him, but not much has changed, if he’s being honest, other than Dudley grabbing his cane and whacking him with it sometimes.

When he turns ten, he makes a friend who isn’t totally blind like him but still understands him better than any other kid or teacher does. 

When he turns eleven, Hagrid tells him about a new world he’s not used to. One he doesn’t know how to navigate, one where people like him and praise him. 

It’s the first time his blindness truly affects him. It’s the first time he realizes that he can’t talk his way out of this one. He can’t make up excuses or push people away because people are going to be watching his every move. His every uncoordinated move.

He has his first panic attack in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. People were touching him and calling his names and thanking him for something he doesn’t know anything about and it was just too much. Hagrid helps him through it with expertise, something that should be unusual but isn’t. Afterward, Hagrid keeps a soft grip on his shoulder and guides him through Diagon Alley, making sure to keep him away from hands and feet and anything else that might make him feel uneasy or make him panic.

When he gets his wand, Harry realizes he might be able to do this. Magic isn’t all about sight, like he previously thought. He could feel it coursing through him, could feel it run all the way down his arm and out of his wand, and he loved it. He tells his owl all about it later, about how it felt, and he doesn’t care if she’s asleep or not. 

His books, he realizes the next morning, are in Braille. He wonders if Hagrid bought them specifically for him or if the books are magical too and know that he needs them to be in Braille. He spends hours reading books and his fingertips go numb but he continues reading. He finds the name Hedwig and thinks it’s fantastic for his new owl, who is apparently a snowy owl and very beautiful, if Hagrid was correct. 

He thinks that his previous panic was ridiculous. He can do this. He’s never backed down before, though he seriously thought about it when he was in pre-Braille training. 

He’s Harry freakin’ Potter and if the world thinks he can do anything, then he’s going to prove them right.

OoOo

“Excuse me,” Harry hopes he’s speaking in the right direction.

“First time at Hogwarts, dear? Ron’s new too.” the lady speaks gently.

Harry swallows, “Yes. The thing is — the thing is, I don’t know how to —“

“How to get onto the platform?” she finishes and Harry nods. “Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go before Ron.”

Harry blinks, “Er… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother, but I can’t see. Where exactly should I walk?”

The woman pauses, “How do you mean, dear?”

“I’m blind, ma’am.”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Silly me. I’m sorry. Here, you can run with Ron, he can lead you there.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “I can just hold your elbow, if that’s alright.”

“‘Course,” a different voice, it must be Ron’s, says. When Harry holds his hand out, Ron places his elbow into it and Harry grips it tightly. “I’m going to run but I won’t go too fast. It’s just straight ahead.”

Harry nods. Ron counts down from three and Harry runs with him straight into… a barrier, if the woman is to be trusted. It doesn’t feel like one, though, because there’s no resistance nor does Harry crash into a wall. Suddenly, the quiet of King's Cross is replaced by loud chatter and the sound of what must be the train. It’s kind of overwhelming but Harry made it through Diagon Alley so he can get through this.

“Do you want me to help you get on the train?” Ron asks him.

Harry looks at the direction of his voice, “Really?”

“Well… you said you were blind. I don’t know, I felt like you might want somebody to at least lead you to an empty compartment.”

Harry nods quickly, “Yeah! That’d be great.”

“I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley,” Ron is walking now and Harry follows suit.

“Harry Potter.”

Ron freezes and Harry stumbles on his own feet but manages to stay upright. “Harry Potter? Like… like the Harry Potter?”

“Yes. I am him, last I checked,” Harry shrugs. “At least I hope so.”

Ron laughs and Harry smiles. He starts walking again and Harry does too. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to meet you so soon. I knew you’d be at school this year but I never thought we’d meet before we got to school.”

Harry hums, “I’m glad we did. I wouldn’t have known how to get to school in the first place.”

“Oh, Ronald, you've got something on your nose,” the woman, who Harry’s assumes is Ron’s mother, starts talking again and Harry doesn’t know if she’s been walking with them the whole time. He shuts his mouth as Ron starts whining as his mother, Harry assumes, starts to clean his nose off. 

“Aw, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?” a different voice says. Harry looks at it and tries to glue it to his memory.

“Shut up,” Ron mumbles.

“Where’s Percy?”

Harry stays silent as their mother says goodbye to ‘Percy’ who is something called a ‘Prefect’ and when she tells the two boys Harry heard earlier pretending to be each other to stay out of trouble. They must be twins, Harry thinks. 

Eventually, Harry gets on the train with Ron and Ron helps him put their trunks and Hedwig in the corner. Harry sits down and Ron sits across from him. The train jerks and starts moving.

“I don’t mean to be rude but, um… you’re blind?” Ron says after a few minutes of silence.

Harry nods, “I wasn’t always. I’ve never been able to see at night but by the time I was seven, I couldn’t see at all. I learned how to use a cane and how to read Braille in school, though I forgot my cane at home.”

“Right. I heard you lived with muggles.”

Harry’s nose scrunches up, “With my aunt, uncle, and cousin, yeah. I didn’t know I was a wizard until my birthday.”

“Really?” Ron says. “Wow.”

“Are all your family wizards?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” Ron says. “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant but we don’t talk about him.”

“I wish I grew up with wizards,” Harry grumbles. “Three brothers, that’d be cool.”

“Five,” Ron says. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie already left. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Quidditch Captain. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot but they get good marks and people think they're funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as they did but even if I do, it’s no big deal because they did first. And you never get anything new, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

There’s rustling and Harry assumes Ron just pulled the rat out.

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless. He hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn’t aff— I mean, I got Scabbers instead.”

Harry frowns. Ron had fallen silent and Harry quickly starts to tell him about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes and never getting birthday presents to try and cheer him up about not being able to afford an owl. It seems to work.

At some point, they fall silent and Harry enjoys it. He’d never talked so much, not even with the girl he made friends with the year before. 

An old lady, Harry thinks she’s old by the sound of her voice, comes by and asks if they want any sweets. Ron mumbles something about sandwiches but Harry perks up. He asks for a bit of everything, not wanting to miss out on anything, and dumps the candy and pastries on the seat next to him. 

He picks up something and runs his finger along the top of it to see if his theory of magical things knowing he’s blind and changing to Braille holds up and finds that it doesn’t, meaning Hagrid must’ve bought the books specifically for him without him having to ask. He finds himself wishing he would have thanked Hagrid even more than he already did.

“Ron,” Harry says. Ron hums. “Do you want some of these?”

“What? Harry, you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Plus, I want to know what everything says and I can’t see it,” Harry says. “I think it’s a fair deal. You read everything to me and get sweets in the process.”

Ron lets out a little laugh, “Okay then. You’re holding a pumpkin pasty right now.”

Harry perks up and, after Ron helps him find the seam so he can open it, eats it and decides that wizarding candy is just as amazing as Muggle candy. He still wants a Mars Bar but he can deal with not having one for the rest of his life if it means he gets wizard sweets.

Ron tells him about Chocolate Frogs and reads out every card to Harry happily. They eat Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Ron messing with Harry and not telling him the color so he can’t try to guess the flavor, and then some Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands.

There’s a knock on the compartment door that interrupts the conversation the two were having about a wizard on a Chocolate Frog card. The door slides open.

“Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?”

Harry shakes his head and the boy lets out a cry, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” Harry says awkwardly.

“Yes. Well, if you see him…”

The door slides shut again.

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron says. “If I bought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk,” he pauses and then scoffs. “He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting but the spell didn’t work.”

“Try it again,” Harry suggests. “If it doesn’t work, you don’t have to tell me because I won’t be able to see it.”

Ron laughs despite himself and Harry smiles. 

“Maybe,” Ron mumbles. There’s rustling and before Ron can say anything else, the door slides open again.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” a girl’s voice says. She sounds kind of bossy, her tone reminds Harry of Aunt Petunia telling him to do chores or cook breakfast but it isn’t as mean as Aunt Petunia.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” Ron says. Harry snickers and Ron snorts. He’s never had somebody who would tolerate his numerous jokes about his blindness so he’s glad that Ron isn’t afraid to laugh with him. His teachers and other students used to tell him not to be so rude and he would have to remind them constantly he, himself, is blind and doesn’t find the jokes rude. But Polly, the girl he became friends with, didn’t like joking about it so he was the odd one out again, even with somebody who also couldn’t see.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then,” the girl says.

“Er… okay.”

Ron clears his throats and says, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” the girl says. “Well, it’s not very good is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard. I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?”

Harry blinks. He didn’t learn the course books by heart, he didn’t think that would be necessary. 

“I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Are you really?” Hermione says. “I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?”

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” Hermione says. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore himself was in it but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, y’know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

The door slides open and shuts a second later. 

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” Ron says and Harry nods. “Stupid spell. George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

Harry hums, “What house are you brothers in?”

“Gryffindor,” Ron says. “Mum and Dad were in it too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not.”

Harry hears him slump against the seat.

“Y’know, I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are a bit lighter,” Harry says in hopes of cheering up his new friend. Ron laughs and Harry smiles. 

Ron tells him about the Gringotts break-in and then moves onto Quidditch just as quickly. Harry finally learns the rules and everything else about Quidditch. It sounds amazing — he wishes he could watch a game to see it in action. As he starts talking about smaller details of the games, the compartment door slides open again.

“Is it true?” The voice is vaguely familiar and Harry wonders where he’s heard it before. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you then, is it?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” he says his last name with pride and Harry doesn’t understand why. 

Ron coughs and Harry knows it’s covering up a laugh.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father”—the way he says it makes Harry remember that he heard the same voice talking to him in Madam Malkins and he finds himself disliking the boy more and more as he continues speaking—“told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

Red hair? Freckles? The person Harry is thinking up probably looks nothing like Ron but the vague picture is helpful.

“You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

Malfoy scoffs, “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you.” 

Harry hears Ron stand up and Harry quickly follows suit.

“Say that again,” Ron says.

“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy says.

“Unless you get out now,” Harry says, not wanting to just stand there silently.

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”

There’s a rustle of movement and a different boy lets out a yell that has Harry flinching and almost falling back into his seat. After more yelling and a single thump, the compartment goes silent. Harry stands up straight and attempts to compose himself. He hadn’t known there was more than one boy with Malfoy and it scared him more than he’d like to admit.

“What has been going on?” the voice of… maybe Hermione Granger exclaims and Harry jumps again.

“I think he’s been knocked out,” Ron mumbles. “No. I don’t believe it. He’s gone back to sleep.”

He must be talking about Scabbers. The thump must’ve been the rat, meaning he most likely bit the boy who yelled. Good, it’s what he deserves for being that silent and scaring Harry. 

Hermione reminds them to put their robes on and leaves them to do just that. As Harry struggles to find the second arm hole, a voice reaches them and tells them they’ll be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes and to leave their luggage on the train. 

The train comes to a stop eventually and Harry takes Ron’s elbow as they get off. It’s cold outside and Harry can barely hear over the sounds of excited students. One thing he can hear, though, is Hagrid’s familiar and recognizable voice calling for first years.

He lets Ron take the lead as they walk and helps him not trip and make a fool of himself when they reach the boats. Harry feels left out as everyone takes in the sight of what must be a beautiful castle.

When the boats comes to a stop, Harry takes Ron’s elbow once again and follows him. Hagrid gives the Neville boy his toad back and then they’re walking again. Ron comes to a stop so Harry does too and after Hagrid asking if everyone has made it, there are three loud knocks on what must be very large doors. 

Chapter Text

Upon hearing Professor McGonagall’s voice for the first time, Harry immediately makes the assumption that she isn’t one to be crossed. She tells them about the houses and what to expect once they’ve been sorted but she doesn’t actually say what sorts them. Harry finds himself getting increasingly nervous.

“Ron — how do we get sorted?”

“Some sort of test, I think,” Ron says quietly. “Fred said it hurts a lot but I think he was joking.”

Harry nervousness skyrockets. A test? How will he ever pass if he can’t see what it is that’ll be testing him? The questions or even what they’ll be fighting? Harry hopes it won’t involve magic, he doesn’t know a thing about using his wand yet.

There’s suddenly shrieks and gasps from other students and Harry jumps, gripping Ron’s elbow tightly. 

“What’s happening?” Harry says, his voice shaking slightly.

“It’s just ghosts,” Ron says. “Hogwarts has quite a few. Bill told me about them. He says the Gryffindor ghost — Nearly Headless Nick — isn’t too bad, if a little pompous at times. Kinda like Percy.”

“ Nearly headless?”

“I don’t know either.”

“— I say, what are you all doing here?”

Everyone stays silent, not sure if they should actually answer.

“New students! About to be sorted, I suppose?”

More silence, though Harry assumes people are nodding.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” a sharp voice — Professor McGonagall, Harry’s mind supplies — says. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

A few moments later, she says, “Now, form a line and follow me.”

Harry gets behind Ron, holding onto the back of his robes now. 

They all come to a stop eventually and Harry hears somebody — maybe Hermione Granger, his mind says — say, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History .”

“The ceiling?” Harry mumbles.

“Yeah. It’s cool,” Ron whispers. He suddenly jolts, “Harry, it's a hat. ”

“A hat? What do you mean? You mean a hat is going to—“

He gasps quietly when singing suddenly fills the room.

“Ron, is that the hat?”

“Yeah, it’s the hat.”

Harry listens closely to the song and claps along with everyone else when it finishes. So, a hat sorts them into their Houses. Harry hadn’t expected that. 

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” Professor McGonagall says. Her voice is quite distinctive — Scottish, if Harry’s mind is correct — and Harry is quick to remember it, thankfully. He remembers getting a lot of his peers mixed up in school because their voices and accents all blended together and he could never tell them apart, so he’s glad he can already remember her voice. “Abbott, Hannah.”

There’s a few moments of silence before — 

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Ron, how do I know where my table is?” Harry whispers.

Ron considers this for a second before whispering back, “Well, the cheering. Gryffindors — they cheer the loudest. Hufflepuffs are more rowdy than the other two but not as rowdy as Gryffindor. Ravenclaws are polite but louder than Slytherin, who only clap. Just listen.”

Harry does. Ron turns out to be correct with his assessment and Harry easily locates the Gryffindor table just by how loud they are. They seem to be on the opposite side of the hall from the Slytherins, with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in between them. Harry can’t quite tell which side the Hufflepuff table is on and which side the Ravenclaw table is on but he doesn’t think he’ll go to either of those houses so he’s not too worried.

Another thought hits him.

“How do I find a spot to sit?”

“My brothers will help you,” Ron says easily. “I’m sure Fred and George will want you to sit next to them and Percy, since he’s a Prefect, will definitely help you. Don’t worry about it, Harry.”

Harry is worrying about it but decides not to say as such, lest he make Ron worry too.

It all goes by too quickly for Harry’s liking. He hears Patil and Patil and holds his breath, hoping for another ‘P’ before him but —

“Potter, Harry!”

The hall erupts into whispers.

“Potter? Did she say Potter?”

“Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?”

Ron pulls him out from behind him and gives him a slight nudge. He forces himself to keep his hands at his side as he walks forward and is immensely grateful for Professor McGonagall’s hand. She lays it on his shoulder, seeing how hesitant he is, and directs him right to the stool. He sits down and feels the hat being placed onto his head.

“Hmm,” a voice suddenly says and he holds back a flinch. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?”

Harry grips the sides of the stool tightly. He doesn’t want to go to Slytherin or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff because he knows that Ron won’t be going to those Houses. Ron has been awesome so far and has helped him without a single complaint and Harry, who normally doesn’t trust anybody as quickly as he has Ron, doesn’t want to have to find somebody else like that in a different house. 

“I see, I see. As much as I think Slytherin might be good for you, I am able to see that it won’t do you any good now, or in the future, to be put with people who don’t trust easily, just like you. Better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry, for one fleeting moment, is thankful for his fame. His cheer is by far the loudest and directs him easily to the Gryffindor table. Percy Weasley introduces himself and shakes Harry’s hand before directing him to the empty spot next to him. Two more people go by and then Ron gets called up. Gryffindor is yelled mere seconds later and Harry claps with everybody else. He hears Ron drop into the seat next to him and Percy say, “Well done, Ron, excellent.”

Zabini, Blaise goes to Slytherin and that ends the Sorting Ceremony. 

The hall falls silent and a voice — Professor Dumbledore, Ron whispers to him — starts speaking.

“Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

Everybody claps and cheers. Harry blinks. He’s not sure if he should laugh or not. He decides not to say anything; he doesn’t want to be rude.

Harry’s nose suddenly gets hit with tons of different smells. He jumps and then says tentatively, “Um… Ron?”

“Right,” Ron’s mouth sounds full already and Harry almost laughs. “Uh — ?”

Harry does laugh this time, “Just put a little bit of everything. Not much, though, just—“

“Got it,” Ron interrupts him and Harry nods once, thankful for his ramble being cut off. Ron gives him a nudge when he finishes putting food onto Harry’s plate and Harry smiles at him.

“Thanks, Ron.”

“No problem.”

Harry is glad he finally gets to do something he knows how to do. He finds his silverware and pokes around to get a feel for what is actually on his plate before starting to eat. It’s a lot, way more than the Dursleys ever gave him, but he definitely isn’t complaining.

“That does look good,” a voice in front of Harry says.

Harry jumps and then furrows his eyebrows, “Can’t you — ?”

“I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,” the voice says. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

Ghost. That makes sense. Harry tries to glue the man’s voice to mind.

“I know who you are!” Ron says suddenly, as if he didn’t tell Harry about the ghost earlier. “My brothers told me about you — you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—“

“ Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?” a voice that sounds Irish? says.

“Like this ,” Sir Nicholas doesn’t sound too happy about where the conversation went. 

A few people gasp suddenly but nobody says anything. Harry frowns. 

“So — new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable — he’s the Slytherin ghost,” Sir Nicholas says after a pause. 

“How did he get covered in blood?” the Irish boy asks.

“I’ve never asked.”

Harry continues eating, his mood slightly dampened at the fact that he can’t see what everyone is talking about. 

A little bit later, after Harry has eaten enough, the food disappears and is replaced by something else that smells sweet. Harry assumes it’s dessert and asks hopefully, “Ron — is there treacle tart?”

He remembers the treacle tart at school being delicious, if a little dry but he never complained, and he occasionally made it for Dudley. If he snuck a piece once or twice before handing it off, the Dursleys never have to know.

Ron hums and places one onto Harry’s plate. As Harry takes a bite, the conversation switches.

“I’m half-and-half,” the Irish boy — Seamus Finnigan — says. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mum didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

Everyone laughs.

“What about you, Neville?” Ron asks.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” Neville — Harry starts listening intently to try and glue the boy’s voice to his brain — says, “but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

Ron starts talking about his brothers so Harry listens in on the conversation next to him. Hermione Granger is talking about lessons with Percy. He moves his head around and wishes once again that he could see the Great Hall and everybody else. 

Suddenly, a sharp, hot pain shoots across Harry’s scar. He flinches and brings his hand up to touch it, afraid that somebody else just touched it, and wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“What is it?” Percy asks and Harry remembers that other people can see him.

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles. 

He doesn’t know what just happened and he doesn’t know if somebody else did something to him and it’s dampening his mood even more.

Harry stays silent until the desserts disappear. The hall goes silent and Harry hears someone clear their throat.

“Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbid- den to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry blinks and then frowns, muttering, “He’s not serious?” towards Percy.

“Must be,” Percy says. “It’s odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere — the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least.”

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Professor Dumbledore — whose voice is also distinctive and easy to remember— says. There’s a bunch of rustling and then he continues, “Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!”

Everybody starts to sing suddenly and Harry furrows his eyebrows. They must be reading off of something but, again, Harry can’t see that something so he just keeps his mouth shut.

The Weasley Twins are the last to finish, singing it at a funeral march, and then everybody claps.

“Ah, music,” Professor Dumbledore says. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Harry grips Ron’s elbow as they all follow Percy out of the Great Hall.

“Are you okay?” Ron asks.

Harry, who is still a little concerned about why his scar started to hurt, shrugs, “Just sad I can’t see everything.”

“Oh, yeah. That does suck,” Ron mumbles. “If you want, you can be like Hermione and read Hogwarts: A History .”

Harry laughs, “I’ll pass but thanks.”

Ron continues to talk to him quietly, pointing out the talking portraits and different tapestries. Suddenly, they all come to a stop.

“Peeves,” Harry hears Percy whisper. “A poltergeist.” He raises his voice, “Peeves, show yourself.”

There’s a loud, rude sound that sounds like air being let out of a balloon.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

There’s a pop and a few students gasp quietly. 

“Oooooooh!” Peeves says with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

There’s a rustle of movement and a few screams but Harry stays still. 

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” Percy barks.

There’s another pop and then Harry hears the rattling of metal as Peeves zooms away.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” Percy tells them after they’ve all started walking again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.”

“Password?” a high, shrilly girl’s voice says.

“Caput Draconis.”

Ron helps Harry into the common room and then up the stairs once Percy tells them which is which.

“You’re next to me,” Ron says, pointing Harry’s body in the direction of the bed. “Your trunk is right in front of you.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry mumbles.

He manages to change into his pajamas easily and finds himself laying down before he knows it.

“Thanks for being so cool, Ron,” Harry yawns.

“No problem, Harry.”

Harry is asleep within seconds.

Chapter Text

The next day, whispers follow Harry everywhere he goes but he can’t be bothered to care. Thankfully, he’s got all his classes with Ron, so he trusts the boy to lead him to all his classes.

Harry isn’t sure he’ll ever master the hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts because they’re all so different. Some are wide, some are narrow, some are rickety and feel as if they might collapse any second, some lead to different places than the first time you stepped on them, and then the dreadful vanishing step ones. Harry has almost fallen onto his face multiple times from stepping on one of the steps he was supposed to jump and Ron has now gotten into the habit of just picking him up and setting him onto the stair below the vanishing one. It makes Harry laugh when he does it and Harry thinks that’s a big reason as to why he doesn’t just tell Harry to jump.

Peeves has taken to messing with Harry the most, unfortunately. As soon as he learned that Harry couldn’t see him, Peeves had been delighted. He sneaks up on Harry daily to throw things at him or pull rugs out from under him or, worst of all, to stick his hand through Harry’s face and pretend to grab his nose. Harry, who has gotten fed up with this, has taken to yelling for the Baron whenever Peeves starts acting up, which always makes Peeves run away quickly and earns laughs from everyone around them. 

Filch isn’t as bad as the poltergeist but he certainly is horrible. Ron and Harry got onto his bad side the first first day of classes. They had been trying to get through a locked door when Filch found them and they found out it was the door blocking the forbidden third-floor corridor. Filch refused to believe that they were just lost and started threatening to lock them in the dungeons when Professor Quirrell saved them. 

After you manage to find your class, there’s the class itself. Harry’s previous assessment of magic being as simple as waving your wand and saying some Latin turned out to be wrong and he panicked a little bit when this fact was found out. All his teachers so far, though, have been very accommodating and nice to him, if a little shocked that the Boy-Who-Lived is blind. On Wednesday’s at midnight, they’re supposed to study the night sky, so Harry works with Dean Thomas, a boy who is supposedly great at drawing but is also able to describe what he is seeing very well. Three times a week, they head out to the greenhouses for Herbology with Professor Sprout. Harry works with Neville in this class because Neville has a strange affinity for plants and is able to help Harry when he needs it, which is a lot of the time. 

In History of Magic with Professor Binns, Harry listens intently to the information given, even though Professor Binns’ voice is dreadful. He doesn’t necessarily need anybody’s help in History of Magic, so he just sits with Ron and tries not to fall asleep during the class.

In Charms with Professor Flitwick, Harry works with Hermione Granger, who has a similar affinity to most subjects like Neville has with Herbology. She happily helps Harry take notes and other such things and Harry, despite thinking she’s a little annoying, actually likes her, unlike Ron. 

In Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, Harry sits in between Hermione and Ron. Hermione helps them both, Harry mostly, with everything. The first lesson, they had taken extensive notes and then were given a match to try and turn into a needle. Harry, who focused on the feeling of his magic and tuned out everybody else in the class, managed to change it perfectly the very first time he tried, shocking the class into silence. Professor McGonagall had apparently stared at him in shock for quite a bit of time before picking up his needle and showing the class. Ron says that she looked like she was about to cry but Harry doesn’t believe him.

Professor Quirrell’s class is something of a joke, but considering all they do is read out of their textbooks and write essays, Harry is easily one of the best students in the class, just like Transfiguration and Charms. The latter two are quite easy to Harry because he can focus on his magic better than anybody else and knows exactly where it’s going and what will happen when it comes out. This reading and writing essays is easy, very boring, but easy.

On Friday, Harry and Ron manage to get to the Great Hall without getting lost. 

“What have we got today?” Harry asks Ron as he puts sugar into his porridge. Harry, now living here in the castle for almost a week, has gotten pretty good at making his own plates during meals. Sometimes he needs to ask what something is before he picks it up but he mainly sticks to porridge, eggs, bacon, and kipper for breakfast, steak and kidney pie for lunch, steak or chicken with potatoes for dinner, and treacle tart for dessert. He’s learned where everything is and is able to get to it without trouble by now.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” Ron says. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them — we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”

Harry makes a face and Ron laughs. 

There’s a lot of rustling and fluttering overhead, meaning the mail has arrived. Hedwig hasn’t brought Harry anything yet, though she sometimes comes in to nibble his ear and steal some toast before going back to sleep in the owlery with the other owls. Today, however, Harry hears her land in front of him.

“She’s got a letter,” Ron tells him.

Harry hums, “Can you read it for me?”

He picks up some bacon and holds it out. Hedwig takes it with a happy hoot, eating it quickly before flying up to nibble his ear.

“ Dear Harry, I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig. Hagrid, ” Ron reads. “I can send it back, if you want.”

Harry nods, “Sure. Thanks.”

Ron tells him that he wrote Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note and Harry approves. They send it off with Hedwig.

Harry is glad to have that to look forward to because from what he hears so far, Professor Snape is horrible.

Ron and Harry sit together, Harry assuming he won’t need special help to read instructions and make potions. It’s like cooking, he assumes, so he’ll gladly sit next to Ron. Professor Snape starts the class out by taking a roll and pauses when he reaches Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes ,” he says softly. “Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity. ”

Harry frowns. He hears Draco Malfoy and the two silent boys laugh quietly. 

Professor Snape finishes calling names and then starts speaking to them about Potions.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” his voice is barely a whisper but it’s deafening in the silent classroom. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its 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 aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Harry thinks it’s quite rude of him to say such a thing. Maybe his students are dunderheads because he isn’t a good teacher. Harry smirks at the thought but that quickly goes away with Professor Snape suddenly says, “Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry blinks. Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? He read all of his school books but, unlike Hermione, he didn’t commit any of the information to his memory. 

“I don’t know, sir,” Harry says.

Professor Snape tsks, “Fame clearly isn’t everything.”

Harry frowns again.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” 

Harry has no clue what a bezoar is, let alone where to find one. He can hear Malfoy and his friends laughing quietly.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” 

Harry is deeply offended now, “Sir—“

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Professor Snape interrupts him.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, his voice sharp. He doesn’t even need his sight to know that Hermione is raising her head. Having been in all of his other classes with her, he knows that she knows pretty much every answer to any question they get asked. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

Never has he ever talked so rudely to a teacher before but that doesn’t mean he’s afraid to do so if the need arises. A few people laugh at Professor Snape and Harry fights a smirk.

“Sit down,” he snaps at Hermione, confirming Harry’s assumption. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

Harry, immensely glad that Hermione had agreed during their very first lesson to take notes for him, doesn’t pull out a quill and parchment like everybody else. Considering he can’t have Ron or somebody else read everything written on the board to him while the professor is teaching, it had been easier to let a very eager Hermione help him take notes and then read them to him later in the common room. He hadn’t even asked her too, she just offered and then started doing it and now it’s the system. This system, however, allows Harry to look defiant in front of Professor Snape, who doesn’t know that Hermione is writing double the notes for Harry, and the thought does have him smirking.

“A point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek and your tone, Potter,” Professor Snape says. “And two more for smirking.”

This does nothing to get rid of Harry smirk, though. Three points isn’t even a dent in the amount of points he and Hermione have earned just from Charms and Transfiguration alone. 

Snape puts them all into pairs and, after writing instructions on the board, tells them to get started on making a potion to cure boils. Ron reads the instructions for Harry and Harry carefully adds every ingredient and stirs when needed. He’s not sure it’s perfect but he’s certainly doing better than Neville and Seamus. 

Ron pulls him up onto their stools when a hissing fills the room and tells him in a hushed voice that Neville just melted his cauldron and it’s all over the floor.

“Idiot boy!” Professor Snape says and Harry almost flinches. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Professor Snape says. Harry and Ron settle back into their seats but Harry jumps almost a foot in the air when Professor Snape starts speaking to him and Ron. “You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

Ron kicks his leg to try and stop Harry from arguing but this doesn’t work.

“Sir, I’m blind!” Harry says incredulously. “How was I supposed to know what he was putting into his cauldron if I can’t see him? And what have I done to make you think I want to be famous, Professor?”

A few Gryffindors snicker, now used to Harry’s blindness. They all know by now that it’s okay to laugh when Harry makes jokes or bumps into something.

“Five more points for raising your voice at a professor, Potter. Would you like to continue?”

“Um, yes—“

“No!” Ron cuts in. “No, he doesn’t. I’m sorry, Professor.”

“ Ron. ”

“ Harry. ”

“This is completely unfair—“

“Life is unfair, Potter, get used to it. Another five for arguing.”

Thirteen points? Harry has never heard something so unfair. Life is unfair, he is blind after all, but taking points for something that so obviously wasn’t Harry’s fault is just plain rude, and definitely biased toward Harry. Harry doesn’t even know what he did to Snape, so he’s coming in blind (LITERALLY!) to this fight.

Harry’s face twists up. Thirteen points isn’t going to deter him from getting something resembling justice, even though he knows he isn’t helping himself by continuing to argue. The other Gryffindors seem to be enjoying it though, despite the loss of points.

“It’s not unfair, Professor, this is just biased and rude,” Harry spits. “I’ve never even met you before, why do you hate me so much?”

Ron groans quietly.

“I wonder why, Potter.”

“I’m famous , so bloody what? I was one, it’s not like I whipped out a wand and killed Voldemort, it was a complete—“

“Detention, Potter, and twenty more points from Gryffindor. You’ll be spending tomorrow night scrubbing cauldrons.”

“Professor—“

Ron slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth and Harry realizes that nobody is laughing anymore. Oh. He said the name. Hagrid told him it was bad. He didn’t even realize, he was so worked up about Snape. And now he’s gotten thirty-three points taken from Gryffindor and a detention all in his first week of school. 

Harry decides to stop and the rest of the class passes by without another incident. Harry is still vibrating with anger, though, as he follows Ron out of the dungeons.

“I can’t believe him!” Harry hisses. “No teacher should ever act like that to a student, much less an eleven-year-old! I should take this to Professor Dumbledore, I should get him fired —“

“Harry, you egged him on.”

“He started it, Ron! I was defending myself! I’m not going to let some stupid bloody professor with a grudge ruin my schooling just because he thinks it’s funny!” Harry snaps. “I’ll take fifty detentions if it means he shuts the hell up and lets me learn without targeting me.”

Ron sighs, “Can I go to Hagrid’s with you?”

Harry rolls his eyes at the subject change, “Sure, Ron.”

“Harry!” Hermione calls from behind them. She runs up and links her arm with his, like she always does. “Here — your notes. And that argument with Professor Snape, Harry… I don’t normally praise the breaking of rules, but he did deserve to be called out like that.”

Harry lets go of Ron’s elbow to take the notes held out for him, “Thanks. And he doesn’t even deserve to teach if he’s going to act like that.”

He shoves the parchment into his book bag.

“I completely agree. I think we should take it to the headmaster, or maybe Professor McGonagall so she can take it to him,” Hermione says. 

Harry hums in agreement.

“Anyway, where are you two headed?”

“We’re going down to Hagrid’s to have tea,” Harry says. “Would you like to come?”

“Um… sure, why not? I can do my homework later, I suppose,” Hermione says. “Thanks.”

Harry nods. He grabs Ron’s elbow again, his mood lifted significantly at having somebody agree with him. Hermione keeps her arm linked with his all the way down to Hagrid’s.

Ron knocks on the door when they reach the hut and they hear several booming barks from behind the door before Hagrid’s voice says, “ Back , Fang, back .”

There’s a small creak and then, “Hang on. Back , Fang.”

Hagrid lets them inside and says, “Make yerselves at home.”

“This is Ron and Hermione,” Harry tells Hagrid as they all sit down.

“Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid says. “I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.”

Harry, not wanting to hurt Hagrid’s feelings, pretends to enjoy the rock cakes Hagrid gives them as they tell him about their lessons. Hagrid, like Ron, attempts to tell Harry that he shouldn’t worry about Snape when Harry tells him about the lesson.

“But he seemed to really hate me,” Harry insists.

“Rubbish! Why should he?” this doesn’t sound as sincere as it should and before Harry can ask, Hagrid changes the subject. “How’s yer brother Charlie? I liked him alot — great with animals.”

Ron starts to talk about Charlie’s work with dragons. Hermione moves slightly and then makes a small noise, “Harry -- isn’t your birthday the 31st of July?”

Harry blinks, “Yes? Why?”

“I don’t know. That Gringotts break-in happened on the 31st, I just thought that was interesting,” she mumbles.

“The 31st? Hagrid, we were at Gringotts that day!” Harry says. “What if it was happening while we were there?”

Hagrid doesn’t give him an answer, instead offering another rock cake. Harry thinks back to what happened at Gringotts that day. He knows that Hagrid took a package out of a vault and that it was ‘Hogwarts business.’ Could that package be what the thieves were after?

And if so, what was in the package?

Chapter Text

Detention with Snape wasn’t as bad as Harry was thinking it would be. He just scrubbed cauldrons for a few hours before heading back to the common room with a reprimand of not cleaning them very well. Harry had to hold back a quip about being blind, the thought of getting another detention being the only thing stopping him. 

Draco Malfoy has started to become a real thorn in Harry’s side. He’s taken to scaring Harry, just like Peeves, and Harry is getting increasingly pissed off with the boy. Luckily, they only have Potions with him, but they still pass in the corridors and Malfoy takes every chance he can get to sneak up on Harry and scare him into jumping a foot in the air. This luck ends, though, when a notice is put up in the common room informing them that flying lessons are starting on Thursday and they have them with the Slytherins. Harry, who has been getting increasingly nervous about getting on a broomstick and flying around, is especially bummed about this information.

“Typical,” he mumbles when Ron tells him the news. “Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.”

“You don’t know that you’ll make a fool of yourself,” Ron tells him. “Anyway, I know Malfoy’s always going on about how good he is at Quidditch but I bet that’s all talk.”

Malfoy has been talking about flying a lot but everybody seems to talk about Quidditch, so he’s not the only one. Seamus Finnigan talks about zooming around on a broom all the time and Harry is sure by now that the boy’s entire childhood was spent on one. Ron talks about it too and the ongoing argument between him and Dean Thomas about football and Quidditch is something Harry pretends annoys him but it amuses him greatly. Neville, the last boy in their dorm, has never been on a broom in his life and Harry thinks this is for good reason, seeing as Neville has more accidents than him with both feet on the ground. The first time Harry joked about Neville being more clumsy than himself, a blind person, nobody but Ron had laughed and Harry had to clarify that it was okay to laugh about it. Now, though, Neville is always the second to laugh when Harry makes jokes about his blindness, Ron being the first.

Harry hasn’t gotten a letter since Hagrid’s but his friends frequently get some. Today, Neville has gotten a package from his grandmother.

“It’s a Remembrall!” he tells them. “Gran knows I forget things, so this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red… oh,” he pauses, “…you’ve forgotten something…”

“It turned red,” Ron mumbles and Harry bites his lip, fighting a small smile.

Ron suddenly jumps to his feet and Harry flinches.

“What’s going on?” Professor McGonagall’s voice says and Harry also wonders the same thing.

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall, Professor,” Neville tells her.

Harry sighs.

“Just looking,” Malfoy walks away, his two friends -- which Harry has yet to learn the name of -- following behind.

At three-thirty in the afternoon, the Gryffindors head down to an open area outside for their flying lesson. Ron, sensing Harry’s fear, keeps squeezing his shoulder encouragingly as they walk.

It’s silent for a moment before a voice barks, “Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry stands next to Ron, his hands shaking slightly. How is he supposed to fly if he can’t see?

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” their teacher -- Madam Hooch, Ron whispers to Harry -- says, “and say ‘Up!’”

Harry sticks out his right hand, hoping to whatever god out there that his broom is below his hand, and says in a much more confident voice than he feels, “Up!”

There’s a sudden weight in his hand and a small laugh leaves him. He did it! He’s holding his broom! He hears a smack next to him and Ron groans. Harry laughs.

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron grumbles, confirming Harry’s assumption that his broom just smacked him in the face.

Madam Hooch instructs them on how to properly mount their brooms without sliding off the ends -- walking over to Harry to help him afterward, telling him that she was around to see his dad play Quidditch from his second to seventh year (and apparently, his dad had been blind too!) and he ended up being one of the best Chasers Hogwarts has ever seen to try and cheer him up -- and Harry and Ron laugh quietly when she tells Malfoy he’s been doing it wrong his whole life.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” Madam Hooch says. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —”

She stops counting and a few people gasp. Harry frowns.

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouts. Ah, so somebody started flying before she blew her whistle.

Harry jumps when there’s a sudden thump on the ground and a loud crack.

“Broken wrist,” Harry hears Madam Hooch mutter. “Come on, boy. It’s all right, up you get. None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Harry hears the slightly familiar whimpers of Neville pass by him and frowns again. Poor Neville, he had been just as nervous as Harry to fly.

A few moments of silence go by before Malfoy’s familiar laughter fills the air.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

The other Slytherins join in.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Parvati Patil -- who helps Harry set up his essays sometimes -- snaps. Harry smirks. Parvati has always been pretty cool in his mind.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” a girl’s voice says, no doubt one of the laughing Slytherins. “Never thought you’d like fat little cry-babies, Parvati.”

“Look!” Malfoy says. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

Harry turns his head in the direction of one of his tormentors -- Peeves being one of the other ones -- and says quietly, “Give that here, Malfoy.”

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?” Malfoy says.

“Give it here!” Harry raises his voice.

A yell from further up in the sky tells Harry that Malfoy had hopped onto his broom and flown off, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry, who usually tries not to act that rashly, lest it get back to the Dursleys and they punish him for it, grabs his broom off the ground. Something about Malfoy or Snape makes his blood boil. Maybe it’s the fact that Malfoy reminds him of Dudley and Snape reminds him of Aunt Petunia -- who Harry also did nothing to but is hated by.

“No!” Hermione shouts. “Harry, Madam Hooch told us not to move, and you can’t even see the Remembrall, how are you going to get it?”

Harry doesn’t know how he’s going to get it but he supposes he’ll figure that out soon.

Ignoring Hermione, Harry does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He mounts his broom and kicks off the ground, earning gasps and screams from mostly everybody and an admiring whoop from Ron, who has never encouraged Harry to act rashly, always too worried he’ll hurt himself -- much like Hermione, but Harry never mentions this.

Harry feels a rush of joy when he realizes that flying is easy . If his dad can play Quidditch and end up being one of the best players Hogwarts has ever had with the same visual impairments as Harry, then Harry can surely get a Remembrall back from Malfoy.

“Give it here,” Harry shouts at Malfoy, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh, yeah? And how are you going to do that, Potter?” Malfoy doesn’t sound scared at all but Harry smirks. Unbeknownst to Malfoy, Harry now knows exactly where to fly to do just what he said.

Harry, somehow, knows exactly what to do. He leans forward, grasping the broom tightly with both hands, and shoots toward where he heard Malfoy’s voice. He hears him fly out of the way and quickly turns his broom around and stops, just in case there’s a building or a tree nearby.

“No friends to save your neck up here, Malfoy!” Harry shouts, because he really doesn’t know the names of the two silent boys who follow Malfoy around like puppies. He should ask Ron one of these days.

“Catch it if you can, then!”

Harry quickly abandons his pursuit of Malfoy when he hears something else fly through the air. He must’ve thrown the Remembrall. Harry focuses on the sound of the ball falling and grins, probably looking a little mad. He angles his broom in the direction of the sound and leans forward, his broom pointed down. He shoots forward and stretches his hand out, focusing solely on the ball. He feels something land in his hand and quickly pulls the broom up, not knowing how far the ground is from him. He smiles. He can’t believe he did that. He actually caught the Remembrall. 

He lowers himself slowly until his feet touch the ground and falls flat onto his back when somebody suddenly screeches his name.

“HARRY POTTER!” it’s definitely Professor McGonagall. 

He scrambles to his feet.

“Never — in all my time at Hogwarts — how dare you — might have broken your neck —”

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor—”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil —”

“But Malfoy —”

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

She grasps his shoulder, not giving him an option to do what she asked, and instead pushes him in front of her. He walks numbly, his mouth refusing to work so he can defend himself. It had been exhilarating in the moment but if he’s about to be expelled… 

They stop after a long walk and a door opens.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? Harry hopes this is a person and not a cane she’s going to beat him with.

“Follow me,” she tells Wood -- yes! It’s a person -- and then they’re walking again

“In here,” she says after another silent walk.

There’s a lot of banging and Harry immediately gets ready to shout for the Baron.

“Out, Peeves!” Professor McGonagall barks and after a clang, he does, rattling armor as he goes. She slams the door and then says, “Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I’ve found you a Seeker.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know much about Quidditch but he’s heard Seamus and Ron argue about it enough times to know that a Seeker is one of the positions.

Oliver Wood seems just as confused as him, “But -- Professor, I don’t mean to question your judgement, but Harry is blind .”

“I’m aware,” Professor McGonagall says sharply. “The boy’s a natural, however. I’ve never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

Harry nods.

“He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Professor McGonagall tells Wood. “Didn’t even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”

Wood lets out a breathy laugh, “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“And that’s safe?”

“Surely you know about his father, Wood, considering I see you admiring his trophies every so often.”

Wood laughs again, “He’s just the build for a Seeker, too.”

“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall tells Harry.

“Light — speedy — we’ll have to get him a decent broom, Professor — a Nimbus Two Thousandor a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say,” Wood continues.

“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can’t bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks,” Professor McGonagall mumbles. “I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Harry nods quickly.

“Your father would have been proud,” she says, her voice softer than before. “One of the best Chasers to attend Hogwarts --"

"Minnie's the best ever so that's a real compliment," Wood cuts in.

"Professor McGonagall," she corrects before continuing to speak to Harry, "He was an excellent Seeker too. Caught the snitch within ten minutes in his third year, subbing in for the Seeker. You’ll do wonderfully, Potter.”

Later, Harry tells Ron all of this very quickly, speaking so fast he rivals Hermione.

“You’re joking ,” Ron says, his excitement buried beneath worry. “Harry, that can’t be safe , how does she expect you to find the Snitch if you can’t see it?”

“I still have my hearing, that’s how I caught the Remembrall, I could hear it falling,” Harry says. “And my dad was blind too, Ron, and he was one of the best Chasers to attend Hogwarts -- Professor McGonagall said so herself. Hey -- don’t tell anybody. Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

“That’s… awesome but if you get hurt, I’m having a word with Professor McGonagall,” Ron says seriously.

Harry laughs, “Thanks, Ron.”

Harry hears two people shuffle up next to him.

“Well done,” it’s one of the Weasley twins. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too — Beaters.”

“I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year,” the other one says. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

The twins are quickly replaced by three others.

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” Malfoy.

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,” Harry says smoothly. The move of throwing Neville’s Remembrall -- which is back to safety in Neville’s hands -- was quite cowardly.

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” Malfoy says. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?”

“Of course he has,” Ron says quickly, intervening. “I’m his second, who’s yours?”

“Crabbe,” Malfoy says after a pause. So, that’s one name. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.”

The three leave shortly after that and Harry sighs.

“Ron, I don’t know what a wizard’s duel is. And weren’t you just lecturing me about safety?”

“It’s fine. The most you and Malfoy’ll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway.”

Harry blinks, “Ron, no. I swear, you’re so responsible one moment and then you turn around and do this.”

“C’mon, Harry, it’ll be fine--”

“Excuse me,” Hermione’s voice interrupts. She’s taken to sitting across from them, considering she isn’t very close with the other girls in their year. “You mustn’t go wandering around the school at night, Harry, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you're bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you. You’ve already lost us thirty-three and it’s not even been a week since then.”

“I know , Hermione,” Harry says. “Ron, we shouldn’t go. Let Malfoy show up and get in trouble. I don’t want to get another detention.”

“But if we don’t show up, Malfoy’s going to think we’re scared of him.”

“Let him,” Harry shrugs. “We know the truth. It’ll inflate his ego but he’s really not hard to scare.”

Ron huffs, knowing he’s lost this argument, “Fine. We won’t go.”

“Thank you,” Harry shakes his head. “I’m stupid but I’m not that stupid. Unlike you.”

Ron laughs and just like that, they go back to talking about Harry’s new place on the Quidditch team.

Later, when they’re laying in bed and listening to Dean and Seamus fall asleep, Harry suddenly gets worried. Not for Malfoy, he couldn’t get a damn about him, but for Neville. He heard Lavender Brown telling a worried Hermione earlier that magic should be able to heal Neville within minutes, so why isn’t he back in the dorm?

“Ron,” he whispers to the bed next to him, “where’s Neville?”

“The hospital wing.”

“Lavender Brown said magic should be able to heal him within minutes, though,” Harry says. “Do you think he got lost? What if Malfoy finds him? Or Filch?”

Ron sighs, “Yeah. We should go find him.”

Harry gets out of bed and takes the bathrobe Ron holds out for him. The two leave their dorm quietly and head downstairs.

Just as they reach the portrait hole, a voice says, “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.”

She had been waiting for them, meaning she didn’t trust Harry when he said they wouldn’t be going to the duel. Harry frowns, “We aren’t. We’re going to find Neville, we think he’s gotten lost.”

Hermione walks over to them, “Neville? He’s in the hospital wing.”

“Lavender told you that he’d be healed within minutes so he should’ve been back before dinner,” Harry says. “He’s not in our dorm.”

Hermione pauses, “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Crud. Maybe he did get lost.”

“You can help us look but just stay quiet,” Harry says.

Ron pushes the portrait open and helps Harry step into the corridor. They don’t even make it to the end before Harry hears a sort of snuffling.

“Mrs. Norris?” Ron mumbles. “No… I don’t believe it, it’s Neville. He’s asleep.”

They walk closer and then Neville suddenly starts talking, “Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours, I couldn’t remember the new password to get into bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig snout’,” Hermione whispers. “C’mon, let’s go back before somebody catches us.”

“How’s your arm?” Harry asks as they walk back in the direction of the portrait. The crack he heard earlier had been quite nasty.

“Fine,” Neville says. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Knew it,” Harry mutters, earning a small laugh from Ron.

They reach the portrait and Hermione lets out a small cry, “No! She’s gone off to another portrait! What do we do now?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Go see Malfoy and Crabbe’s face when they realize we aren’t coming?” Ron suggests.

“Ronald! No!” Hermione says immediately. “It’ll be easier to explain why we’re out if we stay right here. We’ll get into more trouble if we’re found somewhere else.”

“I think it’d be funny,” Harry mumbles, fully aware that he won’t actually be able to see Malfoy’s face. “But yeah, totally. Stay right here.”

Hermione huffs, “I can’t believe you two. I was okay with coming out to help find Neville but this-this is ridiculous.”

“But it totally would be funny,” Ron says. “What d’you say, Harry?”

Harry shrugs, “No telling how long it’ll be until she gets back. Might as well. We wouldn’t be dueling him anyway.”

“ Boys ,” Hermione hisses, grumbling more things about boys and their recklessness under her voice.

“C’mon then,” Ron grabs the sleeve of Harry’s bathrobe. 

The two sets of footsteps behind them tell them that Neville and Hermione are following them.

They all stay completely silent as they head to the trophy room, taking their time so they show up after midnight. When they do show up, however, the room is empty. Ron takes a breath in before speaking and in that breath, there’s a voice that isn’t any of the four’s.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

Filch .

Ron quickly tugs Harry away and they all start to leave. They walk and they walk and then Filch’s footsteps get nearer and Neville is the first to actually panic. He starts to run and then trips, grabbing onto Ron as he goes down. Harry falls with them and they land on a suit of armor, the crashing and banging loud enough to wake the whole castle.

“Run!” Ron shouts, quickly pulling Harry and Neville to the feet and pulling them along. 

They run and run and run and then finally, they come to a stop.

“Charms class,” Ron wheezes. “We’re far from the trophy room. I think we’ve lost him.”

They all catch their breath and then start on their way to the Gryffindor common room, hoping that the Fat Lady has returned by the time they reach the portrait.

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione says to Harry as they walk. “You realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you — Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

“He’ll never know we weren’t going to show up then,” Ron says.

“But we did show up and almost get caught,” Harry shakes his head. “Maybe I am that stupid.”

Ron snorts and Neville laughs quietly.

But of course, nothing could ever go the right way in Harry’s life. A door knob rattles shortly after they start to walk and Harry, already knowing what it’s going to be, gets ready to threaten him with the Bloody Baron.

Peeves gives a squeal of delight when he sees them.

“Shut up, Peeves,” Harry hisses. “I’ll get the Baron. I will.”

This doesn’t deter him. 

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Peeves, I will , don’t test me,” Harry says through gritted teeth. 

“Should tell Filch, I should,” Peeves says. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Peeves--”

Something in Harry’s tone must tip him over the edge.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” he suddenly bellows. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

And now they’re running again. Harry is faster than Ron but even with the threat of Filch behind them, he doesn’t want to risk running into a wall so he lets Ron pull him along. 

They slam into a door and find it locked. Of course!

“This is it!” Ron cries. “We’re done for! This is the end!”

His moaning would be funny if Harry wasn’t currently thinking the same thing.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarls. She grabs Harry’s wand out of his pocket and whispers, “Alohomora!”

The door creaks open and they all pile in, shutting it behind them.

They listen as Peeves messes with Filch and Harry grins, “He thinks this door is locked. I think we’ll be okay.”

“Get off, Neville,” Ron hisses. “What?”

Harry hears whatever has Neville worried and realizes just what. There’s snarling and growling behind him and whatever is making that noise shoots fear straight down Harry’s spine. Harry feels around for the doorknob. Between Filch and death by whatever is behind him, he’ll take Filch.

They all fall into the corridor and Harry slams the door shut, allowing Ron to pull him off the ground and back down the corridor. They run all the way back to the portrait, where the Fat Lady has thankfully returned.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asks.

“Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout,” Harry breathes. They all scramble into the common room and stumble into chairs, breathing heavily.

It’s a while before any of them speak.

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” Ron finally says. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

“Dog?” Harry says incredulously. 

“Three-headed dog,” Ron says. “Big as the corridor.”

Harry laughs disbelievingly.

“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” Hermione snaps. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“Yeah, Hermione, I did,” Harry says dryly.

“It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something,” she says, ignoring Harry. “I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

“No, we don’t mind,” Ron says exasperatingly. “You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn’t you?” he mumbles to Harry.

Harry, though, doesn’t particularly care for Hermione's anger. As long as she still takes notes for him, he won’t ever care. As for the trapdoor, though…

Harry thinks he might know where that package Hagrid got is hiding.

Chapter Text

Malfoy, according to Ron, is absolutely astonished to see Harry and Ron sitting at breakfast the next morning. After laughing about it for a moment, Harry begins to explain his suspicions about the package Hagrid took out of Gringotts. Ron agrees with him that the dog must be guarding whatever was in the package and this lifts Harry’s already good mood.

Neither Neville nor Hermione seem to care for what lies beneath the dog and the trapdoor, though. Neville just seems more focused on never going near the dog again. Hermione, though, has stopped speaking to Harry and Ron. She still takes notes for Harry but she’s stopped linking her arm with his when she catches up to them in the corridor and she’s stopped reading the notes to Harry later in the common room, instead making Parvati Patil read them and make sure Harry understands the material. Parvati is nice but Harry, shockingly, finds himself missing Hermione’s voice reading to him. He decides not to mention this to Ron, who is all too happy to have Hermione away from them. He’s never been her biggest fan.

About a week after the three-headed dog incident, Ron grasps Harry’s arm when the mail starts to fly in.

“What?” Harry asks.

“You’ve got a package,” Ron says just as there’s a small thump on the table. Harry’s bacon falls onto the floor and he frowns. “There’s a letter. I’ll read it,” Ron takes the letter and opens it. He clears his throat and begins speaking in a quiet voice with a Scottish accent that makes Harry laugh, “Do not open this parcel at the table. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training session. Professor McGonagall.”

Harry grins.

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron whispers, back to his normal accent. “I’ve never even touched one.”

They leave the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick before classes but halfway through the entrance hall, Ron stops and groans quietly. The broomstick is suddenly taken from Harry and he startles slightly.

“That’s a broomstick,” Malfoy says. He throws the broomstick back at Harry and Harry catches it easily, a smirk working its way onto his face as Malfoy continues, “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”

“It’s not any old broomstick,” Ron says smugly, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.”

“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,” Malfoy retorts. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.”

Before Ron can respond, though, another voice interrupts them.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?”

Professor Flitwick. Harry fights a grin.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” Malfoy says quickly.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Professor Flitwick says. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” Harry says. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he adds, making Ron laugh quietly.

“Well, it’s true,” Harry says after they continue walking. “If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be on the team.”

“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” an angry voice form behind them says. 

“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” Harry says, his voice only slightly bitter. He really does miss Hermione’s presence and he honestly hates that he does.

“Yes, don’t stop now,” Ron drawls, “it’s doing us so much good.”

That’s pushing it a little but Harry doesn’t defend her.

Harry can’t focus on his lessons the rest of the day, his mind straying back to the broomstick under his bed. After that first time, he can’t get enough of flying and he’s very excited to fly again. He and Ron eat so quickly, they barely remember eating in the first place, and quickly head up to their dorm to unwrap the broomstick, at last.

Ron sighs happily when it rolls onto Harry’s bed and has fun describing what it looks like to Harry. If his description is right, the broom looks very clean and sleek. 

At seven o’clock, Harry heads down to the Quidditch pitch, using his broom as a substitute cane as he walks since nobody can lead him. He wishes he hadn’t been so stupid and didn’t forget his cane at the Dursleys but he honestly hasn’t even noticed, what with Ron leading him everywhere. He makes a mental note to thank Ron for being such an awesome friend later.

Too eager to wait for Wood, Harry mounts his broom and kicks off as soon as he reaches the pitch. He flies around and when he almost bumps into the goal posts, starts flying in and out of those. From what he can tell, there’s three and they’re circular.

“Hey, Potter, come down!”

Harry grins and lowers himself to the ground. Wood jogs over to him and places something on the ground.

“Very nice,” he says. “I see what McGonagall meant -- you really are a natural. I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice three times a week.”

There’s a small creak of hinges bending and then Wood starts talking.

“Right. Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.”

“Three Chasers,” Harry repeats. Wood places something into Harry’s hand and Harry starts to move it around and runs his hand over it to feel it.

“This ball’s called the Quaffle,” Wood tells him. “The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?”

“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recites, still feeling the Quaffle.

“Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper — I’m Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.”

“Three Chasers, one Keeper. And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that.”

“Take this.”

The Quaffle is taken from him and is replaced by something else. 

“I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do,” Wood says. “These two are the Bludgers. I can’t get them out and let you hold them because they’re bewitched to fly around, no matter what. I’m going to free one and I want you to try and hit it back. Don’t worry, I’ve got a bat too, but I want to make sure you’re hearing’s good enough to know if a Bludger is coming your way.”

Harry nods.

“Stand back,” Wood warns him. There’s the click of a buckle and Harry hears something fly through the air. Harry swings at it with the bat to stop the Bludger from breaking his nose, and grins when the bat makes contact.

“See?” Wood pants after a moment of struggling with the Bludger. “The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you have two Beaters on each team — the Weasley twins are ours — it’s their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So — think you’ve got all that?”

“Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team,” Harry says.

“Very good. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers, since you have your own ball to look after. Or… you know what I mean.”

Harry snorts and Wood laughs. Harry hears him pick up the last ball. He hears it’s fluttering wings and immediately glues the sound to his memory so he can remember it during an actual game or practice. 

“This,” Wood says, “is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see”--Harry snorts again--“and it’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages — I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that’s it. Any questions?”

Harry shakes his head. He understands it, he’s just not sure if he’ll be able to do it.

“We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” Wood tells him, “it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these. Golf balls.”

Within a minute, the two are up in the air. Wood throws the golf balls as hard as he can in every direction and Harry catches every one of them. Once he manages to hear the ball falling or whipping through the air, he can easily track it’s movements. With a flying ball, one with a mind of its own, it’ll be a different story so Harry is glad they practice three times a week. He’ll be able to commit the sound of the Snitch to memory by the time the first game rolls around.

“That Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year,” Wood says happily as they walk back to the castle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

Time after his first training session passes quickly. Between Quidditch practice three times a week -- Harry has learned that finding the snitch is quite easy once he can lock his ears onto the sound of it. Wood had even found a charm to simulate the sound of the crowd to let Harry practice finding the sound over the cheering of students -- and doing his homework with Ron and Parvati (Hermione still isn’t speaking to them), Harry can barely believe it when Halloween rolls around. It feels like just yesterday he arrived at Hogwarts. 

On Halloween morning, Harry wakes up to the smell of baking pumpkin and gorges himself during breakfast on all the different foods they don’t get on normal days. Even better than new food is how their classes are picking up and they get to start doing more exciting things since they’ve mastered the basics. Harry is practically bouncing in his seat when he hears Professor Flitwick tell them they get to practice making things levitate today. Harry hadn’t seen it when Professor Flitwick had made Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom but Harry doesn’t care, he’s just excited to be able to feel his magic coursing through his arm again.

Harry gets partnered with Seamus Finnigan and Ron gets partnered with Hermione. Considering it’s Harry who misses Hermione’s presence and not Ron, Harry can tell the two aren’t happy about this placement.

Professor Flitwick reminds them to “Swish and flick!” and then lets them start. Harry, who so far has never had to try twice to get something to work thanks to his awareness of his own magic, tunes everybody else out and focuses on his feather. 

“Wingardium Leviosa.” 

Based on Seamus’ gasp, he thinks he’s done it. Ron, who is sitting one row behind them with Hermione, whoops and Harry laughs.

“Well done!” Professor Flitwick cries. “Everyone see here, Mr. Potter’s done it!”

He hears Hermione let out a small grunt of frustration and then say quickly, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Ron makes a noise of blatant disgust and Harry assumes Hermione did it successfully. Professor Flitwick praises her as well before awarding them both five points.

When they leave the class, Ron is very clearly in a bad mood.

“She only did that to show you up,” he says as they walk. “She’s just jealous you’re smarter than her.”

Somebody knocks into Harry as they pass and he hears the unmistakable sound of crying.

Ron scoffs, “Guess she heard me.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Honestly, Ron, you don’t have to be so mean. And I’m not smarter than her, I just have better control of my magic than most.”

“Whatever.”

According to Ron, Hermione doesn’t show up for their next class and isn’t seen for the rest of the afternoon. Harry overhears Parvati telling Lavender that she’s crying in the girl’s bathroom and wants to be left alone as they walk to the Great Hall.

“Good job, Ron,” Harry knocks his shoulder into Ron’s.

“Bugger off.”

When they sit down, Dean Thomas starts to describe excitedly to Harry what’s happening overhead. Thousands of live bats are flying above them and the candles are inside pumpkins.

Just as Harry takes a bite of a baked potato, the hall suddenly falls silent. It sounds as if somebody is running but Ron doesn’t tell Harry what’s happening so he can only guess.

“Troll -- in the dungeons -- though you ought to know,” the familiar voice of Professor Quirrell gasps before a thump sounds. Harry assumes the man just fell over.

There’s an uproar and Harry flinches, resisting the urge to cover his ears at the screaming. Several loud pops and cracks are heard from further up the hall before everybody falls silent again.

“Prefects,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice says, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Percy, despite the threat of a troll, seems all too happy to boss people around.

“Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a prefect!”

“A troll?” Harry mumbles, wondering what he did to have luck so bad.

“Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke,” Ron says.

Harry frowns, considering that. It does seem like something Peeves would do.

A thought suddenly hits Harry and he tightens his grip on Ron’s arm, “Ron -- Hermione!”

“What about her?”

“She doesn’t know about the troll.”

Ron pauses and then sighs, “Oh, alright, but Percy better not see us.”

They join the Hufflepuffs and then duck into a deserted side corridor, hurrying off toward the girl’s bathroom. As they turn a corner, they hear footsteps behind them.

“Percy!” Ron hisses, pulling Harry behind something.

There’s a pause and then Ron says in a confused tone, “It was Snape, not Percy.”

“Snape? Why isn’t he with the other teachers?” Harry says.

“I don’t know. Here, c’mon,” Ron pulls him along.

“Ron--”

“I just wanna know where he’s going,” Ron whispers and Harry sighs.

They creep along silently until --

“The third-floor!” Ron mumbles. “Of course, I suppose he knows about the dog. Do you think he’s going to--” Ron suddenly gags and Harry’s face twists up.

He brings his hand up to pinch his nostrils, “What is that?”

Ron gasps and tugs Harry back, “The troll.”

Harry hears it then. The low grunting and the shuffling of gigantic feet. Harry is momentarily very glad for his visual impairment; he’s not sure he wants to see what the troll looks like.

After a long moment, Ron starts to mumble under his breath, “The key’s in the lock. We can lock it in.”

“What? Where?”

“It just ducked into a room.”

“Oh. Good idea.”

Ron pulls Harry along and, after a moment of walking, Ron lets go of Harry. The door slams and Harry hears the click of a lock.

“Yes!” Ron exclaims.

They start to run back but a scream stops them.

“Oh no."

“The girl’s bathroom!” Harry gasps.

“Hermione!” they both shout before turning around and rushing back to the door Ron just locked.

Ron throws the door open and Harry follows him inside, the stench of the troll getting stronger.

“I’ll distract it! She’s against the wall just in front of you!” Ron tells him and Harry nods. “Oy, pea-brain!”

There’s a clatter and a few footsteps.

“Hermione! Come on! Run!” Harry yells but other than the troll’s footsteps, nobody seems to be moving. He runs forward until he can grab somebody’s -- please let it be Hermione’s -- arm. He tugs but she doesn’t move.

“Harry, look out!” Ron screams and Harry ducks just in time to hear something swing past where his head had been.

“Do something!” Harry screams back, his voice stuck between angry and terrified.

“Stop yelling, idiot, it can hear you!” 

The troll gives a great roar. Harry seizes Hermione’s arm again but she’s not moving. 

“Stay right there!” Ron yells at him. “Crouch next her and don’t move!”

Harry listens but he’s not happy about it, “Ron--”

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

A moment later, a sickening crack sounds throughout the room and Harry lets out a small shriek when a thud that makes the whole room tremble follows it. 

There’s a beat of silence before Hermione speaks.

“Is it… dead?”

Nobody answers her. Harry attempts to catch his breath -- when had he run out of it? -- and another shriek leaves him when a loud slam echoes through the bathroom, as well as footsteps. He places the heels of his palms into his eyes and focuses on breathing, recognizing the feeling in his chest as the one he had three months ago is the Leaky Cauldron. 

“Harry,” somebody says. It sounds like Ron. “Are you alright?”

“Shut up,” Harry says weakly. Ron, wisely, does so.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” Professor McGonagall’s voice fills Harry’s ears next. She sounds angrier than when she found him flying around. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

“Please, Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!”

“I went looking for the troll because I-I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know, because I’ve read all about them. If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Harry was trying to help me get out into the corridor and then Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry, now successfully distracted by the talking, drops his hands to his sides. Hermione, lying to a teacher? Maybe the troll did kill him. 

He pushes himself off the floor as Professor McGonagall responds.

“Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own? Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I’m very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”

Footsteps tell Harry that Hermione had just left.

“Mr. Potter, I wish you wouldn’t act so rashly,” Professor McGonagall says. “It’s going to get you hurt one of these days -- badly. But, in any case, not many first years can take on a full-grown mountain troll. Mr. Weasley, you’ve earned your House ten points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurry out of the bathroom and don’t speak for a long time, not until they’ve climbed two floors.

“I should’ve gotten more than ten points for that,” Ron grumbles.

“Five, once she takes Hermione’s away,” Harry tells him.

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron says in a slightly strained voice, as if it pains him to admit such a thing. “Mind you, I did save her. And you would’ve saved her if she had moved.”

“She might not have needed saving if you hadn’t locked the thing in with her,” Harry shakes his head.

Ron falls silent. 

When they enter the common room, Hermione clears her throat, apparently having waited for them by the portrait hole. There’s an awkward pause before they all mumble, “Thanks,” and hurry off to get some food.

Harry, the next day, tries not to show too much excitement when Hermione sits with them at breakfast and links her arm with his as they walk to their class. 

After all, there are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

Chapter Text

November marks the start of Quidditch season -- and also the start of very cold weather. According to Dean, the mountains around the school are now an icy gray and the lake is completely frozen over.

On Saturday, Harry will play his first Quidditch match against the Slytherin team. If Gryffindor wins, they’ll be second place in the House Championship.

Nobody has really seen Harry play, Wood telling him that he’s their secret weapon, but the news that he would be the Seeker this year (“And hopefully for years to come!” Angelina Johnson had told him one practice) had somehow leaked. Nobody except the first-year Gryffindors, plus the rest of the team, believe Harry will play well. If anything, they think he’ll fly around like mad and somehow manage to lose them points. It doesn’t help ease Harry’s nerves at all but the few people that do believe in him every day that he’ll be wonderful.

Harry, between the last minute Quidditch practices and classes in general, has no idea how he’s managed to keep up with his homework. He does, though, much to Ron’s disbelief. Ron tells him daily how impressive Harry is to be playing Quidditch, be second in the class in Charms, Transfiguration, and DADA, be doing his homework, and still have time to get a full night's rest in. Harry thinks it’s pretty impressive too but he doesn’t want to sound arrogant so he doesn’t say this out loud.

Hermione had lent him Quidditch Through the Ages to read before the game, too. He learns that books do actually change into braille when their reader needs it and figures that sweets are just sweets, that you don’t need to read the label of a sweets package to want to eat it. He asks Hermione about it and she rushes off to the library the second he finishes his question, coming back and telling him that magical books accommodate themselves for their reader and that sweets don’t for the same reason he originally thought. All this just means that Hagrid didn’t specifically buy books in braille for Harry but still.

Hermione has also become more lax on the breaking of rules ever since the troll incident. On Friday, the three don’t want to stay in the common room for the whole afternoon after Potions so they head out to the courtyard to get some air. Hermione, being Hermione, conjures a fire inside of a jar for them to sit around which is surely against the rules but Harry can’t bring himself to care, considering it’s warming him up.

“Snape,” Ron hisses. “Get closer, don’t let him see it.”

Harry does as Ron asks, scooting closer to the jar-fire. His fingers are running across the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages because it really is an interesting read and he hasn’t really had the time to read it in the past few days.

“I don’t understand -- how do you do it?” Hermione whispers, wonder in her voice.

Harry hums, “What?”

“Read like that.”

Harry snorts, “Very carefully. I took classes. I spent a year in something called pre-braille training, where they sensitized and strengthened my fing--”

“What have you got there, Potter?”

Harry blinks. His mood instantly darkens at being interrupted and he sighs quietly, holding the book up to show Snape.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” he says. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”

“What?” Harry says incredulously. “Sir, that’s not a rule, you’re making that up!”

“Excuse me?”

Harry hugs the book close to his chest, “I’m not giving it to you, it’s mine . Madam Pince doesn’t care where the books go as long as you don’t damage them in the process of taking them places.”

“Harry, no--”

“That’s ten more points from Gryffindor, Potter. Keep arguing and you’ll get another detention. Tomorrow, during the Quidditch game,” Snape interrupts Hermione.

“Harry, c’mon,” Ron urges quietly. “It’s not worth it.”

Harry, in a move that destroys half his pride, thrusts his arm out and turns his head away. Snape snatches the book out of his hand, “Another five for the attitude. You’re lucky.”

Harry grits his teeth so he doesn’t say anything back. He doesn’t want to get detention during his first Quidditch game. Not only will it make everyone else think he’s scared, it’ll make Wood angry enough to kill him, probably.

Snape leaves and Harry scowls, “Bloody git .”

“Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?” Hermione says quietly.

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s hurting him,” Harry says bitterly, despite not having known Snape's leg was even hurt in the first place.

Later, when Hermione is checking over Ron and Harry’s Charms homework, (Harry didn’t want her to but she had forced him to hand it over) Ron is the first to notice his leg bouncing up and down.

“Okay?” he asks.

Harry sighs, “I want my book back. I need something to keep my mind off the game tomorrow -- off of everybody telling me I’m rubbish.”

“Snape’s not going to give it back,” Hermione says. “You argued with him and were winning , that’s why he kept taking points off and threatening you with detention. He knows he’s wrong, he’s just too mean to admit it.”

“He can’t refuse if other teachers are around,” Harry says reasonably. “C’mon, Ron, we’ll go to the staff room. You can wait outside while I ask him.”

Ron, very begrudgingly, agrees. He leads Harry to the staff room and knocks for him. When nobody answers, Harry steps up and knocks. Again, nothing.

“Just open it,” Harry shrugs.

Ron sighs and does so, the hinges creaking slightly as he does. He gasps quietly.

“Blasted thing,” Harry hears Snape say. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Ron, Harry assumes, tries to shut the door but --

“WEASLEY!”

Ron stumbles back into Harry but Harry won’t be deterred from getting his book.

“I was wondering if I could have my book back, Professor,” he says. 

“GET OUT! OUT!” 

Ron grabs Harry’s arm and starts running back to the common room.

“Ron, there’s no reason to be so scared of him,” Harry says as they join Hermione again.

“Harry, his leg was all bloodied,” Ron says. “And he was talking about three heads -- the dog? Harry, do you know what this means?”

Hermione gasps, “He tried to get past the dog on Halloween! You said you saw him go toward the third-floor didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says seriously.

“Harry,” Hermione says exasperatingly and Harry grins. “Anyway, it obviously didn’t work. It explains the limp.”

“I’ll bet he let the troll in as a distraction,” Ron says.

“Ronald, no,” Hermione says quickly. “He’s mean but he wouldn’t do that . I can believe trying to get past the dog to get to whatever it’s guarding but doing that doesn’t put anybody but himself in danger -- setting a troll loose puts everybody and himself in danger.”

“Hermione, have you not seen how he acts around me? Around Neville? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care for the students’ safety,” Harry says.

“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” Ron adds.

“Whatever,” Hermione mutters.

Harry goes to sleep that night wondering why exactly Snape would want to steal whatever the dog is guarding and wondering what the dog is guarding in the first place.

Harry, the next morning, is so nervous he can barely eat, though he does manage to get some eggs down.

By eleven o’clock, it sounds like the whole school is in the stadium. As a surprise for Harry, apparently, the boys in his dorm and Hermione had used one of the sheets Scabbers chewed up to make a banner that says Potter for President with a drawing of a lion on it. While Harry can’t see it, the knowledge that it’s there (and the sound of the Gryffindor first years chanting those same words) gives him the courage he needs.

In the locker rooms, Harry and the rest of the team is changing into their Quidditch robes. Wood clears his throat for silence.

“Okay, men,” he says.

“And women,” Angelina Johnson says. She’s a Chaser and pretty close with Harry, calling him her little brother on multiple occasions. Fred and George coo audibly anytime she says it but shut up when she yells at them for acting like they don’t think of Harry as their little brother too.

“And women,” Wood agrees. “This is it.”

“The big one,” Fred says. Harry has memorized the two twins’ voices thanks to Quidditch practice and, according to them, is one of the very few people who can tell them apart. Harry thinks the difference between the two’s voices is obvious but apparently, other people don’t.

“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” George continues.

“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred tells Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” Wood says. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.”

There’s a moment's pause.

“Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”

Harry follows Fred and George out of the locker room, his heart racing. He hears Madam Hooch say, “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” and thinks that might be directed at the Slytherins more than anything. He hears the first-year Gryffindors chanting, “Potter for President!” and feels a little braver.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry does so. He’s glad for the practice with the Crowd-Cheering-Charm (as the team has taken to calling it) because without it, he’s not sure he’d be able to hear the Snitch over the sound of the students. He wonders briefly where Wood found out about the charm.

Madam Hooch blows her whistle loudly and Harry kicks off, immediately focusing on attempting to hear the Snitch more than anything else.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Lee Jordan, a friend of the Weasley Twins, is the one doing commentary.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve —back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Gryffindor cheers fill Harry’s ears, as well as moans and groans from the Slytherins. 

Harry is flying in circles above the stadium. It’s all part of his and Wood’s game plan, they’ve been practicing it ever since the start of practice. Without fail, Harry always manages to hear the Snitch from somewhere as he flies over the stadium like he is now. A Bludger comes flying toward him shortly after Angelina scores but he dodges it easily. Fred hits it back down and yells, “All right there, Harry?” before flying off.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee is saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?”

Harry lowers himself back into the stadium, straining his ears and -- yes! It is the Snitch! Harry smirks and immediately shoots after it, Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs flying to his left, yelling insults at Harry to try and throw him off. Harry is faster than him though and easily tunes out the insults, focusing solely on the sound of the Snitch. He gets closer and closer and stretches his hand out, ready to close his fist around the tiny ball and then --

WHAM!

Harry spins out of the way and the Gryffindors let out roars of rage, screaming, “Foul!” at Madam Hooch. Harry steadies his broom and shakes his head slightly, a small sigh leaving him. He can’t hear the Snitch anymore. Cursing whoever just knocked him out of the way, he rises back up. Lee is having a hard time containing his own anger.

“So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —”

“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall growls.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul —”

“Jordan, I’m warning you —”

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

Marcus Flint. Harry scowls, directly his curses at Marcus Flint now. 

A Bludger flies dangerously close to his head but he dodges it and that’s when it happens. His broom gives a sudden lurch and Harry tightens his grip so he doesn’t fall off. It happens again, almost as if it’s trying to buck Harry off like a horse or a bull. He opens his mouth to try and ask Wood to call a time-out -- which he doesn’t think is even a thing in Quidditch -- but all that comes out is a small scream as his broom zigzags through the air and sometimes makes violent moves that almost knock him off. 

“Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherins score — oh no…”

Nobody seems to have noticed Harry’s broom trying to kill him. It’s taking him higher, judging by the way the cheers and Lee’s voice is getting steadily quieter, though still very loud. Very suddenly, his broom starts to roll over and over in a circle. He only barely manages to keep his grip on it. Harry hears everybody gasp when it jerks violently and he flies off of it, only holding with one hand.

Harry holds on for dear life and after only a minute of hanging on, his broom stops. He clambers back on and -- clasping a hand over his mouth -- zooms toward the ground. He hits the ground on all fours and coughs into his hand, a miserable laugh leaving him when the Snitch falls into his hand. He shakes his head before lifting his hand high and yelling, “I’ve got the Snitch!”

Harry doesn’t hear the Slytherins outrage or Lee shouting the results for twenty minutes after, seeing as he’s whisked away to Hagrid’s for tea as soon as the game ends. 

“It was Snape,” Ron explains. “He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, wouldn’t take his eyes off you. Hermione and I saw him.”

“Rubbish,” Hagrid says. “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”

“We found out something about him,” Ron says. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”

“How do you know about Fluffy?”

“Fluffy?” Harry repeats.

“Yeah — he’s mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —”

“Yes?” Harry leans forward slightly, eager to hear about the dog.

“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” Hagrid says. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“But Snape’s trying to steal it.”

“Rubbish,” Hagrid says again. “Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” Hermione cries. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” Hagrid says vehemently. “I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel —”

“Aha!” Harry grins madly. “So, there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Later, Ron will tell Harry that Hagrid looked extremely angry with himself for ever even opening his mouth.

Chapter Text

Christmas, after Harry’s first Quidditch game, comes around very quickly. One morning, they all wake up to several feet of snow and Harry spends the day getting pelted with snowballs by bitter Slytherins and Peeves. He doesn’t ever throw one back in fear of Snape seeing and taking more points away from Gryffindor. Harry, who has managed to get fifty-three points taken from Gryffindor, all of which were taken away by Snape, doesn’t really want that. Ron does tell him, though, that the twins got in trouble for bewitching snowballs to hit the back of Quirrell’s turban and it cheers up Harry.

Apparently, nobody in the dungeons knows what a fire is. Compared to the warmth of Gryffindor tower and the Great Hall, stepping into the dungeons is like stepping outside with how cold it is down there. Snape’s classroom is the worst and according to Dean, they can see their breath while in it.

“I do feel so sorry,” Malfoy says during one Potions class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.”

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores him. Malfoy, one of the many bitter Slytherins, has taken to making fun of Harry for not having a proper family because his previous attempts at making fun of the way Harry caught the Snitch in his mouth weren’t making anybody laugh. Harry doesn’t feel sorry, though, for himself or any other student who is staying due to similar reasons he is. Christmas at Hogwarts sounds infinitely better than spending it with relatives who hate you. Harry had told this to a crying Hufflepuff and when the Hufflepuff (Megan Jones) heard that even Harry Potter’s relatives don’t like him, she cheered up quickly.

The previous week, Professor McGonagall had come around with a sign-up sheet for kids who wanted to stay for the holidays and Harry had signed up at once. Even better, Ron and his brothers are staying because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to Romania to visit Charlie. 

When they leave Potions, Ron has to throw his arm out across Harry’s chest so he doesn’t bump into the large tree Hagrid is carrying. Harry’s hands fly up and grab the arm, sending a glare with no heat at Ron.

“Hi, Hagrid,” Ron says after he’s sure Harry has stopped walking and after he’s muttered an apology for scaring him, “want some help?”

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” Malfoy says from behind them. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”

Harry flinches when Ron makes a very sudden movement and his arm is pulled from Harry’s grip.

“WEASLEY!”

Harry flinches again.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” Hagrid says. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”

Ah, so Ron just grabbed Malfoy. Harry thinks Malfoy definitely deserves a punch and he wishes Snape hadn’t shown up and interrupted what Ron was sure to give.

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” Snape says. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

Harry shakes his head as they start walking, “But of course he doesn’t take points from Slytherin. I’m telling you, we should report him to Dumbledore.”

Hermione sighs, linking her arm with his, “The Slytherins would vouch for him, we’d never get what we want.”

“Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,” Hagrid says. “Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” Harry says dryly, earning a laugh from Hermione and Ron.

They follow Hagrid all the way to the Great Hall. Hermione starts telling him excitedly about all the different decorations and though she's not as good as Dean at describing things, Harry still gets a vague picture. 

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asks after placing the tree down.

Hermione pauses, “Uh, just the one. Oh, that reminds me! We have an half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Ron says.

“The library?” Hagrid asks, following them as they leave the hall. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry tells him. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”

“You what?” Hagrid says, sounding shocked. “Listen here — I’ve told yeh — drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all,” Hermione says innocently.

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry suggests.  “We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere — my fingers are going numb, just give us a hint — I know I’ve heard his name somewhere.”

“I’m sayin’ nothin’.”

“Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” Ron says, pulling Harry along as they walk away.

They head to the library quickly, Hermione wandering off to find the books on the list she has while Harry and Ron start strolling down the shelves, pulling books at random to check. For Harry, this process is more tedious but Ron always makes sure to glance at the books Harry pulls to make sure Harry doesn’t miss anything.

While they could ask Madam Pince, they have decided not to in fear that Snape might hear about it and then he’d know what the three are up to.

For the next thirty minutes, they search and search and once again, come up with nothing. 

“You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?” Hermione asks as they walk to lunch. “And send me an owl if you find anything.”

“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” Ron suggests. “It’d be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe, as they’re both dentists,” Hermione agrees.

Once the holidays start, though, the two boys find themselves having too much fun to think about Flamel. The other three boys in their dormitory went home for the holidays and not many Gryffindors stayed behind so Ron and Harry mainly find themselves alone. They sit by the fire in the good armchairs in the common room and talk endlessly. Ron listens as Harry complains about Snape’s biased judgement of him and then cheers Harry up by talking about ridiculous things they could do to get Malfoy expelled. 

Ron also starts to try and teach Harry wizard chess but Harry, who is still blind and not a very good listener (at least when it comes to people talking), is horrendous at it. The chessmen Seamus had lent him don’t trust him at all, unlike Ron’s chessmen, and Harry finds himself getting increasingly frustrated with them every time they try to shout advice at him. Ron, however, is very amused by Harry’s frustration and it’s the fact that Ron always ends up laughing until his stomach hurts that has Harry continuing to agree to play with him. Ron’s laugh, for some unknown reason to Harry, is one of Harry’s favorite things ever and if getting frustrated with sentient chess pieces means hearing it, Harry will gladly do so.

When Harry wakes up on Christmas and Ron tells him about the presents at the end of his bed, he’s shocked. He hadn’t expected anything, let alone more than one thing.

From Hagrid, Harry gets a carved flute that sounds like an owl when he blows into it. When Harry tells Ron he can keep the fifty-pence piece Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sent, Ron fails to hide his excitement. 

“What’s left?” Harry asks.

Ron lets out a tiny squeak, “Uh -- one is from my mum. I told her you weren’t expecting presents.”

Harry brightens and grabs the parcel, tearing it open. He feels the box first.

“That’s homemade fudge, and then she made you Weasley Sweater. She makes everyone one every year and mine’s always maroon.”

Harry smiles, “That’s really nice of her. What color is mine?”

“Green.”

Harry beams, “I like green.”

“Huh?”

“The last color I remember seeing -- at least the last very clear color -- was green. The grass in the garden and the hedges -- I just really like the color,” Harry pulls the sweater over his head. “And since I don’t wear my glasses anymore, I get tons more compliments on my eyes! Anyway,” he opens the box of fudge and tries a piece. “This is delicious!”

“I’ll tell her you appreciate it,” Ron says softly. “You have something from Hermione too. Just some Chocolate Frogs, she got me some Every Flavor Beans. And then one more.”

Harry picks up the last package and finds that it's very light, as if there’s nothing in it. He unwraps it and feels something fall over his fingers and pool onto the ground. 

Ron gasps, “I’ve heard of those. If that’s what I think it is — they’re really rare, and really valuable.”

“What is it?” Harry asks.

“It’s an Invisibility Cloak,” Ron says. “I’m sure it is — try it on.”

Harry throws it over his head and Ron gasps again, “It is! Your body is gone, Harry! Cover your head?”

He does so and Ron laughs, “That’s brilliant! Wait, there’s a note, a note fell out of it!”

Harry pulls the cloak off as Ron picks the note up.

“Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you,” Ron reads. “No signature.”

“My dad?” Harry whispers. “Whoa.”

Before Ron can say anything else, though, the door slams into the wall. Harry quickly kicks the cloak under his bed.

“Merry Christmas!” the familiar voices of Fred and George exclaim.

“Hey, look,” George says, “Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!”

“Harry’s is better than ours, though,” Fred says. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family.”

Harry grins.

“Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George says, his tone demanding and slightly scolding. “Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon,” Ron grumbles, though Harry can hear him pulling it over his head.

“You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George says. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid — we know we’re called Gred and Forge.”

“What’s all this noise?” another voice says. Harry assumes it’s Percy but considering he hasn’t had too many conversations with him, he’s not 100 percent sure.

“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry got one,” Fred says. So, it is Percy.

Percy protests as the twins force the sweater over his head -- Ron describes the sight while laughing -- and lets out a suffering sigh when they stop.

“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” George declares.  “Christmas is a time for family.”

With that, they leave Harry and Ron’s dorm.

In the Great Hall, Harry helps himself to some of the food they don’t normally get on other days while the others mess around with the wizard crackers. Harry pulls one with Fred and earns a rear admiral's hat that Fred places on his head, declaring him the captain of their little group. Him and George start to refer to him as Captain Harold, despite Harry’s many protests, and Ron quickly joins in after seeing how much it annoys Harry. Percy, who seems to be in a good mood because he isn’t being as pompous and uptight as usual, also starts calling him the name and Harry gives up, not actually angry. He wonders if this is what it’s like to have siblings and if so, he wishes it could be like this everyday. (And he very decidedly ignores the way his face twists up at the thought of Ron being his brother.)

He pulls a cracker with Megan Jones, the Hufflepuff who stayed for Christmas because her parents didn’t want her at home, and gets a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit out of it. When they finally leave the hall, Harry is holding non-explodable balloons, his own new wizard chess set, and a few other things he got from crackers. He plans on giving Neville the Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit when holiday ends.

Harry, now not being targeted by bitter Slytherins or Peeves -- who is off celebrating Christmas on his own -- enjoys a snowball fight with the Weasleys. Afterward, they head back to the common room to sit by the fire and warm up. Harry breaks in his new wizard chess set by losing horribly to Ron but Ron’s laughing makes it worth it. Harry briefly wonders when Ron’s laugh became his favorite thing but decides not to worry about it until later.

After dinner, they all head up to bed and Harry, a little too focused on his sudden infatuation with making Ron laugh, falls asleep quickly, the Invisibility Cloak not even crossing his mind.

Chapter Text

Harry and Ron only go out once under the Invisibility Cloak and when Ron trips over Mrs. Norris and Filch almost catches them, they decide not to go out anymore. It stays folded up in Harry’s trunk for the remainder of the break and when term starts back up and Hermione returns, the three go back to skimming books for ten minutes during break for any clue as to who Nicolas Flamel is. Harry is still sure he’s heard the name somewhere but that doesn’t really do them any good.

Quidditch practice starts back up too, so it’s mainly Ron and Hermione skimming books. Wood is working them to the bone and for good reason too, considering Gryffindor will overtake Slytherin in the House Championship if they win the next match against Hufflepuff. 

During one practice, they get bad news.

“Will you stop messing around!” Wood yells at Fred and George. “That’s exactly the sort of thing that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing this time, and he’ll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!”

“Snape’s refereeing?” George sputters. “When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”

“It’s not my fault,” Wood says over the complaining of the rest of the team. “We’ve just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn’t got an excuse to pick on us.”

Harry, however, is very worried about this news. Considering what happened last time…

Later, when Harry tells Ron and Hermione the news, they immediately try to convince him not to play. Harry would agree with them but since there isn’t a reserve Seeker, he has to or Gryffindor won’t be able to play at all.  As he says this, he hears the portrait hole open and then suddenly, everybody starts to laugh. He frowns and moves his head around, wondering what or who they’re laughing at.

Hermione stands up and comes back a few moments later, “What happened?”

“Malfoy,” Neville says shakily. “I met him outside the library. He said he’d been looking for someone to practice that on.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“Go to Professor McGonagall and report him, Neville!” Hermione exclaims.

“I don’t want anymore trouble.”

“You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!” Ron says. “He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.”

“There’s no need to tell me I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy’s already done that.”

Harry pulls a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket, the last of the box that Hermione gave him, and holds it out for Neville.

“You’re worth twelve of Malfoy,” he says. “The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, didn’t it?”

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville mumbles. “I think I’ll go to bed. D’you want the card, you collect them, don’t you?”

Harry hands the card to Ron, too lazy to check and see if the card accommodates for him or not.

“Dumbledore,” Ron says. “I don’t suppose you want to start collecting them, Hermi --”

Hermione’s name turns into a gasp, “ and his work on Alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel! That’s where you heard it, Harry, because I read it to you on the train! Dumbledore and Flamel worked with each other!”

Hermione gasps as well, “Stay there!” She sprints away. She comes back and sits down, “I never thought to look in here!” she whispers to them. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“Light?” Ron says but Hermione shushes him.

“I knew it! I knew it!” she whispers after a long moment of page turning. 

“Are we allowed to speak yet?” Ron says.

“Nicolas Flamel,” she ignores Ron, “is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!”

“The what?” Harry and Ron say.

“Oh, honestly, don’t you two read? Read that.”

Ron reads it quietly for Harry.

“The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).”

“See?” Hermione says. “The dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it, that’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!”

“A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying,” Harry mumbles. “No wonder Snape’s after it, anyone would want it.”

“And no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,” Ron says. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

For the rest of the next day, Harry and Ron try to come up with the most ridiculous ideas of what they’d do if they had the Stone. When Ron says he’d buy his own Quidditch team, Harry suddenly remembers the upcoming Quidditch match and Snape. He declares that he’s going to play just to see the looks on the Slytherins’ faces when they win. This earns a laugh from the two.

As the weeks pass by, though, Harry becomes increasingly nervous, despite what he said before. Even worse is the fact that he continues to run into Snape, almost as if the man is following him! And Potions is torture! Harry, not wanting to get a detention and have to miss Quidditch practice, has stopped arguing with Snape about things for the time being and that’s more torture than enduring Snape’s insults and biased point-taking. Harry was never allowed to fight with the Dursleys because he knew he’d just earn himself a beating from Dudley or a week without food but here at Hogwarts, that’s not a threat looming over Harry’s head anymore. If he wasn’t so concerned with what Wood (And Angelina Johnson, considering she’s become just as much an older sister as the twins have become older brothers to Harry) would say if he missed a practice because of detention or lost them too many points to where winning wouldn’t put them in first place, he would definitely be giving Snape a piece of his mind every Friday. After Quidditch season ends, he’ll definitely start. He’ll just earn the lost points back in Charms and Transfiguration anyway.

Finally, the match rolls around. Harry is so nervous that he barely hears a word of Wood’s pep talk.

Before they head out, Wood pulls Harry aside.

“Don’t want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it’s now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much.”

“The whole school’s out there!” Fred says. “Even — blimey — Dumbledore’s come to watch!”

“Dumbledore?” Harry says, pure relief in his voice. With Dumbledore watching, Snape can’t do anything to hurt Harry without the risk of Dumbledore seeing. 

They march onto the field and soon, they’re in the sky. Harry flies high, straining his ears for the Snitch and simultaneously listening to Lee Lordan, just in case he spots the Snitch and gives Harry a hint as to where to fly. Hufflepuff gets a penalty after George hits a Bludger in Snape’s direction, which is surprisingly fair. The next penalty, though, is for seemingly no reason at all and Harry’s previous hope of a fair game goes down the drain very quickly.

It happens very quickly. A fluttering by his ear one second and then he’s diving the next. Lee starts yelling and Professor McGonagall attempts to get him to focus and not take sides. Cedric Diggory, the fourth year Hufflepuff Seeker, doesn’t join Harry in the dive.

Harry stretches his hand out and grins when his fingers clasp around the Snitch. He pulls his broom up and out of the dive, holding his hand high. The stands erupt in cheers, even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff join in, happy to see Slytherin being taken over.

Harry jumps off his broom in disbelief. The game hadn’t even lasted five minutes!

Harry leaves the locker room later, Ron at his side telling him about the fight he and Malfoy had and how Neville took Crabbe and Goyle -- finally! The other name! -- on all by himself. Hermione is in the hospital wing with Neville because he hadn’t won, by all means, but he still did it! Ron’s nose had stopped bleeding a little while ago and he had cleaned up in the locker room, boasting to his brothers about winning a fight and giving Malfoy a black eye. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard the twins sound so proud -- they sounded more proud of Ron than they were of Harry just minutes before for putting Gryffindor in the lead. Ron, clearly, is delighted by this fact.

As Harry opens the door of the broomshed, Ron suddenly gasps.

“Harry -- Snape’s headed for the Forbidden Forest.”

The victory of both the fight with Malfoy and the Quidditch match fades from their minds. Ron hops on Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand and Harry does too, letting Ron fly them in the same direction as Snape. Ron is a good flyer, not surprisingly, and Harry makes a mental note to compliment him later.

Ron flies them in circles over the forest before Harry points out some voices and Ron quickly flies toward them. They land silently in a tree and Harry listens while Ron tries to see through the branches.

“…d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…” Professor Quirrell’s trembling voice says.

“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,” Snape says coldly. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.”

Harry leans forward, trying to hear better. Professor Quirrell is mumbling something but Snape interrupts him. “Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I —”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” Snape says.

“I-I don’t know what you —”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.” 

An owl hoots loudly, and Harry jumps, nearly falling out of the tree. He steadies himself just in time to hear Snape say, “— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.”

“B-but I d-d-don’t —”

“Very well,” Snape interrupts again. “We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”

Later, Harry and Ron can barely concern themselves with the party. They pull Hermione into an empty classroom and tell her all about what they heard -- and saw, because apparently Professor Quirrell had looked very terrified.

When Harry mentions how Professor Quirrell seems to know how to get past Fluffy but Snape doesn’t, Hermione interrupts him.

“So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” 

This dawns on both Harry and Ron.

“It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” Ron sighs.

Chapter Text

Ron, however, seems to be wrong in his statement. Over the next few weeks -- according to Ron -- Quirrell seems to be getting thinner and paler but he doesn’t seem to have cracked yet, if Snape’s ever-perpetual bad mood is anything to go by. Ron and Harry, who still think his class and the man himself is a joke, have started defending people who make fun of him and sending him encouraging smiles. (“You’re horrible at that!” Ron tells him through laughter every time he tries to send one at Professor Quirrell and Harry refuses to acknowledge the way his face has started heating up at the sound of his laughter.) 

Hermione, however, couldn’t be bothered to pretend to like the professor. Her mind is focused on more than just the Philosopher's Stone and Snape’s evil plan. Harry, who thinks studying and having organized notes is as important as Hermione says it is, thinks the way she’s acting is quite ridiculous.

“Hermione, the exams are ages away,” Harry has to continuously remind her, though it doesn’t do anything to deter her.

“Ten weeks,” she snarls. “That’s not ages. That’s a second to Nicolas Flamel.”

“But we’re not six-hundred-years-old,” Ron says tiredly. “Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all.”

Harry snorts.

“What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Harry, who again agrees with her that studying is important, thinks she’s definitely going overboard. He’ll start studying a few weeks before the exams, not ten whole weeks. That’s preposterous.

His professors, however, think the opposite. They pile so much homework onto them that when Easter holidays roll around, Harry doesn’t get to take a break. 

“I’ll never remember this!” Ron moans one day, throwing his quill down onto their table.

Harry’s fingers never stop in their movements to find ‘Dittany’ and his Herbology/Potions book as he says, “It’s about the repetitiveness of it, Ron. Once you’ve read it enough times, it sticks and you can --”

“Hagrid? What are you doing in the library?” Ron cuts him off, which is slightly unusual because, as Ron says, Harry has ‘infinite wisdom beyond his years.’

Harry thinks the answer to such a question is obvious but seeing as it’s Hagrid and Harry can’t think of a reason as to why Hagrid would need to be looking for books, his interest is also piqued.

“Jus’ lookin’,” Hagrid says in a shifty voice. “An’ what’re you lot up ter? Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” Ron says. “And we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Philosopher’s St —”

“Shh!” Hagrid interrupts him. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

“There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,” Harry sits forward slightly, Dittany forgotten, “about what’s guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy —”

“Shh!” Hagrid says again. “Listen — come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh —”

“See you later, then,” Harry says, smirking at his own joke. 

“What was he hiding behind his back?” Hermione mumbles.

“He was hiding something?”

“I imagine it was a book,” Ron says. “I’ll go see what section he was in.”

He stands and leaves their table, wandering off. 

He comes back a minute later and slams a pile of books on the table, the sound making Harry flinch and glare at his best friend.

“Dragons!” Ron whispers, his voice sounding very excited about the mere thought of dragons. “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide.”

Harry hums, “Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon. He told me that when we first met.”

“But it’s against our laws,” Ron says, sounding very educated on this topic. Harry wonders if every Weasley has a thing about dragons. “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that.” -- Harry didn’t and Hermione certainly didn’t either but they wisely keep their mouths shut -- “It’s hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden — anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie’s got off wild ones in Romania.”

Harry blinks, “But that’s Romania. Surely Britain doesn’t have wild dragons flying about.”

“Of course we do,” Ron says it like it’s obvious. “Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. That doesn’t mean it’s any less illegal, though.”

“So what on earth’s Hagrid up to?” Hermione says.

An hour later, Harry grabs the book out of Hermione’s hands and declares they’re going to find out what Hagrid’s doing and ask about the Stone. Hermione scolds him the whole way down to the hut for taking her book away and interrupting their studying time but he ignores her.

Ron mumbles something about the curtains being closed as Harry knocks and, surprisingly, Hagrid asks who it is before he opens the door. He ushers them in quickly and shuts the door behind them. Harry grimaces at the heat and wonders why on earth Hagrid would be keeping his hut so warm on an even warmer day.

“So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?” Hagrid asks after he’s made them tea and they’re all sitting. Fang’s usual presence by Harry’s side isn’t around but he has more important things to ask about before that.

“Yes,” Harry nods once. “We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy.”

“O’ course I can’t,” Hagrid says. “Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. That Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.”

“Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here,” Hermione says, playing up the flattery. Harry fights to keep a grin off his face. “We only wondered who had done the guarding, really,” Hermione continues. “We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.”

Harry nudges Hermione’s foot with his own and gets a squeeze on his knee from her in return.

“Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that…  let’s see… he borrowed Fluffy from me…  then some o’ the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall — Professor Quirrell — an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

“Snape?” Harry says, disbelief dripping in his voice.

“Yeah — yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”

Harry doesn’t think that’s the case. If he was one of the teachers who made enchantments, it probably wasn’t hard to find out what the others did, except, Harry assumes, what Quirrell did (“-- your little bit of hocus-pocus -- “) and how to get past Fluffy.

“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?” Harry says. If Quirrell does break, Harry can only hope it’s about his enchantments and now about Fluffy. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?”

“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” Hagrid says. Harry wonders if the same can be said for the other professors -- according to Seamus, Snape and Professor McGonagall seem to be on quite good terms with one another.

“Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling,” Harry finally says.

“Can’t, Harry, sorry,” Hagrid says gruffly.

Ron gasps, “Hagrid -- no.”

“Ah,” Hagrid sounds slightly nervous. “That’s jus’… er --”

“It must’ve cost you a fortune,” Ron mumbles, worry evident in his voice but it’s laced with awe and wonder.

“I won it,” Hagrid says. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

“But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” Hermione says.

An egg?  So, Ron was on the right track with Hagrid having a dragon. Harry frowns.

“Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” Hagrid answers. “Got this outta the library — Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit — it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here — how ter recognize diff’rent eggs — what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

“Hagrid,” Ron sounds exasperated, as if he’s had a very similar conversation with somebody else, “you live in a wooden house.”

Judging by Ron’s pained noise, Hagrid doesn’t seem to be listening.

Ron, as they start picking up the pace with studying (Hermione made them both detailed schedules so all of their studying times line up and so Ron actually studies) tells them all about Norweigen Ridgebacks, from their behavior to their looks. Fred and George overhear him one day and very quickly join in, telling stories about a Norwigen Ridgeback that Charlie takes care of over in Romania. Next, it’s Percy who overhears and in a way not typical to Percy’s normal behavior, he joins in on the conversation as well, talking about how rare they are and how Charlie has a girl and a boy and how the dragon sanctuary is trying to breed them and help bring the population up. Harry’s previous thought of does every Weasley have a thing about dragons seems to be true.

One breakfast time, while Percy talks about how a Norweigen Ridgeback’s scales have different properties than most other dragons, Hedwig flies in and lands in front of Harry. Thankfully none of Ron's brothers see the small note sent by Hagrid. It’s hatching .

Harry suggests skipping Herbology to go to the hut and Ron quickly agrees.

“Harry, you can’t even see the egg, and we are not skipping class to go,” Hermione says sharply. “It’ll still be hatching during break. It may not be a chicken but I’ve no doubt it takes just as long as one to break out of its egg.”

“But, Mione, it’s a --”

“Shut up!” Hermione suddenly says and Harry flinches at her tone. She notices immediately, “Oh, I’m sorry, I just -- Malfoy’s listening.”

Harry nods and Ron wisely shuts his mouth.

As soon as the bell signals the end of Herbology, they drop their trowels and hurry down to the hut. Neville asks why they’re in such a hurry but doesn’t get an answer.

Hagrid ushers them inside and Hermione, remembering Malfoy and his nosy habits, makes sure the curtains are shut before they sit down. Ron, when the dragon finally flops out of the egg, tells him in a hushed voice what he looks like. 

“Hagrid… how fast do Norweigen Ridgebacks grow exactly?” Hermione asks. Between all the talk about the breed with the Weasley brothers, none of them had ever mentioned how fast they grow, surprisingly. 

But Hagrid doesn’t answer, instead a gasp leaves him.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains — it’s a kid — he’s runnin’ back up ter the school.”

Hermione accounted for the shutting of the curtains but she didn’t account for the gap. Harry sighs quietly. Ron stands up and rushes outside before coming back in a second later.

“Malfoy. It was Malfoy.”

Over the next week, the three try their hardest to convince Hagrid to get rid of the dragon. Ron, between all of his awe and excitement about the dragon, seems to be the most worried out of the three but Harry and Hermione are worried too, considering Hagrid does live in a wooden house and the dragon is getting bigger by the second, it seems.

“I’ve decided to call him Norbert,” Hagrid tells them when they visit a week later. “He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mummy?”

“He’s lost his marbles,” Ron mumbles.

“Hagrid,” Harry says, “give it two weeks and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.”

“I — I know I can’t keep him forever, but I can’t jus’ dump him, can’t.”

Harry has a sudden thought and wonders why they didn’t think of it sooner, what with all the talk about him. “Charlie.”

“You’re losing it, too,” Ron says. “I’m Ron, remember?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Your brother, Charlie. We’ve been talking about him all week. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!”

“Brilliant!” Ron says, a smile in his voice. “How about it, Hagrid?”

Eventually, Hagrid agrees to let them send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week goes slowly and on Wednesday, Ron bursts into the common room long after curfew brandishing a bite from Norbert. As he whines to Hermione and says that dragons aren’t as amazing as he originally thought, Harry hears a tapping on the window.

“Hedwig,” he stands up and walks over, finding the latch and opening the window for her. 

Hermione reads it out loud for them.

“Dear Ron, how are you? Thanks for the letter — I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible. Love, Charlie.”

“We’ve got the Invisibility Cloak,” Harry says. 

“It’ll fit two of us and Norbert, probably,” Ron says. “Hermione and I can go, Harry, if you think that’s better.”

Harry nods, “It’ll be easier. Sneaking around at night is one thing but this is actually illegal. It’ll be better if the blind guy doesn’t interfere.”

The plan works for one day. The next morning, Ron’s hand, according to Hermione, is swollen to twice its normal size and by lunch, he has no choice but to go to Madam Pomfrey. At the end of the day Harry and Hermione quickly make their way to the hospital wing to visit him.

Of course, though, everything that can go wrong will go wrong and they find out that Malfoy had come to visit Ron under the pretense of asking to borrow a book. Unfortunately, in this book had been Charlie’s letter and if Malfoy ends up actually opening the book, he’ll find out what they’re doing on Saturday, which is extremely likely.

Harry, who has never really believed in luck, is starting to realize that he has the worst luck ever.

After visiting Ron, they head down to Hagrid’s to tell him about Charlie’s answer. Norbert bangs his tail against the wall as they stand outside and it rattles the window dangerously. Harry wishes Saturday could come faster.

When it finally does, he’s so relieved he could cry.

Harry has no idea how he and Hermione manage to get Norbert up to the castle and up staircase after staircase. As they reach the corridor beneath the tallest tower, they hear a noise up ahead and shrink back, Hermione watching and Harry’s listening.

“Detention!” Professor McGonagall’s familiar voice shouts. “And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you —”

“You don’t understand, Professor. Harry Potter’s coming — he’s got a dragon!” the also familiar but more unwelcome voice of Draco Malfoy says.

“What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on — I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!”

They stay silent as they walk up the spiral staircase to the top of the tower. Hermione takes the cloak off of them and laughs in delight, “Malfoy’s got detention! I could sing!”

“Don’t,” Harry says, grinning. He’s just as happy as her.

They laugh quietly about it as they wait for Charlie’s friends. After a little bit of waiting, Hermione finally jumps up and says a cheery hello. The four introduce themselves and Harry stands off to the side as Hermione helps get Norbert into the harness the group brought. He figures he wouldn’t be much help.

Once Hermione tells him she can’t see Norbert anymore, they start on their way back to the common room.

Harry, being blind and sometimes forgetting that while he can’t see, most everybody else can, at least has an excuse for forgetting the Invisibility Cloak. 

That doesn't make them being out at midnight any less against the rules, though.

Chapter Text

Harry wisely keeps his mouth shut as Filch leads them to Professor McGonagall’s office, though he really wants to ask Hermione how she could’ve been so stupid as to set the cloak out of her own line of sight. It’s partially his fault for not remembering but it was her who had set the cloak off to the side.

Hermione lets out a miserable whimper when footsteps enter the office and mutters something about Neville into Harry’s ear, though Harry barely hears it over the excuses flying around wildly in his head.

“Harry!” Harry jumps and swings his head in the direction of the voice. “I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag —” 

Harry shook his head violently to shut Neville up but it doesn’t matter, Professor McGonagall is still fuming.

“I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Explain yourselves.”

Neither of them manage to get their mouths to work before she starts talking again.

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I’ve already caught him. I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?”

Harry desperately wishes he could tell Neville the truth because even though he can’t see the boy, he can feel the hurt wafting off of him. He hadn’t even wanted Malfoy to get caught, let alone Neville. 

“I’m disgusted,” Professor McGonagall continues. “Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought you would’ve learned your lesson after Halloween. All three of you will receive detentions — yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous — and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.”

Harry blanches. Fifty? That’s a hundred and three points in total Harry has lost for Gryffindor since the beginning of the year but he’s never lost fifty all at once. 

“Fifty?” he repeats.

“Fifty points each.”

A hundred and fifty points all in one night! That puts Gryffindor in last place in the House Championship. Their housemates are going to kill them.

“Now get back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students.”

Neville spends the night sobbing into his pillow and Harry spends the night plotting Hermione’s death. He likes Hermione, he really does, but it was her that set the cloak aside and forgot to tell Harry or even just pick it up again. And now, Gryffindor is in last place and Harry doesn’t know where the cloak even is! Dumbledore probably has it at this point but the fact that it’s not folded neatly in Harry’s trunk makes his blood boil. 

The news spreads like wildfire the next day. Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, the reason they would win the House Cup this year, had lost them all the points. Him and two other idiots.

Harry goes from being the most popular and admired student in school to being the most hated in a matter of one hour. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors have started throwing insults and jeers at him everywhere he goes and have started messing with him in a similar way to Peeves and Malfoy while the Slytherins have started praising him. It’s horrible.

Only Ron stands by him.

Angelina Johnson and the twins have stopped referring to him by name during Quidditch practices, have stopped interacting with him at all, and that really hurts, more than Harry would like to admit. Wood begrudgingly speaks to him, only because he has to in order to make sure practice is running smoothly. 

Harry swears to stop meddling with things that don’t concern him and Ron very vehemently agrees. He may not be insulting or messing with Harry, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t angry with the outcome of Norbert’s escape. 

This is put to a test, though, about a week before exams. Ron, who Harry is convinced has only stuck around with him because he knows Harry can’t traverse the castle without him, throws his arm out across Harry’s chest as they pass an empty classroom. Harry finally hears the whimpering inside of him and quickly starts to listen.

“No — no — not again, please —”

It sounds as though somebody is threatening Quirrell! Harry leans closer.

“All right — all right —” he hears Quirrell sob before the classroom door is slammed open and Harry jumps to the side as Quirrell rushes past.

“That door’s open,” Ron says suddenly. “Harry, c’mon.”

“Ron, no. We aren’t getting that involved with this,” Harry says. “Let’s just… go tell Hermione.”

Ron sighs but listens, pulling Harry back to the library they had just left.

Hermione only says one thing though, “Go to Dumbledore.”

And while Harry agrees, there’s a slight problem with that.

“We have no proof, Hermione,” he says. “Quirrell’s too scared to back us up. Snape’s only got to say he doesn’t know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor — who do you think they’ll believe, him or us? It’s not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore’ll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn’t help us if his life depended on it, he’s too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he’ll think. And don’t forget, we’re not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That’ll take a lot of explaining.”

“If we just do a bit of poking around —”

“No,” Harry interrupts Ron, “we’ve done enough poking around.”

The next morning, Harry, Hermione, and Neville receive notes at breakfast.

“Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall. Professor McGonagall,” Hermione reads.

His anger with her flares up again but he pushes it away and remains silent for the rest of breakfast. 

At eleven o’clock, the three head down to the entrance hall to meet Filch. Hermione tells him that Malfoy is there and Harry remembers that he also got detention.

They follow Filch outside, remaining silent as he talks about how he misses the old forms of punishment. Whatever they’re getting punished with, though, must be horrible because Filch sounds delighted. 

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Hagrid’s shout shoots relief through Harry. It can’t be too bad if they’re working with Hagrid. His relief must show, though, because Filch rounds on him in a second.

“I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy — it’s into the forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”

Harry blinks. Neville lets out a whimper.

“The forest?” Malfoy repeats. “We can’t go in there at night — there’s all sorts of things in there — werewolves, I heard.”

Harry is quite sure that werewolves only transform during full moons but alright. Neville lets out another whimper and clutches the sleeve of Harry’s robe tightly. 

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” Filch says. “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

“Abou’ time,” Hagrid’s voice says and Harry relaxes slightly. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” Filch says before the two can answer, “they’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” Hagrid says. “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ’Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” Filch says, “for what’s left of them,” he adds before leaving them to head back to the castle.

“I’m not going in that forest,” Malfoy is speaking now and Harry fights a smirk when he hears the panic in his voice. Though, Harry himself is slightly scared, so maybe he shouldn’t be smirking.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” Hagrid says, his voice fierce. “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.”

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d —”

“— tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growls. “Copyin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Malfoy doesn’t move.

“Right then,” Hagrid says, “now, listen carefully, ’cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight, an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

They do, Hermione leading Harry more than him following.

“Look there,” Hagrid says, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

Harry’s eyes widen, “But… Hagrid, I can’t see it! What good am I if I can’t help track it?”

“Sorry, Harry, I tried ter get yeh out of it but no such luck.”

Harry grips Hermione’s arm tightly and she hisses through her teeth when his nails dig into her arm, “That’s ridiculous . I can’t believe --”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” Malfoy interrupts Harry before he can start ranting, effectively distracting Hagrid.

“There’s nothin’ that lives in the forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” Hagrid tells him. “An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split in ter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

“I want Fang,” Malfoy says quickly.

“All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” said Hagrid. “So me, Harry, an’ Hermione’ll go one way an’ Draco, Neville, an’ Fang’ll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now — that’s it — an’ if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh — so, be careful — let’s go.”

Harry loves Hogwarts, it’s the only place he’s truly felt at home, but really? Sending the blind kid to look for a dead unicorn? He can maybe understand keeping the Philosopher’s Stone protected in Hogwarts and he can understand that Quidditch can be played by anybody, but he just can’t understand the logic behind sending him, a blind kid, as well as three other eleven-year-olds into the Forbidden Forest to look for a hurt unicorn. It must’ve had to go through Professor Dumbledore before the punishments were handed out and, if so, Harry’s respect for the man has severely plummeted. No sane person would ever actually agree to let this happen. Harry is glad that Hagrid at least tried to get him out of helping but then again, it doesn’t sound like he tried to get the other three out of it, just Harry, which is almost as bad as Snape targeting Harry for seemingly no reason at all. His respect for the entire staff of Hogwarts has gone down so fast in just five minutes. He just can’t believe this is an acceptable punishment for them.

“You all right, Hermione?” Harry’s brooding gets interrupted by Hagrid whispering.  “Don’ worry, it can’t’ve gone far if it’s this badly hurt, an’ then we’ll be able ter — GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid grabs them and pulls them behind the tree he had been yelling about. Harry thinks if this continues, his respect will be completely gone by the end of the night. They’ve not even been in the forest a minute and they’re already ducking behind trees to hide.

Harry hears something slithering across dead leaves and thinks they’ve made a big deal over nothing. 

“It just sounds like a snake, why are we hiding?” he whispers. He likes Hagrid but seriously? 

“No, no,” Hagrid mumbles. “That wasn’ no snake.”

Harry sighs quietly. 

“Right, follow me, but careful, now.”

Harry starts thinking about the different people he can complain to that would agree with him. Hermione probably would, Percy would too, and maybe he and Malfoy can put their differences aside to mutually complain to one another about the idiotic punishments given out for something that, in retrospect, is quite trivial. Wandering the castle at night? Harry thinks that’s a hell of a lot safer than wandering the Forbidden Forest at night.

Something ahead of them moves and Harry prepares himself for another overreaction. 

“Who’s there?” Hagrid calls. “Show yerself — I’m armed!”

There’s some rustling and then -- the sound of hooves? Harry’s isn’t sure. The last time he heard the sound of hooves, he had been listening to a movie Uncle Vernon was watching.

“Oh, it’s you, Ronan,” Hagrid says, relief clear in his voice. “How are yeh?”

Hermione seems to be in shock, seeing as she’s completely frozen and isn’t telling him what just emerged from the trees.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid,” Ronan has a deep, sorrowful voice that is very distinctive is Harry’s mind. “Were you going to shoot me?”

Harry blinks. Hagrid has a gun? No, wait, that can’t be right, wizards don’t use guns. Or any actually effective weapon. What is Hagrid carrying?

“Can’t be too careful, Ronan,” Hagrid says, patting the weapon. Harry can tell by the noise it makes that it isn’t a gun but he still doesn’t know what it is. “There’s summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an’ Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An’ this is Ronan, you two. He’s a centaur.”

Harry huffs a laugh. A centaur? God, could this night get any weirder?

“Good evening,” Ronan says. “Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?”

Harry already thin patience wears even thinner. What kind of question is that?

“A bit,” Hermione mutters.

“A bit. Well, that’s something.” Ronan sighs. “Mars is bright tonight.”

Harry is starting to consider Dean Thomas as a possible candidate to complain to. He’s a muggleborn so he and Harry are pretty aligned in the amount they know about magic so he might be able to concur with Harry’s feelings about the situation. What was it he told Harry at the beginning of the year? “My step-dad's sister -- she’s deaf and she’s got about as bad of luck as you, mate. Almost burnt down our house because my little sister thought it’d be funny to move the alarm -- it’s got a flashing light on it -- out of her sight. And her coworkers signed her up one time to be a judge for a singing competition. I’m one of the only ones who hasn’t ever messed with her, because that’s a pretty messed up thing to do to somebody with a disability, so we talk all the time.” Dean hasn’t messed with him, staying true to that belief, but he’s still pretty pissed with Harry for losing all those points. Maybe once everything blows over.

“Yeah,” Hagrid says. “Listen, I’m glad we’ve run inter yeh, Ronan, ’cause there’s a unicorn bin hurt — you seen anythin’?”

“Always the innocent are the first victims,” Ronan says after a very long pause. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”

“Yeah but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan repeats. “Unusually bright.”

“Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer home,” Hagrid says, sounding as impatient as Harry feels. “So yeh haven’t noticed anythin’ strange?” 

Another long pause. Harry fights the urge to start yelling. Finally, Ronan says, “The forest hides many secrets.”

There’s a movement in the same direction where Ronan came from and then --

“Hullo, Bane,” Hagrid says. “All right?”

“Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?”

“Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen anythin’ odd in here lately? There’s a unicorn bin injured — would yeh know anythin’ about it?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” he says simply.

Harry clenches his fists. He’s not even speaking to them and they’re making him angry.

“We’ve heard,” Hagrid says.  “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.”

Hermione tugs Harry along and they follow Hagrid away from the two centaurs.

“Never,” Hagrid tells them, “try an’ get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin’ closer’n the moon.”

“Are there many of them in here?” Hermione asks. Harry could care less, honestly.

“Oh, a fair few. Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they’re good enough about turnin’ up if ever I want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs…  they know things…  jus’ don’ let on much.”

Harry wonders if they know how stupid it is to let eleven-year-olds wander around a forest full of dangerous creatures at night.

After a moment of walking, Hermione suddenly lets go of Harry and says loudly, “Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!”

“You two wait here!” Hagrid shouts. “Stay on the path, I’ll come back for yeh!”

He runs off and Harry lets out a frustrated huff.

“Stay on the bloody path,” he grumbles. “We shouldn’t even be here. Whoever thought it was a good idea to send us into the bloody forest as punishment shouldn’t be teaching students.”

Hermione sighs, “That’s what’s got you so angry?”

“No, Hermione, I’m angry because it’s cold,” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“It’s not cold,” Hermione says, oblivious to the sarcasm.

Harry closes his eyes, “Hermione, I’m furious because I’m blind and being forced to look for a unicorn.”

“Oh,” Hermione mumbles. “Well, I mean… you’re hearing is better than anybody else’s. If it isn’t dead, you’ll be able to hear it crying.”

“Lucky me.”

Hermione, sensing that she won’t be swaying Harry’s opinion on the matter, shuts her mouth. The two don’t speak again until Hagrid returns. Apparently, Draco had sneaked up behind Neville and startled him into sending up the red sparks.

“We’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changin’ groups — Neville, you stay with me an’ Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest.

“I’m sorry,” Hagrid interrupts him, whispering, “but he’ll have a harder time frightenin’ you, an’ we’ve gotta get this done.”

Hagrid, Hermione, and Neville set off and Harry scowls, “I need to hold onto your elbow, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scoffs, “Not bloody likely, Potter.”

“I don’t much feel like dying in here tonight, Malfoy,” Harry says. “It’s either your elbow, your robe, or I stay right here and let you go off on your own.”

Malfoy grumbles but shoves his elbows into Harry’s waiting hand. Harry grips it harder than necessary and makes sure to dig his nails into Malfoy’s skin.

They walk for probably half an hour, not speaking at all. Harry keeps his ears open for any sign of the unicorn and Malfoy mumbles about blood, sometimes pulling Harry in different directions because of the trail.

“It’s getting thicker,” Malfoy mutters. “It’s around here somewhere.”

“I can’t hear anything,” Harry shrugs. “It’s probably dead by now, anyway. Just look around.”

Malfoy is silent for a moment longer before he makes a soft, “Aha,” sound and tugs Harry forward. “It’s up in this clearing. Let’s get closer and then send up sparks.”

But after one step, Malfoy freezes and Harry does too. That slithering is back and Harry can tell this time that it isn’t a snake. It sounds like a body being dragged or dragging itself across the ground.

“What… is that?” Harry whispers.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything. 

An awful slurping fills Harry’s ears for a split second before it’s Malfoy’s scream filling his ears. He hears footsteps and knows that Malfoy just ran and Fang went with him. Harry can’t move his feet, it’s like they're glued in place.

Suddenly, pain like no other shoots through Harry’s forehead, right where his scar is. He staggers backward and then falls to his knees. It’s like his scar is on fire. Hooves charge in from behind him but he pays them no mind, too focused on the pain to care at the moment.

After a minute or two, it finally goes away and he takes a deep breath.

“Are you all right?” this centaurs voice is different from the other two. He helps Harry to his feet.

“What was that?” Harry asks instead of answering.

He doesn’t answer him, instead saying, “You are the Potter boy. You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time — especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. My name is Firenze,” he says this last bit belatedly as Harry clambers onto his back.

More hooves sound and Harry wishes this night could just end already.

“Firenze!” one of the centaurs yells. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

“Do you realize who this is?” Firenze says. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling him?” the same centaur growls. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

“I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” the other centaur says.

“For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!”

Firenze suddenly rears up on his hind legs and Harry almost lets a scream slip past his lips as he scrambles to hold on tightly.

“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellows. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

Firenze takes off in a run and Harry tightens his already tight grip.

“Why’s Bane so angry?” he asks, hoping that this centaur is a little more forthcoming with answers. “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?”

Firenze doesn’t answer for a very long time. Harry gives up completely on ever getting an answer after a few long minutes when suddenly, Firenze comes to a stop and says, “Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

Harry blinks, “No. We’ve only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.”

“That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” Firenze says. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

“But who’d be that desperate?” Harry says, genuinely curious about this. Centaurs definitely know more than they let on, Hagrid had been right about that. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Firenze agrees, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else — something that will bring you back to full strength and power — something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone! Of course! The Elixir of Life -- but I don’t understand who --”

“Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

Harry recalls what Hagrid told him on the night they first met. “Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.”

“That was Vol--”

“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Harry says. He’s suddenly reminded of his anger at the situation and sighs, shaking his head, “The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s back in that clearing, I think.”

“This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmurs. “You are safe now.”

Harry slides onto the ground, his anger fully restored.

“Good luck, Harry Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.”

Later, Harry and Hermione find Ron asleep by the fire in the common room. Harry shakes him awake roughly and he stops protesting when Harry starts to tell them about what Firenze told him.

“Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort and Voldemort’s waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape wanted to get rich…”

“Stop saying the name!” Ron whispers urgently but Harry ignores him.

“Bane was furious when Firenze saved me. He kept talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen so they must show that Voldemort is coming back. Bane thinks Firenze should’ve just let Voldemort kill me.”

“ Will you stop saying the name!” 

Harry continues talking like he hadn’t heard Ron, “So all I’ve got to do is wait for Snape to steal the Stone and then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off. Bane’ll be happy, I suppose.”

“Harry, everyone says Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won’t touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that’s a very imprecise branch of magic.”

When they finally head to bed later, exhausted, Harry pulls back his blankets and finds his Invisibility Cloak resting beneath them. 

Ron takes the note from him when he picks it up and reads it quietly.

“Just in case.”

Chapter Text

Harry has no idea how he manages to do his exams with the threat of Voldemort lurking behind every corner. 

Written exams are awful, especially with the heat in the room as they take them, but Harry manages. Apparently, it’s not just printed books that accommodate for the readers because it was the professors who wrote every question with their own quill and it’s all still in braille for Harry. When he asks Professor McGonagall why, she tells him magical books are printed on the same parchment they use for exams, meaning it’s the parchment that realizes Harry needs it to be in braille. Harry decides not to mention this fact to Ron -- just in case the boy decides to stop reading Harry’s letters for him. Harry very much enjoys listening to Ron read Harry’s letter and no, he doesn’t know why, thank you very much. 

The practical exams are easier. Harry successfully makes a pineapple tap dance and turns a mouse into a snuff box with ease and later, when they talk about what happened, Ron tells him that Professor McGonagall looked like she might cry when he walked in and he thinks it was because of Harry doing so well. Harry doesn’t believe him. Snape’s practical exam is horrible, considering he stands right behind them while they attempt to make a Forgetfulness potion. Harry’s is especially horrible since Snape has to read him the instructions off the board because Ron isn’t next to Harry to do it for him.

Harry does his best, powering through the pains in his forehead as best he can. It’s been happening ever since the forest and Harry has no idea why though he figures it has something to do with Voldemort, considering it was Voldemort that made it hurt that night in the forest. Maybe, he still isn’t sure what exactly happened that night, but seeing as he’s trying to keep it out of his mind because he just gets angry when he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly know.

Harry is worried about the Stone, though, something that Hermione and Ron don’t seem to share with him. They’re worried about Voldemort, of course, but the Stone not so much.

After their last exam -- History of Magic -- the trio heads down to the lake to finally relax. They sit under a tree for some shade and Harry starts rubbing at his scar, a frown etched on his face.

“I wish I knew what this means!” he exclaims, scaring the other two. “My scar keeps hurting — it’s happened before, but never as often as this.”

“Go to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione says, not sounding concerned in the slightest. 

“I’m not ill,” Harry shakes his head. “I think it’s a warning… it means danger's coming…”

“Harry, relax, Hermione’s right, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down,” Ron tells him, also not sounding concerned. 

Harry doesn’t understand why they don’t think it’s a big deal but he doesn’t really feel like arguing with them, so he just nods. 

He can’t shake the feeling though, the feeling of imminent danger or the feeling like he’s forgotten something. He’s getting increasingly frustrated and almost wants to march over to Malfoy just to hear what exactly the thing that Firenze saved Harry from was. Or at least what it looked like. He wishes he hadn’t let Hagrid go off with Neville and Hermione, he wishes he would’ve just stayed with Hagird… Hagrid!

Harry jumps up, “We’ve got to go see Hagrid!”

“What? Harry, no,” Ron whines.

Harry huffs and starts to walk, the two scrambling to catch up to make sure he doesn’t go the wrong way or hurt himself, “Ron, don’t you think it’s a bit weird that the one thing Hagrid wants the most is a dragon and a stranger just comes out of nowhere with an egg? Nobody just walks around with a dragon egg, not if it’s against the law. He’s lucky he found Hagrid. God, how did I not figure this out before?”

“What are you talking about?” Ron sounds exasperated.

Harry doesn’t answer, just speeds up. He’s going the right way, considering Ron and Hermione haven’t pulled him in a different direction.

“Hullo,” Hagrid’s voice says and Harry lets out a small breath of relief -- he got somewhere on his own! “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

“No, we’re in a hurry,” Harry says, getting down to business. “Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

“Dunno,” Hagrid says, “he wouldn’ take his cloak off.”

Harry frowns.

“It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head — that’s one o’ the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

“What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?” Harry says. How could he have been so stupid? The answer was right in front of his face!

“Mighta come up,” Hagrid says. “Yeah… he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after… so I told him… an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon… an’ then… I can’ remember too well, ’cause he kept buyin’ me drinks. Let’s see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…”

“And did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry says, trying to keep his voice level. Of course, of course!

“Well — yeah — how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he'll go straight off ter sleep —”

He pauses and Harry runs a hand through his hair, processing the information. It was so obvious, you idiot, you should’ve known way before this!

“I shouldn’ta told yeh that!” Hagrid blurts. “Forget I said it!”

Harry blinks. Play a bit of music! 

He suddenly turns on his heel and starts sprinting up to the castle, this path more familiar and easier to navigate. Ron and Hermione quickly catch up, seeming to have finally come to the same conclusion Harry did.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,” Harry says once they get into the entrance hall. “We’ve got proof now -- it was Snape or Voldemort under that cloak, I just know it. I hope he believes us. Firenze might back us up but that Bane might not let him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?”

Ron and Hermione don’t answer.

“Fine then, we’ll just have to --”

“What are you three doing inside?” a sharp voice interrupts him. Professor McGonagall.

“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione says.

“See Professor Dumbledore? Why?”

“It’s sort of secret,” Harry says, rather stupidly.

“Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,” Professor McGonagall says, her voice now cold. “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”

“He’s gone?” Harry runs his hand through his hair again. “Now?”

“Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time —”

“But this is important.”

“Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?”

Harry runs his hand down his face, wishing for once people would just listen to him. He’s blind but he’s not stupid. Well, okay, that’s debatable but still.

“Look, Professor, it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone --”

Harry jumps back when he hears things start hitting the ground. She must’ve dropped whatever she had been holding.

“How do you know -- ?”

“Professor, somebody is going to try and steal the stone. I’ve got to speak with Professor Dumbledore.”

There’s a moments pause before she finally says, “Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow. I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.”

Harry clenches his fists, “Professor --”

“Potter, I know what I’m talking about,” she interrupts him and he holds back a frustrated shout. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.”

Harry listens to her walk away and when he’s sure she’s out of earshot, he does let out a frustrated shout, turning to his friends, “It’s tonight. Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He knows everything he needs to and I’ll bet you anything it was him who sent that note to Dumbledore. The Ministry’s gonna be real shocked when he shows up.”

“And what do you suggest we do about --”

Hermione interrupts Ron with a gasp.

“Good afternoon.”

Harry wheels around. What did he hear?

“You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,” Snape says.

Harry opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“You want to be more careful,” Snape drawls. “Hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Gryffindor really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?”

Harry scowls, words finally forming in his mouth. Ron turns him around, though, before he can get into an argument and they start on their way back outside but Snape calls them back.

“Be warned, Potter — any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.”

Another frustrated shout leaves Harry and he tugs his friends outside, beginning to whisper to them when they get on the steps.

“Okay, here’s what needs to happen. Somebody needs to keep an eye on Snape. Wait by the staff room and follow him if he leaves. Hermione, I think you should do that.”

“What? Why?”

“You can pretend to be waiting for another professor,” Ron says like it’s obvious. “Asking about exams or whatever.”

Hermione sighs but agrees.

“And then Ron and I -- we stay outside the corridor. Ron can watch out for anybody headed for us and I can listen to make sure nobody is already inside the corridor.”

But of course, this doesn’t work. Why would it? Almost as soon as they reach the door blocking them from Fluffy, Professor McGonagall appears again, shouting this time.

“I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!” Harry tries not to flinch but ultimately fails. “Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take another fifty points from Gryffindor!”

Ron and Harry head back to the common room, Harry fuming. As he tries to reassure himself with the fact that Hermione is still on Snape’s tail, that falls apart as well. She stumbles into the common room, apologizing and saying that Snape caught her.

Harry huffs, clenching his fists at his side, “Fine then. That settles it. I’m going tonight -- I’ll get the Stone before Snape does.”

“Harry, no!” Hermione exclaims. “You’ll just… you’ll hurt yourself! And-and if you get caught, you’ll be expelled! Didn’t you hear Snape and Professor McGonagall?”

“And?” Harry scoffs. “If Snape gets to the Stone, Voldemort comes back, and what then? Hermione, there won’t be a Hogwarts to get expelled from! I’m not too keen on going either but who else is going to? And if I get caught, I’ll just head back to the Dursleys to wait it out until he finds me there and kills me. I’m not letting him come back, Hermione, not when I know how to stop him. And if I die, who cares? He killed my parents. I’m not letting him kill anybody else.”

The two are quiet for a moment before Hermione says quietly, “You’re right.”

Harry lets out a breath, “I’ll take the Invisibility Cloak. Whoever gave it back -- I’m lucky they did.”

“Will it fit all three of us?” Ron asks.

Harry blinks, “What?”

“Oh, come on, you really think we’d let you do this on your own?” Ron says.

“Yeah, how do you expect to get to the Stone without us?” Hermione says, a smile in her voice. 

“But you’ll be expelled too if we get caught.”

“Not if I can help it,” Hermione says. “Flitwick told me I got a hundred and twelve percent on my exam. They aren’t throwing me out after that.”

After dinner, the three sit apart. They don’t speak to one another and nobody tries to speak to them -- nobody wants to talk to Harry and Hermione, after all. 

When Lee finally heads to bed, Harry rushes upstairs to get his cloak. He suddenly remembers Hagrid’s flute and digs around in his trunk until he finds it. He doesn’t much feel like singing to Fluffy.

“Let’s put it on here,” Harry says when he gets back to the common room. “Make sure our feet aren’t showing, too, there’s no telling what Filch would do if --”

“What are you doing?”

Harry jumps, swinging around and hiding the cloak behind his back, “Nothing, Neville, nothing.”

“You’re going out again.”

“No, no, no,” Hermione says quickly. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?”

Harry briefly wishes for better patience -- he has a feeling this whole risking his life thing won’t stop after this year and if so, his impatience won’t help him a bit.

“You can’t go out,” Neville says, “you’ll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.”

“You don’t understand,” Harry says shortly, “this is important.”

“I won’t let you do it,” his voice moves to a different spot and Harry turns to face it. “I’ll fight you!”

“Neville, get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot --”

“Don’t you call me an idiot!” Neville says. “I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!”

“Yes, but not to us,” Ron says. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Neville.”

“Go on then, try and hit me!” Neville suddenly says and Harry sighs. “I'm ready!”

“Do something,” Harry hisses at Hermione.

“Neville,” she says after a pause, “I’m really, really sorry about this. Petrificus Totalus!”

A thump sounds and Harry knows that Neville just fell down.

“What did you do?” he says miserably. He’s already going to be risking his life and risking his schooling, he doesn’t want to add murder to that list.

“It’s a full-body bind.”

Well, at least she didn’t kill him.

“Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispers.

“You’ll understand later, Neville,” Ron says.

Ron and Hermione make sure their feet are covered before they start on their way to the third-floor. When they reach the staircase, Hermione and Ron both throw their arms out across Harry’s chest to make him slow down. He hears rustling and assumes somebody is ahead. They start to creep up the stairs slowly.

“Who’s there?” Peeves.  “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie? Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.”

Harry, too impatient to try and threaten to call for the Baron, just says in a low, hoarse voice, “Peeves, the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”

It works like a charm.

“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir. My mistake, my mistake — I didn’t see you — of course I didn’t, you’re invisible — forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.”

“I have business here, Peeves. Stay away from this place tonight.”

“I will, sir, I most certainly will. Hope your business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.”

Harry hopes that doesn’t get back to the Baron, he’s not sure he wants to find out what’ll happen to him if the ghost finds out somebody was impersonating him. 

“That was brilliant, Harry,” Ron whispers.

Harry ignores the way his face heats up and starts to walk again.

“The door’s already open,” Hermione whispers.

Harry curses quietly, “Snape’s already in there, then. C’mon, hurry.”

They head inside and immediately, the dog (dogs?) starts to growl. Harry raises the flute Hagrid made him to his lips and starts to blow.

“I imagine it wakes up as soon as you stop playing, so don’t stop, Harry,” Hermione says as she pulls the cloak off of them.

Harry nods, letting the two pull him toward the trapdoor. 

Ron pulls it open.

“What can you see?” Hermione asks.

“Nothing, just black. There’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop. Here, I’ll go first.”

Harry makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, still playing the flute.

“Harry, no. I’m going first and I’ll yell if it’s safe. If not, just leave and send Hedwig to Dumbledore. I’m not letting you get hurt… not if I can help it.”

Harry, again, ignores the way his face heats up. He nods.

“Okay… here goes nothing. See you in a minute.”

A full thirty seconds pass before he yells, “It’s safe! It’s a soft landing, you can jump!”

Hermione grabs the flute from Harry, beginning to play. Harry jumps down, grimacing at the landing, “What is this?”

“I don’t know, some plant thing,” Ron mumbles.

Hermione lands a few moments later, saying, “We must be miles under the school.”

“Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,” Ron says.

“Lucky!” Hermione shrieks. “Look at you both!”

Harry would make a joke but seeing as he now can’t move his legs or arms, he decides it might not be the best time. Harry immediately begins to panic but that seems to spur the plant on, as it’s tendrils start to wrap around him more tightly and more quickly.

“Stop moving!” Hermione shouts. “I know what this is — it’s Devil’s Snare!”

“Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,” Ron snarls.

“Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!” 

“Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!” Harry gasps.

“Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare… what did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp —”

“So light a fire!” Harry chokes.

“Yes — of course — but there’s no wood!” Hermione cries.

“HAVE YOU GONE MAD?” Ron yells. “ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?”

“Oh, right!”

Finally, the tendrils fall away and Harry catches his breath as he stands up. Ron pulls him over to Hermione.

“Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione,” Harry mumbles. “I mostly just tune Neville out.”

“Yeah,” Ron says, sounding very bitter, “and lucky Harry doesn’t lose his head in a crisis — ‘there’s no wood,’ honestly.”

“Just go on,” Harry says before an argument can break out.

Ron tugs him through a doorway, leading down a long passageway.

“What’s that?” Harry says when he hears something.

“Sounds like wings,” Hermione mumbles. “There’s light up there.”

“I can see something moving,” Ron says.

They reach the room and Harry realizes that Hermione was right, it is wings. It sounds like a thousand Snitches are flying around above them.

“It’s birds,” Ron says. “Think they’ll attack if we try to cross?”

“Probably,” Harry says. 

“Well, there’s no other choice, I suppose,” Ron lets go of Harry’s arm, “I’ll run.”

“Ron --”

“You’ll run face first into the door, stupid, let me go,” Ron says and Harry rolls his eyes.

Ron runs ahead and after a beat of silence, tells them it’s safe. Hermione takes hold of Harry’s arm, now, and leads him over to Ron.

“It’s locked,” Ron says. “Won’t budge.”

Hermione’s Alohomora charm doesn’t do anything either.

“Well, I assume the birds aren’t just decoration,” Harry says. “And they don’t sound like birds, they sound like Snitches.”

“Snitches,” Hermione mumbles. “Brilliant! They’re keys, not birds! But -- oh, Harry, there’s hundreds of them, how do you suppose we catch the right one?”

Harry thinks for a moment, “Maybe it looks different. And if Snape’s already gone through here, then he’ll have caught it already, and I don’t think he’d be careful with it either. It’s wings are probably all messed up so it might sound different. Are there broomsticks?”

“Yes, over here. We’ll all look. It’s a big, old fashioned one, Mione, probably silver like the handle,” Ron says. He hands a broomstick to Harry and Harry kicks off immediately, straining his ears for a different sort of fluttering noise while Hermione and Ron look for a different type of key.

After a minute of weaving through the other keys, Harry hears it and locks his ears onto the sound. The fluttering is slightly slower and quieter, as if it’s wings aren’t quite working right. It has to be that one. Luckily, Ron notices it too.

“It’s gotta be that one!” he shouts. “It’s got blue wings, one’s all crumpled. Harry, have you got it?”

“I can hear it,” Harry says. “It’s not going to be easy to catch, we’ve got to trap it. Hermione, you stay below it and make sure it can’t go down and Ron, you stay above it. I’ll try to catch it.”

“Be careful, there’s a wall a foot behind it,” Ron tells him.

“Great,” Harry says and means it. He can use the wall to help him catch the key. “Ready?”

“Ready,” the two chorus.

“NOW!”

Harry hears Ron dive and Hermione rise upward. He shoots forward and stretches his hand out. By some miracle, he manages to pin the key against the wall with a nasty crunch.

“Spectacular, Harry!” Ron shouts and Harry grins.

They all lower themselves to the ground and Harry hands the key to Ron, who shoves it into the lock and opens the door.

They step into the next room and Ron and Hermione gasp.

“What?” Harry asks.

“It’s a giant chessboard,” Hermione says miserably.

“It’s a giant chessboard!” Ron sounds more excited than her. “Merlin, that’s brilliant. We’ve got to play our way across, of course.”

“How?” Harry says, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Ron’s excitement dies down. “Well… I suppose we’ll have to be chessmen.”

Harry sighs, “Well, it’s you who’s good at chess, Ron. Just tell us what to do -- we’ll listen.”

Ron is silent for a long moment before he says seriously, “Harry, you’ll take the place of this bishop, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to be a knight.”

Ron directs Harry to the now empty place on the board and then stands in his own spot, “White always goes first. Okay, Harry, hold out your hands.”

Harry does so.

“We’re gonna get separated, obviously, so I’m making sure you know which way to go when I tell you to.”

Harry thinks that’s the smartest thing they’ve done all night because he’s absolute rubbish at knowing his right and left.

“If you stay facing this way, this is your right,” Ron squeezes his right hand, “and this is your left,” he squeezes the other hand. “Now, bishops only move diagonally so it’s important you remember that, seeing as you can’t go straight at all. When I tell you to move a space to the right, you just turn slightly,” Ron turns him, “like that, and then just walk forward however many steps I tell you to. Same with left,” Ron turns him again so he can see how far that turn is. “Got it?”

Harry nods, “Got it.”

“Alright, ready?”

“Ready,” Harry and Hermione say.

Ron starts making orders and the other two stay silent, letting him take the lead.

When their other knight is taken, Hermione tells Harry in a shaky voice that the queen just smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board. 

Piece after piece is taken, from both white and black, and Harry thinks this is the most nerve wracking thing he’s ever done in his life.

When he hears Ron whisper, “Of course, I’ve to be taken,” fear like no other shoots through him.

“Ron, no!” he shouts, desperation clear in his voice.

“That’s chess!” Ron shouts back, not an ounce of fear in his voice. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she’ll take me — that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”

Harry feels his lip start to tremble, “But --”

“Do you want to get to Snape or not?”

“Ron --”

“If you don’t hurry, he’ll already have the Stone!”

Harry realizes that he won’t win this fight. He takes a deep breath, “Okay. Fine. What do I have to do?”

“Once I’m gone, you just move over three spaces to the left. That’ll checkmate the king and then you’ll have won. Don’t wait around once you have, just go on. I’ll survive.”

Harry nods.

“Ready?”

No. Harry nods anyway.

Harry hears the smack and the thud of Ron’s body. He presses his lips together and Hermione screams. He shakily moves three spaces to the left and hears something hit the ground in front of him.

“The king threw his crown down,” Hermione says. “We’ve done it.”

Ron did it, but Harry doesn’t say this. He lets Hermione shove him into the next passageway and then pull him into the next room, where a horrible smell fills their noses, cutting their wonder about Ron and whether or not it’ll be Quirrell or Snape’s enchantment next off.

“A troll,” Hermione whispers. “It’s already knocked out.”

“C’mon, I can’t breathe,” Harry says.

Hermione doesn’t say what the next room is and Harry decides not to ask. He can hears flames behind them and in front of them but Hermione isn’t saying anything, meaning she must be thinking.

She finally lets out an awed breath, “Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple. Brilliant. It’s not magic, it’s logic. Here, hold on.”

“Got it,” she says after a long moment of silence. “The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire — toward the Stone.”

She presses said bottle into his hand and Harry feels it.

“There’s only enough there for one of us,” he says after assessing just how small the bottle is. “That’s hardly one swallow. Which one will get you back through the purple flames?”

“This rounded one,” she says.

“You drink that,” Harry says. “No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they’ll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy — go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I’m no match for him, really.”

“But Harry… what if You-Know-Who is with him?” 

“Well, I was lucky once… I might get lucky again,” he sends her a small smile in hopes of cheering her.

Suddenly, her arms are around him and he tenses, “Hermione!”

“You’re a great wizard, Harry, really,” she mumbles.

Harry, of course, knows this but he’s honestly no better than her, “So are you, Mione.”

She lets go of him, “Me! Books and cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and… oh, Harry, be careful!”

“You drink first,” Harry says. “But, uh… point me in the right direction, please, so I don’t walk into the wrong fire.”

Hermione laughs despite herself, sniffling as she grabs his shoulders and points him at the right fire.

“Okay, you go,” Harry says.

Harry hears her uncap the potion and drink it.

“Not poison?” he says.

“No, but it feels like ice,” she mumbles. 

“Quick, before it wears off.”

“Good luck. Take care --”

“GO!”

Harry listens to her walk away. He takes a deep breath, uncapping the potion in his hand and draining it in one gulp.

He drops the bottle, shuddering at the feeling, before starting to walk forward. 

He expects a scream, maybe a shout of his name, but all he is met with when he enters the next room is the cold voice of the person he least expected.

Chapter Text

“I wondered whether I’d be meeting you here, Potter.”

“Quirrell? But… I thought… Snape --”

“Severus?” he laughs and Harry flinches. “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

Harry, if he hadn’t been so shocked and feeling so utterly betrayed, might’ve laughed at the image of Snape looking like a bat. He can’t believe it. They had been so sure -- there’s so much evidence pointing at Snape, he doesn’t understand.

“Snape tried to kill me!” Harry refuses to believe it. They had been comforting this man.

“No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you.”

Save him? God damn it! How could they have been so wrong?

“He was trying to save me?” Harry mumbles, trying to process the information.

“Of course,” Quirrell answer the question that Harry really didn’t want answered. “Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again. Funny, really… he needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular… and what a waste of time, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight.”

Harry hears him snap his fingers and then feels ropes wrap around his limbs. He focuses on steadying his breathing. He’s not going to freak out or have -- what did Hagrid call it? A panic attack. He’s not having a panic attack in front of this joke of a human. 

“You’re too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.”

Harry blinks, panic momentarily forgotten as a shocked laugh leaves him, “Forgot I was blind, Quirrell? No wonder we never suspected you -- quite the idiotic move there.”

He think that was quite the idiotic move. Smart-mouthing the guy who has you tied up and is planning to kill you? Real smart, Potter.

Quirrell scoffs and instead of saying anything about that, just says, “Wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. Mirror? 

“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell murmurs. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he’s in London… I’ll be far away by the time he gets back…”

So, this is Dumbledore’s room, but why is it just a mirror? It must be a distraction or something. Harry wonders where the Stone actually is and if he can perhaps find it without Quirrell noticing. The mirror has to be a distraction, and a damn good one if Quirrell thinks it’s the key to finding the Stone, and since Harry can’t see the mirror or his reflection, he assumes it might be easier for him to work out where the Stone might be. 

“I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master… but where is it?”

Wait… what?

See the stone? What the hell is this mirror? Okay, maybe it isn’t a distraction but if not, how is it the key to finding the Stone? Does it show you where it is? No, because Quirrell would’ve found it by now. 

“I don’t understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?”

I see the Stone, I’m presenting it to my master. These words repeat themselves like a mantra. Quirrell sees in the mirror what he wants to do with the Stone once he finds it. So, this mirror must show you what you want, or at least a version of what you want. Well, Harry wants to find the Stone before Quirrell does, but he can’t see the mirror, so what good does that do him?

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”

Harry is broken out of his thoughts of how he could possibly use the mirror when he can’t see it -- or of theories of where the Stone could be if everything he is thinking is wrong -- when he hears a different voice.

“Use the boy… Use the boy…”

What the fuck?

Harry thinks this is the proper situation for that word. With no Dudley around to tattle on him, he might even say it out loud.

“Yes. Potter. Come here.”

Quirrell claps his hands once and the ropes fall away. Harry grimaces, rubbing at the rawness of his wrist. He had been struggling against the ropes and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Come here,” Quirrell repeats. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.”

Harry closes his eyes and says flatly, “Quirrell, I’m blind.”

Quirrell growls and seizes the sleeve of his robe, pulling him harshly over.

“I can’t see the mirror, you blithering idiot!” Harry shouts, struggling against the grip on his robe. Where this courage has come from, he has no idea.

Quirrell snaps his fingers again and the ropes come back up. Harry lets out a frustrated shout, “I can’t -- see -- the mirror!”

Another rope comes up and wraps around his throat, restricting his airflow only slightly. He gasps as it moves higher and forces his head to move. He shuts his eyes tightly but -- oh god -- the rope wraps around the front of his face and pulls his eyelids down, forcing his eyes to open. Suddenly, and shockingly, an image fills his head.

Little six-year-old Harry, the last version of himself he remembers seeing, is smiling brightly at him. He stops trying not to look at the mirror and the ropes around his face recede, the ones around his neck staying where they are. 

Six-year-old Harry waves before shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a red -- christ, he can see the color -- stone, holding it up as if to show it to someone. His lips move and there’s that speech impediment Harry had until he was nine, mouthing the words, “You found it. The Phiwosopher’s Stone!” and Harry smiles softly. Six hadn’t been a good year -- what with his dwindling vision and the ever present bullies he calls his relatives -- but he had still been innocent that year, happy. “You did good, Hawwy! Hewe you go!” He puts the Stone back into his pocket and Harry feels a sudden weight in his own pocket. Six-year-old Harry waves again, mouthing, “Goodbye!” before turning and skipping away. He had learned to skip that year. 

His remincenting is cut short by Qurriell snapping out a, “Well?”

“Myself,” Harry says, telling the half-truth. “I’m happy. I’m with my parents.”

“Get out of the way,” Quirrell shoves him away and the ropes disappear again. He takes in a gasping breath, suddenly realizing just how much the rope was actually restricting his breathing. He takes a few steps but freezes when he hears --

“He lies… He lies…”

“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouts and Harry flinches. Remincenting is awesome and all but it brought back a lot of unwelcome memories too, like his irrational fear of raised voices. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?”

The other voice speaks again, not allowing Harry to talk.

“Let me speak to him… face-to-face…”

“Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough… for this…”

Harry rubs his neck nervously. God, had he been struggling then, too? His neck is as raw as his wrists. He winces and drops his hand.

“Harry Potter.”

Harry flinches again. The faint voice is now much louder and he really doesn’t like the way it sounds. 

“See what I have become?” No, but continue, terrifying-voice. “Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest…  and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”

Harry processes this very quickly. So, this is Voldemort. The thing in the forest was Quirrell. Nobody seems to understand the meaning of the word ‘blind.’ And… oh, he knows about the Stone.

Harry takes a step back, his lip curling in disgust. Considering he can’t see the ‘mere shadow and vapor’ version of the monster that killed his parents, he still has a lot of courage. More than a kid about to die should have, really.

“Don’t be a fool,” Voldemort snarls. “Better save your own life and join me… or you’ll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…”

“LIAR!” Harry yells.

“How touching… I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you… Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.”

“NEVER!” Harry attempts to run back to the flames he came through, hoping that the potion hasn’t worn off yet.

“SEIZE HIM!”

Fingers close around his wrist. That same pain he felt in the forest sears across his scar again and he screams, struggling to pull his wrist out of Quirrell’s grip. To his surprise, Quirrell lets go and the pain lessens. He takes in shallow, gasping breaths, moving his head around wildly to try to get a hint as to where Quirrell went.

“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!”

Harry is knocked off his feet and hands close around his already tender neck. He screams again, writhing around underneath the man. 

“Master, I cannot hold him — my hands — my hands!”

Harry realizes with a start that it’s hurting Quirrell to touch him just as much as it’s hurting Harry to be touched. 

“Then kill him, fool, and be done!”

But Harry has already grabbed Quirrell by the face, his hands working faster than his mind. Quirrell falls back, howling in agony, but Harry doesn’t let go, despite the pain in his forehead. He tightens his grip on Quirrell’s face, anger taking over the pain. He can hear Voldemort screaming to kill him and a different voice yelling his name but he doesn’t care. This liar, this joke, this poser, this terrible… horrible… monster…

Harry gasps quietly as he wakes and for a moment, he thinks it was all a dream. There is no Voldemort, no Quirrell, just Harry’s four-poster and Neville’s snoring.

But Neville isn’t snoring and this room smells infinitely more clean than his dorm.

“Good afternoon, Harry.”

Harry jumps, “Professor Dumbledore?” And then the panic returns, “Professor, the Stone -- Quirrell has the Stone --”

“Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times,” Dumbledore interrupts him. “Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

Harry blinks, “What? Then who does? Sir --”

“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

Madam Pomfrey? Oh. He’s in the hospital wing. That explains the clean smell -- his dorm smells like cat food and wet dirt (thanks to Trevor the Toad and Sandwich the Birman Cat) not antiseptic. 

“What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows.”

Harry’s head snaps back to Dumbledore, “What?”

“Not, of course, what you did to Professor Quirrell, just that you were down there and got hurt. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.”

What you did to Professor Quirrell. Does he have to phrase it like Harry killed him? Sure, he got angry and wanted to kill him but he didn’t actually… hopefully.

“How long have I been here?” Harry asks.

“Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried.”

“But sir, the Stone —”

“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.”

Harry grimaces at the thought, he hadn’t even really realized what he was doing to Professor Quirrell, he was just so angry. The other voice, yelling his name… that must’ve been Dumbledore.

“You got Hermione’s owl?” Harry says.

“We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you. I feared I might be too late.”

“You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer —”

“Not the Stone, boy, you — the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed.”

Harry thinks the fact that he almost died is not shocking at all. If Dumbledore had felt what he did in the moment…

“Destroyed?” Harry says, instead of talking about his almost-death. “But your friend — Nicolas Flamel —”

“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” Dumledore sounds delighted and Harry furrows his eyebrows. “You did do the thing properly, didn’t you?” 

Harry’s furrowed eyebrows shoot up. What does that mean?

“Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it’s all for the best.”

Harry decides not to ask if Dumbledore had planned for Harry to fight Quirrell because that’s quite a big thing to accuse somebody of doing and if he turns out to be wrong, he’s in for a very awkward conversation. “But that means he and his wife will die, won’t they?”

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”

Harry hums.

“You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all — the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.”

Harry thinks about his overweight uncle and cousin and thinks that’s a very true statement. Harry files that away for teasing Dudley with. (“I’m glad I went blind, Duddikins, because at least I don’t have to look at your face anymore.”)

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry says, because he really has been doing quite a bit of just that. “Sir — even if the Stone’s gone, Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?”

“No, Harry, he has not,” Dumbledore says, sounding quite proud of Harry. For what, Harry isn’t sure. “He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time — and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”

Harry thinks back to Dumbledore possibly planning for Harry to fight Quirrell and frowns. He’s not too keen on spending the rest of his life delaying Voldemort’s return to power. One time is enough, though he’d prefer if there were no times.

“Sir, there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me. Things I want to know the truth about.”

“The truth,” Dumbledore sighs. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

Harry blinks. Is this how you speak normally ? It’s quite frustrating.

“Well,” Harry says, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”

Dumbledore sighs again, “Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know.”

Harry presses his lips together. He’s ready now, thank you very much, but unlike Snape, Harry has the inkling that Dumbledore won’t tolerate any amount of arguing. As much as he wants to argue, because he hasn’t had a good row with Snape in a long time, he decides not to and to just ask his next question.

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me? And why did it hurt me so much to touch him?”

“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…  to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Harry is touched for a split second before he realizes that Dumbledore didn’t answer his second question. And that answer sounds suspiciously like… bullshit, if Harry’s being honest. The more he talks with Dumbledore, the more he wants to stop talking with Dumbledore but he has more questions.

“The Invisibility Cloak. Do you know who sent it to me?”

“Ah — your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it. Useful things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

That sounds truthful. Harry smiles at the thought of his dad sneaking around and wonders briefly if he had friends like Ron and Hermione to help him navigate the castle and help him with classes. If so, who?

He thinks that’s not a question to ask Dumbledore, though. He has a feeling the answer isn’t something Dumbledore feels he’s ready for or whatever. 

“And… how did I get the Stone out of the mirror?” he asks instead, because he does want to know that. Six-year-old Harry had been quite helpful.

“Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something.”

Harry wants to scoff, he really does.

“You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone — find it, but not use it — would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes.”

Harry really wants to scoff.

“Though, if you’ll allow me my own question, I was not aware that you would be able to see the mirror.”

That’s not a question but Harry understands the underlying question anyway. “Quirrell made me face it and it happened in my mind.”

Dumbledore hums, “And were you aware of the properties of the mirror?”

“Well, it wasn’t hard to figure out,” Harry grins. “It shows you what you want most. At first, I thought it was just to distract you from finding the Stone elsewhere but then I figured out that you had to use it to find the Stone. It was quite brilliant.”

“You were quite brilliant to figure such a thing out without your sight, my boy.”

Harry nods, pressing his lips together again. The underlying message of you must not be as smart because you can’t see is in his words and Harry, who so far hasn’t really met those types of people in Hogwarts because most everybody has seen him use magic or argue with Snape or simply just read, is deeply offended. 

“Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them — but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”

Harry hadn’t even known about the sweets. He wonders how many are next to him. Dumbledore suddenly makes a disgusted noise, “Alas, earwax.”

A smile tugs at Harry’s lips.

Madam Pomfrey, as it turns out, has very many stories about his dad and his friends. 

“I was quite fond of the boys but they were in here at least twice a week, and Mr Potter, if you take after your father in that aspect as well…”

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter were quite the marauders, according to her, and Harry pretends that he doesn’t hear the sadness in her voice as she talks about them, for her sake. 

In the few hours between Dumbledore’s visit and his friends showing up, Harry learns a lot about who his dad was -- and how annoyed his mum was at his dad ending up in the hospital wing so often. Madam Pomfrey, however, is very strict as well, and when Ron and Hermione show up, she shows this.

“Just five minutes!” Harry pleads.

“You need rest.”

“I am resting, look, lying down and everything,” Harry waves his hand over his body and she lets out a laugh that sounds angry, which Harry didn’t even know was possible. “Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…”

“Oh, very well,” she mumbles. “But only five minutes. No more.”

When Harry tells his friends about what happened, they prove to be a very good audience. They gasp in the right places and when Harry dramatically reveals what has been under Quirrell’s turban since the beginning of school, Hermione screams. 

Harry decides not to tell them all about Dumbledore’s visit because it had been quite angering, if he’s honest. The vague answers, the complete ignoring of one of his questions, telling him he’s not ready to hear about why he was being targeted as a literal baby, insulting his intelligence… Harry is impatient on a normal day so he has no idea how he managed to keep his head during their talk. He does talk about Dumbledore being the one to send him the cloak, though.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” Ron says and Harry startles. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?”

Harry grins. He hadn’t even needed to tell them about his suspicions, they figured it out on their own.

“I think so,” Harry nods. “I didn’t want to ask -- just in case I was wrong, but I mean… Why else would a teacher give a student such a thing?”

“You could have been killed! That’s a terrible thing to do!” Hermione explodes.

“I know, Mione, but what are we going to do about it now that I went and did what he wanted?”

Hermione huffs, “I’m talking to you about that later. You aren’t telling us some things, I just know it.”

“Well, anyway,” Ron cuts in, “you’ve got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course — you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you — but the food’ll be good.”

Before Harry can get too worked up about the Quidditch match, Madam Pomfrey storms over and orders them out. Fifteen minutes! Harry laughs quietly.

Harry sleeps good that night and listens to more stories about his dad and his friends while eating sweets the next day.

“Madam, I’d like to go to the feast,” he says as the morning turns into the afternoon. “I can, can’t I?”

“Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go,” she says, though Harry can tell that she thinks this is a horrible idea. “And you have another visitor.”

Harry perks up.

Hagrid’s now familiar footsteps walk over and he drops into the seat next to Harry’s bed before bursting into tears.

“It’s — all — my — ruddy — fault!” he sobs. “I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn’t know, an’ I told him! Yeh could’ve died! All fer a dragon egg! I’ll never drink again! I should be chucked out an’ made ter live as a Muggle!”

“Hagrid!” Harry cries, not liking the sounds of the man crying. “Hagrid, he’d have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we’re talking about, he’d have found out even if you hadn’t told him.”

“Yeh could’ve died!” Hagrid sobs. “An’ don’ say the name!”

“VOLDEMORT!” Harry yells and the crying stops quickly. “I’ve met him and I’m calling him by his name,” Harry declares, shaking his head. “Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it’s gone, he can’t use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I’ve got loads.”

“That reminds me. I’ve got yeh a present.”

“It’s not a stoat sandwich, is it?” Hagrid lets out a wet laugh.

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ’Course, he shoulda sacked me instead — anyway, got yeh this…”

Harry runs his fingers along the book curiously, wondering what it is.

“Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos,” Hagrid says. “I know yeh can’t see ‘em but I figure… well, it’s nice ter have ‘em, yeh know?”

Just the simple knowledge of the photos being in his hands is enough to render him speechless. Thankfully, Hagrid understands.

Later, Ron waits outside the hospital wing and leads him to the feast, even though it made him late. Harry can’t stop smiling and Ron pokes fun at him for it, making his face heat up as he shoves at Ron’s shoulder, earning a laugh. He’s accepted that the sound is one of his favorite things but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating, considering he has no idea why he likes Ron’s laugh so much. It’s not even pretty, he sounds like a dying seal, and Harry just doesn’t understand! It’s not like he’s going to ask, though, because that’s just setting himself up for embarrassment.

When they walk into the Great Hall, a hush falls over everyone before they start talking again, very loudly. The two sit next to Hermione and Ron starts talking about the Slytherin decorations, the three of them ignoring all the talking.

Harry knows Dumbledore has arrived when the hall falls silent.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore says cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

The Slytherins start to cheer, louder than Harry has ever heard them cheer before. 

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore says. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

The Slytherins fall silent quickly. Harry frowns.

“Ahem. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes… First — to Mr Ronald Weasley for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Harry blinks. While, yes, it was a very good game of chess, that sort of thing doesn’t seem like something that should need rewarding. The Gryffindors, however, don’t agree with Harry, as they break out into loud cheers. Percy can be heard telling the other prefects, “My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!” 

Eventually, they fall silent.

“Second — to Miss Hermione Granger for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Again, Harry very much disagrees with this awarding of points. It hardly seems fair. Nobody, though, seems to share Harry’s outlook on this, as the table breaks out into more cheering.  Gryffindor house is a hundred points up. Four hundred and twelve points.

“Third — to Mr Harry Potter --” 

The hall falls silent. Harry’s frown deepens.

“-- for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points.”

The cheers are deafening and Harry doesn’t join. They’re tied with Slytherin now, which is better than them winning, Harry reasons. The Slytherins had won fair and square and even if Harry hates this fact, he can at least recognize that it’s true. Tying with them is better than ripping the victory out from under their feet.

After a bit of time, the hall falls silent again.

“There are all kinds of courage,” Dumbledore says and Harry sighs. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.”

Harry stays seated and doesn’t cheer while everyone around him explodes with cheers and yells and whistles. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so unfair. He almost has the nerve to stand up and yell at them all to sit down and order Dumbledore to take back all those points. None of these people, it seems, have ever been on the receiving end of an unfair situation. Harry knows exactly what it's like to have a victory violently taken from you and while this isn’t quite the same situation -- he had managed to escape Dudley and his gang many times, only to have them waiting for him around the corner -- it’s still unfair. Ron attempts to pull him up and so does Hermione but Harry stays glued to his seat, a frown etched on his face.

“Which means,” Dumbledore calls over everyone -- even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are celebrating the downfall of Slytherin,  “we need a little change of decoration.”

Harry, for the rest of the feast and night, snaps at his friends to stop being so happy but he does nothing to deter them. Nothing, it seems, ever will. Harry can admit that the night is fun but as he lays down to sleep, he still thinks it’s one of the most unfair things to ever happen around him. 

Exam results come out a day later. Hermione has the best scores out of the first years, Harry has the second best scores in Transfiguration, Charms, and DADA, and Ron passes with good marks on everything. Neville scrapes by, his good Herbology mark making up for his not-so-good Potions one. Draco Malfoy is second in all the classes Harry isn’t second in and third in the three that Harry is, much to Harry’s amusement. Goyle, unfortunately, gets good enough marks to let him move onto second year, as well as Crabbe.

All too soon, they’re packing up their dorms. Trevor the Toad is found in the corner of the toilets and Sandwich the Birman Cat, who belongs to Dean, is found eating a mouse under Seamus’ bed. Notes are handed out reminding them not to use magic over the holidays, much to Fred and George’s dismay.

Hagrid takes the first years back across the lake and to the train station.

Harry spends the train ride talking and laughing with Hermione and Ron and it goes too fast, in Harry’s opinion. All too soon, the train is pulling into King’s Cross Station.

“You must come and stay this summer,” Ron says as they wait in line to get off the platform, “both of you — I’ll send you an owl.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. “I’ll need something to look forward to.”

As they move further up the line, people call out as they walk past:

“Bye, Harry!”

“See you, Potter!”

And other variations such as:

“Have a good summer, Harry!”

“Don’t miss us too much, Potter!”

“Still famous,” Ron says, a smile in his voice.

“Not where I’m going, I promise you,” Harry mumbles.

They finally make it off the platform and Harry hears a girl’s voice start yelling almost as soon as they walk through the gateway.

“There he is, Mum, there he is, look! Harry Potter!” she squeals. “Look, Mum! I can see —”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point,” another voice says, one Harry remembers from September 1st, which seems like ages ago. “Busy year?”

“Very,” Harry smiles brightly. “Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs Weasley.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”

“Ready, are you?”

Harry's smile falls just as quickly as it arrived.

“You must be Harry’s family!” Mrs Weasley says and Harry wishes she didn’t.

“In a manner of speaking,” Uncle Vernon says gruffly. “Hurry up, boy, we haven’t got all day.”

Harry stays where he is to share farewells with Hermione and Ron.

“See you over summer, then,” he says.

“Hope you have — er — a good holiday,” Hermione says, sounding very uncertain.

Harry suddenly grins, his previous fears forgotten.

“Oh, I will. They don’t know I’m not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with them this summer.”

And he plans to stay very true to his word.