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Chapter Text

“I’m a what?”

“A witch!” Hagrid beamed, and then his smile dropped, “You do know wha’ a witch is, righ’?”

“I know what a witch is,” Harry said impatiently, “I just don’t know why you’re calling me one.”

“Because you are one, Harriet!”

“Did you hit your head, or am I missing something?”

“You mean you really don’ know? About any of it?”

“Any of what?”

“DURSLEY!” Hagrid bellowed suddenly as he spun around to face the Dursleys cowering in the corner of the shack, the volume making Harry flinch. Hagrid must have noticed this, because when he spoke next, his tone was full of rage, but more controlled.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he asked, “that this girl knows nothing – about anything?”

“I’m not stupid,” Harry said, indignant, “I know about history and science and stuff.”

“I know yer not,” Hagrid said gently, turning back towards her, shooting the Dursleys a murderous glare, “You just don’t know about yer own kind. About witches and wizards.”

He seemed absolutely serious.

“You mean it’s real?” Harry ventured, up until this point believing he had been a part of some bad joke against her, orchestrated by Uncle Vernon. “…Magic is… real?”

Hagrid laughed.

“Does this look real?” he said, pointing his umbrella up in the air and mumbling something that sounded like 'stella'; sparks came out of the top, looking like stars, and floated towards the floor. “How do you think I got the fire going?”

“I – um – I thought I imagined it.”

“Well, yer didn’” Hagrid chuckled, “and ye’ll be learnin’ all abou’ tha’ an’ more a’ school.”

“School?”

“Gallopin’ Gargoyles, tha’ reminds me!” Hagrid exclaimed suddenly, rooting around in his coat. At last, he pulled out a yellowish envelope, covered in green ink. “It’s abou’ time yer got yer letter, Harriet,” he said, handing her the heavy envelope. It was addressed to Miss H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The English Channel, and was closed with a wax seal bearing a coat of arms. Harry recognised the shape of a lion and a snake, and one that vaguely resembled a bird. Opening it gently, she pulled out the letter.

“Read it out loud,” Hagrid told her, shooting Uncle Vernon another murderous glare. The smaller man opened his mouth as if to say something but apparently thought better of it, whimpering and then falling silent.

Harry began to read.

“Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore. Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock; Supreme Mug-”

“Supreme Mugwump,” Hagrid explained, “It’s an incredible honour.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, continuing to read, “Supreme Mugwump” – Uncle Vernon made a grumbling sound in the corner of the room. Hagrid threw a threadbare cushion at him. – “International Confederation of Wizards.

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1^st September. We await your owl by no later than 31^st July.

Yours sincerely,

MINERVA MCGONAGALL

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."

Harry was silent for a few moments, staring at the letter. She had hundreds of questions – one of them, admittedly, being “do they teach calligraphy at Hogwarts” because she liked the look of this McGonagall's signature – but each one seemed more pressing than the last.

“Hagrid,” she said finally, “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have an owl.”

Hagrid laughed heartily at that, and then went to rummaging around in his coat again.

“Nothin’ to apologise for Harriet,” he said, fishing a bit of paper out of his coat, and then an inkpot, and a quill. Harry gasped as at last he pulled out an owl – a real, live, actual owl – and let him loose in the small room. It flew around the Dursleys – Aunt Petunia shrieked as it landed on her husband’s head – as Hagrid scribbled a note. When he was done, he rolled it up, and summoned the owl, which landed on the arm of the sofa. He tied the letter around its leg, and then went to the door and threw the owl out into the storm. He returned to the sofa, which bowed beneath him, as calmly as if he had just put a letter in the post box.

He probably did, as far as he’s concerned, Harry thought.

Before Hagrid could say anything else, Uncle Vernon piped up from the corner, seeming to have finally found his nerve.

“She’s not going,” he said, glaring at Harry. He sounded absolute, and Harry shrank back against the wall.

Never mind that, she thought. It seemed too good to actually happen.

Hagrid, however, didn’t seem impressed with Uncle Vernon’s opinion.

“I’d like ter see yer try to stop her,” he said.

“I am her legal guardian,” Uncle Vernon went on, “and I decide where she is going to attend school. Harriet is going to go to Stonewall, and that’s the end of the matter.”

“No, it ruddy well isn’t,” Hagrid said, standing up to face Uncle Vernon, “Harriet is going ter school wherever she wants to go ter school. Her name’s been down since she was born, jus’ like her mother an’ her father, an’ her grandfather, an’ his father.”

“I swore I’d put a stop to that nonsense when I took her in!” Uncle Vernon shouted suddenly. Harry took a step back. “I swore I’d stamp it out of her.”

“You’d stamp it out of her?” Hagrid asked, clearly suspicious of something, though another thought was dawning in Harry’s mind.

“You knew?” Harry asked, “You knew I’m – I’m a witch?”

“Knew?!” Uncle Vernon thundered, and for the first time, Harry stood her ground, “Of course we knew! How could you not be, with your mother and your father being what they were! Petunia,” he said turning to face his wife, “tell her!”

Harry looked at her aunt for the first time, and noticed that she was even more ashen-faced than her husband. Aunt Petunia looked scared, though Harry wasn’t sure of what.

“He’s right,” she said quietly, “Lily a-and James were-”

“They were freaks!” Uncle Vernon interrupted, and Aunt Petunia fell silent, looking pained. “Freaks and miscreants! They got married far too young and had you far too young, and then they got themselves blown up, and then we got landed with you!”

“Blown up?” Harry asked after a moment, her head feeling very cold. “Blown up? You always told me my mum and dad died in a car crash.”

“CAR CRASH?” Hagrid roared suddenly, making everyone in the room jump. “Sorry, Harriet,” he apologised, and then went on. “Yer told her tha’ Lily and James Potter died in a car crash? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harriet Potter not knowin’ her own story when every kid in her own world knows her name.”

“Why?”

“Wha’?”

“Why does everyone know my name?”

“Yer don’ know?”

Harry shook her head, feeling as if there was something else she was missing.

“I never expected this,” Hagrid said in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me ter get yeh, how much yer didn’ know.”

Harry had a horrible feeling that the reason everyone knew her had something to do with the way her parents really died.

“What happened to my parents, Hagrid?”

“I’m not sure if I’m the bes’ person ter tell yer, or even if this is the righ’ company, but I’ll try,” Hagrid said, and then, turning to the Dursleys, “I recommen’ you lot make yerselves scarce.”

After a moment of silence in which Harry could see Uncle Vernon wrestle with his dignity, he finally said, “Come on then, Petunia, Dudley. Up to bed,” and nodded at Hagrid as if he and the giant were on the same wavelength. The Dursleys ascended up the rickety staircase, and then there was a soft thud as the upstairs door closed.

Hagrid sat down on the sofa again, and patted the spot beside him, inviting Harry to sit. Instead, she sat down where she was on the floor, and looked at him apologetically, hoping he would understand that she didn’t like being too close to people without her having to spell it out. Hagrid looked a bit disheartened, but said nothing.

“Okay, well – abou’ twenty years ago, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as a person can go. Worse than ‘bad’, in fact. He – well, his thing, or well, part of it, anyway, was that he didn’ like what most of our kind call muggleborns. That’s witches and wizards without wizardin’ parents.”

“Like my mum?”

“Like yer mum.”

“Why didn’t this wizard like muggleborns?”

“Well, I don’ know his personal reasons, but he an’ his followers would say they were dirty, and lesser than proper ‘pureblooded’ wizards,” Hagrid said, and for a moment it seemed like he was lost in a memory. “Mind you, most people didn’t agree with him. His group was small, and powerful, and violent. And some o’ the best witches and wizards I’ve ever known have been muggleborn. Yer ma was head girl of Hogwarts in her day!”

Harry nodded, feeling a small sense of pride that her mum was a head girl: only really cool girls got to be head girl.

“So this guy – this wizard – was basically a racist?”

“A what?”

“A– nevermind. I understand. Go on.”

“Well - abou’ fifteen years ago he started getting’ more powerful and gatherin’ his followers. He wasn’ just a nasty piece of work, he was a very powerful wizard, and I reckon most people joined him out o’ fear, or wantin’ some o’ that power, or both. There – there was this group of ex-Hogwarts students that Dumbledore – that’s the headmaster at Hogwarts, remember? – put together to try an’ fight You-Know-Who – ”

“You-Know-Who?”

“That’s what he was known as. He had his proper name, bu’ only those in his inner circle would call ‘im that.”

“But – he’s gone now, isn’t he? Can you tell me his name?”

“I don’ like ter say it, it still feels like it holds power, yer know?”

“Could you write it down?” Harry suggested.

“Nah – can’t spell it. Alright, his name was – his name – it was was Voldemort,” Hagrid said with a shudder.

“Voldemort?”

“DON’T – don’t say his name, Harriet. Just – don’t.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “So, um – You-Know-Who – ”

“Yeh, so – Dumbledore put together this group o’ ex-students, which included yer parents. Dumbledore wa’ the only person You-Know-Who ever seemed to be afraid of, so yer know these witches an’ wizards were bloody good, right? Anyway, a couple o’ years into the war, You-Know-Who decides he has it out for James an’ Lily. They had defeated ‘im a couple o’ times an’ I reckon they were too good and too strong, and stood in the way of his power. They caught wind o’ this, and they went into hidin’. They’d just had yeh. I don’ know how, but somehow, he managed to find them. It was Halloween, about ten years ago. He – ” at this, Hagrid broke off and pulled out a handkerchief about the size of Harry’s blanket, and blew his nose on it, hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sniffling like a lawnmower. “It’s jus’ tha’ I still can’ believe they’re gone, an’ tha’ you don’ know!” and then he mumbled to himself, loud enough for Harry to hear, “Come on, Rubeus, pull yerself together.”

Harry gave him a moment to compose himself, and then he went on.

“Abou’ ten years ago, he finally found them. He came to yer house on Halloween, an’ – an’ he killed them. An’ the greatest mystery of them all – he tried ter kill you too. No-one knows why, but he did, and he failed, Harriet. It seems like somethin’ about yer defeated him. He jus’ – died. That scar on yer head, Harriet – that’s what happens when an evil curse touches you. An’ not just anyone can survive it, the curse that killed yer parents. You-Know-Who killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewett brothers – an’ you was just a baby an’ you survived! That scar is the proof that yer special, Harriet.”

Despite Hagrid’s words, Harry felt a lump start to form in the back of her throat. She hated crying, and she hated crying in front of an audience. Turning to face at the fire, a memory surfaced – the memory of a blinding flash of green light, a scream, and a high, cold, cruel laugh.

When she looked at Hagrid again, he was watching her sadly.

“What happened then?”

“Yer godfa- I took yeh from the ruined house, on Dumbledore’s orders, and I brought yer to this lot.”

“What a load of old tosh.”

Harry looked up; at the top of the stairs stood Uncle Vernon, with Aunt Petunia and Dudley cowering behind him. He looked absolutely livid, his glare fixed on Harry, and for the first time she didn’t feel the rising panic that usually came when she received that look.

“Now, you listen here, girl,” he snarled. “There’s no denying there’s something wrong with you, but it’s nothing a good beating can’t fix. And as to your parents – well, they were freaks, no denying it, and the world is better off without them in my opinion. They got exactly what they asked for, mixing with those wizarding types and doing ridiculous things with their ridiculous sticks.”

“When I want yer opinion, Dursley, I’ll ask,” Hagrid said without even turning to face the man. Apparently encouraged by Hagrid’s lack of engagement, though, Harry saw them creep lower down the stairs, and Uncle Vernon ready himself to make more unwarranted comments.

But another thought – or, rather, fear – was dawning in Harry’s mind, and one that filled her with dread.

“Hagrid, I think there’s been a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t do any magic. And I don’t have a wand.”

To her surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

“Not a witch, eh? Never made weird things happen when you was scared or angry?”

Harry went to shake her head, and then a thought began to form. Now she thought about it, the things that made her uncle absolutely livid with her were all things she’d been blamed for doing but could never explain… the boa constrictor from the zoo… running away from Dudley and his friends and finding herself on the roof… that time all the glasses on the dinner table had exploded when Uncle Vernon had hit her. Could that really have been magic? Her magic?

Harry looked back at Hagrid and found him beaming at her.

“See? ‘Harriet Potter not a witch’” he snorted. “An’ don’t yeh worry about yer wand, Harriet – we’ll go an’ get that tomorrow. Most kids don’ have their own wands till they start at Hogwarts, anyway, because that’s where you’ll learn how to use it.”

“She’s not going,” Uncle Vernon hissed. “She’s going to Stonewall and she’ll be bloody grateful for it. I’ve read the letters, anyway – she needs all sorts of ridiculous equipment that I’m not paying for, so you” – he turned to Harry, pointing an accusatory finger at her – “can kiss your stupid little pipe dreams goodbye.”

“If she wants to go, I’d like ter see yer try ter stop her! And – not that it’s any of yer business – but do yer really think Lily and James would leave their little girl penniless?”

“They were unemployed, in case you weren’t aware. A couple of no-good layabouts, if you ask me.”

“Well no one did, so I’ll ask yeh kindly to SHUT IT. And, for yer information, they were very comfortable with their inheritance, which they left entirely ter Harriet here.”

“I have money?”

“She has money?”

“It’s none of yer business, Dursley, yer great prune,” Hagrid said, “Listen, Harriet, you’ve got all the money you’ll ever need to attend Hogwarts. Yer name’s been down since you was born, and I know yer parents wanted yer – ”

“I’m going,” Harry said. “I’m going to go to Hogwarts.”

“No, you are not,” Uncle Vernon said, striding towards Harry and grabbing her by the arm. “You are going to Stonewall and that is final.”

Hagrid had his wand pointed at Uncle Vernon’s face.

“You let her go right now, you hear me?”

“And what are you going to do with that?”

Hagrid muttered something that sounded like 'porky', and a bright pink jet of light emerged from the end of the umbrella. There was a loud crack! like the sound of a firework going off, and a second later Uncle Vernon released Harry with an almighty roar, grabbing at his rear end. With a start, Harry realised that his nose had become a pig’s snout, and there was a little curly tail that was poking out from a hole in his trousers.

Aunt Petunia let out a little scream, and was so shellshocked she allowed her husband to pull her and Dudley back up the stairs and slam the door closed behind them.

Harry’s mouth was wide open with amazement.

“Shouldn’t’ve lost me temper like that,” Hagrid said sheepishly. “Didn’t work anyway – meant ter turn him into a pig, but I reckon he was too much of a pig ter begin with.”

Harry laughed, and Hagrid looked at her astounded.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

Chapter Text

Harry was in the flying motorbike again. She was in the sidecar, and the tall man with the leather jacket and mane of long black hair was driving it and laughing. There was a woman sat behind him, laughing too, with one arm around his waist and her other hand holding Harry’s own, very small one. She had fiery red hair, and when she turned to look at her, Harry realised she had the same bright, green eyes as she did.

“Harriet, wake up,” she said, and then Harry was falling out of the sky – and waking up on the sofa under Hagrid’s enormous coat. He was kneeling over her.

“It’s morning, Harriet.”

“Sorry – I’m up. I’m up.”

There was a patter against the window, and then Hagrid was up and opening the door to let – an owl in, Harry realised as she put on her glasses.

There was a giant standing in front of her with an owl on his arm.

Last night had been real.

“What time is?” she asked, yawning and stretching.

“About 9 o’clock,” Hagrid said, untying a rolled up newspaper from the owl’s leg. He came back over to Harry, allowing the owl to hop onto the floor, and began to root around in one of the many, many pockets of his coat. He dropped five little bronze coins into the pouch on its leg, and then got up and threw it outside. Returning to the fireplace, he began to clear up the mess from the night before. Through a mouthful of sausage, he asked Harry if she wanted any. Though she didn’t particularly like sausages, she was ravenous, and nibbled at one in the hope that later in the day Hagrid would let her have some lunch or a snack.

“We’d best be off, Harriet. Lots ter do today,” he said, and then, raising his voice so it carried up the stairs, “Dursley! I’m off with Harriet now. We’ll be out all day, an’ I plan to drop her home later this evenin’. I ‘xpect there ter be a nice hot dinner waiting fer her at abou’ 7. Is that understood?”

Harry heard a muffled voice shout, “Yes!”

Clearly satisfied, Hagrid ushered Harry outside and onto a small rowboat.

“Hagrid,” Harry asked as they clambered in. “Do I really have to go back to Privet Drive this evening?”

“Dumbledore’s orders were very specific: give yer yeh letter, take yeh ter get yer school supplies, an’ then head off,” Hagrid said. Harry’s heart began to sink, but then Hagrid went on. “Then again, he didn’ know what they’re like ter yeh, so I’ll write ‘im a letter ter see if anythin’ can’t be done.”

He pulled out a piece of paper and a quill, and began to write. Then, rolling up the letter, he pulled another owl out of his jacket. This one was about the size of Harry’s very small fist. Hagrid tied the letter to its leg, and threw it in the air. The little bird zoomed off.

“How many owls do you have in that coat?”

“Normally? None. Today? Jus’ those two – I’m never usually away from Hogwarts fer this long,” he explained. “Now, Harriet, strictly speakin’, I’m not s’posed ter do magic, but it seems a shame ter row all the way back. If I was ter – er – speed things up a bit, so ter speak, would yer mind not tellin’ anyone at school?”

Eager to see more magic, Harry nodded enthusiastically. Hagrid pulled out his pink umbrella, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped up towards land. Hagrid opened his newspaper – called The Daily Prophet – and began to read. Harry’s head was bursting with questions, but she stayed quiet.

After a few minutes, Hagrid looked at her over the top of his paper.

“Quiet little thing, aren’t yeh?”

“You’re reading,” Harry said, feeling as if she was stating the obvious.

“And?”

“Grown-ups don’t like to be disturbed when they’re reading.”

Hagrid nodded as if he understood, and then asked, “But don’t yeh have any questions? I ‘xpected you’d be more curious after everythin’ I told yeh last night.”

“But you’re reading.”

Hagrid smiled and put the paper away.

“I’m not readin’ anymore, so you can ask me whatever questions you’d like.”

Harry stared at him in shock.

“Is that a magical newspaper? I’ve never seen it at Sainsburys. How did the owl find you? That wasn’t the same owl as last night. How many owls do you have? Or is the one from this morning part of a newspaper delivery service? Is that how all post is sent or do you also have a normal postal service? I saw something on the paper about the Ministry of Magic – is that part of the government? Does that mean there’s like a prime minister for wizards? Does John Major know about them? Do wizards vote in general elections? Is the prime minister for wizards elected or chosen or is it like the monarchy? And – what’s the difference between a witch, a wizard, and a warlock? I tried to look it up in the library but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Why aren’t you allowed to use magic? Is your umbrella like a wand or is it a different kind of tool? Did you go to Hogwarts? Where is it? How do I get there every day – is there a bus or a train I can go on? Do I have to pay to go to school like Dudley does for Smeltings, or is it free like a comprehensive? Is there a wizard university too?”

Hagrid stared at her. Harry began to panic and opened her mouth to apologise – that was more than she could ever remember saying to a grown up in one go – but before she could say anything, Hagrid asked, “What was the first question again?”

“Is it a magical newspaper?”

“Yes an’ no – The Daily Prophet is run by the Ministry fer Magic, which is the wizardin’ government separate to the one fer muggles – that’s non magical folk like yer aunt and uncle an’ everyone else. The paper itself is not magical, but the photographs do move because of magic in the developin’ process – see that?” he asked, pulling out the paper and pointing at the front page. There were two men on it, shaking hands, and in the corner of the page there was a small image of a blonde woman with a quill in her hand, fixing her hair.

“Now,” he went on, “I don’t have an owl of my own, but because I work a’ Hogwarts I can use the school’s owls ter deliver any personal letters, within reason of course. The owls that sent those two letters ter Professor Dumbledore was one of those, but the one that came this mornin’ was one from the Ministry. Letters are usually sent by owl, aside from in the Ministry – they use little paper planes that have been enchanted ter fly.”

“What about packages?”

“Still the owls, though the really big ones get enchanted before they’re given ter them.”

“What about the Ministry?”

“Righ’, well, there’s a Minister fer Magic who’s elected by a committee. At the moment his name is Cornelius Fudge – bit of an idiot, but he seems to mean well. They actually wanted Dumbledore ter be the Minister, but he wanted ter stay a’ Hogwarts. Doesn’t stop Fudge from writin’ ter Dumbledore ev’ry other day askin’ fer his thoughts on one problem or another.”

Harry nodded her understanding, amazed that Hagrid was actually paying attention to her incessant questions. Her teachers usually rolled their eyes and ignored her.

“Now, I’m no’ sure about any of yer other questions about voting an’ whatnot, but I can tell yer about Hogwarts. I used ter go ter Hogwarts, but I got expelled in my third year – bit o’ trouble I don’ want ter talk about if yeh don’ mind” – Harry nodded – “but Professor Dumbledore let me stay on, and I became the groundskeeper abou’ – thirty years ago, I think. Fourty?”

“You don’t look old enough to have been working for that long.”

Hagrid chuckled.

“That’s very nice of you ter say,” he said, “But I’m older than I reckon I look.”

“How old are you – if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sixty two.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“You only look about forty.”

“I take after my mam. She – er – aged well.”

Harry could tell Hagrid didn’t want to talk about it, so she moved on.

“What about Hogwarts, then?”

“I think the muggle word is a boardin’ school? So you’ll get the train up ter Scotland on the first of September, an’ you can choose ter come home for Christmas and Easter if yeh like, and then you come home fer the summer holidays. An’ – careful, Harriet, we’ve just come inter the harbour, so we should prob’ly be careful about what we say.”

At that moment, the boat bumped into the harbour wall. Hagrid held onto the barrier at the side as he helped Harry onto the walkway, and then clambered awkwardly out of the boat himself.

People stared as Harry and Hagrid made their way through town. It appeared to be market day, so the high street and the streets around the station were packed. Ordinarily, Harry would have been apprehensive about wading into a crowd that dense, but because Hagrid was luckily about as wide as he was tall, people not only moved out of the way for him, and he left an empty trail in his wake. All Harry had to do was stay close behind him.

When they got to the station, Hagrid handed Harry the money to buy their tickets – “I don’ understand it,” he’d said – and even let Harry buy a chocolate pastry with the change while they waited for their train. He ended up taking up three seats on the train, and getting even more strange looks than he had around town, because he had decided to pull out and continue work on what looked like a canary yellow knitted tent. Harry had no idea how he managed not to break his knitting needles, much less fit the whole thing in his pockets.

The staring got worse when they changed over from the regular train and onto the Underground. Not only did Hagrid get stuck going through the barriers and have to be let through the wide one by a very moody attendant, but the Tube was much smaller than the National Rail train had been, and Hagrid had to bow his head to fit into the carriage at all. Thankfully, though, Hagrid decided to pull out his newspaper rather than his knitting, so Harry didn’t have to worry about him accidentally taking someone’s eye out every time he finished a row.

When they got off the train at Holborn – Hagrid had taken up the entire width of the escalator, irritating some tourists – he pulled Harry aside and told her to get her letter out. There was a second piece of paper that Harry hadn’t read in much detail the night before, though she had the chance to look at it properly now.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

School Supplies

First Year Uniform

• Three sets of plain work robes (black)
• One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
• One pair of protective gloves, dragon hide or similar (neutral tone)
• One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
• Two sets of sensible footwear (black)

Students are permitted to wear their own attire on school grounds during term time on weekends and after 6pm IF they have no curricular activities or detentions to serve after that time.
Please also note that all students’ clothes should be clearly labelled.

Course Books

     All students should have one copy each of the following:

• The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
• A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
• Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
• A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
• One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
• Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
• Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
• The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other

• A wand
• One cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
• One set glass or crystal phials
• One telescope
• One set of brass scales

Students may wish to bring their own quills, though both quills and ink will be provided by the school

Students may also bring an owl OR a toad OR a cat. Puffskeins and bats are allowed, but ill advised. TARANTULAS AND NIFFLERS ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED AND WILL BE CONFISCATED.

PARENTS AND GUARDIANS ARE ALSO REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

“Hagrid, what on earth is a puffskein?”

“It’s kind o’ like a fluffy hedgehog. Very cute.”

“And nifflers? They’ve got to be dangerous is they’re banned like tarantulas.”

Hagrid chuckled.

“Nah, they’re just cheeky little buggers. Looks a bit like a platypus, an’ they’re obsessed with shiny things. Not really a good idea to keep ‘em as pets, though they are very cute an’ friendly. Yer don’t want either of those though. Yer want an owl – dead useful, they’ll carry yer post an’ ev’rything, and very low maint’nance.”

“Can we get everything here?”

“If yer know where ter look.”

“Hagrid, I know that last night you said that my parents left me money, but I have no idea where it is. Their house was destroyed, and – ”

“Don’ you worry abou’ that, Harriet,” Hagrid said, “Yer money is Gringotts.

“Gringotts?”

“Sorry – it’s a wizarding bank, run by goblins.”

“Goblins?” Harry said, loud enough to startle a family of tourists about ten feet away. They gave her a funny look, and she waved at them awkwardly. She lowered her voice, and asked, “Goblins are real?”

“It’s all real, Harriet. Well, most of it.”

*     *     *

Although Hagrid did seem to know where he was going, he seemed at a loss as to how to get there by foot. They had walked up and down the Kingsway and A40 about six or seven times before Hagrid stopped in the middle of the pavement and announced, “Here it is, The Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry found herself standing in front of a very small, very grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, she wouldn’t have noticed it. The people passing them didn’t seem to notice it at all, their eyes drifting from the bookstore on one side to the coffee shop on the other.

Hagrid steered her inside.

It was very dark, with little in the way of lighting other than a few small windows at the top of the very high ceiling. As Harry’s eyes adjusted, she noticed that the pub was about as busy as the local at home would be on a Sunday. The low buzz of chatter ceased for a second when they had walked in, though everyone seemed to recognise Hagrid and quickly turned their attention back to whatever they had been doing. A little old lady who must have been shorter than Harry waved at Hagrid, and then called out a request to the bartender for another round of sherry, while the bartender himself reached for a glass and asked, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” Hagrid said, laying a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry had a feeling that if he had clapped her on the back it would have sent her flying, but the thought was interrupted by the bartender’s words.

“Good Lord, is that Harriet Potter?”

The pub fell silent, and Harry could feel people’s eyes on her. Unsure of what to do, she gave Tom a little wave and said, “Hello.”

There was an abrupt, loud scraping of chairs, and within moments Harry found herself surrounded by everyone in the Leaky Cauldron, shaking hands so aggressively she was worried they might tear her arm off.

“Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”

“Such an honour, Miss Potter. It’s such an honour.”

“I’ve always wanted to shake your hand,” the little old lady who had ordered the sherry said breathlessly, “I’m all a flutter.”

“Delighted, Miss Potter – can’t even find the words,” said the man who had been sitting at the bar a few minutes previously, shaking her hand so enthusiastically his hat was wobbling about on his head. “The name’s Diggle, Daedalus Diggle.”

“I’ve seen you before!” Harry exclaimed, the two-year-old memory of a man in a midnight-blue robe taking his hat off and bowing to her in the middle of the street surfacing in her mind. Aunt Petunia had been alarmed at the strange man insistent on shaking her hand, and had shooed him away with her handbag. “You tried to shake my hand and my aunt thought you were trying to kidnap me!”

“She remembers!” Daedalus cried, to no one in particular. “She remembers me!”

The crowd thinned slightly, and a pale young-looking man shuffled forward, seeming to avoid eye contact with Harry. His eye was twitching and he was fiddling with his fingers.

“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid. “Harriet, Professor Quirrell will be one of yer teachers at Hogwarts.”

“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry’s hand. His was cold and clammy, and he held her in a vicelike grip. “C-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”

“Professor Quirrell is new, jus’ like you, Harriet.”

“At least we both know someone now,” Harry said, delicately extracting her own hand from his and attempting to wipe it on her shirt discreetly. “What kind of magic do you teach?”

“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the thought.

Professor Quirrell was shoved aside by an overly enthusiastic Doris Crockford, back for her eighth handshake. It took almost five minutes to placate her, and another fifteen to get away from everyone else. Hagrid steered Harry to the opposite end of the pub, through an old wooden door, and into a small, walled courtyard. The light was blinding; by the time Harry’s eyes adjusted, Hagrid had already pulled out his pink umbrella. He grinned at her.

“Told yeh, didn’ I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh — mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“He did seem very nervous. Is he always like that?”

But Hagrid didn’t seem to hear her; he was muttering to himself, counting bricks. At last, he said, “Stand back, Harry,” and tapped a brick with the end of the umbrella.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the brick began to quiver, as did the ones around it, and they began to part in the middle to create a tall archway onto an old-looking cobbled street.

“Welcome,” Hagrid said, “to Diagon Alley.”

*     *     *

“We’ve come ter take some money outta Miss Harriet Potter’s vault.”

The goblin looked up slowly, and raked his eyes over Harry.

“And does Miss Harriet Potter have her key?”

Harry began to panic, but before she could say anything, Hagrid had begun to root around in his coat.

“I’ve got it ‘ere somewhere,” he said, emptying things onto the countertop, including his knitting, a live mouse, and a handful of mouldy dog biscuits. The goblin wrinkled his nose distastefully, and Harry bit her tongue and tried to look apologetic. In her defence, it was very funny.

At last, Hagrid pulled out a tiny golden key about the size of Harry’s little finger. He handed it to the goblin, who looked at it under a magnifying glass.

“It says ‘J. Potter’ here,” he said, looking up at Hagrid, “You said her name was Harriet.”

“James Potter was her father, but he died abou’ ten years ago,” Hagrid explained.

“Of course,” the goblin said quickly, clearly embarrassed. “If that’s the case, we should get this recast, for its new owner.”

He leant over the counter, and smiled kindly as he handed the key to Harry. She looked at it closely, and saw that one side of the key was indeed engraved with ‘J. Potter’, while the other had the number ‘687’.

“I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry looked up to see Hagrid handing the goblin a small letter. He read it, and then waved over another goblin.

“Take these two down to vaults six hundred and eighty-seven and seven hundred and thirteen, please.”

Hagrid began to hastily refill his pockets, but told her to go ahead and that he’d be over in a moment. Harry followed the goblin through a tall, ornately decorated door and found herself in a narrow stone passageway, lit at intervals by mounted flaming torches. They walked in silence until they reached a large cavern; there were two tunnels leading out of it – one at each end – and a railway-like track on the ground that ran between the two. After a moment, Harry asked him, “What’s your name?”

The goblin looked at her wearily.

“I’m Harry – Harriet,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “You’re the Potter girl.”

Before Harry could say anything, Hagrid appeared, calling, “Sorry abou’ that, Harriet. I need ter clean out my coat when I get home.”

The goblin whistled. A small cart came racing out of one of the tunnels and stopped in front of them abruptly. They climbed in, and hurtled into the darkness. At first they made their way through a series of winding tunnels that crossed with others; Harry tried to remember the directions – left, left, right, middle, far left – but they were going too fast for her to process, so she gave up. Her eyes stung, but she kept them wide open. At some point, she realised that there was no floor beneath them, and the track was supported by large metal beams like they were on a rollercoaster. They passed over an enormous cavern with an immense lake at the bottom of it, and although they were gone too quickly for Harry to be sure, she was convinced there were mermaids in the water.

When the cart finally stopped, it was in a larger passage, about the size of the cavern they had begun the journey in. There were doors in the walls at about five metre intervals, and more flaming torches to light the way. It looked like something out of Indiana Jones, and Harry went to say as much to Hagrid, and then realised that (a) he probably wouldn’t know what she was talking about, and (b) he probably needed a minute, because he was green in the face. Hagrid got out of the cart and bent over with his hands on his knees for a minute. At last, he stood up straight and took a deep breath.

“You alright, Harriet?”

She nodded, and let Hagrid help her out of the cart. The goblin clambered out of the cart himself, and then turned to Harry and asked, “Your key, please?”

She handed it to him, and he walked up to one of the doors and put the key in, turning in. The door heaved open – she suspected that it hadn’t been opened in a while – and Harry’s mouth fell open. The vault must have been the size of the Dursleys’ living room, and was more-or-less filled from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with coins. There were big gold ones the size of Harry’s palm, smaller silver ones, and then tiny bronze ones like those Hagrid had given to the owl that morning.

“All yours,” Hagrid said, noticing the expression on her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Well it’s definitely your vault,” Hagrid said. “Yer grandparents were very well off, an’ yer dad inherited all of it, an’ now it’s yours.”

He helped Harry pile some of it into a bag he produced from yet another one of his pockets.

“That should do all yer school supplies an’ anything else you want ter buy fer this year.”

“Hagrid, is it possible to convert some of into norma- muggle money?” Harry asked. “I’d like to get some other clothes, if that’s okay.”

“We’ll sort tha’ out when we get back upstairs,” Hagrid said, scooping several more handfuls of coins into the bag.

Turning to the goblin, Hagrid asked for the next vault, and if they could go any slower.

“One speed only,” said the goblin.

Harry tried not to smile.

*     *     *

Half an hour and two wild cart rides later that left Harry’s already unruly hair as messy as Hagrid’s, she stood blinking in the bright sunlight outside Gringotts. They had been to vault seven hundred and thirteen next. There had been no key for that one; the goblin had simply stroked one long finger down a narrow crevice in the door, and Harry had heard gears turning and clicking. She’d braced herself to see fabulous treasures and ancient artefacts – but all there had been at the bottom of the small vault was a tiny package wrapped in brown parcel paper and tied with string. Hagrid had hastily shoved it into one of his many pockets, and then returned to the cart without another word. Harry felt as if she shouldn’t ask about it, though she was dying to. Once they were back in the foyer, they’d left her key with another goblin to recast with her own name, and a handful of coins to be converted into pound sterling for Harry and Hagrid to pick up after they had done all of her school shopping.

“Migh’ as well get yer uniform first,” Hagrid said, nodding at a red shop front that read Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Harriet, would yeh mind if I left yeh on yer own for a bit? Need a bit of a pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron – those Gringotts carts aren’t good fer me stomach.”

“Not at all,” Harry said.

At that moment, the small owl from earlier appeared out of nowhere and flew straight into Hagrid’s beard. Harry couldn’t help but giggle as the bird’s attempts to get free appeared to entangle it in Hagrid’s beard even further, with each of Hagrid’s own attempts to untangle it being undone moments later.

“Would yeh just stay still,” Hagrid told the owl impatiently.

At last, it stopped moving, and Hagrid was able to set it free. He pulled the letter off its leg, and then threw it into the air again. Harry watched it zoom off with a loop-the-loop, as Hagrid read the letter.

“I’m sorry, Harriet – Professor Dumbledore’s insistin’ tha’ yeh go back ter the Dursleys tonight.”

“What?”

“He says tha’ it’s very important that yeh go back ter yer aunt an’ uncle, but tha’ he can’ tell either of us why.”

Seeing the look on Harry’s face, Hagrid leant down and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Professor Dumbledore is a great man,” he said earnestly, though Harry wasn’t convinced. “He is the smartest man I know, an’ one of the most powerful wizards of our time. I’m sure there’s a reason he needs yeh ter go back teh the Dursleys, alrigh’?”

Harry nodded, though she didn’t agree.

“Do yer want me ter come in with yeh?”

“I’m alright by myself,” she said, “You go get that drink.”

“You sure?”

“I’m okay.”

She waved Hagrid off, and entered Madam Malkin’s alone. There was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve behind the counter, reading from The Daily Prophet.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she smiled as soon as Harry started to speak, “Follow me, love – got a young man getting measured up just now, in fact.”

Harry followed her to the back of the shop. One wall was filled with mirrors, and in front of one of them stood a boy with pale blond hair and a pointed, ferrety face. He was wearing enormous black robes that were being pinned to size by another witch. Madam Malkin put Harry on a footstool near to the boy, and began to take her measurements.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms – I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Wanker, Harry thought as she was strongly reminded of Dudley, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Do you know what House you’ll be in?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Harry said, acting as if she had any knowledge on the subject whatsoever.

“Well, you’ll have to see at the sorting, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. My entire family has been,” he went on, and then he laughed to himself, “Gods – imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave and try again at Durmstrang.”

“Mmm.”

He looked over at Harry as Madam Malkin helped her into a black robe similar to his, and raked his eyes from her hair down to her feet. It made her skin crawl.

“Of course, you’d fit in better at Beauxbatons.”

Harry saw Madam Malkin and the other witch exchange a look, but before she could say anything, the boy exclaimed, “Gods – look at that man!”

Harry turned her head to see Hagrid standing outside the shop, grinning at her and holding two enormous ice cream cones that looked tiny in his hands.

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disinterested. “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” Harry said pointedly, deciding that her initial impression of the boy – a wanker – was correct.

The boy ignored her, and went on.

“My father says he’s basically a savage – he lives in a hut on the school grounds because he got kicked out, probably because he’s so stupid, and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

Harry stared at him, absolutely livid. Both Madam Malkin and the other witch looked appalled.

“Your father sounds like a dickhead.”

“What the – ”

“All done!” Madam Malkin piped up before the boy could finish his sentence. He glared at Harry as the older witch ushered her towards the front of the shop.

Madam Malkin added up the cost of her uniform, and Harry pulled out her bag of money to pay. She handed over fifteen galleons and four sickles, and wrote down the Dursleys’ address on a lavender-smelling piece of parchment for the delivery – Harry didn’t much feel like lugging the uniform around all day, much less on the journey back to Privet Drive.

“You should probably be careful who you speak to like that,” Madam Malkin said as Harry turned to leave. “But that boy had it coming.”

*     *     *

“You sure yer don’ want anythin’ else ter eat, Harry?”

They were stood outside Waterloo Station, a heavy bag filled with spell books, new clothes, and a wand on her back, and an owl – in its cage – was tucked under Harry’s arm.

From Madam Malkin’s, they had gone to a place called Flourish and Blotts, where the walls had been lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, with books of all shapes and sizes upon them. Hagrid had gotten Harry’s books together while Harry had tried to memorise some choice spells from Curses and Counter-Curses: Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with Hair Loss, Jelly Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much Much More by Vindictus Viridian. Hagrid hadn’t let her buy it – “yer magic isn’t advanced enough fer that, an’ yer not supposed ter use magic outside of Hogwarts, anyway” – nor had he relented to Harry’s pleas for a solid gold cauldron – “yer letter says pewter”. He had, however, let her buy a pot of stunning dark red ink, and bought her a beautiful snowy white owl as a birthday present. Harry had protested that – “you really don’t need to” – but she had been secretly pleased, and very grateful. They had gotten her a set of scales and a brass telescope, too, and a trunk for it all to go in. Hagrid had insisted on getting her initials printed on the trunk, at which point Harry thought it was a good time to ask why on earth her initials spelled out “HELP”.

“I never did know why yer parents did that to yeh,” Hagrid had said, scratching his head. “I reckon it were an accident – yer mam’s name was obviously Lily, an’ yer grandma’s name was Euphemia. I can’ imagine yer parents woulda done tha’ on purpose.”

“So what you’re saying,” Harry had smiled shyly, “was that they couldn’t HELP it?”

“Cheeky little thing, jus’ like yer dad.”

They had even crossed back onto the Muggle side of London after their second stop at Gringotts – where Harry had received her key (now engraved with ‘H. Potter’), her money converted into pounds from galleons, and the name of the goblin who had taken her to the vault earlier (Griphook) – and had bought her some new clothes. Harry had given herself an ulcer, biting her the inside of her mouth trying not to laugh at the cashier’s face when they’d been told that Hagrid was her uncle.

She had even psyched herself up enough to ask Hagrid to call her ‘Harry’ as opposed to ‘Harriet’. He’d been confused at first – “but ‘Harriet’ is such a pretty name!” – but hadn’t protested, and hadn’t pressed when Harry had said she didn’t want to talk about why she didn’t like being called by her proper name.

It had been the best birthday ever.

“I’m alright, Hagrid,” she said. “Really.”

“Anything else yeh need?” Hagrid asked again. “I’d see yeh back myself, but Professor Dumbledore needs me back as soon as possible.”

They had been enjoying the sunshine and some cake from a nearby bakery in St James’ Park when an owl had arrived, carrying another letter from Professor Dumbledore. Apparently, the item that Hagrid had collected from vault number seven hundred and thirteen was of utmost importance, and the headmaster couldn’t wait another three hours for its delivery.

“I’m okay.”

“I know wha’ Professor Dumbledore said, but if that Dursley puts his hands on yeh again, you lock yerself in yer room, and yeh send me an owl, alright?”

Harry nodded.

“Are yeh sure you don’ want any more food?”

“I’m fine, Hagrid, really – but – ”

“Yeah?”

“How do I make friends at Hogwarts?”

“The same way you’d normally make friends,” Hagrid said incredulously.

“That’s the thing. I – er – don’t really have any friends.”

There was a pause, and Harry looked at the floor to avoid the look of pity that Hagrid was giving her. He leant over, and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Listen ter me, Harry,” he said. She looked at him. “You are one of the nicest an’ sweetest kids I’ve ever met, an’ believe me, I’ve met a lot of them. They are going to love you at Hogwarts – an’ that’s before you take into account that you’re Harriet – sorry, Harry Potter. And, if fer whatever reason they don’ like yeh, I’ll set Fang on them. He’s a big dog.”

Harry smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to take the compliment. She didn’t get a lot of them.

“If you are still worried abou’ makin’ friends, keep an eye out fer the twins. Once yeh get pas’ their tendency teh make trouble, they’re good boys, really. Their names are – Gallopin’ Gargoyles, Harry! Look at the time!”

Harry spun around and saw that the time was five to six. She waved her goodbyes to Hagrid, who promised to write to her the following week, and sprinted for the train, hopping on with the owl moments before the doors close and it began to move. She placed the owl in its cage on the seat next to hers, and got comfortable for the train ride back to the Dursleys.

One more month, and then she was off to Hogwarts.

She couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Harry’s last month at the Dursleys was… weird. Uncle Vernon now refused to look Harry in the eye, and it seemed as if Aunt Petunia and Dudley were following his lead. They acknowledged her presence as little as possible: they didn’t shut her in the cupboard, or make her do any chores, or demand she be up at the crack of dawn, or shout at her at all – it seemed as if Hagrid had scared some decency into them, Uncle Vernon most of all. When he did talk to Harry, it was to make sure she was okay and to check that “that giant man isn’t due back anytime soon, is he?”. He was, however, in a worse mood with his wife and son: the tail and snout Hagrid had given him had not yet gone away, and so as not to be seen with them, he had taken some time off work. However, the longer he was away from work, the angrier he got, and the more he took it out on his wife and son. Harry knew it was wrong, but a part of her felt a small sense of satisfaction that she was no longer the target of his rage.

It was a weird kind of freedom, being ignored and untouchable. Harry spent most days out of the house, in her favourite spot at the park under the big tree, reading her new textbooks. She had made friends with a local tabby cat, who met her at the end of Privet Drive every morning, and walked her back to the front door in the evening. It was a very odd cat, but very cute when she allowed herself to be stroked by Harry. She sat under Harry’s arm when she read, and sometimes Harry even read to the cat. It seemed like it understood what she was saying, and had even helped Harry name her owl: Hedwig, after a cool lady she had read about in A History of Magic. With the company of the cat, who she had decided to call Mr Whiskerson, Harry learned the difference between a witch, a wizard, and a warlock; she learned about the origins of Hogwarts; and she’d even managed to teach herself two ‘simple’ spells (according to the textbook, though they had been a lot harder in practice): lumos and nox. They came in handy at night, which was when she practiced with her wand, received the deliveries of her school supplies, and wrote letters to Hagrid. Once a week, Hedwig brought Harry a letter from Hagrid, and the next night Harry sent the owl with her response. They weren’t long letters, or detailed by any means – apparently there was something important going on with the Hogwarts teachers that Hagrid was required for, which is why he couldn’t write more frequently – but Harry looked forward to them immensely. Not only did they give her the chance to use her pretty red ink and practice with a quill (her first letter looked like a toddler had written it, and ordinarily Harry was relatively proud of her handwriting), but it also gave her someone to talk to.

Hagrid’s last letter before the end of August had come with a smaller envelope inside the first, in which there was a shiny train ticket for the eleven o’clock Hogwarts Express from King’s Cross on the first of September. That had rattled her – they don’t have fractioned platforms, do they? – but she was sure there was some sort of a magic explanation. She had to find a way to King’s Cross first, anyway.

“Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked, walking into the living room. Dudley looked at her fearfully from the corner, and Aunt Petunia busied herself with the cooking. They were having fish and chips for dinner, one of Harry’s favourites.

Though Uncle Vernon didn’t respond verbally, he did lower the volume on the television to show he was listening.

“I need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow at ele- half ten tomorrow. Would you be able to drive me?”

He grunted.

Harry took this as a yes, and said, “Thank you,” and then turned to leave.

“Magic carpets all got punctures have they?”

“Pardon?”

“Weird way to get to a magic school, isn’t it? The train?”

Harry stayed quiet. This was the most he had said to her in the past month, and she felt like a row was coming.

“Where is this school, anyway?”

“Scotland somewhere. The Highlands.”

“Which platform are you going from, then?”

Without thinking, Harry rattled off, “Nine and three quarters.”

He stared at her. As did Aunt Petunia, who looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“What did you say?”

“Nine.”

“No, you said nine and three quarters.”

“And what if I did?” Harry said through gritted teeth. Uncle Vernon had a way with words that could rile her up in seconds. “It shouldn’t matter to you – wherever I’m going, you’re getting rid of me for the year. All you have to do is take me to the station.”

“All year? Lucky us,” he said with an air of surprise that had Harry biting the inside of her mouth to keep from retorting. “We’ll take you. Going up to London, anyway.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, trying to sound interested and not at all as if it would give her no greater pleasure than to complete Vernon’s pig transformation and then feed him to Hedwig and Mr Whiskerson.

“Got to get this ruddy tail removed.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As Uncle Vernon had said, they arrived at King’s Cross at exactly ten-thirty the next morning. Of course, Harry had already been up for five hours by that point: a combination of excitement and anxiety had her up at five, and she had gone for an early-morning walk to get rid of some of the nervous energy. She had been packed for the past week.

When they got to the station, Uncle Vernon had sent Dudley to go get a trolley for Harry’s things, and – wearing an enormous coat and scarf to cover his tail and snout – loaded the trunk and owl cage onto the trolley. Hedwig had hooted at the indignity, but Harry wasn’t nearly strong enough to lift the trunk herself.

He’d said he wanted to see Harry into the station himself – no doubt, Harry thought, to make sure I get on the wrong train and never come back – but Aunt Petunia encouraged him to let her do it, because of the tail and all.

The two of them walked away from the car and into the train station foyer in silence. Harry expected an awkward goodbye, but to her shock, Aunt Petunia reached into her handbag and pulled out an enormous bar of Dairy Milk, and a £10 note.

“You can have this as a snack on the train, or you can save it for tonight to share with your friends. You’ll be able to get lunch on the train – there’s a trolley that comes around at about one. You shouldn’t need to change it into galleons. Do you know how to get onto the platform?”

Harry stared at her.

“What?”

“Do you know how to get onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harriet?”

“Um – ”

“You need to run at the wall between the platforms.”

Harry looked at her as if she was crazy.

“Run at the wall?”

“At the wall,” Aunt Petunia confirmed, at which point Harry decided she was messing with her. “Listen, Harriet, when you get to school, go and see Madame Pomfrey – she’s the matron – and she’ll be able to sort out some new glasses for you if you need them.”

Harry stared at her.

“Are you listening, Harriet?”

“Yeah – uh – trolley for lunch, chocolate, Madam Pomfrey about my glasses.”

“And run at the wall.”

“Yeah, run at the wall.”

Aunt Petunia went quiet for a moment, and then placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

“Good luck,” she said. “You’ll love it there.” And then she was hurrying outside, where it had begun to drizzle.

After a few moments of confusion, Harry realised that it was now twenty-to-eleven, and that she needed to hurry up and find the platform. She wheeled her trolley towards platforms nine and ten – slowly, because it was so heavy – and tried to ignore the rising panic at the thought of missing the train. Will it wait for me? What if they don’t even realise I’m not there?

“Why can’t I go to Hogwarts too, Mum?” a voice whined behind her.

Harry’s head whipped around in the direction of the voice as a family of redheads passed her. The speaker was a small girl, about Harry’s size, and she was holding the hand of a plump woman. There were four boys with them, too – twins, and two others – and the eldest-looking one’s trolley bore an owl in a cage in addition to his trunk.

“You’re too young, Ginny,” the plump woman sighed, sounding as if she had said it before. Turning to the older boy with the owl, she said, “Hurry up, now. You go first, Percy.”

The boy began to push his trolley towards the column between platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it — but just as he reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you next,” the woman said to one of the twins.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” said he said. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear,” she said apologetically.

The boy pushed his trolley towards the barrier, and paused.

“Only joking – I am Fred!” he said to his mother cheerfully, and without waiting for her response, he ran at the bricks and disappeared. Harry snorted.

His twin grinned at their mum and followed after him, calling, “See you on the other side.”

Could Aunt Petunia have been telling the truth?

“Excuse me,” Harry said before she could stop herself. The last boy, the little girl, and the lady looked at her expectantly. “Could you – er…” she trailed off, unsure of whether it was wise to loudly announce the magical platform in front of muggles.

“Help you get on the platform?” she asked kindly. Harry nodded. “Of course, dear. Ron’s new too,” she said, nodding at the youngest of her sons. “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 now before Ron.”

“Er – okay.”

Harry pushed her trolley into position and looked at the barrier. It looked like a normal brick wall. She glanced at the woman, who said, “Go on, dear.” The little girl gave her an encouraging thumbs-up, smiling at her.

She started to walk towards it – slowly at first, and then quicker, to avoid being jostled by the people pouring out of the train that had just arrived at platform ten.

I’m going to crash, she thought. She’s tricking me, just like Aunt Petunia, and I’m the idiot that fell for it.

Harry broke into a full-on run, and closed her eyes, bracing for impact. Three – two – one – nothing. The crash didn’t come, but she felt air pass by her, and then there was a loud whistle. She stopped, and opened her eyes.

A scarlet steam engine sat on the tracks next to a platform full of people. A black sign on the front of the train read ‘Hogwarts Express’ in golden ink, as did a sign hanging overhead on the platform, below one that read ‘Platform Nine and Three Quarters’.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.”

“That’s the third time today,” the old woman standing with him sighed.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

“Give us a look, Lee, go on,” one of them said.

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Harry shuddered, and pressed on towards the end of the train, where she found an empty compartment.

She put her backpack and Hedwig inside first – near the window, so that the owl could see what was happening on the platform, and because she felt it was mean to relegate her to the musty storage compartment – and then Harry made to pull her trunk off the trolley. It didn't budge, and Harry only succeeded in running the trolley wheel over her foot.

Swearing to herself, she tried again, pushing the trolley closer to the platform edge and the door of the train. She climbed over it: in theory, she could pull the trunk straight onto the train from the trolley – which would have worked, Harry thought, if I wasn't small enough to actually fit into my own trunk twice over.

“Want a hand, mate?” a voice said from the platform, and Harry looked up to see it was one of the redheaded twins who she had followed through the barrier earlier.

“I'm okay, thanks,” Harry said, yanking on the trunk. It didn't budge, but the momentum did send her flying backwards and sprawled out on the floor of the train.

The boy didn't seem to know whether he wanted to help, or laugh.

“I'm fine,” Harry said, getting up and dusting herself off, “I can do it myself.”

“I don't think you can, mate,” he laughed. Ignoring Harry's protests, he grabbed the other end of the trunk with one hand and waved down the platform. “Oi, Fred! C 'mere!”

The other twin appeared a moment later.

“What's going – ” he began to say to his brother, and then he turned his head and seemed to spot Harry for the first time, falling quiet as they made eye contact.

Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, Harry brushed her hair out of her face. The movement seemed to draw his attention away from her eyes, and up to her forehead. His eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but his brother beat him to it.

“Blimey! You're Harriet Potter!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” the second twin said, finally speaking. “You are her, right?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Last I checked,” Harry smiled awkwardly, fiddling with her shirt. “I like 'Harry’, though.”

“Who’s Harry?” he asked quickly, sounding almost alarmed.

“It's her nickname, you git.”

“Oh, right,” he said, sounding more normal. “Well, Harry, shall we get this on the train for you?" Before she could say anything, he had clambered – or, more accurately, leapt – over the trunk to stand beside her on the train. His brother rolled his eyes.

Weird, Harry thought.  

“I'm okay, really,” she protested, reaching for the handle. The boy was quicker, though, and hoisted the trunk up easily.

“Don't be silly,” he said, ushering her aside, “We've got it. You'll have to guide us, though.”

It didn't seem like he would take “no” for an answer, and Harry was – in fact – grateful for the help. She stepped back and allowed the twins to take over.

“We're Fred and George Weasley, by the way,” he said as they rounded the corner into the storage compartment. “I'm Fred, he's George.”

“You'll be able to tell us apart because I'm the better looking one,” George declared.

“But you're twins!”

“Exactly,” George winked, though as he looked at his brother – Fred, Harry reminded herself – his expression changed.

Harry was about to ask them what year they were in, but at that moment they heard a voice from the platform call out, “Fred! George!”

“That's Mum,” Fred explained. "Could you give her a shout and tell her we're coming, Harry? Some idiot's loaded this all wrong.”

“She’s the aggressively ginger woman with an aggressively ginger girl about your size,” George added helpfully as Harry headed down the corridor. As she neared the train door, she heard a voice from the storage compartment – probably Fred, she thought – tell his brother, “You're aggressively ginger,” as if it was an insult.

Boys are weird, Harry thought, as she leant out of the train and caught sight of the twins' mother fussing over the skinny boy Harry had gone ahead of.

“Mrs Weasley!” she called, getting the woman's attention. “Mrs Weasley! Fred and George are just coming! They're just helping me with my trunk!”

“Thank you, dear!” Mrs Weasley called back, just as a voice behind Harry spoke.

“All done, Harry,” it said, making her jump.

“Shit, sorry!” he – George – apologised, “Didn’t mean to scare you!”

“It's alright,” she assured him, “Where's Fred?”

“Here!” Fred called, emerging from the luggage compartment, “I should really have a word with Dumbledore about the loading of the train – that was atrocious."

Harry laughed – who talked like that? – catching Fred's eye, and then quickly looked away. She didn't want him to think she was staring.

“See you later, Harry!” George called as he hopped off the train. With another wave and a grin in Harry’s direction, Fred followed after him.

Harry went to sit in the same empty compartment she had set Hedwig down in, noticing as she passed the storage compartment that Fred (and George) had completely reorganised it, so it was now neat and orderly. Seating herself between the window and Hedwig’s cage, she leaned back so she could see the Weasleys.

“They seem nice, don’t they?” she said.

Hedwig hooted in response.

On the platform, meanwhile, Mrs Weasley was saying, “Fred! George! There you are!”

“Sorry, Mum! We were just – ” Fred started.

“Helping that little girl, I know! She came to tell me.”

“But do you know who she is?” George said.

“No, why?” their mother asked suspiciously.

“It's Harriet Potter!” they chorused.

Before Mrs Weasley could respond, the little girl started to jump up and down.

“Oh, please, Mum, can we go and see her? Please, Mum – ”

“You've already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn't something to be gawked at like an animal in zoo,” said Mrs Weasley, and then turned her attention back to the twins. “Is really her, boys, or are you pulling my leg?” she asked sharply.

“Honest, Mum!” Fred said excitedly.

“We saw her scar and talked to her and everything!”

“We’re friends with her!”

“She even told us to call her ‘Harry’, Mum!”

Their mother clicked her tongue.

“Poor dear. I did wonder why she was by herself,” she said. “Well, it was very nice of you two to help her – at least she's not completely alone on her first day.”

The twins beamed. At that moment, the older-looking ginger boy from earlier came striding over, now dressed in billowing black robes.

“There you are, Percy!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed, turning her attention to him, “Look how handsome you are!”

Harry saw Fred scowl, and George shake his head at him as if to say “leave it”.

“Can't stay long, I'm afraid, Mother,” Percy said lordily, puffing out his chest, “I'm up front. Us prefects have two compartments to ourselves – ”

“Oh, are you a prefect, Perce?” said Fred with an air of surprise, the scowl gone. “You'd've thought you'd say something!”

“Hang on, Freddie. He did say something once – ”

“ – or twice – ”

“ – a minute – ”

“ – all summer.”

“Oh, shut up,” Percy grumbled, as if he'd heard their bit before. He probably had: it sounded almost rehearsed.

“Leave him alone, boys!” Mrs Weasley said sharply, “Your brother's going to have a lot on his plate now that he's a prefect, so I expect you two to behave this year and not cause him any trouble.”

“Us? Cause Percy trouble? Never!” Fred declared in mock indignation. Harry snorted.

“I'm telling you, boys, if I get one more owl this year telling me you've – you’ve blown up a toilet, or – ”

“We’ve never blown up a toilet!” George cried.

“Great idea, though. Thanks, Mum!” Fred said.

"It's not funny – ”

“It’s a little funny,” Fred insisted.

“No, it’s not, and make sure you look after – Ron? Ron? Where's he gone?”

“I’m here, Mum,” the skinny boy – Ron – said, from right next to her.

“Oh goodness, there you are! Look, you've got something on your nose,” she said, licking her thumb and attempting to hold his head in place, though he wriggled free.

“Mum! Geroff!”

“Has ickle Ronniekins got somefink on his nose?” George cooed, at which Ron stuck up two fingers. Their mum didn't notice: she was back to fussing over Percy.

A whistle sounded.

“I've really got to go, Mum,” Percy said, sounding bored by the antics of his siblings.

“Oh, sorry, dear,” his mother said, kissing him on the cheek, “You go – I'll sort this lot.”

Pausing to hug his sister, Percy gave his brothers a look of superiority and strode off towards the front of the train without another glance.

“We should go too, Mum,” Fred said.

Ginny began to cry.

“Don't cry, Ginny! We'll send you loads of owls!” George said.

“We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”

“Fred!”

“Only joking, Mum!”

Another whistle.

“We really have to go now,” Fred said, checking the big clock, “Come on, Ron.”

The boys said their goodbyes and jumped up onto the train moments before it began to move. Ginny ran along the platform as if to keep up with the train, until it gathered too much speed and there was no more platform to run on, so she stopped and just waved.  Harry watched as she zoomed away out of sight.  

Houses flashed past the window, and Harry's stomach turned. This is really happening, she thought. I'm really going to Hogwarts.

The door of the compartment slid open, and Ron Weasley shuffled in.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, nodding at the empty seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.”

“Not at all,” she said, and he sat down. He glanced at her, and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending not to have been. Harry saw he still had a black smudge on his nose, and stifled a laugh.

“What is it?” Ron said, eyes snapping back to Harry. He seemed on edge.

“Nothing, it's just – ” Harry said pointing to the same spot on her own face, “You’ve got something on your nose.”

“For fuck's sake,” Ron sighed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, “First day and I already look like an idiot.”

“Not at all,” Harry said earnestly. She liked Ron. “I didn't even know how to get on the platform.”

“Yeah, um – I was there. I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“I’m Harry. Well, my name’s ‘Harriet’ but I like being called ‘Harry’.”

“You’re Harriet Potter.”

Harry nodded. Ron stuck out his hand, and after a moment Harry realised it was because he was trying to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” he said, and he seemed like he meant it.

The compartment door opened again, and Fred and George came bounding in.

“Ron! You've met Harry!” George said excitedly.

“No shit,” Fred said. “Listen, Ron, Harry – George, piss off!” – he broke off as his twin elbowed him, and he retaliated – “Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train – ”

“ – Lee’s parents – you know, Lee Jordan? – let him have a giant tarantula as a pet this year!” George said.

“Want to come and see it?” Fred finished, looking at Harry hopefully.

Ron had somehow managed to pale at the mention of the tarantula, so Harry guessed he would not be joining them.

“You know I hate spiders,” he said darkly.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” George said, making a face that Harry thought looked like he had something to do with it. “Harry?”

“I’m not keen on spiders either, I’m afraid.”

Fred looked a bit disheartened.

“Oh, well, see you later!” George said, and then he was gone. Fred glanced at Harry for a second, his ears pink, and then followed after his brother.

As the compartment door did close, Ron said, “You can go with them if you like.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to stay here just because I am.”

“No, no, I really do hate spiders,” Harry assured him. “The big ones, mainly. It’s something about their eyes,” – she shuddered, thinking about the tarantula at the zoo – “they give me the heebie jeebies.”

“Is that a muggle illness?” Ron sounded alarmed.

Harry laughed.

“No, no, it’s – a feeling,” she explained after a moment, realising that Ron didn’t actually know what the heebie jeebies were. “Like when you’re creeped out and grossed out at the same time.”

Ron nodded his understanding.

“Are you from one of those old Wizarding families, then?”

*     *     *

“You like her, don’t you?” George asked, turning to look at his twin, whose ears were still pink.

“Who?”

“Harry.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fred said much too quickly, his cheeks turning pink to match his ears.

“Of course you don’t,” George snorted.

*     *     *

Around one in the afternoon – just as Aunt Petunia had said – the trolley came around. The compartment door opened, and a round-face woman with dimples poked her head in, asking, “Anything from the trolley, dears?”

“I’ve – um – got something already,” Ron said, pulling a sorry-looking squashed sandwich out of his jacket pocket.

“And you?” the woman asked Harry.

Harry had an idea.

“Ron,” she said, “I’m not sure what tastes good. What do you think?”

“Oh – er – Fred and George say the pasties are good. And Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans are fun. Chocolate frogs – obviously – and licorice wands are also nice.”

Harry turned to the woman with the trolley.

“I’ll have four pasties, four frogs, and three of everything else he said.”

The woman smiled at her kindly and started grabbing the items Harry had ordered. Ron stared at Harry as she handed over two galleons and fifteen sickles. When the trolley was gone, Harry dumped the food down next to him.

“Are you mental?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, taking a bite of a pumpkin pasty. It was good.

“What the hell was that?”

“I – uh – thought we could have a picnic,” Harry said, beginning to panic. Did he not want to be friends anymore? Had she ruined it? She had been trying to be nice, but –

“Are you serious?”

Harry nodded. Ron eyed one of the other pumpkin pasties.

“Are you sure?” he asked, sounding wishful.

“Go for it,” she said, and smiled as Ron picked up a pasty and took a bite.

“Good?”

“Good.”

The door slid open again and a black girl with curly hair down to her shoulders came in with a shorter blond boy.

Before any of them could say anything, Harry had blurted out, “I love your hair.” She had always loved black hair – it was always so pretty and curly and styled so well, unlike Harry’s bird’s nest, no matter what her aunt did to it – but there was no reason she had to blurt it out like an absolute fucking weirdo.

The girl looked slightly taken aback, but smiled at Harry, which alleviated some of her embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she said, and then, “Have either of you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

Ron and Harry shook their heads.

“Sorry, Neville. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” the girl said to the blond boy. “He’s Neville Longbottom, by the way,” – the boy waved – “and I’m Hermione Granger.”

She stuck her hand out at Harry, who took it and said, “I’m Harr– Harriet Potter.”

“Oh, you are, aren’t you?” Hermione said, seating herself opposite Harry. “I’ve read all about you – I got some extra books from Diagon Alley, you see, and you’re in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.” She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand, laughing sheepishly. “That was a bit creepy, wasn’t it?”

“No it wasn’t,” Harry said quickly. “I had no idea about any of that.”

“Really? Goodness – I’d try to find everything I could if it were me,” she said earnestly. Hermione had a bossy sort of voice, but Harry liked her.

Hermione turned to face Ron, “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ron Weasley,” Ron said through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty.

Hermione didn’t look impressed. She turned back to Harry.

“Do you know what house you’ll be in, Harriet?”

“Harry.”

“Sorry – Harry.”

“I’ve got no idea, but apparently my parents were in Gryffindor.”

“I hope you end up there, then. I’ve been asking around and I think Gryffindor sounds by far the best – maybe I’ll be with you? Apparently Dumbledore himself was in it, so you know it’s a good house. Ravenclaw sounds pretty good too, though, so I guess we’ll see. Neville thinks he’ll end up in Hufflepuff.”

Hermione looked at Neville, as if to encourage him to speak. Up until that moment he’d been quiet.

“My parents were in Gryffindor,” he said in a soft Brummie accent. “So was my gran, and most of my family, but – uh…” He fell quiet.

When it became apparent that was all he was going to say, Hermione looked at Harry again.

“Sorry, Harry, but we should probably carry on looking for Neville’s toad. I’ll see you later, though,” she said, getting up and pulling Neville out of the compartment without another look at Ron.

The door closed.

“Whatever house I’m in,” Ron said, “I hope she’s not.”

“I think she’s nice.”

*     *     *

“Do you think George and Fred are going to be back this way?” Harry asked Ron as they tried to clear up some of the mess from lunch. It was about five in the afternoon, and they had just about eaten their fill. Ron’s sandwiches lay discarded, his rat – Scabbers – nibbling on them halfheartedly.

“Dunno – why?”

“I bought the other pasties for them.”

“Oh – right. Not sure, to be honest. Maybe? I’m sure they’re hanging around some of the third years. George fancies one of the girls on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

“I might go look for them. Do you want to come?”

“I’m alright here, thanks – I should probably stay here and watch the stuff. I’m sleepy anyway.”

“Okay. Well, I need to go for a walk, and I want to have a look around.”

“Cool. See you in a bit,” Ron said, taking off his jacket to use as a blanket and laying down on the seat.

Harry left the compartment and headed up towards the front of the train. There were kids everywhere – she and Ron seemed to have gotten lucky, as every other compartment had at least four people in it. Some seemed to have decided to hang out in the corridor, though; as the train rounded a sharp corner, Harry was thrown into a pretty East Asian girl with ink black hair.

“Are you alright?” she asked. She had a Scottish accent and nice eyes and dimples when she smiled, and must have been two or three years older than Harry.

“‘mokay!” Harry squeaked, and ran past the group, red in the face. She took a moment to compose herself – her stomach was doing somersaults – and carried on the search for Fred and George.

She found them around the front of the train, hanging out in a storage compartment. George was leaning against a rack of trunks, while Fred was perched on a higher shelf – when he saw her, though, he lost his balance and dropped to the floor with a shout.

“Harry!” he said, bouncing upright. “What are you doing here?”

George snorted.

“I – um – came to find you two. I accidentally bought too many sweets from the trolley and I was hoping you could help me finish them off. Ron’s already had some.”

“Any pumpkin pasties?” George asked.

“Yep, and chocolate frogs and licorice wands.”

“Excellent,” Fred said. “After you, Harry.”

They made their way down the train, George and Fred walking either side of Harry and talking between them, at her, about Hogwarts and Quidditch and the many pranks they had already pulled, and some of their ideas for the following year. She was happy to listen, interjecting occasionally to ask a question.

They were nearly back at Ron and Harry’s compartment when a trio of boys stepped into their path. Harry recognised the shorter one in the middle as the blond boy from Madam Malkin’s, and she suppressed a grin at the memory of his face after she called his father a dickhead.

“So it’s true, Harriet Potter’s come to Hogwarts,” he said.

Harry said nothing, looking between the boys standing behind him. They were both enormous, and looked mean.

“Oh, this is Crabbe and Goyle,” he said, and then stepped forward. “My name’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Fred snorted, while George gave a slight cough that definitely hid a snigger. Malfoy looked between them.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you two are. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and hand-me-down clothes because they have more children than they can afford.”

Fred made to step forward, though Harry felt George put a hand on him. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice this, and turned back to Harry.

“You’ll soon learn there are some wizarding families who are much better than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort, Potter. I can help you there,” he said, holding out his hand. Harry didn’t take it.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks. I figured you out pretty quickly, didn’t I?”

Malfoy’s gaze hardened.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said, retracting his hand slowly. “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 riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

Harry stepped forward.

“Don’t say anything about my parents,” she said angrily, balling her fists.

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

“Not if you piss off right now, we won’t,” George said, his hand still on his brother’s arm.

Malfoy’s oafs rolled their necks and stepped forward. Before any of them could do anything, though, a voice behind Harry and the twins spoke.

“Leave them alone.”

Harry, Fred and George turned around to see a tall black girl standing behind them, arms crossed and staring daggers at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. George’s face, for some reason, had broken out in an ear-to-ear grin.

“They started it – ” Malfoy began to protest, but the girl who had spoken cut him off.

“I seriously doubt that – Malfoy, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Thought so. I know these two and they don’t start fights, and I don’t think this one,” she went on, gesturing at Harry, “is big enough to start anything, anyway.”

Malfoy gaped.

“She – ”

“I don’t care, Malfoy. Get lost, or I’ll tell a prefect that Lucius Malfoy’s son was starting fights before he even got Sorted.”

Malfoy turned pink, opened his mouth as if to say something, and then ran off, followed moments later by his oafs.

“Thanks, Angelina,” George said.

“Shut up, George,” she said, though Harry could see she was smiling a bit. “You guys alright? What happened with Malfoy?”

“He was being a dickhead,” Harry piped up. “He was saying stuff about Hagrid and the Weasleys.”

But Angelina didn’t seem to have heard her.

“Holy shit, you’re Harriet Potter.”

“She likes ‘Harry’, actually,” Fred said.

After a moment, Angelina closed her mouth.

“Sorry – uh, bit of a shock. Nice to meet you – Harry,” she said, holding her hand out. “I’m Angelina Johnson.”

Harry shook it.

“Angelina’s in third year – ” Fred started.

“ – she’s Gryffindor’s best Chaser,” George said dreamily.

“And still too old for you, George,” Angelina added, though Harry didn’t think she sounded like she meant it.

“Where were you off to before Malfoy appeared?” Angelina asked, changing the topic and tearing her eyes away from George’s.

“We were going to finish off some of the sweets I bought earlier,” Harry said. “Would you like to come?”

“Thanks, but maybe some other time. I’m in the middle of a card game, but I stepped out because these two” – she nodded between the twins – “can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

“You said we were angels!” George protested.

“I lied,” Angelina said pointedly, and then looked at Harry again. “Come and find me in the Great Hall sometime, though.”

She smiled at Harry, winked at George, and headed off to her compartment.

“I’m going to marry her one day,” George said, still grinning.

“And on that day Percy will get that stick out of his arse,” Fred said. Turning to Harry, he asked, “Back to yours?”

Chapter Text

Ron was not pleased he’d missed the not-fight.

“I can’t believe you guys nearly started a fight with Lucius Malfoy’s son, without me.”

“Sorry, Ron, but there wasn’t exactly enough time to pause and bring you in.”

“Still.”

They were sharing out Harry’s bar of Cadbury’s, and the conversation – with the exception of Ron’s occasional interjections about Malfoy – had moved onto Quidditch. Harry was fascinated by the sport, but apparently first years weren’t allowed to participate on the House teams. Fred and George, as second years, had only just qualified. Being Fred and George (as Harry had quickly learned), they had turned up to try-outs in their first year and had actually gotten onto the team – it was only when Percy had been told by the Gryffindor Keeper, who he was friends with, that his little brothers had made the team, that anyone realised that the twins were not as old as they had said they were, and were told to try again the following year.

“Reckon we would have made the team if Charlie had still been captain,” Fred told Harry. He was sat next to her, while George was on Ron’s side of the compartment. Harry didn’t know what it was, but something about the proximity made her face feel warm whenever he looked at her.

“I would have, not sure about you,” George said, taking another chunk of chocolate.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m just better at Quidditch than you are – and Angelina would have put in a good word for me.”

“Angelina thinks you’re annoying,” Ron chimed in, “You told me she said so.”

“Yes, Ron, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t also fancy me.”

“She does not,” laughed Fred.

“Does too – Harry saw her wink at me. Didn’t you, Harry?”

“I’m not getting involved,” Harry said, holding her hands up. “But she did wink at him, Fred.”

“See?!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m better in class, though,” Fred said, more to Harry than to either of his brothers. If she didn’t know any better - which I do, Harry thought – she’d say he was trying to show off.

The feeling was back again.

“What’s your favourite class?” she asked, attempting to move the conversation on.

“Well, I’m better at Charms – ” Fred started.

“ – and I’m better at Transfiguration,” George finished.

“What’s the difference?”

“Transfiguration changes one item into another, but Charms make an item do something,” Ron said. “Bill told me.” George ruffled his hair, and Ron smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

“We’ll show you,” Fred said, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

“But I thought we’re not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts,” Harry said.

The twins grinned.

“Technically, yes – however, are we not on the Hogwarts Express?”

“We are,” she said.

“And, aren’t rules made to be broken?”

“Nothing’s made to be broken, George,” Ron said.

“Eh, you know what I mean,” George said airily, taking a match out of his pocket along with his wand. “Now – ”

“Why do you have just a single match?” Harry interjected, laughing.

“Reasons,” George winked, and then muttered something, pointing his wand at the match. At first, Harry didn’t see a difference. She moved closer, and saw that the match was now a needle. She and Ron showed their appreciation, and then George muttered something else and the needle turned back into a match.

“My turn,” Fred said. George held the match out, and Fred pointed his wand at it and muttered something. The tip of the match caught light, and then Fred used his fingers to extinguish it.

Harry felt the bizarre urge to clap, but suppressed it.

“Remember that spell I gave you, Ron – the colour-changing one? Do you want to give it a go?” George asked, tossing the match at the pile of rubbish they’d made in the corner.

“Yeah, okay!” Ron said, pulling out his wand, clearly enthusiastic at the prospect of doing some magic himself.

At that moment, the compartment door slid open, and Hermione Granger came in.

“Harry, we – oh. Hello,” she said, looking between the twins.

“These are Ron’s brothers,” Harry explained. “This one’s Fred, and that one’s George.”

“‘That one’?” George asked dramatically, “Is that all I am to you, woman? ‘That one’?”

Harry gave him a look as Fred kicked him.

Clearly having lost interest, Hermione looked at Ron.

“Are you about to do magic?” she asked. “Can I see?”

Ron mumbled his assent, and Hermione sat down next to George.

“Pass me Scabbers then.”

Scabbers was located to be under Harry’s seat. She passed the rat to Ron, who held it at arm’s length.

“Alright,” he said, exhaling. He cleared his throat. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Nothing happened.

Ron tried again, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

And again.

Harry felt a bit sorry for him and looked away, hoping that it would decrease the performance pressure – and saw that both Fred and George were red in the face from trying not to laugh. Fred looked at Harry, and then both twins burst out howling. Even Hermione was giggling.

“YOU GIT!” Ron shouted, throwing his balled-up jacket at George. It hit him in the face.

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Fred laughed, doubling over.

“It’s not funny!” Ron protested.

“It is a little funny, Ron,” Harry said kindly.

“It’s objectively very funny, but not when it happens to me!” Ron said, punching George in the arm.

“You love me, really, don’t you, Ronniekins?” George pouted.

“Oh, piss off,” Ron said, crossing his arms and scowling, though Harry could tell it was halfhearted.

“That was a dud spell if ever I heard one,” Hermione giggled.

“Oh, yeah, and how would you know what a dud spell looks like?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“Well, this isn’t one,” Hermione said, whipping out her own wand and pointing it Harry’s face. Her eyes widened – she wouldn’t curse me, would she? – and then Hermione pronounced the spell loudly.

“Oculus reparo.”

Harry felt the tape disappear from the centre of her glasses at the same moment they seemed to fix themselves. She took her glasses off to check, and found that Hermione had, in fact fixed them from when Dudley had punched her in the face a few months ago. Harry put them back on, and found that they fit much better.

“I’d say that one works,” she said, smiling at the younger ginger boy apologetically. “Sorry, Ron.”

“Yeah, whatever – did you come here to talk to Harry or something?”

“Oh, yes – I’d almost forgotten!” Hermione said, standing up. “Harry, I thought I’d remind you to change into your school robes. We’re nearly at Hogwarts.”

*     *     *

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. I recommend that in the meantime you tidy yourselves up.”

Professor McGonagall cast her eye in Neville’s direction, still dishevelled from when he had nearly fallen in the Black Lake getting out of the boats. She turned on her heel, and marched back into the entryway. Harry heard the echo of a heavy door close.

They had arrived at Hogwarts ten minutes after Hermione's warning. Ron, George and Fred had scrambled off to find their trunks and get their uniforms on, leaving the compartment for Harry to change in. As they’d pulled into the station, a voice had echoed through the train, reminding the students to leave their luggage and pets on the train, as they would be brought to the castle separately. Harry had said goodbye to Hedwig, who hooted irritably from being cooped up all day, and joined Ron, Hermione, Neville and the twins on the small dark platform.

Harry had seen Hagrid before he'd seen her, and it had taken the combined efforts of the Weasleys to get his attention.

“Harry!” he'd called, wading through the students spilling out of the train, “I see you've already met the boys I was telling you about!” At that, the twins had beamed.

The first years had then been ushered onto a fleet of small rowboats, crossing the immense lake in relative quiet as they gazed up at the immense castle. It looked like something out of a fairy tale – minus the dragon.

They'd been met at the boathouse under the castle by a stern looking woman in dazzling green robes, though she had laughter lines and crow’s feet around her eyes. Hagrid had introduced her as Professor McGonagall. There was something familiar about her that Harry couldn't place.

“What do you reckon we have to do for the sorting ceremony?” Ron whispered as the echo of the closing door reverberated around the entrance hall. “Fred’s been going on about fighting a troll. Could you imagine?”

“Depends,” Harry whispered back as Professor McGonagall reentered the chamber and led them into the main entrance hall. “How big is a troll?”

Ron sniggered.

Hermione shushed them, casting Ron a look. He opened his mouth to retort just as they passed through the immense double doors – but his mouth fell open, and no sound came out. Harry looked up.

It was possibly the most incredible room Harry had ever seen. There were four long tables running the length of the hall, packed with students in black robes accented with red, blue, yellow or green. Above them floated what must have been hundreds of candles, and above that, the ceiling looked like the night shy, complete with glimmering stars against a backdrop of deep blue.

Dimly, she was aware of Hermione whispering to her about how the ceiling was enchanted, and Fred and George and Angelina waving to her and Ron from the red table to her right, but Harry couldn't stop looking at the sky.

It was at that moment that everything became real – magic, her parents, being a witch.

Is this what the sky looked like when her parents had come here for the first time? Did her muggleborn mother feel the same way then, as Harry did now?

Ron's elbow in her side snapped her out of her reverie; they were standing at the front of the hall, in front of a dais where Professor McGonagall stood beside a stool with a battered-looking hat on it.

The hall fell quiet as the hat moved, and began to sing.

“Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

“I'll kill Fred,” Ron muttered. Harry elbowed him as Professor McGonagall began to speak, calling names from a scroll.

“Hannah Abbott!”

A round faced girl with long blonde pigtails stepped forward and sat down on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat down on her head. After a moment's quiet – Harry could feel the anticipation in the room – the hat shouted out, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table to Harry's left erupted into cheers, and Hannah jumped off the stool and ran down to join them.

“Leila Ahmad!”

A girl with brown skin and patterns on her hands tripped going up the steps. Harry managed to catch her before she hit the ground, and a murmur went around the hall.

“Thanks,” Leila whispered.

“No problem.”

Harry could see a faint blush on Leila's cheeks as McGonagall lowered the sorting Hat. A second later, the hat screamed, “GRYFFINDOR!” and the table to Harry's right with Fred, George and Angelina began exploded with cheers. Grinning Leila ran down to join them, still wearing the hat. Professor McGonagall’s shout and others’ laughter was drowned out by the continued cheering of the Gryffindors. Leila returned the hat, smiling sheepishly, and returned to her seat.

Sasha Ali became the first Ravenclaw, followed by Tiberius Belby, Terry Boot, and Chadwick Booth. When Harry looked over as Sasha took her seat, she caught sight of the pretty girl from the train earlier, and looked away quickly as the girl looked back at her and smiled.

Susan Bones and Iskander Boyer followed Hannah Abbott to Hufflepuff, though Millicent Bulstrode was the first Slytherin. She looked mean.

As more students were sorted, Harry noticed that while the hat spent mere seconds with some students – it screamed out “GRYFFINDOR!” the second it brushed Hermione’s head, which made Ron groan – it could spend several minutes with others, like Mikhail Isaacs, who was placed in Slytherin after two minutes, and Sue Li, who the hat had decided was a Gryffindor after four.

Professor McGonagall had originally called out for a ‘Samuel Li’, though a girl had stepped forward instead, announcing in a loud, clear voice, “Actually, Professor, it’s Sue.”

A murmur had raced around the hall at the look on Professor McGonagall’s face, though she’d quickly corrected herself and invited Sue to sit down with a smile. Eventually, Gryffindor had cheered, Sue had joined them grinning from ear to ear, and the hall seemed to forget about the hiccup as they anticipated what house the next student – Neville – would be placed in. He was a Gryffindor too, though he sat on the stool for several moments longer as he seemed to argue with the hat.

As predicted, Malfoy ended up being sorted into Slytherin. He gave Harry a superior look as he swanned over and took a seat. Harry resisted the urge to flip him off.

Eventually, it was – “Harriet Potter!”

A hush fell over the room, and Harry could feel all eyes on her. The last thing she was before the brim of the hat came down over her eyes was students standing up and craning their necks to get a good look at her, and – at the Gryffindor table – Fred and George crossing their fingers.

“Difficult,” a low voice said in Harry’s ear, “Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see, and a good mind to match. There’s talent – yes, plenty of talent, and – oh? A thirst to prove yourself. Where shall we put you, hm?”

Not Slytherin, Harry thought as hard as she could. Anywhere but Slytherin.

“Not Slytherin, eh?” the voice went on, “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness.”

No.

“No? Well, in that case, it had better be GRYFFINDOR!” the hat said, shouting the last word to the hall.

Harry’s hands trembled and her knees felt wobbly as she handed Professor McGonagall the hat and went down the stairs to join the Gryffindors. She was dimly aware that she had the loudest cheer from the Gryffindors yet, and that Fred and George were screaming at no one in particular, “We got Harry! We got Harry!”

She had her hand shaken aggressively by Percy, and some other older Gryffindors she didn’t know as the table settled down, and then took the seat that Hermione had made for her, sighing heavily as she plopped herself down.

“You alright?” Hermione whispered to Harry as Professor McGonagall called out, “Isiah Raheem!”

“I’m okay,” Harry whispered back. “I just hate it when everyone’s looking at me.”

“Do you want a chunk?” Hermione opened the pocket of her robes to show Harry a half-eaten bar of Galaxy. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“You already know me so well.”

*     *     *

Ron ended up being the last would-be Gryffindor to be sorted, and had been green in the face by the time the Sorting Hat had been placed on his head. Harry had crossed her fingers beneath the table, and breathed a sigh of relief when the hat had shouted out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The feast began shortly after, during which Harry was introduced to the ghosts. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington seemed to be very friendly, and the Fat Friar – Hufflepuff’s House ghost – made a point of coming over to greet her, claiming to have gotten on well with her mother.

“Such a sweet girl,” he’d said, shaking Harry’s hand. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. “She would’ve done well in Hufflepuff, but alas, she ended up with dear Sir Nicholas.”

It wasn’t till after dessert that Harry was able to draw her attention away from her own table. Gazing up at the High Table, she had good look at the teachers: at the far left sat Hagrid, who gave Harry a wave when he saw her and nearly knocked over his own goblet in the process; then came a series of faces Harry didn’t recognise, including a very small man who Harry thought at first was a goblin. Harry registered Professor McGonagall sat to the right hand side of the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, who Harry recognised from the Chocolate Frog card she’d gotten on the train. He seemed to be a strange old man – his “few words” before they started the feast had been “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” – and Harry had a hard time reconciling the image of this character with the impression she had gotten of the wise old scholar from the Chocolate Frog card, and the mysterious figure who had insisted she remain with the Dursleys.

A few people down from Professor Dumbledore sat Professor Quirrell, wearing an odd purple turban, whose eye Harry failed to catch despite her attempts to. Next to him sat a man dressed all in black, with greasy hair and a face like thunder. He was talking to Professor Quirrell, and when he glanced around the room he looked Harry dead in the eye and scowled. Suddenly she felt a sharp, striking pain in her scar.

Harry gasped, clapping a hand to her forehead, but the pain was gone as soon as it came.

“Are you alright?” Ron and Hermione – sat either side of her – asked at the same moment, causing them to glare at each other.

“I’m okay – just my head hurts a bit.”

“Have some water,” Hermione said, pouring some into Harry’s goblet out of an enormous jug. Harry took a sip – now she thought about it, she hadn’t drank anything all day, so it had probably just been dehydration.

“Do either of you know who that is? The teacher all in black?”

“No, but – OI, PERCY!” Ron yelled at his brother, who was in the middle of talking to a girl who looked about his age, wearing a shiny badge that read ‘prefect’. He rolled his eyes and turned to him, “What, Ron?”

“Who’s that teacher? The one who needs a heavy duty shampoo?”

“Ron!”

“Am I wrong?”

Percy rolled his eyes.

“That’s Professor Snape, Ron. He teaches Potions, and he’s an absolute genius. He’s going to get me an O. But everyone knows its Professor Quirrell’s job he wants – he’s been after Defence against the Dark Arts for years, but Dumbledore keeps hiring randomers to fill the post.”

Ron looked at Harry, as if to make sure she heard what Percy had said. She nodded, and watched Professor Snape for a while, but he didn’t look at her again.

Eventually, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore stood up to speak. The hall fell quiet.

“A few start-of-term notices now that we are all fed and watered, and then I’ll let you off to bed: first years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils – and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. Fred winked at Harry.

“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.

Auditions for the Frog Choir will also take place at the end of the second week of term – please see Professor Flitwick for details.

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.”

A few people laughed – Ron included – but Harry’s eye was caught by the expression on Professor Quirrell’s face. He looked more terrified than he had while talking to Professor Snape.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Harry saw Professor McGonagall close her eyes and take a deep breath, while the short teacher to her right had brightened up considerably. All the older years stood up, and the first years followed suit.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it. It rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

“Everyone pick their favourite tune,” announced Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Woggy Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.”

It was the weirdest song Harry had ever heard. She loved it.

Everyone seemed to finish singing the song at different times – at last, only Fred and George were left, singing along to the tune of a mournful ballad. Professor Dumbledore conducted the last few lines with his wand, and then led a round of applause as the twins got up onto the table and bowed dramatically. Percy pulled them down.

“Off to bed, now, all of you!” Professor Dumbledore said. “Good night, and sweet dreams!”

Each of the House prefects gathered their first years in the entrance hall, and led them the way of their House dormitories. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Percy along corridors hung with paintings that came alive and along moving flights of stairs, until they came to a portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” she said.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy enunciated, and the portrait swung open to reveal a hidden hole in the wall. They climbed through – Harry, being the smallest of the new Gryffindors, and Neville, apparently being Neville, needed a hand – and they found themselves in a cozy, round room filled with comfortable-looking armchairs and hung with tapestries. There was a roaring fire in the grate.

Percy directed them up a winding flight of stairs – thankfully, these ones didn’t move – and into their respective dormitories. He tried to explain that each of their doors were enchanted to only allow an occupant of the room to open it, but Harry was barely paying attention, except to say goodbye to Ron, and to acknowledge that she and Hermione had been placed together, along with Lavender Brown, Sue Li, and another girl called Parvati Patil.

Too tired to talk, Harry changed quickly and climbed into bed, one of five four-posters hung with wine-red velvet curtains. She drew them, set her glasses down on her bedside table, and fell asleep instantly.

It had been a long day.

Chapter Text

Whispers followed Harry the moment she left her dorm the next day. Students lined up outside their classrooms stood on tiptoes to get a glance at her, and those passing her in the corridor frequently doubled back on themselves to get another look. Harry wished they wouldn’t – it was weird at best and deeply uncomfortable at worst, and she had enough trouble navigating the numerous moving staircases, trick doors, and travelling coats of armour (not to mention avoiding Peeves the Poltergeist) without feeling like the was a free-roaming circus attraction.

Somehow, Hermione had managed to figure out the rhythms of the school and had become an excellent navigator of its changing landscape by the end of the first day. She and Harry walked between their classes and had lunch together most days, dragging Ron behind them – he and Hermione didn’t seem to like one another for some reason, and as such appeared to be in a bizarre competition of sorts for Harry’s friendship, which she didn’t understand at all.  

The only problem with Harry (and Ron’s) reliance on Hermione for navigation was that Hermione was an early riser and went down to breakfast by herself, it seemed, at the crack of dawn. Every morning, Harry and Ron were left to negotiate their route down to the Great Hall by themselves. If they made it by half-eight, they could follow Hermione to their first class of the day. If not – and if George and Fred weren’t around to point them in the right direction – they had to fend for themselves, as Hermione preferred to get to class early to read.

And that was before Harry even got to class. Granted, she enjoyed most of them, but it certainly was an odd curriculum. In Astronomy they had to learn the names of the stars and the movements of the planets and on Wednesday evenings they’d trudge up the Astronomy tower to observe them; in Herbology they learned about all sorts of weird mushrooms and other fungi; and in Charms they learnt the difference between enchantments, incantations, hexes, jinxes and curses. Sadly, two of the classes Harry that had been looking forward to the most ended up being the dullest – History of Magic ended up being taught by a dreary old ghost who kept on confusing Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball, and yet expected his students to keep track, while Defence Against the Dark Arts was an utter joke. Professor Quirrell’s classroom smelt strongly of garlic – which was rumoured to have been stuffed in his turban in order to permanently keep vampires away, as a result of an unfortunate incident in Romania that had left him traumatised – and his lessons consisted of little more than reading from and copying out of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection with little input from Quirrell himself. Harry tried her best to learn, but it made her want to gouge her eyes out.

At least most of the teachers seemed to like her. During their first Charms lesson, Professor Flitwick – the small teacher who Harry had mistaken for a goblin at the Welcome feast – had toppled over in excitement when he’d read her name out for the register and made sure to check in with her frequently throughout the lesson; and Professor Sprout, a dumpy little witch with a kind smile kept on referring to Harry as “Miss Evans”. Then, of course, there was Professor McGonagall. Harry had been right in her guess that she was a strict teacher, but she was also very clever and surprisingly kind, considering her first impression of Harry at the start of their first lesson.

Ron and Harry had been late to Transfiguration – that had been one of the mornings they hadn’t been able to rely on Hermione – and had walked into the classroom to find not an adult in sight and a tabby cat sitting on the front desk. And not just any cat – Harry’s cat from Privet drive, Mr Whiskerson. She’d cried out, “That’s my cat!” and approached it, calling, “Here, girl,” but her mouth had fallen open in mortification, shock and amazement as the cat had leapt forward and transformed mid-air into Professor McGonagall, looking unimpressed with their lateness.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Ron exclaimed.

“Thank you, Mr Weasley, for that assessment,” Professor McGonagall said. “Perhaps it would be more useful, though, if I transfigured either you or Miss Potter into a watch? That way one of you might be on time?”

“We got lost,” Harry said.

“Then perhaps a map? I trust you don’t need one to find your seats,” the teacher went on, nodding at the empty desk right at the front of the room.

“I don’t think that’s your cat, mate,” Ron had muttered as they’d sat down, though Harry could have sworn that she saw Professor McGonagall give her a knowing smile as she walked away. Throughout the lesson, Professor McGonagall had listened to and answered each one of Harry’s questions – even the ones Harry thought she would think were silly – so Harry didn’t think that the teacher particularly held her and Ron’s lateness, or the Cat Incident, against them.

The first Friday of term brought the first day that Ron and Harry hadn’t needed to ask one of the paintings for directions on their way down to the Great Hall. They were very pleased with themselves.

“What have we got today?” Harry asked Ron as she poured sugar on her porridge.

“Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron, pulling a face. “Snape’s the Head of Slytherin, remember? He always favours them and gives them points for nothing.”

“Wish McGonagall favoured us,” Harry sighed, thinking about the foot-long homework essay McGonagall had given the day before, and expected by the following Friday.

Just then, a dozen or so owls flew into the Great Hall; to Harry’s surprise, Hedwig was among them, carrying a small letter in one of her claws.

She dropped it in Harry’s porridge, and landed on Ron’s shoulder – she seemed to like him – and nibbled at the toast he offered her. Harry tore open the letter, wiping her hand on a napkin. In familiar, scrawled handwriting, it read:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me at around three? I want to hear all about your first week! Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry fished her quill out of her bag and scribbled a, “That sounds great, see you later!” on a spare bit of parchment, and sent Hedwig off again after she’d been given another bit of toast.

“Down to the dungeons, then?”

*     *     *

At the Start of Term banquet, Harry had gotten the impression that Professor Snape intensely disliked her – though for what reason, Harry hadn’t a clue. As Harry left the Potions classroom later that day, though, Harry had no idea what to make of the Potions teacher, as it seemed that Professor Snape had no idea what to make of her.

Things had been alright for the first five minutes of the lesson: Harry was sat between Ron and Hermione, and Hermione was telling them about what she’d read in the Potions textbook that morning. Then, the door had flown open with a bang and Snape had marched in. Without a word of greeting to the class, he’d begun to write instructions on the blackboard. At last, he’d turned around and addressed them all.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” he’d said at last. “You are here to learn the subtle art and exact science of potion-making. I don’t expect many of you to fully comprehend the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its delicate concoction that has the power to bewitch the mind and to ensnare the senses, but those select few with the requisite appreciation will be taught how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

Harry had thought that this all sounded rather important, and had started to take notes. She was just starting to write “bottle” when she heard her name.

“Potter!” Professor Snape called sharply. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand shot up, but Harry panicked.

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” – Harry heard Malfoy snicker, and the teacher cast him an amused look – “Let’s try again: where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“You don’t know? Well, well – clearly fame isn’t everything.”

She didn’t like the way Snape had looked at her – like he was taking her apart and examining her in his head – but she forced herself to maintain eye contact with him.

“What about if I asked you the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?”

That one she did remember.

“There isn’t – they’re the same plant, Professor. They’ve got another name that I can’t remember right now – but I’m sure Hermione knows,” she said, pleased to finally know something. “Why don’t you try her?”

She didn’t mean it to come across cheekily, but it must have, because Ron sniggered, and Sue Li – one of the girls who shared the dorm with Harry – grinned at her.

Snape’s gaze hardened. He marched over to her, and placed his hands on the desk, leaning over her so closely that Harry leant back in her seat.

“For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is also known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons. As for wolfsbane and monkshood, Potter, they are also known as aconite, and it is a deadly poison that you should hope you never have the misfortune to consume.”

Snape looked up suddenly.

“Well?” he’d said to the class, “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

There was a sudden rummaging for parchment, ink and quills as Professor Snape added, “A point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Miss Potter.”

Harry opened her mouth, but Hermione stamped on her foot under the desk.

“Not worth it,” Ron hissed.

If Harry hadn’t been uncomfortable enough, things had been made worse when they’d been split into pairs and told to make a potion to cure boils. Harry couldn’t actually read the board – they were too far away and the room too full of thick vapours for her to make it out clearly – so Ron had to relay everything to her. Snape had circled the classroom watching them weigh dried nettles and count porcupine quills – “Use your eyes, Ahmad, it’s on the board,” he’d told Leila curtly when she’d asked him to remind her how many snake fangs they needed – and criticising everyone except Malfoy. When he’d gotten to Harry, he’d come up behind her and leant in far too close – close enough that Harry could make out the faint scent of sweat on him. His hand felt invasive on her back, and the tone he used with her made her skin crawl.

A dense cloud of acid-green smoke and a loud hissing noise suddenly filled the dungeon. Harry felt a sharp, searing pain in her arm, and cried out as Hermione let out a shriek. Harry looked over to see what was going on: Hermione was crouched on her seat; Neville was moaning in pain, his arms looking much like Harry’s, which was now springing up angry red boils; and Hermione’s cauldron was now a twisted blob of metal, the potion that it had held was now spreading out across the desk and dripping onto the floor.

“Idiot boy!” Snape snarled, disappearing the potion with a wave of his wand. “You must have added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, even though it’s right there on the board.”

Harry let out a gasp – the boils had started throbbing – which caught Snape’s attention.

“Look what you’ve done, Longbottom,” he snapped, taking Harry’s arm in his hands. She tried to pull away, but he held on to her.

“I’ve got to take you up to the Hospital Wing,” Snape said, his voice disturbingly gentle.

“I’m okay!” Harry said. She didn’t much like the idea of being alone with him. “I’m fine, Professor.”

“Nonsense, Potter, I – ”

“I’ll take her!” Ron interrupted. Harry shot him a grateful look.

Snape pursed his lips.

“Very well. Granger, take Longbottom. Make sure he doesn’t cause anyone else any more damage, will you?”

Ron shoved his and Harry’s things into their respective bags and steered her out of the class. Harry felt Snape’s eyes lingering on her until the door closed behind Hermione and Neville a moment later.

“Is it just me, or was Snape creeping on Harry?” Ron asked, pulling both their bags over his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. He’s a teacher,” Hermione said, visibly disgusted.

“And?”

“It’s illegal,” she said, taking Neville’s robes and pulling him along the corridor.

“That wouldn’t necessarily stop him,” Ron muttered, leading Harry after them.

*     *     *

When they’d got to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey – a kindly-looking woman – guided both Harry and Neville to their own beds. She had made up a salve, and smoothed it over Harry’s right arm, both of Neville’s, and most of Neville’s face. It had stung a little at first – “It’s just neutralising the potion, dear,” she’d told a worried-looking Hermione – but cooled considerably after a moment. Madam Pomfrey had then waved off the uninjured pair with the promise that Harry and Neville just needed to rest, and that “yes, Mr Weasley, you may take Miss Potter to see Hagrid at five, I’ll send him an owl to tell him the time’s changed,” and after some encouragement, Ron and Hermione had gone off to the Library.

“I don’t really fancy going back to Potions,” Ron had said. Hermione’s face had been disapproving, but she hadn’t said anything.

After an hour or so – which she had spent chatting to Neville and reading Magical Draughts and Potions – Harry remembered something that her aunt had told her about the matron.

“Madam Pomfrey,” she called, getting her attention. “Is there any chance you can check my eyes for me?”

“I don’t normally, but I can do. Why? Did you get potion there too?”

Neville turned pink.

“I’m so sorry, Harry, I – ” he began, though Harry cut him off.

“My eyes are absolutely fine, Neville. Don’t worry,” she said, and then explained to Madam Pomfrey that her eyes tended to hurt when she sat too far back from the blackboard, like they had in Potions, and that she hadn’t had her eyes tested in years, and that her aunt said to come and see her.

The matron had disappeared into her office, and emerged a few minutes later holding a pair of multi-lens glasses. She’d placed them on Harry’s head, and asked her to read from a poster at the other end of the room, flicking between one lens and another. At last, she’d come to the conclusion that Harry was short-sighted in one eye and extremely far-sighted in the other, and that Harry’s glasses needed replacing urgently.

“How you’ve managed this long I cannot say,” she muttered as she took Harry’s original glasses and set to making the adjustments to the lenses.

By the time Ron arrived at about half-four to take Harry to Hagrid’s, she had a new set of lenses she could actually see out of – even to make out the hoops on the Quidditch pitch in the distance – which Madam Pomfrey had added a bunch of useful charms to, including scratch resistance and a reinforced bridge. She thanked Madam Pomfrey as the matron wrapped her arm in gauze, and she and Ron made their way down to Hagrid’s.

He lived in a small brick bungalow on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, and there was a small vegetable garden next to it.

When Harry knocked, there was a frantic scrabbling inside, and several loud barks.

“Back, Fang. Get back!” Hagrid’s voice shouted from inside, and then the door opened and the gamekeeper’s face had appeared in the crack.

“Jus’ a moment, Harry,” he said, and then the door opened fully to reveal Hagrid holding tightly onto the collar of an enormous black boarhound which was about Harry’s size.

He let them in, and then closed the door behind them, explaining that Fang liked to play in the vegetable patch but he kept on ruining the plants.

“Make yerselves a’ home,” he said, releasing Fang. The dog bounded up to Ron and Harry, sniffing at them. He must have decided he liked them, because he started licking Harry’s ears.

“Sorry we’re so late, Hagrid,” Harry said, stroking Fang. She and Ron sat down on two of Hagrid’s enormous chairs around the table. “There was an accident in Potions.”

“Don’ worry,” Hagrid said, passing her and Ron cups of tea. “Madam Pomfrey sent me an owl. How’s yer arm?”

Harry showed him her bandaged arm, and then she and Ron started telling him about the week so far. Fang came to settle down on Ron, placing his head in his lap and drooling all over Ron’s knee, though he didn’t seem to mind.

They told Hagrid all about Snape’s lesson, about the way the Potions teacher had singled Harry out for no reason and the way he’d treated Neville. Hagrid told them that Snape seemed to hate everyone, so they shouldn’t take it personally.

“You should have seen the way he looked at her, Hagrid,” Ron said darkly.

“Nonsense! He’s a teacher!” Hagrid said as if that settled it. Ron didn’t seem to be convinced, though Hagrid changed the subject, asking, “How’s yer brother Charlie? I liked him a lot – great with animals.”

While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons in Romania – “Crikey, I’d love a dragon!”– Harry picked up the copy of The Daily Prophet that was lying on the table, and began to read:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling her on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date.

“Hagrid!” said Harry suddenly, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

“Oh – er – I’m no’ sure abou’ that,” he floundered, offering Harry a rock cake. He took the paper from her and took it into the other room, but Harry had read all she needed to.

The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen – if by ‘emptying’ they meant taking that tiny package – on Harry’s birthday. Could that have been what the thieves were looking for?

It was soon seven and time for dinner. Hagrid waved them off after plying them with enough rock cakes to feed a small army, inviting them for tea again the following week.

“An' Ron!” he called, just as they began to climb the steps up the hill, “Tell yer brothers to stay away from the Forbidden Forest!”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The following Thursday, they had their first Flying class. Harry had been looking forward to it even more than she had been for History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, though she was optimistic this class wouldn’t let her down as badly as those ones had. The only problem was –

“Of course we’re with fucking Slytherin.”

“Ron!”

“What?”

They were sat in the Great Hall eating breakfast before their Flying lesson. A notice had been posted in the Gryffindor Common Room three days prior, alerting the first years to the rota for classes. Ravenclaw would be learning with Hufflepuff, and – of course – Gryffindor with Slytherin. Suddenly Harry was looking forward to Flying a lot less, because it’d mean she’d end up making an idiot of herself in front of Malfoy.

It wasn’t that Harry disliked Draco Malfoy – she loathed him. Whenever she saw him in the corridors, he was surrounded by his bodyguards, and was picking on other first years for no reason at all. His most frequent target was Neville, who Harry had grown somewhat protective of following Snape’s behaviour towards him in Potions. Malfoy was as mean as his oafs were stupid, and there seemed to be no low to which he would not stoop in his bullying of Neville: he made fun of Neville for being chubby, for being clumsy, for being a bit of a disaster in class, and Crabbe and Goyle frequently tripped him over and pushed him around for no reason at all. It made Harry’s blood boil, and even more so that whenever Harry stepped in to help, Malfoy would leer at her and make sleazy comments about how she was cute when she was mad, and that he liked his girls feisty. Between his behaviour at school, his behaviour at Madam Malkin’s, and Harry’s experience growing up with Dudley, Harry had a pretty clear picture of an obscenely spoilt rich little prick who was just nasty for his own amusement.

She wanted to throttle him.

Before Hermione could tell Ron off for swearing in front of the teachers – they’d just entered the Great Hall, and McGonagall had shot Ron a look when he’d said “fuck” – the owls arrived with the post.

Harry hadn’t had a single letter since Hagrid’s note. Hermione received a letter every few days from her parents, and Ron’s wrote to him and his brothers as often, via Percy. Harry didn’t mind so much – she had no one to expect letters from – but Malfoy seemed to have noticed, and always made a big show of opening his frequent parcels from home (full of sweets) in Harry’s direction.

Today, a barn owl bought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly, and showed them – Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sue, Leila, Seamus, and their other dorm-mate, Dean – a glass ball just smaller than an apple, which seemed to be filled with white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall!” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red, you’ve – oh.” As he spoke, the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

Neville was trying to remember what he’d forgotten when Draco Malfoy approached. Harry tried to ignore him, but before anyone realised what was happening, Malfoy had snatched the Remembrall out of Neville’s hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall was over in an instant. It seemed as if she had a sixth sense for trouble.

“What’s going on?”

“Malfoy’s got Neville’s Remembrall, Professor.”

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

“Just looking,” he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

“Dickhead,” Harry muttered.

*     *     *

At three o’clock that afternoon, the Gryffindor first years made their way down to the training grounds for their first Flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the sun shone brightly. Harry had nearly forgotten about the trouble with Malfoy that morning – until they rounded the corner and saw that the Slytherins were already there, Malfoy smiling smugly about something.

Madam Hooch arrived shortly afterwards, and had the class stand by a broomstick each.

“Stick your hand out over your broom,” Madam Hooch called, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!”

Harry’s broom jumped into her hand, at once. She looked over at Ron and Hermione, feeling extremely pleased with herself. Ron’s had reached his hand a few moments afterwards, though Hermione’s had simply rolled over. Harry felt a bit sorry for her as she continued to shout “up!” at it to little effect. Neville’s hadn’t moved at all – but then again, it didn’t really seem like he wanted to be up in the air.

Madam Hooch then showed them all how to climb onto the broom without sliding off the end. She walked up and down the rows, correcting grip and stance, and Harry raised her eyebrows at Ron pointedly when Madam Hooch told Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years.

“When I blow my whistle,” Madam Hooch said, turning back to face the rest of the class, “I want you all to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broomsticks steady, rise a few feet, and then lean forward to come back down. Are you ready? Three – two – one!”

As Madam Hooch went to blow her whistle, Neville – jumpy and scared of being left behind – pushed up hard.

“Come down, Mr Longbottom!” Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville was rising straight up into the air despite his desperate attempts to return to the ground. Harry had a vague recollection of being on the train with Fred and George, and them telling her that most of the school’s own brooms were old and dodgy, and sometimes acted of their own accord – not that this would help Neville now.

Neville screamed, and suddenly the broom was tilting upwards as if to rise higher, and then – almost in slow motion – Harry saw him let go of the broom and fall to the ground. There was a thump and a nasty crack! as Neville hit the grass. Harry and Hermione – Ron a second behind them – sprinted in Neville’s direction; he was laying in the grass moaning in pain, and his wrist was bent at a horrible angle.

Madam Hooch was over seconds later, helping Neville to his feet. His face was pale and there were tears in his eyes. Harry felt for him. Bad things always seemed to happen to Neville.

“None of you are to move while I take Mr Longbottom to Madam Pomfrey,” Madam Hooch said sternly. “If I see any of you in the air, you’ll be back on the Hogwarts Express before you can say ‘Quidditch’.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Malfoy burst into laughter.

“Did you see his face, the great lump? Crying for his mummy.”

Some of the Slytherins joined in, though most of them looked appalled.

“What’s wrong with you, Draco?” asked Mikhail Isaacs, though Malfoy continued to laugh.

“Sticking up for Longbottom, are we, Mikhail?” sneered Pansy Parkinson, a mean-faced Slytherin girl.

Isaacs scowled. One of the Gryffindor girls from the other room – Cassandra Watkins – told Parkinson to shove it. The Slytherin girl stepped towards Cassandra menacingly, though at that moment Malfoy cried, “Look!”

He darted forward and scooped something off the grass. It was Neville’s Remembrall.

“Think I’ll leave this somewhere for Longbottom to find – maybe in a tree?” he laughed, climbing onto his broom.

“Give it over, Malfoy,” Harry said. Everyone turned to look at her.

“You want it?” Malfoy asked, holding the Remembrall out. Just as Harry reached out, he snatched it back, and kicked off from the ground. “Come and get it!” he called from thirty feet up in the air.

Without thinking, Harry mounted her broom and kicked off, too, rising to his level. Hermione was shouting at her to “Get down, Harry! You’ll get into trouble!” though Harry wasn’t listening. For a moment, she was lost in the feeling of flying – the wind in her hair, the autumn sun on her face, the feeling of the broom beneath her. It was as natural as breathing.

Leaning back, she pulled her broomstick up to take it even higher, and heard screams and whoops from the ground below, the loudest coming from Ron.

“Give it here, Malfoy!” she shouted, “Or I’ll knock you off your broom!”

Malfoy tried to sneer but looked worried.

“Oh really?” he said. “Like I’d be scared of a girl on a broomstick.”

Instinctively, Harry grabbed the broom tightly and leant forward. She shot forward, like a javelin, straight at Malfoy – it was only because he moved at the last second that she didn’t knock him off his broom. Down on the ground, Ron was still cheering.

“You sure about that?” she grinned, seeing the scared expression on his face. “No one to protect you up here, dickhead.”

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy, but after a moment he smiled nastily.

“You want it? Go and get it!” he shouted, throwing the Remembrall in the air as hard as he could.

Harry saw the orb begin to fall and dove after it – people screamed as she gathered speed – the Remembrall was nearing the ground – if she missed it, it’d smash and Neville would be so upset – just a little further – she stretched her hand out and – caught it!, just in time to pull her broom upright and topple over it onto the grass, the Remembrall clasped tightly in her hand.

Her classmates ran to meet her. Ron was first over, pulling her up and congratulating her, and even though Hermione hadn’t been pleased Harry had ignored her, she was smiling and telling her how impressive it had been. Malfoy was sulking in the back with Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson.

Harry was grinning from ear to ear; she felt great, she couldn’t wait to be up in the air again, she –

“HARRIET POTTER!”

Harry froze. Professor McGonagall was running across the lawn of the training grounds, looking straight at her.

“Never – in all my time at Hogwarts – ”

She was almost speechless with shock. Harry’s heart sank as the Transfigurations teacher came to stop before her.

“Did you even think – might have broken your neck!”

“It wasn’t her fault, Professor!”

“Not now, Miss Granger – ”

“But Malfoy – ”

“That’s enough, Mr Weasley,” McGonagall said sharply. “Potter, follow me.”

She turned on her heel and marched away. After a second, Harry followed her numbly, the broom in one hand and Remembrall in the other, catching sight of Malfoy’s triumphant face, though she didn’t have it in her to do anything about it.

I’ve ruined it, she thought. I’m going to be expelled.

They were back in the entrance hall now, and climbing the stairs.

Is she taking me to Dumbledore? Harry thought. Would they let me stay on as Hagrid’s assistant or something? – though the thought of seeing Ron and Hermione and everyone else become proper witches and wizards as she carried Hagrid’s bag filled her with a different kind of dread – not to mention, what would her parents have thought of her? Head Boy and Head Girl, she thought, and their daughter couldn’t even make it two weeks.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick. Could I borrow Wood for a minute?”

Wood?

Harry’s heart skipped a beat – and then a burly older-looking boy was following McGonagall out of the room, looking as confused as Harry was.

“Follow me, you two,” McGonagall said, marching further down the corridor. She found a classroom, and ushered them inside – it was empty other than Peeves, who was writing rude words on the blackboard.

“Out, Peeves!” McGonagall barked. Peeves blew a raspberry at her, though he swooped out through the wall a moment later.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I have found you a Seeker,” she said, suddenly almost giddy with excitement.

Wood’s face lit up.

“Are you serious, Professor?” he asked, eyeing Harry.

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Potter’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it. That was your first time on a broomstick, wasn’t it?” she said, turning to Harry.

Harry nodded. Some of the feeling had come back into her legs.

“She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Professor McGonagall told Wood. “Didn’t even scratch herself! Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

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

“She’s just the right build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at her. “Light – speedy – we’ll have to get her a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say.”

“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 by Slytherin in that last match – I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks.”

Professor McGonagall have Harry a pointed look over her glasses, “I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Harry nodded quickly, and McGonagall gave her a proper smile.

“You father would have been proud. He was quite the Quidditch player in his day.”

*     *     *

“You’re joking!”

“Harry, that’s amazing!”

Harry had caught up to Ron and Hermione after Flying, though she hadn’t had the time – or the privacy – to tell them what had happened with Professor McGonagall until dinner. Apparently, when she’d come back from taking Neville to the Hospital Wing, Madam Hooch had been appalled to find Harry absent, and even more so when Malfoy had told her that it had been Professor McGonagall who had caught Harry on her broom – though everyone else in the class had attested to the fact that Harry had only been on her broom because Malfoy had been trying to steal one of Neville’s things. Malfoy had received detention.

“Serves him right,” Harry said. “He’s such a dickhead.”

“I know, Harry, but you shouldn’t have let Malfoy bait you into it. You could have gotten in so much trouble – you’re lucky it was Professor McGonagall who caught you and she happened to need a Seeker, or else you might have been expelled.”

“Yeah, but it ended up fine, Hermione – Malfoy got detention, he got taken down a few pegs, and Harry made Seeker! In first year! They never – you must be the youngest House player in – ”

“A century,” Hermione finished, “I read it in Quidditch Through the Ages.”

Harry nodded.

“Oliver told me. And the last one wouldn’t have been a girl, either, so who knows how long it’s been since a first-year girl was on the team?”

Ron stared at Harry in some sort of combination of awe and admiration, the steak-and-kidney pie that had been halfway to his mouth forgotten.

At that moment, Fred and George came into the hall.

“Fred! George!” Harry called. “Over here!”

They stride over and sat down opposite her. For a moment, she had a vague recollection of thinking they – Fred, mainly – was kind of cute when they had met on the train, but she hadn’t known them then. They were friends now.

“Alright, Harry? Ron? Hermione?” Fred asked.

Hermione and Ron nodded, while Harry burst out, “I have something to tell you!”

“Go on then,” George said.

“But it’s a secret.”

They mimed locking their mouths with keys and throwing them away, and she told them about the Flying lesson, the Remembrall, being caught by McGonagall, and –

“I got on the Quidditch team!” she said proudly. “I’m Seeker!”

The twins stared at her for a moment – and for a second Harry began to panic that she’d hurt their feelings – but they grinned instead.

“Harry, that’s amazing – ” Fred said.

“ – well done, mate – ”

“You must be fucking amazing if they’re letting you play in first year – ”

“ – and you’re getting your own broomstick!” George pointed out.

“Do you know which one you’re getting?” Fred asked as George reached for plates for them both.

“Oliver says a Nimbus Two-Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, but I don’t really know what either of those mean.”

“We’ll help you, Harry,” Ron put in, while the twins looked at each other in amazement.

“Yeah, Harry, we know all about brooms – ”

“ – we’re looking for some at the moment – ”

“ – Mum said that if we get on the team she’ll buy us one each – ”

“ – because the school brooms are so dodgy.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, each of them thinking about how badly Neville’s broom had acted up earlier that day.

“Listen, Harry,” Fred began. “Quidditch trials are on Saturday – ”

“ – you should come and watch them!”

“But Oliver wants to keep it a secret. Won’t everyone know?” she asked

“Nah, loads of people come to watch them – ”

“ – it’s a bit of a thing for some of the older girls, you see – ”

“ – so you’ll fit right in!”

“As a groupie?” Harry asked.

“It’s the perfect cover!” George said. Fred elbowed him.

“You can feel out your future teammates – ”

“ – cheer us on – ”

“ – and Angelina, too. She’s going for Chaser again.”

“Of course you’d know that,” Ron said, and George winked.

“Having your last meal, Potter?” a voice said.

Harry and the others looked up and saw that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing next to the Gryffindor table, sneering at her.

“Your train leaves tonight, doesn’t it?”

“You’re much braver now you’ve got backup, aren’t you?” Harry asked coolly, nodding between Crabbe and Goyle. “Seems like a girl on a broomstick did scare you after all.”

“I’ll take you on my own any time,” Malfoy said, clearly aggravated. “Tonight, if you want – wizard’s duel.”

Something about her expression must have given away her confusion, because then he sneered, “You do know what a wizard’s duel is, don’t you?”

“Of course she does,” Fred said.

“Oh really? Who’s her second?”

“I am,” Ron said. “Who’s yours?”

Malfoy looked between his henchmen, and after a moment decided, “Crabbe. Midnight, got it? We’ll meet you in the Trophy Room. That’s always unlocked.”

Harry and Ron nodded their understanding, glaring daggers as Malfoy and the other sloped off. As soon as they were out of sight, she rounded on him.

“What the hell have you lot signed me up for?” she hissed.

“A wizard’s duel,” Ron said, finally starting on his now-cold pie.

“I’m going to need a little more than that! And what do you mean, you’re my second?”

Ron had his mouth full, so Fred chimed in, “Well, a wizard’s duel is pretty self-explanatory: no physical contact, wands only.”

“And a second’s there to take over if you die,” George said, far too casually as he reached over and deposited a pie in his own plate.

“If I die?”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Fred said quickly. “People only die in proper duels, you know, between adults.”

“Neither you or Malfoy know enough to do each other any real damage,” Ron said, swallowing. “The most you’ll be able to do is send a few sparks at each other.”

“Then how are we supposed to judge who wins?” Harry asked.

Ron and the twins shrugged, though Harry had another thought.

“What happens if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“I dunno,” George said.

“Throw it away and punch him in the face?” Ron suggested.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said. They looked over.

“It seems like you’re all forgetting how lucky Harry was today. It’s only because Gryffindor happened to need a Seeker that Harry got onto the team and she didn’t get punished. It could have been any other teacher – or Madam Hooch, for that matter – who caught her, and who knows what would have happened then?”

Turning to Harry, she went on, “You mustn’t go wandering about the castle at night, Harry. Think of how much trouble you’ll get in – it’ll be the second time today, and we’re not even two weeks in! You’ll lose us so many points!”

Harry thought Hermione had a bit of a point, but before she could say anything, Ron said, “It’s just a bit of fun, Hermione, and Malfoy has it coming.”

Hermione huffed, got up, and walked out of the Great Hall.

“What’s her problem?”

“Leave her alone,” Harry said quickly. “She has got a point, though.”

“You’re not going?”

“No, no – I’m still going. It might finally shut Malfoy up if I beat him. But you two,” she said, talking to the twins, “probably shouldn’t come with us – less chance of getting caught that way.”

Chapter Text

Harry lay awake listening to Lavender and Parvati snore. For quiet, giggly girls, they snored very loudly, while Sue – who was never usually able to stay quiet for more than a minute – barely snored at all. Harry couldn’t help but think there had to be some kind of correlation there.

Ron, Fred and George had spent all evening giving her their most useful advice – “If he tries to curse you, you’d better dodge it, because I can’t remember how to block it” and “Just make sure you don’t die” (“Thanks for that, George!”) – and Harry was growing increasingly anxious. Although Hermione had seemed like a bit of a killjoy at the time, she was right: it was very risky sneaking out for an illicit duel in the middle of the night on the same day she’d been caught on a broomstick without permission by her own Head of House, who also happened to be the Deputy Headmistress, no less. If they got caught, they could lose a lot more than House points. And yet – Harry couldn’t shake the image of Malfoy’s sneering face. This was her chance to shut him up once and for all.

Harry looked at the clock. It was half-eleven already; she’d told Ron she’d be in the Common Room by now.

As Harry climbed out of bed and pulled on a hoodie, Hermione spoke out of the darkness.

“So you’re going, then?”

“I won’t let him think he scared me, Hermione.”

“So what? You’ll stay out of trouble,” Hermione said, and part of Harry thought she had a point. If Harry was a different sort of person, she would have gotten back into bed. But she wasn’t.

“He’s enough of an arsehole as it is, Hermione,” Harry said. “You heard me earlier – when we were up in the air he said ‘like I’d be scared of a girl on a broomstick’. He’s always saying stuff, and I’ve had enough. If I don’t go, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hermione looked at Harry for a long moment, then sighed, got up, and put on her dressing gown.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you, of course. Someone’s got to make sure we don’t get caught, and it can’t hurt to have a third. If you have to drop out, I’d like to give Malfoy a piece of my mind.”

They made their way down the stairs, finding Ron in the Common Room.

“Took you long eno- What’s she doing here?” Ron asked incredulously.

“She is making sure you two don’t get caught,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“You’re not coming with us?”

“Of course I am!”

“You’ll let us get caught!”

“Why would I – ”

“Shut it!” Harry whispered as loud as she dared. “You two can both come with me – I reckon Malfoy will bring both Crabbe and Goyle – but only if you both behave yourselves,” she went on, looking between Ron and Hermione furiously.

“I will if she will,” Ron said.

Hermione stuck out her tongue. Ron returned the gesture, and Harry hit him in the arm.

“She – ”

“Ssh!”

Harry pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole. After a moment – in which Harry heard the sound of a struggle – Hermione came through, closely followed by Ron.

Harry shot them a glare each.

“If either of you gets us caught because you can’t get along,” she whispered angrily, “I’ll never rest until I’ve learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on both of you.”

She held up her hands to stop their replies, and tiptoed to the end of the corridor. She peered around the corner – the coast was clear – and beckoned them to follow her. Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment. Then Hermione made an “after you” gesture, and the two followed Harry into the dark of the castle.

*     *     *

“Why don’t you just go to sleep, Freddie? I can keep an eye on them.”

Fred yawned again, and sat up.

“I’m alright,” he said, getting up and stretching his arms. It was nearly midnight, and he’d spent the last half hour watching Harry and Ron – and, surprisingly, Hermione – make their way from the Gryffindor Common Room to the Trophy Room at the other end of the school. “She’s nearly there.”

“I thought you didn’t fancy her,” George said, and Fred could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I don’t fancy her,” Fred said defensively.

“And Percy’s laid-back,” George snorted

“Shut up,” Fred said, throwing his pillow at his brother and turning his attention back to the Marauders’ Map. They’d found it about six months ago, and had spent most nights from March onwards trying to crack it. At last, on their penultimate night of their first year, they’d cracked the code – “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good” – and had spent all summer learning it inside out. They’d spent the first two weeks back at school verifying all the information was still accurate, as they hadn’t known how old it was, and it seemed to still be in good nick.

The clock chimed midnight, and Fred found Harry, Ron and Hermione on the Map. They were in the Trophy Room now – but no sign of Malfoy. Instead, Filch was two corridors away, and Malfoy… Fred checked the Slytherin Common Room, and sure enough, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were there. Meaning –

“He set her up!” Fred cried, rolling out of bed. He pulled on a jumper, jammed his feet into his slippers and grabbed his wand. He was at the bottom of the Dorm Stairs when George caught up to him, similarly dressed.

“Where are you going?” George asked, following Fred across the Common Room.

“Malfoy set Harry up,” Fred explained, pushing open the portrait of the Fat Lady. “I don’t think he was ever going to duel her – Filch is going to catch them.”

“The Map!” George said, “Wait for me to get the Map!”

“There isn’t time,” Fred said. He climbed through the hole, and turned to face his brother. “Are you coming or not?”

“Of course I am,” George muttered, following Fred.

The castle at night was familiar to them. They flitted along corridors and staircases, sticking to the shadows: although they knew where Filch was, there was no guessing who else was up and about.

They were nearly at the Trophy Room when there was an almighty crash, and someone – who Fred recognised instantly to be Harry – shouted, “RUN!”

There was the sound of running footsteps, and Fred pulled George behind a tapestry as Filch sprinted past, a lamp in his hand and Mrs Norris at his feet. George made a face as the caretaker told his cat, “They can’t have gone far, my sweet.”

“Is it just me,” he whispered as Filch’s footsteps faded out of earshot, “or does that man have an unhealthy thing with that cat?”

“Not the time, Georgie,” Fred said, creeping forward to peer into the Trophy Room. “Harry!” he whispered loudly. “Ron! Hermione!”

No one answered.

“I don’t think they’re here,” George said, coming up behind him. “Hey – maybe if we’d brought the Map, we’d know where they went!”

“There wasn’t time!”

“There might have been if you’d thought before running off to be a hero – ”

“I’m not trying to – ”

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!” a voice bellowed from somewhere deep in the school.

“That’s them, isn’t it?”

*     *     *

Ducking under Peeves, Harry, Ron and Hermione ran down the corridor as fast as they could, away from the sound of Filch’s pounding footsteps. They came to a door and tried to shove it open, but it wouldn’t budge. There was an enormous silver lock dangling from the handle.

“We’re fucked,” Ron moaned, pushing helplessly at the door. “We’ve nowhere else to go.”

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snapped, pushing him aside. She pulled her wand out of her pocket, and tapped the lock. “Alohamora!”

The lock clicked, and Hermione shoved the door open, pulling Ron and Harry through and closing it quickly as Filch’s voice sounded at the other end of the corridor.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” he said. “Quick, tell me!”

“Say ‘please’.”

“Where did they go, Peeves?”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” Peeves sang.

“Please, Peeves, where did they go?” Filch grunted.

“NOTHING! Ha haa! Told you I won’t say nothing if you didn’t say ‘please’! And I said ‘nothing’! Ha haa!” Peeves laughed. Harry heard Peeves whoosh away as Filch cursed, and the sounds of Filch’s footsteps receding.

“He must think this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “We’ll wait for a minute, and then we’ll head back to the Commo- What is it, Hermione?” she went on, turning to give Hermione a look, as the other girl had been pulling on Harry’s arm and whimpering for the past minute.

Harry’s mouth fell open as she took in the sight before her. They weren’t in a classroom, as she had thought, but in another leg of the corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And she finally knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of an enormous black dog so huge its head seemed to brush the ceiling. No – not head. Heads. It had three heads – six eyes, three noses, three drooling mouths, with saliva hanging in slippery ropes from each of its yellowish fangs.

It was standing completely still, staring at them more in curiosity than anything else. Not that Harry thought it liked them – the only reason it hadn’t yet attacked was that they had surprised it. But it seemed to be getting over its initial shock, and Harry didn’t think its thundering growls meant it wanted to play.

She groped for the doorknob – Filch and detention trumped death any day – and pulled Hermione and Ron through the door after her, pulling it firmly shut behind her. They ran, almost flew, blindly back down the Charms corridor, desperate to put as much space between them and that thing as possible – and ran straight into someone. They shouted in pain, and Harry looked up at Filch. Except, it wasn’t Filch. It was –  

“Fred?” she said. “George? What are you two doing here?”

“We came to find you three,” Fred explained. “Malfoy set you up, so we – ”

“How do you know that?” Harry asked. She looked at Ron and Hermione, who looked as confused as she was.

“I – ”

“We guessed,” George cut in, shooting Fred a look Harry couldn’t decipher. “Malfoy’s too much of a wuss to face you outright, and it made sense he would try to get you in trouble after the stunt he pulled in Flying failed.”

“How did you know I was here too, though?” Hermione asked, looking between the twins suspiciously.

“You didn’t like it, but we didn’t think you’d let Ron and Harry go alone,” Fred said quickly.

Harry looked at Fred and George carefully for a moment, but nothing about their faces gave anything away. She was still confused – had it really been that obvious Malfoy had been bluffing? – but she was tired and it didn’t really matter in the end.

“Shall we head back to the Common Room then?” she asked.

“In a second,” Hermione said, jogging back down the corridor towards the locked door. Harry watched her as she pulled the lock out of her pocket, secured it around the door handle, and gave it a tap with her wand. She ran back to them, saying, “Now let’s go.”

“What’s behind that door?” George asked curiously.

“You really don’t want to know, George,” Ron said darkly. “Trust me.”

George shrugged, but Harry could tell he was still intrigued. That was a conversation for another day.

They made their way back to the Common Room, following Fred while George brought up the rear. They didn’t run into Filch, Mrs Norris or Peeves, thankfully – Fred and George seemed to know the rhythms of the castle and the way it moved, almost instinctively. Although the Fat Lady was scandalised by the fact they’d been roaming about late at night, she’d let them in without much fuss.

Fred and George bade them goodnight, and headed up the stairs. When Harry was sure they were out of earshot, she turned to Ron and Hermione.

“What the hell are they playing at, keeping that – thing – in a school? It’s not even locked up properly – Hermione got past that lock in a second!”

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” Hermione said. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Ron suggested, “I don’t know about you, but I was a bit preoccupied with its heads! In case, you didn’t notice, there were three of them!”

“Not the floor, Ronald. A trapdoor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something!”

“Don’t you ‘Ronald’ me!” Ron said angrily. “We wouldn’t have nearly died if you hadn’t pushed us through the door, which was locked, by the way!”

“You’re blaming this on me?!” Hermione shot back. “We wouldn’t have needed to hide if someone hadn’t knocked over that suit of armour in the Trophy Room!”

“You pushed me!”

“I did not – ”

“Stop blaming each other! We’re fine! Nothing bad happened!” Harry cut in. “If you don’t mind, Ron, I think I’m going to call it a night. Come on, Hermione,” she said, grabbing the other girl’s arm and dragging her up the stairs.

As they climbed the stairs and got ready for bed, Harry barely listened to Hermione ranting about Ron. Her comment about the trapdoor had gotten Harry thinking. The dog was guarding something – and what was it Hagrid had said? Gringotts is the safest place to hide something – except Hogwarts. Could that be what the dog was guarding? And what on earth was it that something that small needed such a huge bodyguard?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next morning, the look on Malfoy’s face as Harry and Ron strolled into the Great Hall – looking tired but otherwise perfectly happy – was absolutely priceless. But that seemed to be the only thing that went right with Harry’s day.

For one thing, Professor Snape seemed to have decided that he hated Harry after all, and deducted points from Gryffindor all lesson, for no reason at all: the state of Harry’s uniform (her tie was only askew); Seamus’ accidental explosion of his cauldron, which Snape managed to find a way to blame on Harry (“thought you’d make yourself look good if he got it wrong, did you?”); and even Ella Perez and Kristina Moon’s conversation about their Transfiguration essay was penalised because “this is my time; you may discuss only matters relating to Potions in this classroom”. The entire lesson, Snape’s eyes followed Harry unnervingly, from the moment she entered the classroom to the second she left. She bitterly regretted her decision that morning to wear a skirt.

It didn’t help, of course, that they received a pile of Potions homework to be done over the weekend, purely because Snape was in a bad mood.

Malfoy seemed to get over his shock from breakfast pretty quickly. He spent all day making snide and sleazy comments about how comfortable Harry looked the previous day with something long and hard between her legs, and how it was a pity she hadn’t been wearing her skirt when she was up in the air, and whether Neville was her boyfriend now.

Harry wanted nothing more than to march over and punch him in the face, though with Hermione at her arm, she never got the opportunity.

Saturday brought the Quidditch trials for the Gryffindor House team. Hermione had made some excuse about how she wanted to get a head-start on her Potions homework (even though Harry knew for a fact she’d been working on it the previous evening), so Harry went down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the trials with Ron instead.

There was a considerable crowd of students when they got down to the pitch, and even more in the stands. George had been right: Quidditch trials did seem to be a bit of a thing among the older girls. Most of them seemed to be from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, though there was a sizeable contingent from Hufflepuff, and even a handful of Slytherins dotted around the place.

Harry spotted the twins and Angelina down on the pitch. When they saw her and Ron in the stands, they waved excitedly. Ron’s ears turned pink.

“That’s Angelina?” he asked as they made their way through the stands to sit with Sue and Leila, who Harry had somehow only seen after Leila had almost managed to topple herself over the barrier because she was waving for Harry’s attention so enthusiastically.

“Yeah – haven’t you met her before?”

Ron shook his head.

“You alright?” Harry asked, turning to face him. “What’s wrong with Angelina?”

“Nothing!” Ron said quickly. “Nothing. She’s – ”

What Angelina was, Harry missed, because at that moment they reached the girls.

“Alright, Harry?” Sue said. “I didn’t know you liked Quidditch! To be honest I didn’t know what it was until three days ago, but Leila’s been filling me in and it sounds really cool! You know Leila, don’t you? Did you know her cousin plays for the Mont-”

A loud, piercing whistle sounded across the pitch, followed by Oliver Wood bellowing, “SHUT UP!”

The crowd fell quiet.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of fresh talent this year, and some returning, so I’ve got a good feeling about our chances with the House Cup this year. I should probably tell you now, though, that I’m only looking for Chasers and Beaters. The position of Seeker has – er – already been filled.”

There was a sudden grumbling from the crowd, and Oliver shouted for them to quiet down before continuing.

“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I know some of you have been looking forward to trying out, but this person’s really good. McGonagall was quite clear.”

At this, Sue gave Harry a curious look. Harry didn’t notice – she was too busy looking down at the pitch as there were more grumbles and a handful of older boys broke away from the crowd. A couple of students in the stands got up and walked off, too – presumably, they had come to watch their friends. Harry felt a pang of guilt. What if I’m not as good as McGonagall thinks I am? she thought. What if catching the Remembrall was a fluke, and I just got really lucky, and I’m going to let everyone down, and it’s all my fault?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ron, who had nudged her as Oliver set about dividing the hopefuls into teams.

He had them all fly a few laps around the pitch, which cut down the number of contenders significantly – “Why would they try out if they knew they couldn’t fly?” Ron muttered – before having the Chaser hopefuls shoot goals while Oliver himself blocked.

The twins had come to join them on the stands for this bit, explaining that they were going for Beater, and they had all cheered wildly – George most of all – whenever Angelina had scored.

Half an hour later, Oliver had decided that the Chasers would be Alicia Spinnet, a third-year; Katie Bell, who was in Fred and George’s year; and indeed, Angelina Johnson.

The girls had come up to the stands to watch the rest of the trials, while Oliver took a break before testing out the potential new Beaters. Angelina had come to sit with them.

“I knew you’d get it,” George told her as she sat down. “You’re the best Chaser in Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said. “You’re hardly impartial.”

“He’s right, though,” Ron said, uncharacteristically shy. “You’re really good.”

Angelina smiled.

“You must be Ron,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the boys.”

Ron’s cheeks suddenly glowed scarlet, and George thumped him. Angelina rolled her eyes.

“BEATERS!” Oliver shouted from the pitch. “You’re up!”

“Wish us luck, Harry,” Fred said, bounding down the steps. George made to join him, though quickly turned back to Angelina.

“Kiss for good luck?” he asked hopefully, tapping his cheek with his finger.

Angelina scoffed and pushed him.

“Fuck off,” she said. “You know you don’t need it.”

George grinned, and practically skipped down to join his brother.

“You like him, don’t you?” Harry asked Angelina, who was smiling to herself.

“Of course I do,” Angelina laughed. “Don’t tell him, though – it’ll go to his head.”

Ron’s face fell.

As Harry watched the Beater trials, she could see why Fred and George had nearly made the team the previous year: they were really good. They didn’t miss a single ball between them – Some kind of twin telepathy? Harry thought – and they wielded their bats as if they were extensions of their own arms.

“They’re a bit like human Bludgers, aren’t they?” Angelina said, turning to Harry.

“Bludgers?”

“Those balls they’re hitting,” Angelina explained. “Quidditch is made up of four balls: a Quaffle – that’s the one I was scoring with earlier, remember? – and two Bludgers – those ones there, see?” – Harry nodded – “They kind of roam about the pitch at their own will, trying to knock players off their brooms. The Beaters have to knock them out of the way and at the players on the other team. And the last ball is the Snitch. It’s a tiny little golden ball that the Seeker has to find, and whichever team gets it usually wins.”

She went quiet for a moment, and Harry was a little glad – how much did she not know? Some of it seemed familiar to her from what Fred, George and Ron had told her on the train, but probably not enough of it that Oliver should feel confident dismissing other potential Seekers.

“I wonder who our new Seeker is,” Angelina said finally.

Before Harry could say anything, a whistle sounded, signalling the end of the trials. Fred and George had made Beater, outplaying all the other hopefuls by miles.

The crowd in the stands began to disperse. Harry, Ron and Angelina got up to join the flow of students heading back to the castle, but Oliver called them down onto the pitch, along with Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell. Sue and Leila waved them goodbye, and ran to join a group of Ravenclaws.

They gathered themselves around Oliver – Ron included (“Another Weasley, eh? Might have enough for a whole team in a couple of years.”) – and at last he said, “I’d like to introduce you all to our new Seeker, Harriet Potter.”

They stared at her.

“Wood,” one of the girls – Alicia Spinnet – said. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said. “McGonagall made the call herself.”

“You can’t be serious,” Katie Bell said. Angelina hadn’t spoken – she was looking at Harry curiously.

Harry was starting to feel self-conscious.

“Harry’s really good!” Ron spoke up suddenly, glaring at Alicia and Katie.

“McGonagall did say she caught a – Remembrall, was it?” – Harry nodded – “after a fifty-foot dive. Not a scratch on her,” Oliver said.

Katie whistled.

“That’s impressive,” Alicia admitted.

“It was Harry’s first time on a broom, too!” Fred boasted. “Imagine what she could do after more practice!”

Harry smiled at him, and his ears turned pink. Weird, she thought.

“When are we going to see you in action, then?” Angelina asked suddenly. “I want to see this.”

“Me too,” Katie agreed.

“We have practice scheduled next Friday,” Oliver said. “McGonagall made me delay it because Harry has an essay due for Transfiguration. You lot can come along, and we’ll see what she can do.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Thankfully, Friday rolled around quickly. Harry had spent all week eagerly awaiting her first Quidditch training session, and her excitement was only compounded by the arrival of a very special package that morning.

As the owls had flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention had been caught by the six screech owls carrying a long tube-shaped package. Harry had been as curious as everyone else – until they had dropped it in front of her, knocking her crumpet to the floor. Hedwig had been along a moment later, dropping a note on top of the parcel. Harry had torn it open, and read it to Ron:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand. Please keep this to yourself. If the other first year students find out you have a broomstick of your own, they will all want one.
Wood has asked me to remind you that your first training session will take place at six o’clock this evening.
Good luck,
Professor McGonagall.

They’d hidden the parcel away under Harry’s bed, arriving late to Potions. Snape had been mad and had deducted points from Gryffindor, but Harry had been too preoccupied to care. All day, her thoughts drifted upstairs to her brand new broomstick, and by that afternoon she was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

After dinner, Harry bade goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and made her way down to the Quidditch pitch, Nimbus Two Thousand in hand. She was the first one there, and too eager to wait, she mounted her broom and kicked off from the ground.

It was incredible – if flying had been easy on the school broom, it was nothing on this. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned at the lightest touch, as if an extension of her own body.

Harry sped up and down the field a couple of times, attempting a loop-the-loop, and swooped in and out of the goal posts. She was just seeing how sharply she could turn, when a voice called her name from down on the ground.

“Hey, Harry! Come down!”

Oliver and the others had arrived, he and Angelina carrying a large wooden crate between them. Harry flew down to them, and landed beside the twins. Fred was looking at her admiringly, and Harry turned away to hide her face as she felt her cheeks get warm.

“Very impressive,” Oliver said, his eyes glinting. “I can see what McGonagall meant – you really are a natural.”

“I’ll say,” Katie agreed.

“Was that really only your second time on a broom?” Angelina asked.

Harry nodded.

“Very nice.”

Since Harry had already proven herself capable on a broomstick, they set about explaining the rules of Quidditch to her first. She picked it up quickly – between Angelina’s explanation at trials and Leila’s nonstop chatter all week she had a pretty good understanding of the basics in no time - so they moved on to practice. Angelina had the idea to have Harry try out the other positions to give her an idea of the game, pointing out that Harry had never even seen a game before, and Oliver agreed. They had her shoot some goals against him – she got three in of the five she attempted – and then try to defend some shots from Angelina, Alicia and Katie. She did less well at this, but Oliver told her not to worry.

“Not everyone’s cut out to be a Keeper,” he reassured her. “It’s about taking up space and blocking, and as Seeker you need to be light and fast and slip between the other players.”

Harry wasn’t a bad Beater, as it turned out. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and she’d sent the Bludger flying halfway across the pitch and nearly knocked Katie off her broom.

After half an hour or so of this, they’d decided to actually give her some Seeker practice, in the form of lobbing golf balls in every direction and having her catch them. Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Oliver was delighted. An hour later, night had truly fallen and they were forced to stop. They packed up, and trudged back to the castle, with Oliver, Alicia and Angelina telling stories about past matches and injuries on their way.

“The Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year for sure,” Oliver declared as they were gathered around the roaring Common Room fire later that evening, holding up his mug of hot chocolate as if it was a flagon of ale. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turned out better than Charlie Weasley, Harry, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Between Quidditch practice three times a week and all her homework, Harry was so busy that she could hardly believe it when she realised that nearly six weeks had passed. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had – Harry knew its routines and rhythms like the back of her hand – and now that they had covered the basics, her lessons had become infinitely more interesting, with her teachers finally allowing them to do ‘real’ magic. In Transfiguration, Harry had finally succeeded in turning a match into a needle, and she was finally finding some enjoyment in Potions, despite Professor Snape’s lingering eyes and changeable temper.

The only snag was that Ron and Hermione refused to spend any time together, even for Harry’s sake. They both seemed to have regressed to their initial distaste for one another, and following the not-Midnight Duel and Three-Headed-Dog Incident (as Harry called it), they both seemed to blame one another for what happened that night. Whether they were referring to potential expulsion or death, Harry wasn’t sure, but whenever she tried to broach the subject with either of them, Ron called Hermione an “infuriating know-it-all” and Hermione called Ron an “insufferable numbskull”.

Harry felt like the child of divorced parents with split custody, spending mornings, lunches, breaks and weekends with Ron, and most lessons and her spare evenings with Hermione. It was exhausting.

It got worse when Professor Flitwick decided to institute a seating plan in Charms, for some as-yet unknown reason seating Ron and Hermione next to each other and having them pair up. They spent most lessons sniping at each other, and most of their time outside of lessons sniping about each other. Harry was at her wit’s end, and Professor Flitwick refused to rearrange the seats. Whenever Ron or Hermione (or Harry, for that matter) asked him, with a twinkle in his eye and a small smile he’d explain that "to reassign seats at this stage in the year would ruin his lesson plans", and that he was "very sorry, but that Miss Granger and Mr Weasley would just have to learn to get along, and perhaps they’d even become friends".

“That’s likely,” Ron would snort, while Hermione would grumble, “As if.”

On Halloween, Professor Flitwick announced that he thought they were ready to try their hand at levitating charms – which they had all been dying to try since the teacher had made Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom. They were told to practice on a feather in pairs… meaning Ron and Hermione were back together.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron shouted at the feather, waving his long arms in the air like a mad man. Harry laughed, and then promptly ducked to avoid getting hit in the head. Neville wasn’t so lucky – but then again, he never was.

“If you carry on like that you’re going to put someone’s eye out,” Hermione snapped, grabbing Ron’s arm before he could hit her too. “It’s ‘swish and flick’, not ‘stab, stab, stab’. Besides, you’re saying it wrong – it’s ‘levi-o-sa’, not ‘levio-sar’!”

“You try it then if you’re so clever,” Ron grumbled, shrugging Hermione off and leaning back in his seat. He crossed his arms and gave Harry a look, which she pointedly ignored.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown and cleared her throat. As she “swished and flicked” her wand, she pronounced, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Well done!” Professor Flitwick squeaked. “See here, everyone! Miss Granger’s done it!”

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

“She’s a nightmare, honestly,” he said to Harry as they made their way to lunch. “It’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends.”

Before Harry had the chance to respond, someone knocked into her as they hurried past. She caught a glimpse of their face – it was Hermione, and there were tears in her eyes.

Harry hit Ron in the arm.

“Now look what you’ve done,” she said, and took off after Hermione.

Harry caught up to her at the end of the corridor. Harry had been right – she was crying – though she had wiped her face clear.

“I’m really sorry about Ron, Hermione,” she said. “I’ll have a word with him. Do you want to come sit with us at lunch?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, pushing her hair back from her face.

“You’re not.”

“Really, Harry. I’m fine. I’ve got to go to the library, anyway. Madam Pince is holding a book for me. I’ll see you later,” she said, sniffing, and ran off, leaving Harry standing alone. She jogged back down the corridor to Ron.

“I hope you’re happy,” she told him as they walked down to the hall for lunch. “And, for your information, she’s my friend, but I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like because you two can’t seem to get along.”

Ron began to apologise, but Harry cut him off.

“Don’t apologise to me,” she snapped. “Apologise to her. Before Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

But Hermione didn’t turn up to Defence Against the Dark Arts, or to Flying. In fact, she wasn’t seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall, though, Sue and Leila told Harry that they’d heard Hermione crying in the third-floor girls’ toilets, and asked her if they knew anything about it. Harry had said she wasn’t sure, and given Ron a pointed look. He looked embarrassed, but he didn’t say anything – but then Hermione was driven out of Harry’s mind as she entered the Great Hall.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins flicker. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the Start-of-Term feast.

Harry was just helping herself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “T-t-troll – in the d-dungeons – thought you ought to know,” and sank to the floor.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Percy was in his element.

“Follow me, first years! No need to fear the troll if you – excuse me, I’m a prefect!” he announced as he led them out of the Great Hall and up the stairs. They were nearly at the seventh floor when Harry felt a pull on her arm. Ron had stopped dead in his tracks.

“Hermione!” he cried. “She doesn’t know about the troll!”

“Shit. Should we tell Percy?”

“No time – come on,” he said, pulling Harry away from the Gryffindors and through a crowd of Ravenclaws. They weaved their way through groups of older students hurrying in every direction, ducking under arms and pressing themselves against walls where the crowd was too dense. They passed the Charms corridor, where Harry caught a glimpse of a figure in black - who she quickly recognised as Snape - hurrying in the direction of the locked door.

“Ron,” she said, pulling him aside, a horrible idea forming in her head. “How do you think a troll could have gotten in?”

“Dunno – Peeves probably let him in as a joke.”

“I’ve just seen Snape heading for the three-headed dog.”

Ron looked at her.

“What are yo- do you smell that?” he asked suddenly, looking around quickly.

Harry sniffed, and a foul stench filled her nostrils – some horrible combination of mould, old socks, and a dirty loo. She gagged, and then they heard it: a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pulled Harry behind a tapestry, and pointed towards the end of the corridor.

It was twelve foot tall, if not more. Its skin was a dull, granite grey, with patches of mottled green. Long legs as thick as tree trunks supported a squat middle. It’s head was bald and small, perched on its shoulders like a coconut. It dragged an enormous club that was about the size of Harry, and wore a bizarre-looking little waistcoat.

Harry and Ron held their breath as the troll passed them. It hesitated near the end of the corridor, making up its tiny mind, and then turned left, and entered the bathroom.

“Is there any way,” Ron whispered, “that Hermione is in a different girls’ bathroom on the third floor?”

There was a scream.

“Unlikely,” Harry said. She pulled out her wand, and they ran down the corridor and into the toilets.

Hermione was crouched under the sink at the far end of the room, her eyes wide with terror as the troll appeared to look for where the scream had come from. It was beating down the wooden cubicles with its enormous club, hitting the odd sink as it swung, and getting closer to Hermione.

“It doesn’t know where she is,” Harry said quickly, grabbing a tap from the floor and lobbing it at the wall. It hit another pipe with a clang, and the troll turned its head in that direction. “Confuse it!”

“OI, PEA-BRAIN!” Ron yelled, suddenly on the other side of the room. He threw a metal pipe, and it hit the troll in the face. It didn’t seem to feel it – didn’t even flinch – but it turned in Ron’s direction, giving Harry a route to Hermione.

“Come on,” she grunted, attempting to pull Hermione out from under the sink. But the other girl was frozen with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll mad. It roared, and started towards Ron, who was nearest to it and had no way to escape.

Harry didn’t think – she ran straight at the troll and jumped on its back, managing to fasten her arms around its neck. It didn’t seem to notice her at first, but Harry’s wand – which had still been in her hand – had gone up its nose when she’d jumped on, and the troll howled in pain. Harry almost felt sorry for it, but was quickly distracted by her attempts to stay on its back: it seemed to have noticed that there was someone on its back, and it was twisting and thrashing about with its club trying to get a hold of her. Ron was still throwing broken bits of ceramic, wood, and pipes at it, but to little effect. Harry clung on for dear life, but at last the troll managed to grab her ankle, and yanked her over its head. It dangled her upside down, and tried to whack her with the club. Harry pulled herself up, narrowly missing a blow to the head, and held on to its fist.

“Ron!” she screamed. “A little help here!”

Hermione was still flattened against the wall.

Ron pulled out his wand, and for some reason, cried, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand. It rose high in the air, turned slowly, and came plummeting down on its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot, and then fell flat on its face with a reverberating thud.

Harry extracted herself from the troll’s grip and got shakily to her feet.

“Is it – dead?” Hermione asked after a moment, crawling out from under the sink.

“I don’t think so,” Ron said, bending down to extract Harry’s wand from its nose. “It’s just been knocked out.”

He handed Harry the wand, still covered in what looked like lumpy grey goo.

“Thanks,” Harry said, wiping it on the troll’s waistcoat.

Loud footsteps running down the corridor made the three of them look up. A moment later, Professor McGonagall, Professor Quirrell, and Professor Snape burst into the bathroom, the latter limping a bit. They stared at the scene before them, aghast.

“Is anyone hurt?” McGonagall asked, looking between Ron, Harry and Hermione. They shook their heads.  

“What on earth happened here?” Snape said, bending over the troll. Harry noticed that his trousers were ripped and his leg was covered in blood – though on noticing she was looking, Snape moved his robes to cover it.

“I should think it’s perfectly clear, Severus,” McGonagall said, regaining some composure and looking between the troll and Harry’s wand, still in her hand. “Though perhaps the more appropriate question would be why.”

“It was my fault, Professor,” Hermione said suddenly. Harry and Ron stared at her. “I – I went looking for the troll. I’d read about them, you see, and I thought I could deal with it on my own. Harry and Ron came looking for me,” she went on, giving Harry a look that clearly meant, go with it. “It – had me in the corner and was about to kill me when they came in. Harry managed to climb on its back, and Ron knocked it out with its own club. If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead.”

Ron opened his mouth, possibly to argue, but Harry pinched him. His cry of pain became a cough as McGonagall and Snape looked at him sharply.

“That was extremely foolish of you, Miss Granger. I am very disappointed in you,” McGonagall said. “It is a miracle that you lasted as long as you did. Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for your behaviour. Please make your way back to your Common Room immediately – students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”

She moved aside, and gestured for Hermione to pass.

“As for you two,” McGonagall went on, rounding on Ron and Harry, “I’d say you were incredibly lucky, but then I wouldn’t have said that first years would have been able to handle a fully-grown mountain troll until just now. You will each receive ten House points for this, and Professor Dumbledore will be informed. Off you go now,” she said, nodding in the direction of the door.

Harry and Ron didn’t speak at all until they got back to the Common Room. As they pulled open the painting of the Fat Lady, they found Hermione standing just inside, apparently waiting for them.

“Thank you for coming to save me,” Hermione said. “You didn’t have to.”

“By rights I probably did,” Ron said sheepishly. “Considering I was the one who put you there. Sorry about earlier, by the way.”

Hermione nodded, and held out her hand.

“Call it even?”

Ron shook it.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry sighed. “Can we all start hanging out together now? I’m sick of running between you two and Quidditch like a headless chicken.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Harry couldn’t help but feel as if it was the first of many.

“Come on, then,” Hermione said, dragging Harry and Ron into the main Common Room. “I’m starving.” 

Chapter Text

The wind blew a little bit colder as they entered November. The mountains surrounding the school became perpetually shrouded in fog, and the Black Lake began to freeze around its shores. Every morning, the castle awoke to a dense mist covering the grounds, and frost glistening on the grass and windows.

Quidditch season had begun.

The second weekend of November brought the first House match, and with it, Harry’s first ever game of Quidditch after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship, which brought them one step closer to winning the Quidditch Cup.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play, because Oliver had decided that, as the team’s secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that she was Gryffindor’s new Seeker “somehow” had made it out – between (a) the way Oliver had announced that someone had already taken the role of Seeker at the Gryffindor trials, (b) the not particularly discreet way her broomstick had arrived, and (c) the fact Madam Hooch had sped Harry through Flying basics and onto more complex parts of the curriculum in front of the other first years, Harry wondered at how it had ever been considered a secret in the first place.

Leila Ahmad had been absolutely ecstatic about Harry joining the team, and was a constant source of useful information and advice whenever Harry doubted her abilities or had a particularly rough training session. Her family was apparently completely obsessed with Quidditch – Leila had been to more games than she could count, and one of her cousins played for the Montrose Magpies – and she knew everything there was to know about the game (and arguably more than Ron, though it was a close call). This came in particularly handy as the information that Harry was Gryffindor Seeker trickled out into the rest of the school: older students – usually boys – would stop Harry in the corridor or catch her at lunch or dinner and give her their unsolicited advice, query her flying technique and Seeking strategy, or needle her about Quidditch trivia they deemed vital knowledge. Harry had gotten quite good at managing them, between playing dumb (which got funnier the madder they got), telling them to shove off, or letting Ron, Hermione, Sue and Leila, or the twins at them. Leila usually got the angriest – “and what makes you so qualified? Last I checked Harry’s the one on the team, not you!” – though Fred and George were a force to be reckoned with, as they’d usually just jinx the boys for their audacity.

“You alright, Harry?” Fred asked.

Harry looked up to find Fred and George standing over her, looking concerned.

She and Ron had been working on their Charms homework while Hermione read over their History of Magic essays, but between boredom and an increasing anxiety about the following day’s Quidditch match – she’d read in Quidditch Through the Ages earlier that day that the most serious accidents happened to Seekers, and that they were largely responsible for winning matches (before someone [i.e. Snape] had decided to confiscate the book for literally no reason) – she’d lost interest, and had resorted to staring at the fire and trying not to think about the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m okay,” she said, sitting up and stretching. “Just – ”

“Thinking about tomorrow?”

Harry nodded.

“It’s our first match, too,” George said, sitting down beside her. Fred perched himself on the desk. “If it makes you feel any better, we’re nervous as well.”

“But you two have played before – you know what you’re doing. I’ve only ever played in practice. I’ve got literally no idea what I’m doing,” she pointed out, and then groaned and put her head in her hands. “I’m going to fuck it up and we’ll lose horribly, won’t I?”

“You won’t!” Fred exclaimed, causing Ron and Hermione to look over from where they were discussing Ron’s History of Magic essay. “You’re really good! Tell her she’s good, Ron!”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, rolling up the essay and tidying away her books.

“Harry thinks she’s going to mess up in the match tomorrow,” George explained.

“You’re really good at Quidditch, Harry – at least from what I’ve heard,” she offered.

Harry gave a small smile, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Ron looked at her for a long moment and then said, “Do you want us to talk you up or distract you?”

“Distract me, please.”

“We can go get some food from the kitchens!” Fred exclaimed suddenly. “We’ll get some hot chocolate and cookies and muffins and stuff – and we can have a picnic!” He looked at Harry hopefully.

“That sounds great,” Harry said. Fred grinned. “I’ll come with you – I’m going to try and get Quidditch Through the Ages back from Snape.”

Ron made a face.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, getting up. “He’ll be in the staffroom by now, anyway. He can’t say no if there are other teachers about.”

“If you’re sure.”

Fred, George and Harry left the Common Room and made their way down the stairs. Harry split off when they got to the staffroom – “You don’t need to come with me, I’ll be fine,” she assured Fred, at which he told her to meet them in the entrance hall when she was done – and knocked on the door.

There was no answer. She knocked again, and there was no response, so she pressed her ear up against the door and listened for a moment. There didn’t seem to be anyone in – perhaps he’d left the book there? There wasn’t any harm in looking. She knocked one last time, just to check no one was in, and pushed the door slightly and peered inside.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. The former was holding his robes above his knees, the leg that had been bloody and mangled the last time Harry saw it was now pink and swollen – clearly infected. Filch was on his knees beside Snape, helping him clean and bandage it.

“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry tried to ease the door closed quietly, but –

“POTTER!” Snape roared suddenly, his face twisted with rage as he dropped his robes.

“I – I – I just wondered if I could get my b-book back,” she tried to explain, but Snape yelled, “GET OUT! OUT!” as he marched over and slammed the door in her face.

Harry stood still for a moment, appalled at the state of Snape’s leg. Her mind raced as she made her way down to the entrance hall to wait for the twins as Fred had told her to.

She had seen Snape’s bloody leg at Halloween, and even seen him in the third floor corridor that night, but between the troll and Ron and Hermione finally becoming friends and increased Quidditch practice during Reading Week, it had slipped her mind.

What was it that she had thought on Halloween – that it seemed very suspicious that Snape wasn’t down in the dungeons with the other teachers when there was a literal troll loose in the school? It dawned on her suddenly: There’s nowhere safer than Hogwarts, Hagrid had said. Vault seven hundred and thirteen had in fact been emptied that same day. The teachers and I are busy with something very important, Hagrid had written. The three-headed-dog standing on the trapdoor. The troll in the dungeon – and Snape in the corridor. He had tried to get past, and failed.

It seemed as if Harry had figured out where the small package was, and that whatever it was, Snape was trying to get his hands on it.

“There you are, Harry!” Fred’s voice called from down the hall.

Harry turned around to see the twins walking towards her, their arms laden with food.

“Did you get your book back?” Fred asked. Harry shook her head.

“Snape wasn’t there,” she explained, taking a plate of cookies from Fred and some apples from George. “I’ll try again Monday.” Harry felt a bit bad about lying to them, but they didn’t really need to know about the three-headed-dog or Snape or any of it; it seemed like a Harry-Ron-Hermione thing.

They climbed the stairs – slowly, after Fred missed a step and nearly spilled the mugs of hot chocolate everywhere – and made their way back to the Common Room. Ron and Hermione were already outside the twins’ room, and Ron took the tray from Fred for long enough that he could let them in.

“How did you two manage a room all to yourselves?” Hermione asked, settling herself on the trunk at the edge of George’s bed.

“There were too many boys in our year,” George explained. “There are eleven of us – so too many for two rooms of five, and rather than someone being by themselves we decided to go together.”

“We’re used to it,” Fred said through a mouthful of muffin. “Means we also get some privacy.”

“What do you need privacy for?” Harry asked.

George wiggled his eyebrows.

“That’s for us to know and you lot to find out.”

“That’s ominous.”

Fred, George and Ron spent the rest of the evening regaling Harry and Ron with tales of Charlie’s old Quidditch matches and his many, many injuries.

It wasn’t until Harry crawled into bed nearly three hours later that Harry remembered about Snape and the trapdoor, or how nervous she had been about the match, but between all the food she had eaten and the late hour, she fell asleep quickly.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next morning dawned bright and cold. It was one of Harry’s favourite kinds of days – crisp and clear – but the anxiety was back, worse than the previous night.

“You’ve got to eat something,” Hermione said, attempting to feed Harry a slice of toast.

“I’m not hungry.”

The Great Hall was full of the smell of a fry-up, and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to an action-packed match.

Harry felt sick.

“Just a small bowl of porridge, Harry,” Ron tried. “You need your strength.”

“I can’t eat, I’ll throw it up.”

“You’ll be nauseous in the match if you don’t eat something now,” Fred said, dropping down in the seat opposite her. George joined a moment later with Angelina.

“I’m nauseous now.”

He gave her a pointed look, and she sighed. They were right.

“Go on then,” she conceded. “I’ll have an apple and a slice of toast. Happy?”

Fred grinned, and Harry looked at Seamus piling ketchup on his sausages to keep from meeting his eyes.

*     *     *

At half past ten, the school made their way down to the Quidditch pitch, the playing teams among them after briefly returning to their respective Houses to pick up their robes and brooms. Harry noted that most of Ravenclaw appeared to be backing Gryffindor – including the pretty girl from the train – while the Hufflepuffs were intermingled with the Slytherin spectators.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Sue, Leila, Dean and Seamus split off from the team when they reached the changing rooms, unveiling a banner that Dean had made for Harry as a surprise from one of the bedsheets Scabbers had ruined in their room. It read “Potter for President” under an enormous lion, and Hermione had done a charm to make the whole thing flash between red and gold.

In the changing rooms, the team changed into their robes, and Angelina set about plaiting Harry’s hair – “It’s absolutely hopeless, just leave it.” “Nonsense, just give me a minute!” – as Oliver cleared his throat.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen – ”

“This is it, the big one,” said Fred.

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

“How did you – ”

“We heard you practicing earlier,” Fred explained.

“Very motivational,” George said. “Do go on.”

Oliver huffed and crossed his arms.

“Well you’ve spoiled it now.”

“I’ll do it, then,” Fred said, standing up to face the others. In a terrible imitation of Oliver’s Glaswegian accent, he began, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is it. The big one. The one we’ve all been waiting for. We have a ruddy good team this year, and I know we can win the Cup this year. Good luck, everyone, and may the odds be in our favour.”

George led a round of applause as Fred bowed dramatically. Oliver rolled his eyes.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yeah, you do, Ollie,” Angelina said, tying off Harry’s hair with a hairband borrowed from Katie.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You heard him: good luck,” and then, mostly to himself, “Gods, I hope we win.”

It was five to eleven. They marched out of the tent and into a tunnel under the stands that directly onto the pitch, and waited for their cue.

“Nervous, Harry?” Oliver asked.

“A little,” Harry admitted. The gnawing feeling was back.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I felt the same way before my first game… At least I think I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t really remember: I took a Bludger to the face in the first minute and woke up in the hospital wing two days later. We did win, though.”

Harry looked at him in horror – what on earth was he thinking, telling her that? – but at that moment the announcer’s voice crackled over the speaker system.

“Hello, hello, and welcome to the first game of the ’91-’92 Hogwarts Inter-House Cup! Today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and what a game it’ll be! First, though, please welcome this year’s Gryffindor team!” Lee Jordan – a friend of the twins – declared.

Oliver shouted, “We’re up!” and mounted his broom, kicking off from the ground. Harry and the others followed suit a moment later, and followed him onto the pitch for their lap.

“Quite a few changes to Gryffindor’s team this year,” Lee said. “Oliver Wood is continuing as Keeper, though he’s been promoted to Captain this year – well done, Wood! Angelina Johnson remains as Chaser, though she’s been joined this year by Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Now the Beaters: Fred and George Weasley – some of you will remember their brother Charlie as the Gryffindor Captain and Seeker a few years back – And Gryffindor’s new Seeker is Harriet Potter. Unless I’m mistaken I think she’s the youngest player ever at Hogwarts! This is Potter’s first ever game, but from what I understand she’s one to keep an eye on.”

Next came the Slytherin team: Marcus Flint was Captain and Chaser, followed by Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague; Miles Bletchley was Keeper; Rufus Sommertime and Thomas Rath were Beaters, and Terrence Higgs was their Seeker.

As they settled into their positions and Madam Hooch stepped onto the pitch – she was refereeing – Harry spotted Dean’s banner flashing out of the corner of her eye, and grinned. They could do this. She could do this.

“Now,” Madam Hooch called, now up in the air on her own broomstick and holding the Quaffle in her hand. “I want a nice, clean game from all of you.” She cast an eye in Flint’s direction.

She threw the Quaffle up in the air, and waved her wand at the open crate on the ground, releasing the Bludgers and the Snitch.

“And we’re off!” shouted Lee. “The Quaffle is immediately taken by Chaser Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall’s voice shouted suddenly over the speakers. Harry over and saw that Lee was commentating from the Teacher’s Box, and that McGonagall was sat next to him, looking disapproving.

“Sorry, Professor.”

“A-And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Chaser Spinnet, a good find of Wood’s, last year only a reserve, you know – back to Johnson and – No, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sco- No, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Captain Wood. The Gryffindors take the Quaffle – that’s Chaser 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 goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by a Gryffindor Beater, anyway – And Johnson is back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – they miss – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

Harry stayed far above the game, dodging the occasional Bludger or Beater that came in her direction, and waiting for some sign of the Snitch. That was Oliver’s plan for her.

“Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” he’d said. “We don’t want you attacked before you have to be.”

Although Harry kept an eye out for the Snitch, she couldn’t help but enjoy the game from her incredible vantage point – she’d never seen a real game of Quidditch before, and she was enjoying it immensely. She could tell why Ron, the twins and Leila loved it so much, and how amazing the professional games must be.

At one point she thought she saw it – but no, it was just Angelina’s wristwatch. A Bludger had come out of nowhere at another point, but Fred came chasing after it, and beat it furiously towards Pucey.

“Alright there, Harry?” he’d called, grinning. Harry hadn’t had time to respond – he’d dashed off a moment later to block Angelina from the other Bludger pelted her way by one of the Slytherin Beaters.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – hang on a second – was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. She dived downward after the streak of gold, followed closely by the Slytherin Seeker. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs – she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – she leant into the broom and it gave an extra burst of speed, and –

THWACK!

Something big blocked Harry’s path, and she spun off course. She held onto her broom tightly, and after a moment got it under control. Looking over, she saw Flint attempting to look as if he hadn’t just committed a Foul. She scowled at him.

“Flint blocks Potter!” Lee roared, while the Gryffindors in the crowd screamed.

Madam Hooch darted over to Flint and Harry could hear her scolding him. Gryffindor were granted a free shot at the Slytherin goalposts, which Alicia obviously got, but the Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Harry was hovering near the Gryffindor spectators, and heard Dean’s angry voice rising above the others.

“Red card, Ref!” he yelled. It was the angriest Harry had ever heard him. “Send him off!”

“They don’t have red cards in Quidditch, Dean!” Sue argued.

“Well, maybe they should!”

Harry grinned, and flew back up to her position above the game, keeping her eye out for another chance at the Snitch.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

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

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“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. Penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

Another Bludger came spinning by, followed by one of the Slytherin beaters, when Harry’s broom lurched forward suddenly. For a second, she thought she was going to fall – did Flint do something to it? – but she held on tight with her hands and thighs and it seemed to stop. She relaxed for a moment – but then it happened again, more aggressively this time. The broom lurched backwards, and forwards, like it was being shaken. It was as if the broom was trying to buck her off.

Harry made to turn her broom in the direction of the Gryffindor goalposts – she had half a mind to ask Oliver to call a timeout – but the broom wasn’t responding. She couldn’t turn it. She couldn’t direct it at all. It was growing more violent now, zigzagging through the air, turning over so she would have fallen off if she hadn’t a good grip.

She tried to call out, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Lee was still commentating.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passing Spinnet – passing Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, good one, Weasley. Hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score…”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

*     *     *

Hermione looked up from the rest of the match, scanning around for Harry. At last, she found her, but behaving bizarrely. Her broom was drifting higher and higher, jerking all over the place, as if it was – no, it couldn’t be.

“Hagrid,” she said. “Is it just me or is there something going on with Harry?”

“What are you – Hang on a minute,” he said, finding Harry with his binoculars. “Dunno what she thinks she’s doin’. If I didn’ know better, I’d say she’s lost control of her broom – but she can’t have…” He trailed off, watching Harry with some mix of confusion and terror.

All around her, Hermione noticed that people were starting to notice Harry far above the game, and were pointing and whispering about her. Harry’s broomstick appeared to give a particularly strong lurch, and she was thrown over the front, just about hanging on.

Hermione screamed.

That seemed to get everyone’s attention – the entire school was now watching Harry. They gasped collectively as the broom lurched again and Harry was left dangling from it with one hand.

“What the fuck is happening up there?” Ron said, squinting up at Harry. Hermione saw Fred and George dart upwards towards Harry. One of them – Fred, probably, Hermione thought – flew higher than his brother and tried to pull Harry onto his broom, but it lurched higher, beyond his grasp.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked her?” Sue asked anxiously.

“Can’t have,” said Seamus.

“Brooms get knocked all the time and nothing happens,” Leila explained, “and Harry’s is brand new.”

“Nothing could have that effect except Dark magic, and none of us are near powerful enough for that,” Ron said.

A horrible thought dawned on Hermione suddenly, and she snatched the binoculars from Ron and started scanning the crowd. After a moment, she found what she was looking for.

“What are you – ”

“Snape. It’s Snape,” she said quickly, handing his binoculars back. Above them, the twins made another bid for Harry and the broom leapt higher. “Look.”

He peered through the binoculars, and must have seen what she did, because he looked back at Hermione ashen-faced.

“He’s not – ”

“ – not blinking, I know.”

“He’s hexing her broom.”

In unspoken agreement, they grabbed each other and fought their way through the crowd in the direction of the stairs. They practically flew down them, sprinting around the outside of the stadium. Hermione caught sight of the twins circling beneath Harry, hoping to catch her if she fell, and of Flint scoring a goal through an unattended goal post – Oliver and Angelina had flown up to Harry, Fred and George and were trying to offer support.

They reached the tower at the other end of the stadium at last, taking the stairs two at a time. Ron made to run into the stands, but Hermione stopped him and told him to keep an eye on Snape.

“What are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet.”

She crept under the stands, pulling out her wand, and found Snape. She muttered the first spell that came to mind – “Incendio!” – and flames shot out of her wand and lit up Snape’s robes.

Hermione rejoined Ron – and screamed again as Harry’s broom rolled over again and Harry was left clinging on with the tips of her fingers. Hermione was dimly aware of Ron clutching her hand, and then there were shouts from the stands. Snape seemed to have noticed that he was on fire, and in the commotion, knocked over half the teachers on his row, including poor Professor Quirrell. Hermione would have ordinarily moved to help him, but she was too preoccupied with Harry. The broom seemed to steady itself, and she watched Harry grab it with both hands, and after a moment, swing herself up onto it.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

*     *     *

“I’m fine!” Harry shouted. “Get back to the goals!”

Oliver and Angelina sped off, and Harry took a second to compose herself, her heart hammering. That had been absolutely fucking terrifying, but whatever it was seemed to have fixed itself, and the broom was once again under her control.

“I’m fine, Fred!” she yelled, ducking out of the way as a Bludger hurtled past. “Get back to the match!”

Fred and George exchanged a look and then flew off in the direction it had gone, while she glanced in the direction it had come – but a flash of gold caught her eye. It was the Snitch.

Harry blinked – and there it was again, hovering next to the Higgs’ ear on the other side of the pitch. She dove in his direction and he ducked out of the way – and then seemed to realise what she was doing, and followed after her.

They chased the Snitch around the pitch, around the back of the Gryffindor goal posts and up one of the towers, and then the Snitch turned sharply in midair and flew quickly towards the ground. They followed it, gathering speed as they plummeted downwards – eighty feet – sixty – forty – the ground was getting closer, and Higgs looked over at Harry nervously – she ignored him – she could make this – they were twenty feet from the ground when Harry felt Higgs pull up sharply – she pulled up a moment later, following the Snitch as it flew level with the ground – she was nearly there – so close – just out of her grasp – an insane idea struck her – Harry hopped up on her broom, standing up so she could reach out – she was so close – she could feel the Snitch’s wings tickle the tips of her fingers – Harry edged forward – and realised she was in fact standing on a broomstick and not solid ground at the exact moment she lost her balance and hurtled over the front of her broom, rolling to a stop on the grass. She got to her feet shakily, and then doubled over, clutching her stomach. There was something in her mouth – she was choking.

Fred was beside her in a heartbeat, his hand on her back.

“Harry, what’s the – ”

There was something in her mouth – she was going to be sick – she was –

Harry coughed, and to her amazement, the Snitch fell out of her mouth and into her palm. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked up at Fred. He looked as shocked as she was.

“I CAUGHT IT!” she screamed suddenly, holding the Snitch up for Madam Hooch and everyone else to see. “I CAUGHT THE SNITCH!”

*     *     *

“She didn’t catch the Snitch! She nearly swallowed it!”

The game had ended in complete confusion. Lee had been so distracted watching Harry after she’d gotten back on her broomstick that he’d pretty much forgotten to commentate for the rest of the match, and had to be informed by a very excited Professor McGonagall that the match had ended at all, and in Gryffindor’s favour.

Although Slytherin and their Hufflepuff supporters were of the opinion that because Harry had caught the Snitch with her mouth, it didn’t count, the Gryffindors and their Ravenclaws thought that it did, and thankfully Madam Hooch agreed with them.

“I’m sorry, Mr Flint,” she’d said, “But the rules clearly state that because Miss Potter obtained possession of the Snitch, the points and the match go to Gryffindor – and even if the spectacular means of catching was void, Miss Potter made hand-to-Snitch contact before Mr Higgs did, so Gryffindor do indeed win.”

Harry had been half-carried to the Common Room for the ensuing party. She had managed it for a few hours, but the attention had gotten too much after a bit, and she, Ron and Hermione had slipped out while a very tipsy Oliver Wood was relaying his account of the match from atop a table in the middle of the room, and made their way to Hagrid’s hut for some quiet and a cup of tea.

“It was Snape,” Ron said, taking a sip of tea. He and Hermione were finally getting around to informing Harry what had really happened during the match. “Hermione spotted it first, though.”

“It was both of us,” Hermione explained. “I knew he was up to something, but Ron was the one who realised it was a hex.”

“It was brilliant,” Ron went on. “Hermione crept up behind him, and then she set fire to him, and the next thing we knew, the Teachers’ Box was chaos, and it stopped. You got back on your broom and we won! You should have seen the look on that old git’s face!”

“What old git?” Hagrid asked, re-entering the room with a plate of rock cakes. Harry grimaced internally: although Hagrid’s tea was lovely, his rock cakes were not the best.

“Professor Snape,” Harry explained. “Ron and Hermione realised it was Snape who was messing with my broom and they set fi- they solved it.”

“Snape? Why would Professor Snape do somethin’ like tha’?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what – or rather, how – to tell him. Harry had only just managed to fill them in on what she’d seen the previous night on the way down to Hagrid’s, but the more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

“I found out something about him,” she told Hagrid, “and I think he was trying to make sure I didn’t tell anyone else. He tried to get past that three-headed-dog in the locked corridor on Halloween – I saw his leg, it was all mangled. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.

“Fluffy?”

“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?” said Harry eagerly.

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

“But Snape’s trying to steal it.”

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

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione.

“I know what hexes look like, Hagrid,” Ron said. “You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all – we saw him!”

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly. “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’ Nicholas Flamel – ”

“Aha!” cried Harry, “so there’s someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next match of the Inter-House Championship came a fortnight later, this time between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. It was Harry’s first match as solely a spectator, and she was very much looking forward to it. In the vein of Ravenclaw’s previous support for Gryffindor, Harry had decided to return the favour, and had painted her entire face blue for the game.

“You look like a Smurf,” Hermione said for the twentieth time that day, and it was only ten o’clock.

“What’s a Smurf?” Ron, Fred, George, and Neville – who had decided to back Hufflepuff – asked, causing the surrounding muggleborns and half-bloods – including Angelina, Harry and Hermione – to descend into laughter.

*     *     *

The Ravenclaw-versus-Hufflepuff match was far less eventful than the Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin game had been, but still fun to watch. It did go on for longer than Harry’s game had, though, and Ravenclaw ended up winning with a sixty-point lead on Hufflepuff, meaning that the Gryffindor-versus-Ravenclaw match the coming April would be very interesting, indeed.

It turned out that the pretty girl from the train – the one with the hair and the eyes and the smile that had made Harry’s stomach lurch, not unlike her broomstick – was in fact the Ravenclaw Seeker: Charlotte Cho.

“She’s really good, isn’t she?” Harry had said, watching Cho dive for the Snitch against the Hufflepuff Seeker, a tall boy who had been introduced by Lee as Something Diggory.

“She’s okay,” Fred said. Harry gave him a look. “She’s not nearly as good as you,” he explained.

Beside them, George rolled his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Chapter Text

Christmas was coming. On the first day of December, Harry and Hermione received a bag of chocolate coins each from Lavender, because apparently Hanukkah had begun. Lavender didn’t seem to mind that Harry hadn’t gotten her anything, but because she felt bad, Harry made a note to get her something for Christmas.

The next day, Hogwarts awoke to find itself covered in a blanket of snow several feet deep. The lake froze over completely, and on Friday afternoons and weekends, students could be seen skating on it and throwing each other into the snowbanks around the edges. Storms battered the mountains most nights, and although the mail owls made it through – “they’re built for this,” Ron told a worried-looking Harry as Hedwig nestled into her one morning, shivering – they had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

Fred and George were making the most of the snow, and were given detention from a laughing Professor Sprout for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. When Harry had heard why the twins hadn’t met her, Hermione and Ron in the Common Room before dinner, she’d laughed so hard she got the hiccups – and then choked on a chip, and had to be thumped hard on the back by Sue.

Speaking of Sue – now that Harry was more settled, she had actually started making friends with people beyond Ron and Hermione. Although she had known Sue and Leila from the start of term and quite liked them, they had gotten really close during the run-up to the first Inter-House match. Harry learned that although Leila was completely obsessed with Quidditch, she had been expressly forbidden from participating in it by her mother after she had ended up with a broken arm or leg one too many times when playing it with her cousins.

“She has this idea I’m a klutz,” she’d said, throwing her arm out in a sweeping motion that both knocked Harry’s glasses off her head and thwacked Sue in the face.

“I wonder where she got that from,” Sue said, handing Harry her glasses. Harry choked on her tea.

Sue was muggleborn, and the snarkiest person Harry had ever met. Harry hadn’t known what to make of Sue at first, but the longer she spent around her the more Harry liked her – she had absolutely no filter, and while sometimes this came across as brutal honesty (“You’ve got a bit of a stick up your arse, haven’t you, Hermione?”), most of the time it simply meant that Sue did her thinking out loud (“November comes after October, doesn’t it?” “What the fuck, Sue?”).

Then there was Neville, Dean and Seamus. Following the first week of term, Harry had developed a bit of a soft spot for Neville and felt very protective of him, but between Quidditch and homework and his tendency to end up in the hospital wing at least once a week, Harry didn’t see as much of him as she liked. The same went for the latter two of Ron’s dorm mates. Like Sue and Leila, Seamus and Dean were pretty much inseparable, though Harry secretly suspected that the way Seamus looked at Dean was not strictly platonic – not that she’d ever breathe a word about it. She’d heard the way Uncle Vernon talked about “men like that”, and while she didn’t have any problem with it – in her book, anyone her uncle disapproved of was probably good company – she didn’t know what wizards thought of that sort of thing. Seamus was as talkative as Sue and as prone to clumsiness as Leila, though with the added extra that he had an accidental tendency to make things… explode. This was, of course, absolutely hilarious in most circumstances, such as in Charms when he’d accidentally singe his eyebrows, but was terrifying in Potions, between the unpredictable ingredients and Snape’s as-unpredictable temper. Dean, on the other hand, was basically the BFG: he was ridiculously tall and almost infuriatingly nice – “I bet you I could pour soup in his lap and he’d apologise to me,” Ron said one lunch after he had accidentally spilled ink all over Dean’s Astronomy essay – and seemed to be the only person capable of handling Seamus. He was also a die-hard West Ham supporter (hence the “red card” comment at the game), and brilliant at drawing.

And then there were the twins.

With the exception of Ron and Hermione, George and Fred were probably the people that Harry spent the most time with at Hogwarts; not only did they all have Quidditch training together three times a week, but they usually spent their spare evenings with Harry, Ron and Hermione too, as well as most mealtimes. They were always getting up to some sort of trouble – whether it was as major as filling the Potions classroom with soap suds one morning after Snape had been particularly creepy to Harry (“Everything was just a bit slimy in here, so we thought it could do with a bit of a clean, Professor!”) or as minor as putting a whoopee cushion under Percy’s seat in the Common Room (which Lee owned up to introducing them to) – and Harry wondered at how they kept it up and managed to maintain decent grades and focus on Quidditch, which (aside from pranks) seemed to be their one true love.

Harry had pretty much been able to tell Fred and George apart from the moment she’d met them – she had always been good with faces – but the longer she spent with them, the more obvious their differences became, so much so that she wondered how anyone ever confused them. For a start, even though they were virtually clones, Harry had picked up on a few physical differences between them: George’s hair was ever so slightly lighter, Fred had ever so slightly more freckles on his nose, and George had a tiny mole under his left ear. But it was more than that – they didn’t act the same, either. Where Fred was louder and definitely the instigator of their shenanigans, he was more of a planner and liked things to be organised (which explained his behaviour on the train), while George preferred to follow his brother’s lead, tended to roll his eyes a lot, and absolutely thrived on chaos… and attention from Angelina.

Which was why Harry, Ron, and the twins were trudging through the snow on the first weekend of December, hoping to catch her and her friends on their way to Hogsmeade. Hermione had decided to stay behind and get a head start on their holiday homework, and now that Harry’s jeans were damp, she thought that perhaps Hermione had made the smarter choice.

When Fred had invited them along, Ron had explained that Hogsmeade was the only solely magical settlement in Britain, and that it was slightly older than Hogwarts itself. From third year onwards, and with parental permission, older students were allowed to visit it on designated weekends.

“How exactly are you planning on meeting Angelina in Hogsmeade if you’re not allowed off the school grounds?” Harry asked, hoisting herself out of the snow and onto the brick wall beside the gate that crossed the path to the village.

“I’m not – well, I’m trying to catch her before she gets to Hogsmeade.”

“And then what?” Ron asked, jumping up to join Harry on the wall. It was a lot easier for him. He didn’t have as far to go.

“He’ll entice her with his – what was it again, Georgie? Your ‘dazzling wit and debonair charm’?” Fred snorted.

“Fuck off,” George grumbled, crossing his arms.

Harry bit her tongue. Although Angelina had admitted to her that she liked George, she had also said since then – and in no uncertain terms – that she didn’t particularly want a boyfriend, and not at their age, anyway. Harry had promised she’d keep her mouth shut, but the longer she spent with George and saw that he genuinely liked her, the harder it was. But it wasn’t any of her business, so she busied herself with watching the snow fall.

After about ten minutes, a trail of students appeared in the distance, working their way through the snow towards them. Some of their faces were familiar to Harry from the Great Hall, and they nodded at her and the twins in recognition as they passed. At last, Angelina, Alicia and a couple of their friends came into view, bringing up the rear. George waved his arm at his brothers, hissing, “Shut up, she’s coming!” and his face lit up as Angelina smiled when she saw him.

“You know you can’t get through, right?” she asked, coming to a halt beside George. Alicia and the others carried on walking, though they stopped on the other side of the wall, waiting for her.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s an age line around the school.”

“There’s a what?”

“An age line? It stops the younger years from getting out.”

It seemed as if that particular piece of information was news to George, though he lost none of his bravado.

“You really think I’m going to get side-tracked by an age line?” he scoffed.

“I think anyone would – it’s nothing personal. Sorry, George,” Angelina apologised, and went over to join her friends. “See you lot later!” she called.

“Wait!” George shouted. “Give me a second!”

“It’s not going to work – ”

But George had already stuck a hand over the boundary line. Angelina gasped and Harry held her breath, but nothing happened. His confidence bolstered, George gave Fred a look, and stepped in Angelina’s direction. He looked up, and grinned – and then something lifted him up and flung him back onto the school’s side of the wall. George screamed, and landed with a thud, though his fall was cushioned by a snow bank. Neither Harry nor Fred could help their laughter – Ron had fallen forward into the snow, tears streaming down his face – and Angelina and her friends descended into giggles.

“You alright, George?” she called as his brother waded over to help him up, though he’d already scrambled to his feet.

“Is there way you didn’t see that?” he asked, face red despite the cold.

“I’m afraid not,” Angelina said. “We’ll see you lot later, then?”

“Yeah – uh – okay!” he called, and with that Angelina and the others turned and continued their trudge to the village. He seemed to watch them as their figures disappeared into the snow, though Harry could tell he was in fact examining the spot where the age line was with concentration.

“George, can we go back to the Common Room now? I’m fucking freezing and my socks are all wet,” Ron whined, climbing out of the pile of snow he’d fallen into.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, giving the gate one last careful look.

They made their way back to the castle, a bit more subdued than they had been on their way out as a result of the cold. Harry ended up walking beside Fred, listening to George ranting and raving at Ron about “that bloody age line”.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know there was an age line? You’d’ve thought Hermione or Percy – or Bill or Charlie would have told me, but nooo!”

“I’m not going to hear the end of this for a while, am I?” Fred muttered, ducking his head so Harry could hear him.

“Probably not,” Harry whispered back.

Fred grinned.

Harry thought he had a nice smile.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The last week of term had everybody itching for the holidays to start; the general feeling of fatigue that had characterised late November was replaced with one of restlessness as the teachers began decorating the castle for the break. It was getting everyone in the spirit – including Ron and Hermione, who were having an ongoing argument debate over whether it was really Christmas.

“But we’re not Christian!” Hermione cried for the twenty-third time that week (Harry definitely wasn’t counting). “It’s not Christ’s Mass we’re celebrating! It’s the Saturnalia!”

“It’s basically Christmas, though, isn’t it?” said Ron through a mouthful of pie.

“We don’t do Mass, or Communion or the Eucharist or whatever, so – ”

“That’s a big word,” Fred interjected. Harry shot him a look and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione said. Fred sniggered. “It’s not Christmas because we don’t do Christ or Mass! Tell him, Harry!”

“I’m not getting involved,” Harry said turning her attention back to the Transfiguration textbook.

“We do Christmassy things, so it’s Christmas!” Ron said.

“It’s the Saturnalia!”

“Christmas!”

“We’re not Christian!”

“Neither are most Muggles who celebrate it, so what does it matter?!”

Hermione groaned and let her head drop down on the table.

“There, there,” George said gently, patting her shoulder. She batted him off, and the twins descended into giggles.

At that moment, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle passed by; Harry stared at her textbook to avoid engaging with him, though she heard him say loudly, and clearly directed at her, “I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at school over Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

Harry waited for a moment. When she was sure they were gone, she looked up to ask George about the mice-to-snuffboxes spell in Transfiguration – only to see that Malfoy and his henchmen had hung about, seemingly to gauge her reaction. She rolled her eyes, and confident he’d gotten to her, Malfoy swanned off, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry stuck her middle fingers up at their backs.

“Do you think he practices his little one-liners in front of a mirror?” Fred asked of no one in particular, though it was clearly directed at Harry, “Or do you reckon he’s a natural showman?”

Harry snorted.

Malfoy had been even more of an arsehole since the Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing about how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing her as Seeker next – but no one had found it funny, because even the Slytherin team had been impressed with both her incredible catch and the fact she had managed to stay on her bucking broomstick for so long. Even Marcus Flint, after accepting defeat, had come up to Harry in the Great Hall at breakfast two days later to congratulate her.

So Malfoy had gone back to thinly-veiled sexism and taunting Harry about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry wasn’t going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of all the students who would be staying at the castle for Christmas, and Harry had signed up as soon as she could. She didn’t mind at all: her options were a literal magical castle or her cold room at Privet Drive – it was probably going to be the best Christmas she’d ever had. That, and Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were staying, too, because their parents and Ginny were going to visit Charlie in Romania (Bill was supposed to be meeting them there). Hermione, however, was due to return home for the holidays. You couldn’t have everything.

The clock in the Great Hall chimed three, and the twins jumped up and began packing away their things. They scampered off to Herbology with a cheery goodbye and a promise to meet them before dinner. Harry, Hermione, and Ron waited a moment to ensure they were gone, and then pulled out their books from the Library.

They had been searching for Flamel’s name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The only problem was that it was impossible to know where to begin, because they had absolutely no idea what Flamel might have done that was so important as to get himself in a book – if he was even in a book at all.

“Of course he’s in a book,” Hermione had said crossly when Harry had mentioned this. “Everything important is in books, and wizards don’t use the internet, anyway!”

So they went to the Library.

Hermione had taken a methodical approach, and had compiled a list of all the books Flamel was likely to be in – she had almost memorised the contents of the Library (which was easily hundreds of thousands of books) – and given Harry and Ron part of the list each. They worked through each book with painstaking attention to detail: it wasn’t like homework research, where they knew roughly where to go in the first place and could skim over the page until they found the bit they were looking for. No, they had to read every page and every endnote until they got lucky – which they never were. He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, though Harry did end up reading an awful lot about a man called Grindelwald who Dumbledore had defeated in the 1940s.

They could have just asked Madam Pince, the extremely strict Librarian who had once told Harry off for sneezing, but they had decided that it was too risky. It might get back to Snape.

Harry had been increasingly drawn to the Restricted Section whenever they visited the Library to exchange their books. She had been thinking that if the item that Snape was trying to steal was so important and high-level that it needed to be guarded by a literal hell hound (the more Harry thought about it, the more the three headed dog had reminded her of Hades’ dog from when she’d learnt about it in school, which made sense considering Hagrid had said he’d gotten the thing off a Greek man) then surely it wouldn’t be in a book as ordinary and easily accessible as Important Modern Magical Discoveries. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and she knew she’d never get one – these were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts – and not without revealing to a teacher what they were looking for and why, anyway.

Harry was just reading about a Gerald Gardner – “Maybe Flamel was one of those wizards who got too close to muggles?” Hermione had suggested – when she heard a voice call her name.

She looked up and found an enormous fir tree in the middle of the hall, with two feet sticking out the bottom.

“You alright, Hagrid?” Ron asked. “Do you want any help?”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Hagrid said, shifting the tree to his side so they could actually see his face. There were pine needles in his beard and hair. “Jus’ got ter get it set up behind the High Table.”

He nodded around the room at the twelve other trees around the hall, each decorated with twinkling lights and adorned with a star on the top.

Hagrid looked down at their books.

“You’re awfully keen, aren’t yeh? Today’s the last day of term! You should be playing in the snow!”

“Oh, we’re not doing our holiday homework,” Hermione explained. “I’ve already done mine, anyway.”

“We’re looking for Nicholas Flamel!” Harry said brightly. Hermione shot her a look as Hagrid’s face fell.

“Yer what?”

“Looking for Nicholas Flamel!” Ron repeated cheerfully, giving Hermione a pointed look. Her brow furrowed for a moment, but she seemed to catch on. “Ever since you mentioned him, we’ve been trying to work out who he is.”

“Now, you three listen here,” Hagrid said, “I’ve told yeh already – drop it. Yeh don’ need ter know wha’ that dog’s guardin’, alrigh’?”

“We just want to know who he is,” Hermione wheedled. “That’s all.”

“You know – you could just tell us and save us the trouble,” Harry suggested. “We must have been through hundreds of books already, and we can’t find him anywhere. Besides, the more you try to hide it, the more interesting he seems.”

“If you just told us, we’d probably just get bored and drop it,” Ron said. “Think of it as… enabling our extracurricular research.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, and they all looked at Hagrid hopefully.

“Yer not getting’ anythin’ outta me,” he said flatly.

“We’ll just have to carry on ourselves, then,” Hermione said, and they turned their attention back to their books.

“No, you – ”

“Hagrid!” Professor Flitwick called, stood atop the High Table. “Can we have the tree here, please?”

“Jus’ a second!” Hagrid called back, and turned his attention back to them. “This isn’ over,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He picked up the tree and carried it over to the Charms teacher.

“We should probably go before he comes back,” Ron said. They packed up their books and parchments and made a beeline for the Gryffindor Common Room before Hagrid could circle back to them. They found a spot in the corner and settled in, but after an hour or so Harry had had enough.

“It’s basically the holidays already,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go and have a snowball fight.”

“But we haven’t found Flamel yet!”

“Hermione, I’m bored,” Harry whined. “It hardly ever snows down south. Come on – Ron and I can carry on looking during the holidays.”

Ron nodded enthusiastically, and looked at Hermione with puppy dog eyes.

“Go on, Hermione,” he pleaded. “It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, alright, then,” she said, closing her book.

Harry grinned.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Harry really had meant it when she’d told Hermione that they would carry on looking for Flamel over the Christmas – it just didn’t pan out that way. She was just having too much fun with Ron, Fred and George to think about research.

Although Harry and Ron had their respective dormitories to themselves, he spent most nights sleeping in what was usually Hermione’s bed – she’d said it was okay before she’d gone home – so they ended up spending every waking moment together. They spent most days going sledding around school grounds, getting into snowball fights with the twins, having tea with Hagrid, and Percy even tried to teach them how to ice skate – which Harry was absolutely atrocious at, no matter how hard she tried. In the evenings, they would attempt (and then quickly get bored of) their homework, plot ways of getting Malfoy expelled – “We’re not planning on actually doing any of them, Percy! Promise!” – and play board games.

It was all a lot of fun, but part of Harry was very much gutted about missing the Christmas episode of Top of the Pops. It was one of the few things she and Aunt Petunia were able to enjoy without her uncle butting in; he hated Pop music (he called Madonna a “hussy” whenever she was on screen) and thought that Christmas music, especially Band Aid, was “political correctness gone mad”.

By means of distracting Harry from her mourning – witches and wizards didn’t do television, and electrical things didn’t work at Hogwarts, apparently – Ron had started teaching Harry Warlock’s Chess. It was exactly the same as Muggle Chess, except that the figures moved and talked and had minds of their own, so it felt a bit like sending troops into battle.

Ron’s Chess set – like almost everything he owned – had belonged to his grandfather. He’d pulled it out from under his bed sheepishly, and had mumbled apologies as he’d shown it to her. It was a bit battered looking, but Harry couldn’t see Ron’s problem with it. She’d kill to have a family heirloom like that – or anything of her parents’, for that matter.

As it turned out, the age of Ron’s Chess set was in fact an advantage: he knew how to handle them when they started acting up, so they always did what he wanted them to. He usually played with the white pieces, though Harry doubted that she’d be a much better player with them than she was with the black ones. They didn’t trust her at all; they seemed to sense that she wasn’t a very good or confident player – “Yet,” Ron reminded her – and kept on shouting conflicting bits of advice at her and getting into fights with one another whenever she tried to direct them.

“Don’t send me there!” one of the Pawns shouted at her. “Can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him!”

“No, send him!” another Pawn shouted, “We’ll lose if you send me!”

“Send him!”

“No, him!”

“Would you both shut up and let me think!” Harry snapped. Ron sniggered as Fred and George entered the Common Room.

“How bad are you losing, then?” Fred asked, dropping down beside Harry while George seated himself next to Ron. They were surrounded by blankets and cushions on the floor beside the roaring fire in the hearth.

“How do you know I’m losing?” she said. “I could be winning.”

“One, you don’t sound like someone who’s winning, and two, Ron is scary good at Chess.”

“Hurry up!” Ron said. Harry shushed him.

“I can’t decide what to do next,” she explained to Fred, “and these two aren’t making it any easier.”

“Don’t look at me, Miss! He started it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did – ”

“Shut it, both of you!” she said angrily. George and Ron were trying not to laugh. She shot them a look as she asked Fred, “What do you think I should do next?”

“I’m awful at Chess! Don’t ask me!”

Harry groaned.

*     *     *

She ended up losing to Ron spectacularly, though he assured her it was the fault of the chessmen.

“They don’t know how you play,” he told her as they got the sets in order and packed up the board. “They don’t trust your judgement.”

“Are you saying they can smell my fear?”

“I’m saying that you’ll have better luck when you have a set of your own and they actually listen to you. Maybe you can ask your aunt and uncle for a set for Christmas? There’s still a week left, so it should get here by the twenty-fifth.”

“Like I’m getting a present from them,” Harry snorted, and then realised what she’d said.

Ron, Fred and George looked appalled.

“What do you mean?” Ron said.

“Do they not get you presents?” Fred asked.

“Of course I get presents,” Harry said quickly. FUCK.

“What did they get you for your birthday?” George asked.

Harry blanked. Her head felt cold.

“They – uh – ”

“What about last Christmas? What did you get?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” she laughed awkwardly. Fred and George were looking at her pitifully. Ron’s face was unreadable. “Shall we play some cards? You said you were going to teach me Cheat and President.”

They didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to get your cards, Ron,” she announced, and got up and stalked off without another word.

I can’t believe I just said that, Harry thought as she climbed the stairs up to her room. She had always been so careful to be vague whenever someone had asked about living with her aunt and uncle. The less other people knew, the better – she hated it when people looked at her like she was a kicked puppy.

When Harry got back down to the Common Room, Ron wasn’t there.

“Where’s Ron gone?” she asked. She sat down next to Fred, and began to shuffle the cards.

“He went to the loo,” Fred explained. “Listen, Harry – ”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said firmly, avoiding looking at him.

“You’re shuffling the cards wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Fred said, holding his hand out. Harry passed him the cards, and watched as he split them into two very neat piles. He then placed them next to each other, end to end, and flicked them twice – the cards made a very satisfying sound as they slotted into place – and then Fred was holding a perfectly stacked deck.

“That’s what I did!” Harry protested.

“It’s not,” he said. “Your hands are too small to do it properly.”

“They’re not!”

“I’m going to get us some drinks!” George piped up suddenly. Harry had almost forgotten he was there.

He got up, giving Fred a look Harry couldn’t understand – Fred glared at him, which confused her even more – and headed out of the room. Harry heard the portrait door swing close, and then they were alone.

“Is George alright?” she asked.

“Yeah – er – he’s fine. He’s – um – we just got given a lot of holiday homework by Sprout.”

“Do you want to go and do that then? We don’t have to play cards tonight.”

Harry leant over him to take the cards from him, though he held them out of reach.

“It’s fine!” Fred said quickly. “It’s too late to concentrate on homework, anyway.”

He glanced down, and fell uncharacteristically quiet. It was then that Harry realised how close they were – she could see the flush of pink under his freckles and on the tips of his ears, and his usually brown eyes were dark and wide. He looked almost alarmed, though at what Harry didn’t know.

“Are you alright, Fred?”

He nodded, gulping. Harry was confused – Fred was never quiet unless he had to be (and rarely even then).

“Are you sure?”

At that moment, the portrait door swung open, and Ron and George came in, the latter bearing a tray with four enormous mugs topped with marshmallows and cream. They stopped when they saw Harry and Fred.

“Are we interrupting something?”

“Like what?” Harry asked, sitting upright. Fred grabbed a cushion and put it in his lap.

“I dunno,” Ron said, taking his seat. “It’s just something people say, isn’t it?”

Harry saw George gave Fred a funny look as he handed him his mug. When she glanced at Fred, she saw that he was still red in the face.

Weird.

*     *     *

Hours later, Fred lay awake in his bed, staring at the canopy overhead and trying not to think about earlier. He hadn’t been able to look Harry in the eye for the rest of the night.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I might like Harry.”

Fred heard his brother snort.

“What?”

“Only took you four months. Night, Freddie.”

“Night, Georgie.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

On Christmas morning, Harry started awake to find Ron – or rather, a very blurry ginger person – standing over her. She groped about on her bedside table for her glasses, and sat up, yawning.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“Merry Christmas, Ron.”

She rubbed her eyes, and saw that there was tinsel decorating the other beds and the windows. The stove in the middle of the room had a roaring fire – and Harry noticed that there was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

“Are those – presents?” she asked, scrambling out of bed.

“Well, they’re not turnips.”

She stared at them in amazement – even when the Dursleys had given her a present, it was never wrapped, and never particularly good. Last year, it had been a rubber. A red one, but a rubber nonetheless. The presents at the end of her bed looked so nice, she almost didn’t want to touch them.

“Aren’t you going to open them?” Ron asked. He had already torn two open, and was wrapped in a new knitted blanket and nibbling on what looked like biscuits, with ‘CC’ and broomsticks iced on.

“Charlie sent me biscuits,” he explained. He offered them to Harry – “Are you sure?” “Oh, shut up!” – and she took one that was shaped like a Snitch. “The Chudley Cannons are the best team in the League.”

Harry picked up the parcel on top as she took a bite of her biscuit (Who knew Snitches tasted so good? she thought). It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was:

To Harry, Merry Christmas! from Hagrid.

Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl. 

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Taped to the note was a fifty pence coin.

“That’s friendly,” Harry remarked. She hadn’t been expecting anything after Hagrid had half turned Uncle Vernon into a pig, even if they had driven her to London.

“What is it?”

Harry showed Ron the coin.

“It’s muggle money,” she explained.

Ron was fascinated.

“You can keep it if you like.”

“No, I can’t – ”

“It’s only fifty-p,” she snorted. “I really don’t mind.”

“Harry, no – ”

She forced it into his palm and closed his fingers around it, giving him a pointed look. They glared at each other, but after a few moments, Ron crumbled and retracted his hand, the coin still closed in his fist.

“Only to show Dad.”

Harry rolled her eyes.

“Sure.”

The next one was a large box filled with Cadbury’s chocolates from Hermione, and then there were cards from Dean, Sue and Angelina, and some red cupcakes decorated with Golden Snitches from Leila.

Ron was just opening his present from Harry – with Leila’s help, she’d written away for Chocolate Frogs for all her friends (“I didn’t get you anything, Harry!” “Oh, you shut up!”) – when she reached for the next parcel. It was very light, and wrapped in blue tissue.

As she opened it, something silvery poured out of the packaging and pooled on the floor. Ron dropped his frog, and it croaked and hopped under the bed.

“Is that – Is that an Invisibility Cloak?”

“A what?”

“An Invisibility Cloak. Oh – go on, try it on. Let’s see.”

Harry picked up the glimmering cloth off the floor.  It was like silk, but strange to touch – as if water had been woven into the fabric. She got up, and threw it around her shoulders, fastening it around her neck and pulling the hood over her head.

Ron let out a yell.

“Where did you go?!”

Harry looked down and saw that her legs had disappeared – as had the rest of her body.

“I’m right here, Ron. Can’t you – ”

“I can’t see you.”

Harry lifted the hood off her hair, and some colour came back into Ron’s face.

“I assume you can see me now?”

“Just your head.”

She darted over to the mirror – and sure enough, her head floated in mid-air, the rest of her body was completely invisible.

“Fucking hell,” Ron said. “Where’d you – oh, Harry, there’s a note!”

He clambered out of bed and handed it to her. On a small piece of thick parchment, narrow, loopy handwriting read:

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.

“Who’s it from?”

“It doesn’t say.”

There was a lump in Harry’s throat. Had the Cloak really belonged to her dad? And who had sent it?

Ron was looking at the Cloak admiringly.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“No, Harry, I – ”

But Harry had already pulled it off and was draping it around Ron’s shoulders (standing up on her tiptoes and reaching a bit, because Ron was a lot taller than she was).

“Just have a look.”

Ron danced around wearing the Cloak as he pulled the hood on and off his head – “Look, I’ve got no head!” he practically squealed – as Harry turned her attention to the final present. It was lumpy-looking, and wrapped in brown paper, tied in string.

“Who’s this one from?”

Ron turned pink and shrugged off the Cloak, dropping it in Harry’s trunk.

“That’s - er - Mum. I think.”

She tore it open to find a thick, hand-knit jumper in emerald green with a ‘H’ on it, and a large box of homemade vanilla fudge.

“Mum makes us jumpers every year,” he explained, nodding at his own one, which was draped over the end of the bed, and had a yellow ‘R’ in the middle, “and mine is always maroon.”

At that moment, there was excited knocking at the door. Harry opened it to find Fred and George standing there, wearing matching blue jumpers with their initials on.

“Merry Christmas, Harry!” they chorused, bounding into the room – not unlike golden retrievers, Harry thought.

“You’ve got a jumper from Mum too!” Fred exclaimed.

George, though, was looking at his little brother with his hands on his hips. “Why haven’t you got yours on yet, Ron?” he demanded.

“Come on, they’re lovely and warm,” Fred said, grabbing Ron’s jumper from the bed and forcing it into his hands.

“You know I hate maroon,” Ron moaned halfheartedly, though he pulled on the jumper nonetheless.

Harry lifted hers up to put on too, feeling a little left out, and a note fluttered to the floor. Fred passed it to her to read.

Merry Christmas, Harry! I hope you have a good day and manage to make sure my brothers behave – Ginny Weasley.

“What is it?”

“A note from your sister.”

“Are you serious?”

Harry showed it to them, and George scoffed.

“Little madam didn’t send us anything.”

“I think she likes you more than she likes us, Harry,” Fred said.

“What’s with all the noise?”

Percy’s head was poking around the doorway. It was clear he had just gotten up: he was still in his pyjamas and his hair was a state.

“Harry got a letter from Ginny!” George said.

“That’s nice of her,” Percy said, yawning. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

He came into the room, and Harry saw that his new jumper – a light blue – was draped over his arm. Fred grabbed it. 

“P for Prefect! Get it on, Percy. We’re all wearing ours – even Harry got one.”

“Not right now – stop it! – I – don’t – want – ” Percy protested as the twins wrestled the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“There,” George said, clearly satisfied with himself. “Now we match.”

Percy sighed.

“I’m going to get some breakfast,” he said. “I’ll see you all la-”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Fred said, leaping in front of him. “You’re spending all day with us. Christmas is for family, after all.”

“And you’re not eating with the other prefects, either!” George announced.

“Fine,” Percy huffed, “but I’m hungry and I’m going down now.”

“Lead the way,” Fred said with a flourish of his arm, and Harry followed them down to the Common Room for breakfast.

Chapter Text

Harry had never dreamed that such a Christmas dinner could exist – the Great Hall’s tables were lined with roast chickens, turkeys, and even legs of lamb; there were mountains of roast potatoes, deep dishes filled with buttered peas, glazed carrots and parsnips, and even brussel sprouts; and enormous silver boats full of thick, rich gravy and tangy, sweet cranberry sauce. Every few feet there were piles of crackers – but not like the ones Aunt Petunia usually bought. These were magical crackers: when they were pulled apart, they went off with an actual bang! like cannon-fire and spread blue smoke through the room. When Harry pulled one with Fred, a pirate hat and several (live!) white mice came shooting out of it, and landed on his head. Harry laughed so hard at the expression on Fred’s face that she got the hiccups.

Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him, while Harry watched Hagrid as he drank more and more wine, getting redder in the face, and finally kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek. To Harry’s surprise, she giggled and blushed – she’d had a fair bit of wine herself.

All kinds of desserts followed the main course, including ice cream, trifles, cakes, macarons, and – of course – flaming Christmas puddings. Percy nearly broke a tooth biting down on a Sickle embedded in his slice, and Ron’s ice cream made his tongue turn green.  

When Harry finally left the table, she carried in her arms a pile of weird and wonderful favours she’d gotten out of the crackers. This included a beautiful owl snow globe (the figure in the middle looked a bit like Hedwig), and her very own brand new Warlock’s Chess set, which George had given her even though he’d technically been the one to win it.

Harry, Ron, Fred, George and Percy spent the rest of their afternoon in an enormous snowball fight with the other students who had stayed at school for Christmas, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid. They’d won – they had Fred and George, so it was hardly a competition – and cold, wet and tired they’d returned to the Gryffindor Common Room to warm up by the fire. Harry had broken in her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron, and then watched Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they’d stolen his Prefect badge.

As evening turned into night, they played some more card games (which Percy was suspiciously good at), horribly misunderstood one another over a game of Charades, and nibbled on a dinner of Leftover sandwiches, cookies and hot chocolate as Harry tried to explain the concept of a film to the Weasleys (“what do you mean, the pictures talk?”).

It had been the best Christmas ever, though a thought Harry couldn’t name had been niggling her all day.

As she climbed into bed, though, it struck her: there was an actual, real life Invisibility Cloak in her trunk.

Checking that Ron was asleep – this seemed like the sort of thing she ought to do on her own – Harry clambered out of bed and opened her trunk slowly.

Sure enough, the silvery-grey cloak was pooled over the rest of her things, shining in the moonlight that was spilling in through the window. She swung it over her shoulders – it weighed hardly anything – and fastened it around her neck.

This belonged to your father, the note had said. Her dad, James Potter. Hadn’t it been just last week she’d envied Ron for his family heirlooms, and now she was standing here in an actual, literal Cloak of Invisibility?

Suddenly, Harry was wide awake, excitement building in her chest – under the cloak, the whole of the castle was open to her. She could go absolutely anywhere, and neither Filch nor Snape, or even Mrs Norris, could stop her.

Use it well.

She knew what she was going to do.

Careful not to wake Ron, she crept out of the room, down the stairs, and across the Common Room. She pushed open the portrait door, and scrambled through the hole.

“Who’s there?” the Fat Lady demanded, though Harry said nothing. She made her way through the castle, weary of Snape or Filch’s sudden appearance – she didn’t think the cloak would also make her sound-proof – though they all seemed to be asleep, no doubt drowsy from all the wine that had been drunk up at the Teachers’ Table. There didn’t seem to be any ghosts about, either – Percy had told her that they usually had a ball the evening of Christmas, down in the dungeons.

The Library at night was pitch black and eerie. With every gust of wind outside, branches rattled against the windows and whistled through the cracks in the lead, and the shelves blocked what little moonlight spilled through.

Harry found a lantern on Madam Pince’s desk and lit it to see her way around; when she picked it up, it looked as if it was floating, even though she could feel her arm supporting it. The sight made her shiver.

The Restricted Section was separated from the main room by a wrought iron gate, though a simple unlocking spell took care of that. Harry slid the gate ajar and slipped inside, closing it behind her. She turned, and had a look around.

If the Library had been spooky, it was nothing on this: rickety-looking shelves were supported by enormous chains that dangled down from the ceiling; there were no windows, though candles floated in mid-air, casting a blueish glow over everything; and to her right, Harry could see rows upon rows of display cases, housing dozens of bizarre-looking objects, including an axe and a rusty-looking set of manacles that didn’t seem to be connected by anything.

Harry approached the nearest shelf and began to read the titles, though they didn’t tell her much. Their peeling, faded letters spelled words in Latin, Greek, a bizarre-looking version of English with too many ‘E’s and ‘Y’s, and ones Harry didn’t even recognise. Some had no title at all, some were chained to the shelf, and others were more like scrolls.

As Harry delved deeper into the bowels of the Restricted Section, an increasing feeling of unease crept over her. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up on end, and she could see her breath cloud up as she exhaled. A faint whispering seemed to be coming from the books themselves – her name, over and over, as if they knew she was there and that she wasn’t supposed to be.

Harry shook the thought from her head – she had to be imagining it – and although the voices disappeared, the feeling of unease remained. She ignored it, though she retreated to the beginning of the aisle, closer to the door where the books didn’t seem to be as threatening. A large black and silver volume caught her eye on a shelf just above her head; Harry set the lamp down on the floor and pulled the book out (with some difficulty, because it was heavy). She carried it down to the table at the end of the narrow aisle, and placed it down gently. It fell open –

and a parchment-coloured face emerged from the page, letting out a bloodcurdling scream. Harry jumped and snapped the book shut, but it went on and on. She shoved the book back onto the shelf where it had been as footsteps and shouting came into earshot – they must have been close for her to hear them over the wailing – and made a beeline for the door – where Filch was standing, a lantern in one hand and Mrs Norris at his heel. He looked right through Harry as she ducked under his arm and sprinted blindly down the corridor.

Harry ran until she couldn’t hear the wailing and her legs gave out. She braced herself against the wall until she caught her breath – she didn’t think she’d run that fast since the Three-Headed-Dog Incident, and there was a sharp pain under her ribs. Quidditch didn’t exactly require a lot of stamina.

After a few minutes, Harry looked up. She was in a part of the castle she didn’t recognise – how big is this place? she thought – and there was an enormous tapestry of the four founders a few feet down. She knew that there was a founders tapestry near the kitchens, though she had to be three floors above there, at least.

“You asked me to come directly to you if anyone was wandering about at night, Professor. Someone’s just been in the Library – Restricted Section.”

“Restricted Section? Well, they can’t have gone far – we’ll catch them.”

Harry’s blood ran cold as Filch and Snape came into view at the end of the corridor. Wherever she was, she can’t have gotten very far from the Library – that, or Filch knew a shortcut. In any case, even if they couldn’t see her, the corridor was very narrow, and if they came any closer they’d knock into her and know she was there. The Cloak didn’t stop her from being solid.

Harry looked around for an out and – aha! – a door stood ajar down the corridor to her left. She backed away from the teachers carefully, careful not to make any noise with her slippers, and slipped through the gap. She pressed herself against the wall, listening – they didn’t seem to notice that anything was out of the ordinary – and breathed a sigh of relief as their voices and footsteps faded out of earshot. It was a few moments before Harry noticed anything about the room she had hidden in.

It appeared to be an unused classroom: there were desks and chairs piled against the far wall, and rude scribbles in chalk on the blackboard, no doubt the work of Peeves. In the middle of the room, though, there stood something that didn’t seem to belong there at all.

It was an enormous mirror that stood as high as the ceiling and wider than Hagrid. An ornate golden frame curled around the edges, supported by two clawed feet, and there was an inscription across the top. Harry moved closer to see it – it was hidden by shadow – and saw that it appeared to be in another language:

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

She looked down at herself – and her heart stopped. There was a whole crowd of people standing behind her. Harry whirled around – but the room was… empty? Heart hammering, she turned back to the mirror. Yes: there she was, and behind her there had to be at five or six other people. Maybe they’re invisible too? she wondered. She was still wearing the Cloak, after all.

“Hello?” Harry called. It echoed around the empty classroom, but there was no answer, and she felt no movement, either.

Harry studied the people in the mirror. There seemed to be a man and a woman standing directly behind her. There was something… familiar about the woman. She was very pretty, with fiery red hair and bright green eyes – just like mine, Harry thought. She moved closer, and she could see that although the woman was smiling, there were tears streaming down her face. It was then that Harry realised that this lady was the one from her dream… but this wasn’t the man. He was tall like the motorbike man was, but he had brown eyes instead of grey, and he wore round glasses. Like Harry, his hair was black and unruly, though cut short. He had the same brown skin as she did, too - though his forehead was missing the enormous lightning-shaped scar that spanned most of Harry's.

A thought occurred to her, and she moved even closer to the mirror.

“Mum?” Harry whispered, hoping they could hear her, and hoping that she was right. “Dad?”

They smiled and nodded, and now the man – Dad, Harry reminded herself – was crying too. Mum was leaning into him and murmuring something Harry couldn’t hear.

Harry tore her eyes away to give them something like privacy and finally took in the people standing behind them. There was a blonde couple behind her, and the woman had the same jaw as Harry did – were these her mum’s and Aunt Petunia’s parents? The more Harry looked, the more she could see her aunt in them, and Dudley even had their grandfather’s eyes. On the other side, behind Dad, stood a tall, kindly-looking white man; he had light eyes and neat hair that Harry could tell had once been blond. He looked just like Dad. Beside him stood a tiny woman that Harry hadn’t seen at first glance. She had the same brown skin and unruly dark hair as Harry and her dad did, though hers was streaked with grey, and tied back. Her eyes, like Dad’s, were warm and brown – but while Dad’s had a mischievous glint, the lady had a hard look in hers and crow’s feet around them. They reminded Harry of a little bit of McGonagall. This must be her grandmother, the Euphemia she was named after.

Harriet Euphemia Lily Potter.

All of a sudden, Harry didn’t think her name sounded so silly any more.

There was a lump in the back of her throat, and tears stung her eyes, though she held them back. She didn’t want them to see her cry.

How long she stood there, Harry didn’t know. The reflection’s didn’t fade, and she looked and looked between them, seeing similarities between her family and her own appearance, until an echo from somewhere deep in the castle brought her back to reality. She wanted to stay – but it had to be well into the early hours by now.

“I’ll come back,” she whispered. “I promise.”

She turned and hurried from the room without another glance, because if she did, Harry didn’t think she’d be able to leave.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Harry hadn’t been able to sleep when she’d gotten back to her dorm. She’d been tired, but her mind kept wandering back downstairs to the mirror and her family. Where had it come from? How had it shown them to her? Could she somehow get them out of the mirror if she tried hard enough?

The birds were chirping and the sun was rising by the time Harry drifted off to sleep, though it wasn’t at all peaceful. In her nightmare, she was back in Privet drive, and her parents were there, but they spoke with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s voices. Her dad had been just about to hit her like her uncle so often had when she was roughly shaken awake by Ron, her hands clammy and her eyes and pillow wet. Thankfully, he hadn’t said anything about it all day, although he had given her concerned looks and been extra nice. Ordinarily, Harry would have been mad at him about it – she never let people see her cry, because when they did, they always acted exactly like this, like they were walking on eggshells because they were expecting her to burst into tears any minute – but she was too tired and too preoccupied with the mirror to care.

They’d spent all day with Fred and George – since Christmas was over, Percy had been released from his familial obligations – meaning that Harry hadn’t had the privacy to tell Ron about the mirror… not that Harry was entirely sure she wanted to.  The mirror was her discovery, and her secret. It was hers, to see her family with.

At about ten, Harry said goodnight to Ron and the twins, and headed up to her room. Ron had said he wanted to sleep in his own bed that night, which Harry was grateful for: it’d mean she wouldn’t have to wait until he fell asleep to sneak out. She waited for about half an hour until she heard Fred and George call their goodnights to Ron, and swung the Cloak around her shoulders. After a few minutes, she slipped out of her room and tiptoed down the stairs – and bit the inside of her mouth to control her cry of pain when she stubbed her toe at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry was halfway across the Common Room when a voice spoke.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Harry froze. She turned her head, and saw that Ron was not, in fact, in bed as she’d been led to believe, but rather sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. His face was half hidden by shadow, but Harry could tell he was frowning. She didn’t say anything, though – Ron couldn’t be sure she was there, could he?

“I know you’re there, Harry. Take off the Cloak.”

Harry sighed, and pulled off the Cloak so he could see her.

“How did you know I was there?” she asked.

“I heard you when you stubbed your toe just now,” Ron said, getting up to come over to Harry, “and I know you went out last night.”

“I didn– ”

“I got up to go to the loo, and your bed was empty and your Cloak was gone.”

Harry didn’t know how to deny that, so she didn’t.

“I went to the Library.”

“The Library?” Ron seemed taken aback.

Harry nodded.

“Restricted Section – I thought I could find something on Flamel there.”

“And did you – find anything on Flamel?”

“I didn’t get the chance. The first book I opened started screaming at me – literally. Then Filch turned up and I legged it, or I’d’ve been caught.”

Ron nodded, and then his brow furrowed in thought.

“So where did you go?”

Shit.

“What?”

“Where did you go? You were out all night.”

Something in Harry’s face must have given something away, because Ron’s look of accusation quickly became one of concern.

“Harry,” he said gently. “Did you see Snape? Did he do something?”

“What? No!”

“Then what happened? You’ve been weird all day and you woke up crying.”

Harry bit her lip. She didn’t particularly want to tell Ron, but she didn’t want to lie to him either.

“I – I was hiding from Filch…” she said, “and I found something. A mirror – and when I looked in it, I could see my family. My mum and my dad and my grandparents.”

“But aren’t they – ”

“Dead, yeah. But I’m telling you, I saw them, Ron. In the mirror.”

Ron went quiet for a moment, and Harry didn’t know whether Ron was going to call her crazy or try to stop her from going or both.

“Can I come with you? I’d like to see them,” he said at last.

“You believe me?” Harry asked warily.

“Of course I do.”

Harry undid the Cloak and swung it over them. As they climbed through the portrait hole, she said, “You can show me your family too, if you like – Bill and Charlie and your dad.”

“Don’t need a mirror for that,” Ron snorted, “just come over this summer.”

*     *     *

With Ron under the Cloak too, it was a lot more difficult for Harry to retrace her steps. She had to move a lot slower to avoid pulling the Cloak off Ron, and she was more wary of making any noise and the potential appearance of Filch or Mrs Norris – though she was far more scared that she wouldn’t be able to find the mirror room again.

Part of her worried that she had dreamed the whole thing, but just as she was beginning to believe it, Harry spotted the tapestry of the founders.

As soon as they pushed the door open, she ran out from under the Cloak and up to the mirror – and there her parents were, beaming at the sight of her.

“They’re here, Ron! They’re still here!” she gushed. “See?”

“I can’t see anything, Harry.”

“What?”

“They’re right there, Ron! Look!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry saw Ron shake his head.

“I only see you,” he said, and she could hear the pity in his voice.

Impatiently she grabbed him and pushed him in front of the mirror. As Harry stood him in front of the glass, she noticed that her parents had vanished – but she knew they were still there. They had to be.

“Look properly – stand in the middle. Do you see them now?” she asked, stepping back and willing them to come back into view. Ron looked in the mirror, but didn’t say anything. “Ron? You must see them now.”

“No, but – look at me,” Ron breathed, a look of wonder painting his face and his mouth open in amazement.  

“At you?”

“It’s me! I’m – I’m older, though – and Head Boy!”

“You what?”

“I’m Head Boy, Harry! Look, I’m wearing the badge, like Bill used to – a-and I’m Quidditch captain, too! I’ve got the Quidditch and House Cups in my hand! Can’t you see?”

“Just you, Ron,” Harry said, a little annoyed.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?” Ron asked excitedly, tearing his eyes away from whatever it was he was seeing. He looked a little peaky.

“How can it?”

Ron didn’t answer – he had turned his attention back to the mirror.

“Move over, I want to have another look,” she told him. She was getting annoyed now.

“You had it to yourself all last night! Give me a bit longer.”

“You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup,” Harry snapped, “I want to see my parents.”

“Don’t push me – ”

A loud, sudden bang from the corridor tore Ron’s attention away from the mirror. His expression changed suddenly, and he dove for the Invisibility Cloak where it was on the floor. He flung it over them just as Peeves’ voice sounded from the other side of the door, singing a ridiculous song about newts, toads and gargoyles. When his voice faded, Ron didn’t give the mirror another glance as he dragged Harry from the room.

“Get off me, Ron!” she grunted, trying to wrestle herself out of his grip.

“We need to get back to the Common Room – Filch is bound to be about any minute,” he said, ignoring her attempts to get away.

It wasn’t even about the mirror, not really. Yes, Harry did want to go back to it – but more than that she just wanted Ron to let go of her. She didn’t like being manhandled like that… or touched at all, for that matter. Even if their intentions were good – which Ron’s obviously were, Harry had to admit – it reminded her too much of Uncle Vernon.

“I’m not – ”

“Sshh!” he hissed, as Mrs Norris came around the corner. They froze, and she cast a beady eye in their direction, though if she saw them she didn’t react. Harry didn’t breathe again until the patter of her paws was out of earshot.

“Bet you Peeves did something to piss off Filch. He’ll be around any second, come on.”

Harry didn’t budge.

“Let go of me, Ron,” she said flatly.

“We can’t go back to the mirror, we’ll get caught!”

“I’m not trying to get back to the mirror,” Harry said. “Just let go of me.”

“We – ”

“Fucking get off me, Ron. I don’t like being touched, alright?” she said furiously. Ron didn’t say anything, but his grip went slack, and Harry pulled her arm away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let’s go.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Want to play chess, Harry?”

Harry shook her head, staring into the fire. She didn’t much feel like doing anything. She’d had another fitful night – another nightmare about her parents, in which she was back in front of the mirror with her family, but a flash of green light had killed them all – and woke up in a cold sweat. The only thing stopping her from going to find the room right now was the fact that the twins would ask her where she was going if she just up and left the Common Room. They were sat in the corner doing their holiday homework, and Ron had been doing his too, until he’d come over to where Harry was sat by the fireplace.

“Why don’t we go and have tea with Hagrid?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Go have another look for Flamel in the Library?”

“I don’t care about Flamel.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I want to go back to the mirror.”

Ron sighed. “I know you do, Harry, but you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just – ” he trailed off.

“What?”

“It gives me a bad feeling, Harry. Don’t go back there. Please.”

“Fine,” she grunted, rolling her eyes. He couldn’t stop her, not really. She’d just wait until later tonight. He had to fall asleep at some point.

Harry waited for Ron to leave, though he didn’t. When she looked over, his brow was furrowed in thought.

“What is it, Ron?”

“I just – last night.”

“Yeah?”

“You said you didn’t like being touched.”

Harry stared at the fire. She didn’t want to look him in the eye. If she did, she’d probably just start crying. She took a deep breath, and tried to say as casually as she could, “And?”

“Nothing. Just – you’ve never said anything about it before.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t.

“Is it a new thing?” Ron ventured.

She shook her head.

“Is it an old thing?”

Harry nodded.

“Why haven’t you said anything about it before?” he asked. “We’ve been… touching you all term.”

Harry tried to find the words.

“I… I didn’t think that I could – tell you I didn’t like it,” she came out with at last. She felt Ron’s eyes on her, and forced herself not to look at him.

“Why not?” His voice was dripping with pity. Harry shifted uncomfortably, though it made it easier not to look at him.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Harry. Not to me.”

She sighed.

“I don’t – I don’t really get a choice when I’m with my aunt and uncle. I didn’t think anyone else cared.”

Ron didn’t say anything, which Harry was grateful for. There was a lump in the back of her throat and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, he left, and returned a moment later with a cookie from the table he and the twins were sitting at. He handed it to her wordlessly. It was still warm, and Harry could faintly smell the vanilla in it.

“Don’t go back to the mirror, Harry. Just – don’t. You’ve nearly bumped into Filch and Snape and Mrs Norris, and you’ve only been out twice. It’s too risky.”

“You sound like Hermione.”

“I’m serious. Don’t go back tonight,” he said, and returned to the table to carry on with his homework.

Part of Harry knew that Ron was right, but that the rest of her didn’t really care. What did it matter if she went out at night? She had the Cloak and she knew where she was going. Nothing, not even Ron, was going to stop her from seeing her parents again.

*     *     *

Ron kept an annoyingly close eye on her for the rest of the day and well into the evening. At last, though, he fell asleep on a sofa, and Harry took this opportunity to say goodnight to the twins and sprint upstairs to grab her Cloak. When she returned to the Common Room, Ron was still asleep, and the twins were gone, too. She swung the Cloak over her shoulders, and climbed through the hole in the wall.

The Fat Lady wasn’t there this evening. She must have gone to meet Sir Cadogan, Harry thought as she pushed the portrait door closed herself. The Fat Lady and Sir Cadogan – a painting from the seventh floor – had a bit of an on-again-off-again romance, and most of the castle had overheard their most recent breakup on Christmas Eve (apparently, he’d been having an affair with some “wench” from the Muggle Studies corridor). He was the only thing the Fat Lady ever left her portrait for – well… him, and tavern painting on the first floor.

Harry found her way much more quickly than she had before, now that she knew her way and wasn’t accompanied by Ron. She knew she was probably making more noise than was wise, but she didn’t come across Filch or Snape or anyone else, so she didn’t think it really mattered.

She pushed open the classroom door and closed it gently behind her – and then she was in front of the mirror, Mum and Dad smiling at her again.

There was nothing to stop her from staying here all night. Nothing at all. She had the Cloak on – if anyone came in, all they’d see was the mirror and not Harry sat in front of it, and not even her family. After last night, she had a feeling no one could see them but her, not that she minded.

“So – back again, Harriet?”

Harry’s insides turned to ice, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted Professor Dumbledore’s reflection in the mirror. She didn’t think there was any point in pretending she wasn’t there. However he was doing it, he could definitely see her.

She got up and pulled the Cloak off, turning to face the Headmaster. How had she not seen him? He must have been sitting there when she came in, and she didn’t even notice.

“I – I’m sorry, Professor. I should – s-should – ”

“You’re not in trouble, Harriet. It’s alright,” he smiled, though he was looking more at the mirror than at her.

Not in trouble? Harry thought, relief flooding through her. He didn’t seem to be angry. If anything, he seemed amused.

“I didn’t see you there, Sir.”

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore. Harry didn’t know how to respond, but Dumbledore didn’t seem like he was expecting her to.  

“So,” he said, slipping off the desk to come to stand beside her, “you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I didn’t know it was called that, Sir.”

“But I expect you’ve realized by now what it does?”

“It – er – well, it shows me family – ”

“ – and it showed Ronald Weasley himself as Head Boy.”

Harry looked at him.

“How did you know?”

“I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,” Dumbledore said gently. “Now – can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us?”

Harry shook her head.

“Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror – that is: he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?”

Harry took a second to think, and then she said slowly, “It shows us what we want – whatever we want.”

“In a sense, yes, but also, no,” Dumbledore explained. “This mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you, while your friend Ronald, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have been driven mad by it, not knowing if what it shows is real or, or even possible, and other have wasted away before it, so entranced by what they have seen that they did not bother with sustaining their own lives for fear it would never rival the wonders behind the glass.”

“What about women, Professor?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, Professor – it’s just that you said men have wasted away – is it not the same for girls?”

“I apologise, Harriet. The mirror is a danger to men and women alike, despite the greater moral integrity of the latter.”

Harry nodded, a bit disappointed.

“The Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harriet, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Remember that, my dear,” he said, gazing at the mirror over Harry’s head. After a moment, though, he tore his eyes away and smiled kindly at her. “Now, why don’t you put that admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?”

Harry picked up her Cloak, and made for the door. Just as she reached for the handle, though, an overwhelming sense of curiosity caused her to turn back to the Headmaster.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir? Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” he smiled. “You may, however, ask me one more thing.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” The look on his face when he’d gazed at the mirror hadn’t been at all like hers and Ron’s had been.

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.”

Harry stared.

“One can never have enough socks,” Dumbledore went on. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

Harry gave him an awkward half smile, threw the cloak around her shoulders, and left the room without another word.

It was only when she was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful – but then again, she thought, as she shoved Scabbers off her pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

Chapter Text

The next two months passed in a blur.

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and her Invisibility Cloak remained folded and hidden at the bottom of her trunk. Her nightmares continued, though, with the most frequent one being her parents at Privet Drive, and then them disappearing with a flash of green light and a cold, cruel laugh.

Things got a bit better in January, as between Hermione’s presence, their continued search for Flamel, the resumption of Quidditch training, and (of course) homework, Harry was exhausted – which was perfect… until she and most of the castle caught a cold during Hogwarts’ annual flu season, and she was virtually bedridden for a week. Harry didn’t mind being ill so much after she’d learned that she (1) got extensions on all her homework, (2) got to stay in the Common Room by the fire and didn’t need to go to class, and (3) was so exhausted from sneezing and shivering all day that she didn’t get as many nightmares. But the worst part of the week had been the shouting match between Oliver and Hermione in the middle of the Common Room: Harry had been sitting by the fire with Ron and Hermione scanning books for mentions of Flamel, when Oliver had tried to get her up and onto the pitch for training. Hermione had said absolutely not, and it had turned into a very loud argument that made Harry’s head pound. They’d gone backwards and forwards – the room had fallen silent watching the first year yell at the fifth year Quidditch Captain, and if Harry had been at full health, she would have found it absolutely hilarious – but Hermione had ultimately won out. Hermione said nothing to deny the rumour (that Oliver was actually scared of her) as it worked its way around the school three days later; if anything, she seemed to enjoy it.

Whether Ron had told Hermione everything that had happened over the Christmas holidays was unclear, but Harry figured he had to have said something, because she began to notice that Hermione was being a lot more careful not to touch her. She had also started bringing Harry cups of Chamomile tea – she’d brought a big box back to Hogwarts with her in January – in the evenings of particularly empty days, seemingly in the hope of giving Harry a peaceful night without nightmares. It rarely worked, though Harry was grateful for the effort.

The only thing that really tired Harry out enough for empty nights was Quidditch, and after she’d recovered from February Flu (as it was called), she threw herself back in wholeheartedly. Although Oliver had originally pushed for more frequent weekly practices this side of Christmas – he was getting increasingly antsy about winning the Cup – Angelina had put her foot down, explaining calmly but firmly that they attended Hogwarts to learn, not to play Quidditch, and that he had better start preparing for his O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels, a bit like GCSEs, Harry learned), or she’d tell her mother, and then his mother would have his head. Apparently their mums had gone to Hogwarts together, and they were still very good friends, so it was a very real threat. He’d conceded, but the three weekly sessions had gotten more intense as a result. Harry didn’t mind at all, even when Fred and George had complained that he was becoming a fanatic.

Actually, Harry thought, sleepily pulling her Quidditch jumper over her head, they might have a point.

It was seven o’clock in the morning the day after the Slytherin-versus-Ravenclaw match, which Ravenclaw had won. Harry had been woken up ten minutes prior by the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain banging on her dorm room door and shouting at her to “Rise and Shine!” and get her arse down on the pitch by half-seven. A tired and grumpy Sue had answered the door and scared him off, though she’d also gotten Harry a glass of water to help her wake up, which was very nice of her considering Sue was not a morning person.

Harry trailed after her team members down the stairs to the Common Room, where a small breakfast had been laid out on the table near the door. They ate quietly – except for Fred and George, who were running on a pranking high from the previous night (following the Ravenclaw victory, they’d somehow let off firecrackers in their Common Room) – and then collected their brooms and made their way down to the pitch.

Oliver was already there, looking as if he’d been awake for hours, or was at least pumped up on coffee.

“Took you lot long enough!” he called brightly as they ambled onto the pitch, and Harry decided that it was definitely caffeine. Nobody was that chipper at half-seven on a Sunday morning, and definitely not when they were up to their knees in mud.

“Shut the fuck up, Ollie,” Angelina groaned, rubbing her eyes. Turning to the others, though, she said, “Come on then, guys. The sooner we get going the sooner I can get back into my pyjamas.”

They started with some basic passes to get them properly awake and warmed up, and then moved onto some more position-specific practice. Oliver wanted Alicia, Katie and Angelina to improve on something called the Parkin’s Pincer, and for to Harry act as the opposing Chaser: two of them would flank her, and then the third would fly at her head on from underneath, trying to knock her off her broom and the Quaffle out from under her arm. Angelina was a bit reluctant at first, considering the events of their first match, but was ultimately convinced by Katie and Alicia pointing out that it was clear Harry could handle herself, and that it was probably a good idea that she learn how to avoid getting knocked off her broom, because the other teams were sure to try it now that they knew how good she was. Angelina agreed, and then Oliver turned his attention to the twins.

Their high had not yet worn off, and they were especially hyperactive this morning; it wasn’t long before they’d gotten bored of their drills and started messing around, no matter how stern Oliver got with them. Harry felt a bit bad for him – but in their defence, winding Oliver up was very easy and very funny.

George had just pretended to fall off his broom for the fifth time when Oliver finally snapped.

“WILL YOU STOP FUCKING AROUND?” he yelled suddenly, causing the girls to stop what they were doing and look over – he was always shouting about one thing or another, but he rarely did it in anger. “WE’VE GOT TO FOCUS!”

Something about his tone was off. Harry, Angelina, Alicia and Katie exchanged concerned glances, and flew over to where he was hovering near the twins, who had stopped in alarm when he’d shouted.

“What’s going on, Wood?” Alicia asked.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, apparently embarrassed by his outburst.

“Ollie,” Angelina chided, flying up beside him. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

She gave him a look, and he sighed, rubbing a hand up and down his face.

“Snape’s refereeing.”

Harry’s blood ran cold – but she didn’t get to dwell on it, because at that exact moment, George actually did fall off his broom: he’d let go of his broom to stretch, and the shock of Oliver’s statement had caused him to lean back and topple off. Harry shrieked – but he only fell about ten feet, and landed in mud. He didn’t seem to care, though.

“Snape’s refereeing?” he spluttered through a mouthful of dirt. Angelina grabbed his Comet 220 out of the air and flew down to the ground, helping him up as Fred spoke.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I overheard Sprout saying so last night. I was going to mee- I was popping to the Library, and I passed her talking to Flitwick. Apparently Snape specifically requested it.”

Harry’s chest felt tight. Snape had never seemed to show much interest in Quidditch. He’d appeared more or less apathetic to the game, and failed to display any sort of outward emotion that wasn’t boredom at every match he’d been to so far that year. If it was because Slytherin had lost both their matches… well, that might make sense – except surely it would make more sense to referee his own House’s next match rather than whatever match was next. What could possibly be his interest in the Hufflepuff-versus-Gryffin- oh. It was her, Harry realised. Snape was interested in this game, because he hadn’t been able to off her at her first. As referee, he could pick on the Gryffindor team in general, and if the Gryffindor Seeker’s broom started acting up again and happened to throw her off and break her neck, well – no one would suspect that the referee was the guilty party, would they?

She was screwed.

“You alright, Harry?” Fred’s voice said.

Harry looked up and saw that he had flown up beside her, his face full of concern.

“Just… thinking about the match.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. So long as we play a clean game, Snape can’t call us out on any stupid fouls – that said, George and I should probably stop pissing him off in class if we want him to play fair.”

“I reckon that would help, yeah,” Harry scoffed. She couldn’t help but think that their concerns about the match were at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

“But you’ve got to admit, messing with Snape is most… amusing,” Fred said, seamlessly slipping into a purposefully terrible impersonation of the Potions teacher.

Harry couldn’t help bursting out laughing. As Fred grinned at her, the anxious knot in her chest loosened a little.

*     *     *

Training ended an hour later. Fred and George had behaved themselves for the rest of the session, and as a result (1) Oliver had calmed down, meaning that (2) they were able to get some solid practice in.

At about nine, they headed back up to the castle. Harry met Hermione and Ron in the Common Room, and after she had changed out of her Quidditch gear, they went down to the Great Hall for the Sunday Breakfast. On the way, Harry had filled them in on Snape’s sudden interest in Quidditch, speaking quietly so no one else could hear.

“You can’t play!” Hermione cried as they pushed their way into the Great Hall, causing a group of Ravenclaws who were leaving to look at them funny as they passed.

“I don’t think they heard you at the top of the Astronomy tower, ‘Mione.”

“I’m serious, Harry! You can’t play! Say you’re ill!”

“I’m already over February Flu, and Oliver was mad enough about me missing training, remember? There’s no way he’d let me miss an actual match.”

“I can handle him,” Hermione shrugged, “but you have to get yourself out of the match.”

“But we haven’t got a reserve Seeker this year,” Ron pointed out. “It’s not just Harry missing the match – if Harry can’t play, no one can, and we forfeit. Slytherin win.”

“And?”

Harry was saved from telling Hermione that she may have won the last round but that Oliver would absolutely obliterate her if he heard her saying that, by the arrival of Neville, Seamus and Dean. The latter two were dragging the former between them, as – on closer inspection – Neville’s legs were stuck together.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Malfoy,” Seamus grunted before Neville could speak, helping him down onto the bench. “Fucker just walked up to us, and hexed him! Woulda given ‘im a black eye but someone” – he jerked his head at Dean, who had sat down and was dishing out breakfast for the three of them – “held me back, and then Snape turned up and took points off us fer causing a ruckus, anyway!”

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Dean said. “You know Malfoy’s father would have heard about it, and then you would have gotten in more trouble than just a few lost House points.”

While Seamus argued with Dean about how he wouldn’t have minded detention for a month if he got to give Malfoy a black eye, Neville asked Hermione to undo his legs. She pulled out her wand and pronounced the counter-hex, and his legs sprang apart.

“I woulda done it,” Seamus explained, having scrambled under the desk to sit beside Ron and Harry, “but I wasn’t allowed.”

“Forgive me for being attached to my eyebrows!” Neville said, though Harry could tell it was halfhearted and his tone was off.

“Hey!” Seamus said, pointing to his face angrily, “They’ve almost completely grown back, I’ll have you know!”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is, mate,” Ron said, as Harry turned her attention to Neville and Hermione.

“You’ve got to tell McGonagall,” she was saying. “Malfoy’s always been an arse, but just hexing you in the corridor for no reason is something else entirely.”

Neville shook his head.

“I don’t want more trouble,” he mumbled.

“You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!” Ron chimed in, turning his attention away from a still-bickering Seamus and Dean. “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 loads,” Neville said miserably.

Harry felt around in the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. It was the last one from the box that Neville had given her for Christmas – he’d forgotten to send it over the break and had sheepishly delivered it to Harry at the start of term – and she’d planned on eating it after breakfast, but gave it to him instead. He needed it more.

“You’re worth a hundred of Malfoy,” Harry said. “You know that, right? The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And then you argued with it. That screams Gryffindor if nothing else does.”

Neville gave Harry a small smile as he unwrapped the Frog.

“Thanks, Harry… D’you want the card? You collect them, don’t you?”

He handed it to her, and dug into his breakfast. Harry glanced down at the card before putting it in her pocket – and her heart stopped as she saw Flamel’s name. She froze up in shock, though something about her face must have given her away, because Dean called her name.

“Harry? Harry? Hello – Earth to Harry!”

She looked up.

“You alright?” Dean asked.

“Y-Yeah,” she said, nodding and giving him a thumbs-up with her empty hand.

Dean gave her a funny look, but it seemed he was satisfied that she was alright, and turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Sure that everyone else was occupied, Harry looked down at the card, trying her absolute best not to look suspicious, and – heart hammering – read it carefully.

Albus Dumbledore

Current Headmaster of Hogwarts

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on the alchemical sciences with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

She’d finally found Flamel. It had been niggling Harry for months – she knew she’d read about him somewhere, but the more she’d thought about where that might have been, the more she’d doubted herself… and the entire time it had been in her Chocolate Frog Card collection of all places.

Harry put the card in her pocket, and carried on with her breakfast.

*     *     *

“Guess what?” Harry said.

“What?” Ron said, carefully placing the tray with their tea and muffins on the table.

They were back in the Common Room after dinner, working on their Herbology homework. She’d had to wait all day to get Ron and Hermione alone; they’d gone from brunch to the Library and back to the Great Hall for Sunday Roast at about two, and then they’d spent the rest of the day there, doing their homework and surrounded by Fred and George and Angelina and Dean and Seamus and Neville and Sue and Leila and Lavender and Parvati and the entirety of Gryffindor. Harry was sure none of them would have told on them, or got them in trouble or anything – but it was their thing: the three of them, finding Flamel and dealing with Snape. She didn’t want anyone else involved, because it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

“I’ve found him!” Harry said.

 “Who?” Hermione asked

“Flamel.”

Hermione nearly dropped her cup of tea and Ron looked gobsmacked.

“You what?”

Harry nodded excitedly.

“On the Frog card earlier! I told you – I knew I’d read his name somewhere.”

She took it out of her pocket and showed it to them. Ron handed it to Hermione, and she must have read it because a moment later she jumped out of her seat as if she’d been stung.

“Stay there!” she said, sprinted up the stairs to the dorms without another word. Harry and Ron looked at each other in confusion as her footsteps pounded into the stone.

“Is she okay?” Ron asked, as Hermione came bounding down the stairs, coming to a halt at the table with a huge book in her hands. Harry hadn’t seen her so excited since they’d gotten back the marks for their first piece of homework back in September.

Hermione slammed the book down on the table, and began flicking frantically through the pages.

“I never thought to look in here!” she said breathlessly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“Light?” said Ron – Harry snorted – but Hermione told them to be quiet. At last she found what she was looking for.

“I knew it! I knew it!” she said, practically jumping up and down. She turned the book towards them for them to see.

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with transmutation, the cure for disease, and the extension of life through immortality. In 1144 the renowned warlock Robert of Chester completed his translation of the Arab text Risālat Maryānus al-rāhib al-ḥakīm li-l-amīr Khālid ibn Yazīd, and thus exposed Europe to the secrets of its ancestors, as preserved by the Arabs for nearly seven hundred years.

The primary goal of alchemy is the creation of a Philosopher’s Stone, a substance that will in theory harness and enact the powers of the discipline. The Stone would perform feats such as the transformation of any metal into pure gold, and produce the Elixir of Life, which would make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of Philosopher’s Stones over the centuries, but the only one that is currently known to exist belongs to one Nicholas Flamel, the famed fourteenth-century warlock. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, has used the Stone for the prolonged life of himself and his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight), though its current whereabouts is unknown.

“Well?” Hermione asked when Harry and Ron had finished reading. They looked at her. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“Oh, we’re allowed to speak now, are we?” Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry spoke.

“That must be what the dog’s guarding,” she said slowly, reading the passage again.

The Stone would perform feats such as the transformation of any metal into pure gold, and produce the Elixir of Life, which would make the drinker immortal.

She could understand the pull of the gold – but why would Snape want to be immortal? Did he really want to be marking Potions essays forever?

“Exactly!” Hermione said. “I bet Flamel 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!”

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

They spent most of the evening in the Library, getting out every book they could physically carry on Alchemy. Madam Pince gave them a wary look as they approached her desk with twenty five books between them: Harry’s stack was almost as tall as she was.

“Is there any particular reason for the sudden interest in Alchemical Sciences?” she asked, looking over the rim of her glasses after she’d finished making a note of who was accountable for returning which book. “Your tastes have been quite… varied over the past few months, shall we say?”

“Not at all, Miss,” Ron said. He had a special talent for bullshitting. “We’ve just been – well – my friends here” – he broke off, gesturing to Harry and Hermione, who smiled at the Librarian as sweetly as possible – “were both raised by muggles, and I’ve been thinking that it’s probably a good idea to bring the up to speed, y’know? Can’t have the Girl-Who-Lived not knowing anything about our world! I just don’t think that the first year curriculum is… practical enough.”

To their surprise, Madam Pince nodded.

“I understand completely,” she said earnestly, and for a moment Harry felt a twinge of guilt for lying to her. “I’ve been saying to Professor Dumbledore for years that the curriculum isn’t nearly inclusive enough, and that we should be doing more to help muggle-born students assimilate into our world.”

They nodded, relieved that she’d bought it.

“That doesn’t quite explain, though,” the Librarian went on, “what your interest in Alchemy is.”

“I just think it’s interesting,” Hermione piped up suddenly. “You know I like to read all sorts of things, Miss.”

“I see,” she said, and then sighed, apparently satisfied. “It’s a shame you weren’t placed in Ravenclaw, Miss Granger.”

“I don’t know – I quite like Gryffindor,” Hermione said, looking between Harry and Ron, and for a second, Madam Pince softened.

“Very well,” she said, and then she was back to her usual self. “Now off with you! You’ve had me talking far too loud!”

They grabbed their books and thanked her as they scurried back to the Common Room, and spent what was left of the night reading about Alchemy while Ron and Harry talked about what they would do with a Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t until Ron said he’d buy the Chudley Cannons – “No, not the Chudley Channons, Hermione! Say it with me: Chud-ley CAN-nons!” – that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match against Hufflepuff.

“I’m going to play,” she told Ron and Hermione. “Hopefully Snape won’t try anything with my broom a second time or else someone might pick up on it, and I don’t want to give Slytherin the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared of him, either. It’ll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.”

“Just as long as we’re not wiping you off the field,” Ron said. Hermione just rolled her eyes and told Harry her priorities were messed up.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Despite what she’d said to Hermione and Ron about not being scared of Snape, Harry grew increasingly anxious as the match drew closer: a fortnight turned into ten days, which turned into a week, and then it was just a matter of days before she’d be facing the Potions teacher on the pitch. She wasn’t the only one who was nervous, though: the rest of the team were worried, too, because of they won this match, Gryffindor would confirm their current lead on Slytherin – and then they were in with a shot of winning the Quidditch Cup overall. It would be the first time that it had happened in seven years. It was a wonderful idea – but would they be able to do it, with such a biased referee?

Even though they were concerned about wildly different things, Harry found some comfort in the worries of the rest of the team, as it meant she wasn’t alone in her anxiety. True to their word, Fred and George had stopped harassing Snape in lessons (which Oliver was grateful for), and they seemed to have declared a total ceasefire of their pranks in the run-up to the match. Angelina had allowed Oliver to temporarily increase their training, and what evenings the team didn’t spend on the pitch, they spent instead at the Training Grounds. Admittedly, Harry’s homework fell a bit by the wayside, but Hermione let her get away with it – and helped to bring up the slack – because she was worried about letting the fear of Snape get to Harry, no matter what Harry told her.

It probably didn’t help that Harry seemed to keep on running into the Potions teacher whenever she happened to be alone – whether that was popping to the loo, or picking up a textbook she’d forgotten in her dorm, or meeting the rest of the Quidditch team down at the Training Grounds. It was almost like he was trying to catch her on her own, because she rarely saw him when she was with anyone else. No – she had to be imagining it. He couldn’t possibly be following her… unless… could he? It wasn’t completely beyond the realm of possibility, but there seemed to be a bit of a jump between being a passive creep, both glaring and staring at Harry in class, and actually following her. It did occur to Harry that perhaps he’d found out that they’d realised about the Philosopher’s Stone – but that couldn’t be it… Snape didn’t know how to read minds, right?

No matter how hard Fred and George and Hermione and Ron tried to keep Harry calm the evening before the match, nothing seemed to help. After Potions that morning, Snape had told Harry to stay behind after class. Ron had tried to stay too, but had been sent out, though afterwards Harry had learned that he’d been hovering by the closed door, listening. It hadn’t been that bad, in fairness. Snape had had Harry set up for the next lesson while he marked fourth-year essays at his desk, and then asked her about the match the next day.

“I do hope you’re training hard for the match,” he’d said. “It would certainly be a shame if something happened to Gryffindor’s new Seeker in only her second game.”

It wasn’t that bad, not really – but it had made her even more anxious about the match the next day (the knot in her chest had expanded to the pit of her stomach) and she hadn’t been able to eat much of anything at lunch, though Fred had convinced her to have a couple of chips off his plate. That evening, the twins came back to the Common Room at seven, having served a detention with Snape for “accidentally” dropping flobberworm mucus all over his head. Oliver had told them off, but they didn’t seem in the least bit apologetic. Harry appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t improve her mood enough to help her get to sleep.

Hermione made her drink so many cups of chamomile tea that Harry was convinced it made up the majority of her bloodstream.

The next day dawned chilly and overcast. Harry wasn’t hungry, though Ron got her to eat a single slice of bread and butter at lunch.

She had a feeling, as Ron and Hermione wished her luck outside the changing rooms at quarter-to-two, that they were wondering whether or not they would see her alive again. Harry certainly was – but then again, she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she wasn’t paying much attention to anything. She didn’t hear a word of Oliver’s pep talk, and she had to be called five times before she’d heard Angelina telling her to come over so she could do her hair for the match. Afterwards, Oliver took her aside.

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

Harry nodded, trying to put on a brave face and act as if her only worry was trying to win the Cup.

“The whole school’s out there!” Fred announced, coming back into the tent. Harry didn’t see him leave. “Even Dumbledore!”

“He what?”

“Dumbledore’s out there!” he repeated, coming over to stand by Harry. Oliver had moved on to telling Angelina, Katie and Alicia that they shouldn’t try the Parkin’s Pincer or any other aggressive manoeuvres in case they were called out as Fouls by Snape, and any time spent arguing with him would only serve to side him with Hufflepuff even more.

“Really?”

Fred nodded excitedly, saying, “He’s up in the Teacher’s Box with the others!”

All the tension left Harry’s shoulders at once. She could have cried with relief. There was no way that Snape would dare to try anything if Dumbledore was there.

“You alright, Harry?” Fred asked.

She nodded. She was finally looking forward to the match.

*     *     *

“Remember, it’s Lo-co-MO-tor MOR-tis,” Hermione said under her breath.

“I know, ‘Mione,” Ron whispered back.

After parting with Harry, they had found a place in the stands with clear view of the pitch and the Teacher’s Box. They needed a good sightline to Snape, as they had been secretly practicing the hex should Snape show any sign of wanting to hurt Harry. They’d got the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville.

Sue, Leila, and the others had joined them shortly thereafter – as had, to Hermione’s surprise, a couple of the Slytherins, including Malfoy and his goons, and poor Mikhail Isaacs trailing after like a lost puppy – and settled in around them, asking why they looked so worried, and why they had brought their wands to the match.

Hermione was saved coming up with an answer by the beginning of Lee Jordan’s commentary.

“Afternoon, all, and welcome back for the fourth game of the 1991-1992 Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Cup! Today we have Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, who are currently ranking second and fourth respectively. This is a critical game for both teams, as Gryffindor need the win to get ahead of Slytherin and be in with a chance of winning the Cup this year, while Hufflepuff... well, they need this win to not come in last!”

“Jordan!” McGonagall’s voice rang out across the pitch.

“It’s true, Professor!”

“It’s rude!”

“Sorry, Profe- Hufflepuff! Sorry about that Hufflepuff?” – he didn’t sound very sorry – “As I was saying, this is a critical match for both teams! I’d also like to say a special welcome to Professor Dumbledore, who has graced us with his presence. Everyone please give him a round of applause!”

The crowd erupted as Hermione scanned the Teacher’s Box, and – yes! – caught sight of Dumbledore’s long white beard. She turned to Ron.

“He’s really there – look!”

Ron looked up at the box through his binoculars. He sighed in relief, and Hermione grinned. Harry would be fine.

Lee Jordan introduced the teams, and then Snape was on the pitch on a borrowed broomstick.

“You know the rules,” he announced. There was something off about his tone; Hermione thought it sounded angry.

“Bet you he’s livid Dumbledore turned up,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Snape blew the whistle, threw the ball – Quaffle, Hermione reminded herself; she really must start paying attention when Harry and Ron talked about Quidditch – up in the air, and then they were off.

“Bet you he’s livid he had to shower last night,” she quipped.

Ron laughed, though after a moment he cried out. Hermione turned and saw that Malfoy had hit him around the head.

“Oh, sorry, Weasley – didn’t see you there,” he drawled, not sounding very sorry at all. He smirked, and said, “Oh, now I’ve got you – how long d’you reckon Potter’ll stay on her broom this time? I’ve got ten galleons riding on five minutes.”

Ron scowled, though he didn’t say anything, and turned back towards the match. Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George had hit one of those angry balls at him. Hermione scanned the sky, and found Harry circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. She crossed all her fingers by her sides, hoping that she wouldn’t have to use the Leg-Locking Hex on Snape.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. “It’s people they feel sorry for – see, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money. You should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and glanced at Neville. He was bright red, though he turned to face Malfoy, hands in fists at his sides.

“S-Shove off, M-Malfoy,” he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter. Ron didn’t look away from the game, but said, “You tell him, Neville.”

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

Hermione would have said something, but Harry had just dived out of the way as another one of those angry balls came spinning past and nearly knocked into her. One of the twins flew past her, and knocked it in the direction of the Hufflepuff Goal Keeper. It hit them, just as another Gryffindor team member – Angelina, Hermione remembered – approached the goals with the Quaffle and tossed it through the hoop. Another… five points to Gryffindor? Ten? She really ought to learn how the game worked if Harry was going to carry on playing next year.

Hermione found Harry again – just as she went down in a spectacular dive, streaking towards the ground. Gasps and cheers came from the ground as Hermione screamed, “COME ON, Harry!”

“You’re in luck, Weasley – Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” sneered Malfoy.

Hermione turned as Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville gawked for a moment, and then clambered over the stands to help. Seamus and Dean turned to see what the kerfuffle was about, and Hermione was about to ask them to stop Ron and Neville before they got into any serious trouble, when another gasp came from the crowd. Her head snapped back to the game – Harry was fine, chasing the Snitch around the pitch, neck and neck with the Hufflepuff Seeker, whose name Hermione remembered to be Diggory. A flash of red whipped past the spectators, and hit the back of Snape’s broomstick – and the next second, Harry pulled up out of the dive, her arm outstretched and the Snitch in hand.

The stands erupted as Hermione leapt up onto the bench, cheering, and hugged Sue and Parvati in front of her, jumping for joy. Harry hadn’t died – and Gryffindor were one step closer to winning the Cup!

She felt something push her down off the bench, and fell onto Parvati. Turning her head, she saw that Seamus was now involved in whatever it was that was happening between Neville, Crabbe and Goyle, and that Dean was trying his best to pull them apart. Ron was on top of Malfoy, and it was his elbow, wound back before a punch, that had knocked her off the bench. Hermione stared with guilty satisfaction as Ron’s fist came down on Malfoy and he howled.

*     *     *

Harry jumped off her broom as the rest of the team ran towards her and enveloped her in a hug. She didn’t even mind that they were touching her, or that she could feel Oliver crying: she’d just placed Gryffindor miles ahead of Slytherin – they were unlikely to overtake them now – and in the shortest match of the year so far.

Harry felt someone pull everyone away from her, and saw that it was Fred. He grinned at her, and then looked up, gaping. Harry felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned her head to see that Dumbledore was stood behind her. She was so startled she didn’t even brush him off.

“Congratulations, both of you,” he said, smiling kindly. Fred nodded and smiled awkwardly, and then a moment later he was tackled by George and Angelina in a hug. He went crashing to the floor with a scream. Harry laughed, as Dumbledore said quietly so only she could hear, “Good to see you’ve been keeping busy and not brooding over that mirror… excellent…”

And then he was gone. Harry scanned the crowd for where he’d got to – and for Ron and Hermione – and some distance away saw Snape land on the ground with a face like thunder. He spat bitterly on the ground, and stalked off.

Chapter Text

Harry climbed the stairs up to her dorm, broom in hand, replaying the last few hours in her head.

Moments after Dumbledore had disappeared and Snape had stalked off, Ron and Hermione had come running down onto the pitch from the stands, the former sporting a bloody nose – apparently, he’d missed most of the match because he’d gotten into a fight with Malfoy. Harry was only mildly envious.

The entire House had made their way back up to the castle for a very loud second lunch in the Great Hall, and then back to the Common Room. The party hadn’t started until about five-thirty, though, when Fred and George had returned from the kitchens bearing food and drinks, and one of the older kids – Ash, Harry thought their name was – had broken out the vodka. The twins hadn’t been happy when they’d been told they were too young to have any.

Harry had taken this opportunity to slip away to change out of her Quidditch gear and get some alone time. She could still hear voices and the music from the Common Room even with the door closed, but this was probably the closest she was going to get. She was just about to pull her jumper off when she glanced over at the window – their room had a beautiful view of the sun setting over the mountains and the Forbidden Forest – when a figure sneaking across the Clocktower Courtyard caught her eye.

Harry moved closer to the window, pulling Parvati’s telescope over from the other side of the window sill, and peered through. The figure was clad in black and had its hood up, though as it turned its’ head, the hood slipped back and Harry realised that it was Snape. She watched as he checked that the coast was clear, and then stalked across the wooden bridge – though he turned not in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, but instead towards the Forbidden Forest.

Snape was clearly up to something, and Harry was going to find out what it was. She flung open her trunk, and rummaged around for her Invisibility Cloak. Pulling it free of her other clothes, Harry grabbed her broomstick and threw the Cloak around her shoulders. It was bigger than she remembered it to be, though luckily it covered both her and the broom. She practically flew down the stairs, and slipped around the outside of the crowd in the middle of the room, who were all watching Fred and George’s impersonation of Snape getting hit by a Bludger. Careful not to let the Cloak ride up so no one would see her feet or the bottom of the broom, Harry scrambled through the portrait hole. She tumbled into the corridor, hoping that no one was there – and froze up as she saw that there were two older girls standing a little way down. They didn’t notice her, though.

Because they were kissing.

She stood stunned for a moment as the blonde girl wrapped her arm around the brown-haired girl’s waist and put her hand on her cheek.

Harry’s face suddenly felt very warm and her hands very clammy…

… around her broomstick…

… why did she have her broomstick again?

Snape!

She was supposed to be following Snape!

Tearing her eyes away from the girls, she ran past them down the corridor – they were too wrapped up in each other to notice her – taking the stairs two at a time, and then leapt onto her broomstick as soon as she reached the courtyard. Harry kicked off from the ground and flew straight up and over the courtyard and the bridge, and towards the forest. Worried she’d lost him, Harry leant forward on her broom and it shot forward. She could feel leaves and branches brushing against her hair as she flew through the trees keeping an eye and an ear out for Snape. She was just losing hope when she heard a familiar but unexpected voice stutter, “D-D-Don’t know why y-y-you wanted t-t-to meet me h-h-here of all p-places, Severus.”

It was Quirrell.

Harry followed the sound of his voice until she was above a small, shadowy clearing in the woods. Although the sun was setting and the sky was a brilliant mixture of reds, oranges and yellows, it was dark in the forest, with the trees blocking out most of the light. Harry landed on a sturdy-looking branch with the sun behind her – if the Cloak did fail her, she’d merely be a silhouette they couldn’t make out – and held on so she could listen in.

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

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted 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,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.

“I-I don’t know what you – ”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

An owl hooted loudly close by, startling Harry, and she nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself 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 cut in. “We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. Harry waited for Quirrell to leave too, but instead he leant back against a tree, put his head in his hands, and sighed. She felt like she was intruding on a private moment, so she mounted her broomstick and kicked up from the branch, flying back towards the castle as twilight fell.

*     *     *

When Harry got back, the party was in full swing. Still wearing the Cloak, she scrambled through the portrait hole and climbed the stairs, passing a very drunk Oliver who was being looked after by Percy.

“You’re one of my favourite people ever, Perce,” the Quidditch Captain said, sagging against the wall and tapping the other boy on the nose.

“I know, Ollie,” Percy sighed, a bit like the way he did when he was dealing with Fred and George – frustration, but definite affection.

This was definitely a private moment, so Harry sprinted up the last leg of the stairs. Luckily, the room was empty, though she could tell that Parvati had been in there since she’d left: Harry’s trunk had been closed and the books she’d dislodged pulling out the Cloak earlier had been neatly stacked on the closed lid; the telescope was back on her own side of the window sill; and everything that had been a mess before the match – including the face paint they’d put on earlier – had been cleaned and tidied away. Parvati was a bit of a neat freak.

Harry changed into her jeans and her Weasley jumper, shoving the Cloak back in the bottom of her trunk under her books, and bounded back down the stairs. Percy and Oliver had disappeared.

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione demanded as Harry dropped down next to her in the huge armchair in the corner. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Harry had been hoping no one would notice her absence, but she’d forgotten about the fact that she and Hermione were usually Party Buddies.

“Well you can’t have looked everywhere, or else you would have found me,” Harry pointed out.

Hermione gave her a look.

“Parvati said that your trunk was a mess and your books were everywhere,” she went on, and then lowered her voice so that only Harry could hear, “so I know wherever it was, you took your Cloak.” She mouthed the last word.

Harry looked up to check that no one was near enough to hear her – no one was – so she whispered, “I was following Snape.”

“Snape?”

Harry nodded.

“I’ll tell you and Ron properly later, but – ”

“Harry! There you are!”

Harry looked up to see Fred, George and Ron approach them, and Fred fling himself down onto the beanbag at their feet. George jumped on top of him and Fred cried out in pain, and then they were rolling around on the floor, wrestling for the right to the beanbag. Ron just laughed and perched himself on one of the arms of the armchair. At last, George emerged as the victor, and Fred grumpily pulled himself onto the footstool, his hair a mess. Harry had a fleeting thought of it looking cute like that, and then George asked her, “So where have you been?”

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Fred cried.

Before Harry could come up with a good excuse, Hermione said, “Well you can’t have looked everywhere, or you would have found her!”

Ron snorted as Fred turned to George.

“When did she get a sense of humour?”

“Fred!”

“I’m serious!”

*     *     *

Harry had to wait all evening to tell Ron and Hermione what she’d seen, because she couldn’t get Ron away from the twins. Everyone had seen Malfoy with a glorious shiner around his left eye, trailing after Madam Pomfrey as she escorted Neville and Seamus to the Hospital Wing, and Fred and George had been well impressed that Ron had been the one to give it to him. They’d spent all afternoon and most of the evening asking him every detail about the fight, and bragging to everyone and anyone who would listen that it was their little brother who had done it. Ron was glowing from the praise.

Not for the first time, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to have a big brother or a sister.

At last, she caught him alone – the twins had disappeared back to the kitchens for some more food – and pulled him and Hermione up the stairs to Ron’s dorm room: she’d heard Parvati and Lavender call it a night earlier, and she knew that Neville and Seamus were still out cold in the Hospital Wing, and that Dean would still be with Seamus. Harry had Ron open the door, and then, shutting the door behind them, she told them what she’d seen and heard.

“So we were right,” Hermione said when Harry had finished. “It is the Philosopher’s Stone – ”

“And Snape’s trying to get it,” Ron finished, looking at Hermione pointedly.

“What?”

“I told you Snape was dodgy!”

“There was never any doubt about Snape being dodgy!” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “I just think that there’s a bit of a difference between being dodgy because he wants to get rid of Harry because she’s onto him about the Stone, and being dodgy because he’s perving on her!”

“And what is that difference?” Ron asked.

“The difference between killing Harry and keeping her alive!”

“I don’t think perverts bother with using logic!”

“And what mak– ”

“Oh my god, shut up, both of you!” Harry shouted. They looked at her. “Whether or not Snape is a creep or just creep-y is neither here nor there” – she broke off to shush Ron – “but we do know that he’s trying to get the Stone, and he’s making Quirrell help him to do it.”

“You said he was asking about Fluffy and Quirrell’s ‘hocus pocus’ – does that mean there are other things guarding the Stone other than the dog?” Hermione asked.

“Must be some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs help on,” Harry said, remembering how Quirrell had crumbled when Snape walked away.

“Hang on – so the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” Ron asked.

Harry and Hermione nodded, exchanging confused looks. Hadn’t he been listening?

“In that case it’ll be gone by Tuesday.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

But Quirrell must have been braver than they’d thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn’t look as though he’d cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days she gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at the teacher’s stutter. Fred and George must have picked up on something, too, because they stopped playing jokes on him, and instead devoted the majority of their attention to messing with Snape – which Oliver wasn’t happy with, until he’d found out that the Gryffindor-versus-Hufflepuff match was to be the beginning and end of Snape’s Quidditch Refereeing career.

“Knock yourselves out,” he’d said, “and make sure you get him back for that bullshit Foul he called on Katie.”

With only a month left until the final Quidditch matches, Oliver was still on them about training, because they only needed a handful more points to win the Cup – but with his O.W.L.s finally around the corner, Percy and Angelina had conspired to have her lead two out of their three weekly sessions while he made sure Oliver was actually revising for his exams. Most of the time this happened in the Quidditch stands, with Oliver easily getting distracted and yelling advice at Angelina or one of the other team members on how best to do the manoeuvre they were practicing, but, as Percy said, getting Oliver to do some revision was better than letting him do no revision.

Hermione, however, was a few steps ahead of Percy.

At the start of April, she presented Harry and Ron each with their own revision schedules that she’d made up for them – as well as her own – and began going back and colour-coding her notes for the whole year, advising them to do the same.

“But Hermione, the exams are ages away,” Harry whined as Hermione dropped a box of post-it notes and felt tips in front of her. “Why do we need to start now?”

“They’re not ages away,” Hermione said, “We have eight weeks! Eight weeks!”

Ron and Harry exchanged a look of confusion.

“And? That’s loads of time.”

“Eight weeks is not loads of time! It’s like a second to Nicholas Flamel!”

“Yes, but we’re not six hundred years old!” Ron reminded her. “You already know everything, anyway – what are you revising for?”

“What am I revising for?” Hermione sounded scandalised. “We need to pass the exams to be able to come back next year!”

“Hermione, you literally know everything. Of course you’ll get back in next year,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

But Hermione wasn’t listening, and was muttering to herself as she laid out her notes and began highlighting

“What am I revising for?” she scoffed. “Should’ve started revising a month ago, but nooo, you had to get yourself sucked in to the Stone and bloody Quidditch, didn’t you, Hermione? Don’t know what’s gotten into you recently…”

The teachers were, unfortunately, on the same page as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them in the run-up to the holidays that Harry barely managed to get through all of it before she had to get to Quidditch training. A lengthy argument with Hermione culminated in Harry and Ron missing the Slytherin-versus-Hufflepuff match (Slytherin won) to revise – though because it was their very final match of the year, Hermione, Angelina and Percy let Harry and Oliver get away with having training every night of the week in the days leading up to the match.

They were playing Ravenclaw, and Harry was up against Charlotte Cho to get the Snitch.

Sadly, the match was a blur, and Gryffindor ended up losing, though not spectacularly. Like Gryffindor, the Ravenclaw team had won all of their matches throughout the year, but, because the players were all older than their Gryffindor counterparts, they’d all had slightly more experience, and weren’t so easily (and literally) thrown by Bludgers or other players knocking into them. Harry had very, very, very nearly got the Snitch from Cho, but the Ravenclaw Seeker had somehow managed to catch it in her sleeve – performing a move called the Plumpton Pass – giving her team the hundred and fifty points and victory over Gryffindor. After the match, Cho had smiled at Harry apologetically and shaken her hand, and Harry hadn’t been able to speak.

Oliver had gotten himself ridiculously drunk afterwards, and apparently cried himself to sleep. The next day, though, he’d gathered the team for a commiserative throw-about, and told them that they did the best they could, and that there were two more years that they had to win the Cup, so they’d better carry on their own training over the summer. Harry had a strong feeling that Angelina had written the speech.

The Spring holidays started on the following Monday, and ended up being painfully dull: now that Quidditch was out of the way for the year, Harry had no excuse to evade Hermione’s military-like revision schedule, and they ended up spending most of their time in the Library.

“I’ll never remember this,” Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and gazing longingly out of the window. It was the first really nice day they’d had in months: the sky was blue, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the blossoms had started coming out on the trees.  

Harry murmured her agreement without looking up. She was trying to find Dittany in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi (though it felt like One Gazillion Magical Herbs and Fungi), though a moment later she heard Ron say, “Oh – Hagrid! What are you doing here?” and looked up.

True enough, Hagrid shuffled into view, looking very out of place with his enormous coat, and bits of dust in his hair and beard. He was very clearly hiding something behind his back.

“Jus’ lookin’,” he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” His face was suddenly suspicious, casting an accusatory eye over them. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicholas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found him ages ago,” said Ron blasély. “And we know what that dog’s guarding, too – it’s a Philosopher’s St– ”

“Shhhh!” Hagrid whispered, looking around quickly to see if anyone was listening. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

“Actually, we’d like to ask you a few things about it,” Harry said. “Like what’s guarding the Stone apart from Flu– ”

“SHHHH!” Hagrid said again, more aggressively this time, and then sighed. “Alrigh’, then. No harm in tellin’ yeh what yeh already know. Come an’ see me later, abou’ six-ish? We can talk abou’ everythin’ then – just don’ go rabbitin’ on about it where anybody can hear, alrigh’? Students aren’ s’pposed ter know.”

Harry, Hermione and Ron nodded their agreement, eyes wide and hopeful.

“We won’t say another word,” Hermione said.

Satisfied, Hagrid nodded and shuffled off, trying (and failing) to conceal whatever it was that he was trying to hide behind him. As he turned away from them, Harry saw that it was a book, and she caught three letters of what was on the cover: “Dra”.

“He was definitely trying to hide something, wasn’t he?” Ron said when they were confident he’d gone.

“It was a book,” Harry said. “I think the cover said ‘Dra’?”

“Dra?” Hermione giggled.

“His hand was covering the rest!”

“D’you reckon it has anything to do with the… Special Rock?” Ron asked after a moment.

“Subtle,” Harry snorted. Hermione shrugged.

“I’m going to see where he was looking,” he said. He got up and wandered off – though he came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

“Dragons!” he whispered, laying them out for Harry and Hermione to see. “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 – ”

“Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon. He told me so the first time I ever met him,” Harry said without thinking, remembering their conversation over cake in St James’ Park. It felt like a life time ago.

Ron stared at her.

“But it’s against the law!” Ron said. “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709! Everyone knows that!”

“How is that considered common knowledge?” Hermione interjected.

Ron shrugged.

“I dunno – I just remember it because Mum would say it whenever Charlie asked why we couldn’t have a pet dragon. Anyway – it’s because it would violate the International Statute of Secrecy. It’s a bit hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden, and they’re, like, impossible to train properly so they’re safe around children. You should see the burns Charlie has off the ones he works with, and they like him.”

“So what the hell is Hagrid up to?”

*     *     *

When they knocked on the door of Hagrid’s hut three hours later, they were surprised to see what must have been blankets and sheets blocking out the windows: Hagrid didn’t have proper curtains. He’d called gruffly, “Who is it?” before he’d let them in, and then poked his head out to have a look around (“Make sure no one’s followin’ yeh.”), shutting the door quickly behind them.

It was boiling inside, because even though it was still warm outside, for some reason there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea (which they took) and offered them stoat sandwiches (which they politely refused).

“So,” he said, sitting down on the armchair by the fire. “Yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”

“Yes,” said Harry, placing her cup down on the table. There was no point beating around the bush. “We were hoping you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy.”

Hagrid frowned.

“O’ course I can’t,” he said. Their faces fell. “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.”

“But you said you were going to tell us things!” Harry protested.

“I said nothin’ of the sort! I said I’d tell yeh what yer already know!”

“But we already know it!”

“Exactly. Now – what do yeh already know?”

Defeated, Harry told him how’d she’d remembered the small parcel that Hagrid had taken from Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen back in July – “Shouldn’t’a done that, but Dumbledore insisted it be that day” – and how they’d stumbled across Fluffy when they “got lost going to class”, not wanting to tell him that she’d intended to duel Malfoy that night. She relayed what she’d seen on Halloween, and then what she’d heard between Snape and Filch the night before her first Quidditch match, and how they’d made the connection between Flamel and Dumbledore, and worked out what the parcel was because of it. And finally, she told him about following Snape, and the conversation she’d overheard between him and Quirrell.

“That’s everything, I think,” Harry said, looking between Ron and Hermione. They nodded. “It’s just – It’s just that Snape is trying to steal it.”

Hagrid’s mouth had been hanging open in stunned silence, and then he sputtered, “Snape?”

They nodded.

“Snape is not tryin’ ter steal the Stone, I can tell yeh that much.”

“But Hagrid, he tried to get past the dog! And Harry heard him threatening Quirrell!” Hermione cried.

“Well, I’m not sure wha’ that was abou’, but Snape is not tryin’ ter steal the Stone!”

“How can you be sure, Hagrid?” Ron asked, pouring himself another cup.

Hagrid opened his mouth as if to answer, and then closed it firmly, shaking his head.

There was a beat, and then in a warm, flattering tone, Hermione said, “Oh, come on, Hagrid. You might not want to tell us, but you do know – you know everything that goes on around here.”

Hagrid’s beard twitched, and under it Harry could tell he was trying not to smile. What little she could see of his cheeks were flushed red.

“We only want to know that the Stone’s safe,” Hermione went on. “Even if it’s not Snape trying to steal it, someone must be, because of the break-in at Gringotts. There wouldn’t be so much secrecy around it if it wasn’t so important, anyway. We just wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him… apart from you, of course,” she finished, smiling sweetly.

Hagrid’s chest swelled at these last words.

“Well… I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that…” he said. “Seein’ as yeh jus’ wan’ ter make sure it’s safe an’ all. Let’s see – well there’s Sprout… Flitwick… Quirrell” – he counted them on his fingers – “an’ McGonagall, of course… Then Professor Dumbledore himself did somethin’, obviously… oh! I almos’ forgot – Snape!”

“Snape?” Hermione squeaked.

But Harry was thinking back to the last summer: hadn’t Hagrid told her exactly what was happening when he’d said that he and the other teachers had been working on something important? The clues had been there the entire time. She should have known.

“Yeah, Snape! I told yeh – he helped protect the Stone! He’s not abou’ ter steal it.”

At that, Harry exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione, and knew that they were all thinking the same thing: Snape being in on the protecting the Stone meant that it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything – except, it seemed, Quirrell’s spell, because he was new and he didn’t yet know how the DADA teacher worked, and how to get past Fluffy.

“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?” Harry asked anxiously. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?”

“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” said Hagrid proudly.

Harry sighed in relief, and then shrugged off her cardigan, pulling her hair off her neck.

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

“Can’t, Harry, sorry,” Hagrid said quickly, glancing at the fire. Harry followed his line of sight, and saw something round sitting among the coals and logs.

“Hagrid? Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Hagrid looked guiltily between Harry and the egg, and came out at last with a tentative, “No?”

Ron got up and went over to the fire, examining it.

“Where did you get it? Must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“I – er – I won it,” said Hagrid, avoiding Harry’s pointed look. “Las’ night. I was down a’ the Hog’s Head 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?” asked Hermione, staring at the egg in horror.

“Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. “Got this outta the library” – he held up a copy of 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” – he flipped to a page near the start of the book that read “Identifying Your Eggs” – “how ter recognize diff’rent eggs. That’s a Norwegian Ridgeback I’ve got. Dead rare, they are.”

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t.

“Hagrid,” she said, the reluctant bearer of bad but obvious news, “you live in a wooden house.”

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

Harry put her head in her hands. In addition to (1) trying to make it through the school year and her exams, (2) worrying about Snape being a creep, (3) worrying about Snape trying to steal the Stone, and (4) worrying about going back to the Dursleys at the end of the year, she also now had (5) Hagrid to worry about, and what would happen if anyone found out that he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut and that he was apparently planning to keep it as a pet.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As term restarted, their homework somewhat decreased as they were now no longer covering new material in class, and they spent lessons almost entirely on revision. This was a welcome change, as with the weather growing warmer (only just – they were in Scotland, after all) and the days longer, they spent more and more time outside on the grounds during breaks and after class. Harry had tentatively gone back to wearing skirts, but perhaps because he was so preoccupied with trying to steal the Stone, Snape barely noticed her – or anyone, really. He’d stopped accidentally-on-purpose running into Harry in the corridor, and stopped taking points off Gryffindor for ridiculous reasons. It was as if he didn’t have the energy to be nasty –

“Which I think proves that he does it on purpose, just to be a git,” Ron announced, a week into Snape’s new normal.

They were sat around the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall eating breakfast, speculating with Neville, Seamus, Dean, Sue and Leila about the reason for the recent changes in their Potions teacher’s behaviour. Their Friday class had been the most tranquil of the year so far: Snape had given them a fifteen-minute (though it felt like an hour) refresher on the Antidote to Common Poisons, then written the instructions on the board and left the classroom for the remainder of the lesson. Harry had actually been able to concentrate without Snape’s hand on her back and him breathing down her neck, and Neville had actually managed to brew a successful potion without anything going wrong. Sue was of the opinion that the next time Neville messed up a potion – “No offence, love!” – that they should just force feed it to Snape in whatever condition it was, and then they might actually get “a competent Potions teacher who isn’t a complete cunt”.

“Sue!”

“What?” she shrugged, digging into her cereal. “I’m right.”

“Sue is right,” Dean agreed, “I’m just not sure I agree with the wording.”

“What, ‘cunt’?”

Leila choked on her toast, and Seamus pounded her on the back.

“Sue!”

“Hermione!” she shot back.

“Stop swearing!”

“I’ll stop calling him a cunt when he stops being a cunt,” Sue said, and then turned to Dean, “What would you call him, then?”

Dean shrugged.

“Oh, go on. Say it,” she grinned.

He shook his head.

“Oh, please say it, Dean,” Harry pleaded.

“I just – I hate that word,” he shuddered, making a face.

“Oh, alright then. Go for ‘fuck’.”

“Sue!”

“Hermione!” Sue said again, and turned her attention back to Dean. “Please say ‘fuck’.”

“Go on, Dean,” Seamus chimed in, having dealt with Leila.

Dean sighed and looked around.

“Do you really want me to say it?”

Six of them nodded enthusiastically, while Hermione rolled her eyes.

He took a deep breath, and then said loudly, “FUCK!”

“MR THOMAS!”

“… Oh no.”

Dean looked up sheepishly as Madam Hooch marched over to the table from the doors, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Explain yourself, Mr Thomas.”

Dean stammered for a moment before Leila cut in with an elaborate explanation as to why Dean had needed to swear out loud in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry was trying not to laugh, and luckily for her, at that moment Hedwig came swooping in with a letter.

Harry busied herself with the owl – she untied the letter from her leg and fed her some toast and a bit of Ron’s bacon – before sending her off. She opened the rolled up bit of parchment to find two words scrawled in familiar handwriting.

It’s hatching.

Since they’d found out about Hagrid’s dragon egg, they’d gone to check on it twice a day, hoping that the creature inside might decide to delay its birth until after the school year so they wouldn’t have to deal with it – but apparently not.

Harry gestured for Ron and Hermione to shuffle further down the table away from the others. They obliged, and checking that no one was paying attention, she showed them the note. Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to Hagrid’s, but Hermione wouldn’t hear of it.

“Oh, come on, Hermione! When are we ever going to get to see a dragon hatching?”

“We’ve got lessons! I’m not getting a detention for a bloody lizard – and don’t even get me started on what’s going to happen to us and to Hagrid when someone finds out what he’s do– ”

“Shut up!” Harry whispered urgently, kicking her under the table.

Malfoy was standing only a few feet away. Harry didn’t like the look on his face at all – he couldn’t have heard them, could he? If Neville and Seamus hadn’t heard, and they were closer than Malfoy was… but then, Neville and Seamus were busy trying to help Leila out of a plot hole she’d talked herself into while trying to talk Dean out of trouble with Madam Hooch.

Malfoy walked off without another glance in Harry’s direction. It didn’t make her feel any better.

*     *     *

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid’s with the other two during Break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of the lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the Hagrid’s hut. He greeted them at the door, looking flushed and excited.

“It’s nearly out,” he said with barely controlled glee, ushering them inside.

The egg was laying on the table among hot coals. There were deep cracks in it, membrane poking through, and something was moving inside. It reminded Harry of the hatchling chicken eggs she’d seen in the year four classroom last year – though from the clicking noise coming from inside this egg, she didn’t think there was a fluffy brown chick in this one.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

After a few minutes, there was a scraping and crackling noise, and then the egg split open – and something flopped onto the table. It looked a bit like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, and it had a long snout with wide nostrils, stubby horns, and bulging, orange eyes.

It was an actual, real life, living dragon.

The dragon sneezed, and a couple of sparks flew out of its snout. The force made it jump backwards.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. “Look – bless him, he knows his mummy!”

Hermione, however, was staring at the dragon in horror.

“Hagrid,” she said cautiously, keeping her tone level in case the dragon turned on her, “how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?”

Hagrid turned to Hermione and opened his mouth to answer – but then the colour suddenly drained from his face. He scrambled out of his chair, bumping the table and knocking the dragon off its feet, and ran to the window.

“What’s the matter?”

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

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him.

She felt sick.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The gnawing feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach got worse every time she saw Malfoy over the next few days. Whenever she saw him – which was more often than usual, and Harry had a feeling he was doing it on purpose to make her feel worse – he wore smug smile that set her on edge.

They spent most of their time in Hagrid’s darkened hut, trying to reason with him about what to do with the dragon now it had actually hatched. Well – Harry and Ron did. Hermione sat in the corner revising by lamplight, because there were only ten days until their exams started.

“Just let him go,” Harry urged. “You’ve got to set him free, Hagrid.”

“I can’t,” said Hagrid, his words slightly slurred. “He’s too little. He’d die.”

Harry looked at the dragon. It had doubled in length in just four days. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils, and every now and then it would sneeze and light small fires on the end of Hagrid’s beard. He was spending all his time on the dragon – he’d not done anything but tend to the creature, and there were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor… and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t the dragon that had consumed all of the drink.

“I’ve decided ter call ‘im Norbert,” said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. “He really knows me now – watch! Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mummy?”

“He’s lost his marbles,” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

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

This seemed to get to Hagrid. He bit his lip.

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

Harry had an idea. She turned to Ron.

“Charlie,” she said.

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

“No,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Your brother, Charlie. The one with the dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!”

“Brilliant!” said Ron. “How about it, Hagrid?”

Hagrid spent the next hour umm-ing and ahh-ing, but eventually he agreed to them sending Charlie a letter.

Hedwig, however, had to be bribed with mice and head scratches to fly all the way to Romania and back. They sent her off that evening.

Charlie,
I may or may not have accidentally gotten involved with Hagrid getting a hold of a Norwegian Ridgeback egg, and now it’s hatched. His name is Norbert.
Could you take it please?
I’ll get Bill to make you that cake you like when you come home this summer?
Love you,
Ron (your favourite) xxxxxxxxxxxxx <- see, that's how much I love you. PLEASE TAKE THE DRAGON!!
P.S. The owl is Harry’s and her name is Hedwig. She will need to be bribed with mice and bacon before you send her back.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Sunday night found Harry and Hermione waiting up for Ron in the Common Room. Harry had needed extra help with her History of Magic revision – “It’s so boring I want to gouge my eyes out, Hermione! It’s not my fault Binns can’t teach!” – so Ron had gone down to Hagrid’s hut alone to help feed Norbert. The dragon had grown another half foot in two days, and was now eating dead rats by the crate.

The clock chimed midnight, and almost on cue, the portrait door opened, and Ron climbed through wearing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.

“It bit me!” he said, throwing off the Cloak and showing them his hand. It was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief that made Harry’s stomach turn. “I’m not going to be able to hold a quill for a week! I tell you, that dragon’s a menace, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you’d think it was a fluffy little bunny! When it bit me he told me off for frightening it – and when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.”

There was a tap on the dark window. Harry turned to see that it was Hedwig, and let her in. She swooped over Harry’s head and landed on the table where Ron and Hermione were sat. She stayed still as Hermione untied the letter, and then started hopping around and flapping her wings, looking for treats.

“Sorry, girl,” Harry said. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon – I haven’t got you anything.”

Hedwig looked at Harry and hooted irritably. Then she was up and soaring back out the window, and in the direction of the Owlery.

“I’m going to pay for that, aren’t I?” Harry said, closing the window and joining Hermione and Ron at the table.

“Probably, but you can deal with her tomorrow. Come on, let’s see what Charlie said.”

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

WHAT THE FUCK, RON? HOW THE FUCKING FUCK DID YOU GET A DRAGON AND WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T FRED OR GEORGE PERCY STOP YOU?!
Yes, obviously, I’ll take the dragon. I’m afraid I can’t get away from Rezervaţie de Balauri myself right now, but a couple of my friends (you remember Tonks, Penny and Jasmine, don’t you?) are coming to visit me this week. They’ll be happy to bring him over. Or I’ll bribe them with Romanian vodka or something. Point is they’ll do it.
Remember to give the dragon enough rats and hares to make the journey, and enough brandy or something to keep him docile. I’m sure Hagrid’s got some.
Please get the dragon up to the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight on Tuesday (26^th). Send me an answer ASAP if he can’t go then, so I can sort something else out.
Miss you loads.
Love you,
Charlie xx
P.S. PLEASE DO NOT GET INVOLVED WITH ANY OTHER DRAGONS FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR OR I. WILL. END. YOU.
Also – say hi to Harry and Hermione (I hope I’ve spelt that right) for me. Hopefully I’ll get to meet them when I’m home over summer.

“Charlie’s… interesting,” Hermione said, giving Ron a look.

“He’s not angry with you, is he?” Harry asked nervously. Charlie didn’t sound very happy. “He’ll still take Norbert, right?”

Ron laughed.

“Of course he will,” he said. “Charlie’s just being Charlie.”

“Is he always that mad?”

“Charlie’s not mad,” he scoffed. “He’s just – I guess protective is the best word for it. I dunno – he’s just being a big brother. Sometimes I forget that you two are only children.”

*     *     *

As they climbed into bed later that night – Parvati, Lavender and Sue were already asleep – Harry asked, “Do you think all big brothers and sisters act like Ron’s do?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. She paused for a moment, tucking the last bit of hair into her bonnet. “I’ve always wanted a sister, though.”

“Me, too,” Harry admitted, and then after a moment, “Night, ‘Mione.”

“Night, Harry.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

By the next morning, though, there was a rather large hitch in the plan. Ron’s bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey – would she recognise a dragon bite? – but by the afternoon he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert’s fangs were poisonous.

Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed. He looked pale and clammy.

“It’s not just my hand,” he said quietly, “although that feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy came to see me.”

“Malfoy?”

Ron nodded.

“He told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books, but he just came to lord it over me that he knew about Norbert. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me. I told her it was a dog, but I don’t think she believes me” – he groaned – “I shouldn’t have hit him at the Quidditch match – that’s why he’s doing this.”

Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

“It’ll all be over at midnight tomorrow,” said Hermione, but this didn’t soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

“Fuuuck!” he swore in a hoarse voice. “Fucking hell – I didn’t even think. Charlie’s letter was in that book Malfoy took – he’s going to know we’re getting rid of Norbert.”

Harry and Hermione didn’t get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, telling them that Ron needed sleep.

“It’s too late to change the plan now,” Harry told Hermione on their way to Hagrid’s. “We haven’t got time to send Charlie another note, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We’ll have to risk it. And we have got the Invisibility Cloak, Malfoy doesn’t know about that.”

Hermione worried her lip between her teeth.

“If you’re sure.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Tuesday passed like they were wading through treacle, but eventually the evening rolled around. Harry and Hermione waited for the other girls to fall asleep, and then they snuck out under the Invisibility Cloak at about eleven.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if they hadn’t been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid’s hut because they’d had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he’d been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

“He’s got lots o’ rats an’ some brandy fer the journey,” said Hagrid in a muffled voice. “An’ I’ve packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.”

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

“Bye-bye, Norbert!” Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Hermione covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. “Mummy will never forget you!”

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, Harry had no idea. She was a bit stronger than Hermione, but not that much – and yet somehow they trudged across the grounds and through the castle, stopping every so often for a breather.

“Nearly there!” Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, eyeing at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. Even Norbert seemed to be holding his breath.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the wrist.

“Detention!” she shouted. “And twenty points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy! Wandering around in the middle of the night, what were you thinking – ”

“You don’t understand, Professor!” Malfoy grunted, resisting her as she pulled him along the corridor. “Potter’s coming – she’s got a dragon!”

She looked at him incredulously.

“A drag– What on earth has gotten into you, Malfoy! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you picking on her all year, and for you to come out with this nonsense now and blame it on her – come on, we’re going to Professor Snape right now!”

Harry felt a pang of guilt as they passed her and Hermione and disappeared around a corner. She’d never felt particularly picked on by Malfoy – she’d always thought she’d given as bad as she got – but hearing how McGonagall had defended her… Harry decided that she’d better start living up to the faith the Transfiguration teacher had in her.

The steep spiral staircase was hard, but they knew they were nearly there. When they got to the top, they threw off the Cloak and took a breath of fresh air. To Harry’s surprise, Hermione did a little victory dance.

“Oh – Malfoy’s got detention! I could sing!”

“Please don’t.”

Giggling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, three broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness. Harry thought that Charlie’s friends all were very funny and very pretty.

“Oh fuck, you’re Harriet Potter aren’t you?” the one with the pink hair – Tonks, they’d introduced themself as – asked.

“Language, Tonks!” Penny – the one with the blonde hair – called, checking that the crate was secure. “They’re kids!”

“Oh shit – fuck – agh! Sorry!” Tonks said, covering their mouth apologetically.

“It’s alright,” Harry laughed. She liked Tonks. “Just call me ‘Harry’.”

Tonks nodded and shook Hermione’s hand, and then was summoned by Jasmine – the dark-haired one with skin like Harry’s – to “get off your arse and get this thing ready to go”.

Tonks, Jasmine and Penny showed Harry and Hermione the harness they’d rigged up between their broomsticks to suspend Norbert, and the two of them helped them tie the ropes and things in the right place. Harry only got her fingers minorly singed by Norbert sneezing, but Jasmine took her aside to heal them anyway.

At last they were ready to go. As they climbed onto their broomstick, Tonks asked, “Where’s Ron?”

Harry blinked. She hadn't been expecting Charlie's friends to know his brothers by name.

“Ron’s in the Hospital Wing,” Hermione said slowly, “Norbert bit him the other day and his hand swelled up.”

Charlie’s friends grimaced, and Harry heard Penny mutter, “Ouch, that must be nasty.”

“I’ll send him some sweets when we get to Romania,” Tonks said, and then turning to Jasmine, said, “Oi, remind me to get Ron some sweets when we get to Romania!”

Jasmine told them to shove off, and Harry asked, “How do you know Ron's name?”

Tonks and the others laughed.

“We’ve known them since they were – what - five? Six?"

Harry could have stood there talking to Tonks and the others all night, but it was very late, and she was tired, and Hermione reminded her that they had exams to be revising for.

Charlie’s friends said their goodbyes (“and good luck with your exams!”) and lifted off from the ground. They rose higher and higher, taking Norbert with them, and waving as they flew further out of sight.

At last, Norbert was going… going… gone.

Hermione yawned, and Harry called it a night. They slipped back down the spiral staircase, giggling about how the next time they saw Tonks and Jasmine, they’d have to ask them all kinds of things about what Ron and Fred and George were like as kids.

There was no dragon to worry them any more – and with Malfoy in detention, what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch’s face loomed suddenly out of the darkness, and Harry screamed at his sudden appearance.

“Well, well, well,” he smiled nastily, “we are in trouble.”

They’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower.

*     *     *

“How you feeling, Ronnie?” Fred asked.

“I’m okay,” Ron rasped. “Pass the water.”

He reached over to grab the jug and a glass as George leant over to plump their little brother’s pillows. They hadn’t had the chance to check on him the day before – Astronomy revision was causing them no end of grief as they kept mixing up up Saturn and Neptune, which wasn’t great considering it was their first exam the next week – but thought they’d better make the time tonight, considering that Charlie’s letter, which had arrived earlier that evening, had given them cause to think that perhaps there was more to Ron’s bite than he had originally let on.

Ron gulped down the glass, and then another, and took a deep breath.

“Better?” George asked.

“Much,” he sighed.

“Good,” Fred said. “Now do us a favour and explain this.”

He pulled out Charlie’s letter and showed it to Ron.

What the fuck were you two thinking?
When I said “just because I’m in Romania it doesn’t mean I’m not still your brother”, that meant girl- and boy- help and advice for Care of Magical Creatures and what to get Mum for her birthday. I did NOT mean that I would have my friends illegally smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts AND OUT OF ENGLAND because you two couldn’t keep an eye on Ron and stop him getting involved with FUCKING DRAGONS. HE’S ELEVEN TWELVE. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you, but: DON’T LET RON GET INVOLVED WITH DRAGONS. Now I’ve said it explicitly, if I hear he’s within a hundred miles of a dragon I am holding you two personally accountable and I. Will. End. Both. Of. You.
Yes, I know Percy’s there too and he’s a prefect and everything but you and I both know Ron will actually listen to you two.
Keep a closer eye on him, will you? I think he’s trying to show off now he’s friends with Harriet Potter.
Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Miss you loads.
Love you,
Charlie xx
P.S. George – How’s Angelina? And Fred – Stop making fun of George about Angelina. Just wait till you fancy someone. At this rate, he’ll never let you hear the end of it, and to be honest you absolutely deserve it.

“Well, do you?”

“What?”

“Fancy anyone?”

George snorted and Fred shot him a glare before answering Ron.

“That’s not the point, dipshit,” he said. “What’s all this about a dragon?”

Ron’s jaw set, and looking Fred dead in the eye, he said, “I dunno.”

“Ron.”

Ron shrugged.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” George said, taking the letter from his brother and shaking it at him. “Charlie seems to think there’s a dragon.”

“What the hell is going on?” Fred asked impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, fine,” Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. “Hagrid got hold of a dragon egg like a month and a half ago and it hatched last week and the little fucker bit me so I wrote to Charlie and now Harry and Hermione are at the Astronomy Tower handing it over to Tonks and Jasmine and Penny so they can smuggle it to Romania because Charlie couldn’t come himself. Happy?”

They stared at him.

“What the fuck, Ron?” George said, but Fred had another thought.

“What – now? Like, tonight?”

Ron nodded.

“Yeah – midnight.”

Fred looked at George, silently asking whether he thought they had time to go and help them, but his twin shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he said, turning back to Ron. “We could’ve helped!”

“We had it handled!”

“Oh, yeah,” George snorted, nodding at Ron’s bandaged hand. “That looks totally handled.”

Ron scowled and went to stick up the middle finger of his good hand, but at that moment the clock struck one, and the chiming bell echoed through the sleeping castle.

“It’s late. You’d better go.”

“You sure?” George asked.

“We can stay for a bit if you want,” Fred said, casting his eye over all the empty beds.

“I’m fine – you’ll get caught if you stay much longer and I’m going to classes tomorrow anyway.”

“Sure?”

“Piss off.”

George ruffled Ron’s hair and Fred pinched his cheeks – the little shit tried to bite him and he flicked his forehead for it – and they crept out of the room. When he were sure Ron couldn’t hear them, Fred pulled out the Map.

“We’re too late, Freddie,” George said, peering over his shoulder to have a look. “I bet they’re already back in bed by now.”

“I’m just checki– ” he broke off, finding Harry and Hermione and seeing that they were heading towards Gryffindor Tower… but that they were being accompanied by Filch. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Filch’s already caught them – and look, he’s taking them to McGonagall’s office.”

“Well, it’s definitely too late to help them now.”

Chapter Text

“Sit. Wait here.”

It couldn’t have been worse.

Filch had taken them down to McGonagall’s office on the second floor, and then gone to fetch her while Mrs Norris watched them. Harry’s head felt all cold and there was a knot in her chest. Her stomach hurt. She tried to come up with some excuse or explanation for why they had been out – we were doing some last-minute Astronomy revision? I needed some air? – but each one felt more feeble than the last.

How could she have been so stupid as to have forgotten the Cloak? And now she’d gotten them caught and lost the one thing she had of her dad’s.

Next to her, Hermione was trembling, silent tears running down her face. Harry shuffled closer to her – Mrs Norris fixed her with a beady stare, but she ignored the cat – and placed her hand over Hermione’s. After a moment, she took it, and gave it a squeeze.

A few minutes later, Filch returned with McGonagall – and Neville.

“Harry!” he burst out as soon as he saw them. “I was trying to find you! Malfoy said he was going to catch you – he said you had a dra– ”

Harry covered the end of his sentence with a forced coughing fit that had Hermione pounding her on the back. When she was sure the moment had passed, Harry shot Neville a look that in no uncertain terms said, ‘Shut up!’

Thankfully, Neville understood it, and he fell quiet. McGonagall looked between Hermione and Neville, avoiding Harry completely.

“I have no idea what’s going on here – I never would have believed it of any of you. Mr Filch says that you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It is one o’clock in the morning, and I’ve just caught Mr Malfoy out of bed, too. Explain yourselves.”

Her gaze landed on Hermione, whose mouth opened and closed a few times, and then fell quiet. It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher’s question.

McGonagall’s gaze hardened, and she looked at Neville. He said nothing, but simply stared at his slippers. The teacher sighed, and finally looked at Harry, her face full of disappointment.

Harry had been wrong. This was worse.

“Potter?” she said at last.

Harry knew that there was no excuse that McGonagall would accept. There was nothing that she could do… except tell the truth.

“Can I – Can I speak to you alone, Professor? Without Fi- Without Mr Filch?”

She felt Hermione staring at her as McGonagall’s expression changed to one more like curiosity.

“Very well,” she said, and turned to Filch. “Please take Miss Granger and Mr Longbottom back to Gryffindor Tower. I will escort Miss Potter myself when I have heard this… explanation.”

“I – ”

“Now, Mr Filch, if you please. Off you go, Miss Granger.”

Hermione gave Harry a look as she got up and was ushered out of the office, along with a confused-looking Neville. Mrs Norris filed after them, and a moment later, the door swung shut with a soft thud.

“Before you start,” McGonagall said as Harry opened her mouth to speak, “I must say that I am appalled at your behaviour – this cock-and-bull story you’ve concocted about a dragon. I – ”

“It’s not a story,” Harry said quietly.

McGonagall stared at her. Harry stared back.

There was a pause, and then she said, “I think you’d better start at the beginning, Potter.”

So Harry did. She explained to McGonagall about how a few weeks ago, she and Ron and Hermione had discovered that Hagrid had gotten his hands on a dragon egg, and last week it had hatched. Not knowing what to do with it, they’d contacted Ron’s older brother, and his friends had come to collect the dragon egg tonight. Ron would have been there too, but the dragon had bitten him on Sunday, which was why he was in the hospital wing.

“Malfoy overheard us the other day, and he managed to get a hold of Charlie’s letter. That’s why he knew about tonight at the Astronomy Tower. I just didn’t think to guess that Neville would have gotten involved.”

McGonagall was quiet for several minutes, processing what Harry had said. It was only that she was saying it all out loud that Harry realised how ridiculous the entire thing was – and how easily it could have all been avoided had they simply spoken to McGonagall.

“So you’re telling me,” she said at last, “that yourself, Miss Granger, and Mr Weasley believed that dealing with an infant dragon by yourselves was a preferable and more logical option than involving a single member of staff beyond Hagrid?”

“… Yes.”

McGonagall sighed and pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose.

“Well, I must commend your honesty and your courage, if foolhardy and unbelievably reckless. You do realise that this could have all been avoided had you come to me in the first place?”

“Only just now.”

She sighed again, and then asked, “Remind me where the dragon is now?”

“On its way to Romania… with Charlie’s friends. Tonks and Penny and Jasmine.”

The ghost of a fond smile played across McGonagall’s face, though it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“And now the consequences of your actions.”

Harry nodded and held her breath. This was what she’d been waiting for.

“Although your motivations were… understandable, to an extent, the harbouring and smuggling of an illegally bred dragon must be dealt with. Yourself, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, and Mr Malfoy will each lose forty House points each for your actions, and all of you will additionally receive detention.”

Forty House points. Each.

“What about Neville?”

“As Mr Longbottom was only involved in this mess so far as overhearing the wrong conversation and trying to protect his friends, he will only lose fifteen points for being out of Gryffindor Tower.”

Harry swallowed around the lump in her throat. One hundred and thirty five points lost for Gryffindor in one night. Singlehandedly, she’d destroyed any chance of them winning the House cup.

“I think that’s fair,” she said quietly, willing her voice not to break.

McGonagall nodded, and then sighed as she stood up behind her desk.

“Come on, now. Off to bed with you.”

They walked in silence back to the portrait of the Fat Lady. McGonagall announced the password, and the door swung open. Harry was about to enter the Common Room when she turned to her Head of House.

“Hagrid won’t get in any trouble, will he? He only wanted – ”

“ – to keep a prohibited and extremely dangerous magical creature as a pet on school grounds,” McGonagall said. “I will have to speak to Professor Dumbledore, and have a word with Hagrid, but no, he won’t get in any worse trouble than you.”

Harry nodded, and scrambled through the hole. She turned around.

“Goodnight, Professor.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Harry didn’t sleep at all that night.

When she’d gotten back to her room, Hermione was still awake and biting her nails, waiting for her.

“What happened?” she’d asked nervously. “Are we getting expelled?”

Harry had assured her that everything was fine and that she had told McGonagall the truth and that no, they weren’t getting expelled… but that they were each (Ron included) be losing House points, and that they’d be receiving detention, too. Even though Hermione had been upset at losing all those House points, she’d been relieved that they’d been allowed to remain at the school, and had fallen asleep soon after. But Harry couldn’t.

While she understood that their punishments made complete sense – they had broken not only school rules but actual laws, and they were extremely lucky that House points and detention was the end of the matter – that hadn’t stopped her from hoping that McGonagall might have been more lenient on her… or from worrying about the reactions of her fellow Gryffindors when they found out what she’d done. They’d all hate her: she’d lost them the House Cup. The thought of Fred being angry at her made Harry feel especially sick in the stomach, for reasons she was too tired to dig in to.

Unfortunately, Harry had been right. When she came down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione the next morning, everyone was glaring at her – it was only when she passed the House hourglasses in the entrance hall that she saw that the hundred and thirty-five points that had been deducted had placed them last… and Slytherin was now first.

Looks and whispers followed her all day. It was a bit like the start of the year had been… except these were angry instead of curious, and people didn’t bother to lower their voices when they talked about her, because they didn’t care whether she heard them or not. From being generally well-liked and relatively admired as the Gryffindor Seeker and as Harriet Potter, Harry was suddenly the most hated; even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff turned on her, because they’d been counting on Gryffindor to bring about the downfall of Slytherin. When Charlotte Cho passed Harry in the corridor, rather than her usual smile, she looked straight through her as if she wasn’t there. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped her on the back and cheered, “Thanks, Potter! We owe you one!”

Though Harry bore the brunt of it because she was more well known, it was bad for Ron and Hermione, too. Boys jostled him in the corridor, and she came back from the bathroom at lunch in tears because she’d heard Elena Catag and Yelena Gardner gossiping about her to their friends in Ravenclaw. Sue, Leila, Dean and Seamus were perfectly nice to them, but there was definitely something off about them. Thankfully, though, they weren’t acting any different with Neville; Harry didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if Seamus and Dean turned on him.

Only Fred and George stood by them. When the twins had approached the three of them before dinner, Harry had frozen up in terror, worrying about their reactions and waiting for them to lay into her. But they didn’t. They simply sat down and began whinging about their Astronomy exam the next week that neither of them were prepared for, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the fact that the rest of the Hall were glaring at or muttering about her. When Harry had asked them about whether they’d heard about the previous night, they’d merely shrugged.

“Well, I say fuck ‘em,” Fred said.

“We lost over a hundred House points!” Hermione whispered in shock.

“And?”

“Aren’t you mad?” Harry asked.

“Why would we be?” George said, helping himself to the pie. “I can’t tell you how many points we’ve ever lost, but it’s definitely more than you’ve lost and people still seem to like us. They’ll get over it eventually, trust me.”

“Yeah, but not a hundred and thirty five in one night.”

Fred quirked his eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge?”

“No,” Harry said emphatically, trying not to laugh.

They scampered off after dinner to go and pick up a couple of books about Neptune – “I didn’t know you two could read!” Hermione had said, at which Fred had stuck his middle finger up and George his tongue out – leaving Harry and Hermione looking at Ron in confusion.

“Are you sure they’re not mad at us?” Hermione asked. “I’m terrible at reading people.”

“They’re not mad, really, Hermione,” Ron reassured them. “They know about Norbert, anyway.”

“How the fuck do they know about Norbert?”

“I – er – I meant to tell you this morning, but I forgot. They snuck out to see me in the Hospital Wing last night, and I ended up telling them because Charlie wrote to them and had a go because they didn’t stop us.”

*     *     *

As Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower after dinner, they fell into step behind George and Angelina on their way from the Library.

“I just don’t know what the hell Harry was thinking,” Angelina was saying. “There’s absolutely no reason to go wandering about at night – I heard from Natalie Thorn that she was trashing the Potions classroom because she got a bad mark from Snape.”

Harry’s heart sank. It was bad enough that the whole school hated her, and even worse that McGonagall was disappointed in her – but hearing that Angelina now hated her too and believed the rumours had to be the worst cherry on the worst cake.

George scoffed.

“If you believe that then obviously you don’t know Harry as well as you think you do,” his tone unusually cold for a conversation with Angelina.

She looked at him, apparently picking up on this.

“I’m just saying – ”

“Well, what you’re saying is wrong. I know what happened last night, and it’s not what you think.”

“Go on, then, if you’re so clever,” she huffed. “What did happen last night that was so important that Harry had to go wandering about the castle at stupid o’clock in the morning?”

Harry held her breath, but George simply sighed.

“I can’t.”

Angelina scoffed.

“Of course you can’t. You’re just defending her because Fred – ”

“I’m serious, Angelina. It’s a secret, and I can’t tell you, but Harry did have a reason for last night. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Harry saw him give her a pointed look, and after a moment, Angelina rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Oh, alrigh– Harry!” she exclaimed, catching sight of her. “Didn’t see you there!”

Harry offered her a small smile, and at that moment she heard Fred’s voice thundering from somewhere down the corridor behind her, “OI, DICKHEAD! ANGELINA! WAIT UP!”

She turned to see him running down the corridor; as soon as he saw her, he skidded to a halt and grinned.

“Oh – hi, Harry!” he said brightly, running a hand through his hair. The tips of his ears were pink. Harry heard George snicker behind her, and then his “Ow!” as Angelina hit him in the arm.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The next afternoon after Flying, Harry went to see Hagrid. She’d been feeling so bad about how much trouble she’d gotten in and how much everyone hated her, that she’d completely forgotten how in the process of trying to get out of trouble, she’d completely thrown Hagrid under the bus.

When she arrived at his hut, he was sat outside on the front step knitting.

“What’re yeh doin’ here, Harry? You should be revisin’ – exams start on Monday!” he said, smiling as she came to a stop beside him. He was working on what looked like a very large green elephant.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, and something about her face must have seemed serious, because Hagrid’s expression changed. He set down the needles and wool, and patted the bit of the step he hadn’t taken up. Harry pulled up a log stump instead and sat down.

“What’s the matter?”

“The other night – I’m really sorry I told on you. I didn’t mean to. I just – panicked, and I didn’t want to get Hermione and Neville expelled and I should have come up with something bett– ”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah – jus’ – hang on a second,” he interrupted. Harry fell quiet. Hagrid dragged his enormous hand down his face and through his beard. “Yer apologisin’ ter me… because yeh told McGonagall abou’ Norbert?”

Harry nodded. Hadn’t she just explained that?

Hagrid sighed pitifully.

“Oh, Harry – yeh shouldn’ be apologisin’ ter me! I should be apologisin’ ter you! This whole thing was my fault anyway!”

“How?”

He stared at her in disbelief.

“Yeh can’ be serious, Harry – it was my dragon!”

“But I should’ve – ”

“You shouldn’t’ve had ter do anythin’!” Hagrid interrupted her. “I shouldn’t’ve bought a dragon egg, I shouldn’t’ve hatched it, an’ I shouldn’t’ve let you three smuggle it outta the castle fer me!”

“You – ”

“Harry,” he said firmly. “Tha’ was my mess, and I shouldn’t’a had you three clean it up fer me. I shouldn’t’a had that dragon in the first place. An’ I’ve already explained it ter McGonagall an’ Professor Dumbledore, so yeh shouldn’t worry yerself with it anymore.”

Harry nodded. She knew that Hagrid was probably right, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still feel bad about it – but then another thought dawned on her.

“You didn’t get into that much trouble, did you?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Don’ you worry abou’ that.”

“But, Hagrid – ”

“Listen – I’ve talked ter McGonagall an’ Professor Dumbledore, an’ the three of us have agreed tha’ I migh’ have a slight drinkin’ problem – no, don’ look at me like tha’, Harry, you know it’s true” – he broke off at the look on her face – “so we’ve agreed ter no more whiskey or anythin’ like tha’ on school grounds. An’ I’m not ter go ter the pubs in Hogsmeade fer a bit. An’ some other stuff, but you don’ need ter worry yerself with that.” He gave her a pointed look. “If anythin’, Harry, yeh did me a favour.”

Harry didn’t think so, but she nodded. There didn’t seem to be any point in arguing with him.

“Good – an’ I was goin’ ter tell you tomorrow, but I migh’ as well now. I managed to talk McGonagall an’ Professor Dumbledore into you three havin’ yer detention with me tomorrow night! An’ Malfoy, o’ course, but tha’ can’t be helped. It should be fun!”

Fun?

Harry was about to ask what sort of detention could possibly be fun, when the chiming clocktower bell rang out across the grounds.

“Merlin’s beard, is it tha’ late already?” Hagrid cried suddenly. “I’m s’posed ter be fixin’ a fence fer Sprout, Harry. Knarls keep getting’ through an’ eatin’ her Moly. You should be getting’ back – it’s nearly dinner an’ you’ve got exams ter be revisin’ for!”

He waved her off and took his knitting inside, and then reappeared a moment later, a huge bag slung over his shoulder and small traps in his arms.

“Off yer go now!”

Harry made her way back up to the castle, thinking over what Hagrid had said. She still felt bad about telling McGonagall about Norbert… but like he’d said, he was a grown up. He could handle himself. She should’ve come up with a better cover story – or not forgotten about (and then lost) her Cloak, for that matter – but if he hadn’t had the dragon she wouldn’t have needed to come up with any story at all…

She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear whimpering from a classroom up ahead. It was only as she passed the ajar door that she registered that it was Quirrell.

“No – no – not again – please – ”

It sounded like someone was hurting him.

Harry moved closer to the door.

“Alright – alright – I’ll do it – ” she heard Quirrell sob, and then a moment later the door was flung open and he came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. He looked pale and his face was contorted as if he was about to cry – but he strode off before he noticed that Harry was standing there or she had a chance to say anything to him.

Harry poked her head around the door Quirrell had just come out of. The classroom was empty, but a door at the other end of the room was open. Judging by Quirrell’s behaviour, she would have bet her broomstick that Snape had just walked out of it, and that that he had finally succeeded into bullying the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher into helping him get to the Stone.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

On Friday at breakfast, an owl Harry didn’t recognise delivered identical-looking notes to her, Ron and Hermione. When they tore them open, they saw that each of their notes read the same.

Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight.
Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall at ten-forty five.
- Professor McGonagall

Malfoy glared at her from over at the Slytherin table, but Harry didn’t care. If he thought him being angry upset her more than the rest of the school, he had another thing coming.

*     *     *

At ten-thirty that evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione said goodbye to Fred and George in the Common Room, and made their way down to the entrance hall. Filch and Malfoy were already there. The latter was glaring at her.

Harry expected a nasty comment from Filch, but instead he simply tutted and muttered something about “lazy little shits” wasting his precious time. He turned and lit a lantern, and then said, “Follow me,” and led them outside.

As they marched over the dark grounds and in the direction of Hagrid’s hut, Filch began to speak, mainly to himself, but definitely so they could hear him.

“Bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he said, smiling nastily over his shoulder. “Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…”

“Pity no one did,” Ron whispered. Harry stifled her snort, but Filch had heard them, and shot them a look.

“It’s a pity,” he said loudly, “they let the old punishments die out – they should let me hang you from the ceiling by your wrists for a few days… I’ve still got the chains in my office and I keep ‘em well-oiled in case they’re ever needed. Do you a world of good, especially you, Potter,” he half spat her name, “not this nonsense they let the ruddy oaf come up with…”

They were within earshot of Hagrid’s. Harry could hear Fang barking inside, and then Hagrid’s voice call, “That you, Filch? Hurry up – I wan’ ter get started.”

The door opened and Hagrid came striding out, a quiver of arrows strapped to his back, a crossbow in one hand and lantern in the other. Fang followed him, and bounded up to Harry and licked her face.

“Took you lot long enough!” he said. “Alrigh’, girls? Ron?”

Harry had managed to calm the overenthusiastic dog and was now scratching his head. She nodded at Hagrid, though Filch spoke up coldly.

“I wouldn’t be too friendly with them, Hagrid,” he said. “They’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s between them an’ McGonagall, now, isn’ it?” Hagrid responded as icily. “‘Snot yer place ter be lecturin’ them – detention’s with me, after all.”

Filch made an indignant noise, and Hagrid shot Harry a wink.

“I’ll be back at dawn,” Filch said, casting his eye over the group, “for what’s left of them.”

He turned and started towards the castle, his lamp shrinking away into the darkness.

“Now tha’ old fart’s gone,” Hagrid said, turning to them, “I’ll tell yer what we’re doin’ tonight! We’re goin’ on a bit of a scavenger hunt in the forest!”

“… The Forbidden Forest?” Hermione asked slowly.

Hagrid nodded, and Harry made a mental note to try to remember that maybe she and Hagrid had very different ideas of ‘fun’.  

“I’m not going in there!” Malfoy piped up suddenly. It was the first time he had spoken all evening, and Harry felt smug at the note of panic in his voice. “There’s all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard.”

“Nonsense!” Hagrid said. “There’s nothin’ in there tha’ won’ hurt yeh if yeh don’ hurt it first, and we’re stayin’ well away from the really nasty stuff, anyway.”

“Well – I’m not going!” Malfoy announced, crossing his arms defiantly. “That’s servant stuff, and you can’t make me. If my father knew about this, he’d – ”

“Tell yeh that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled. Harry had never heard him angry before. He leant over so he was face to face with Malfoy. “Would yeh rather be writin’ lines or summat?”

Malfoy glared at him.

“If yeh don’ like it – yer more then welcome ter leave. D’yeh think yer father would prefer that?”

The boy rolled his eyes but said nothing. Hagrid straightened up and looked at the four of them.

“Righ’ then,” he said. “Follow me an’ I’ll explain wha’ were doin’ tonight.”

He led them to the edge of the woods, and then down a narrow, winding path that led into the forest. After a few minutes, he stopped, and held his lamp aloft.

“Look there,” said Hagrid, pointing at the nearest tree. Harry could see that there was some kind of shiny liquid smeared across it – if Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out as something special, she might have thought it was tree sap. “See that 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, an’ the fourth one in the last two months. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing, an’ we migh’ have ter put it out of its misery. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Harry stared at him.

Fun?

“Uh… Hagrid?” Ron asked. “What happens if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?”

“There’s nothin’ that lives in the forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” said Hagrid. “An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions – Ron, yer ter stay with me ‘cause of yer hand.”

“I want Fang,” said Malfoy quickly, looking at the hound’s long teeth.

“All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” said Hagrid. “So me, Ron, an’ – Harry?” – she nodded – “we’ll go one way, an’ Hermione, Fang, an’ Malfoy’ll go the other. Use yer wands ter light the way – you all know lumos and nox, don’t yeh? 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.”

The forest was dark and silent. Wind whistled through the trees eerily, and every time an owl or something hooted, Harry jumped. They carried on as one big group, and then a little further down the path, it split in two. Hermione, Malfoy and Fang went down the path on the left, and Harry, Ron and Hagrid to the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes scanning the ground for the unicorn. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

“Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?” Harry asked Hagrid, thinking about Malfoy’s comment earlier.

“Nah – none o’ those around here,” Hagrid said quickly. “Besides, ‘snot the full moon fer another two weeks.”

“The what could it be?”

“Dunno, ter be honest – it’s not easy ter catch a unicorn, much less kill one. They’re powerful beings, an’ I never knew one ter be hurt before.”

Harry nodded and fell quiet. If unicorns were powerful, and they were turning up dead, then surely it had to be something more powerful than them that was killing them… what exactly was Hagrid expecting to find?

They passed a mossy tree stump covered in unicorn blood. The trail was getting thicker, and – could that be the unico– no. It was the babbling of a stream.

“Yer hand all right, Ron?” Hagrid asked. “Don’ worry, yeh don’ need ter touch anythin’, Harry can do that and I – GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid seized Harry and Ron and yanked them off the path, pushing them behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. Harry held her breath, listening. Something was slithering over fallen leaves nearby – it sounded like… fabric trailing along the ground. A cloak, maybe?

Hagrid’s brow was furrowed, squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away. He lowered the crossbow.

“I knew it,” he murmured, flicking the safety hook on the bow. “There’s summat in here that shouldn’ be.”

“Like what?” Ron asked.

“Dunno – but that wasn’t no bunny rabbit,” Hagrid said grimly. “Right, follow me, but careful, now.”

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

“Who’s there?” Hagrid called, raising the crossbow. “Show yerself — I’m armed!”

And into the clearing came – something. It wasn’t quite as tall as Hagrid, though it towered above Harry, and she had to strain her neck to see its face. Tangled red hair and a beard hid pointed, vaguely elfin ears. It – he – they had the top half of a human… but from the waist down there was a horse’s gleaming chestnut body, and a long, reddish tail at its other end.

It was a centaur.

“Oh, it’s you, Ronan,” said Hagrid in relief, lowering the crossbow. “How are yeh?”

He walked forward and shook the centaur’s hand.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid,” said Ronan. They had a deep, sorrowful voice. “Were you going to shoot me?”

“Can’t be too careful, Ronan,” said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. “There’s summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an’ Ron Weasley, by the way. Students up at the school. An’ this is Ronan, you two. They’re a centaur.”

“We’d noticed,” said Ron faintly.

“Good evening,” said Ronan. “Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at your school?”

“A bit,” Harry breathed, gazing up at the centaur in awe.

“A bit. Well, that’s something,” Ronan sighed. They flung back their head and stared at the sky. “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, glancing up, too. “Listen, I’m glad we’ve run inter yeh, Ronan, ’cause there’s a unicorn bin hurt – you seen anythin’?”

Ronan didn’t answer immediately. They stared unblinkingly upward, and sighed again.

“Always the innocent are the first victims,” they said. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight,” Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched them impatiently. “Unusually bright.”

“Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer home,” said Hagrid. “So yeh haven’t noticed anythin’ strange?”

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, they said, “The forest hides many secrets.”

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and wilder-looking than Ronan.

“Hullo, Bane,” said Hagrid. “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?”

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. They looked skyward, too.

“Mars is bright tonight,” they said.

“We’ve heard,” Hagrid muttered grumpily. “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.”

Harry and Ron followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

“Never,” said Hagrid irritably, “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?” asked Harry.

“Oh, a fair few… Mostly they keep ter themselves, but they’re good enough abou’ turnin’ up if I ever want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs – they know things… they jus’ don’ let on much. Oh – an’ before I forget: they don’ do any of that ‘he/she’ stuff. So yeh refer ter one centaur as a ‘they’ the same way yeh'd refer ter a group of 'em as ‘they’.”

“Why?” Ron asked. “Doesn’t that get confusing after a bit?”

“Well – kinda, but yeh get used ter it after a while, and yeh don’ wan’ ter offend a centaur.”

Ron nodded, though Harry had another thought.

“Do you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?”

Hagrid shook his head.

“Nah – those weren’t hooves. If yeh ask me, what’s bin killin’ the unicorns is new ter the forest – whatever it is.”

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched.

They had just passed a bend in the path when there was a loud, high-pitched scream.

Hermione.

Without thinking, Harry took off in the direction of the scream. She fought her way through the undergrowth, ducking under branches and a fallen tree, Ron behind her and Hagrid crashing through a way behind them.

She found them a few minutes later. As Harry burst into the clearing, she found Hermione leaning back against a tree, breathing heavily, and Malfoy on the other side. Fang was between them, growling at him.

“Hermione!” Harry cried, running up to her, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said breathlessly, “I’m fine – just give me a – second.”

“It was just a joke,” Malfoy muttered. “Not my fault Granger doesn’t have a sense of humour.”

“What did you do?” Ron demanded – he’d just burst through the trees, and Harry could see Hagrid’s dim shape in the distance – jogging up to Hermione.

“I’m – fine,” Hermione said at last. “He just – gave me a scare.”

Harry turned on Malfoy.

“That’s not funny, dickhead,” she snapped. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn’t think she’d overreact so much,” he sneered, though as Hagrid appeared, Fang advanced on him, and his expression faltered.

“What happened here?” Hagrid asked, looking between the four of them and his dog.

Hermione explained that they had just found a big puddle of unicorn blood when Malfoy had come up behind her and scared the life out of her.

“It’s fine, Hagrid,” she explained. “Just gave me a fright.”

“It’s ruddy well not fine,” Hagrid said, fixing Malfoy with a glare. “One, tha’ was completely unnecessary an’ I’ll be informing yer head of House, young man – an’ two, we’ll be lucky ter catch anythin’ now, with that racket you made.”

“I’m sorry, Hagrid – ”

“Nothin’ ter apologise fer, Hermione,” Hagrid said. “Righ’, we’re changing groups.”

“I can go with Malfoy and Fang,” Ron said.

“Tha’ won’ work, I’m afraid – don’ wan’ him messin’ with yer hand, an’ the unicorn’ll avoid you two. They prefer girls – so yeh’ll have ter go with Malfoy, I’m afraid, Harry.”

Harry nodded, not particularly happy about it, but what other option was there?

“Jus’ – you know how to do the sparks if he messes with yeh,” Hagrid checked, and then he gathered Ron and Hermione, and ushered them back in the direction they’d come from.

Harry turned to Malfoy.

“Try anything and you’ve got a broken nose, got it?”

Fang growled at him, and he nodded.

*     *     *

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. She could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak… and there was something on the ground.

“Look,” she murmured, pointing to it. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful… and so sad. It had a brilliant, gleaming silver-white coat, and its blood was weeping out of a gash in its side, dripping into a puddle on the ground among the leaves. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen, and its silver-grey eyes stared at her without seeing.

Harry took a step towards it – when a slithering sound made her freeze where she stood. A bush at the edge of the clearing quivered… and out of the shadows a hooded figure came crawling on all fours like some stalking beast. She stood transfixed as the figure made its way towards the unicorn, and stopped beside it. It lowered its head to the puddle – and began to drink the creature’s blood.

“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Malfoy screamed and bolted – Fang barked and followed him a second later – leaving Harry frozen in the middle of the clearing. The figure raised its head and seemed to look right at her, unicorn blood dripping from beneath the hood and all down its front. It got to its feet, on two legs rather than four, and moved towards Harry.

Suddenly, a burning, blinding pain like she’d never felt before pierced her head like her scar was on fire. Half blind, she was aware of the figure’s slow advance – she scrambled backwards, falling on her arse, until she hit – a tree, it was just a tree – there was something under her leg – she held the branch up to defend herself – she couldn’t think of any defensive spells – and then there was the sound of pounding hooves behind her, and something big jumped clean over her, charging at the figure. She curled into a ball, the pain so sharp that she couldn’t see and all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.

It was a few minutes before she moved – though when she did, standing before her was not the figure, but a centaur… and not Ronan or Bane. This one looked younger, and they had white-blonde hair and a similarly coloured body.

“Are you all right?” they asked, kneeling down to reach a hand out to her. Tentatively, she took it, and they pulled her to her feet. Her head still hurt a bit, but it was more of a dull ache now.

“Yes – thank you. What – what was that?” she asked, looking up at them. They had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires.

The centaur didn’t answer. They were looking at her – no, not at her. At her forehead. At the scar.

“You are the Potter child,” they said at last. “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.”

Before Harry could say anything, she was suddenly picked up like a sack of potatoes and deposited on the centaur’s back. It was the weirdest feeling, and as they began to trot out of the clearing, Harry was very careful not to move too much to not hurt them. That worked – until she nearly slid off the back of them.

“Here, hold on to me,” they said, placing Harry’s hands around the human part of their waist. They were warm, she noticed, and covered in very fine hair, like their lower half. She felt a bit like she was invading their personal space, but held on because (1) they’d told her to, and (2) it was a better option than falling and breaking something.

“My name is Firenze, by the way,” they added, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

“My name is Harry,” she replied, and she felt the centaur chuckle.

They were in another clearing when there was the sound of more galloping. Harry turned, and to her right Ronan and Bane burst in through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

“Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

“I – I’m so sorry – I’ll get off – h-here – ” Harry panicked, not wanting to upset the centaur, and tried to slide off, though Firenze held her there.

“You will do no such thing,” Firenze said, and turned to the others. “Do you not realize who this is? This is the Potter child. The quicker they leave this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling them?” growled Bane. “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?” They turned to their companion. “Ronan!”

Ronan was looking down and pawing at the ground nervously.

“I’m sure Firenze thought they were acting for the best,” they said in their gloomy voice.

Bane kicked their back legs out in anger.

“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 reared back onto their hind legs in anger. Harry quickly wrapped her arms around their middle to stay on.

“Do you not understand why those unicorns were killed?” they bellowed at Bane. “Have you not seen what has been fated to pass?” – they fell back on all fours, breathing heavily and their voice returned to normal, though still angry – “Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane – with humans alongside, or indeed astride, me if I must.”

And then they were plunging into the forest, Harry holding on as best she could, leaving Bane and Ronan behind them. After a while, Firenze slowed to a canter, and then a trot.

She didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Firenze, why is Bane so angry?” she asked when she was sure they had calmed. “What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?”

They said nothing except to warn Harry to watch out for low-hanging branches. The two of them carried on through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn’t want to talk to her anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when the centaur suddenly stopped.

“Harry, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“No,” Harry said, startled by the odd question. “We’ve only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.”

“That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. “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 defenceless 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?” she blurted out. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, right? Not that I think immortality’s all that great, either.”

Firenze chuckled.

“May I ask what your argument against immortality is?”

“Well – it’d get lonely after a bit, wouldn’t it? All your friends and family would be dead. Who’d want that?”

“I see your point,” they conceded. “As I was saying – unicorn blood would give you a half, cursed life – which would be terrible. Unless, of course, all you needed it for was to sustain you for long enough to consume something else – something that would bring you back to full strength and power, and ensure that you will never die and feel the effects of the cursed unicorn blood.” Firenze turned their head to see her and fixed her with an unnerving look. “Do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone! It makes the Elixir of Life!”

“Indeed. Now, can you think of anyone who has waited many years to return to power – who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?”

Her insides felt cold, and over the rustling of the wind in the trees Harry heard Hagrid’s voice from all those months ago telling her about the fate of Voldemort over cake in the middle of St James’ Park.

Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time…

“Do you mean,” she breathed, “that that – was Voldemort?”

Firenze nodded, but before Harry could respond, voices from ahead of them shrieked, “Harry! Harry! Are you alright?”

They were back on the path from earlier and Ron and Hermione were running down it towards her.

“This is where I leave you, Harry,” Firenze said. “You are safe now.” They lowered their front legs to let her clamber off, and stood up straight. They turned to Hagrid, who was hurrying down the path too. “The unicorn is dead, Hagrid, in a clearing about two miles from here. I shall show you when the children are back in the castle.”

It was then that Harry realised that they were back where they’d started, right at the edge of the forest where Hagrid had first shown them the unicorn blood a few hours ago. A few hours ago… had it really only been a few hours? It felt like much longer than that.

“Alrigh’ then. Girls, Ron, Malfoy – Fang’ll take yeh back up ter the castle. I’ll go on with Firenze now. Go on, off you go ter bed.”

He waved at them to go, but Firenze trotted forward and spoke to Harry.

“Good luck, Harry Potter,” they said. “The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.”

Harry let herself be pulled by Ron and Hermione across the grounds, watching as the giant and the centaur disappeared into the trees.

*     *     *

“So what happened?”

Ron and Hermione were sat in the armchairs by the fireplace in the Common Room, while Harry paced up and down the room searching for the words to describe what had happened in the forest. She was shaking – whether from fear or adrenaline or even the cold, she didn’t know – and everything was clicking into place.

“It’s Voldemort,” she said. “It’s always been Voldemort.”

“Don’t say the name!” Ron hissed, as if he thought the Dark Lord himself was listening, but Harry wasn’t.

“We thought it was Snape – that he wanted to get rich… but we’re witches – there’s a million ways to do that… no, it’s all about the Elixir of Life. Firenze told me that’s why the unicorns are being killed… He – they – they that said Voldemort’s been drinking it and waiting to get his hands on the Stone…” – Ron protested again, though Hermione shushed him – “Firenze saved me from Voldemort in the forest – Bane was livid, said they shouldn’t have – that it was interfering with what’s written in the stars or something… they must show that Voldemort’s coming back – he was supposed to kill me tonight, I think… So all I’ve got to do now is wait for Snape to steal the Stone – then he – they – fuck! – Snape gives the Stone to Voldemort and then Voldemort comes to finish me off… Well, at least Bane’ll be happy,” she finished feverishly. Her hands were trembling.

Hermione looked as terrified as Harry felt, but when she spoke her voice was calm.

“Harry, everyone says Dumbledore was the only one Vol– You-Know-Who” – she corrected herself, seeing Ron’s face – “was ever afraid of. Dumbledore’s not going anywhere. You-Know-Who can’t touch you, remember?”

Harry nodded.

“Besides,” Hermione went on, “Like Firenze said – the planets have been wrong before. Sounds like some kind of Divination to me, and McGonagall says that’s a very imprecise branch of magic.”

She got up and came to stand beside Harry.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. You’re shaking,” she said. She called goodnight to Ron – he yawned it back – and helped Harry up the stairs and into bed. Harry’s hands were shaking so badly Hermione had to help her undo her cloak and jeans.

When Hermione pulled back the duvet, though, she gasped.

“What is it?” Harry asked, pulling her blanket around her.

“It’s – look,” she said, holding up a parcel.

It was her Invisibility Cloak, tied with a ribbon. There was a note pinned to it.

Just in case.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts exam season ran through most of June; for three weeks every summer, a feeling of general unease and stress crept over the castle as students throughout the school were tested on what they’d learned that year. The pressure was particularly high for fifth- and seventh- years, as they were respectively sitting their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizard Tests, A-Level equivalents), and Fred and George had slippers thrown at them by Percy when they’d asked him why further magical qualifications – like what Charlie was working towards at the Scholomance in Romania – weren’t called T.O.A.D.s.

How Harry managed to get through all her exams, she never knew.

For a start, there was the fact that everyone still seemed to hate her on account of the Wandering-About-The-Castle-And-Losing-Gryffindor-One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Five-Points Incident. Sure, the exams had most of the school distracted and that had taken some of the pressure off her, but glares and whispers still followed her around the castle. Harry had never been more grateful for Fred and George; they took attention off her whenever they could with a bit or a well-timed firecracker, and got into frequent (and loud) arguments with older students whenever they tried to lay into her about handing Slytherin the House Cup for the eighth year in a row.

Then there were the exams themselves, in the form of both written papers and practical assessments (depending on the subject, of course). The former were conducted in a large chamber off the Ancient Runes corridor on the sixth floor – the Great Hall was reserved for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s – that was unbearably hot in the afternoon, while the latter were held in the subject-specific year classrooms. Though Harry considered herself better at the practicals, they were by far the more nerve-wracking: Houses were each given a two-hour slot, during which time they’d line up outside the room, waiting to be called in one-by-one to be assessed. Each of these only took a few minutes, and they weren’t even that hard – McGonagall had them turn mice into snuffboxes (points were added for how pretty it was) and Flitwick had them enchant pineapples to dance across the table – but the waiting was the worst. Well – not the worst: that had been the Potions practical in which they’d had to make a Forgetfulness potion – Harry had been in a testing group with Ella Perez, Matthias Petridis, and Isaac Raheem – and Snape had spent the entire time breathing down the back of her neck.

And then there was, of course, the fact that Harry expected Voldemort to come bursting into the room at any given moment – whether she was in the Common Room or the Great Hall, or even in an exam or the shower. Her scar had not stopped hurting since that night in the Forest, and to make things worse, her nightmares had started up again. Harry and her parents would be eating around the dining table at Privet Drive, and then there was the flash of green light that would make them disappear – but now there was an extended bit at the end in which the hooded figure dripping with unicorn blood would emerge from the cupboard under the stairs.

Though Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to be as terrified as Harry was about the imminent return of Voldemort, they did the best they could to ease her mind. Hermione’s mum had sent her lavender oil to help her sleep at night and in the evening they’d put it on Harry’s pillow; and as a sort of pre-exam ritual, every time they had one they’d all press their ears against the door to reassure her that Fluffy was still alive and well, and that Snape hadn’t gotten to the Stone yet, so no, Voldemort would not be interrupting their Herbology final.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about nutty old white men who’d invented self-stirring cauldrons, and then they had a whole week free until their results came out on the last day of term. When Professor Binns told them, “That’s it, now. Put your quills down and roll up your parchment,” Harry couldn’t help cheering with the rest of the year group.

She and Ron waited outside the room for Hermione to be done going over her paper, and then afterwards the three of them went to change out of their uniform, and went down to the Black Lake to enjoy the sun. They settled themselves under a tree near where Fred and George and Lee Jordan were tickling the Giant Squid basking in the shallows, Hermione still nattering about the exam.

Harry wasn’t listening. Her scar was hurting, and a particularly sharp spike of pain made her cry out, interrupting Hermione’s monologue about the 1630-something Werewolf Code of Conduct.

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey,” she suggested, rolling over onto her front. There were bits of grass caught in her curly black hair. Ron sat up and shuffled over, and began picking them out. “I think we’ve tried literally everything else.

Harry considered it for a moment, and then shook her head.

“I don’t think it’s anything she can help me with,” she said. “I’m not ill. I think it’s a… warning or something like that.”

“Warning of what?” Ron asked, throwing the grass he’d collected from Hermione’s hair onto the ground.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s probably something to do with Voldemort.”

Ron must have been too hot and relaxed under the sun to care, because he didn’t react.

“Harry – relax. The exams are done and the Stone’s safe so long as Dumbledore’s still around. Besides, we don’t know that Snape even knows how to get past Fluffy even if he has cracked Quirrell. He nearly had his leg ripped off the last time we know he tried it, so it’s not like he’ll be in too much of a rush for that to happen again – and Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”

Harry nodded, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that she’d forgotten something important. Her gaze drifted over to where the twins and Lee were still messing around with the squid, though the creature seemed to be in on it and kept messing up their hair. Lee was good with animals, like Hagrid was. Hagrid, who had a weird fascination for the weird ones. Hagrid, who was the only one who knew how to get past Fluffy, the one thing Snape didn’t know how to get around. Hagrid, who would never tell anyone… never do anything to let Dumbledore down…

Hagrid, whose tongue got loose when he’d been drinking.

Harry jumped to her feet and took off in the direction of the gamekeeper’s hut.

“Harry! Where are you going?” Ron called, pulling Hermione up and jogging after her.

“I had an idea,” she called over her shoulder.

They caught up to her as she was scrambling up a grassy slope.

“What’s going on?” Hermione panted, hurrying to keep up with her.

“Don’t you think it’s a coincidence,” Harry said, pulling herself up and reaching out a hand to the other girl, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon – and a stranger with a dragon egg in his pocket just happens to turn up and start talking to him? Dragon breeding’s illegal, remember? Can’t be too many people wandering about with eggs and just giving them out to strangers. Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

“What are you – ” Ron began, but Harry missed the end of it as she was already sprinting across the grounds.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house. His trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

“All done with yer exams?” he called. “Got time fer a drink?”

Ron and Hermione must have caught up with her, because his voice from behind Harry said, “Yes, please,” though she cut him off.

“No time, Hagrid. Listen – the night you won Norbert, did you see the man’s face?”

Hagrid stared at her.

“What man?”

“The man you won Norbert off of!”

“Can I ask why?”

“I just need to know! Did you see his face?”

Hagrid sighed, and scratched his chin.

“I don’t think so – not that I woulda remembered if I did,” he said slowly, and then, “Actually, I don’t think he ever took his cloak off.”

“Isn’t that weird?” Hermione asked.

“Nah, not really. Yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head. Was probably a dragon dealer flyin’ under the radar – against the law, remember?”

“What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

“Mighta come up,” Hagrid said, cocking his head to the side as he tried to remember. “I was drinkin’ a lot that night… Yeah – he asked me what I did an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here. Asked what sorta creatures I look after – told him I like the weird ones… an’ I said what I’ve always wanted was a dragon… Can’t remember too much, ‘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 jus’ anyone… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…”

“And did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Harry asked anxiously.

“Well, yeah – how many cerberuses d’yeh meet? Dead rare, they are. 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 – ”

Hagrid broke off suddenly, looking horrified.

“I shouldn’t’a told yeh that!” he said alarmed. “I should not have told yeh that. Forget I said it! Hey – where’re yeh goin’?”

But Harry, Ron and Hermione were already sprinting across the grounds, back up to the castle.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,” Harry said breathlessly as they came into the entrance hall. “Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it would’ve been easy, once he’d got Hagrid drunk – you saw him with Norbert. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up, too, if Bane doesn’t stop them.” She came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. “Either of you got any idea where Dumbledore’s office is?”

It dawned on her that she had no idea where she was going. They’d never been told where Dumbledore lived – they’d never seen him coming to or from anywhere… he always just seemed to appear. But if anyone knew where Dumbledore was, it was sure to be McGonagall.

The Deputy Headmistress’ office door was closed when they got there. Harry knocked urgently, and a moment later the teacher’s voice called, “Come in!”

They tumbled inside and McGonagall looked at them all confusedly.

“Are you three alright?” she asked. “I would have thought you’d be enjoying the sun.”

“We’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said quickly. “Do you know where he is, Professor?”

McGonagall’s expression changed from one of confusion to one of suspicion.

“Why do you need to see Professor Dumbledore?”

Harry bit her lip – now what?

“It’s – er – sort of a secret.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up.

“A secret?” she asked.

Harry and the others nodded.

“Well, I’m afraid to tell you that Professor Dumbledore isn’t here. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off to London not fifteen minutes ago.”

“He’s gone?” Ron cried. “Now?”

“You know that Professor Dumbledore is a very important man, Weasley. He has many demands on his time – ”

“But this is important.”

“This secret is more important than an urgent request from the Ministry of Magic, Potter?”

“Of course it is! The Philosopher’s Stone! It – ”

Harry could tell that whatever McGonagall had expected, it hadn’t been that: she stood up so abruptly that the cup of tea on her desk went flying and spilled all over the books on her desk. She didn’t clean it up though.

“H-how – How do you know about that?” she spluttered.

“We figured it out,” Harry said quickly. “It doesn’t matter, Professor – ”

“I’d say it matters very much!”

“No, Professor! I think Sna– someone’s going to try to steal the Stone! We’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore!”

McGonagall looked between the three of them. At last, she said, “Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow. I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but I can assure you that no one could possibly steal it. It’s too well protected.”

“But Professor – ”

“Potter, believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” She picked up her wand and waved it over the books; they dried themselves up and the teacup floated up off the floor and landed gently on the desk. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine,” she said firmly. There wasn’t any arguing with her.

They nodded and closed the door behind them. Harry ushered Ron and Hermione down the corridor so they were sure McGonagall couldn’t hear, and turned to them.

“It’s tonight,” she said. “That’s why my scar’s hurting. Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He’s found out everything he needs, and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way. I’m telling you – Snape sent that note. It all lines up too well.”

“But what can we – ” Hermione started, though she broke off, eyes wide. Harry and Ron wheeled round.

Snape was standing there.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

They stared at him.

“You shouldn’t be inside… on a day like this,” he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

“We were – ” Harry began, without any idea what the end of her sentence was going to be.

“You want to be more careful,” said Snape, narrowing his black eyes at Harry. “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 narrowed her eyes back at him, though she said nothing.

They made in the direction of the stairs, but Snape called down the corridor, “Be warned, Potter — any more night-time wanderings, and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Understood?”

She nodded, and with that he strode off.

They were outside on the stone steps before any of them talked.

“Right, here’s the plan,” she said urgently in a low voice so no one else heard. “One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you’d better do that.”

“Why me?”

“You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick,” Ron said. He put on a high-pitched voice and held his hand up to his forehead like a damsel in distress. “Oh Professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen-b wrong – ”

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

“You and I are going to watch the third-floor corridor,” Harry told Ron. “Come on.”

They split off from Hermione on the stairs and made their way up to the third floor – but no sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than McGonagall came walking out of the fifth-year Charms classroom laughing about something with Flitwick, though she stopped as soon as she caught sight of them.

“I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!” she said angrily, ushering them back to the Common Room. “Listen to me: nothing is getting through those spells! If I hear you’ve gone anywhere near that corridor again, I’ll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own House!”

She pronounced the password and the door swung open. Seeing them inside, she fixed them with a firm look, and took off. The door closed.

Harry looked around the Common Room before she spoke. It was empty, because everyone else was outside enjoying the sun – like we should be, Harry thought, not keeping Voldemort from the Stone and doing the teachers’ job for them!

She had just said, “At least Hermione’s got eyes on Snape,” when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione cried as soon as she saw them.

“McGonagall caught us,” Ron explained. “What about you?”

“Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I panicked and ran for it!” Hermione wailed.

“Wouldn’t have helped – Flitwick was just up on the Charms corridor,” he said

“Well, that’s it then,” Harry said.

They looked at her.

“What?”

“I’m going to have to get the Stone myself first, aren’t I?”

Hermione’s mouth gaped open in shock, though Ron cried, “How the bloody hell d’you figure that’s the next step?”

“Well, someone’s got to do it, haven’t they?” Harry retorted. “And the teachers don’t believe us, and Dumbledore’s not here to do it, so it’s got to be me.”

“You’re mad!” he scoffed.

“Forget that – Harry, you heard Snape! You’ll be expelled!”

“AND?” she shouted, louder than she’d meant to. Harry took a breath before she went on. “Look – I’m not going to just stand here and let Snape waltz in and just hand the Stone to Voldemort! If he gets it, there won’t be a Hogwarts left to be expelled from! He’ll – he’ll turn it into a school for the Dark Arts or something, and it won’t even matter because I’ll be DEAD, Hermione! Voldemort killed my parents and he tried to kill me too – do you really think he’s just going to keep on letting me go to school if he comes back?”

She was breathing heavily and there was a lump in her throat by the time she finished. Harry looked away from Ron and Hermione – she wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t – and out of the window where the sun was shining down on the castle grounds.

At last, Hermione broke the silence.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said. “Lucky I got it back.”

Glancing back at her, Harry was relieved to see that she didn’t look upset. She looked fired up.

“We should check it covers all three of us,” Ron said.

“Yeah, I – wait, what? All three of us?”

That, Harry hadn’t been expecting.

“Oh, please,” Ron scoffed. “Like we’re letting you go alone.”

“But I – you – ”

“What?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t quite seem to find the words: that she appreciated everything they’d done to help her throughout the year – all their research, the support, not letting Snape kill her in Quidditch – but that she couldn’t possibly ask them to come with her… especially when she wasn’t entirely sure she was going to make it out alive. The best she could do was, “But if we get caught, you two will be expelled too.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other and laughed hollowly.

“Oh, shut up.”

*     *     *

“You three aren’t planning anything, are you?”

Harry looked up to see Fred and George stood over her, wearing concerned expressions. She was sat in the corner of the Common Room, waiting for Ron and Hermione to come back from returning the latter’s library books and chase up any other leads about the Philosopher’s Stone they could think of while they were there.

“What do you mean?” she asked, as innocently as she could.

“We just saw Ron,” George said.

“And?”

“He looks nervous – and you don’t look too happy about something, either,” Fred added.

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you’re trying to lie to us you’ll have to do better than that,” George scoffed.

“I’m not lying!”

“Oh, come off it, Harry. You’re ridiculously easy to read,” Fred said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“I am not.”

“You are – now spill. What’s up?” George said, sitting down beside her.

She shrugged again.

“Harry,” Fred said, giving her a pointed look.

She tried to give him one back, but it failed. Horribly.

She crumbled.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she said. They nodded. “I mean it – no one can know. Not even Angelina or Lee, got it?”

George nodded, and Fred cast his eye around the room. He shuffled closer and lowered his voice.

“What is it?”

“We’re – going somewhere tonight. In the castle. It’s important.”

“Well, I figured that much, what with all the secrecy and all.”

Harry rolled her eyes.

“Can’t you tell us anything else?” George asked quietly.

Harry shook her head.

“Just that – if we’re not back by morning, you need to go to McGonagall first thing. Tell her that we went through the third-floor corridor and that the Stone’s gone.”

“Past the cerberus?”

Harry looked at Fred sharply. He seemed completely sincere.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” she asked cautiously. They had to be messing with her – right?

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” he said airily.

“Fred.”

“Oh, alright – we may have gone to have a look after we caught you three coming out of the corridor back in September.”

“But the thing nearly took my arm off, so we thought it was best left alone,” George said.

“Contrary to popular belief, we don’t actually have a death wish,” Fred added.

George nodded, and then said, “So what’s this about a stone?”

Harry shook her head.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Harry.”

“Sorry, guys. I really can’t – you’ll just have to trust me.”

Fred and George looked at one another. Harry could tell that they were dying to push it – and to be honest, if they did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it from them (something about Fred just made her want to tell him everything) – but they didn’t. After a moment, they looked back at her and nodded.

“If you’re not back by morning, tell McGonagall you three went past the cerberus and a stone’s gone,” George said.

“Not a stone – the Stone,” she corrected him.

“The Stone, got it,” Fred said. “Anything else?”

“Not really – ” she started, and then she had a thought. “Actually, if you could keep the Common Room clear all night, that’d be great. I’m not sure when we’ll get back yet and I don’t think we’ll want an audience when” – if – “we do. Is that alright?”

They nodded.

“Whatever you need.”

*     *     *

After dinner, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat apart from everyone else in the Common Room, the former two playing a half-hearted game of Warlock’s Chess and the latter skimming through her notes from the year, hoping to find something helpful about one of the enchantments they were hoping to break later. No one bothered them; they were all too lethargic from the end of exams and the heat to pay them any mind (though Harry heard snatches of conversations about the end-of-year party the following night and the Leavers’ Ball on Monday), and none of them had much to say to Harry anymore, anyway. Fred and George stuck to themselves, though every now and then the twins looked over at them to check they were alright.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed, leaving only the five of them and Neville – though he was asleep on one of the armchairs.

“I think it’s all clear,” George said as Fred went over to pull a blanket over the sleeping boy.

“I think you’d better get the Cloak,” Ron said, “and your flute – unless you feel like singing.”

“What cloak?” Fred asked.

Harry grinned.

“Oh, you’ll love this.”

She sprinted up the stairs to her dorm, where, luckily, Sue, Parvati and Lavender were all asleep. She pulled her Cloak out of the bottom of her trunk – neatly, so Parvati wouldn’t tidy up after her when she got up to pee later and realise Harry and Hermione were missing – and pocketed the flute.

She ran back down to the Common Room, where the others were waiting for her.

“What’s this cloak, the– ” Fred broke off, his eyes wide as they landed on the Cloak tucked under her arm.

“Is that – ”

“Yep!” Harry said proudly, throwing open the Cloak. Despite the circumstances – the idea of passing Fluffy, getting the Stone, the prospect of Voldemort returning – she couldn’t help but revel in their amazement for a minute. George’s jaw was on the floor, and Fred was just staring at her.

“How the fuck did you get your hands on one of those?” Fred asked at last, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Shh!” Hermione hissed. “Neville’s still asleep!”

Fred mouthed an apology as George remarked that it must have cost Harry a fortune.

“Lucky it didn’t, then,” Ron said. “It was her dad’s.”

“Your dad’s?”

“You’ll get the full story tomorrow if we’re lucky, but we’ve got to go now,” Hermione said. “Come on – make sure it fits.”

“Yeah, don’t want Filch to see a lone foot roaming about,” Ron snorted.

Harry tore her eyes away from Fred’s and lifted the Cloak up. She was just about to throw it over the three of them when a voice spoke from the shadows.

“What are you doing?”

Neville was not, in fact, still asleep.

“Nothing, Neville! Nothing!” Harry said hurriedly, shuffling behind Ron to hide the Cloak behind them.

Neville stared at their guilty faces.

“You’re going out again,” he said.

“No, no, no,” said Hermione. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?”

Harry looked anxiously at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time – Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

“You can’t go out,” said Neville. “You’ll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.”

“You don’t understand,” George reasoned. “This is important.”

But Neville didn’t seem to have heard him – or if he had, dismissed it.

“I won’t let you do it,” he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. “I’ll – I’ll fight you!”

“Oh, Neville,” Fred moaned.

“Oh, come off it, Neville,” Ron snapped. “Don’t be an idiot – ”

“Don’t you call me an idiot!” cried Neville.

“He didn’t mean it like tha– ” Hermione protested, though it was no use.

“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 said in exasperation. “Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Fred took a step forward to placate him, though Neville must have taken it aggressively, because he raised his fists.

“Go on then, try and hit me!” Neville said angrily. “I’m ready!”

It wasn’t intimidating in the slightest, though it did make things more difficult.

“Do something,” Harry murmured to Hermione.

Hermione stepped forward.

“Neville, I’m really, really sorry about this,” she said, raising her wand at him. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Harry watched as Neville’s arms snapped to his sides, his legs sprang together, and – his whole body rigid – he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his back, stiff as a board.

“What the fuck, Hermione?” George cried.

“Harry said to ‘do something’!” Hermione protested, running over to the figure on the floor.

“I didn’t mean that!”

When Harry got over to Neville, she saw that his jaw was jammed closed so he couldn’t speak. He was making muffled angry noises, though, and his eyes were looking at them in horror.

“What did you do to him?”

“It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. “Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry.”

“We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” said Harry.

“We’ll get him up to bed,” George said, looking at Fred. He nodded. “Go on, you’d better head off now.”

“Wait! Ron – you’d better get your door open for us,” Fred protested.

“No time,” he said. “You’ll figure something out.”

Fred didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded.

Harry pushed open the portrait hole door, and Hermione and Ron climbed through ahead of her. She scrambled through herself, and pulled the Cloak through after her.

George gasped as she threw it over the three of them.

“Can you see anything?” she whispered, careful to be quiet now they weren’t in the Common Room.

“Nothing,” Fred said.

“You’re good to go,” George agreed. “Good luck.”

“Be careful,” Fred added, making Harry, Ron and Hermione give each other nervous glances under the Cloak.

“We will,” Ron whispered. “See you later.”

Harry pushed the door closed as the three of them walked down the corridor and into the dark of the castle.

*     *     *

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” George asked nervously as the portrait door closed with a soft thud.

“I hope so,” Fred said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, “bearing in mind we have no idea what they’re doing.”

George made an affirmative noise and turned to face his brother.

“So what’s the plan?”

“The plan?”

George nodded down at Neville’s body laying between them.

Fred sighed. He’d forgotten about that bit.

*     *     *

At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

“Oh, let’s kick her, just this once,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, but Harry shook her head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes in their direction, though she didn’t move. After last time, Harry wondered if they were immune to animals under the Cloak, and filed the idea of kicking Mrs Norris away for another night that they weren’t trying to stop the return of Voldemort.

They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the landing adjacent to the Charms corridor. Peeves was bobbing halfway down, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

“Who’s there?” he called as they moved slowly toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?” He rose up in the air and hovered there, squinting in their direction. “Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.”

“Peeves,” Ron said suddenly in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then stared at him in amazement, while Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the ground.

“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir,” he said nervously. “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 – ”

“I have business here, Peeves,” croaked Ron. “Stay away from this place tonight.”

“I will, sir, I most certainly will,” said Peeves, rising up in the air again. “Hope your business goes well, Baron. I’ll not bother you.”

And he zipped off.

“That was amazing, Ron!” breathed Hermione.

A minute and a half later they were outside the third-floor corridor – and the door was already ajar. There was music coming from inside… and loud, thundering snoring.

Snape had already gotten past Fluffy.

Seeing the open door somehow made the whole thing more real to Harry. She was actually going through the trapdoor to try to stop Snape and Voldemort – and Ron and Hermione were coming with her. She turned to the other two.

“If you want to go back, I won’t blame you,” she said. “You can take the Cloak, I won’t need it now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ron.

“We’re coming,” said Hermione.

“Are you sure?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron pushed open the door. The door creaked, and the snoring stopped briefly, though it resumed again a second later.

“We won’t need the flute then,” Harry whispered, secretly relieved because she had no idea how to play it.

They shrugged off the Cloak and Harry rolled it under her arm in case they needed it later. They crept towards the trap door, and it took the effort of all three of them to move Fluffy’s paw out of the way.

Ron pulled the door open.

“Any takers?” he asked, looking down into the darkness below.

“I’ll go,” Harry said, handing the Cloak and the flute to Ron. She got to her knees and peered over the edge. There didn’t seem to be any way to get down, no ladder or fireman’s pole or anything. She was just going to have to fall and hope for the best.

“If anything happens,” she said, “don’t come after me. Hermione – go get Fred and George and McGonagall, and Ron – you go to the Owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, alright?”

They nodded.

Harry tied her hair back in a plait – less likely to have flyaways in her face that way – and moved around to lower herself down into the hole until she was hanging on by her fingertips. She looked up at Ron and Hermione, both looking terrified, and hoped it wasn’t the last time she was seeing them.

“Here goes nothing,” she said, and let go.

Chapter Text

Harry landed on something… soft.

“I’m alright!” she called upwards, where she could just about make out Ron and Hermione’s figures silhouetted against the dim light in the forbidden corridor. “I think I’m on some kind of plant!”

“Are you sure?” Ron called downwards.

Harry got to her feet and clambered over the plant to the other end of the room so Ron and Hermione wouldn’t land on her on their way down – that, and it had tickled. Apparently her dislike of being touched extended to inanimate objects.

“Well I haven’t broken my neck!”

“Alright! Hermione, do you wanna go next or should I?”

“I’ll let you go,” Hermione said, and Harry could hear the twinge of anxiety in her voice.

“Alright, then – watch out, Harry!”

“I’m good!”

He landed sprawled out on the plant a moment later, the Invisibility Cloak rolled up in his hand.

“Is it safe?” Hermione called.

“Seems like it!”

“We’re fine, Hermione!” Ron called. “It’s like a massive mattress!”

A moment later, Hermione landed a few feet from Ron.

So far, so good, Harry thought. She went through the list of teachers who had set up obstacles in her head. Hagrid down – Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell, Dumbledore and Snape to go.

“We must be miles under the school,” Hermione said, gazing up at the open trapdoor above them.

“Merlin, this thing’s comfortable,” Ron said, laying back onto the plant.

Despite the situation, Harry grinned.

“No time for naps,” she said. “Come on, Sleepy.”

“Oh, gimme a second,” Ron sighed, though a second later Harry heard him strain to get up. But he didn’t move.

“Uh – Hermione?” he said cautiously, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

“Hm?” she was still looking up at the trapdoor, where the harp music had now ceased and Fluffy was growling. “I think we’re about thirty metres below the third floor – give or take a few. We must be in part of the dungeons.”

“Yeah – uh – that’s great and everything, but – uh – I can’t move.”

“And?”

“I think we might be stuck in the plant.”

“We – what?” Hermione shrieked, and wriggled… but she didn’t move, either.

Harry pulled out her wand and lit it – and to her horror, saw that long creepers had wrapped themselves around Ron and Hermione’s arms and legs as they’d been sitting there. She must have escaped them when she’d gotten up – that had been what the tickling was.

“It’s a Devil’s Snare!” Hermione cried.

“Oh, I’m so glad we know what’s called – that’s a huge help!” Ron snapped, trying to wriggle away from a vine trying to curl its way around his neck.

“How do I kill it?” Harry shouted at Hermione.

“I’m thinking!”

“Think faster!”

“Devil’s Snare – it likes the dark and damp!”

“Light a – fire!” Ron grunted.

Light a fire, light a fire – what’s the spell again?!

“But there’s no wood!” Hermione cried.

“WE’RE WITCHES!” Ron yelled, as Harry remembered the right one.

“Incendio!” she shouted, pointing her wand at the plant between her friends. Flames came shooting out of the end and landed on the Devil’s Snare; it began curling in on itself, retreating to the other corner of the room and releasing Ron and Hermione from its grasp.

Harry helped Hermione up, pulling a vine loose from around her middle.

“Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione,” she said.

Ron snorted.

“Lucky you don’t lose your head in a crisis, Harry! There’s no wood! – honestly!”

“I panicked!”

“Really?”

Harry spotted the door near to where she’d taken refuge from the Devil’s Snare and pulled it open. Behind it lay a long, low passageway leading further underground. Harry ushered them through, wand out and lit to see the way.

Hagrid and Sprout down – Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell, Dumbledore and Snape to go.

They walked for an age, it seemed, further and further below the castle. The only sound other than their footsteps was the gently drip of water trickling down the walls – could they be under the Black Lake? Or was there an underground one somewhere nearby? Harry was reminded of Gringotts, and was suddenly reminded of what Hagrid had said about the rumours of dragons guarding the vaults. But there wouldn’t be a dragon guarding the Stone – would there? There’d been so much fuss about Hagrid having Norbert that Harry seriously doubted it. But then, she hadn’t been expecting a Devil’s Snare, so who knew?

“Can you hear something?” Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

“Do you think it’s a ghost?” Hermione asked.

“Nah – sounds more like wings.”

“There’s a light ahead,” Harry said. “Something’s moving.”

The end of the tunnel opened up into an enormous chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. The room was full of what looked like small, shiny birds flying about the place, and at the other end of the room lay a broomstick on the ground, beside a large wooden door.

“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?” Ron said.

“No idea,” Harry said. “They don’t look dangerous – but you never know.”

“What should we do?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t think we have another option. I’m going to run for it,” Harry said, and without another word took off across the room, covering her face with her arms.

She heard Hermione let out a small shriek, and she expected to feel sharp claws tearing at her any second – and then she ran into a wall.

Harry looked up and saw that nothing had happened. The birds were still flying about overhead, showing no indication they knew they were there at all.

“I think we’re good,” she called, and a moment later, the other two were beside her. Ron tried the door, but it was locked tight. Even Hermione’s Alohamora didn’t work.

“Now what?”

Hermione turned away from the door in frustration, her gaze landing on the birds. Harry followed her, and realised that for birds, they were awfully quiet.

“These birds,” Hermione said, almost to herself, “they wouldn’t just be here for decoration…”

“I don’t think they’re birds,” Harry said. “Listen.”

They did, Ron coming to join them, and after a few moments Ron cried out, “They’re keys! Look!”

Of course they were – how hadn’t she noticed? She was meant to be the youngest Seeker in a century! What good was she if she couldn’t even tell birds apart from keys?

“That must be what the broom’s for!” Harry said. “We’re supposed to catch the right one!”

“But there are hundreds of them!”

Ron examined the lock on the door.

“It’ll be a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the lock.”

Harry grabbed the broom and mounted it – it looked older than the school broom she’d ridden in her first Flying lesson – and kicked off from the ground. She flew up to meet the keys, though as she neared them they dove out of the way like a flock of frightened birds.

“This isn’t going to be as easy as the last one, is it?”

She scanned the group of keys, and caught sight of a big silver one with a dented wing. Well, she was a Seeker, after all. She dove at it, but it got out of the way at the last second, its good wing brushing the tip of her fingers. Harry wished she was on her own Nimbus Two Thousand – she’d have caught the key in seconds if she had it with her.

“Any chance of a net down there?” she called.

Ron called back no, at the same moment Harry had an idea.

“It keeps on jumping away from me,” she said, “so if I drive it towards the ground, you can jump up and catch it, Ron?”

“Are you sure it’ll work?” Hermione asked.

“It’s the best plan we’ve got,” Ron said grimly. “Unless you know the summoning spell.”

“The summoning spell?”

“Yeah – Accio – but it won’t help us now. Here, take this,” he said, handing her the Cloak. Looking upwards, he called, “Go on, then Harry.”

Harry flew up to the top of the room and scanned around for the silver key. When she caught sight of it, she took a deep breath and dove at it from above – it dove around to the side. Harry tried again, and again, and at last it flew low enough to the ground that Ron was able to jump up and grab it.

Harry flew back down to the ground and hopped off the broomstick, discarding it to the side. Ron jammed the key in the lock – it opened! – and no sooner had he let go than it went zooming off, back to join the rest of the flock, looking a little worse for wear. Harry felt sorry for it – until she remembered that it was an enchanted old key and didn’t actually have feelings, physical or otherwise.

Hagrid, Sprout, and Flitwick down – McGonagall, Quirrell, Dumbledore and Snape to go.

They were in another tunnel, though this one looked a lot less slimy and wet than the other one had been. It was a lot shorter too, because soon enough they found themselves in another enormous chamber, this one brilliantly lit by the sconces along the walls as soon as they stepped inside.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard. The figures were taller than they were, close to Hagrid’s height, and while the black pieces they stood behind seemed to be carved of dark obsidian, the white ones were a stunning marble. Behind those lay the door.

“Now what do we do?” Harry whispered.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ron said, gazing at the chessmen in awe. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.”

“How?” Hermione nervously.

“As pieces, I think,” said Ron. “We’re going to have to be chessmen.”

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. The stone sprang to life: the horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

“Do we – er – have to join you to get across?”

The knight nodded. Ron back turned to Harry and Hermione, his brow furrowed in concentration and scratching at his chin. He was quiet for a few minutes.

“Now, don’t be offended or anything,” he said at last, “but neither of you are that good at chess – ”

“Understatement of the century,” Harry said. Hermione scowled. “Just tell us what to do.”

“Right – Harry, you play as a bishop – go on, that one to the right, and Hermione, you’ll be a castle.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to be a knight,” Ron said, and Harry could hear a small hint of pride in his words.

At that, a black knight, bishop and castle sprang to life and turned their backs on the whites. They walked off the board, leaving three empty squares for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They took their places.

“How do we know when to start?” Hermione asked.

“Well, white always plays first in chess,” Ron explained, peering across the board. “So – yes, look.”

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry almost missed his shouting set – at least they were good company. This was terrifying. She didn’t know if she was allowed to speak or if that’d mess up the game. What if they lost? What if one of them got taken out?

“Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.”

Ron, however, seemed to be in his element – if his element was playing a potentially fatal chess game in the process of trying to stop the return of Voldemort. He commanded the pieces with confidence, taking his time to figure out his next step, and several times having to dart around the board himself and take a bunch of whites when some of them got too close to Harry and Hermione.

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

“Had to let that happen,” said Ron, looking shaken. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.”

Hermione moved to do so, and the white bishop turned its back on the game and stalked off.

 “We’re nearly there,” Ron muttered. “Come on, Ron – think…”

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

Ron’s face was suddenly very pale.

“What?” Harry asked, looking between him and the white queen.

“It’s the only way,” he said. “I’ve got to be taken.”

“What?”

“No, Ron!”

“I’ve got to!” he cried. “I’ll lose if we don’t – I need to make this move, then she can take me, and then look, Harry – you’re free to take the king.”

“But Ron – ”

“Do you want to stop Snape or not?”

She nodded. She did – but Ron couldn’t get hurt. He couldn’t.

“But – ”

“If you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have it! We’ve got to move!” he said.

Harry knew there was no other option, but she –

Without waiting for an answer, Ron stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. The queen seemed to pause, and then she pounced on him, striking Ron across the head with her stone arm. There was a shriek, and Harry realised it had come from her.

The queen grabbed Ron by the ankle and dragged him to the edge of the board, depositing him near the other broken black pieces. Unlike them, he was breathing. He must have just been knocked out.

There were sniffles coming from Hermione’s direction. Harry couldn’t focus on that now – she had to finish the game. She had to get to Snape. Ron couldn’t have done that for nothing.

Shaking, she moved three spaces to the left, standing before the white king. There was a pause, and then he took of his crown and threw it down at Harry’s feet. They’d won.

The remaining chessmen bowed and parted, blocking off Ron and the broken pieces, but leaving the way to the door ahead clear.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Harry asked nervously as they pulled open the door and stepped into the passage.

“He’d better be,” Hermione said, giving Ron’s still-limp figure one last glance before following after her. “What do you think is next?”

Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall down – Quirrell, Dumbledore and Snape to go.

“We’ve had Sprout’s, that was the Devil’s Snare; Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape – and Dumbledore, of course…”

“Joy.”

They had reached another door.

“Ready?” Harry whispered.

“Go on.”

She pushed it open.

A disgusting and horribly familiar smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their tops up to cover their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with an oozing black lump on its head.

Harry didn’t breathe again until the door on the other side of the room was closed behind them.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,” Harry gagged, the smell lingering in the air. “Come on, I can’t breathe.”

“Which one was that, then?”

“Snape, I think – he was the one who brought the troll in at Halloween, after all.”

Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape down – Quirrell and Dumbledore to go.

She pulled open the next door, expecting the worst – this would be Quirrell or Dumbledore, after all – but they were met inside by the sight of a long wooden table seven funnily-shaped bottles placed on it in a line.

“I must have been wrong,” Harry said. “These are potions – that last one must have been Quirrell. But why would – ”

“It doesn’t matter now – let’s just get through this one.”

As they stepped over the threshold, a fire immediately sprang up behind them in the doorway. It was bright green. Ahead of them, black flames appeared out of the stone floor before the door.

They were trapped.

“Well now what?”

“Look!” Hermione cried, grabbing a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a relived sigh.

“What?”

“Brilliant,” she said. To Harry’s surprise, she was smiling.

“Brilliant?”

“Oh – don’t you see, Harry? It’s not magic! It’s logic!”

“Do you know what we’re doing, then? We’re not stuck in here?”

“Of course not! Look, everything we need is on here. 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 green.”

“But how do we know which to drink?”

“Give me a minute.”

Hermione read the paper again slowly. Then she held it up so she could see it and the bottles, muttering to herself and waving her hands about. At last, she turned to Harry, grinning.

“Got it!” she said. “The smallest one will get us through the black fire – toward the Stone.”

Harry looked at the tiny vial.

“That’s hardly one swallow,” she said. “There’s only enough there for one of us.”

They looked at each other.

“Which one will get us back through the green?”

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

“You drink that,” Harry said. Hermione opened her mouth to protest. “No, listen – get back and get Ron. You two should be fine on the broom from the Key room – it’ll get you over the Devil’s Snare and past Fluffy. Get Ron back to the Common Room, and then send Fred to McGonagall and George to the Owlery to get Hedwig, and her on to Dumbledore. We’ll need both of them – I don’t know if Hedwig will get to him in time. 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’s with him?”

She hadn’t thought of that.

“I was lucky once, wasn’t I?” she said, undoing her hair and re-plaiting it. It had come lose somewhere between the killer plant and the troll. “Maybe I’ll get lucky again.”

Hermione’s lip trembled, and suddenly she launched herself at Harry and threw her arms around her. Harry froze.

“Oh – sorry,” she apologised, pulling back. “I’m sorry, I just – you’re a great witch, you know that, right, Harry?”

“I’m – uh – alright,” Harry said awkwardly. “I’m not as good as you.”

“Pfft – did you see me back with the Devil’s Snare? ‘There’s no wood!’” – she broke off in a terrible imitation of herself – “Books and things can only get me so far, but you’re strong – and you’re brave – and you remember to use your wand!” she laughed. “Promise you’ll be careful, alright?”

Harry nodded.

“Promise.”

Harry rolled her eyes.

“I promise,” she said. “You drink first so I know you’re back okay. You’re sure you know which one’s which?”

“Absolutely,” said Hermione. She picked up both bottles, handing the little one to Harry. She took a long drink from her own, and shuddered.

“It’s not poison?” Harry asked anxiously.

“No – but it’s like ice.”

“Quick, go, before it wears off.”

“Good luck – be careful – ”

“GO!”

Hermione nodded, gave Harry last more look, and turned and walked straight through the green fire.

Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. She went around the table and stood before the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames on her face.

Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape down – Dumbledore now.

“Here goes nothing – again,” she said to herself, and drained the bottle in one gulp.

Cold flooded through her body and she shuddered. Harry put the bottle back on the table, took a deep breath, and stepped through the fire. For a moment, she could see nothing but the dark flames – she could feel them, but there was no heat – and then she was in the final chamber.

It was huge, with steps all around the edge leading down to the middle of the room, where the Mirror of Erised of all things stood in all its golden glory. But Harry wasn’t really looking at it.

She was looking at the person standing in front of the mirror.

It wasn’t Snape. Or Voldemort.

Quirrell smiled and turned around to face her. His face wasn’t twitching at all.

“I wondered when you’d show up, Potter.”

“B-But – what?” she spluttered. It was Quirrell? “I thought – Snape – he – ”

“Severus?” Quirrell laughed, and it wasn’t his usual quivering giggle, either, but cold and sharp and dangerous. “Oh yes, he does seem the type, doesn’t he? A perfect red herring for me – next to him, who could suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be Quirrell. It didn’t make any sense.

“But – Snape tried to kill me!”

Quirrell scoffed.

“Him? No – I tried to kill you, stupid girl. Another few seconds and I would’ve got you off your broom if I hadn’t been distracted at that Quidditch match, but then again it’s a bit difficult to focus when your robes catch fire. I suppose you can thank Granger for saving you then – and Snape, of course.”

“Snape?”

“He was muttering the countercurse to save you! Why do you think it was so easy for you to stay on your broom?” He laughed like a Bond villain. “That’s why he wanted to referee your next match – to make sure I didn’t try it again. But he needn’t have bothered… I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. No – all he did was make himself more unpopular… He shouldn’t have wasted his time repaying that debt… after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight anyway.”

Snape? Debt? Trying to save m– wait, what?!

Quirrell snapped his fingers and Harry’s body was suddenly frozen, her arms trapped to her sides and her legs stuck together.

“You’re too nosy to live, Potter. You can’t just stay put and mind your own business, can you? Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that – must’ve seen me going to have a look at the cerberus after the feast – ”

“I wasn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me, Potter!”

“I’m not! I had no idea you were anywhere near the – ”

Quirrell snapped his fingers and Harry fell silent, though her mouth continued to say the words. She glared at him – he could’ve at least let her finish the sentence

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “It doesn’t matter anyway – I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He turned back towards the Mirror.

“This is the key to the Stone,” Quirrell murmured, examining the mirror closely. He tapped at the glass, and held his ear up to the frame. “Trust that nutty old fool to come up with something ridiculous like this…”

Harry didn’t know what to do. She had to keep Quirrell away from the Mirror. Somehow, she had to distract him and give McGonagall or Dumbledore long enough to turn up.

She just didn’t know how to do it.

Quirrell had since ceased pacing around the mirror, and was staring hungrily at the glass.

“I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master… but where is it?” he said. He looked at Harry’s reflection. “Any ideas?”

Harry scowled at him, wishing dearly she could flip him off. Or throttle him. Or both.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back at himself in the mirror.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” he yelled suddenly. If Harry had been able to move, she would have jumped. “Is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?”

I’ve got to get the Stone first, she thought. What I want more than anything right now is to get the Stone before Quirrell can – so if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it, right?

She tried to edge to her left, but her legs were stuck together – instead, she swayed on the spot and went crashing to the ground.

Well that didn’t work.

Quirrel didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”

To Harry’s shock and horror, another voice answered – and it seemed to come from Quirrell himself. It sounded like nails on chalkboard.

“Use the girl,” it rasped. “Use the girl.”

Quirrell rounded on Harry, and only then noticed she was laying on the floor.

“How did you get there?” he asked.

She glared at him.

“Come here, Potter.”

His snapped his fingers again and suddenly Harry was able to move again. She sat up, but refused to move any further, pointing at her mouth.

“Oh, yes – there you go,” he snapped. Harry felt her voice return to her. “Now come here. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.

Slowly, Harry got to her feet and walked over to him.

I’ve got to lie, she thought. That’s all. Whatever I see, I’ve got to lie about it… and then actually find the Stone and get out of here. No pressure.

Quirrell moved behind her, probably preventing her from running if she tried to do so. Harry tried not to breathe in the weird smell that was coming from Quirrell’s turban – something between garlic and rotting flesh – and closed her eyes. She took a breath, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

There she was, scruffy-looking and pale and scared out of her fucking mind – at first. A moment later, her reflection moved. It smiled at her, and pulled what looked like a massive ruby out of her pocket. Winking, it put it back – and at that exact moment, Harry felt something heavy appear in her actual pocket. Somehow – amazingly – she’d gotten the Stone.

“Well?” said Quirrell impatiently. “What do you see?”

“I – I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” she said. “I’ve won the House Cup for Gryffindor.”

That sounded believable, right?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Get out of the way.”

He pushed her roughly aside. Harry went flying and landed on her side, the Philosopher’s Stone digging painfully into her thigh.

She hadn’t even got up when the voice spoke again – though Quirrell wasn’t moving his lips.

“She liesss… She liesss…”

“Tell me the truth, Potter! What did you see?”

“I saw the Cup!”

“Liesss…” the voice hissed again. “Let me speak to her, Quirinusss, face to face…”

“Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough… for thisss...”

Petrified, Harry watched as Quirrell turned his back on her, and reached up and began to unwrap his turban. She braced herself for the worst, though what she was met with shocked her all the same. She scrambled backwards up the steps – but froze as a face was revealed where the back of Quirrell’s head should have been. It was chalk white, with slits for nostrils and snakelike eyes.

“Harriet Potter…” it whispered.

She couldn’t move. She stared in horror.

“See what I have become?” the face went on. “Mere shadow and vapour… 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. My devoted Quirinus joined me in Albania, was it?”

“Yes, master,” came Quirrell’s quiet voice.

“Such a foolish young man he was… All those ridiculous ideas about good and evil… I showed him the truth: that there is only power. There are those who have it, and the rest, too weak to seek it. Since then he has served me faithfully… if failingly.”

“I’m sorry, master, I –

“Quiet!” Voldemort snapped, turning its attention back to Harry. Quirrell let out a broken sob. “Since he failed me with that poor attempt to take the Stone from Gringotts” – Of course! She’d seen Quirrell at the Leaky Cauldron on her birthday, hadn’t she? – “I have had to keep a closer eye on him…”

“Y-You’ve – you’ve been h-here? The e-e-entire time?” Harry stammered. She didn’t know where she’d found the strength to speak.

The face chuckled darkly.

“Of course I have… I’ve been watching you all year, Potter… watching… waiting… Unicorn blood has sustained me in past months… you saw my dear Quirinus drinking it for me in the forest… but once I have the Stone and the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now – why don’t you hand it over?”

So he knew.

Quirrell took a step towards her. Harry got to her feet and stumbled backwards, sagging against a pillar. She shook her head violently.

“Don’t be a fool,” snarled the face. “Better save your own life and join me… you don’t want to meet the same end as your parents, now, do you? They died begging for mercy, you kn–”

“Liar!”

Quirrell took another step backwards so that Voldemort could still see her, driving her back to seek refuge against the next pillar – and further away from the door.

“How touching…” the face hissed, his smile more like a grimace. “I always value bravery... Yes, girl, your parents were brave… I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight… your mother too, but she needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you... Now, give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vai– SEIZE HER!”

Before he had finished speaking, Harry had dived around Quirrell to get to the door – or tried to, at least. He was too fast, and managed to catch her wrist, throwing her off balance. Her scar burned, worse than the pain that night in the forest, and she screamed – though she wasn’t the only one. A moment later, Quirrell released her – she looked to see where he’d gone, and to her surprise he was hunched over staring at his fingers. They were blistering red like he’d been stuck his hands in fire.

“Seize her! SEIZE HER!” shrieked Voldemort again. Harry ran around the other side of the mirror but he was too fast. Quirrell grabbed her from behind and lifted her clean off her feet. Her scar burned again and she threw her head back in agony – there was a crack! as she made contact with his nose. He dropped her, howling, and she made a break for the door. Harry might have made it if he hadn’t launched himself at her and knocked her off on her feet. Her scar felt like there was something pounding against the inside of her head, trying desperately to break free. Harry kicked out and got him in the head but it just made him angrier – and then he was on top of her, snarling as he held her to the ground, his nose dripping blood onto her face. She tried to fight him off but his hands came up and grabbed her wrists – and then released her a second later, howling in pain. The searing in Harry’s scar lessened as she saw him sit up, still pinning her beneath him, and look at his raw red hands.

“Master, I cannot hold her – she must have some power – my hands!” he wailed.

“THEN KILL HER, YOU FOOL, AND BE DONE!”

Quirrell raised his hand, whether to perform a curse or something else, Harry didn’t know – but what she did know, was that his crotch was exposed.

She brought her knee up. Hard.

“AAAARGH!”

He doubled over in pain and Harry took this opportunity to drive her knee up again – but that didn’t work, because he grabbed her leg with one hand and raised his other. Her scar still burned – but hang on, so did his skin. Her only chance was to keep him in too much pain to do a spell. Harry grabbed at his face and he screamed – her own face felt like it was on fire – she couldn’t see – she clung to Quirrell amid his screaming and Voldemort shrieking “KILL HER! KILL HER!” and there were other voices, maybe in her own head, screaming, “Harriet! Harriet!”

She felt his weight disappear from on top of her and then she was falling down into darkness, the angry pulsing red before her eyes fading to black.

Chapter Text

Harry opened her eyes.

It was too bright – everything was too bright.

Was she dead?

Hang on – no, she could hear people chattering nearby.

It’d be quieter, wouldn’t it?

She blinked, and the ceiling of the Hospital Wing swam into blurry view.

So she wasn’t dead.

She still couldn’t see though… where were her glasses?

Harry reached out beside her, hoping to find them sitting on the bedside table – but it was full of stuff, and none of it felt like a pair of glasses. She must’ve knocked something off, though, because a second later she heard something clatter as it hit the floor.

“Ah – awake at last, I see?”

Even without her glasses, Harry could see that Professor Dumbledore was sitting at the end of her bed. There was no mistaking that big white beard, even if it was blurry. His spectacles did look like a pair of Golden Snitches, though.

She sat up quickly, her head pounding.

Then she remembered.

“Sir! The Stone – it was Quirrell! I had it – it was in my pocket – he must’ve – ”

“It’s alright, Harriet – you must calm down or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

“But the Stone, Sir! Quirrell, he – ”

“The Stone is quite safe, my dear,” Dumbledore said firmly, but gently. “Rest assured, Professor Quirrell does not have it.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sagged back against her pillows. After a few moments, she asked, “Professor, have you seen my glasses?”

She heard the Headmaster chuckle.

“Here you go,” he said, placing them in her hands.

Harry sat up and put them on. Sure enough, the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view… as did piles of what looked like half a sweet shop spread between the bedside table – it had been a box of chocolate frogs she’d knocked over – and an additional table that had been set up at the end of her bed. She gazed at them in amazement.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” Dumbledore explained, beaming.

“But why?”

“Well, what happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows.”

That didn’t make much sense – but then again, if Harry had learned anything in the past year, it was that Hogwarts loved gossip.

“Now – I suppose you have some questions, Harriet.”

“Yeah – uh – how long have I been here?”

“Well, it’s Monday, so” – he broke off, counting on his fingers – “three days.”

“Is Ron alright?”

“The youngest Mr Weasley is perfectly well. He just had a – what did Madam Pomfrey call it? – a concussion.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“What happened after I passed out – to the Stone? To Quirrell?”

“Professor McGonagall and I arrived just in time to prevent him getting the Stone – ”

“You got George’s owl?”

“We must have passed each other in mid-air. No sooner had I arrived in London than it became apparent my presence was required elsewhere. It appears your plan to involve the Weasley twins paid off – I got back to find Professor McGonagall on her way down to the dungeons. We arrived just in time to pull Professor Quirrell off you – ”

“It was you!”

“We feared we were too late.”

“You nearly were – I couldn’t have held him off the Stone much longer – ”

“Not the Stone, my dear – you. The effort involved nearly killed you.”

Well… shit.

“Professor Quirrell, on the other hand, is dead. It appears that not only did you inflict some serious damage during your scuffle, but that his master deserted him as soon as it became apparent that things would not end in his favour. Quirrell was left to die.”

“But Vol– I mean, You-Know-Who, he – ”

“Call him Voldemort, Harriet. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“Yes, well… Voldemort – he’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? He won’t have just… given up?”

“Yes, Harriet, in all likelihood he will. He’ll be out there, searching for those followers who have not yet deserted him and another body to share… not being truly alive, you see, means that he cannot truly be killed. However, you have thwarted him this time, and he will have to take time to reassess… And, if he is delayed again and again, well… he may never return to power.”

“But he’ll always be out there?”

“That is the nature of evil, I’m afraid. It will never disappear completely, but it must always be fought.”

“But – Voldemort isn’t the embodiment of all evil. There must be a way to end him, surely?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he smiled.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor. If there is, then I am sure such a thing will become clear in time.”

“And you’ll tell me? If it does?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Harry nodded, satisfied, but stopped quickly because her head hurt.

“What about the Stone?”

“It has been destroyed.”

“Destroyed? But – your friend Flamel – his wife – they – ”

“Oh, you know about Nicholas, do you?” Dumbledore said, sounding quite delighted. “You did do the thing properly, didn’t you? Well… Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and we’ve agreed it’s all for the best.”

“But that means they’ll die, won’t they?”

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”

Harry stared at him in confusion – how was he so calm about it?

Dumbledore smiled.

“To one as young as you, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all – to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. 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.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She did have other questions, though.

“Professor, in the dungeons – Quirrell said something about Professor Snape, about a debt to be repaid – ”

“Ah – well, you know that he and your father attended Hogwarts together?”

“They did?”

“Oh, yes. They rather detested one another – not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy… And then your father did something that Snape could never forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life.”

“What?”

“Yes… funny the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace…”

Harry didn’t really understand how that worked. How much had Snape actually protected her all year? There was the Quidditch match, of course, and Snape must have been running interference on Quirrell all year – that must have been what she’d overheard in the Forbidden Forest that time. But… she hadn’t felt very protected. What she’d felt was supremely uncomfortable: he’d been horrible all year and acted like a creep.

Okay… maybe not entirely a creep – he hadn’t put his hands on her. She was probably being a bit harsh and reading into things.

But he had been horrible.

Had that really all been because of some rivalry with her dad? And speaking of her dad, Dumbledore seemed to know an awful lot about him…

“It wasn’t you who sent me the Invisibility Cloak by any chance, Professor?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Clever girl,” he said. Harry tried not to be affected by the praise. “Your father happened to leave it in my possession before he dies, and I thought you might like it. It is your birthright, after all – though your father mainly used it for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

That seemed familiar.

“And… how did I even get the Stone out of the Mirror?”

“Ah – now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that is saying something. 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…”

That seemed to make sense.

“Is there anything else, Harriet?”

“Yes, um… just – three more things.”

“Fire away.”

“Why couldn’t Quirrell touch me? I mean – I saw him on my birthday when I went to Diagon Alley with Hagrid… but down in the chamber… well, you saw his hands… and his face.” She shuddered, remembering the way Quirrell had screamed when she’d touched him. “He said – he said I had some power – ”

“You do have some power, Harriet – one that neither Professor Quirrell nor Voldemort could understand.”

“I do?”

“Love, Harriet. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. Your mother died to save you. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark” – Harry clapped her hand to her forehead, though Dumbledore shook his head – “No, not your scar, no visible sign… It is in your very skin. to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. 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.”

There was a lump in the back of Harry’s throat and tears stung her eyes. It was lucky that Dumbledore suddenly became interested in something outside, gazing out the window, because it gave her the opportunity to dry her eyes without an audience.

“And,” he went on after a moment when she was done, “I am afraid it is for this very reason that you must return home to your aunt this summer. The two of you share your mother’s blood, and so long as you continue to call her home your home, you continue to be protected by your mother’s sacrifice. To that end, I’ve written to your aunt and uncle to tell them when and where to pick you up from this weekend.”

Harry nodded, deflated. There didn’t seem to be any arguing with that, as much as she wanted to.

“And, um” – she cleared her throat – “the other thing, Professor?”

“Yes?”

The most important question.

“Voldemort – he said that he only killed my mum because she tried to stop him from killing me… but why did he want to kill me in the first place? I was only a baby.”

Dumbledore sighed very deeply.

“Alas, I cannot tell you that.”

“Why?”

He shook his head.

“Not today… One day, when you are older, I will tell you… but not now. Put it from your mind for the time being, Harriet... I know you hate to hear this – but when you are ready, you will know.”

Harry felt there was more to it that Dumbledore wasn’t letting on, but she knew it was hopeless to push.

“You said there was something else, Harriet?”

“Oh – um – it’s a bit silly…”

“There are no silly questions, Harriet.”

“Right… um – you said you knew my dad, so I’m guessing you knew my mum, too?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Do you know why they called me ‘HELP’?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My full name is ‘Harriet Euphemia Lily Potter’… and my initials are ‘HELP’,” Harry said slowly. She could tell Dumbledore was fighting a laugh.

“I’m afraid that is the one question I do not know the answer to,” he said, smiling. “I know you were named after your mother and your paternal grandmother… but beyond that, I cannot say.”

Nevermind that, then.

“What I do know,” he went on after a moment, “is that both your mother and your paternal grandmother were incredible women. I can only imagine that your parents would have wanted you to carry both of their names… even if the initials are a bit unfortunate.”

Harry nodded. If that was all there was to it, she’d take it.

“Now – if that’s all, I’ll let you rest. Madam Pomfrey won’t be too happy with me if I keep you talking much longer.”

She debated asking him to call her Harry instead of Harriet – but it felt wrong somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Dumbledore got up and drifted over to the end of the bed. Harry didn’t mind; there were more sweets there than she could hope to eat in a lifetime.

“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?”

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and cried like a wounded solider, “Alas! Ear wax!”

Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t so bad.

*     *     *

Madam Pomfrey was a kindly woman – but she was also very strict on patients who had nearly died less than four days previously, as it turned out.

“Just ten minutes!”

“Absolutely not.”

“But you let Professor Dumbledore in!”

“Well, of course I did! That was the headmaster – quite different. Miss Potter needs rest!”

“I am resting, look, Miss. I’m lying down and everything. Oh, go on…”

Harry gave the Matron her very best puppy dog eyes, and after a few seconds, she crumbled.

“Oh, alright,” Madam Pomfrey said. “But ten minutes only – and the Weasleys had better behave themselves!”

“We will!”

She sighed and let Ron and Hermione and the twins in. They came bounding over to the bed as Madam Pomfrey sighed and rolled her eyes, though she was smiling a bit, and disappeared into her office.

“Harry!”

They crowded around the bed, Hermione settling herself at the other end, and Fred and George fighting with Ron over the one chair. Ron won, though, and grudgingly they went to fetch extra chairs from beside the other beds. Hermione looked ready to jump on Harry with another hug, but thankfully she restrained herself.

“Oh, Harry – we didn’t know if you were going to – ”

“ – Dumbledore and McGonagall were so worried – ”

“The whole school’s talking about it!”

“Woah, woah, woah – one at a time or Madam Pomfrey’s going to kick you all out!”

They fell quiet – and Fred put up his hand.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Yes, Fred,” Harry laughed.

“What the fuck actually happened?”

“Yeah!” George agreed. “No one’s actually told us anything!”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione.

“We haven’t exactly had the chance!” Ron protested.

“We were a bit preoccupied with the prospect of you dying!” Hermione added, crossing her arms grumpily.

“Well, she didn’t – ” Fred pointed out.

“– so spill.”

So Harry – with Ron and Hermione interjecting occasionally to swear about Snape (the former) and add forgotten details (the latter) – told Fred and George about what they’d been up to all year. About how Harry had seen the small parcel – which turned out to be the Philosopher’s Stone – getting taken out of the high-security vault at Gringotts on her birthday, hearing about the break-in, and how they’d stumbled across Fluffy the night she’d planned on duelling Malfoy, which is when the twins had found them that night. They explained what they’d seen on Halloween and then the night before the first Quidditch match; the connection between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel and how they’d gotten there because of a chocolate frog card; and how after the Hufflepuff match, Harry had heard Snape intimidating Quirrell. How their detention after the Dragon Incident had led to Harry piecing together that it was really Voldemort after the Stone – “Don’t say his name!” Fred and George had both cried, as alarmed as Ron, though Harry explained to them Dumbledore said they should use the proper name for things – and that between Hagrid’s admission and overhearing Quirrell, they’d pieced together that last Friday had been The Night.

At this point, Ron and Hermione took over, telling the twins about the obstacles in the dungeons – the Devil’s Snare and the chess match and the troll and the potions room – and then Hermione told them how she’d managed to get Ron on the broomstick and then fly them back through the dungeons and through the school – “I fucking hate flying.” “Hermione!” – and let Fred and George know what was going on. The twins had then split off, Fred running off to McGonagall’s office and George to the Owlery. Fred and McGonagall were just leaving her office when George had arrived at the door, winded, followed a moment later by Dumbledore.

“He just said, ‘She’s gone after him, hasn’t she?’ and the two of them hurtled off to the third floor,” George said.

“Didn’t think they could move that quick at their age.”

“Fred!”

“What?”

Then Harry told them about the final chamber – that she’d walked in expecting Snape but had been met by Quirrell, and that the Stone had been inside the Mirror, and that Quirrell and Voldemort had then decided the best thing to do was to kill an eleven-year-old, and that she’d literally had to fight him off.

The four of them were an excellent audience: they reacted in all the right ways and at all the right places, Fred didn’t take his eyes off her once, and when she revealed what was behind Quirrell’s turban, Hermione screamed.

“So that means that back in December when you had those snowballs on Quirrell? You were hitting Voldemort in the face,” she finished.

Hermione and the twins descended into peals of laughter, though Ron had a weird expression on his face.

“You alright, Ron?” Harry asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

“It’s – now we’ve said it all back, it all seems a bit convenient, doesn’t it?”

Hermione and the twins looked over.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” he broke off, thinking, “Dumbledore sending you the Cloak.”

“What are you implying?”

“I dunno – just seems a bit odd.”

“What?” Fred asked. “You don’t think he planned the whole thing, do you?”

“That’s a bit fucked if he did! Harry could have died!” George said.

“That’s absolutely fucked if he did!”

“Hermione!”

Harry didn’t agree.

“I don’t think so,” she said. They all looked at her in confusion. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me the chance. I think he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he gave us just enough to help us along. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked… It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could. If I wanted to.”

They stared at her in horror. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but at that moment Madam Pomfrey came bursting out of her office and shooed them all off.

“Right – that’s enough! I’ve given you nearly an hour! Miss Potter needs to rest!”

“See you later, Harry!” they all shouted as the Matron pushed them out the door.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“You have another visitor,” Madam Pomfrey announced disdainfully.

Harry looked up to see Hagrid sidle in through the door. He had to duck his head to fit through the doorframe.

She smiled at him expectantly as he made his way over to her. He sat down on the next bed, took one look at her, and burst into tears.

“It’s – all – my – ruddy – fault!” he cried between sobs, his face in his hands. “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 swear – I’ll never drink again! I should be chucked out an’ made ter live as a Muggle!”

Harry stared at him. She didn’t know what to do. She was terrible when people cried in front of her. She was terrible with crying full stop.

“Hagrid,” she said when it became clear that he wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon. “Hagrid!”

A miserable “Mmm?” came from behind his hands. His tears had trickled down into his beard.

“Hagrid, listen – 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 sobbed. “An’ don’ say the name!”

“VOL-DE-MORT!” Harry sang.

Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying.

“Harry, yeh can’t – ”

“I’ve met him, and I’m calling him by his name,” she told him. “Oh – please cheer up, Hagrid. I’m fine! We saved the Stone – it’s gone! Voldemort can’t get his hands on it now.”

He looked at her miserably.

“Hagrid – have a chocolate frog. I’ve got loads – ”

“Oh – before I forget!” he said, pulling a massive handkerchief out of one of the millions of pockets of his coat. He blew his nose and dried his eyes. “I’ve got yeh a present!”

“It’s not the handkerchief, is it?” she said, eyeing it wearily.

“Oi, cheeky,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. Harry grinned. He rooted around in his coat, and eventually pulled something out of another pocket.

It was a large book bound in dark leather. She set it down in her lap. It fell open on a central page, and Harry was met with the sight of a magical photograph of four boys.

They looked about sixteen, and though it was slightly blurry, Harry could make out that their uniforms proudly displayed the Gryffindor House crest. The boy with long black hair seemed kind of familiar, though Harry couldn’t place him, and he was giving a piggy back to a round-faced blond boy. The tallest one had long scars across his face and a kind smile, and he had his arm slung around the shoulders of another boy with darker skin, messy black hair, and round glasses like Harry’s.

Harry realised with a start that it was her dad.

On the opposite page was a photograph of her mum, also in uniform, rolling her eyes at the camera. Harry turned the page. There was a photo of her mum flipping off the camera while a blonde girl in the background laughed and plaited her long red hair. In another, she was grinning ear to ear, leaning out over the Quidditch stands to kiss a someone on their broomstick in mid-air – a Quidditch player with messy black hair and ‘POTTER 6’ emblazoned on the back of their robes.

Harry flicked through the book. On every page there were magical photographs of what looked to be her parents and their school friends, smiling and waving at her.

Near the front of the book there were a couple of normal muggle photographs of a family Harry realised to be the Evans. A red-haired five-year-old and her birthday cake… The same girl, missing her front two teeth, smiling with her blonde older sister in their school uniform… A family portrait… Another photo of the sisters, maybe in their mid-teens, wearing some kind of a headscarf and standing outside what looked like a blue mosque...

Aunt Petunia looked different somehow, and not just because of age. She looked… lighter. Less burdened. It dawned on Harry suddenly that there weren’t many photographs of her aunt around the house at Privet Drive. Plenty of Dudley at all ages, a handful of Uncle Vernon during his youth, and the odd family photograph (minus Harry, of course)… but not one to indicate that Aunt Petunia had existed at all before she’d been married.

Harry put that thought aside to explore another day.

After the muggle pictures came magical ones of Harry’s dad and her grandparents. Euphemia Potter and her husband proudly presenting a tiny bundle to the camera, the only indication of it being a child being a protruding shock of black hair from among the fabric… A little boy with familiar messy black hair and round glasses holding a broomstick aloft from atop his greying father’s shoulders… The same boy in the kitchen with his mother, proudly showing the camera his mixing bowl…

And nearer the back of the album were photographs of a baby girl that Harry realised with a start was her. Without the scar. With her parents… And an actual deer, antlers and all, that she seemed perfectly happy riding on the back of… Sleeping on the stomach of the boy with the scarred face, a bit older-looking now, her chubby little hand wrapped around his finger… Dressed in a ridiculous-looking angel costume and being held near the top of a Christmas tree by her dad… Wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, giggling at the camera…

Harry had never seen herself as a baby before.

“Sent owls off ter yer parents’ old school friends askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any,” Hagrid explained. “D’yeh like it?”

She couldn’t speak, but Hagrid seemed to understand.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Fred! What are you doing here?”

Harry’s voice echoed through the empty Hospital Wing; the rest of the school, Madam Pomfrey included, were at dinner in the Great Hall.

She fixed her plait as Fred crossed the room.

“I – er – thought you might be lonely, Harry,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Everyone’s at dinner.”

“Oh – sure!” she grinned, closing her photo album – her mum stuck her tongue out as the book snapped shut – and placing it on the bedside table to make space for him. She patted the spot she’d just cleared. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Fred sat down at the end of the bed and looked around for a moment, uncharacteristically awkward.

“You alright?” Harry asked.

“Yeah!” he burst out quickly, and then coughed. “Yeah, I just – I bought you cookies.”

Harry looked down and realised that he’d been holding a plate the entire time.

“Oh – thanks! Why?”

“Because you like them, dipshit,” Fred said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You did defeat You-Know-Who, after all.”

“Oh, is it cookies for that?” she asked. Fred stuck his tongue out. “I thought that got me a Hogwarts toilet seat.” She’d been thinking about that first day of school when he’d come in – about how nervous she’d been that day, and how looking back she wished she’d had a camera, and that she should think about getting one over the summer for her second year (which she hoped she’d done well enough to get back in for) so she could add photos of her and Ron and Hermione and Fred and George and everyone to the album.

“What?”

Shit.

“Oh – er – I-I– ” she stammered, “A-at the start of the year I remember you telling Ginny you’d send her a Hogwarts toilet seat” – Fred’s eyes widened slightly – FUCK, she’d weirded him out, he must think she was stalking him or something – “you know what? Ignore me – I thought it was funny – ”

“No! It – it was – I just… didn’t think you’d heard it, or that you’d remember,” he said. The tips of his ears were pink.

“The mention of a toilet seat is pretty attention-grabbing,” Harry admitted. He let out a bark of laughter. “And I have a pretty good memory.”

Fred placed the cookies on the bedside table, beside her photo album, and sat down again, facing her this time. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket.

“Figured you’d be bored in here,” he said by way of explanation. “Shed?”

“Absolutely.”

He split the deck in half, then placed them end-to-end, and flicked them twice with his thumb, and then he was holding a perfectly shuffled deck.

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that one of these days, Fred.”

He paused and looked up at her, his mouth open as if to say something – and then seemed to change his mind, looking down at his hands again.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Harry said, confused. “What is it?”

He looked at her. It wasn’t the first time that Harry had thought that Fred had nice eyes.

“I just… I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, actually – how can you tell George and I apart?”

She hadn’t been expecting that.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever gotten us mixed up. Like – how do you know I’m not George right now?”

She looked at him in confusion.

“Because I know you, Fred.”

She’d meant it as a compliment, or a statement of fact or whatever, but it must have come off wrong because his cheeks turned bright red. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him – change the subject, Harry – change the subject, Harry –

“So are we going to play or what?” she blurted out, nodding at the cards still in his hands.

“Oh – yeah – right,” he grinned, and began dealing them out.

His cheeks were still pink.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Absolutely not, boys!”

Harry looked over from where she’d been reading The Hobbit – Sue had given it to her to borrow for the summer when she, Leila, Seamus, Dean and Neville had come to visit her after lunch – to see Fred and George standing in the doorway of the Hospital Wing, arguing with Madam Pomfrey. Fred was holding a toilet seat wrapped with a gold ribbon.

Glancing away from the Matron, he caught Harry’s eye and grinned.

Her face felt warm.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“You’re coming to the feast, aren’t you?” Ron asked.

Harry had spent all week in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had been quite insistent she not exert herself and had allowed Ron and Hermione to visit most days between meals. But that evening was the end-of-term feast, and although Slytherin had won, Harry was desperate to go.

The three of them looked up at Madam Pomfrey at the other end of the chamber. If Harry had learned something over the past week, despite classes being over, it was that although the Matron was disapproving of any kind of physical exertion after the patient had nearly died – which was kind of fair, to be honest – she could get away with quite a lot. It seemed she had a bit of a soft spot for Harry, for reasons she didn’t know. That was an investigation for next year, which Harry had found out that morning she’d done well enough to get back in for.

Obviously, Hermione had ended up with the highest marks in the year group by a mile, and Harry and Ron had done alright, too. Not quite at the top, but pretty near it. Neville was the person Harry had really been worried about, but thankfully his perfect score on Herbology – he’d gotten joint first for the year with Hermione in that class – had made up for his abysmal Potions one. Harry had been pleasantly surprised to find that Snape had given her a decent score. Maybe she’d been too harsh on him.

Unfortunately, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had also done well enough to get back in – “You do know that Hogwarts barely ever actually kicks anyone out, right?” Percy had said when he’d stopped by with Ron and Hermione to deliver Harry’s results that morning – but as Ron had said, you couldn’t have everything.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called.

“Yes, dear?”

The Matron came marching up the room.

“Can I go to the feast tonight?”

Harry saw that Ron and Hermione were also giving her puppy dog eyes, and she doubled her efforts. Madam Pomfrey hesitated.

“Please, Madam Pomfrey.”

She sighed.

“Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go,” she said slowly with a hint of apprehension, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn’t realize how risky feasts could be. “So I suppose you should.”

Ron and Hermione grinned.

“I should check you over again, though.”

Harry groaned. Apparently Ron’s philosophy extended to end-of-term feasts as well as dickheads getting kicked out of school.

What felt like three check-ups later – Madam Pomfrey was nothing if not thorough – Harry, Ron and Hermione were packing up her stuff and making their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. The corridors were, thankfully, clear – people had been stopping by at the Hospital Wing all week to get a glimpse of her, and although Harry was looking forward to the feast, she wasn’t particularly thrilled about being a walking (or sitting) attraction – as it appeared most of the school had already gone down to the Great Hall.

Ron went off to change into his school robes while Harry and Hermione did the same, and then the three of them walked down to the Great Hall together. When they got in, Harry saw that it was decked out in Slytherin’s green and silver to celebrate their House Cup win (for the eighth year in a row). Behind the High Table hung an enormous banner emblazoned with the Slytherin serpent.

As predicted, everyone did turn to look at her as she, Ron and Hermione walked in, the loud chatter being replaced by hushed whispers. Harry tried to ignore them, scanning the Gryffindor table for Fred and George, and saw that they were waving the three of them over. They slipped into the seats they’d saved for them – Harry tried not to see a Hufflepuff standing up in his seat trying to get a look at her – just as Dumbledore came in. The whispers faded to quiet.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore announced 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… and now you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts!”

A wave of laughter swept around the room.

“Now, as I understand it,” Dumbledore went on, the Hall quiet again, “the House Cup here” – he gestured to a literal golden Cup by the lecturn, with a large snake and ‘1992’ on it – “needs awarding, and the points stand thus: in fourth place, we have Gryffindor, with three hundred and two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six; and Slytherin, coming in first with four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Malfoy banging his goblet on the table, and rolled her eyes. Of course he was an obnoxious winner.

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account…”

The room went very still. The Slytherins’ smiles faded a little.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“I have a few last-minute points to dish out,” he said, pulling a small scroll out of his sleeve. The Hall held its breath. Judging by the reaction, Harry had a feeling that the teachers weren’t usually in the business of handing out last-minute points at the end-of-term feast. “Yes, now, let me see… first, to Mr Ronald Weasley – ”

Harry glanced at Ron. He was bright red.

“ – for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Fred and George leant over the table to ruffle his hair, and Harry made out Percy shouting, “That’s my brother! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set, you know!” at no one in particular.

Harry did the maths: they were now tied for third place.

Dumbledore held up his hand, and the Hall fell quiet again. She nudged Ron.

“Well done,” Harry whispered.

Clearly pleased, he gave her a bashful smile.

“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

On the other side of Ron, Hermione buried her face in her arms; from the way she was shaking, Harry could tell she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves – they were now a hundred points up!

Dumbledore waited for the room to quiet down before he continued.

“Third – Miss Harriet Potter” – the quiet dropped down to silence – “for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points.”

The din was deafening. Gryffindor had overtaken Ravenclaw and were now second on the scoreboard. Harry heard George mutter, “You’d think you’d get more than sixty for defeating You-Know-Who for the second time in your life!” but her attention was quickly drawn back to the front of the room as Dumbledore announced, “Fourth – to Mr’s Frederick and George Weasley for demonstrating continued faith and trust in their friends in dire circumstances, I award five points each.”

The Hall erupted into more cheering and shouting as the twins’ mouths fell open in shock. A few feet down, Percy was shaking with tears of pride. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points – exactly the same as Slytherin! They were now tied for the House Cup… if only Dumbledore had given the twins just one more point each!

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “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.”

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were up in their seats, yelling and cheering as Neville, white and frozen with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won as much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn’t have looked more stunned and horrified if he’d just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

“Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, “we need a little change of decoration.”

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold, and behind the High Table the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall’s hand, with a pained smile.

It was the best evening of Harry’s life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls… she would never, ever forget it.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Saturday saw everyone packing up their dormitories and, naturally, Fred and George instigating a massive water-fight that had all four Houses involved by the end of the day.

Sunday morning was hectic. A rushed breakfast; a Tower-wide hunt for Trevor, culminating in Hermione finding him in the dungeons, looking a little smaller and greener than Harry remembered him to be; a very stern talking-to from McGonagall, reminding them not to use magic over the summer (“I was hoping they’d forget to do that this year,” Fred said sadly); and then Hagrid was loading them onto self-driving carriages that took them around the edge of the Forbidden Forest – Harry caught a glimpse of a centaur – and down to the station.

Harry ended up in a very squashed compartment with Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Neville, Leila, Sue, Dean and Seamus; though Harry had known them all year, being surrounded by friends still felt weird. Talking and laughing and playing Bertie-Bott’s-Every-Flavour-Bean-roulette and teasing George about Angelina (she’d come by specifically to say goodbye to him), they sped past a countryside that became greener and neater, the sun high in the sky. Then the whistle was sounding and the voice over the speakers was telling them they were due to arrive at King’s Cross in fifteen minutes.

The platform was lined with grown-ups as the train pulled into the station, smiling and waving and greeting their children. Harry saw Neville’s grandma burst into tears and pull him into a hug, and Angelina run squealing into the arms of what looked like a female version of Oliver Wood, who then pinched his cheeks and smothered him in kisses as he whined, “Frankie, get ooooff!!”

They grabbed their trunks and Hedwig as Percy came to meet them, wheeling two trolleys by himself, one with his things already on it. Fred and George loaded their trunks onto that one, and Percy came over to help Harry, Ron and Hermione put their things on the other.

“Ollie’s sister said she saw Mum and Ginny outside,” he said, placing Hedwig on top for Harry. “Ron, you take this one.”

They fought their way through the crowd – the trolley made a pretty good battering ram – and lined up by the barrier, where a wizened old man was sending them back into the muggle world in twos and threes, so as not to draw attention.

“You three go on first,” Percy called, as other students shouted goodbyes to Harry.

“See you, Potter!”

“Have a good summer, Harry!”

“Still famous,” Ron grinned, and then it was their turn to go through the barrier.

“Not where I’m going, I promise you,” Harry said when they were on the other side. Fred, George and Percy followed them through a minute later, and the six of them meandered through the crowd – a muggle train had just come in, too – towards the foyer, where Harry spotted Mrs Weasley and Ginny.

“There they are, Mum! Look!” Ginny cried, breaking away from her mum and making a beeline for Ron. The momentum nearly toppled him over, though he stayed upright – but the commotion caused him to let go of the trolley; it rolled away, Hedwig hooting at the indignity.

“Sorry, girl,” Harry apologised, wheeling the trolley back to the group in time for Ron to be done introducing Hermione to Ginny.

“Gin, you remember Harry, right?” Ron said.

Ginny stared at Harry wide-eyed and red-faced, and Harry had just been about to thank her for her note from Christmas when Mrs Weasley came over, pulling Ron into a hug and smothering him with kisses.

“Muuuum!” he whined, wrestling himself out of her grip and wiping his cheek on his sleeve. Fred and George laughed, though they were next, as was Percy, among whines of, “Mum, we’re in public!” and “Get off, Mum!”

Finally, Mrs Weasley turned to face Harry and Hermione.

“You must be Hermione, dear!” she said, pulling Hermione into a hug too. Harry noticed that she didn’t do the same for her.

“Busy year, love?” she smiled.

“Very,” Harry said, catching sight of Angelina waving goodbye to George out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you for the jumper and the fudge, by the way, Mrs Weasley. I love them.”

“Oh, it was nothing! Please, call me Molly.”

Harry nodded awkwardly and turned away from Mrs Weasley. She said goodbye to Percy and Fred and George and they’d just turned their attention back to Ginny – still red-faced and staring at Harry – when a voice behind her shouted, “Harriet!” and every muscle in her body tensed up.

It was Uncle Vernon – still purple-faced, still moustached, still frothing at the mouth for the gall of Harry for doing nothing much but stand there. She noticed that although he didn’t seem to have his tail any more, his nose was a little upturned; apparently his surgery hadn’t been entirely successful.

Harry stared him down as he marched up to her.

“We haven’t got all day, girl,” he snapped. “Been here for an hour already.”

“You must be Harry’s uncle,” Ron said brightly, though his smile was fake. “It was so nice of you to get here early to make sure she wasn’t waiting by herself in the middle of a busy station.”

“No – we, uh…” Uncle Vernon mumbled. Unless something had changed in the last year, he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that, and not by a kid.

“You’re right, Ron – that was nice of him!” Hermione said sweetly. She held out her hand. “I’m Hermione.”

Uncle Vernon didn’t take it. Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

“Shall we walk you to the car, Harry?”

Harry looked at Uncle Vernon. He was silent, but his eye was twitching – no one had ever called her ‘Harry’ in front of him before… and he probably wasn’t thrilled at the sight of her friends.

“Yeah – uh – sure,” she said, looking back to Ron and Hermione.

Ron told his mum where they were going, and the four of them made a tense group as they ambled out of the station foyer and down the walkway to the car park. Uncle Vernon was still silent, every now and then glancing between her, Ron and Hermione, his eye twitching every time one of them brought up something magic-related. It twitched particularly aggressively as Leila and her mum pulled up beside them to say goodbye, though he said nothing. Soon, his silver car came into view among the dozens that were packed into the car park; Harry could see Dudley sitting in the back, playing on his Game Boy, and Aunt Petunia in the passenger seat – though her gaze snapped away from Harry’s as soon as they made eye contact.

Uncle Vernon opened the boot – he never let anyone touch his precious Merc – but let Ron and Harry load her trunk and Hedwig’s cage in. She threw her bag with her album and wand and Charms book in it in the footwell, Dudley backing up against the opposite door in fear as if she had rabies or something now, and turned to her uncle.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said.

Uncle Vernon grunted his assent, and opened the door. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” Hermione asked worriedly, eyeing Uncle Vernon’s back as he got into the car.

“Oh, yeah – this is him on his best behaviour, and Dudley and Aunt Petunia won’t try anything if he doesn’t,” Harry said.

Hermione and Ron stared at her in something between horror and confusion. In their defence, the bar for Uncle Vernon’s good behaviour was… underground.

“Still,” Ron said.

“Really – I’m fine, guys. He’s scared of getting turned into something freaky now he knows I can, so I’m good,” Harry reassured them, grinning at the memory of the way he’d squealed when Hagrid had given him the pig’s nose and tail.

“But we’re not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts. Not big stuff, anyway,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yeah – but he doesn’t know that…”