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Chapter Text

The evening after Harry’s twelfth birthday, he sat in a hidden corner of the Dursleys’ back garden and ate a black bean wrap and potato wedges while he worked on his Transfiguration essay.

Life at the Dursleys had continued on in much the same way it had the previous summer, with Harry leaving the house before 7 AM, not returning until after 7 PM, and doing his best to let the Dursleys pretend he didn’t exist.  The two main differences were that he now had to pay rent, and he was limited to one scanty breakfast, rather than breakfast, meager leftovers from dinner, and whatever he could sneak out of the kitchen behind Aunt Petunia’s back for lunch.

He’d been rather worried about being able to afford the rent, which would have been cheap for a room in the neighborhood had he had access to his room at all times, not had daily chores, and not have just turned twelve, but so far he’d been able to get enough work that he was actually managing to save some money, even beyond what he would be required to give to Gringotts at the end of the summer to bring his Debtor’s Account up to date.

Harry had quickly fallen into the rhythm of working or looking for work most of the day, reading in his little kingdom in the late afternoon where he cooked and ate dinner, and only going back to the Dursleys when it started getting too dark to read.

He’d anticipated having a fairly limited menu while he was at Privet Drive, but he hadn’t quite anticipated how difficult cooking would really be.

He’d thought the lack of a skillet and stove would be his worst issue, but instead Harry found himself far more limited by the lack of refrigeration and a kitchen counter to prepare ingredients on.  Some things could be prepared in the Dursleys’ kitchen before Aunt Petunia awoke, but for dinners, since he was trying to hide his outdoor cooking to avoid any awkward questions, any preparation had to be done as unobtrusively as possible.  He’d gotten quite good at checking to see if the coast was clear then surreptitiously pointing his wand into a pot or the oven itself and whispering a spell to cut vegetables or to turn over roasting potato wedges.

All of the recipes Harry knew, he’d learned from Aunt Petunia who had to cook massive quantities of meat and potatoes to satisfy Dudley and Uncle Vernon.  Trying to cook with just an oven, cheaply, and not have any leftover food or half used perishable ingredients at the end of the day was turning out to be unexpectedly challenging since none of the meals he’d cooked before would work.  Meats had become an occasional treat, and even something as simple as eggs, while still possible, had to be cooked with an entirely different method in an oven than on a skillet.

But he was learning, and his diet was getting more varied than the plain roasted vegetables and flat bread he’d had the first week he was back from Hogwarts.  He’d even baked himself a small birthday cake the previous day and shared it with Mrs. Figg.

Sadly, though, as his cooking repertoire improved, his supply of fresh vegetables dwindled.  He’d known he could only keep the green vegetables fresh for two weeks so hadn’t planted many of those, but, despite his efforts, his carrots grew rather limp due to the lack of a good place to store them, and his onions had started to go bad.  Harry assumed that harvesting them too early had caused it, but there wasn’t much he could have done to prevent that.  Rather than waste the onions, Harry had salvaged what he could, chopping the ones that were still good and using a spell to dry the pieces to preserve them.  He still had a ton of potatoes and dried herbs left over, but he had to buy all his other ingredients.

Day after day of eggs, bread, canned beans, and potatoes had Harry vowing to do better in his garden for next summer.

After he returned to Dudley’s second bedroom each evening, he updated his ledger and either worked on homework or read through the letters about his parents that Professor Flitwick had given him at the end of the school year.  He’d even written letters to a few of the people who’d seemed to know his parents the best, asking them for more stories and asking if they knew some of the details like where his father had grown up.  He couldn’t send his letters without an owl, of course, but that could wait until he was back at school.

He was holding out hope that there’d be an acre of property left somewhere. Every time he had to hand over another week of rent to his Aunt, he struggled with resentment.  An acre of his own wouldn’t solve everything, of course.  Maybe it wouldn’t solve anything at all if it wasn’t in a good location, especially since he was at school for the spring and wouldn’t be able to maintain a garden there.  But dreams didn’t have to be logical.  Not having to pay his aunt rent every week – or anyone, really, but especially the Dursleys – was a definitely a dream worth contemplating in the evenings when he was tired from a long day of trying to make enough for his next rent payment.

Tonight, though, his rented room did him little good.  It was the night of the Dursleys’ dinner party with the Masons.  Aunt Petunia had written a provision into his lease stating he could not be in the home while they were entertaining so Harry couldn’t assert his right to have access to his rented room after 7 PM.

Harry was under strict orders to not be visible from either the living room or dining room windows and to not let the Masons see him.  He was to either be hidden in the back garden before they arrived or remain absent until after they’d gone, which wouldn’t be until long after dark.  Since he had no desire to attract attention by remaining in his little kingdom after dark, he’d been forced to return to the Dursleys a bit earlier than usual.

Harry had finished his dinner and was hunting for the final bits of information he needed to start writing his essay when he suddenly heard shrieking and breaking china coming from the open window of the dining room.  Abandoning his homework, he ran to look in the window and saw his Aunt Petunia cowering near the door, arms over her head as a rather large owl flew at her again and again.  Tied to one of its legs was an official looking envelope.  His Uncle Vernon and a man who he presumed to be Mr. Mason were waving their arms ineffectually, trying to chase the owl off.  A woman who he presumed to Mrs. Mason was shrieking near the window and Dudley stood next to her yelling encouraging cheers.  Much of the china had been knocked from the table and several of the chairs had been overturned.

Harry watched the chaos for a minute, trying not to laugh.  “Aunt Petunia!” he yelled eventually.  “It’s not going to hurt you!  Leave it alone and it should settle down,” he suggested. Though, really, what she needed to do was just take the letter, but he couldn’t say that with the Masons and Dudley within earshot.  Aunt Petunia just kept shrieking.

“Dudley, go get the broom!” he heard his uncle yell.  Deciding he better intervene before the owl was injured, Harry left the window and started running for the front door, knowing the rear door would be locked.  By the time he circled the house and entered, Aunt Petunia had fled from the dining room to the living room, with the owl still diving at her.  “Calm down!” he yelled again, but she ignored him.  He approached the bird and held up an arm like he’d seen the others do for owls at Hogwarts, and the owl landed on his arm.  He turned his body slightly to block the Masons’ view of the owl and surreptitiously reached for the letter but the second his fingers got close, it snapped its beak at him, nearly biting his fingers.  It launched off his arm, leaving bloody gashes and began diving at Aunt Petunia again. 

“Just hold up your arm!  It’ll land and calm down.  It won’t let me touch it.”  By now, Aunt Petunia was huddled on the floor in the corner with a cushion from the sofa held over her head like an umbrella.  Harry had just stepped forward to try to stop the owl again when the bristles of a broom swept by his head.  Turning around, he saw Mr. Mason swinging the broom at the owl while Uncle Vernon wielded a mop.  The two men started chasing the owl around the room swinging their brooms and mops wildly, shattering lamps, upturning furniture, and knocking picture frames off the wall.  Uncle Vernon had just taken a particularly vigorous swing that completely failed to hit the owl but succeeded in hitting and breaking the window when Harry reopened the front door and backed out onto the porch out of the way. 

“This way!  I opened the door!”  Whether because an escape route had opened or because it had heard him, the owl swooped out of the house and landed on the porch railing.  Seconds later, the front door slammed shut.

“Bloody birds!” he heard his Uncle swear, and Aunt Petunia’s sobbing continued unabated. 

Harry turned to look at the owl that had caused all of the chaos. 

“They’re Muggles.  They don’t understand.  Will you let me take the letter?” he asked in a low tone.  The owl snapped its beak in his direction viciously.  “Okay, that’s a no.  Aunt Petunia isn’t going to take your letter.  If you wait in the back garden, I’ve got ink and a quill back there and I can write a letter of my own for you to take back with you and explain what happened.”

The owl launched itself off the railing just in time.  The next moment, Uncle Vernon threw open the door again, shotgun in hand.  “Where’d the bloody thing go?” he demanded. 

“It just flew off.  It’s gone now,” Harry said quickly.

“It’d better be.  If I see any more birds, I’ll shoot them.  Keep those bloody animals out of my house.”  He stepped back and slammed the door shut again.

Harry quickly left the porch and circled around to the back garden again, taking the side that would keep him out of sight from the living room and dining room.  There, perched on the fence near where he’d been studying was the owl.  He breathed a sigh of relief and hurried over to grab a piece of parchment and retrieve his ink and quill.

Harry wrote out a letter explaining that the Dursleys were Muggles, not wizards or witches, and that not all of the family were aware of magic.  He then explained about the dinner party with yet more Muggles and how the Masons had witnessed the very odd behavior of an owl with a letter tied to its leg and emphasized that they weren’t likely to forget it any time soon. 

He closed the letter with a polite request to send any further letters through the Muggle post system, as that was the best way of preserving the Statute of Secrecy when communicating with Muggles.

Harry quickly dried the letter, folded it, and held it out to the bird.  “Sorry about them.  Muggles don’t really understand owls.”  The owl glared at him balefully before snatching the letter out of his hand with a sharp beak and flying off. 

Harry attempted to return to his homework but couldn’t concentrate.  He’d just finished eating a piece of his leftover birthday cake when he heard the Masons exit the house, Mrs. Mason still quietly sobbing, and drive away.  A minute later, he heard the back door slam open.  “Boy!  Get in here!”  Harry grabbed his bag and trudged over.

As soon as Harry entered, his uncle slammed the door behind him and locked it.  “If I see one more bird around here,” he threatened in a low whisper, “I’ll kill it.”

“I tried to write back and tell them to send their letter in the Mug… I mean, in the normal post.  Hopefully, they’ll listen.”

“Your aunt has had that owl pecking at the window all bloody day trying to get in.  Now, it’s ruined a deal I’ve been trying to make for months.”

“Well, maybe if she’d taken the letter the first time it got here, the owl would have gone away and not ruined dinner.”

His Uncle’s face turned even redder.  “If it comes back, I’ll toss you out of the house.  I won’t have this sort of nonsense in my house.  The Masons saw it.  Dudley saw it.”

“I can’t control what other wizards do!  I didn’t send the letter and I’ve told all my friends to not send owls to this house,” Harry whispered back furiously. 

“Get into the dining room and start cleaning up the mess.  If you’re lucky, we won’t add the damages onto your rent.”

“It wasn’t my owl.  I didn’t let it in.  I didn’t break anything.  I’m not paying for it.” 

“You’ll pay if we tell you to pay, or you’ll be out on the street,” Vernon thundered, face turning purple in his fury.

Fuming, Harry went to the kitchen to retrieve some garbage bags and took vindictive pleasure in sweeping up the remains of Aunt Petunia’s best china.  He even threw away some of the intact pieces out of spite.

The next morning, his aunt stonily informed him that she would no longer be providing him breakfast, and she did not want to see him in the kitchen in the mornings, nor did she want to see him when he entered the house at night.

“My lease says breakfast is included,” Harry argued. 

“At my discretion.  My current discretion is no breakfast at all.”  Aunt Petunia glared at him, as if daring him to argue.  When Harry opened his mouth to retort, she threatened, “It also says I can cancel the lease any time I choose.  For now, I will still allow you to use the kitchen, so long as you take nothing of ours, don’t make a sound or wake us up, and it’s spotless before I come downstairs.  You will have left by then or be back in Dudley’s second room packing up where I don’t have to see you.”

“Fine,” Harry said, with gritted teeth.  “If I can’t be in the kitchen when you are, I can’t help cook your breakfast.  That part of the lease will have to be void too.”  Furious and hungry, he climbed up to Dudley’s second bedroom and quickly mixed together the dry ingredients for a piece of flat bread and added the mix and a couple of eggs to his satchel.  He’d have to pass by Mrs. Figg’s to retrieve his oven and cook himself some breakfast before looking for more work.

Two days later, he returned home to find a note taped to the cupboard door, informing him that his rent was being raised, backdated to the beginning of the week.  The new price was quite a bit more than Harry had been paying.  In fact, it was a little bit more than he’d even been earning in the weeks prior.

Once again furious, Harry strode to the kitchen.

“I can’t pay this much for rent.  I’m twelve.  This is an absurd price, anyhow.  The room’s not worth this much.” 

Aunt Petunia stiffened and without turning around said, “I asked Mr. Parson the next block over what he charges his to let his room for the month.  Our house is much nicer, so I charge a little more.  That’s the rate.”

“But I bet Mr. Parson’s boarder is allowed to cook in the kitchen anytime he wants, make noise, and rents his room for more than twelve hours per day.  This is ridiculous!”

“Mr. Parson doesn’t have to put up with owls in the house.”  She turned and looked at Harry. “Those… people wrote a normal letter this time.  They wanted to have a copy of the lease to make sure I am charging a fair market value.”  She gestured to the paper in Harry’s hand. “That is a fair market value.  I refuse to devalue this home and make it seem like it’s worth less than it is just to cater to your whims.”  Aunt Petunia’s voice was harsh and her eyes were flinty.

“It’s not devaluing your home!” Harry said, astonished. “You’ve put so many conditions into the lease that you can’t even compare it to a different one.  I should get half of Parson’s rate since I only get access to the room half of each day.  And I have chores besides.”

“That is the price I’ve decided on.”  Aunt Petunia glared at him.  “I wrote up a new lease and sent it off this afternoon.  It’s no use arguing.  If you decide you don’t want to live here, you can pay me what you owe us and leave.”

“It’s the middle of summer!  I’ve got four weeks left before I can go back to school.  I can make arrangements for next summer but I’ve got to have time to make plans.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” she declared icily.  “Your uncle lost out on a very good business deal because of that owl.  This will help make up for that.”

“I had nothing to do with that owl!” he exclaimed hotly.  Harry didn’t understand how the Dursleys expected him to control what people he’d never met did.

“I don’t care.  It was here because you are here.  You are responsible.”  She turned away.

Speechless, Harry stormed up the stairs, dragging his trunk behind him and made sure it thumped as noisily as possible with each step.

When he got up to Dudley’s second bedroom, he dug out his Account ledger and tried to total up his earnings and expenditures to see if he could even afford to rent the room for the rest of the month. 

With his new Debtor’s Account ledger had come detailed instructions on how to report all monetary income that had not passed through Gringotts.  He was required to record all earnings and any cash expenditures he could have used a voucher for such as rent or food.  At the first available opportunity, he was to present the ledger at Gringotts for them to determine how much of his remaining earnings he was required to forfeit for them to deposit into his savings account or use to repay his creditors. 

After doing his calculations on a spare bit of paper, he determined that he might just barely be able to afford rent for the summer but only if he supplemented what he’d be earning with everything he’d saved that July and the previous August and skimped on groceries.  He’d just have to work a little harder.  Find a few more jobs, new customers.  And maybe Mr. Weasley would invite him to visit for a few days, like Mrs. Weasley had promised.  That would save a bit of money.  Bitterly, he updated the page dedicated to his current living arrangements and recorded his new rental rate and start date.

Really, he envied those kids in all of the books who ran away from home.  It wouldn’t even be running away in his case.  It wasn’t like he had to stay on Privet Drive.  He just couldn’t imagine who would rent to a twelve year old.  It wasn’t like Muggles would understand, and he didn’t know if wizards would rent to a twelve year old either.

Imagine, if he really did own an acre somewhere.  He could be like the kid in My Side of the Mountain and go there and live in a tree until school started.  Or he could be like the girl in Dragonsong, who’d lived in the cave with her miniature dragon hatchlings, though that was a bit less attractive once he read about real dragons.  If he was braver, he could be like the Squib kid in the book he read last year and go live in the Forbidden Forest all summer.  Or, if he was a bit smarter, he could be like Newt Scamander and put his house in a suitcase and live in that.

Well…  Why couldn’t he?  Not that Harry thought he was nearly as smart as Newt Scamander but could he manage a tent?  He’d read about the Undetectable Extension Charm and they were supposed to be really difficult.  NEWT level.  He’d even attempted the charm himself a couple of times and gotten nowhere.  But he hadn’t really been trying.  He’d just been playing.  What if he did try this time?

Did he have anything to lose?  His time, of course.  He was sure it would take a lot of time to learn the charm.  The cost of making the tent.  But the fabric Theresa sold him last year was cheap compared to Muggle fabrics.  Even just a week living in a tent not having to pay rent would cover the cost. 

And Professor Flitwick’s advice – to stay in the Muggle world if he could because a lack of wizard amenities would make rent cheaper – wouldn’t the same apply to a tent?  If he rented a corner of someone’s yard, surely a bit of empty land would be far cheaper than a room or a flat.

Even if he ended up not being able to manage the Extension Charm this year, he’d still have a Muggle style tent to live in, which would be portable, unlike a tree or a cave.  Muggles camped in tents all of the time, and he had magic to help him out.  It might be difficult if he had to live in a tent in the winter but for two months in the summer?  He could do that.  As long as he could find work, it’d be better than Privet Drive.  He was going to lose money each week he stayed here.

He wasn’t able to fix that for this summer; he didn’t have a tent yet nor had he done any planning, but if he spent the year making a tent and learning camping skills, he could live in it starting next summer.  Hadn’t Mr. Weasley mentioned casting the Extension Charm on his car in his last letter?  Maybe he’d be willing to give him a lesson or two.

After thinking hard for a few minutes, he pulled out a sheet of paper and started a letter.

Mr. Weasley,

I was hoping you might be able to recommend a cheap place I might be able to rent.  Either a room, flat, or a bit of a field or yard somewhere.

This is rather hard to explain, but a few years ago my relatives managed to separate their finances from mine and now that I’ve started at Hogwarts, they’re having to charge me rent because of the debtors’ laws.  I’ve been managing to get work around the neighborhood but I’m not old enough to have a job according to Muggles, so the pay is very low and it’s hard to find people willing to hire me.

My aunt has just raised my rent, and while I should barely be able to manage it for the rest of the summer, I won’t be able to next summer so I need to find somewhere else to live by then.

No Muggle will rent to a twelve year old, and with the Statute of Secrecy I can’t tell them about the debtors’ laws, so I can’t explain why renting is necessary.  I’ll need to stay in the wizard world.

I did get the hardship waiver for getting work, so that’s taken care of.  I just need to find someplace to rent and someone willing to hire me. 

I’ve thought of trying to make a tent – a proper wizard one, if I can manage it, but a Muggle style one if I can’t – and camping somewhere next summer.  A bit of a field or someone’s yard would be cheaper than a room or flat, wouldn’t it?

Would you be willing to give me a lesson or two on Extension Charms sometime this summer?

And do you know of anyone with cheap rooms or land to rent in the wizard world?  Or somewhere where I could camp for free?  It would need to have places to work nearby so I can try to get a job.  Or maybe even someplace to work where room and board are part of the pay?

Thanks,
Harry

P.S. Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to find out the answer to your question about bus schedules yet.

 Harry slid the letter into the envelope, addressed it, and added a stamp.  Mr. Weasley had been a bit confused by Harry’s insistence on not having owls at his home but had readily agreed to use the Muggle post.  Harry had given him Mrs. Figg’s name and address just in case he had to send an owl, but so far Mr. Weasley had seemed to enjoy using the fascinating Muggle system and hadn’t resorted to an owl yet.

With nothing more he could do that night, he pulled out the latest book Mrs. Figg had suggested.  A long, drawn out family drama seemed very appropriate right now. 

The next day, Harry swallowed his pride and asked Mrs. Robinson, one of the neighborhood’s biggest gossips, if she knew of anyone in need of gardening or any errands or chores around the house that they might be willing to hire him for, no matter how small.

She was rather wary but promised she’d spread the word and ask around for him.

When Harry got back to Privet Drive that night, Aunt Petunia met him at the door.

“How dare you spread gossip about this family?  Especially with that woman,” she demanded as soon as he had closed the door.

“I didn’t gossip.  I just asked her if she knew anyone who needed their gardens weeded or housework needing done,” Harry said, as levelly as possible.  “I can’t find enough work on my own to pay the rent you want.”

“Well, now she’s wanting to know why you’re in such desperate need of money that you can’t just ask us or save up your allowance.”  Harry scoffed at the idea of him getting an allowance.  “She was wondering if we were having financial difficulties.”

“So, what did you tell her?” 

“That you were paying us back for vandalizing our dining room and living room last week.”  Aunt Petunia had a little smile of triumph on her face. 

Harry gaped at her.  “But I didn’t!  That was Uncle Vernon and Mr. Mason swinging brooms that did all that damage.”

“They all heard the commotion, the yelling, the breaking glass.  They saw the pile of rubbish.  I refuse to be gossiped about.  If anyone in this house is to be gossiped about, it’s you.”

The unfairness of this struck Harry deeply.  None of this was Harry’s fault.  All of it was ultimately Aunt Petunia’s fault.  If she’d just accepted the owl earlier in the day last week, the owl wouldn’t have come back.  Better yet, if she’d bothered to answer any of the letters sent to her back when he was a baby, he wouldn’t be in debt now, and he could just beg another family to take him in and he’d wouldn’t have to see the Dursleys again. 

“No one is going to hire me to do anything if they think I’m some sort of delinquent,” he protested. 

“You should have thought of that before involving that woman in our family business.”  Aunt Petunia turned on her heel and marched back to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Over the next week, Harry discovered that Mrs. Robinson had been hard at work spreading Petunia’s gossip.  A couple of the people that had routinely hired him in the past had told him that they’d found someone else and many of the nearby doors he knocked on were shut abruptly in his face after a curt refusal.

Harry was having to go further and further outside of Privet Drive in order to find what work he was managing to get, which required more hours of fruitless searching between each bit of pay.  He was returning to Privet drive or his little kingdom later and later each evening with much of the time he’d previously spent reading or doing homework now being spent trying to find work he could do the following day.

He was increasingly concerned about his money holding out until the end of the month.  Unless his luck changed, the only way for him to not be in debt by the end of the summer would be to stop paying rent, which he couldn’t do as long as he didn’t have a place to go.

Harry wasn’t entirely certain of what would happen if he didn’t have enough remaining cash to balance his Debtor’s Account properly, but considering the threatening language of the informational packet that had come with it, he was sure he didn’t want to find out first hand.

It was far into the evening hours as an exhausted Harry finally pushed open the Dursleys’ door and trudged inside.  He was just unlocking the padlock on his cupboard when he heard Vernon’s heavy tread on the stairs above him. 

“You will pack your things, pay us what you owe us, and get out of the house.  Now.”  Uncle Vernon’s voice was dangerously quiet. 

Harry was startled.  “Why?  I have been paying –”

“Get out!  Now!” Uncle Vernon cut him off in a roar.  “We won’t have you in this house another night.”

“But why?”  Harry was baffled and angry.  “I haven’t even done anything!  I’m barely here!”

“You’re here more than enough as it is!” Uncle Vernon thundered.  “Your aunt is upstairs laying down, sick, all because of you.  She got another letter today.  They’re sending out an appraiser.”  Uncle Vernon spat out that last word.  “One of your kind, I assume.  We won’t tolerate your kind in this house. No more bloody birds.  No unnaturalness.  No more abnormalities.  No more you.” 

“An appraiser?  They’re just trying to –” Harry tried to interject, but Uncle Vernon reached past him to grab the handle of his trunk and roughly yanked it out of the cupboard.  Harry winced as the corner banged into the wall, putting a dent into the plaster.

Above them, he heard his aunt faintly call for Uncle Vernon.  “I’m getting rid of him now, Petunia.  I’ll be right up,” his uncle called in a gentle, concerned voice.  Turning back to Harry, he snarled, “Your kind has done enough to her.  We won’t have one in the house.  If you’re gone, they won’t come.  We’re finished with you.”  He dragged Harry’s trunk to the front door, threw it open and shoved Harry’s trunk off the porch and down the steps where it landed on the ground with a heavy thunk.  Turning back to Harry, he shouted, “Out!  Now!”

Hurriedly, Harry turned back to the cupboard to gather the few things he hadn’t kept in his trunk and noticed a letter laying on the floor.  Grabbing it and stuffing it and the other items into his bag, Harry crossed the room and stepped out onto the porch.  Uncle Vernon grabbed his arm roughly.  “Where’s the money you owe us?” he thundered.

“Let me go!” Harry yelled.

“Where is it?”  Uncle Vernon shook him. 

“It’s in my trunk!”  Uncle Vernon let go of his arm and pushed him towards the trunk.  Harry stumbled down the steps but caught himself on the railing before he could fall.  Furious, he dug into his trunk for the envelope of cash he’d saved and pulled out half a week’s rent.  He climbed back up the stairs and silently handed it to his uncle who counted it again. 

“Where’s the rest of it?  Are you trying to cheat us, boy?” Uncle Vernon’s voice hadn’t diminished in volume. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see curtains twitching at several windows.

“I’m not paying for a full week.  It’s only Thursday and I haven’t been home all day.  Or are you saying my trunk should pay rent for today?”

Uncle Vernon’s face turned even redder as he stuffed the cash into his pocket.  “I should have thrown your trunk in the rubbish this morning when the truck came by.  Leave!  Before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”

“Go ahead and call them.  Do you really want to explain why you’re throwing out your twelve year old nephew?  And I’m pretty sure landlords are supposed to give more than five minutes notice before evicting tenants.”  But as he spoke, Harry quickly repacked all of the contents of his trunk and latched it shut.  A quick examination of the end showed a few new cracks on the edge where it’d hit the ground, but he thought it’d hold together until he got it to someplace where he could try to repair it, as long as he was careful. 

Harry stood and started stomping down the sidewalk, dragging his trunk behind him. 

“If I ever see you here again, we’ll test out how well my shotgun works!” Uncle Vernon hollered after him.  Harry glanced back just in time to see Uncle Vernon slam the door.  In an upstairs window, he could see Dudley standing, wide eyed and surprised.  Harry squared his shoulders and continued down the street.  From nearly all the surrounding houses, he could see people staring in fascination, though when Harry turned to look at them, they quickly closed their curtains and pretended they hadn’t been watching.  Vindictively, Harry hoped the neighborhood gossiped about this for a very long time. 

His feet had automatically carried him all of the way to where he’d normally turn off the street down the ditch that made his hidden kingdom before he stopped to think about what he was doing.  He still had nearly three weeks before school started.  He might be able to get away with one night spent in his hidden kingdom, but that had been immediately noticed and questioned last year.  With the tales his aunt had spread the previous week, he’d not get away with a second night. 

He couldn’t risk coming to the notice of the Muggle authorities and Child Services getting involved.  He had no idea how an orphanage or foster care could work with the debtors’ laws and Hogwarts would be impossible to explain.  Which really meant no Muggle attention at all, since any half decent Muggle would almost certainly report the situation to the authorities.  In this neighborhood, that only left Mrs. Figg.  If she wasn’t willing to help, then he could go to Diagon Alley tomorrow. 

Suddenly, he remembered the letter he’d sent Mr. Weasley and the return letter that’d been sitting on the floor of his cupboard.  Rummaging in his bag, he pulled it out and angled it so he could read it by the glow of the street light.

Harry,

The idea of you needing to find your own place to rent is rather concerning considering your age.  Twelve is not the typical age for renting in the wizard world either, but at least you’d have the advantage of being able to explain your situation.

Unfortunately, most of the cheap places I can think of to rent are either in Knockturn Alley, a notoriously unsafe area, or were places I’ve come across while working, and I couldn’t recommend those places either.

Your idea of a tent would reduce the rent, but the Extension Charm can be quite tricky.  I’m happy to give you a lesson or two, of course, but you might not be able to manage it until you’re a bit older and I’d hate to see you living in a Muggle tent until then.

I’ll ask around the office to see if anyone has any other ideas. 

I hope everything is going smoothly at your aunt’s home other than the rent?  I’ve heard rumors that there was a breach of the Statute of Secrecy at your home near the first of the month, but no one seems to know exactly what happened.  I hope it wasn’t so bad that they had to send someone out to obliviate anyone. 

Would you like to come stay at the Burrow for the last week of your summer holiday?  We can talk more about your plan then.

Yours,
Arthur Weasley

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  There was at least one week of the next three taken care of.  And he could at least write to Mr. Weasley again and ask if any of his coworkers had ideas.  That was more promising than relying on Mrs. Figg’s charity forever.  Not that he could accept real charity, but he didn’t want anyone to feel an obligation towards him. 

After the scene Uncle Vernon had caused tonight, there were probably going to be a whole new set of rumors flying tomorrow.  Who knew what lie the Dursleys would make up to save themselves a little embarrassment.  Privet Drive or anywhere nearby just wasn’t a good long term solution any more.  Plus, Mrs. Figg’s home always smelled of cabbage. 

At least he’d been able to tell Mrs. Figg the real story about the alleged vandalism.  The absurdity of an owl trying to deliver its letter during a Muggle dinner party had greatly amused her. 

Storing the letter back into his bag, Harry started dragging his trunk down the sidewalk again.  He normally entered Mrs. Figg’s house through the back garden, but with his trunk and the late hour, her front door would be easier and far politer.

Determinedly, he walked up to her front door and knocked.  A couple of minutes later, it opened, and Mrs. Figg stared at him in surprise.  “Harry!  What are you doing here so late?  Is everything alright?”  Her eyes landed on the trunk behind him.

“The Dursleys kicked me out,” Harry said baldly. 

Mrs. Figg’s mouth set in a firm line and she stood back to hold the door open wider.  “You’d better come in,” she said.

A few minutes later, she’d settled him at her kitchen table with a cup of tea and a few biscuits.

“It’s really hard to explain,” he started, trying to figure out how much to tell her and suddenly decided to tell her the full story.  With her being a Squib, the thought of being disowned wouldn’t be new to her, even if she hadn’t been disowned herself. 

“It all started back when I was a baby.  Did you hear about my family’s estate being sued?”  Mrs. Figg nodded, and he continued on with his story, through the debt, the Dursleys disowning him to protect themselves from the debt, to him having to pay rent, and to the Dursleys hating magic and wizards so much that they disowned him and were now kicking him out so they didn’t have to have a wizard come into their home to inspect and appraise it.  Through it all, Mrs. Figg listened in shocked silence.

“My word…” she eventually said.  “I’d been wondering why you’ve been working so hard this summer.  I’ve hardly seen you out there reading like you usually do.  Well, there’s nothing that hurts worse than people who are supposed to be your family but decide that they don’t want to be.”  She shoved the plate of biscuits in his direction and poured him another cup of tea.

“You can stay here with me as long as you like, of course.  As my guest for a week, certainly.  But, I’m afraid… Well, you said that your aunt based her new rent price on Mr. Parson’s rent price?”  Harry nodded and nibbled on the corner of another biscuit.  “I’d have to charge you rent, too, after the first week.  And with two examples in the neighborhood, I’d have to at least match the price Mr. Parson asks for his room.  It should take them a while to evaluate the price, probably at least to the end of the summer, but I’m afraid they’d determine my house is worth more, simply because I’m a Squib.  Not as much as if I were a witch, of course, but even though the houses are the same, I’ve got a floo, I get the paper every day, I’ve got a wireless, and you’d be able to talk to me about magic.  Those would all be valuable commodities in their eyes.”

Harry thought of Professor Flitwick’s advice to stay in his aunt’s home as long as possible simply because she didn’t have those amenities and nodded.  “One of my professors mentioned that too.  It’s one of the reasons I came back to Privet Drive this summer instead of trying to find somewhere else.  We thought it being a Muggle house might confuse the issue enough to get way with a lower rent.

“I don’t think I could manage to pay any more than what Mr. Parson charges.  Not long term, anyway. But even one week of not having to pay rent will help a lot, thanks.  I can keep working this week, and that can go towards next week’s rent, if I need it to.  Mr. Weasley has invited me to stay the last week of the holiday and said he’d ask around for cheap places I might rent.

“For next summer, I was thinking I’d make a tent and live in that.” 

Mrs. Figg’s eyes were suddenly intent.  “Were you now?  Where would you pitch your tent?”

Harry shrugged.  “I hadn’t quite worked out the details yet.  Someone’s yard or a field?  It’d be better if it were someplace free, but I’d need work nearby, if only to buy food and school supplies.”

“I… might have an idea.  It’s not really proper, you being a wizard, but with you being underage…”  Mrs. Figg trailed off, uncertainly.  Harry waited, looking at her curiously.  “Well, I’m sure you’re aware it’s not easy being a Squib.  I got lucky, marrying Mr. Figg all those years ago, and he had a good job and a family that helped him get started.  This house is far from an acre of my own, but I do well enough with my garden and my kneazles for a bit of extra income.

“But others aren’t quite so lucky, especially those who don’t want to leave the Wizarding world and live like a common Muggle.  There may not be many of us Squibs, but there’s even fewer jobs for us, and many of the jobs that do exist don’t pay much at all.  I assume you don’t want to stay in the Muggle world?”

Harry shook his head.  “I don’t see how I could.  A twelve year old, paying rent?  I’m not even legally allowed to work as a Muggle yet, much less live on my own.  If Muggle authorities notice, they might try to put me into an orphanage or foster care or something.”

“Then it’s Hogsmeade you’ll want.  There’s a community of Squibs there that live in a… well, a tent city might be the best term.  Shanty town, if you’re being less polite.  There’s a few lots of land that no one really monitors and everyone pitches their tent where they please each night.  Not all of them are Squibs, you understand.  A few people down on their luck and out of work, others who had to drop out of Hogwarts early for one reason or another or lost their wand rights.  Others just trying to save money to get out of debt or stay out of debt.  Recent immigrants.  A big mix of people constantly moving in and out as their fortunes rise and fall, but the bulk of the long term residents are Squibs.  It can be a bit rough at times, but it’s better than you being completely on your own.” 

“And if there’s jobs for Squibs, there’s jobs for an underage kid who can’t do magic,” Harry concluded.  “If there’s not many jobs available, will everyone mind?”

Mrs. Figg sighed and toyed with her cup.  “Some might.  But you being obviously too young to use magic out of school will help.  And people will know it’s only for the summer for the next three or four years.  Apply for a Wand Waiver and see if you can get it, just so you can say you tried.”  A Wand Waiver would allow him to legally use his wand outside of school.  They were notoriously hard to obtain, especially for those who hadn’t passed their OWLs yet, and though they were designed to help a minor find a better job, they never seemed to be awarded to the people who actually needed to find a job, just to families with lots of money or political influence.  “But if you’re polite and don’t ask any personal questions, then you should do okay.  And for Merlin’s sake, don’t underbid the person next to you when you’re being hired.  That was always the worst part about new people in town when I was there.  Even if you’re starving and desperate, it’s better to beg for food than to underbid.  Once people start underbidding, there won’t even be enough pay for food that day, let alone for a family.”

Harry nodded his understanding, though he was a bit confused.  Were there no minimum wage laws? 

“What sort of work is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing glamorous.  You’ll have to ask around since jobs come and go all the time, but in the summers, there should be some farm work – harvesting crops too delicate to use a summoning charm on en masse – and things like preparing potions ingredients for sale.  Mostly just day laborer style jobs, rather than steady positions.”

Harry made a face at the mention of potion ingredients.  He’d done plenty of that in detentions with Professor Snape.  But it might be different if he were getting paid and didn’t have Snape’s eyes glaring at him the entire time.  And the farm work probably wasn’t any worse than the gardening he already spent all day doing.

“If you had a wand, you’d have a lot more options.  All sorts of manufacturing work takes place there.  You’ll have one shop conjuring basic inks in bulk and another shop conjuring basic ink bottles.  A third shop will buy the basic inks, charm them, bottle them in the ink bottles that may or may not get charmed by a fourth person, then package it up and sell it to your stationary stores who resell it to customers.  It’s all fairly small scale and simple compared to Muggle manufacturing.

“If you look hard enough, you might be able to find some things that a Squib can’t do but that don’t require a wand.  Some simple potion brewing, for instance.  But those tend to be longer-term positions and in high demand by the wizards who lost or never got their wand rights.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.  “Thanks for the advice.  I thought the tent would be the way to go, but the only wizard area I’ve been to is Diagon Alley, and it’s not like you can camp in the middle of London.”

“You can try Diagon Alley if you like, maybe you’ll get lucky, but Hogsmeade is where most of the entry level wizard jobs are.  Diagon is more or less just for general retail and hand crafted boutiques.  Places where the people who make the goods are the ones that sell directly to the customers.  The retail shops generally prefer long term clerks and wizards with a particular skill at certain spells.  The hand crafted shops don’t generally want temporary helpers since they don’t want to risk giving away their trade secrets to their competition.

“There are some smaller communities scattered throughout the country, of course, but those will be mixed towns, so you’d have to avoid attracting the attention of the Muggles.  That’s a better paying method but only if you can find a steady job in advance.

“Hogsmeade really is your best option.”  Mrs. Figg looked at him wryly.  “I never thought I’d be telling a wizard to go live in a Squib community, but your situation is rather unique.”

Harry laughed, a bit bitter.  “The Dursleys are rather unique.  At least, I hope there aren’t too many families like them.  But Hogsmeade sounds really good.  Thanks for the suggestion.  It’ll be nice to get away from Privet Drive.  I’ll miss you, of course, but I won’t miss having to hide everything from the rest of the neighborhood.  Maybe I can come visit sometimes, and I can owl you during the school year.” 

Mrs. Figg smiled.  “The neighbors are a bit much, aren’t they?  I swear Miss Travers’ nose gets a bit more hooked each day.  She keeps sticking it over my fence to get a good look at my garden.”  Harry laughed again.  “Well, that’s the start of a plan, at least. 

“You might write to your Mr. Weasley and mail it at the post office early tomorrow.  He might have another suggestion or help you get something sorted out for next week.  I don’t have an owl, or I’d let you borrow it.  Muggle post will have to do, even if it’s a bit slower.  In the meantime, you can be my guest for this week, and, if need be, I’ll rent you a room at Mr. Parson’s rate for next week.  Now, let’s get you settled in the spare bedroom and I’ll see if Mr. Tufty is waiting outside.  He’s been missing you this summer.”

The next few days were refreshingly relaxed compared to the tenseness of the rest of the summer.  Not having to worry about buying food or hiding his cooking from nosy neighbors was a big relief, as was not having to deal with the Dursleys.  Knowing he didn’t have to pay rent that week took a lot of pressure off of him as well.  Harry still spent most of each day out earning what he could, though Mrs. Figg insisted he be back in time to eat a late dinner.  Since the dinner was accompanied by lots of chatting about books instead of silent glares or being ignored, Harry was happy to comply.

He avoided Privet Drive entirely, not wanting to deal with whatever tale the Dursleys had spun to save themselves embarrassment, though from the looks he was getting from some of Mrs. Figg’s neighbors, he was sure the neighborhood gossip chain was well in progress.  As tempting as it was to march up to Mrs. Robinson and show her the written lease with all of its strange terms and high rent price, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk the consequences of that.  The last thing he needed was to have Child Services get involved and someone was bound to call if they heard the partial truth he was able to tell them.

Each day he waited for the mail, hoping Mr. Weasley had gotten his letter and had a solution to offer.  Or even just an invitation to stay at the Burrow for a week.  As much as he was enjoying his time with Mrs. Figg and would miss her when he moved away, he was very aware that it was a short term solution that could only last until the start of the school year, at best.  Finally, one morning he woke to find Mr. Weasley’s elderly owl sitting, exhausted, on his windowsill, bearing a letter.  He brought Errol inside and tried to perch him on the headboard but he just collapsed into a heap on his pillow instead.  Sighing, he fetched him a bowl of water and some food before opening the letter eagerly.

Harry,

I’m sorry to hear you’ve been having so much trouble with your aunt.  If I could, I’d just let you live with us every summer, but your financial situation prevents that.

Unfortunately, I can’t rent you a room at the Burrow either.  That would technically turn the Burrow itself into boarding house which would raise our taxes. We’ve a lot of bedrooms, you see, and after September 1^st, only Molly and I will be living there full time.  That’s the main criteria for determining what’s a boarding house and what’s a family home.

Your idea of the tent does seem like your best option.  I’m not entirely confident it’s feasible, but no one I’ve talked to could think of anything better.  While I can’t rent you a bedroom, I could rent you a spot in one of our fields next summer, and we can work something out about getting you to London every day so you can find work there.

But we’re near the end of your summer holiday and you’ll be off to Hogwarts in just a couple of weeks. 

If you can stay with Mrs. Figg until the 19^th and meet me in the Leakey Cauldron at 5:15, I can bring you to the Burrow and you can stay as a guest until the 26^th.  Molly’s friend Theresa, from Theresa’s Threads, offered to let you stay with her in Diagon Alley from the 26^th until you leave for school on the 1^st.

That will give you a chance to explore the Alley for a week and see if you can line up a job for next summer. 

Unless you say otherwise, I’ll see you on the 19^th.  While you’re in Diagon, why don’t you get your mother’s trunk out of Gringotts.  We can use it as a demonstration piece for your Extension Charm lessons.

See you soon,

Arthur Weasley.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  The 19^th was only two days away.  The Dursleys had kicked him out on the 13^th, so that was a week each of staying with Mrs. Figg, Mr. Weasley and Theresa, so no one was in danger of getting in trouble for not charging him rent.

And time in Diagon would give him time to research how to make tents.  Harry went to go show Mrs. Figg the letter.

On the 19^th, Harry flooed to the Leaky Cauldron in the early afternoon with a very unhappy Mr. Tufty in order to take care of his business at Gringotts and spend some time exploring the library.

“Next!”

Harry hurried over to the available Gringotts teller.  “I need to update my Debtor’s Account ledger, exchange Muggle currency, and make a visit to my vault.”

The goblin sneered at him.  “Do you have your key and ledger?”  Harry passed them over, and the goblin inspected them closely then looked at him.  “Is this ledger up to date?”  Harry nodded and the goblin started moving counters on an abacus.  “Hmm.  I see.  And your currency?”  Harry passed over the pounds he needed to convert.  The teller counted it, did another calculation on the abacus, made a few notations in the ledger, and then filled out a slip and dropped it into a slot.  After whisking away the pounds, he handed the ledger back to Harry and slid three knuts towards him.

“Your change,” he sneered.  “The rest will be available through your vouchers by the end of the business day.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock.  Three knuts!  He knew he hadn’t had a lot left after paying rent, but 10% of all of his summer earnings should be more than three knuts.  “Surely 10% is more than that?”

“Humph.  Your expenditures other than rent are from unapproved vendors, and you’ve not supplied any receipts to validate your purchases.  Therefore, the purchases are not approved.  Additionally, Gringotts’ currency exchange fee is not an approved expense.  All unapproved expenses are deducted from your 10%.  The remainder is three knuts.  Griphook will see you to your vault.”  Obviously dismissing Harry from his mind, he turned to face the customer waiting in line.  “Next!”

Fuming, Harry turned to follow Griphook.  He couldn’t believe he worked all summer long and had only three knuts and some vouchers to show for it.  No wonder the books he’d read about people in debt made such a big deal over bartering!  And his school shopping would have to wait until next week, since he had to wait for his deposit to be applied to his account first.

Harry fumed all the way down to his vault, Mr. Tufty yowling in his basket at the sensation of the cart ride.  Harry did his best to apologize to Mr. Tufty for the rough trip, then transferred most of his belongings over to his mother’s trunk.  The cooking gear and bolts of fabric wouldn’t fit, but he wouldn’t need them in the next week anyway, so it was no trouble to leave them behind for now.  He even left behind all of his textbooks besides a couple of his Charms texts to make room for the library books he was going to check out and save on weight.  His mother’s trunk didn’t have permanent Feather-light Charms his father’s trunk did, and he didn’t want to risk not being able to drag the trunk himself when his own charm wore off.

Once he was done with that, he turned to the rest of the contents of the vault.  He’d really never had a chance to search it properly.  He’d been in a hurry earlier this summer when he stopped in to get some cooking and eating utensils to use for the summer, and last summer he and Mr. Weasley had been focused solely on school supplies.

He had a general idea of what was supposed to be in it – things that were considered essentials for a one bedroom flat – but now that he had plenty of time, he’d look through things properly.  Maybe there would be keepsakes left or legal documents.

Harry scoured the boxes, looking for anything of interest, but aside from a single framed wedding photo, he didn’t find anything at all.  Which was in itself an item of interest.  Where were the photograph albums?  Baby books?  Personal letters?  Journals?  Surely whomever handled clearing out the cottage and selling the contents couldn’t have sold something as worthless as a photo album or baby book.  That had no monetary value, just sentimental value.  Had they just been destroyed? 

And where was any legal documentation?  Harry had been hoping for property tax records or deeds or anything similar, pointing him to where any remnant of the family property might be, if it existed.  But there was nothing at all.

Disappointed and discouraged, Harry gave one last check to everything, managed to get Mr. Tufty back in his basket, then left the vault.  He still had plenty of time for the library before meeting Mr. Weasley.

Chapter Text

“Here we are, Harry!  The Burrow!” Mr. Weasley said cheerfully, as Harry gasped and tried to recover from the sensation of being sucked through a straw.  Mr. Tufty yowled loudly then leapt out of his basket and dashed off.  “Alright there?” 

Harry nodded and watched as Mr. Tufty disappeared out of sight.  “Thanks, Mr. Weasley.  Though I think it’s going to take Mr. Tufty a long time to forgive me for that.”  He sighed.  “I tripped coming out of the floo this afternoon, then two Gringotts cart trips, now apparition.  It’s a bit much for a kneazle in one day, I guess.” 

“Well, lots of familiars don’t take well to magical travel and apparition is rather unpleasant at first.  There’s plenty for him to do around here until he’s ready to stop ignoring you.”  Mr. Weasley gave his wand a wave to levitate Harry’s trunk and started ushering him down the drive towards what looked like it might have once been a stone pigpen but with extra rooms and stories added in a haphazard fashion.  From behind it, Harry could see the edge of what looked to be a rather large kitchen garden.  A few chickens scratched in the dirt, looking for food.  Harry loved it immediately.

“We can talk about your situation after dinner,” Mr. Weasley said as they walked.  “I told Molly about your family wand, by the way.  It was a great relief to her, but she did tell me to ask you not to use it in front of the other children.  They might get jealous.  With as much as the twins get up to, we made sure everyone from Percy on down had their wands inspected by Ollivander.”

Harry really didn’t know the twins very well, but with as rowdy as they sometimes seemed in the common room, he quite understood.  “I’ll be careful about it, Mr. Weasley, thanks for telling me.”

“Do keep it with you, if you like.  I think Molly is wanting to give you a few cooking lessons this week if she can manage it.”

“I’ve heard great things about Mrs. Weasley’s cooking. I’d love to learn from her.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself in a few minutes.  She loves having a full house to cook for.  Especially guests who don’t take it for granted like we sometimes do.”

By now, Mr. Weasley had pushed open the door to the Burrow and motioned Harry in and he entered into a living room, cluttered with overstuffed chairs, discarded novels, textbooks, half finished homework, baskets full of knitting projects, and all sorts of things he couldn’t identify.  On the walls hung numerous pictures of the Weasley family members, all smiling and cheerfully waving.  It looked very homey and not the least bit like number four, Privet Drive.  Harry grinned.

“The kitchen’s right through here,” Mr. Weasley said as he led the way through a short passage.  “Molly!  I’m home, and I brought Harry, safe and sound.”  The kitchen was bright and warm but cramped, dominated by a huge dinner table and lots of chairs.  Mrs. Weasley stood at the stove where a spoon lazily stirred a bubbling pot.

“Harry, dear!  So nice to see you!  I hope you’re hungry.  You’re right in time for dinner.  I’ve made –” The sound of thundering footsteps on the stairs cut her off.

“Dad!” The twins ran into view, with Ron and Neville right behind them.  “I told you I heard Dad come in!” the one said to the other.  Harry didn’t know them nearly well enough to be able to tell which was Fred and which was George.  “Dad, we want –”  The twins stopped abruptly at the base of the stairwell as they saw Harry standing in the kitchen.  Behind them, Ron was not able to stop in time and bumped into them rather hard. 

“Oy!  What’d you berks stop for?”  He pushed his way past them.  “Dad, I –” he broke off when he saw who the twins were looking at.  “What are you doing here?” Ron said, a little rudely.

“Mind your manners, Ron.  I told you we were having a guest for the week,” Mrs. Weasley admonished.

“I thought you meant Neville!  You put the cot in my room and everything!”

“Neville was a surprise to all of us.  Not that we mind, of course, Neville, you’re always welcome.  But we’ve been expecting Harry to visit sometime this summer.  He’ll with us for a week.”  She turned to Harry.  “I was going to have you stay with Ron so you boys could keep each other company, but we’ll get you set up in Bill’s room instead since Neville’s in with Ron.”

She turned back to the group at the stairwell.  “Why don’t you boys help Harry with his trunk and show him where Bill’s room is while I finish dinner,” she ordered.

Slowly, the twins glanced at each other, then walked over to Harry’s trunk, each grabbed an end, and led the way up the stairs.  Ron and Neville stayed down in the kitchen. 

“Mom and Dad are here on the first floor,” one of the twins explained as they passed the first landing.  “Bill and Charlie are on the second.  Ginny and Percy are on the third, then us, and Ron has the fifth all to himself.”  They opened one of the doors on the second floor and deposited Harry’s trunk at the foot of the bed. 

The twins glanced at each other again, then looked at Harry.  “Don’t get us wrong,” one of them said, “but why have you come to stay with us?”

His twin nodded solemnly.  “You and Ron fight like cats and rats and all of Gryffindor tower knows how well Mr. Tufty and Scabbers get along.”

“Your dad’s really great.  I met him last summer and we’ve been owling each other all year.  I ask him questions about wizards and he asks me questions about Muggles.  I’m really not sure why he invited me, but I’m glad he did.  He said something about your mother giving me cooking lessons a few minutes ago.”

They exchanged another glance.  “Well… I’m sure you’ll find something to do.  You get along with Neville, anyway.”

“Maybe flying,” said the other doubtfully. “No one can argue while playing Quidditch.” 

“Well, you can, but then the argument is about Quidditch, not about the other person’s face.”

“You’re not the kind of person who fouls anyone, are you, Harrikins?”

“Or mind being fouled?  Because I’m sure Ron will enjoy doing a foul or two.”

Harry laughed.  “I’ve never played Quidditch.  I’ve only ever watched the matches at school so I’m not sure what constitutes a foul.” 

“Oh, flying into people and deliberately knocking people off their brooms.  That sort of thing.”

“You don’t bruise easily, do you? Or have an aversion to broken limbs?” asked the second twin.  “I’m sure Ron will try his best.”

Harry was suddenly a bit leery of playing Quidditch with Ronald Weasley.  “Do you guys have your own Quidditch pitch, then?”

“We play over the paddock.  Can’t fly too high or we’ll be seen, of course, and we can’t use real balls, but we can at least toss around some apples,” said the first twin.

“There’s a pond, if you like swimming,” said the second.  The two took turns at describing the summer delights to be had at the Burrow until they heard Mrs. Weasley calling them to dinner and they thundered back down the stairs.

Dinner was a rather loud and chaotic affair.  The twins teased Percy about being a prefect and spending the summer doing school work.  Ron and Neville chatted with each other about their summers so far.  Ginny kept staring at Neville, then knocking things over when he glanced back at her which made them both turn a bit red.  Mrs. Weasley kept pressuring Harry to take second and third helpings of everything, and Mr. Weasley kept asking questions about telephones and escalators. 

During a lull in the conversation, Mrs. Weasley interjected, “Harry, dear, I had something I needed to talk to you about.  We were at Diagon Alley for our school shopping last week, and Vanessa’s Vestments didn’t have a thing Ginny can wear for school robes.  Nothing half decent at any rate.  I knew we shouldn’t have waited so long to get her robes, but, well, Arthur never got that bonus we were counting on and we had to wait for Arthur’s normal pay to come in. Another series of botched raids.”  She sighed.

“In any case, we couldn’t get Ginny’s robes earlier in the summer, and now all the ones her size are gone.  I was wondering if you might be interested in making them?  I would pay you of course, and I’d want to get a closer look at the ones you made for yourself, just to make sure, but I think you could do a better job than what Vanessa’s Vestments had left.” 

Rather surprised, Harry responded, “Sure, I don’t see why not.  I thought Theresa knows how to sew?” 

“Oh, she does, but she prefers more creative things like quilting to clothing, and she’s rather busy with her shop this time of year.  School shopping season, you know.  Lots of people need new clothes.  Her apprentice had a family emergency, too, so she’s even busier than usual.  She’ll have more time in a few weeks, and, if we have to, Ginny can make do with one of the ones from Vanessa’s Vestments until then, but I thought you might like the chance.  Assuming your skills meet Ginny’s and my approval, of course.”

Ginny looked torn between embarrassment and eagerness.  “It’s hard to see how his would be worse than those.  You should have seen them,” she said to Harry.  “They were horrid.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed.  “They were rather worn,” she admitted.  “But don’t let that influence you.  If you aren’t interested or won’t have the time…”

From the expression on Ginny’s face, she’d be happy to try out a few hexes if Harry refused.  “I’d be happy to.  Two weeks should be plenty of time,” Harry confirmed.  Ginny’s threatening expression turned to relief.

“Well, then, assuming your sewing skills meet our approval, what would you like for them?” Mrs. Weasley asked in a rather businesslike tone.

“I’d need a pair of robes to use as a pattern.  You’d get them back,” Harry started.

“Theresa lent us a pattern for you to use.  She adjusted it to Ginny’s measurements already.” 

“Er… Well, I’ll need a bolt of the black robe cloth and thread, and I can keep whatever is left over when I’m done making Ginny’s robes?”  Harry thought for a moment.  “And my writing supplies? Parchment, ink, and a few new quills.” Harry finished. 

Harry looked at Mrs. Weasley, but she seemed to still be waiting for him to continue.  Harry was a bit confused.  If he was remembering the prices of everything right, that should make it about the same price as three school robes would have been. 

From further down the table, Neville was listening avidly and staring at them in fascination, which rather confused Harry.  They were just bartering, nothing unusual or interesting.  Was Harry not doing it right?  It wasn’t like he had much experience.  Or any experience, really.

 “Ask for a bit more,” Mrs. Weasley finally said.  “They’re new robes after all, custom made, not used. They’re worth more than that, even if they won’t come from Madam Malkin’s.”

Harry was stuck.  He didn’t want to ask for money; he knew the Weasleys didn’t have much to spare and the ledger was a pain.  “I’m really not sure what you have extra of.”  He remembered the large garden he’d seen on the way in.  With a year’s warning, they could probably plant a little extra to harvest, and seeds weren’t expensive.  They could even be free, if you kept some from previous harvests.  “Some sort of food next summer, maybe?  Vegetables or beans?  Eggs?  Something that isn’t a root vegetable or leafy.” 

Mrs. Weasley nodded decisively.  “A dozen eggs, dried apples and two jars of jam early next summer, and a couple baskets of whatever does well in the garden.  June’s a bit early to harvest much, but one basket in mid-July and another in early August.  And I have a few extra household things you might be able to use.  I’ll show you and let you take your pick.”

Harry grinned.  That was all of his school supplies bought for the price of a little time spent sewing.  And food, too!  He could come to like bartering.

The conversation resumed and after a while, Harry ventured to ask Mr. Weasley about the raids Mrs. Weasley had mentioned.

“Ah, yes.  It’s mostly minor Muggle baiting.  People charming keys to shrink so they can’t be found when they’re needed, that sort of nonsense.  That’s what I’m there for, at least, though Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is far from the most serious of offenses we’re looking for.  In this case, we had very good evidence that we’d find some rather dark artifacts in several locations and we hit them all at on the same night so they couldn’t warn each other.”  Mr. Weasley stabbed a bite of his dinner in frustration.  “It didn’t work.  Didn’t find a thing except for a biting kettle and ferret droppings.  Nothing that we knew had been there just few days before.”

Mr. Weasley sighed and shrugged.  “I don’t know why, but we always seem to have the worst luck in raiding homes in the summer time.  Christmas Hols, too, most years but especially summer.  It’s gotten to where we never even bother raiding during Christmas any more.  We try to get it done before, or wait to plan it until later, but summer is a long enough period that we can’t wait for months.  Half the time – particularly on the more serious offenders – they seem to know we’re coming.  It’s the damnedest bloody thing.” 

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and glared.  “Pardon my language, I’m dreadfully sorry.  Now, back to telephones.  I’ve seen the lines of tree trunks of course, holding up the wires.  Does one variety of tree make better poles for trunk calls than another?”

Harry spent the rest of the meal trying to explain the concept of trunk calls to Mr. Weasley and how they had nothing to do with actual tree trunks at all.

After dinner was over, Mr. Weasley ushered Harry through the back door, past a tidy garden and out to his garage, which was packed full of all sorts of Muggle looking things, including a turquoise Ford Anglia.  Mr. Weasley gestured him to a stool. 

“The boys should give us a bit of space for an hour or two.  No point to listening to us talk about telephones, after all.” Harry smiled.  “Now, as I said in my letter, I wish I could rent you one of the bedrooms.  Bill and Charlie’s rooms are empty most of the time and we have plenty of space.  But that would technically make the Burrow a boarding house which would mean the property would be taxed at a higher rate.  The rent you’d pay wouldn’t make up for the increase.

“But, I can certainly rent you a spot on some of the land out by our pond.  It’s undeveloped, no amenities, which would mean I could charge you a much lower rate and it shouldn’t affect our taxes much.”

“What about work?”  Harry asked.  “I’m going to need some sort of job.  Is there work near here?” 

“Probably not in Ottery St. Catchpole.  At least, I’d assume not.  You can try, but it’s fairly small and Muggle.  I apparate to London each day for work.  I can side-along you to Diagon Alley when I leave and pick you up on the way home.  You’re welcome to use the floo, too, though you’d need to buy floo powder and that can get expensive for daily use.”

Harry nodded.  He didn’t want to offend Mr. Weasley by turning him down, but from what Mrs. Figg said, Diagon Alley probably wouldn’t have enough work either.  “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.  It’s a kind offer, thank you.  I will need a tent for that, though.”

“Ah, yes, your tent.  I’ve never made one myself but at their heart, tents are just an enclosed area with Extension Charms on them that’s been furnished like a house.  It’s a bit more complicated than that, I’m sure, but the Undetectable Extension Charm is the hardest part.  It’s a NEWT level spell for a reason, and you’re only starting your second year.  I’m not saying you can’t do it, but it’s going to take a great deal of time and a lot of work on your part. 

“I can give you a few lessons on it this week.  I put the same charms on this car not too long ago so I’ve got some recent experience.”  Mr. Weasley patted the Ford Anglia fondly.  “We’ll use your mother’s trunk for a demonstration piece.  It’s in good condition and should hold the charms well.  You’ll have your Charms professor to ask for help during the school year, and the Hogwarts library is excellent.  I’m sure you’ll find all the information on tents you need there.” 

“I picked up a couple of books on tents from the library today,” Harry admitted.  “I’m sure I’ll have time to read more next week when I’m in Diagon.”  The Diagon Alley library had entire shelves dedicated to tent and trunk designs. “I’ll have to do at least a little reading this summer to even know what I have to buy.”

“Unfortunately, we can only try to teach you to do it, not do it for you.  If the laws would let me, I’d just charm your trunk for you and you could set it up as a home over the school year, but there’s those bloody ‘material support’ provisions to worry about.  I can demonstrate the Extension Charm on your trunk, purely as an academic exercise, of course, and people won’t notice or care much.  But if I were to actually turn it into a habitable home instead of storage and you were caught living in our academic exercise, there’d be the risk they’d determine it was a gift or service of value.”  Mr. Weasley looked frustrated.

“They’d be bound to notice,” Harry agreed.  “I have to report where I’m living.  As soon as I stop paying rent and don’t record who I’m staying with, I’m sure there will be questions.”

“If it comes down to it, I have a coworker that rarely uses his tent and has offered to let you rent it from him each summer so that can be your backup plan just in case the tent doesn’t work out in time for next summer.  I do think a tent of some sort is your best option at the moment.”

 “That sounds like a good backup plan, thanks.  I’m sure rent on an unused tent is cheaper than rent on a room.  But I am going to try to make the tent first.  I’m not afraid of working hard.  Mrs. Figg thought it was a good idea too.”

“Good!  Go unpack your trunk and bring it down here.  I can give you your first lesson.” 

After the lesson, Harry retreated to Bill’s room and sprawled on the bed, examining the sewing pattern Theresa had loaned for Ginny’s robes.  The pattern was perforated with holes on all of the cutting lines and seam lines, which seemed a bit odd to Harry.  Reading the directions, though, showed that you were to use a sticking charm to adhere the pattern to the fabric, then dust it with chalk powder. When you removed the pattern, you were left with dashed lines where you should cut and dotted lines where you should sew.  Harry had been wondering why Theresa had insisted on selling him a pounce bag full of chalk last year!  And he’d wondered why the sixth year version of the sewing spell had your needle following a dotted line.  It had seemed like a lot of effort to bother marking a dotted line to sew first, instead of just sewing it but if patterns did that part for you, it made a lot more sense, especially if there was a similar spell to get a pair of scissors to automatically follow dashed lines. 

Harry was deep in his inspection of the pattern when he heard a tap on the door.

“Come in!” he called.  The door opened and Neville stepped in.  “Neville!  How’s your summer been?  Have a seat.”  Harry glanced at the desk and desk chair, only to see it covered in piles of his books and clothes.  He scrambled to get up and started clearing off the chair.  “Sorry, Mr. Weasley and I wanted to experiment on my trunk.  I just dumped everything out and I haven’t tidied it up yet.”

Neville laughed and sat after the space had been cleared.  “Summer’s been good.  I spent a lot of time in my greenhouse, but I’ve come over here a couple of times.  My Gran had to go out of the country suddenly, though, so I asked if I could spend the rest of the vacation here instead.”

“Thanks for that!  You rescued me from having to bunk in with Ron.  I can’t imagine how much fighting you’ve prevented!” 

Neville chuckled.  “I can.  It would have been a lot.  His room’s pretty small.  There’s definitely not enough room for the two of you, Scabbers, and Mr.  Tufty.  Fur would fly within hours.  Where is Mr. Tufty anyway?”  Neville glanced around the room, looking for any sign of the half-kneazle.

“I’m not sure.  Outside, somewhere.  Hopefully he’s harassing the garden gnomes and not chasing chickens.  He didn’t like the sensation of apparating and ran off as soon as we got here.  I think it’ll be a few days before he forgives me.  Just in time for us to leave, which will probably involve apparating again.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.  If he sulks outside, he can’t chase Scabbers.” 

“Well, he’s actually going to be staying outside while we’re here.  I warned Mr. Weasley about how little he and Scabbers got along and asked him to set it up so Mr. Tufty can’t get into the Burrow.”

“That was nice of you,” Neville remarked.  “You were never willing to shut Mr. Tufty out of the dorm.”

Harry shrugged.  “The dorm belongs to all of us.  We all should share it.  The Burrow is Scabbers’ home, not ours.  He should have the priority.  I’ll miss Mr. Tufty at night, but he wasn’t allowed inside at the Dursleys’ home either.”

“How’s your summer been?  I assume you’ve done a lot of time reading?”  Neville idly picked up the library books on the desk and glanced at the covers.  Tent design, a book on magical camping and backpacking, and a few novels, two of them about Squibs.  Neville made a face at the two books about Squibs.

“Good.  Busy.  I spent most of it working and doing homework.  Only an hour or two a day, if that, reading for fun, but I did manage to read a few books.  I just picked those up today, so I haven’t had a chance to start them yet.  I have the next two weeks to relax and have fun, though I’m not sure exactly what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have planned.”

Neville gestured to the two about Squibs.  “I’ve never read these myself but they’ve got a poor reputation.  Supposed to be rather dreary and depressing, and they don’t have happy endings.” 

“They were highly recommended by a friend,” Harry said.  “She said they were realistic and true to life, rather than a happy fairy tale designed to make wizards and witches feel better about themselves.”  Harry had asked Mrs. Figg for novels featuring Squibs, perhaps one set in Hogsmeade.  She’d given him a couple of recommendations and sternly told him she wouldn’t answer any personal questions about her own experiences.  Neville made another face at that news, though he didn’t comment. 

“You said you have your own greenhouse?  What sorts of things do you grow?”

Neville lit up.  “Oh, all sorts of things.  My main project this summer has been a Montreal Miniature Maple.  It’s only half a meter tall.”

“Is it sort of like a bonsai?” Harry guessed.  Neville gave him a questioning look, and Harry described it.

“Muggle tree, I assume?”  Harry nodded.  “I’ll have to look into that.  Never heard of them.  The Maple is deciduous, of course.  If you can tend it carefully enough, you can get its leaves to change colors every afternoon, drop with the sunset, and start budding out again at dawn.  So, a whole year’s cycle of growth in a day.  It’s a little labor intensive but it’s fascinating to watch,” Neville said, enthusiastically.  “My Gran got me a nice planter to keep it in for my birthday, and I’ve been playing with the enchantments on it, trying to get the right temperatures at the right times of day to make it turn at the right times.  I think I’ve got it to the point where all you have to do is water and fertilize it daily and sweep up the fallen leaves.  Our house elf is looking after it for now.  I wanted to take it with me to Hogwarts, but with its life cycle it’s a really difficult plant to transport.  You usually have to get seedlings or cuttings and start growing them wherever you want to keep them.”  Neville looked a bit mournful at being separated from the tree for long.

“That sounds really cool.  It’d be nice to have something growing in the dorm room.  You said the planter did a lot of the work for you?” 

Neville nodded.  “The one I got for my birthday, yeah.  It has special enchantments built in that let you schedule things in advance and have the planter start warming up just before dawn and cooling off in the early afternoon, distributing water and fertilizer every few hours.  It’s tricky to get it all just right, but it’s worth it.  The pot I had it in to start off with only kept things at a constant temperature so I had to manually adjust it and water every couple of hours.  That’s fine for when you’re nursing a seedling along and trying to encourage it to grow into a full tree, but it’s not an easy long-term solution.  I even had to wake in the middle of the night to tend it.”

“I can see why you’d want a better planter, then!”  Harry rose and started rummaging through the parchment on his desk.  “You know I found some raised garden beds last year?  I didn’t notice until I was cleaning up and packing to leave for the summer, but they have some symbols on the side.”  Harry finally found the page he was looking for and handed it to Neville.  “I didn’t have time to look it up before we left, but I copied down the symbols.  Do those look familiar to you?” 

“Huh.  What’s the room like?”  Neville took the parchment and studied it intently.

“Well, I thought it was a greenhouse at first.  It kind of looks like one from the outside, and it’s got the raised beds in it.  But other than being warmer than you’d think it should be in the dead of winter and lots of enchanted windows that have sunlight every day, even if it’s rainy outside, it’s really not much like the greenhouses we use for class.”  Harry tried to think of what might be relevant.  “There’s a central seating area and the beds are arranged in three concentric circles around it.  There’s some tables along the windows that’d be mostly hidden from anyone seated at the center if the right plants were in the right places.”  Harry shrugged.  “It’s a very showy room, not an obvious working room.”

“So, more like a conservatory than a greenhouse,” Neville mused.  “And the beds themselves?”

“I think they were designed to hold something ornamental, given the design of the room, but they’re deeper on the inside than the outside.  Each ring is split into six beds about half a meter tall, a little over a meter wide.  Those symbols were hidden where you couldn’t see them unless you were crouched down on the opposite side from the central area.”  Harry tried to think.  “Oh!  I’ve never had to water anything.  The room obviously hadn’t been used in years, maybe decades, but all the soil in the beds was still moist and loose.”

Neville nodded.  “Probably hooked up to the castle’s plumbing somehow.  Professor Sprout has some raised beds in one of her greenhouses that use a similar design to these symbols.  She uses them for some temperature sensitive tropical plants.”  Neville pointed to a couple of glyphs on the page.  “This one probably lets you set the temperature, and this one sets the amount of artificial sunlight.  Can I keep this to show Professor Sprout?”  Harry nodded.  “I’ll see if I can get the instructions from her on how hers work.  They were probably made by the same person who made yours.”

Harry was excited.  If his beds could regulate the temperature and the amount of sunlight, then he could grow practically anything he wanted and harvest it during the school year so he could have more than just potatoes next summer.  Assuming he could figure out the pollination issue, of course, but surely there was some transfiguration or charm he could use. 

“So what else did you have in your greenhouse this summer?  Or was the tree the only thing?”

“A bit of everything, really.  I spent quite a bit of time pruning my blue bell bushes to get them back into tune.  Not sure it’s really worth it, though, considering they’ll just grow all year and I’ll have to do it all over again next summer.  And then there was the –”

He was interrupted by Ron suddenly barging into the room.  “Neville!  There you are!  We’re about to play a few rounds of Exploding Snap, and we need another player.” 

Neville shrugged at Harry and mouthed “We’ll talk later,” as Ron dragged him upstairs. 

The next morning, Harry rose at his normal time and headed down to the kitchen where he could hear Mrs. Weasley working.  “Good morning,” he said from the doorway. 

Startled, she whirled around.  “Harry!  You scared me!  I wasn’t expecting any of you boys to be up just yet.  Come in.  There’s a pot of tea on the counter, just help yourself.”

Harry poured himself a cup of tea and added some milk.  “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“Of course!  I was planning on baking some nice muffins this morning.  You can help with those.  I’ll fry up the eggs and sausages when everyone is up.”  Mrs. Weasley glanced at him.  “I was really hoping you’d volunteer to help.  I know you’ve said you can cook the Muggle way, but I’d like to teach you a few things in the kitchen.  I’m sure it’s different using spells rather than Muggle contraptions.  Other household chores too.  Washing dishes and clothes and tending the garden.  You can learn from books, I’m sure, but I’d just really feel a lot better if I knew you knew how to take care of yourself properly.  You do have your wand to use, which is a great relief.  I don’t know how I’d sleep at night if you didn’t have that, with you being on your own.”

“I’d love to learn.  I was able to practice some of the slicing and dicing spells so far this summer, but it was a little too public for much else.  I hadn’t even thought of laundry.  I’ve no idea how to do that without a washing machine.”

“Well, let’s get started.  We’ll have lots of hungry mouths to feed, sooner than we think.  I know the recipe by heart, of course, but if you pull that blue book down… No, not that one dear, the one on the other end… Yes, that one.  It’ll be in the section for breads.  There you go.  Now, here’s how you start up the oven.”  Mrs. Weasley walked him through baking the muffins and had just taught him a spell to keep the bread warm when they heard loud footsteps on the stairs.  Harry hastily hid his wand and a few seconds later, the twins and Ginny appeared. 

After a round of good mornings, Mrs. Weasley instructed Fred and George to set the table and shooed Ginny and Harry outside to feed the chickens.  To Harry’s relief, the chickens seemed stress-free and unchased so Mr. Tufty must have found something else to occupy himself with over the night, though Harry didn’t see him anywhere. 

By the time they returned, Mr. Weasley had come down and was reading the morning paper while Mrs. Weasley cooked the sausages and tomato slices, and she started frying the eggs as well. 

“Breakfast should be in just a few more minutes.  Why don’t one of you go wake the other boys?”  With matching grins, the twins sneaked up the stairs and a minute later, Harry heard a series of bangs and then yelling start upstairs.  Harry refilled his tea cup, trying to hold in laughter, and he saw Mr. Weasley hide a grin behind his paper.  Mrs. Weasley sighed.  “I should have just sent you, Ginny.”

After a breakfast that was just as chaotic as dinner the previous night had been, most of the Weasleys disappeared to enjoy their day while Harry stayed behind to help Mrs. Weasley clear the table.  She showed him how to set the dishes to wash themselves, and then he helped her with the laundry and some other household chores until lunch time.  After lunch, she shooed him off to go have fun.  “You can’t spend all your time working, dear.”  Harry trooped off outside where he explored the yard then read for a while and kept Neville company while the rest of the kids played Quidditch.  In the late afternoon, he headed inside to help Mrs. Weasley with dinner, and after dinner he followed Mr. Weasley back outside for another charms lesson and to explain one of the Muggle appliances Mr. Weasley kept in his shed.  Then back up to his room to work on Ginny’s robes some more. 

The week passed in a similar fashion, with Harry learning household skills from Mrs. Weasley in the mornings, relaxing in the afternoons, and learning charms from Mr. Weasley after dinner.

Harry even got to play Quidditch a couple of times when Cedric Diggory showed up to play and they had an uneven number of people on the teams.  Quidditch turned out to be even more fun to play than it was to watch.  After Ron had missed catching an apple Ginny had thrown at him, Harry swooped down and managed to grab it inches before it hit the ground, narrowly beating Cedric to the catch.

After their match, Cedric asked Harry, “Are you planning on trying out for the Quidditch team this year?”

“Probably not.”  Harry shrugged.  “It’s a lot of fun, but I’ll be busy this year, and I don’t own a broom.  I doubt a school broom would cut it.” 

Cedric made a face.  “Those awful things?  Yeah, probably not.  Too bad, though.  Gryffindor’s been needing a good seeker for years and you might have given me a run for my money.”  Behind Harry’s back, Fred and George traded significant looks. 

The morning Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a lesson on putting up vegetables, Neville wandered over to join them in the garden.

“You don’t mind me watching, do you?” he asked, tentatively.  “I’ve never really done anything with vegetables.  Just ornamental plants, or things good for potions.  All our vegetables come from the store.”

“Of course not!  The more, the merrier,” Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully.  Neville and Harry helped her harvest the runner beans and followed her back into the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley showed them the spell to sanitize the jars, then showed them how to blanch the beans, pack them into the jars, fill the rest of the jar with a watery preservation potion and seal it.

“There you go!  It’s actually pretty simple.  Your vegetables have to be at least blanched, if not fully cooked, or it won’t work.  Your preserving potion has to stay warm until you get the jar sealed but not boiling hot or it’ll cook your vegetables more than you’d want.  And you can’t have any air at all left in the jar or it’ll spoil.  There’s a spell to get trapped air out before you seal the jar.”  She demonstrated the spell on the next jar.  “Once you open the jar, you only get a day or so before it starts spoiling.  The preserving potion turns a bit cloudy when that happens.”

Harry watched.  “That’s a lot simpler than Muggle canning,” he commented.  “Doing it the Muggle way, you have to boil all the jars and lids first, and you have to leave just the right amount of air left – not too much, but not too little.  Then you cook the foods in your jars after they’re sealed.  Do you just wash and reuse these jars?”  He picked up and inspected the newly filled jar.

“Oh, of course!  As long as they don’t chip or break beyond your ability to repair, you can keep using them.  Most of our jars came from vegetables we bought at the store.  They’re better than the ones I can conjure myself.  Don’t Muggles reuse their jars?”

Harry shook his head.  “No.  For the stuff you buy at stores, you usually have to cut the tins open then you just throw them out.  When you’re canning at home, you can reuse the jars, but I think you have to buy new lids each time. They’re separate metal ones that screw on.  Not like these clamped ones.”

“Hm.  Arthur would probably be interested in hearing all about that.  Well, Muggles don’t have potions so I suppose they have to use different methods.  Seems wasteful though, especially since they can’t conjure new ones whenever they like.”

“I think we just vanish our jars when we’re done with them,” Neville offered.  “We keep a dozen or so empties just in case we need one for something, but we buy all of our food so we’d have way more than we could ever use if we kept them.”  He seemed as interested in the lesson as Harry was.

“Well, they are only conjured after all, but the point is you can reuse them if you want to.”

“What about jams?” Harry questioned.  “Do those work the same way?”

“Similar but not quite the same.  This preserving potion is cheap and easy to brew, but it can have a bit of an aftertaste if you have a lot of it in your finished meal.  There’s a slightly different preservation potion you use in foods that you’re not going to drain or rinse before eating.  You’d use the other with jams, plus a third that helps it set up properly, if it’s not going to set up on its own.  Of course, you’d need to use that other type of jar I showed you with the cheese sauce.”  The day before, Mrs. Weasley had showed him a spell to siphon liquids and sauces out of a jar without opening it.  That way, the contents were never exposed to air and wouldn’t spoil.  Ordinary jars with solid lids would break due to the pressure, so foods meant to be used that way were packaged in a special jar with a lid that descended as the sauce was used, to keep from creating a vacuum. 

Mrs. Weasley answered all of their questions while they worked to fill the rest of the jars. 

Most of the week passed pleasantly, with only a few snarky remarks Ron about taking lessons in being a house-elf and a few joking remarks from the twins about guests having more chores than the rest of the house put together. 

The books about Squibs did turn out to be as unrelentingly dreary as rumor had them made out to be, full of people competing desperately for a limited amount of jobs, of poor working conditions and low wages, and of poverty.  But it also was full of cooperation, with Squibs working together to demand higher wages, of sharing what extra items one had and feeding those who needed it most, of watching to ensure shared camping areas stayed as clean and safe as possible despite the lack of magic, of trying to give good deals on bartered goods when possible, and of looking out for one’s friends and sharing news on where the newest jobs might be found. 

Once again, Harry wondered exactly how welcome he’d be in the tent city.  A minor or not, he was a wizard taking away a job a Squib could be doing.  Hopefully, he’d find at least a few people willing to help him out for a few years, especially if he was careful to not take any more work than he absolutely had to in order to eat and buy the bare necessities.

When Harry presented Mrs. Weasley with Ginny’s finished robes the day before he was supposed to leave, she inspected them closely then spelled them with the growth charm and called Ginny in to try them on, then sent her off to go pack them in her trunk. 

Approvingly, she remarked, “You’ve been getting better at sewing.  I think those are better than yours.”

Harry nodded.  “Learning the sewing charm helped a lot and having an actual pattern did make it a lot easier.  I’ll have to remember to thank Theresa for letting us borrow it.”

“Just pack it away in your trunk and you can give it back to her tomorrow.  Now, I think we have some bartering to finish up.  What kind of preserves would you like?”

“One of the blackcurrant and one of apple butter.”

Mrs. Weasley led him down a small stairway at the back of the pantry.  “That’s easy enough.  I’ll bring them to you next summer so you can have this year’s batch instead of last year’s.”  She touched her wand to a lantern and several lit up, illuminating a rather large store room.  The shelving nearest the stairs held additional jars and sacks of food.  “We keep a bit of everything up in the pantry so I don’t have to come up and down the stairs multiple times a day and store the rest down here.

“Arthur and I hate vanishing or throwing anything away if it’s at all usable.  He has his workshop outside, I have this.  Why don’t you have a look around and see if there’s anything you might like to finish off our bargain.” 

Harry looked around the store room and saw piles of things stacked neatly everywhere.  Harry saw old worn clothes, cleaning supplies, the washing board Mr. Weasley must have replaced last year, some old newspapers and books, balls of yarn and spare knitting needles, empty bottles, baskets, board games, decks of cards, and plenty of strange knickknacks that Harry wasn’t sure what they did.

Harry browsed the discarded books curiously, but the one thing that caught his eye was several boxes of the canning jars.  Picking one up, he saw it was of a smaller size than the ones they’d packed upstairs; only a half liter, which would be a better size to hold just one or two servings, rather than the liter or larger jars Mrs. Weasley typically used for her larger family.

“Could I have some of these?  I found an abandoned greenhouse at Hogwarts last year, and I was thinking about trying to grow some more types of vegetables this year.”

“Of course you can, dear.”  Mrs. Weasley’s voice sounded rather sad, but by the time Harry turned around she had a cheerful expression on her face.  Mrs. Weasley grabbed a pile of white cloth off of a nearby shelf and came over and started placing it between the jars.  “These are just flour sacks.  I’m sure you’ll be able to do something with them too.  They use good fabric.  In the meantime, they’ll cushion the jars a bit so they won’t rattle around in your trunk and break.”

Each box held two dozen jars, and Mrs. Weasley packed two boxes up for him.  When she started on a third, Harry protested.  “That’s too much!  It was just a bit of sewing.”

“We don’t usually use this size.  It’s not really practical for a family, but there’s one or two things we buy that comes in this, so we have plenty.  Plus, you heard what Neville said.  Most people just vanish this sort of thing.  It’s really not worth anything.”  Mrs. Weasley kept right on packing the third box, then packed a fourth of assorted other sizes, both smaller and larger.  “You might need more than you think you will.  It’s not like the jars will go bad.  And I saw the trunk you and Arthur are working on.  You have plenty of room to store them.” 

Harry’s trunk did have an impressive amount of space in it now, more like a large sized cupboard rather than a trunk.  They were going to apply some finishing touches tonight.  Mr. Weasley promised to show him how to make it so that the space expanded as things were placed in it and reduced as things were taken out.  That way, he’d always be able to reach the top items without stretching too far or climbing in.

Harry was rather proud of the trunk, not that he did much more than stand and watch.  He’d attempted the Extension Charm many times, of course, with Mr. Weasley coaching him but the best he’d managed so far was a bit of wavering on the bottom before it snapped back to its actual size.  Mr. Weasley had praised it as good progress, considering his skill level.

Mrs. Weasley grabbed a fifth box and headed over to the cleaning supplies and started throwing things in.  “Let’s see, you’ll need some scrubbing brushes, and a broom and dust pan, oh, and a mop, of course. Some rags.”  She ignored all of Harry’s protests with a determined look on her face.  “These are all old things, dear.  I’ve replaced them already but they still have some wear left.  Percy isn’t graduating for another two years, and he’s mentioned he thinks he’ll live here for a year or two after graduation.  The twins have another four years to go.  It’ll be a while before I’ll need to worry about getting any of the boys set up in their own places.  Plenty of time.”  She topped the box off with the old washing board and a couple packets of soap.  “There.  I think that’s about as much as we can get away with.  It’s enough to get you started out, at least.  Why don’t you take this, and I’ll get the jars, and we’ll take it up to your room now. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to do while you were here at the Burrow, Harry?” 

“Well,” Harry said with a mischievous look on his face.  “I did promise Theresa that I’d give you a sewing lesson so she could mock you again.”

Mrs. Weasley laughed.  “Well, in that case, why don’t you grab that bag of scrap cloth that’s sitting in the corner next to the yarn.  That’s what Theresa brought over the last time she tried to teach me to sew.”

Chapter Text

Harry followed Mrs. Weasley into Theresa’s shop the next afternoon, dragging his trunk behind him. 

“Well, hello, Molly!” Theresa greeted her cheerfully.  “And Harry, of course.  Nice to see you again.”

“Theresa, I have a sewing project for you to inspect.  Harry gave me another lesson yesterday.”  Mrs. Weasley set a folded square of fabric in front of her.  Theresa grinned in delight.

“Oh!  I see you went for a crazy quilt,” she said as she picked it up and unfolded it to show a piece of patchwork about 20 cm. square, with irregularly shaped pieces of colorful fabric sewed to each other in no particular pattern.  Theresa smoothed it out and was visibly surprised when it actually lay flat on the counter.  She even flipped it over and checked the stitching on the back.  “This is actually quite good!”  she said, sounding surprised.  “Harry, you’re a miracle worker.  I’ve been trying to teach Molly how to do this for years.”

Harry started snickering, and Mrs. Weasley pulled another bundle of fabric out of the bag.  “Must have handed you the wrong one, Theresa.  That’s Harry’s.  This one is mine.”  Molly handed over another bundle that wasn’t nearly as neatly folded.  When Theresa tried to unfold it and smooth it out, it wouldn’t lay flat.  It had lots of puckers in all of the seams, which were decidedly not straight. 

Theresa burst out laughing.  “Now this is a bit more like what I was expecting.”

Mrs. Weasley chuckled too.  “I don’t know what it is about me and sewing, but I just cannot learn.”

There were two pieces along one edge that were noticeably better than the rest though still not entirely straight and still a bit puckered.  Theresa pointed to those.  “It looks like you may have been starting to get the hang of it here.”

“I insisted she try a couple of pieces the Muggle way.  I thought it might help.  They still came out a bit wrong,” Harry said, snickering again.  “And then the next two pieces she used the spell on were these.”  He pointed to two pieces on the opposite corner.  They were the some of the worst of the piece.  “Obviously, it was counterproductive.”

Theresa laughed.  “Obviously.”

Harry turned to look at Mrs. Weasley.  “Did you ever try the version of the sewing charm in the Charms textbook?  The one where you’re enchanting a needle to stitch by itself along a line you mark in chalk instead of this one where you’re directing it as it sews?  The incantation is the same.”

“Oh, I’ve tried that one a few times too.  The last time I did, the needle sewed straight down the middle of the piece and ignored my line entirely.  Repeatedly.”  She looked at her piece ruefully.  “Though, I did manage to get a straight line with it, so I suppose it’s an improvement over this.”

Mrs. Weasley pulled one of Ginny’s new robes out of her bag.  “Here’s how he did on the robes.  I think they came out nicely.” 

“Not bad at all,” Theresa said as she looked them over.  “Especially since you taught yourself.  I’ve a few tricks I can show you that can help with corners like this one.”  She pointed to a slightly wrinkled corner of a pocket.  “Little details can make a big difference.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, then Mrs. Weasley declared she had to go.  “If I leave the twins alone too long, the Burrow might not be there when I get back.”  Harry laughed.  “Harry, I’ll see you on the platform next week, if there’s time.  Ginny will have Mr. Tufty for you.”  Mr. Tufty had still not forgiven Harry for last week’s flooing to the Burrow and had flatly refused to get into his basket for another trip.  Ginny had volunteered to bring him to the train since the Weasleys were planning on traveling to London by car.  “Have a good week, and make sure to write this year.”

“Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Weasley.  I learned a lot and had fun.  I’ll definitely write this year.” 

“You’re welcome, dear.  We were happy to have you.  Bye, Theresa.  I’ll swing by sometime for some tea or something.”  With that, she gave Harry a hug goodbye and left. 

Theresa consulted her watch, then grabbed a sign from under the counter that said “Ring bell for service” with an arrow pointing upwards.  Theresa arranged it under the pull for a rather large bell hanging over the counter. 

“Let’s go put your trunk away.  I can leave the shop for a couple of minutes and give you a quick tour.  There’s a charm on the door that makes a sound when it opens, so we’ll hear when someone comes in.”  She led him through a back work room and storage room, then up a staircase to the first floor.  “My flat is right over the shop.  Very handy for cases like this when I want to pop up and get something.”

She opened the door and let him in to a small living room with a couple of doors off of it.  “My guest room is also my sewing room.  I hope you don’t mind being a bit cramped for the week.”  Theresa led him into one of the rooms.  “Here we are.” 

Harry looked around in fascination.  There were shelves full of fabric lining the room.  Unlike the black and white bolts of fabric in the store downstairs, the fabric in this room was in a rainbow of colors, in shorter lengths.  A half-assembled quilt lay on a work-table.  On a bed in the corner of the room was a quilt with a black background and small, irregularly shaped pieces of bright fabric arranged in identical symmetric wedges around a central point.  As Harry watched, the pieces of fabric slowly moved in harmony, keeping their symmetry and creating a kaleidoscope effect.  “That quilt is one of my favorites.  I thought I’d never get the charms on it right.  I did it on commission but the buyer backed out and I didn’t have the heart to find a new one.  I just liked it too much.”

“It’s amazing.  I’ve seen the portraits at school but nothing abstract like this.  I like it.”

A sudden noise of birds singing filled the room and Theresa sighed.  “That’s the door.  Never fails.  The second I leave the shop, someone always comes in.  Unpack whatever you like, not that there’s much room to unpack, and come back down.  I’ll make us some tea.”  With that, she hurried back down the stairs. 

Harry poked around curiously for a couple of minutes, then followed her. 

Over tea, Theresa asked him about his plans for the week.  “I have to mind the shop, of course, but that doesn’t mean that you should stay cooped up in here with me.  As long as you stay in Diagon Alley and keep out of Knockturn, it’s more than safe enough during the day.  Molly said something about you trying to find a job for next summer?”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, Mr. Weasley suggested he could drop me off every day on his way to work then pick me up on his way home.”

Theresa sipped her tea.  “Hm…  And you’ll live at the Burrow?  Rent a bedroom?”

“I’m going to try to make a tent and rent a bit of one of his fields.  Maybe.  If I can find work in Diagon.” 

“That certainly sounds ambitious.  You don’t sound too sure about the plan, though,” Theresa noted.

“I’ve got doubts about Diagon Alley part,” Harry admitted.  “A friend told me that Hogsmeade would work better since I can’t use my wand yet.” 

Theresa nodded with a rather complicated expression on her face.  “Well, jobs wise, yes, you’re right, it would work better.  Living wise… Hogsmeade in a tent.”  She made a face at the idea.  “You’d be better off in Molly’s field if you can find work here.  But I admit that’s rather unlikely.”  Theresa sighed.

“Please don’t tell the Weasleys,” Harry begged.  “At least, not yet.  I’ll try to find work here, I promise, but if I don’t, I’ll wait until closer to the summer to tell them so they don’t worry as long.”

Theresa nodded grudgingly.  “I won’t lie to Molly for you, but I won’t mention it if she doesn’t ask.  I’ve never had anyone wanting to make a tent before.  What sort of fabric do you need for that?”

Harry gazed at her, a bit bemused.  “I was hoping you’d know.  Canvas, I think.  Non-conjured.  I’ve only had the chance to read one book though.  I’ll want to do more research to make sure and figure out how much I need.  I know Muggles use nylon, but I’ve noticed that most wizards won’t use anything with plastics in it.”

“True.  Something with plastic in it wouldn’t work for your project.  Natural materials work much better for holding charms.  Even metal alloys and mixed fiber fabrics can be tricky at times.  Hence, the silver needles and scissors I insisted on selling you last year.  It’d be almost impossible to get a good Wizarding tent made out of nylon.  Non-conjured material can hold more spells stable than conjured which is probably why you’d need that. 

“I’ll have to look into it.  I don’t know if my usual sources for non-conjured materials can supply canvas.  It might be more than you’re hoping to spend, but we’ll see what I find out.” 

Harry grimaced at that news.  “I’m really not sure if I have enough money for the fabric.  I changed my money at Gringotts last week, and they kept all but a few knuts.  I have vouchers for the savings account but no cash.” 

Theresa frowned.  “I can check with Gringotts.  Since you’re making something to live in that will save you rent, they might count it as a housing expense and accept a voucher.  I’ve never actually had anyone need to use a voucher in my store so I’m not exactly sure who to contact, but I’ll try.  If not, I might be able to extend you some credit and let you pay next summer.  I can give you a bill and set the due date for a year from the date of sale.  We’ll talk about it again once you know what you need and I ask about the voucher at Gringotts.  Did you have anything else you needed to buy this week?”

“Some seeds?  Maybe a few potions ingredients?  I’ve got all my school things already.”  Since Thomas’ Tombs didn’t have the Lockhart books, the Weasleys had been forced to buy them new.  They’d be sharing three sets among the five of them, with one of those sets being a set Lockhart had given Neville as a publicity stunt.  If the Weasleys couldn’t afford to buy five full sets, Harry knew there was no way he could afford his own set, so he didn’t see much point in trying.

“If the seeds are for vegetables, you should be able to use a voucher for that.  It’ll be food, eventually.  I’ve seen people use vouchers at Heloise’s Herbs, and I assume that’s what they’re buying with them.  Potion ingredients.  Well, depending on what it is, you could pass it off as school supplies which you can use a voucher on.  If you’re wanting to barter, you should make sure to specifically ask at the apothecary if they have cauldrons or floors that need scrubbing.  Ask them this afternoon and tell them you’re staying with me so they know you’re right here in the alley, then wait to buy anything until just before you leave.  Their latest clerk is a bit of a klutz.  She’s made some infamously hard to clean messes these last few months.”

“Thanks!  I’ll do that.”

When they’d finished their tea, Theresa shooed him out of her shop, telling him to be sure to be back for dinner.  Harry did as she’d suggested, heading straight to the apothecary first.

After he’d asked about floors or cauldrons needing scrubbed, the clerk turned rather red, grumbled, “I’m not that bad,” then promptly tipped over the pot of ink when she was dipping her quill to note down Harry’s name and Theresa’s shop on a scrap of parchment.

Harry spent the rest of his afternoon in the library which was far larger than you’d ever expect from the seemingly small building it was housed in.  There were only two floors above ground – one for adult fiction and a second for children’s or young teens – but there were dozens of floors below ground, housing a wide variety of subjects. 

Harry made his way back to one of the floors dedicated to charms used in crafting objects and located the full bookshelf dedicated to the use of Extension Charms which had several shelves on tents specifically.  He selected a few to take over to a nearby table to research for the rest of the afternoon.

He returned to Theresa’s for dinner, and after they were finished she showed him a few of her tricks for making neat corners on pockets, good points on collars, less visible hemming stitches, the importance of ironing seams as you went, and so on.

The week flew by, with Harry’s mornings spent exploring Diagon Alley’s various shops, talking to shop keepers asking for work, both for that day and for the next summer, and avoiding Ollivander’s disapproving gaze while attempting to look terribly busy, then afternoons spent in the library and evenings spent with Theresa showing him various crafting skills. 

He’d managed to get one morning’s work at Thomas’s Tombs with his pay being last year’s defense textbook and any two other books he liked from the clearance bin.  Since Thomas looked remarkably unbusy while Harry sorted boxes of books into subjects for later shelving, Harry assumed he’d been given the job more out charity and a desire to deplete the overflowing clearance bin than out of any real need for help.  Harry spent a pleasant couple of hours working and carried off a nearly new copy of The Dark Forces, a battered copy of one of the cookbooks Mrs. Weasley swore by, a grimy book on outdoor survival skills and a list of interesting looking books to look up at the library at some point.

Another morning, he was walking past the apothecary when the clerk called him over, looking rather abashed, and directed him towards a back store room where a rack of potions had tipped over and broken, reacting and creating a thick sticky mess that was impossible to clean with anything other than hot water and a lot of manual scrubbing.  A few hours of hard scrubbing earned Harry a large supply of the ingredients used in the preserving potions Mrs. Weasley had shown him, a small stock of assorted other ingredients, and a list of potions that could be brewed with those ingredients that the clerk swore would be good practice for a second year, even if they weren’t the ones on the curriculum. 

The vast majority of the stores Harry went into didn’t have any need for additional labor that day, and none seemed at all interested in hiring him for next summer either.  Harry enjoyed the excuse to explore and poke around in stores he knew he couldn’t afford but was greatly relieved he had another option besides working in the Alley.

Theresa’s evening lessons on crafting were fairly random, with every night a different topic.  One night she taught him a special flat, folded seam that she said would probably work best for his tent since it was stronger and stood up to wear better than an average seam and a few ways to finish off seams that might ravel.  On another night, she gave him a few tips on his crazy quilt and loaded him down with a bag of random small bits of fabric, in case he ever decided he wanted to finish it.  Harry was fairly lukewarm on the subject of his own quilt.  He did have some bedding in his vault, after all, even if it was rather drab but was fascinated by Theresa showing him how she charmed pieces appliqued onto the background to move around the surface.  Yet another night, she showed him some basic embroidery stitches that she swore would come in handy if he needed to stitch runes onto fabric.

Harry’s afternoons in the library were fruitful.  He took lots of notes about the recommended enchantments and charms placed on tents.  The Extension Charm was just one of many.  There were charms to keep the contents from shifting as the tent was rolled up and moved, charms to make it easier to erect, charms to make Muggles ignore it, charms for running water and functioning toilets, for lighting, for windows, for temperature controls, for a level floor, for improving the durability of the canvas, for fire safety and waterproofing.  The list of suggested charms seemed endless. 

The books all seemed to disagree on what exactly was needed or the best charms to use for which problem, but Harry tried to put together a list of what he thought was the most vital problems and which enchantments he thought would work best to solve them with a couple of alternate methods in case he had trouble with his first choices.  He didn’t actually need a mansion after all.  Not even a house.  As long as it had a way to cook, a place to sleep, basic sanitary facilities, and enough room for his trunk, he could make the rest work.

He did find a book on the history of tent design and was comforted to find that the earliest tents had about the same list of requirements as the ones he’d flagged as most important.

Harry brought Theresa the tent design book that seemed to have the most useful hints about the construction of the physical tent.  Though the books differed drastically on what spells were needed, they were all rather united in calling for a non-conjured tightly woven canvas for the tent itself.

“I was thinking of this one.”  Harry turned to a page with a smaller tent, a simple A shaped design.  A second layer of tent was nested just inside, creating a double wall.  “A little over a meter wide, by two meters?  It’d be big enough to live in Muggle style if I have to but still small enough to be pitched in more places.  And it looks like a Muggle tent from the outside which might be handy for traveling.”

“Smaller means less fabric, too, which will be cheaper to make.  This will be a fairly simple design to sew.  Why the two layers?”

“More charms.  Canvas can only support so much, and you don’t want to mess too much with the Extension Charms after they’re cast.  The outer layer holds Extension Charms and all the exterior charms like water proofing.  The inner layer holds the interior charms that keeps things from sliding around and moving when the tent is moved and the weight reduction spells.  You sew the two layers together so some of the effects of the Extension Charm transfer into the inner layer so it resizes with the outer layer.”  Harry shrugged.  “It’d be better to build a house or flat inside the tent and cast the inner charms directly on that – it’s what most modern tents do – but I don’t really have the money or ability to do that right now.  I can always build the flat into it later.  The double canvas layer is an older design from back when tents were still like tents on the inside.”

“Well, you’ve certainly done your homework.  Let’s sketch it out and see what we need.”

They sketched it out, noting the tent’s dimensions and where the grommets, stakes, and ropes went and Theresa totaled up the materials.  “There we go.  You’ll need some sort of fastener for the front door, grommets and some cordage for the ropes.  Heavy duty thread, of course.  I don’t carry stakes or poles at all so you’ll have to find something to use for those. 

“And it’s non-conjured just like you thought.  The problem is, I don’t carry a lot of non-conjured fabric on a regular basis.  People don’t generally put so many enchantments on an article of clothing that makes a difference.  It’s mostly just a status symbol with clothes, so I really only carry it when Tattings puts in an order for it.  I have a few contacts to get it, but I’ve checked with them and they don’t have canvas.”  Theresa tapped her nails on the table thoughtfully.  “Now that we know how much you need, I can check with the shop that supplies the tent makers in Hogsmeade.  Let me see if they’re willing to give me a contact or pass on some of their supply.  They might even know a better contact at Gringotts than the generic one.  I’ve just been getting the run around so far.”

“I really didn’t mean to put you to this much trouble,” Harry protested.

Theresa waved his concern off.  “The main difficulty is knowing what you need – you did the work for that part – and who to contact to get it – I already know that.  Once you know those two things, the rest is just a few owls or a floo call.”  She smiled at him reassuringly.  “I can’t help you with much, but this is something I can help with.  I’ll see what they say.  Non-conjured is going to be quite a bit more expensive than conjured is, though.  We’ll see if we can work something out on that front too.  Johanson’s surely had plenty of requests for things like this over the years.”

Two nights before Harry was to leave for Hogwarts, Theresa brought him a packet of paperwork.

“I got this from Johanson today,” she started.  At Harry’s blank look, she added, “The fabric supplier in Hogsmeade.  He’s willing to sell directly to you.  I’ll help with the paperwork and such, but the sale will be between you and him, just to keep the markup as low as possible.

“He says it is possible for this to be paid for with a voucher.  He’s done it numerous times so he knows what paperwork you need and who to submit it to.  You’ll need to write a short proposal of the plan in your own words.  Nothing fancy, just an inch or two about how you’ll use the tent to save money on rent.  Then another inch or two comparing the price of materials plus the price to rent a few meters of Molly’s field to your last rent price and give an estimate on how long it’d take you to break even.  And a short list of your reference books and your proposed list of needed spells.  It doesn’t need to be extremely detailed.  You basically just need to show you’ve done your research and know what you’re getting into, and that it’ll save you money in the long run.

“You’ll also need a neat copy of our sketch of your tent design, clearly labeled with dimensions, and the calculations for the quantity of materials needed. 

“He’ll submit that, along with the bill of sale and your voucher, and it should go through without any problems.  Once it goes through, he’ll owl you the canvas.  Probably by this weekend.”

Harry nodded.  “That sounds easy.  Just like a homework essay.”  Theresa slid him the bill of sale and Harry winced when he saw the price.  “Is he willing to give me credit?  I don’t have enough in my account for that.”

“He normally does a monthly installment plan with interest, but you’ll be at Hogwarts most of the year, not earning money, so that won’t work.  He said he’s willing to accept a slightly higher total with a substantial down payment and the rest of the bill paid by September 1^st next year.  But you’ll need to pledge an item of higher value to forfeit if you fail to meet that payment.”

“So, sort of like a cross between a pawn shop and layaway?” Harry asked.  Theresa gave him a confused look.  “Does he keep the item until I pay?” 

“No, you just need to pledge to keep it in as good condition as possible and give it to him if you can’t pay his bill.  If he needs to, he’ll sell it to recoup his costs.”

Harry thought hard.  He really didn’t want to risk losing his father’s trunk, but he didn’t actually need it.  And it was really the only thing he had that might be worth that amount.  Well, now that Mr. Weasley had charmed it, his mother’s trunk was probably worth more, but he didn’t want to draw too much attention to that fact.  “If I put a third down now, would my father’s trunk be enough?  It’s rather beat up, but it does have working Extension Charms and Feather-light Charms on it.  Not a ton of space but enough.  Mr. Weasley said it had been expensive at some point.”

Theresa considered it for a moment, then nodded.  “With you putting a third down, I think it would be.  Any professionally enchanted object is worth something on the second hand market, even when it’s beat up or wearing out.  We’ll offer it, and if he won’t accept it, we can try something else.”

Harry quickly wrote the proposal while Theresa made a better copy of their design sketch. 

As he was signing the bill of sale and handing over his voucher for the first third of the payment, Harry couldn’t help but worry a bit over the cost.  The tent was the best option he had, but he worried about finding enough work in Hogsmeade to cover the final payment.  Hopefully, there’d be as many jobs as Mrs. Figg indicated there would be.  Diagon Alley obviously wouldn’t work out.

The morning of the day before the Hogwarts Express left, Harry dragged his trunk back down to his Gringotts vault and took advantage of the open space to unpack and organize it.  He also gathered a few boxes full of housewares from the vault like the bedding, dishes, cooking utensils, and even a couple of small lamps, then repacked his trunk, trying to place all of the fabric and housewares down at the bottom and his school supplies up on top where he didn’t have to dig too deeply.  He wouldn’t need any of the housewares until next summer, but having them with him would mean he wouldn’t have to stop by his vault on the way to the Weasleys’ home.  And, since he had the room in his trunk now, he also packed up both his mother’s and his father’s full sets of text books.  He could use one set for classes and for studying in the library or his dorm and leave the second set in his garden so that he didn’t have to carry so many books back and forth every day.

During his last library visit that afternoon, he checked out the most useful resources on tents and one on Extension Charms in general and noted down the names on a few more tent related books that he might need later if Hogwarts didn’t have much available.  Then, he relaxed and browsed the large fiction section and tried not to be depressed that he’d spent hours in the library every single day this week and hadn’t done anything other than research tents and Extension Charms. 

Chapter Text

Late the next morning, Harry relaxed in his compartment on the train, reading.  Theresa hadn’t liked his original plan of taking the Muggle bus to King’s Cross and insisted on closing her shop for a few minutes and bringing him via apparition early before the shop was usually busy, so he’d been waiting for a couple of hours already. 

When it got closer to the departure time, he started watching for the Weasleys, but as the time passed and the train filled, they still hadn’t arrived.  With ten minutes to go, Hermione opened the door and stepped in.  “Do you know where Neville and Ron are sitting?” she asked in the slightly impatient tone she usually used with Harry.  “I’ve looked all over and can’t find either of them.”

Harry shrugged.  “I don’t think they’re here yet.  I’ve been watching for the Weasleys so I could say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley but I haven’t seen them.  They should be pretty easy to spot, so I doubt I missed them.  Neville’s staying with the Weasleys, so if they aren’t here yet, he probably isn’t here either.”

“They’re still not here?  The train leaves soon.”  A worried frown crossed her face.  Hermione glanced back out into the corridor.  “Well, if I’d known they weren’t here yet, I could have gotten a compartment for us.  There aren’t any left by now.  I suppose Neville will sit in here.  You don’t mind, do you?”  Without waiting for a response, she dragged her trunk in to the compartment and shut the door.  Sighing, Harry helped her put her trunk up on the luggage rack.

Together, they watched out the window as the time passed.  Finally, with less than five minutes to go, he said, “Look, there’s Percy.”  He watched as Percy, then Mr. Weasley and the twins ran to the carriage closest to the entrance, pushing their luggage carts.  He caught a brief glimpse of Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running as well, before a blast of steam from the locomotive obscured their view.  “I’m sure Ron and Neville will be here any minute.  They must have been right behind Mrs. Weasley and the others.” 

A couple of minutes later, the train lurched into motion and pulled out of the station.  “They cut that close,” Hermione remarked. 

“They were pretty late last year, too.  Maybe it’s a routine thing for them?” Harry suggested.  “Not this late, though.  Just a minute or two later and they would have missed the train entirely.”  Harry turned away from the window and went back to his book.

Ten minutes later, the compartment door opened again and Ginny stuck her head in.  “There you are, Harry.  Mum said to tell you hello.  Do you mind if I come in for a bit and catch my breath?  We had to sprint to get to the train in time.”

Harry waved her in. “No, come in.  Do you know Ron’s friend Hermione?  Hermione, this is Ron’s sister, Ginny.”

Ginny dragged her trunk in and sat.  “We met when we were in Diagon Alley for school shopping.  Here, take your demon kneazle back.”  She passed Harry Mr. Tufty’s basket.  Harry lifted the blanket to see him sitting, very disgruntled, at the bottom.  Harry gave him a stroke, but Mr. Tufty stubbornly ignored him.  Harry sighed and withdrew his hand.

“It doesn’t look like he enjoyed the trip very much.  Running is pretty bumpy, I guess.  Demon, though?  What did he do?  He seemed to behave himself while I was there.” 

“Oh, he went after Scabbers again and clawed him up all over his stomach.  At least, Ron said that it was Mr. Tufty’s fault and Neville agreed with him.”

Harry blinked.  “Well, they have a history.  He’s done it before, so I can’t argue with that.  I thought Mr. Tufty couldn’t get into the Burrow?  I asked Mr. Weasley to set it up that way.  I didn’t want to cause any trouble while we were there.  I’m so sorry.”

Ginny shrugged.  “Dad checked the spells after it happened and said they were fine.  But either Mr. Tufty managed to get inside anyway, or Scabbers went outside, and Scabbers doesn’t tend to wander that much.  Then, when I went outside to tend the chickens, I found Mr. Tufty sitting right next to some bloody feathers.”

Harry quickly sat up straight.  “He attacked one of your chickens too?  Did he kill it?  I can try to pay for it.  Next summer I can –”  But Ginny was shaking her head.

“Owl feathers, not chicken feathers.”

Harry’s heart sunk.  A familiar was even worse than a chicken.  “Errol or… uh… I forgot Percy’s owl’s name.  Was it either of them?”

“Hermes.  And they’re fine.”  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  “We’ve no idea where the owl came from.  We couldn’t find a letter anywhere and weren’t expecting anything from anyone.  Didn’t find a body either, just the bloody feathers.  So, either Mr. Tufty ate the whole thing, or it managed to get away.”

“I’m so sorry.  If your parents ever figure out whose owl it was, please let me know.  I really don’t think I can afford to pay for an owl anytime soon.  Might take me a couple of years.  Maybe even after graduation, but I’ll do my best.”  Harry glanced down at Mr. Tufty, who by that time had jumped up onto the seat beside him and looked rather pleased with himself.  He obviously wasn’t a bit repentant.  Harry sighed.  “I’ve told him a million times to leave other people’s familiars alone.”

“I’m surprised you care about the owl.  You let Mr. Tufty terrorize Scabbers all year at school,” Hermione said coolly.

“I care,” Harry shot back.  “Mr. Tufty can’t get into Ron’s half of the room.  I’ve seen Mr. Tufty be stopped by the spell several times, so I know it works.  I’ll get Percy to re-cast it tonight just in case it wore off over the summer.  But the problem is Ron won’t keep Scabbers out of my side of the room. 

“As far as I know Ron hasn’t even tried to come up with a solution and refuses to consider any sort of cage.  I cast a spell of my own to keep Scabbers out of my half against Ron’s express wishes, but it didn’t work.  Scabbers walked right through it like it wasn’t there.  Ron has to control his familiar too.

“But Mr. Tufty’s never tried to attack an owl before, that I’m aware of, and I’m sure I would have heard about it if he had.  Hagrid would have been upset with both of us.”  Turning back to Ginny, he said, “I really am sorry.  I thought keeping him out of the house would be enough.”

Ginny shrugged.  “It’s okay.  Well, it’s not okay, but I’m kind of impressed, to tell the truth.  He managed to figure out a way around Dad’s spell and managed to attack an owl in the same night.  Post owls are just as smart as kneazles, so that had to have taken some serious effort.  I’ll let you know if Mum tells me anything, but I’m sure Dad will be writing you too.

“Do you mind if I leave my trunk here while I go look for some of the other first years?  I’ll tell Ron and Neville where you are when I see them.”  They put her trunk up on the rack and she left the compartment.

Harry looked back down at Mr. Tufty and stroked him.  “She’s right, though.  Mr. Weasley is excellent at charms.  Getting around whatever he set up must have been difficult.”  Pleased with either the compliment or the petting, Mr. Tufty stretched lazily and climbed into Harry’s lap.  “Oh, am I finally forgiven for the apparition? I didn’t know it was going to be that bad, I swear.” 

“Why did Ginny have Mr. Tufty?”  Hermione asked. 

“I visited the Weasleys two weeks ago, and Mr. Weasley apparated us from Diagon Alley.  Mr. Tufty hated it.  Mrs. Weasley apparated us back to Diagon Alley last week, and Mr. Tufty refused to come.  Just as well, I suppose.  I can’t imagine how long it would have taken him to forgive me for a second trip, let alone the third when Theresa brought me to King’s Cross this morning.”

“You visited Ron?  Why?  You guys don’t like each other,” Hermione questioned in surprise.  “He didn’t mention inviting you.”

“I was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, not Ron.  I mostly helped Mrs. Weasley around the house in the morning and was with Mr. Weasley after dinner.  Afternoons, I either hung out with Neville while Ron flew or read.  Played Quidditch a couple of times.  It was wonderful.”

Hermione stared at him.  “It was wonderful to do chores when you’re on vacation?  At someone else’s house?  And you were with adults half the day?” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are brilliant.  Ron is so lucky,” Harry said wistfully.  Harry tried his best to not wish for things he couldn’t have, but if he’d let himself, wishing for parents just like the Weasleys would have been one of the first things he’d wish for.

Hermione gave him a skeptical glance.  “So, you went back to your relatives after that?”

“Uh, no.  Mrs. Weasley arranged for me to stay with a friend of hers in Diagon Alley for a week.”

“Why?” Hermione was baffled.  “Are you friends with her too?”

“Well, I’d met her once last summer for a few minutes.  That day we were school shopping.  She has a shop and a flat there.” 

“And before you went to the Weasleys’? Were you with your relatives then?”

Harry shrugged, trying to act unconcerned.  “No, I was staying with a neighbor then.”

“A Muggle neighbor?”

Harry sighed in exasperation.  “No, Mrs. Figg isn’t a Muggle.  Are we really going to start this game again?  I thought you guys got bored with quizzing me about Muggles last fall.  Why do you care so much?”

“They’re your family.  You belong with your Muggle relatives.”  Hermione’s lips were pressed in a fine line.

“Funny.  None of us agree with you.”  Harry was still trying to adjust to the knowledge that he was, in all likelihood, never going to lay eyes on the Dursleys ever again.  The thought was both freeing and terrifying in equal measure.  Harry pointedly opened his book and started to read. 

“Are you going to stay with your relatives next summer?” 

“It’s highly unlikely.  Please drop it.  It’s none of your business where I stay in the summers,” Harry said, still exasperated.

Hermione huffed in irritation, then rummaged around in her bag for a book of her own.  “I was just curious.”

They sat in silence until Ginny came in to eat her lunch and they dug theirs out too.  Hermione and Ginny were idly chatting when Hermione finally noticed the title of Harry’s book. “Excellent Extensions: An Exhaustive Exhortation.  Is that about the Extension Charm?” 

Harry nodded, munching on a crisp.

“And why are you reading about the Extension Charm?”

“Mr. Weasley showed it to me.  It’s interesting.  Most people think of rooms, tents and luggage when you mention it, but the book talks about a lot of other uses.  Bottomless ink pots or water bottles, more ink in quills, thinner books, pockets.  That sort of thing.  It even talks about using it to make a wand holster that looks like a wide bracelet.”

“Why would you want to do that?  No one uses holsters these days,” Ginny said curiously.  “Well, not the sort that go on arms, anyway.”

“Other than the normal benefits of having a holster? Protecting your wand and making sure you always have it within reach?  Muggle clothes don’t have built in pockets for wands like robes do, so it’d be more discrete if you had to dress Muggle.  Much less visible and more secure than a wand sticking out of your trouser pocket.”  Harry shrugged.  “I carried mine around in my school bag this summer.  It kept falling out of my pocket, and the weather is too hot for a jacket or long sleeves.  I guess females could put theirs in a large purse.  You could use the same idea to put a smaller special wand pocket on any garment, I suppose, though that seems a bit wasteful unless there was a particular robe or jacket you wore nearly every day.  A small pouch you wore as a necklace, maybe?  Or on a belt?  That might work better, if you absolutely didn’t want a holster on your arm.  In any case, that’s what the book is about.  Various uses for Extension Charms other than the standard living spaces, bags, and storage.”

“It just seems like a lot of reading on a charm you won’t be able to do for another four years.  Then again, you do read a lot of useless things.” Harry assumed Hermione was talking about fiction.

“I was thinking of learning it this year,” Harry said, as confidently as he could manage.  Really, he wasn’t sure he could learn it at all, but he’d at least try.  “Besides, I’ve seen you read stranger things.”

“You can’t learn it this year,” Hermione said in a lecturing tone.  “We’re only second years.  We don’t start learning enchantments like that until at least sixth.”

“So, I’ll work hard.  Besides,” he continued, “it’s my goal in life to own something a fraction as cool as Newt Scamander’s suitcase.”  He wasn’t entirely sure if he was kidding. 

Ginny eyed his trunk suspiciously.  “What exactly did you and Dad do to your trunk?  You guys spent days in his shed fiddling with it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replied with a grin.  “Your dad’s the best. I mean it.  Your mum’s fantastic too.  You’re really lucky to have parents like them.”

“Right…” Ginny said, eyebrows raised skeptically.  “My mum, who made you do our laundry and wash our dishes and cook our food.  You think she’s fantastic.”

“Utterly amazing,” Harry confirmed sincerely.  It wasn’t the chores that he liked.  Chores were chores, even though they were a bit more fun when they involved magic.  But it was the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cared enough to spend their time with him despite how busy they always were and cared whether or not he’d be able to take care of himself that he loved.

“You’re barmy.  I think Ron was right about you wanting to be a house elf when you grow up,” Ginny said. “He –”

“It’s a sixth year spell, Harry,” Hermione broke in.  “It’s NEWT level.”

“Seventh.  I checked.  I don’t mind a challenge.  I did some upper level stuff last year.  That sewing charm, for example.  I did a runes project too.”

“Why spend all that time on a seventh year spell when you need to spend it on your classes?  Your potions grade is abysmal and Professor McGonagall isn’t impressed with your Transfiguration work, I can tell.”

“My potions grade will never improve as long as Snape’s the teacher.  I’ll do as much as I need to do in Transfiguration, but it’s just not very useful right now.  Maybe it will be better when we get up to NEWT level work, who knows.  The Extension Charm, on the other hand, is incredibly useful.  Here’s an entire book full of uses.”  He gave his book a little wave in the air.  “There’s really no use for turning a button into a beetle or a hedgehog into a pincushion.  Charms work is just more fun.”

“But –”

Harry cut her off.  “I don’t want to spend another train ride arguing about my choices in reading material.”  He turned to Ginny. “Did you find the other first years?”

“Mostly Luna,” she said with a dismissive shrug.  “I found a few more, but all of their compartments were full so I couldn’t stay long.”  Her eyes looked rather disappointed at that.

“Did you see where Neville and Ron were?” Hermione asked.

“No, but I wasn’t really looking.”

Hermione stored the remains of her lunch and stood.  “I think I’ll go find them.”

By the time Hermione returned over an hour later, Ginny had left again.

“I can’t find them anywhere,” she said, with a worried frown.

“Maybe they missed the train after all?’  Harry suggested.  “They did cut it really close.  If they had to wait for a Muggle to stop looking at them before they could cross the barrier or couldn’t see the train doors for all the steam, they could easily have missed it.  I wouldn’t worry too much.  They’ll be fine.” 

Deciding he’d had enough of Extension Charms for the day, Harry rummaged in his bag for ink, quills, and parchment.  Sitting back up, he started writing a letter to Mrs. Figg, telling her about his time with the Weasleys and asking her for advice on Mr. Tufty’s behavior with the owl and general obsession with Scabbers.

“Aren’t you at all worried about them?” Hermione demanded.  “Neville’s your friend, even if you don’t like Ron.”

Harry blinked at her.  “No, not particularly worried.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were right there, and the whole platform was full of parents and staff.  Most likely, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley apparated them to Hogsmeade and they’ll have spent the day hanging out at the train depot being bored.”  Hermione scoffed.  “Even if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley left without noticing them, one of the other parents would surely help.  Absolute worst case scenario, if they miraculously manage to miss seeing any adult wizards on a platform full of adult wizards, is that they have to go to Diagon Alley.  Tom, the guy who runs The Leaky Cauldron, will let them use his floo. Or they can send an owl at the post office.  Or Theresa, Mrs. Weasley’s friend that I stayed with this past week, would be happy to help.  I know she would.  They’re in a train station in London.  Not the jungle.”

“How are they supposed to get to Diagon Alley?” Hermione glared.

Harry shrugged.  “Take the underground or the bus?” he guessed.  “Wait, no.  I doubt they’d have any Muggle money with them and they probably don’t know how.  They could call for the Knight Bus, I suppose.  Kind of expensive, but maybe Neville’s Gran wouldn’t mind.  They could walk if they had to.  It’s only a few kilometers.  That’s the absolute worst case scenario, though.  You saw how many people were on the platform.  Ron’s pretty loud when he’s annoyed.  All it’ll take is for him to complain about missing the train, people will turn to look, they’ll see the famous boy-who-lived, and everyone will fall over themselves to help them out.  Neville will be embarrassed, of course.  He hates being the center of attention.  But they’ll be fine as long as they don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Hermione sniffed, turning to stare out the window. 

Harry contemplated making a remark about Ron’s tendency towards doing stupid things but decided he preferred worried silence to annoyed silence.  Besides, Neville tended to think things through a lot more.  Harry was almost certain they were fine.

Finishing up his letter to Mrs. Figg, he started a new one to Mr. Weasley, apologizing for Mr. Tufty’s poor behavior, offering to compensate the owl’s owner, if he or she could be located and telling him he was consulting an expert on kneazles to see if she had any advice.  He then asked Mr. Weasley if he knew any spells that could keep Scabbers on Ron’s side of the room so the two could be kept separated and mentioned that the anti-vermin spell in Our Happy Homestead hadn’t done any good, as he’d seen Scabbers cross the boundary.

He briefly considered mentioning his trouble finding work in Diagon Alley but eventually decided to wait until he was ready to tell them about his real plans of living in Hogsmeade.  He’d save that for closer to summer, so that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would have less time to try to talk him out of it. Instead, he just mentioned he’d had a good time at Theresa’s and had done a lot of research on tents.

Rolling up both letters, he stored them and the writing supplies and searched for a different book to read.  He hesitated for a moment over one of the novels he’d gotten from the library but, remembering Hermione’s snide comment about reading ‘useless things’ and the near argument they’d already had, he passed it over and grabbed the one on outdoor survival instead.

Settling in to read, Harry was rather surprised to find that, contrary to Muggle survival books that focused on tips like building a shelter, making a fire, foraging for edible plants and hunting, the wizard version of the topic focused more on things like first aid and warding off your emergency campsite from nuisances or pests in the area.  There was a tiny chapter near the end listing handy spells to know for your campsite – the Bluebell Flames spell for a campfire, the Point Me Spell for finding north, Warming Charms for the cold, Impervious Charms for a more watertight shelter in the rain, the Water-Making spell, etc. – but it lacked the instructions on how to do any of them.  Another longer chapter focused on finding food with more detail, but that was a much smaller portion of the whole than you’d see in a Muggle book on the topic.  Musing to himself, Harry supposed that it was much more difficult for a wizard to just get lost or stranded like a Muggle could.  Nearly any adult could just apparate themselves to safety, after all, so it’d take something rather drastic to keep them where they didn’t want to be, and a lot of the listed handy charms were taught at Hogwarts, which eliminated the need to dedicate space for instructions in the text.

Harry decided to start with the chapter focusing on protecting one’s campsite.  He’d be living in a tent next summer, after all.  It might come in handy.

 Later that night, he listened to Ron and Neville being congratulated about damaging and losing Mr. Weasley’s prized car that he’d worked so hard on and had to admit he’d overestimated their capacity for common sense.

Chapter Text

Harry slid into one of the last remaining chairs near the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom feeling a little sorry for Neville.  First, Neville’s gran and Ron’s mum had both sent howlers that arrived at breakfast and exploded at the same time.  In a way, that was an advantage, because it made it impossible to tell exactly what either woman was saying in her lecture.  But the downside to it was that the howlers had somehow amplified each other, raising the volume to deafening levels.  Nearly everyone in the castle had heard them including those who weren’t even in the Great Hall at the time.  Even Harry had heard the commotion while he was sitting outside.

Lockhart had prevented Neville from being on time to his favorite class then a new first year, Colin Creevey, had pestered Neville for a photograph, and that embarrassing situation was escalated by both Draco Malfoy and Lockhart.  By now, Neville’s face had turned a near-permanent shade of red, and he hunched behind his stack of defense books as if trying to hide from further embarrassment.

The class eventually settled as Lockhart strode to the front of the room.  He paused for a second in front of Harry’s desk, then detoured to Dean Thomas’s desk next to him and picked up one of his books to use as a prop to brag about his charming smile. 

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books,” he said, flashing his Most-Charming-Smile.  Then he turned to glance down at Harry. “I suspect you were just so excited about today’s class that you must have forgotten yours.  Not to worry, no time for autographs today so you won’t miss out, but do make sure to bring them tomorrow, or I might have to take points.”  Harry flushed as Lockhart gave a little chuckle, then pointed towards the back of the room.  “Yes?”

“He doesn’t have them,” Hermione’s voice rang out.  Harry’s face turned even redder.  He turned around and tried to signal her to be quiet.  She frowned at him.

“Oh, well,” Lockhart turned back to Harry.  “You forgot them at home?  Not to worry.  Just send an owl for them and you’ll have them by Monday.  Now, I –” He broke off, and looked back at Hermione, who had her hand up again.  “Yes?”

“He didn’t buy them.  He can’t afford them,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.  Several people in the class muffled sniggers and Harry glared at Hermione.  Bitterly, he wondered if Hermione would be so quick to call attention to the fact that Ron couldn’t afford his books either and shared with his siblings.  There was a time and place to admit such things, such as after class or a teacher’s office hours.  Not right in the middle of class for everyone to hear.

“Can’t afford…” Lockhart trailed off, sounding shocked.  “There’s only seven books, I assure you. Not my full collection.  Quite affordable.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione start to raise her hand again and shot Neville a grateful look as he grabbed it and dragged it down.  “Now, I thought we’d start today with a little quiz.  Nothing to worry about, just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in.”

When Lockhart signaled to start the quiz, Harry read the first question, “What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?” and cringed.  He went slowly through the list, with a sinking heart and growing rage.  Fifty-three questions, every single one of them about biographical details, not about any of the subjects Harry had studied to prepare for class.  He’d supposed he could have tried to borrow one or two of the books while he was at the Weasleys’ home, but he’d been enjoying himself for the first time all summer and hadn’t wanted to ruin it – not when he’d already studied the textbook he’d bought the previous year.

Briefly, he contemplated filling the sheet with sarcastic answers, but in the end, he just signed his name and got out the outdoor survival book he’d started yesterday to pass the time.  He could feel Lockhart’s eyes on him, but did his best to ignore the sensation.

When the time was up, Harry watched with a sinking heart as Professor Lockhart collected his quiz first before the others.  After he’d finished praising Hermione’s perfect score, he pulled Harry’s quiz to the front and made a show of being surprised to find it empty.

“And you, Mr…” he glanced back to the front to consult Harry’s name, “Potter.  Not a single question even attempted, I see.  This is what comes from not having the proper materials.”  A few students muffled snickers though Harry couldn’t see who had laughed.  “How can you study without books to read?”

“I did study!” Harry protested.  “I studied trolls and hags and vampires!  Not your birthday and favorite color!” 

“I assure you, I have a great deal of knowledge to impart, beyond mere information about trolls and hags.  Perhaps if you’d bought and read my books you’d realize that.”  Professor Lockhart’s jovial smile was slipping off his face.

“I really doubt that a vampire is going to care that you won the Witch Weekly’s award for the Most-Charming-Smile four times.  Not if he’s hungry.”  Harry grumbled.

“It’s five, actually,” Lockhart bit out, no trace of any smile, charming or otherwise, on his face.  “I really must insist you bring your books to the next class.  You might be more prepared that way.  In fact, I don’t think I can admit you to my class again unless you come fully prepared.”

The classroom was utterly silent.  “Hermione’s right,” Harry finally admitted, between gritted teeth.  “I can’t afford them.  I won’t be able to get them.  I’ll study them in the library.”

Professor Lockhart looked utterly offended by the mention of such things as libraries.  “I really must insist.  With books of your own, not borrowed or shared.  That you bring with you to this classroom.”

“I can’t,” Harry grit out, furiously.

“Then I can’t admit you.”  He turned to face the rest of the class.  “Now, for the rest of you who are prepared…”

Harry slouched in his seat and watched as Lockhart proceeded to introduce the pixies and unlatch the cage, unleashing pandemonium on the room in the form of eight inch tall, winged nuisances, who began diving at students, grabbing their belongings, and destroying whatever they could.  One of them tried to snatch Harry’s books, both last year’s defense textbook and the outdoor survival guide he’d been reading during Lockhart’s quiz.  Harry grabbed them back just in time to use them as a weapon as a team of them tried to lift him by his robes.  He whacked them to drive them off, then took shelter under his desk.

Frantically, he flipped through the outdoor survival book to the chapter he’d just read, looking for the Boundary Spell to set a limit that airborne animals couldn’t cross.  Finding it, Harry quickly read the directions.  Sweeping his wand in a small circle round him, he said, “Termino ae–”  But his casting was interrupted by his yelp as a particularly determined pixie yanked at his hair, trying to pull him out from under the relative safety of the desk.  Swatting it as hard as he could with his book, he tried again.  “Termino aeris!”  Harry swatted a couple more pixies that had been inside the area he’d outlined, knocking them outside it, and suddenly there was a tiny oasis of calm under the desk.  Harry watched closely as the pixies he’d knocked away tried to return, only to bounce off something mid-air.  Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked to see how the rest of the class was faring.

All around him, Harry could see ripped papers, destroyed books, and sprays of ink.  All of his classmates were huddled under their desks, fending off what pixies they could. 

"Come on now – round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart called out.  Harry looked around him and saw no one seemed particularly inclined to follow his instructions.  A minute or two later, he heard him bellow “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"  Harry couldn’t actually see Lockhart from this angle and didn’t dare move much, but he heard some of the class laugh. 

Behind him, from where he thought Lockhart’s desk was, he heard a loud crash and a muffled “Ouch!” from what sounded like Dean Tomas.

The bell rang and there was a mad dash for the exit.  Harry was trying to decide whether to leave his little circle of safety and make a break for it too, when he heard Lockhart breezily order someone to “nip them back into their cage.”  At least he had company in this madhouse. 

“Can you believe him?” he heard Ron yell.  Harry sighed.  Not very good company.  While he listened to Hermione, Ron, and Neville bicker as they tackled the pixies one at a time, he re-opened his outdoor survival guide and skimmed through it searching for something a bit more effective.

One finally caught his eye, aimed to swat flying nuisances out of the air.  He gave it a try, aiming at a group of pixies.  “Pestes Pessum Ire!” he incanted and gave his wand a sharp motion downwards.  Nothing.  He re-read the instructions and tried again.  This time, a few of the pixies he was aiming at wavered a bit in their flight as if they’d been hit by a strong breeze, but they recovered swiftly.  Sighing, Harry pushed his desk out of his way and carefully stood, making sure not to cross the boundary he’d cast.

He turned to look and saw the other three gaping at him in surprise.  “Where’d you come from?  Ron asked, then ducked as a pixie flew at his face.

Harry shrugged.  “From under my desk.  Been there the whole time.”  He looked around, taking in the huge mess.  Several pixies were attacking Ron and Neville, pulling at their hair and robes.  “Hermione, I’ve got a couple of books here.  Anything you’d like me to look up?  Or should I keep trying to figure out this spell?  Pestes Pessum Ire.”  Once again, nothing happened.

“What’s it supposed to do?”  Neville sounded rather out of breath. 

“Smash flying pests against the ground.  It’s not working, though.  Hermione, do you want to try it?”

“Smash them?  You mean kill them?” Hermione looked rather scandalized by the idea.  “That’s not what Lockhart wants us to do.  He said he wanted us to put them back in their cage.” 

Harry gaped at her for a moment, then said.  “I could just stand here and not help, if you’d prefer.  If Lockhart wanted them back in their cages, he should have stayed here to do it himself.”

“He lost his wand,” Neville said with a snigger.  “Pixies grabbed it and tossed it out the window.”

“Oh, is that what people were laughing at?  I’m sorry I didn’t see it, but I didn’t have enough room to turn around and look.”  Harry watched Neville try to grab another pixie flying just out of his reach.  “Do you want my help or not?” 

Ron, who was struggling with one who’d latched onto his hair yelped, “Yes!” while Hermione, very firmly, said “No!” 

Harry looked towards Neville, who sighed.  “He’s probably not going to be that happy if he comes back to find all of his pixies dead.”

Harry sighed.  “Any other ideas?  I can look something up, if you remember reading about a spell.”

“Ventus jinx?” Hermione suggested.  “Creates a strong blast of wind.”

Harry quickly flipped through the defense textbook to find it and read through the instructions.  After a few attempts, he got enough of a gust to shift the pixies a bit, but the wind also hit Neville and Ron who were next to it.

“That one’s no good,” Ron grumbled.  “I almost had that pixie before the wind knocked me off balance.”

“I think anything strong enough to affect the pixies will be too strong for us to catch them,” Neville confirmed, getting rather red faced from his exertions.  “Find something else!”

Harry briefly contemplated making a run for it or trying his original spell again, but Hermione’s method of freezing the pixies did seem to be working well.  It probably wouldn’t take long to finish if they coordinated efforts.  “Hermione’s idea seems to be working much better than what I’m trying.  Let’s stick with that.  I’m not moving from this spot.  You’ll have to do some of the work.”  He took a good look at the freezing charm Hermione was using and gave it a try.  “Immobulus!”  The pixie Neville had been chasing froze, and Neville quickly caught it.  Harry targeted the one pulling at Ron’s ear next. 

They quickly got into the rhythm of Harry freezing as many as he could with Ron and Neville grabbing them out of the air and stuffing them into the cage.  When they were finally done, the cage held less than half the number of pixies it’d held before class started.  Obviously, more than a few had escaped out the window.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry stretched and started gathering up his supplies.  He had to hunt for a bit to find his inkwell or, at least, the inkwell he thought was his.  They all looked similar, so it was hard to tell, but this one did look a bit more battered than the others and didn’t have any brand labeling, so he assumed he had the right one.  Luckily, he’d capped his ink when he gave up on the quiz, so it hadn’t spilled.  Once he thought he had everything, he turned to Ron.  “Make sure Ginny and your brothers know what an arse Lockhart is being about having his books.  You’ll have to pass them back and forth between classes.”

Hermione glared.  “He’s not being an arse.  He just wants you to be properly prepared for class.  You didn’t get a single question on his quiz right.”

Harry stared at her in disbelief.  “Right…” he said slowly.  “If only I’d known Lockhart’s main ambition in life, that would have inspired me to bravely fight against pixies instead of fleeing the classroom the second the bell rang.”  Hermione made a frustrated sound.  “I’m off to see if McGonagall’s in her office.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about being kicked out of the class.”

A few minutes later, he knocked at McGonagall’s open door, and she glanced up.  “Mr. Potter, good.  You’ve saved me the trouble of having to go look for you.”  She gestured at the chair in front of her desk imperiously.  Heart sinking, Harry sat down. 

“I understand that you did not come prepared for Professor Lockhart’s class, did not bring your textbooks, questioned his chosen subject matter, and did not even attempt to answer a question on the quiz he gave today,” she declared, a disapproving frown set on her face.

Harry gulped.  “I couldn’t buy the textbooks.  I studied what I thought was second year material from an alternative textbook but not Lockhart’s.  I’ll read the books in the library, but this is the first day of class.  There hasn’t been time.”

“No time to read the books?” Professor McGonagall said archly.  “I understand you spent part of the summer at the Weasleys’ home.  Did they have the textbooks by then?”  Harry nodded.  “Did you ask to borrow them?”  Harry shook his head.  “Did you read other books during the time that you were there?”  Harry nodded again.  “Well, it appears you had plenty of time to study them, had you chosen to do so.”

“But Professor!” Harry protested.  “I worked all summer long.  That was the first time all summer that I got a chance to relax.”

Professor McGonagall paged through the short stack of already graded summer homework, pulled one out, and showed it to him.  Harry recognized his own writing, saw a large, colorful “T” on the top and cringed.  That had been the essay he’d been working on the night of the dinner party.  He’d forced himself to finish it but had been so distracted that it was an admittedly poor effort even by his low standards, much less Professor McGonagall’s exacting standards, then had been too exhausted and busy from trying to earn enough to make the higher rent payments to try again.  He really should have rewritten it while he was at Mrs. Figg’s or at the Burrow, but it had slipped his mind.

“You certainly didn’t spend the summer working on your school assignments.  Or did you mean you had a job?  If you truly worked all summer long, then I trust you can afford to buy the books?  No?  Perhaps your work ethic for earning money is as abysmal as your work ethic for studying.  Or perhaps you squandered your share of your wages on frivolities?”

“I had to buy food and pay rent, and I’ve other school supplies too!  I didn’t squander anything,” Harry shot back.  “And Lockhart assigned seven books. Seven!” 

“I will allow Lockhart’s judgment to stand on this matter.  You are still to show up to his class on time. If he judges you ill prepared for class, you will leave,” McGonagall said severely.  “You are still responsible for all homework assigned.  Whether Professor Lockhart chooses to accept it is up to him, as is whether he admits you to any exams or quizzes.  If he allows you none of these, your grade will be based on your end of year exams.”  Considering the quiz he’d just failed to answer a single question on, this wasn’t the best news Harry could have gotten.

“I really can’t afford the books, Professor.  They’re just too expensive, and I can’t find them used.” 

“Then perhaps you should mend whatever fences need mending with your relatives, beg them for forgiveness and ask for help,” she said tartly.

Harry’s mouth gaped open in surprise.  “Mend fences!  It’s not possible to mend those fences.  And I’ve not done anything I need to be forgiven for.”

“There are two sides to every argument, Mr. Potter.  I suggest you try to look at things from your relatives’ point of view.  It cannot have been easy for them to have burdened by your family’s debt for the last decade.”

Harry’s faced flushed in fury.  “They weren’t burdened by anything other than the need to acknowledge that I existed, and half the time they didn’t bother with that, so I don’t see how it would have been all that burdensome.”  Professor McGonagall’s face tightened.  “They will not help, even if I begged.  Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t.  Nothing can change that.  I have no intention of seeing or speaking to them ever again.”

“Then, I daresay it might be quite a long time before you’re allowed back into your defense class.  I suggest you use that time to think about your path in life.  You may go.”  Clearly dismissing him from her thoughts, she turned back to the stack of summer essays in front of her.

Harry stormed from her office, raging at the unfairness of it all.  He was not ever going to talk to the Dursleys ever again, if he could help it.  Technically, they weren’t even his relatives any more.  His aunt was merely a woman who happened to, somehow, be affiliated with his mother but had no connection to him.  She wasn’t even his landlady any more. 

Harry made his way to a windowsill with a good view of the grounds and tried to think.  Clearly, he had no way to obtain his own copies of the books.  Even if he had some miraculous benefactor deposit enough money into his account to cover the cost of the books, he’d be obligated to pay Johanson’s bill first, as well as keep some of it for groceries the first couple weeks of next summer.  Who knew how long it’d take him to find work, wherever he ended up.  He could try to borrow the books from another student, he supposed.  How would Lockhart know the difference?  But he didn’t know any of the students in other years, save the Weasleys, and they were already sharing their books between themselves. 

But really, did it matter if he ever went to class?  It wasn’t like Lockhart had even attempted to teach them anything today.  What Harry had done today, he’d managed to learn from a book.  Couldn’t he keep doing that?  And as long as he made a decent enough overall score on the end of term exams so that he wouldn’t have to repeat second year, wasn’t that what was important?  It was the OWLs that mattered, after all, not the yearly class grades.  The OWLs weren’t likely to have questions about how often Gilderoy Lockhart smiled or what his favorite brand of shampoo was.

As Harry thought about this, he felt a bit better about the issue.  Though, he supposed he really ought to double check.  He needed to talk to Professor Flitwick about his tent anyway, and he was much more inclined to give good advice than Professor McGonagall.

Harry checked the time.  Plenty of time before dinner, as long as Professor Flitwick was available. 

Flitwick, to his delight, was available and greeted him as cheerfully as ever.  “Mr. Potter!  And before your first Charms class of the year too!  What can I help you with today?”

“I’ve got a couple of things, but they’re all academic this time, I promise!”  Harry assured him.  “Or they have academic components, at least.”  Harry paused, and Flitwick motioned for him to continue.  “Does it matter if I get thrown out of a class?  Or even if I fail the class for the year?”

Flitwick’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “That was quick work.  Which class was this?” He squeaked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Professor Lockhart was mad that I didn’t have the money to buy his books.  And, well, he gave a really awful quiz all about himself, and I didn’t know any of the answers because I hadn’t read the books.”  Professor Flitwick gazed at him, clearly waiting for him to continue.  Harry flushed.  “And I may have implied that he only won Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile award four times.”

“Oh ho!” Professor Flitwick chuckled.  “Please don’t tell any of my Ravenclaws it was that easy or you’ll inspire a rash of copycats!”  Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.  “I’ve heard several complaints about that quiz already.  Cosmically speaking, no, it does not necessarily matter if one is kicked out of a class, as long as you keep your grades up in the others.  Ultimately, it’s your OWL and NEWT scores that matter, not your individual yearly scores.  You can even take the OWLs for classes you’ve never set foot into.”

“You can?”  Harry asked, distracted from the main issue.

“Of course!  I recommend to all my Muggle-born Ravenclaws to do a bit of self studying and take the Muggle Studies exams.  It’s an easy way to get an extra OWL or NEWT.  So, not being in the class isn’t, in itself, a problem, so long as you keep up with the material.  If you fall behind this year, next year you might have to work two or three times as hard to catch up.  That’s less of a problem in a class like Defense or History where there’s lots of different topics to study, but it can be a rather large issue in Charms or Transfiguration where one topic builds on the next.

“I’d suggest using your normal Defense class time to study Defense and obtain notes from your classmates and a third year’s notes from last year.  There are OWL guides available in the library as well and those have their sections broken up by subject and year.  You might need a partner to help you practice some spells, but a good study group can help with that.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  He could do that.  Spending the class period in the library reading Lockhart’s books, studying, or doing homework might save him time in the long run.  “So, it’s okay that he won’t let me in.” 

“As a teacher, I’m obligated to tell you that classes are very important.  You never know what knowledge will be imparted in class.  For instance, Professor Lockhart may give tips on how he won that charming smile award… what was it? Three times?”  Both he and Harry laughed.  “But I’ve a small handful of my Ravenclaws who’ve been known to deliberately get kicked out of the classes they don’t like in order to free up more time for extracurricular projects.  Or even during their OWL and NEWT year to free up time to frantically study, though that is a strategy that often backfires.  I cannot condone it, but if you manage your time wisely, it can be a benefit, particularly in your first four years.

“I’ll check the school’s stores for Lockhart’s books for you, just so you can say you’ve explored all options, but given that he’s never been assigned before and the books are relatively new, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”  Harry nodded.  He’d assumed as much.  In fact, now he rather hoped he didn’t get the books!

“Now, what is your second academic issue?” he asked.

“It’s related to what we talked about last year.  I know you said that I should try living in the Muggle world as long as possible.  I tried, but my rela–” He broke off.  He didn’t feel like acknowledging them as relatives any more.  “The Dursleys kicked me out about three weeks ago.”

“Oh, dear,” Professor Flitwick said with a squeaky sigh.  “What are your plans for next summer?  You are still rather young to be paying rent.”

Harry briefly outlined his plans regarding learning the Extension Charm, creating a tent, and living in Hogsmeade’s tent city to avoid paying rent and minimize expenses. 

“Hm.  That’s quite an ambitious plan,” Professor Flitwick said thoughtfully.  “The Extension Charm is tricky all by itself, and it’s not just that charm you’ll need.  Even beyond the tent, you’ll need a way to wash yourself, your dishes and your clothes, to use the toilet, access to fresh water, and a way to cook, among other things.”

Harry nodded.  “I did a lot of research on making tents in the last week so I know what I need at the bare minimum for the tent itself.  Last year, I made a rune based oven that I used over the summer.  It wasn’t perfect, but it did the job.  There were other kitchen oriented designs in the same book so some of that can be handled with runes.  If I make a stove burner or two, that should carry me through until I can manage to make or get a proper stove.

“Mr. Weasley spent a week teaching me to –” Harry caught himself before he admitted to casting spells in the summer.  “I mean, he demonstrated the Extension Charm to me. So, I have an idea how difficult it’s going to be.”  Harry flushed and fiddled with his wand as he avoided Professor Flitwick’s knowing gaze.

“Ah, I can see the value in a good demonstration.  Tell me, Mr. Potter, I’ve often wondered about your wand.  A family wand, I assume?  Any intricate carving on wands is quite unusual here in England, generally speaking, but snake designs in particular are very rare.  Prejudice, of course.  Do you know where it was made?”

Harry glanced down at his wand, with the two small snake heads positioned as if their bodies were twined tightly around the wand to create the handle.  “I keep forgetting to ask Mr. Ollivander.”

“Ah, I see.  No matter.  Just idle curiosity.  In any case, certain items will make this plan a great deal less onerous to achieve.” Professor Flitwick sounded a great deal more confident than he had a few minutes prior.  “However, there will be a great deal of work and studying on your part.

“Earlier, I mentioned Charms was one of the classes where certain lessons built on other lessons.”  Harry nodded.  “Extension Charms are one of those things.  Any sort of permanent effects from charms or enchanting objects is a skill based on several prior lesser skills.  Considering you’re likely to need to cast multiple types of permanent charms on your tent, I think it’s best we don’t put our bristles before our broom and spend some time learning a few of those intermediate skills before jumping into the Extension Charm.”

Harry was rather disappointed to hear this.  “I did manage to get a bit of a waver in the bottom of a box.  Mr. Weasley said that was a good sign of progress.”  He was rather impatient to get started on his tent.

“Ah, but if you can’t make the box stay bigger, what happens?  Best case scenario would be that it ejects the contents, causing a large mess.  Or, it could destroy your box.  Worst case scenario would be that it crushes your contents, destroying everything stored in it.  Including you, if you happen to be inside at the time.”  Harry cringed.

“Not to worry, though.  It won’t be quite as tedious as you’re imagining.  No need to learn the entirety of the curriculum for the next four years first, just a few spells here and there as stepping stones.  It will keep you very busy for the foreseeable future, however.  Between this project and your school work, you might not have much free time.  I can provide a study guide and can give a lesson once every two weeks, and my office hours are always open for questions, of course, but most of your studying will have to be self-directed.”

Harry nodded.  “I know it’ll be difficult and a lot of work.  But this summer was hard too and a lot of work.  It was almost impossible to earn enough to pay rent.  If I don’t have a place to stay, next summer will be even harder.  Short of finding a summer job that pays in room, board, and school supplies, I can’t think of a better option.”

“Neither can I, off the top of my head.  I’ll put some thought into it, of course, but your plan is workable, at least.  And with the portability of a tent, you can be a lot more flexible than if you were renting a property.  You could even, if you manage to get a stockpile of food and money built up, even travel a bit at very low cost and take a proper holiday.”  Harry grinned at that suggestion.  He’d read about that sort of thing in the book about magical backpacking, though it did assume one was an adult who could apparate.  He was looking forward to trying it anyway.  “I do think you can do this.  I just wanted to warn you of the consequences before we started.  Now, you said you’d researched tent construction?  If you bring me a list of spells you think you’ll need, I can use that to determine what would be the best things for you to study first.  If you can make that list tonight and bring it to class tomorrow, I’ll have a study guide for you by Monday.” 

Harry thanked him and left.  He wasn’t entirely happy to have to wait until Monday – he was eager to get started – but there were other things he could work on in the meantime.  He had to sew the tent to begin with and see if he could get more compost from Hagrid for his garden.  He could also get a head start on researching the kitchen appliances he wanted and pollinators for the garden.  He had more than enough to keep him busy for a weekend.

Chapter Text

That Saturday, Harry lingered in the Great Hall after his breakfast.  Professor Sprout had kept him behind class to inform him that she would meet him in the Great Hall after an early breakfast so she could take him to the greenhouse where she had some raised beds similar to the ones in his garden, and she could demonstrate how they worked. 

Breakfast was an unusually boisterous affair that Saturday.  On weekends, without the need to get up on time for classes, many students took the opportunity to sleep in, so breakfasts were usually not as well attended as during the week, especially early in the mornings.  This weekend, however, the Gryffindor Quidditch team was holding tryouts in hopes of finding a good seeker to improve last year’s abysmal performance, so the tables were full of hopeful candidates, the current team, and any potential onlookers all cheerfully discussing various candidates’ chances of gaining a place on the team.

Harry was idly doing some of his homework while listening to an excited Colin Creevey bombard his fellow first years with questions about Quidditch when he heard a businesslike voice say, “Potter!  Good, you’re here.” Harry jumped a little, startled, as Oliver Wood plopped down into the seat beside him.  “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously.  Now, we –” but Wood broke off as Professor Sprout walked up. 

“Are you finished with breakfast, Mr. Potter?  I’m ready when you are,” she said briskly.  Harry nodded, quickly gathered his textbook and stood.

“But you can’t… It’s Quidditch!”  Wood said, sounding shocked.  Harry glanced over, to see him gaping, open mouthed. 

“Good luck with tryouts?” Harry ventured, rather confused.  “I hope you find a seeker.”  Harry started following Professor Sprout out of the hall.

“I hope I’m not disrupting your plans for the morning,” she said, a bit concerned.  “We can reschedule, if you like.  I’m not such a harsh task master that I’d deprive you of playing Quidditch for a year just so I can keep my schedule as planned.”

“No, it’s fine.  I’m not sure what Wood wanted, but I’m not trying out.”  Harry glanced back just before they exited and saw Wood staring at them forlornly. 

“Not a fan of Quidditch?” Professor Sprout asked.

“No, I love Quidditch.  I just don’t own a broom.” 

“That’s a shame.  I’ve always thought Hogwarts ought to have a better collection of school brooms to choose from.  Not top of the line but enough to level the playing field a bit when it comes to Quidditch.  Well, then, this way, Mr. Potter.  We’re out in greenhouse twelve.  What were you planning to grow in this mysterious conservatory of yours?  Longbottom didn’t say.”

They chatted a bit about his plans as she led him to the greenhouse and to some beds in the back which were very similar to the beds in his garden.  Professor Sprout showed Harry how to change the temperature, sunlight, and moisture levels.  She then detailed various tests he ought to perform to ensure they were still functioning properly after years of disuse and recommend a good spell to transfigure leaves or flower petals into butterflies for pollination.

When she’d answered all of his questions, Harry thanked her and left, taking a detour on the way back to the castle to convince Hagrid to trade him labor for some more compost and managed to duck out of sight just when Professor Lockhart was coming into view, then spent the rest of the morning in the library, looking for good references for vegetable gardens to start his planning and grabbing a few additional references for assigned Transfiguration and Potions essays.

On his way out of the library, he was waylaid by the Weasley twins who seemed to appear out of nowhere.  Oddly, they were still wearing their Quidditch gear. 

“Harrikins!  Just the man of the hour!” said the first, enthusiastically.

“Just in time to save the day!” joined in the second.  They each draped an arm around Harry’s shoulder and started guiding him down the hallway. 

Rather suspicious, Harry asked, “What do the two of you want?”

“Do you hear that, Fred?  So untrusting!” the first said.

“We’re hurt!  Absolutely devastated at your lack of faith!” the second told Harry earnestly, then looking back at the first, “Do you think he’s heard of our less than wholesome reputation, Fred?”

“No,” Harry broke in, amused.  “It’s just that I’ve met you before.”

“Oh, well, that’s disappointing,” said the first, managing to sound as if he meant it.  “We’ve been working really hard on our reputation.  Trying to get it properly disrespectable.”

“It would have been nice to know our efforts had paid off.”  By now, Harry could see that their goal seemed to be the Quidditch pitch. 

“Why are we going to the Quidditch pitch?” Harry asked.

“We thought you might like to play a game of Quidditch.”

His twin nodded.  “We’re about to play a quick pick up game.  Most of the house is out at the pitch to cheer us on and the balls are out and all.” 

Harry thought of all of the work he had to do this year.  He really ought to be getting a head start on the tent and testing his garden beds before Professor Flitwick gave him his study schedule.  But then, he contemplated the beautiful weather.  Surely one game couldn’t hurt.  He did have the whole weekend to catch up, after all.  “I suppose.  Just one game, though.”

“Excellent!”  The twin to his left took Harry’s stack of library books and disappeared into the changing room with them, returning in a moment with a broomstick, which he handed to Harry.  “We borrowed this for you, just in case you showed up.”  It was a relatively new Cleansweep, though Harry didn’t know enough about brooms to know which model it was. 

“How’d Ron do on tryouts?” Harry asked as they continued on towards the pitch. 

“Well, he’s not great at the Seeker position so his odds were really low but he never got the chance to try out.  We had a run-in with the Slytherin team on our way out to the pitch.  Now he’s puking up snails in Hagrid’s hut.” 

“They cursed him?” Harry asked in surprise. “Why?”

“No, actually, He cursed them.  Or tried to at least.”  Said the second twin.

“Just our luck that his wand chose that moment to backfire.  Cursed himself, instead of them.  Shame.  Would have been nice to see the Slytherins’ robes full of snail slime.”  They finally rounded the corner onto the pitch itself.  “Here we are, Oliver.  We got him.  Enough for two teams now.”

“Good. Glad to see you escaped your detention,” Wood said rapidly, looking a bit crazed.  “We’ll put you up against McLaggen and see how you do.”

Harry shrugged.  “Okay, I guess.  What position do you want me to play?” 

Oliver looked at him in surprise.  “Seeker, what else are we here for?  Alright everyone, let’s get started!” he called out and quickly organized the people clustered on the pitch into two teams, with both teams having a few Quidditch players and the rest of the positions filled by other Gryffindors.  Cormac McLaggen, the team’s current seeker, was a rather heavyset fellow that looked to be about a year older than Harry.  He’d joined the team the previous year, but he’d yet to catch the snitch in any of the games.

The game started, and Harry flew around doing slow laps like he’d seen the seekers do in the games he’d been to the previous year and enjoyed the spectacle of the game from the vantage point of being within the chaos.  He’d thought the games at the Weasleys’ home had been exciting, but that was nothing compared to a game with actual bludgers and snitches instead of apples.

Harry did a few tentative swoops and dives every once in a while, then when he was more confident in his broom, he did some bolder, faster ones, pulling up later at each one, enjoying how responsive the broom was compared to the school brooms and the Weasleys’ broom.  Finally, about an hour into the match, he’d just dodged a bludger batted at him by one of the twins, when he spotted a glimmer of something metallic down near the ground and automatically dived down, as steeply and quickly as he could.  The snitch moved off as he approached, and Harry pulled out of his dive to chase it, skimming just over the grass.  It took Harry another five minutes of sharp maneuvers and turns to finally catch it, and he held it up triumphantly to a smattering of applause from the stands and his fellow players. 

Harry flew over to Oliver Wood and handed him the snitch.  Wood beamed at him as he took it.  “Well done!  Now, I –”

“Hold on, I want a rematch.  He tricked me with all of those dives.” McLaggen interrupted as he flew over, red faced and puffing a little.

Harry looked at him, a bit bemused.  “I wasn’t trying to trick you.  I just wanted to get used to the broom.  Never flown it before.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wood’s smile get even broader, and in front of him McLaggen’s face got sourer. 

“One more match.”  McLaggen demanded. 

Wood shrugged.  “Why not.”  Then he called the players together and shuffled the teams around but kept both McLaggen and Harry as seekers. 

Harry flew a bit more sedately the second time around, though he couldn’t resist a few dives just for the fun of it.  Oddly, he seemed to have to dodge the bludger twice as often this time around, including a few times after it was hit by the Weasley twins.  “Oy!” he called to them as they flew past.  “Aren’t we on the same team this time around?”

“Are we?” asked one.  “I keep getting confused as to who’s on whose team.”

“We’re just keeping things interesting,” contributed the second.

Harry sighed, grinning, and kept searching for the snitch.  He spotted it a while later, hovering just behind and above McLaggen, and, flying as casually as he could manage, he continued on his route, trying to get closer to the snitch without giving away its position.  When he was past McLaggen and out of his line of sight, he sped up as fast as he could and caught the snitch after a brief chase, to more applause. 

Harry flew back and handed the snitch to Wood, who looked like he’d just received the best present ever.  McLaggen flew up, red faced and a bit angry.  The twins flew down as well.  “Can’t argue it wasn’t fair this time, Cormac.  He caught it twice in a row.  We even aimed at him half the time, instead of at you.”

Harry gave them a little glare.  “I knew you two were doing that on purpose.”  They shrugged, unrepentant. 

Wood nodded decisively.  “Fair’s fair.  Potter, you’re our new seeker.  Practices are Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays at –”

“Wait!” Harry broke in, confused.  “I can’t be on the team.  I don’t own a broom.  I couldn’t have caught the snitch either time with one of the school’s brooms.” 

“Don’t worry about that, Harrikins,” one of the twins said.  “We’ll find you someone you can borrow a broom from.”

“Or McGonagall might buy one for you.  She’s forever complaining that we haven’t won the cup in years,” said the other.

For one brief moment, Harry let himself dream of being on the team and getting to play on a regular basis, then firmly put it out of his mind.  “I don’t think you understand.  I can’t borrow a broom for that long.  It’s not allowed.  I can borrow a broom for a fun game every now and again but not for a whole school year.”

None of them listened to him.  Oliver announced his decision to the rest of the team and the spectators and was met with a round of applause.  “I’m serious,” Harry insisted as the twins took back the broom that they’d borrowed and handed him his books.  “I really can’t borrow a broom.  I’d have to play on a school broom.”  Every time Harry protested, McLaggen’s face got a bit more sour. 

“Let’s go see McGonagall.  Lunch should still be on in the Great Hall.  She’ll get this sorted out, you’ll see.  Quidditch is very important, Potter.  She’ll make it work.”

They all trooped in to the Great Hall and caught Professor McGonagall just as she was leaving.  Once they’d explained the issue to her, she nodded.  “We can get you a broom, Potter.  A Nimbus Two Thousand, at least.”

Oliver chimed in, “Slytherin has all Nimbus Two Thousand Ones, this year.” 

McGonagall’s face grew a little pinched.  “So I’ve heard.  I’ll see what we can do.”

“But, Professor, you can’t just loan me a broom.  It’s against the law,” Harry said, frustrated.  McGonagall surely knew about the debt.  She’d brought it up herself just a few days earlier.

“Nonsense, Mr. Potter.  I won’t be loaning you a broom.  I’ll be loaning the Quidditch team a broom.  It’s quite different.”

Harry was aghast.  He’d read up on the regulations as much as he could after his discussion with Professor Flitwick the previous year and even managed to find one reference in relatively plain English, so he was fairly certain he understood it all.

“You can’t.  If there was a long standing tradition of you buying seekers brooms, it might work.  Or if someone were to buy a set of identical brooms for the entire team or for all four seekers, maybe.  But if you’re buying just the one you’re loaning me, then it’s benefiting me personally, and that’s not allowed.”

“It wouldn’t be you that benefited.  It would be the team.  It would be Gryffindor that benefits.  House cup and Quidditch cup this year, see to it, Wood.”  Wood nodded importantly.

“But I’d be the one using it.  And you didn’t make that decision before I was put onto the team,” Harry insisted.  Really, he didn’t want to insist.  He’d far prefer to say yes and accept a spot on the team.  Playing the games this afternoon had been wonderful.  But he knew that buying him a broom would just get Professor McGonagall in trouble.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said severely, “are you refusing to be on the house’s Quidditch team this year?”

Harry shrank back from the accusative looks he was getting from his house mates.  “I guess I am.  I can get a second opinion, but I’m almost sure I’m right.  If there was a precedent or if the decision about buying or loaning the broom had been announced before tryouts started and everyone who tried out used the same model broom to even their chances, I could have.  But as it stands, the only precedent for this is me being able to use the school brooms.  Those aren’t good enough for Quidditch.  I wish they were.  I’d love to play.”

“If you truly wanted to play, Mr. Potter, you would say yes to playing, not no.”  Her mouth was set in a firm line.  Harry could hear angry mutterings from his house mates clustered behind him.

“If the team obtained a broom for the seeker now when I’m not on the team, that would establish a precedent.  Then I could be on the team next year, if Wood still wants me.”  Harry risked taking a glance at Wood and flinched at his thunderous glare.  “Or, if he doesn’t, it could go to whoever is selected as seeker.”

“McLaggen has a perfectly functioning broom, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall stated.  “He doesn’t need a new one.”

“Doesn’t that show that it’s me you’re buying the broom for, though? Not the team?  Because if it were for the benefit of the team as a whole, you’d do it whether or not I was on the team.  What if there’s someone else who might want to play seeker but doesn’t own a good enough broom so they didn’t try out?”

“It is for the team, Mr. Potter, because we want the team to win.  We want Gryffindor to win.  Both cups.”  She waited for a moment but when Harry didn’t show a sign of wavering, she pursed her lips.  “Very well.  I hope that, one day, you’ll understand the value of having pride in one’s house.”  She stalked off. 

Harry turned to face his almost-teammates and cringed at the glares he was receiving.  Even McLaggen was glaring, despite the fact that Harry’s refusal put him back on the team.  “Sorry, guys.  I’m serious.  I can’t borrow a broom.  No broom means I can’t play.”

“Yes, we heard.  We also heard Professor McGonagall say you could if you wanted to,” Wood stated coldly.  “Quidditch is important.  We could have won the cup this year.”

“You still could, anyway.  Get a run of good luck in games or something?”  McLaggen’s face turned sour again.  “Like I told McGonagall, I’ll get a second opinion, just in case, but isn’t it better to start as you mean to go on?  If I accepted the broom, McLaggen would be kicked off the team, but I’d have to give it back eventually.  Then you’d have to choose between keeping me on the team on a school broom or putting McLaggen back on the team when he’d missed practices.  That would be a waste of all of our times.”

McLaggen glared at him.  “You may think you’re doing me a favor, Potter, but you’re not.  I’m pants at being Seeker.  Everyone knows it.”  A few people nodded.  “I’d much rather be a Keeper, but the team already has a good Keeper and it needs a Seeker.  As bad as I am, everyone else is worse.  It’s just good strategy to have the best Seeker we can get.”

Harry shrugged.  He felt awful, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t.

“Whose opinion is better than McGonagall’s?” a belligerent voice near the back of the crowd asked.

“I was going to ask Professor Flitwick.  He explained some of it to me last year,” Harry admitted, though he knew it wouldn’t be an acceptable answer. 

“He’s the head of Ravenclaw!  He’ll tell you no, just because he wants Ravenclaw to win!”  Harry thought that might have been Katie Brown.

“And McGonagall will tell me yes because she wants Gryffindor to win.”  Harry shrugged.  “I’m really sorry.”  Harry squared his shoulders and turned to go into the Great Hall.  Lunch was just about to finish, and everyone who’d been at the Quidditch pitch rushed to grab some of the food before it vanished.  Knowing he’d not dare show his face for dinner, Harry grabbed a plate, heaped it as high as he could manage, then rushed out of the hall while the rest of the Quidditch crowd was still hurrying to serve themselves.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he wasn’t followed out of the hall and made a beeline to his garden before anyone could catch up.

Harry found it rather depressing to have to argue so hard against doing something that he really did want to do very badly.  Despite that, he spent a mostly productive afternoon, working on his homework, plotting out the garden, doing some of the tests on the beds that Professor Sprout had recommended, and trying not to feel too sorry for himself.  The second set of text books he’d already brought up to his garden came in very handy, as he imagined he’d get a rather chilly reception if he ventured into Gryffindor tower that day.

Mr. Tufty showed up at some point in the afternoon and kept him company while he worked, which had been welcome.  The hours slowly passed, and Harry deliberately overstayed curfew, hoping that the crowd in the common room would thin out a bit by the time he returned.  Finally, at half past eleven, he decided that it was as safe as it was going to get, short of hiding all night.  Leaving his lunch plate, texts, and homework to deal with the next day, he cautiously descended from his garden, escorted by Mr. Tufty.

As he was nearing the Gryffindor common room, he suddenly heard a strange, chilling voice.  "Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"  The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck rose.  The voice sounded rather distant, quiet.

Harry looked down at Mr. Tufty, but he seemed unbothered by the voice.  Hoping he wasn’t making a large mistake, Harry decided to investigate.  Trying to move as silently as possible, he moved down the corridor, heading back towards the central stairway.

“… Rip… tear… kill…”  The voice was louder here and echoed oddly up the open stairwell.  Beside him, Mr. Tufty started hissing threateningly.  Harry could just barely make him out in the dim lighting.  Mr. Tufty’s hackles were raised.  Harry started to take another step forward, but Mr. Tufty blocked his way and refused to move.  Unnerved, Harry stopped and contemplated his next move.  He knew where Professor Flitwick’s quarters were now, but getting there would require crossing the stairwell area which, judging by Mr. Tufty’s reaction, wasn’t safe.  That left finding a prefect or Professor McGonagall.  The easiest way to find McGonagall would be to ask a prefect.

Decision made, Harry turned to leave.  And ran right into Professor McGonagall.

“Mr. Potter!” she said severely.  “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?”

Still unnerved by the strange voice, he replied, as quietly as possible. “Professor!  I was just coming to look for you.  That voice…”  He trailed off, listening to a last few echoes, and then it was silent again.  “What was that voice?” 

“Voice?  The only voice I heard was your cat’s hissing at you.  And it’s rather too much for me to believe that you were just coming to look for me, right as I found you.  Now, what are you doing out of the tower this time of night?”  Professor McGonagall lit her wand, showing her pinched expression. 

“You didn’t hear it?  It was loud and echoing, just now,” Harry stammered.  “Mr. Tufty thought it was dangerous, too.”  But when he looked down, Mr. Tufty no longer had his hackles raised though he still very tense. 

Professor McGonagall looked down as well, and when she looked back up at Harry, her lips were pressed in a fine line.  “All I see and hear is you, skulking down the corridor in the middle of the night, long past curfew.  Come along.”  Heart sinking, he followed her as she led him down the hallway, back towards to her office.  Letting them in, she lit the candles and the fireplace with a wave of her wand. 
“Now, explain yourself,” she said severely.  “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?  And no more nonsense about voices that don’t exist.”

“But it did exist!” Harry insisted.  “Didn’t you hear it? You were right next to me!” 

“I heard nothing.  Try another story, Mr. Potter.  Perhaps the truth, this time.”  She glared at him.  Astonished, Harry stared at her.  “I’m waiting, Mr. Potter.”

“I was just… I’d been upstairs studying, when I realized I’d missed curfew.  I was heading back to the dorms.  I was near the tower when I heard a voice.  I followed it back to the stairwell, but Mr. Tufty didn’t think it was safe to go further.  I was just going to head back to the tower to find a prefect to fetch you.  That’s the truth, I swear!”  Harry looked at her desperately.  “Aren’t you going to go find out who was talking?  The voice was saying it wanted to rip and kill people!”

“The only thing I think I’ll find tonight is a rule breaker spinning stories to help himself out of trouble,” McGonagall said archly.  “If you were studying, where are your books?  It’s nearly midnight.  It took you this long to realize you’d missed curfew?  When I found you, you were nowhere near the tower, nor were you coming to find me.  You were skulking around in the stairwell.”

“It’s the truth, I swear,” Harry said weakly. 

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out.  You used the same studying excuse last year, and it worked.  So, this year, when you’re caught up to some mischief, you decide to try the excuse again but with some embellishment to account for where you were found.  I suppose you think I’ll go rushing off to investigate this non-existent voice and forget to take points or assign detention?” 

“You had to have heard it.  You were right there,” Harry said pleadingly.  “I swear, someone was talking about killing people.”

McGonagall’s voice got harder.  “What utter rubbish!  Two detentions, Mr. Potter, and twenty points.  The only reason I’m not taking more is because Gryffindor doesn’t have more than twenty points at the moment.  After our conversation this afternoon, I have a feeling I care far more about Gryffindor’s rankings than you do.”  Harry’s heart sank.  At least it was better than the fifty he’d lost last year, but it still wouldn’t be easily forgiven.

“Now, back to the common room.  March!  And if I catch you out after curfew again any time soon, you won’t like the consequences.” 

Professor McGonagall marched him back to the common room and waited as he entered.  Looking around, he was relieved to see that it was nearly empty.  At least that part of his night had worked out as planned.  But it took him a very long time to fall asleep that night. 

Chapter Text

The first two months of the year passed torturously slowly for Harry.  The Gryffindors, who had just started to thaw towards him at the end of the previous year, viewed his refusal to join the Quidditch team combined with a large point loss the same day as a double betrayal of the house and were alternating between glaring at him and pretending that he didn’t exist.  Even Neville, who was the closest Harry could come to claiming to have a friend, was shunning him.

The one exception to this was Colin Creevey who seemed to be almost as fascinated by Quidditch as he was by Neville Longbottom.  At least once or twice a week, Creevey would approach him and badger him with questions about why he wouldn’t join the Quidditch team.

Harry, knowing he was Muggle-born, tried to explain some of the laws regarding debtors without dwelling too much on his family’s particular situation, but Creevey would only come back the next time with a statement starting “Oliver Wood says…” and begin the conversation all over again.  Frustrated, Harry was rather short with him.  When that didn’t work, he started being outright rude.

Unfortunately, statements like “I’m busy, go ask someone else,” and “Go away,” and “You didn’t believe me the first time, so why should I bother telling you again?” did absolutely nothing to drive Creevey away.

In hopes of repairing his friendship with Neville, Harry had located the most helpful book about debts that he’d found last year – the one written in relatively plain English – and bookmarked the passages relating to needing a precedent for any gifts or services given to an indebted person unless one wanted to be considered a benefactor and bookmarked a couple more passages about the consequences of being a benefactor, then slid the book in front of Hermione when she was studying in the library one weekend.

Frowning, she took it.  Harry retreated to a nearby table and watched her out of the corner of his eye.  After half an hour or so, Hermione left her table and returned a few minutes later with several of the denser legal books he hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of the previous year.  Harry left her to her reading and focused on his own studying.

A couple hours later, Hermione joined Harry at his table.  She was still frowning.  “I can see where you’re coming from.  This book, especially,” she pointed to the one in simple English, “does make it seem as if what Professor McGonagall wants to do isn’t exactly… Well, it doesn’t seem sustainable.  Maybe we’re not interpreting this correctly.  It’s Professor McGonagall, after all.  She must know what she’s doing.”  Every Gryffindor in their year knew McGonagall was Hermione’s favorite professor. 

Harry shrugged.  “The only precedent I can see is her long term fanaticism about Quidditch, and I don’t think that’s enough.  Professor Flitwick agrees with me.” Hermione looked rather scandalized at the idea of anyone daring to disagree with Professor McGonagall.  “If she were known to have done it before or if someone bought more than just one broom – a set for the entire Gryffindor team or for all four seekers – then it would be okay since more than just me benefited.  Or if they could find it in the budget to replace half a dozen or a dozen of the school brooms, I could use one of those.”

“I’m sure Professor McGonagall has a plan to make it seem like there’s a precedent,” Hermione argued. 

“I know Ron wanted to try out this year.  He’s only got a Shooting Star older than the twins’ Cleansweeps.  Would he have been able to play matches with that?  Against the Slytherins’ Nimbus Two Thousand Ones?  What if Ginny wants to play next year?  Her broom is even older.  Wouldn’t a few good school brooms be better in the long run?  Even the twins would benefit from better brooms.”  Harry argued back, then shrugged.  “It would have been nice if I could have played.  Quidditch is a lot of fun, but I just can’t this year.  Maybe next year.  Besides, I’ve got a lot going on this year.  I’m not sure I would have the time to play, even if I owned a broom.”

Hermione frowned.  “What are you doing that’s more important than supporting Gryffindor?”

“Like I said on the train, I’m going to learn the Undetectable Extension Charm this year.  It’s NEWT level, so it’ll take me a lot of time.”

“You can’t learn that, Harry.  It’s far too advanced.  It’ll just waste your time.”  Hermione’s voice rose a bit too much, and they got a glare from Madam Pince for disturbing the sacred quiet of the library.

“It’s my time to waste,” Harry returned evenly.  “Look, can you at least tell Neville that I have reason to believe what I say?  Even if you think I’m wrong.  That’d help a lot.”  Hermione nodded grudgingly.  “Thanks.”  Harry packed up his studying materials and retreated.

After that afternoon, Harry did notice a bit of thawing in Neville’s attitude towards him, though Neville never said much at all to him.  It made sense, in a way.  Neville was very good friends with Ron and only a bit more than casual acquaintances with Harry, so in any fight, he was honor bound to take Ron’s side.

For once, the other houses didn’t seem to share the Gryffindors’ opinion.  Most were completely indifferent to the drama. 

He got a few smirks from Slytherins and some sympathetic looks from random Hufflepuffs.  He’d even gotten a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder from Cedric Diggory.

The Ravenclaws, though, seemed to have heard that he was trusting Professor Flitwick’s interpretation of the law over Professor McGonagall’s.  Since they revered Flitwick as much as the Gryffindors revered McGonagall, they were highly impressed with Harry’s good judgment. 

For a small segment of Ravenclaws, Harry even seemed to be a bit of a folk hero for managing to get expelled from Lockhart’s class on the first day.

Harry spent the first few of what should have been his Defense class periods in the library, reading Lockhart’s books.  Despite Professor Lockhart’s lack of an ability to write quizzes or give proper homework assignments, his books were impressively good tales.  They were horrible from a textbook perspective since they usually only vaguely mentioned spells and their effects rather than giving detailed instructions on how and when to cast it, but from a travelogue or adventure story perspective, Harry loved them.  He just wished Lockhart’s teaching skills had lived up to his writing skills.  He hadn’t been impressed with the homework Lockhart had assigned so far nor with the comments he’d overheard people make about the classes themselves.

In Voyages with Vampires, Harry read a rather strange and silly anecdote where Lockhart claimed to have distracted a hunger-mad vampire by smiling at him.  The vampire had recognized his bright smile from the Witch Weekly coverage of their Most-Charming-Smile Award, and they spent the rest of the night trading dental hygiene tips.  It seemed the vampire was developing cavities in his fangs from eating too many “sweet young things.”  No wonder Lockhart had been so irritated at Harry’s cheeky remark! 

One afternoon a few weeks into the school year, Harry was joined at his study table in the library by a group of three older Ravenclaws.

“Tell us your secret, Potter,” one of them ordered.

“My secret?” Harry asked, confused. 

“How’d you get out of Defense class?  And on the first day too!”  The second boy sounded admiring.  “We’ve been trying all month, and he still hasn’t kicked us out yet.”

“Bloody waste of time.  We could be studying for our OWLs, but no.  We have to listen to him drone on about his adventures.”  The third boy sounded rather bitter and spat out “adventures” like it was a foul word.  No one would ever mistake him for a Gryffindor with that attitude.

“I’m not sure I should say,” Harry said slowly.  “Professor Flitwick said he didn’t want me to inspire any copycats.”

“Professor Flitwick always says that.  He has to; he’s a professor.  He doesn’t actually care.  Not if the teacher’s no good.”  Harry had to admit to himself that this seemed to be true.  “Look, we’ll give you a copy of our notes from Defense for the first four years if you tell us.  We had a good professor for our second year.  Ex-Auror named Slough.  Damned shame when she got eaten by a grue.”

Harry was tempted.  He hadn’t actually promised Flitwick, after all, or agreed with him, even implicitly.  He did need a set of notes he could use to study from.  He wasn’t likely to get a good set from a Gryffindor at this point.  Percy had just directed him back to Ron and Hermione whose notes would only be as useful as Lockhart’s lectures were and the rest were still angry about the Quidditch team and lost house points.

“Okay,” Harry conceded.  He got up and fetched Voyages with Vampires from the shelves reserved for copies of class textbooks.  “So, I said that I didn’t think a hungry vampire would care if he won Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile award four times.  Read this.”  Harry flipped through the book to the anecdote about the vampire with cavities and handed it to the trio who bent over it studiously.

“Ah!  I see!” said the first one, sounding rather impressed.

“So, if we change our approach a bit.  Point out the illogic in his own books and lectures…” the third trailed off. 

“The points where his stories don’t match reality,” continued the first.  “Should be easy.  There’s plenty of completely impossible stories he tells.  The Homorphus Charm, for instance.  Won’t do a thing to werewolves.  That was proven back in the 1700s.”

“Add in a slight to his vanity and boom!  No more defense!”  The second sounded absolutely delighted by the prospect.

“Wonder if we could make this a house project?” the third wondered.  “Get all the years involved.  In the research, at least.  For those who actually like Lockhart,” he sounded a bit baffled by the concept of someone actually liking Lockhart, “we could frame it as proving his methods to be valid alternatives to the commonly accepted practices.”

“Even OWL or NEWT review,” said the first.  “We’re going to have to go over everything we know about vampires and werewolves and banshees and all of these spells to support our conclusions.”

“Get enough of these sorts of things, we might manage to get rid of him altogether, not just get ourselves a free period.”

“Thanks, Potter,” said the third, “Here’s your notes.”  He dropped a thick stack of parchment on Harry’s table and the group drifted away, muttering back and forth about proper research and documentation methods for a project of that magnitude.

Idly, Harry wondered if Professor Flitwick would forgive him for inadvertently starting a conspiracy to oust a Hogwarts professor, even if that Professor was as useless as Lockhart.

Though Harry’s relations with other houses seemed better than ever before, since he had to spend most of the day with Gryffindors, their ire was tiresome.

Harry had renewed his habit of grabbing portable breakfasts and lunches and either took extra food at lunch or brought a transfigured plate to use for his dinner so he wouldn’t have to sneak down to the great hall to return it.  The last thing he needed was to lose another fifty points due to a dirty dinner plate.

The utter lack of socializing with his house and the lack of a Defense class freed up a lot of time for studying and gardening, and Harry was making good progress on both. 

He’d gotten compost from Hagrid, harvested a few branches and saplings from the verge of the Forbidden Forest to use as poles, and made his first plantings.  He already had sowed broccoli, runner beans, garbanzo beans, black beans, tomatoes, peas, and sweet corn, with spinach due to be planted in a couple of weeks.  The corn would have to be hand-pollinated since they were indoors and there was no wind to carry the pollen, but he thought he could figure it out after a year of Herbology classes.  Everything else should pollinate just fine as long as he kept transfiguring butterflies out of leaves.  He’d tried to time all of the fresh the vegetables so that they’d mature to harvesting size near the start of the Christmas break and filled in some of the remaining beds with quinoa and buckwheat.  He’d also added chili peppers, lavender and chamomile to his herb garden to expand his options for teas and spices. 

Harry was rather unsure about the quinoa and buckwheat, but he’d allowed Heloise from the herb shop in Diagon Alley to talk him into trying them.  He’d never eaten quinoa – the Dursleys hadn’t liked many “foreign” foods and it was too exotic for their tastes – but he’d reasoned that a rice substitute would expand what he’d be able to cook and Heloise had advised that any extra buckwheat seeds beyond what he’d want to grind for flour or groats for porridge could be used for growing green manure.  He didn’t mind mucking out the thestrals’ stable to get compost from Hagrid, but if it worked, this would be a good supplemental method.

Once he finished with Lockhart’s books, he turned to studying his two defense textbooks using the Ravenclaw’s class notes and OWL study books as a guide to what to learn.  According to both, the focus of the second year was supposed to be jinxes and anti-jinxes, not vampires, hags or yetis.  Limited on how much he could practice alone, Harry supplemented his repertoire with the more useful sounding spells from his book on outdoor survival skills.

The lesson plans drawn up by Professor Flitwick turned out to be demanding but very interesting.  Flitwick had interspersed theory heavy reading with learning several charms each that applied that theory.  The spells were getting progressively harder as Harry went along, but they never seemed so difficult as to be impossible to learn, though it did take plenty of time and effort.

If Harry kept up with the lesson plans, he’d be starting some spells with permanent effects by Christmas, though he still had a few lessons to go between that point and the Extension Charms.  But though he wasn’t to that level yet, he was already seeing the benefits of his studying in the charms he was learning in classes.  His charms were getting stronger and lasting longer than they had at the first of the school year.  He even thought he saw a slight improvement in his transfiguration work.  He’d started transfiguring a batch of butterflies in his garden every morning and afternoon, and they did seem to be lasting longer each week.

The unfortunate side effect to all of this studying is that his time for reading for pleasure had drastically decreased.  He’d even had to return multiple novels to the library unread which was practically unheard of for him.  Each time he had to return another, he resented the Dursleys a little bit more.

One highlight of that time was that a few of his parents’ acquaintances had written him back.  He’d sent them all a thank you note for their stories, and for a few who seemed like they might have known his father better, he’d asked if they knew where the family property might be.

Many of the acquaintances had written back with a few more anecdotes, though some of his father’s tricks didn’t seem quite so amusing to Harry as they seemed to the classmates who’d witnessed them.  Of the ones he’d asked about property, only one knew. 

The Potters had a townhouse in a rather fashionable area of London.  I believe it was bought after your grandfather made his fortune with Sleakeasy.  It burnt down shortly after your grandparents died, and your father sold the property to a Muggle investor who wanted to build condos.  I never heard him mention another property anywhere, though it might exist.

Harry thought that was rather strange.  A magical house burning down?  Weren’t there usually charms to prevent that sort of thing?  Unless it was some sort of attack during the war or a magical fire of some sort. 

Why would anyone sell property if they weren’t forced to?  Though Harry supposed a burnt down townhouse in London probably wasn’t terribly useful.  It wasn’t an acre, after all.  Harry wondered where the Potters had lived before they’d moved to London.  Where did his great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents grow up?  Was that property still in the family?  Other than a deed search that would cost far more than he could afford, Harry had no idea how to find it and no proof it even existed other than his general understanding that no real witch or wizard ever sold his or her last acre of land.

For more disappointing correspondence, Harry had sent a letter to the Ministry office in charge of handling debtors and asked if he could get a total remaining balance to be paid and the date it would reach the Statute of Limitations.   The response had directed him to the estate’s executor, who received quarterly invoices.  When Harry wrote back that he wasn’t sure he had an executor, they merely offered to send him a duplicate copy of the invoice for a fee and included a pamphlet on the process to appoint new executors which, of course, came with hefty fees for research and court costs.  Frustrated, Harry gave up.  He’d need a duplicate invoice at some point, but the mere three knuts he had left from the summer couldn’t cover the cost.

He’d also sent an application to the contacts Mr. Weasley had given him to try to obtain a Wand Waiver so he’d be able to use his wand in the summer time.  Mr. Weasley had warned him to not expect to get one until after he passed his OWLs and perhaps not even then, so he wasn’t surprised to receive a rejection.  But he was rather surprised to receive an accompanying note offering to reconsider the application if he could find adequate reasoning for them to do so.  Reading between the lines, Harry realized their “adequate reasoning” probably had more to do with personal benefits to them than the needs of the person applying for the waiver.  Having neither gallons for a bribe nor blackmail material, Harry was forced to give up on his Wand Waiver until after he passed his OWLs.

Life in Gryffindor tower remained rather chilly over the months.  None of the boys in his dorm were speaking to him, though Neville had seemed close to it several times before one of the others distracted him with a game of chess or a request for help on homework.  Harry left the tower soon after rising in the morning, returned briefly a couple of times throughout the day to trade out text books or supplies for class, and then absented himself entirely from the time his last class was out until as close to curfew as he could manage, upon which he went straight to the dorm to study more, rather than studying in the common room as he sometimes used to.  The other second year boys tended to stay down in the common room while he was in the dorm, returning only to sleep.

Hermione would have been willing to talk to him on occasion, Harry was sure, but since he didn’t feel like arguing about the Extension Charm or the Dursleys yet again, they really didn’t have much to say to each other.  But she could at least be counted on to give him his homework assignment from Lockhart, even if her notes were worthless.

The only interaction Harry had with any of the other second years, other than group work during classes, was fights with Ron about their familiars.  Despite all of Harry’s efforts, Mr. Tufty continued to attack Scabbers leading Ron to mutter about murderous familiars whenever he saw the half-kneazle.  Unfortunately, the attacks had escalated since the prior year.  Before, Scabbers had shown up with scratches once or twice a month, mostly in the day but with an occasional nighttime attack.  Now, he was showing up with new scratches at least once a week and as often at night as during the day.

Harry had tried several more spells that Mr. Weasley had suggested to keep Scabbers confined to Ron’s side of the room, and, though Harry spent as little time in the dorm as possible, he’d seen Scabbers ignore every single one of them. 

Mrs. Figg had sent a worried letter with the suggestion of a Soft Paws spell that would keep any cat or kneazle’s claws from being extended while in the confines of the dorm but would have no effect while they were outside of it.  To make sure Ron would accept that the spell had been cast properly, he’d enlisted the help of Percy again, who was just as attached to Scabbers as Ron was and was just as irate with Mr. Tufty.  This was the last suggestion that anyone had had. 

Unfortunately, though this slowed the attacks, especially the daytime attacks, it didn’t stop them.  Harry had had to get Professor McGonagall’s approval to apply the Soft Paws spell to the entire Gryffindor tower, rather than just their dorm room.  If this didn’t work and Ron continued to refuse to confine Scabbers, Harry would have no choice but to bar Mr. Tufty from the dorm room entirely and possibly the tower.  Though the worst injuries Scabbers had ever suffered were shallow scratches on his stomach, it didn’t seem wise to let Mr. Tufty continue.  As much as Harry hated to admit it, Mr. Tufty probably had injured or killed an owl over the summer.  Ron did have a point about him being murderous. 

By the time Halloween rolled around, Harry was stressed from the constant fighting with Ron, the being ignored by all the other Gryffindors, and the constant studying for all of his classes but especially Charms.  Even when he had a bit of free time, he found it hard to relax into a novel like he used to, constantly feeling guilty about wasting time that might be vital to getting his tent ready by summer.

To give himself a break from studying Charms, he spent a while in the library re-locating the more useful books runes books he’d found the previous year, hoping they’d have more solutions for him.  The root vegetables and leafy greens would keep better if they were kept out of the summer heat, not to mention any leftovers he might have.  He needed a portable root cellar, at the very least.  And he’d need a stove of some sort. 

Mr. Tufty, as he’d been doing lately, came and went several times throughout the day, only staying with Harry for brief periods before leaving for longer ones.  Harry didn’t know exactly where Mr. Tufty had been going, but he hoped that his familiar wasn’t holding a grudge about the Soft Paws spell.

Harry spent the afternoon paging through the runes project book and flagging likely looking solutions and didn’t realize that it was approaching evening until the Halloween feast had already started.  Since he wouldn’t want to be there long and didn’t want to attract too much attention by both arriving late and leaving early, he waited a bit longer until the feast was half over before heading down. 

As he got down to the first floor, he heard the same voice that he’d heard the night of the Quidditch tryouts.

“… soo hungry… for so long…”

Harry froze, listening hard.  The voice seemed just as creepy as it had previously and much closer.  Harry looked around but didn’t see anything. “… Kill… time to kill…”  The voice passed him and was now moving upwards and growing fainter.  Harry stared up though the stairwell, but it was still completely empty. “… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!"

Making a quick decision, Harry turned and ran after the voice.  He followed it up to the second floor, then listened again for a moment before choosing a corridor.  He hurtled down the deserted corridor, made another turn, and stopped suddenly, seeing a glint of red on the wall where someone had written “THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.”  Harry slowly drew closer, nearly slipping on the wet floor, and saw a shadow hanging from one of the torch brackets.  A feline.  For a single, horrified moment, Harry thought it was Mr. Tufty, before he realized it was Mrs. Norris.

Harry was just reaching out to touch her when he heard voices behind him as students flooded into the hallway.

Half an hour later, Harry sat in Professor Lockhart’s office, listening to Mr. Filch cry over his cat while Professor Dumbledore examined her.  He tried to tune out Professor Lockhart’s pompous nattering as much as he could.

Eventually, Harry was able to sigh in relief as Professor Dumbledore declared that a second year could not have petrified Mrs. Norris. 

Mr. Filch, however, disagreed.  “He did it, he did it!” Filch spat, his face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall!  And I’ve heard the rumors – the ones about reading fantasy novels.”  Filch spat out the word “fantasy” like it was a vulgar term.  “He must know by now that I’m a Squib!” he finished.

Harry was surprised.  Filch?  A Squib?

“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry said loudly, uncomfortable under all the scrutiny.  “Mr. Filch, you know I’ve always liked her.  We’ve talked about it before.  She’s litter mates with Mr. Tufty!  And I had no idea you’re a Squib, but that’s really none of my business.”

“Rubbish!” snarled Filch. “All the Gryffindors know.  That Quidditch team of theirs has been gossiping about my Kwikspell letter for weeks.

“Kwikspell letter?”  Harry asked bemused.  “I don’t even know what that is.  I haven’t spoken to any of the Gryffindors since the Quidditch tryouts, other than in classes.  I haven’t heard any gossip.  Even if I did, I don’t have any problem with Squibs.  You know I’m friends with Mrs. Figg.”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

“Potter may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?”

They all turned to look at Harry.  Harry glanced at McGonagall with a heavy heart.  If she hadn’t believed him the night of the tryouts, she certainly wouldn’t believe him tonight. 

“I was upstairs studying and missed the feast starting.  I was just heading down to try to catch the end of the feast when –”

“Not this rubbish, again,” Professor McGonagall cut him off.  “Last time you used that tale you were on your way to the Gryffindor common room after studying until midnight.  Without books.  And nowhere near the common room.  And here you are, nowhere near the feast you claimed you were heading towards, miraculously without your books, yet again.  I suppose you were following strange voices again too?”

“I… yes,” Harry said lamely.  “I was headed down to the feast when I heard the voice again and followed it.”

“Well. I think I can clear up part of this.  He has no books to study with.  He was not on his way to the location he claimed to be heading.  The voice he claims he heard doesn’t exist.  There is no voice.  I heard no voice that night and I doubt there was one tonight either.”  Professor McGonagall’s face was furious, while Professor Snape’s was delighted.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” Snape said. “Perhaps nightly detentions until he deigns to tell us what he was really doing in that corridor.”  Professor McGonagall looked to be on the verge of agreeing with him.

“But I am telling the truth!  I really was studying.  And there was a voice.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a searching look, making Harry feel as if he were under a microscope.  Harry had never been this close to the headmaster before and found the experience rather unnerving.  "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said finally.

Harry sagged in relief as Filch, Snape, and McGonagall all started arguing with him, talking over each other in their haste to voice their opinion on the likelihood of his innocence. 

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry.  Harry fled the room, desperate to escape before the headmaster changed his mind.  It was already nearing midnight, so Harry reluctantly made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. 

Despite the late hour, the common room was packed, and it went dead silent as Harry entered the room.  Harry quickly crossed to the stairway leading to the boys’ dorms and as soon as he was out of sight, he could hear the chatter start up again, louder than usual.  He wearily climbed up to the second year’s dorm and found it completely empty.  It was normal for the other boys to not be in the room until they were ready to go to bed, but he hadn’t seen Mr. Tufty in hours.  Mr. Tufty always slept in the room with him or at least started the night with him.  Mr. Tufty often left to roam the common room in the wee hours of the morning.  Sometimes he’d be back on Harry’s bed by the time he got up.  Other times he’d wait for him downstairs.  But he always started off the night in the dorm.

“Mr. Tufty?” Nothing moved.  Harry started looking under the beds and in out of the way corners, but found nothing. He was just about to head back down to the common room to look there when the dorm room opened and Dean and Seamus came in. 

“How’d you do it?” Dean said nastily.

“I didn’t,” Harry said shortly.  “Have you seen Mr. Tufty tonight?”

Seamus shrugged.  “Not our job to keep up with your cat.  Seriously, how’d you do it?”

“Seriously.  I didn’t.”  Harry brushed by them and headed downstairs.  When he stepped into the common room, it took a minute to go silent again.  “Has anyone seen Mr. Tufty tonight?  My cat?  Grey, with big ear tufts.”  Everyone glanced at each other but no one said anything.  Harry crossed to the portrait entrance and opened it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Percy Weasley said importantly.  “It’s after curfew.”

“I’m not going anywhere.  I just wanted to see if Mr. Tufty was waiting outside.”  Harry gazed up and down the corridor but didn’t see anything.  After a moment, Harry pulled his head back into the common room and shut the door.  “If anyone does see him or hear him, let me know.  Please.”  Harry headed back up the stairs to the dorms. 

Harry got ready for bed and lay down, but he was too worried about Mr. Tufty to fall asleep.  Mr. Tufty was friends with Mrs. Norris. They didn’t generally spend much time together.  They merely greeted each other for a few minutes then went on their separate ways.  But… what if?  What could happen to one half-kneazle could easily happen to another.  Harry laid there for an hour and listened to his roommates as they went to bed before worry drove him to get up and check the corridor again.  Nothing.  He called softly and, for good measure, looked around the common room.  Nothing. 

Suddenly, Harry thought of the spell from Our Happy Homestead that he’d given to Neville to find Trevor.  His book was up in the garden.  Briefly, he thought of waking Neville to ask him to cast the spell, but since it was so late, he decided against it.  It wasn’t like he’d be able to follow it anyway with curfew in effect.

Harry paced for a while, then fetched his set of Charms texts and paged through them idly, marking the pages of the more useful sounding spells to review later when he could concentrate more.  With all of the studying he’d been doing in charms, he was sure that even some of the fifth year charms would be within his reach by Christmas.  But Harry often caught himself staring off into space, worrying rather than reading.

At one point, he heard a quiet scuffling noise and looked up to see Scabbers emerge from the stairwell up to the boys’ dorms.  Harry scoffed a bit.  Apparently, Scabbers wandered around far more than they’d ever guessed.  No wonder a Soft Paws spell on the dorm room alone hadn’t helped!  Scabbers froze at Harry’s snort, then quickly scampered back up the stairs. 

As soon as morning arrived and curfew was over, Harry returned the Charms books to his trunk and headed for his garden.  Luckily, there were no classes on Sundays, so he had the full day to find Mr. Tufty and catch up on his sleep.  Harry quickly flipped through Our Happy Homestead, located the pet-finding spell, and cast it.  Harry saw a flash of blue light, but, unlike the times he’d seen the prefects or Neville perform the spell, it flickered out instead of forming a line.  Harry frowned and tried again, with the same result.  He was almost certain he’d done the spell right.  He’d seen it cast many times by now, with how much Trevor loved to escape.  Heart sinking, Harry decided to search himself rather than relying on the spell.  Surely, it couldn’t mean what he thought it meant.  Perhaps Mr. Tufty was just too far away for it to work, or perhaps it didn’t work on half-kneazles.  After all, there were plenty of spells that were supposed to work on rats that had no effect on Scabbers.

He started in his garden and worked his way down, checking all of the places he’d ever seen Mr. Tufty frequent but found no sign of him anywhere.  Harry re-tried the lost pet spell at random intervals, hoping that it was perhaps just limited by distance but always got the same discouraging lack of a result.  Harry skipped the second floor and continued working his way downwards to the dungeons, stopped briefly in the Great Hall to grab a rather large breakfast he could eat as he walked, ignoring the whispers and stares he was receiving, then continued on to all of Mr. Tufty’s favorite sunning spots outside. 

Mr. Tufty wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  And though Hogwarts was far, far larger than anyone could search in a day, he’d searched everywhere he could remember ever seeing Mr. Tufty take an interest in.  Hopefully, Harry headed back upstairs to check the dormitory and the garden one more time, but Mr. Tufty hadn’t returned to either of those places.  Heart sinking, Harry returned to the second floor and quickly checked the one or two places he thought most likely, then went to the corridor he’d found Mrs. Norris in.  He stopped and stared for a moment at the writing on the wall.  Heir of what?  And what secret chamber?  Hogwarts had a lot of secrets. Harry himself had spent weeks exploring the previous year and had barely just scratched the surface.

“I see you’ve returned to admire your handiwork,” a low, vicious voice said behind him.  Harry spun around to see Filch staring at him with red eyes and a twisted expression on his face.  “I’ll catch you at it again, and you’ll wish you were just expelled.  I’ll see you hung.  Flogged.  Drawn and quartered.  It’ll be better than what you deserve for what you did to my poor Mrs. Norris!”  Mr. Filch broke down into heaving sobs. 

“Mr. Filch, I’m really sorry about what happened to Mrs. Norris,” Harry started awkwardly.  “I’m looking for Mr. Tufty.  I haven’t seen him since early yesterday evening, and I’m worried.”

Between sobs, Mr. Filch gasped out, “A likely story.  If you’ve been worried, why are you only starting to look now?”

It was, by now, mid-morning.  “I’ve been looking since curfew was lifted.  I was just saving the second floor for last.”

“Drawn and quartered, Potter.  Hung!”  With one last sob, he turned away. 

“If you see Mr. Tufty, will you please let me know?” Harry said pleadingly.  But Filch continued onward, ignoring him.  Harry sighed and began searching the second floor quickly, peeking his head into every classroom and broom cupboard.  Finding nothing, he returned back to the writing and started over, this time thoroughly and methodically entering every room, opening every cupboard, and searching under and behind every piece of furniture.  He searched for hours, stopping only briefly to go down to retrieve few sandwiches and snacks from the Great Hall.  Eating one, he saved the rest for dinner.  Judging by the stares and glares he’d been getting all morning, he would likely be happier eating dinner alone.  Or with Mr. Tufty.  Though Harry didn’t have much hope of that. 

In the late afternoon, Harry finally found Mr. Tufty, stiff and silent, in the back corner of a cabinet in a long abandoned Transfiguration classroom, almost invisible behind boxes of buttons and matches.  Harry cried for a little bit, then, with red eyes, he carried Mr. Tufty to Madam Pomfrey.  Miraculously, he didn’t see anyone in the halls on the way.

The hospital wing was quiet when he got there, and Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office.  “Mr. Potter, what can I do for…” She trailed off when she saw Mr. Tufty.  “What on earth?” she said, then hurried over.

“I found him like this, petrified, up on the second floor.  Please, Madam Pomfrey, I wasn’t sure where to take him.  Where did they take Mrs. Norris last night?”  Harry pleaded. 

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be at a loss for words as she touched Mr. Tufty softly.  Eventually, she ordered, “Wait right here, Mr. Potter,” and hurried back to her office.  A minute later, she returned.  “The headmaster will be here soon.”  She took Mr. Tufty from him and placed him on a small table, directing Harry to take a seat on a nearby chair as they waited.

Eventually, Professor Dumbledore swept in, followed by Professor Snape.  “Poppy, where is our latest victim?” he said gravely.  She gestured to where Mr. Tufty lay on the table.  Professor Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened when he saw Harry,

Harry shifted uncomfortably under Professor Snape’s glare as they waited for Professor Dumbledore to finish examining Mr. Tufty.  “Tell me, Mr. Potter, how did you come across this cat?”

“It’s Mr. Tufty.  He never came to the dorm last night, so I was worried.  When curfew was lifted, I left the tower and started looking for him.  I checked all his favorite places first, then started searching the second floor.  I’ve been looking all day.”

“This is your cat?” Professor Dumbledore asked.  Harry nodded.

Snape made a show of examining a clock on the wall.  “Do you mean us to believe that you’ve been searching for your cat for over ten hours?  Alone?”  Harry nodded.  “And it never occurred to you to, perhaps, ask a prefect or a teacher for help?”

Harry blinked.  It hadn’t.  “Well, no.  I mean, I asked in the common room last night, and no one had seen him and none of the prefects offered to help.  But this morning, I left the tower before anyone else was awake.  I asked Mr. Filch when I saw him this morning, but all he said was that he wanted to see me hung.  Or drawn and quartered.  Or both, I’m not sure.”  A brief smirk flickered across Snape’s face.  “I did do a spell, though, to find lost pets, and it didn’t work.  I got the blue light but no direction.  That’s the spell that I’ve seen the prefects use to find Neville’s toad.”

“Which spell is this?” Professor Dumbledore asked.  Harry cast it for him and, like this morning, a blue light flickered and died.  Professor Dumbledore cast it as well, with the same result, then hummed thoughtfully.  “Curious result.  That would have been the first spell I tried as well.  When did you first cast the spell?”

“A little after curfew was lifted.  I didn’t have the book in my dorm with me and don’t have it memorized, so I had to wait to look it up.”

“And when did you last see your cat?”

“Yesterday afternoon, sometime.  I wasn’t really paying much attention to the clock.  He came in and out several times while I was studying.”  Professor Snape scoffed at the idea of Harry studying. 

“And exactly where did you find him?” 

Harry described the room and the cabinet. 

“I believe that was the transfiguration classroom when I attended school,” the headmaster remarked.  Harry boggled a little at the idea of the elderly headmaster ever being a schoolboy.

“A quite unlikely place to find a cat,” Professor Snape sneered.  “We only have his word that’s where the cat was found.”

“It was unlikely.  That’s why it took me ten hours to find him!” Harry shot back hotly.  “Why would I lie about where I found him?”

“You’ve lied about everything else so far.  Obviously, the cat was moved.  Covering your tracks so no one finds your work area?”

“I wouldn’t have hurt Mr. Tufty!  He’s my friend!” Harry said furiously. 

“If you’re as incompetent in petrifying cats as you are in brewing potions, you could easily have made a mistake.  Or perhaps, after being caught in the act last night and hearing that we can cure Mrs. Norris, you thought it worth the cost to divert our suspicions from you,” Professor Snape sneered, looking down his long nose at Harry.

Harry gaped at him.  “I wouldn’t!  I haven’t done anything!  I –”

The headmaster cut him off.  “Enough!”  His stern gaze included both Harry and Snape.”  Now, Mr. Potter, tell us more about the voice you heard.  What was it saying?”  He looked at Harry, expectantly.

“Well, it was saying that it was hungry, that it had been hungry for a long time.  That it was time to kill.”  Harry thought a for a moment.  “The last thing I heard it say was that it smelled blood.  That was right before I followed it to Mrs. Norris.”

“And yet, nothing was killed.  Nothing was eaten.  And there is no blood,” Professor Snape sneered. Professor Dumbledore held up a hand towards him, still focusing on Harry.

“Where were you when you started hearing it?”

“In September, as I was heading down the hall towards the Gryffindor common room.  It was distant, and I followed it back to the main stairwell.  It was echoing up from somewhere below.  This time, I started hearing it about the time I was on the first floor landing.  It was a lot closer sounding, below me, then it passed me, up to the second floor.” 

“You saw nothing in the stairwell?” 

Harry shook his head.  “Nothing at all.  Not until I found Mrs. Norris.”

“So, now this voice that no one else can hear is an invisible voice, as well as a non-existent one?  Really, Potter, your story gets more farfetched with every detail you add,” Professor Snape sneered. 

“I haven’t lied about anything!” Harry exclaimed, then quailed a bit under the headmaster’s steady, knowing gaze.  “Okay,” he admitted sheepishly, “I was lying about studying in September.  I was studying, but I deliberately stayed out past curfew because I didn’t want to go back to the dorms and have a fight about Quidditch.  But the rest of it is true!”

“You really expect us to believe –”

But Professor Dumbledore cut him off.  “Innocent until proven guilty, Severus, as I said last night.”  He sighed.  “If you hear this voice again, please do not follow it, and inform the nearest staff member immediately.”  Harry nodded his agreement.  As much as he wanted to know what had happened to Mr. Tufty, he didn’t want the same to happen to him.

“Professor, will there be enough Mandrake root to cure Mr. Tufty too?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled at him reassuringly.  “Come spring, there will be plenty of Mandrake to spare for two small cats.” 

Harry paled.  Spring!  He hadn’t realized it last night, but Professor Sprout did say that they’d be observing the Mandrakes on and off all year, up until just before finals.  Harry thought of spending the next seven months without Mr. Tufty’s warm company and shuddered.

“Now, it’s getting late.  Mr. Potter, Madam Pomfrey will take excellent care of Mr. Tufty until the draught can be brewed.  Why don’t you go join your peers for dinner and finish any homework you have neglected today while you were searching.”

Harry glanced at Madam Pomfrey who nodded at him reassuringly.  Reluctantly, he slowly left the hospital wing.  Despite his exhaustion, it took Harry a very long time to fall asleep that night.

Chapter Text

Harry had thought the first months of term had passed slowly, but that was nothing compared to the week after Halloween.

He deeply missed Mr. Tufty, both his companionship on and off through the day and his presence at night.  He’d hoped that the half-kneazle’s petrification might convince people that he couldn’t be at fault, but the other students were choosing to ignore it altogether. 

He was used to being ignored or even glared at, but the level of animosity had reached new heights.  He’d seen several Muggle-born students quake in fear as he passed or turn and walk the other way to avoid him.  He’d even overheard a few Gryffindors tell people in other houses, “He’s not a real Gryffindor.  More of a Slytherin, we’ve been saying so since his first night at Hogwarts.  He’s only in our house because he tricked the sorting hat, somehow.”

The only good thing to come out of the week was the book Harry had ordered from the Diagon Alley library regarding the strange and hidden rooms of Hogwarts.  It hadn’t contained more than a paragraph about the Chamber of Secrets – and for once, Harry was grateful to Granger’s persistence for getting the full story out of Binns – but it had contained plenty of other information about the castle.

A few of the chapters detailed the history of some of the unique rooms.  For instance, the room he’d found the previous year that smelled like the sea and sounded like creaking wood had once been the office of a man who’d spent a great many years as a sailor, and the hallway that rotated you upside down was the winning entry in a Charms Club competition.

Other chapters told how to access a number of hidden passageways.  None of them were properly secret of course.  They were all well-known enough to be put into a book found in a public library, after all, but some were useful shortcuts and the ones that weren’t were usually less frequented than the main hallways. 

But the chapter and room that immediately attracted Harry’s attention was the kitchens, tucked away behind a painting of a fruit bowl directly under the Great Hall and staffed by a large contingent of House Elves.  Remembering how friendly and helpful all House Elves had seemed in any book that featured them, Harry easily believed the book’s promise that they were willing to cater to most reasonable requests from students.

With dreams of picnic dinners he could take up to his garden and better avoid the Great Hall’s meal times, Harry ventured down to the kitchens to see if that would be considered a reasonable request.

Contrary to the book’s promises, Hogwarts’s elves seemed a rather unfriendly bunch.  They only grudgingly agreed to pack him a picnic dinner but didn’t seem at all pleased to be doing so.

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience anyone or make any extra work,” Harry said, rather confused.  This was not how elves acted in the novels he’d read.  “Sandwiches or pasties or leftovers from lunch.  Whatever you’ve got ready is fine.  I don’t need anything special or fancy.”

Rather than appease the elves, this seemed to upset them even more.  A few seemed ready to burst into tears at any moment and several were glaring at Harry as if he’d said something enormously upsetting.  The elves packing the basket began moving even more reluctantly, unpacking what little they’d already put into the basket.

Harry stared at them.  “I’m sorry if I was being rude.  I guess I don’t need a picnic basket after all?  I just thought…” Harry trailed off as even more started glaring at him. 

Finally, one of the elves pushed her way to the front of the crowd, crossed her arms, and scowled up at him.

“If Mr. Potter doesn’t like Hogwarts cooking, then Mr. Potter doesn’t have to eat Hogwarts cooking.  Maybe Mr. Potter would like to cook for his self?” A few of the elves moaned mournfully at this statement.

Harry’s eyes widened.  “I love the food at Hogwarts.  All of you are wonderful cooks.”  The last thing he needed was to have to buy all of his food.

“If Mr. Potter likes Hogwarts cooking then why doesn’t Mr. Potter eat Hogwarts cooking?”

“I eat your food all the time,” Harry protested feebly.  “I live here, I eat every meal at Hogwarts.  I had a muffin with jam for breakfast this morning and a Cornish pasty for lunch.”

“Muffins is not real food.  Sandwiches and pasties is not real food.  Real food is hot.  Real food is eaten at a table.  With plates.  And silverware.  And drinks.”  Mipsy glared at Harry.  Harry looked around and saw several elves nodding in agreement.  “Mipsy be watching.  Many days Mr. Potter eats no real food at all.  When Mr. Potter does eat real food, he ruins it by letting it get cold.  And Mr. Potter never eats his food at a table like a civilized wizard should.”  Several of the elves looked scandalized by Harry’s behavior.  Harry tried to remember when the last time he actually ate a meal in the Great Hall was.  Not since breakfast the morning of Quidditch tryouts.  And, he did have to admit, despite his best efforts at a warming charm, his food often was lukewarm at best by the time he got a plate of it up to his garden. 

“Elves thought Mr. Potter might eat at the Halloween Feast.  Elves put Mr. Potter’s favorites right where Mr. Potter sometimes sits to remind Mr. Potter what proper Hogwarts cooking tastes like.  But Mr. Potter did not eat a single bite.  Mr. Potter did not even come to the feast.”  A couple of the elves started to sniffle at this accusation.

“I’m sorry Mipsy,” Harry said.  “I didn’t mean to skip the feast.  I’m sure the food was excellent.  It always is.  I was just –”

Mipsy cut him off.  “Mipsy went to look for Mr. Potter, and what did Mipsy see?” Mipsy stared at Harry accusingly.  “Mipsy see a garden.  A garden with vegetables.”  A few of the elves in the room broke into tears.  Harry looked at them, wide eyed.  “Elves know what gardens with vegetables means.  Gardens mean cooking.”  Even more elves broke into tears at this proclamation.  One near the back collapsed to the floor with sobs.  

“I… well, yes, eventually,” Harry admitted.  “But –”

“If Mr. Potter wants to cook,” Mipsy emphasized the word cook as if the idea of a wizard cooking was a vile thought, “then Mr. Potter should cook for his self and not spoil good Hogwarts food by letting it get cold,” Mipsy declared firmly.

“But I don’t want to cook for myself.  I love your cooking,” Harry said frantically.  “Your cooking is wonderful.  The vegetables are for this summer, I promise.  I’m going to preserve them.  I’m not going to actually eat any of it while I’m here at Hogwarts.”

Mipsy glared at him, narrow eyed, as if judging his honesty.  “I do brew some hot tea with the mint and other herbs sometimes,” Harry admitted, hoping this wasn’t forbidden too.  “But I promise, I won’t cook while I’m at Hogwarts.  They’re have something to eat this summer.  Honest.”  Harry stared back, helplessly.  “You wouldn’t want me to be hungry and starve all summer, would you?”  This seemed to mollify a few of the elves and most of the sobbing died away. 

“If Mr. Potter likes Hogwarts cooking then why doesn’t Mr. Potter eat Hogwarts cooking?” Mipsy asked again, eyes still narrow.  “With plates at a table.  While the food is still hot as proper food should be.”

“It’s not your food I don’t like.  It’s the Great Hall,” Harry admitted.  “I don’t like eating in the Great Hall, which is why I eat muffins, pastries and sandwiches so often, since they won’t make a mess and they’re easy to carry.”

“Then why does Mr. Potter ask for a picnic basket?”  Mipsy did not soften her cross armed and glaring stance.

“So, I don’t have to eat in the Great Hall?”  It came out as a question rather than the statement Harry had meant it to be.

Mipsy turned and looked significantly at table set off to the side – not one of the ones that mimicked the five tables in the Great Hall above them, but one that was clearly meant for visitors to the kitchens.  After a few seconds, she turned back to glare at Harry again.

“Er…” Harry started, “or, I could sit at that table over there and eat with plates so the food is properly hot?”  Now there were no more tears in the room, and Harry was seeing a few tentative smiles and encouraging nods.  Mipsy stood there, arms crossed and clearly waiting.  “Um… I could go sit down now, if you like?”  It was a little early for dinner, but Mipsy clearly would like him to sit, so Harry went over to the table and sat.

The elves who had been so reluctant to pack a picnic basket earlier were now enthusiastically bringing over heaping platters of food.  Harry tried to take a little of everything and praised it all as often as he could.  By the time he’d eaten as much as he possibly could, the last of the scowls had disappeared, replaced with broad smiles. 

As he stood to leave, Mipsy returned, clearly waiting for his verdict.

“I’m sorry, Mipsy,” Harry said.  “You were right.  Food does taste much better when it’s hot like it’s supposed to be.”  Mipsy stayed put, eyes still a bit narrow.  “Er… and when you’re sitting at a table with plates and silverware.”  She finally nodded in satisfaction.

“Mr. Potter will come back for breakfast and keep eating real cooking.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure if that was a question or a command, but he hurriedly agreed anyway.  “Oh, yes!  I’ll definitely be back to eat breakfast.  A real breakfast.  Now that I know it bothers all of you when I don’t, I’ll eat real food more often.”  Harry was rather looking forward to having a hot breakfast with a cup of tea in the warm kitchens.  Dinner really had tasted much better than the food he’d been carrying off to his gardens. 

“But do you mind if sometimes I just have sandwiches for lunch?”  Mipsy’s eyes narrowed again.  “Only sometimes!” Harry rushed to reassure her.  “It’s just that sometimes I’m in a hurry during lunch.”

Grudgingly, Mipsy nodded.  “If Mr. Potter eats two proper meals a day, the third can be cold.  Or a picnic.  But only sometimes.  Real food is better.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and when he left the kitchens, it was with a plate full of cakes and biscuits for an evening snack.  He immediately resolved to eat in the kitchens as often as possible.

That Sunday, Harry knocked on Professor Flitwick’s office door for his biweekly Charms studying session. 

“Mr. Potter!  Come in, come in.  Right on time, I see.”  Professor Flitwick looked quite serious, especially compared to his normal cheerful demeanor.  “Before we get started on our lesson today, I’m afraid we have something to talk about.  I’ve gathered that you have a private study area that you frequent?  One outside the normal trafficked areas of the school?” he questioned.  Confused, Harry nodded.  “Are any of the teachers or students aware of where this room is?”

Harry shook his head.  “No.  I thought of telling Neville once or twice over the summer.  He’d love it.  But he tells Ron and Hermione almost everything and I don’t want them knowing where it is or what I’m doing.  I might have told him anyway, but then Quidditch tryouts happened.”  Harry shrugged.  “He knows that it exists and so does Professor Sprout, but neither know where it is.  I’m not sure if any of the other professors or students even know I have a room I study in.”

“In that case, I really must insist you show me your study area.”  Harry looked at him in surprise.  “Given yesterday’s events, there’s obvious safety issues with no one knowing where you might be.”

“Yesterday’s events?  Did something happen?” 

“Why, yes, of course,” Flitwick squeaked in surprise.  “I take it you didn’t attend the Quidditch match yesterday?”

“No, I… I didn’t feel like it.”  In truth, Harry hadn’t felt welcome.  A couple of hours before the match, he’d been on his way to the library when a couple of upper year Gryffindors had staged a rather loud conversation where he was sure to hear it, debating on whether he’d have the nerve to show his face to the match when he wasn’t willing to actually support the house by playing.  A few minutes later, a nervous Colin Creevey had come up to him, obviously on a dare from someone, and asked whether he’d be cheering for Gryffindor or Slytherin.  After recovering from his surprise, Harry had coolly said, “Neither,” then retreated back to his garden and didn’t return to the library until after the match had been well underway.

As much as he’d enjoyed Quidditch, both watching and playing, the drama of the past two months had killed some of his enthusiasm for the sport and watching the match hadn’t seemed worth the arguments it would provoke.

“Ah.  Well, I’m afraid one of the bludgers went rogue and repeatedly flew into the Gryffindor section of the stands.  A few of your housemates were injured, mostly minor scrapes and bruises from trying to get out of the way, but Mr. Longbottom was struck in the leg.” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock.  Maybe it was a good thing that he hadn’t attended the match!  “Is he alright?”

“If it weren’t for Professor Lockhart’s… ahem… assistance, he would have merely had a broken leg, but it became a little more serious and he had to spend the night in the hospital wing recovering.  He’s up and about now, though.”

“Well, that’s good,” Harry said, a little lamely.  He hadn’t even noticed Neville’s bed was empty that morning.  It’d still been rather dark when he left the dorm room.

“More importantly, Mr. Creevey was reported missing when he didn’t return from visiting Mr. Longbottom last night.  When we found him, he was petrified, just as Mrs. Norris and Mr. Tufty were.”

Eyes wide, Harry asked, “Is the same draught going to work on him, too?” 

“Of course, though since the mandrakes won’t mature until spring, he’s going to miss most of the year.”  Harry was silent at that.  Even if Colin would be alright, eventually, missing most of a school year – your first year, especially – was going to be extremely difficult for him to catch up from.  Not as bad as missing your NEWT years, but it was nothing to take lightly. “Now, the headmaster does have the means to find students in an emergency, but none of those methods worked for us last night.  It took us quite some time to locate Mr. Creevey.  I understand that the same happened with your cat?”

Harry nodded.  “My locator spell didn’t work.  It took me from early in the morning until just before dinner to find him.”

“Given our difficulties in locating him, surely you understand the importance in having at least one staff member knowing where you study?  If something similar were to happen to you in your room, we wouldn’t even know where to start looking to find you.”  Harry nodded his agreement.  He had no wish to be petrified in his garden for the days or weeks it might take to find him.  “I assure you, I’ll be asking the same of all of my Ravenclaws with private study nooks over the next week.  You’re just the first since we already had this meeting set up this afternoon.”

Professor Flitwick climbed down off of the pile of cushions on his chair. 

“Shall we go?  We can talk over your progress with the Summoning and Banishing Charms as we walk.” 

Harry had managed both spells but didn’t have as much fine control as Professor Flitwick was looking for yet.  He could make an object fly away or towards him but couldn’t control the speed or path, nor could he manage multiple objects at once, much less the goal Professor Flitwick had set him of summoning multiple objects simultaneously at different speeds.  They talked over his progress as they walked up to the seventh floor, and Harry led him to the tapestry and pulled it back to reveal the slightly ajar door.

“The room’s up here.  I’ve always left this door open for Mr. Tufty and Mrs. Norris to get in and out.  I guess there’s no point to that anymore, but it’s a habit by now,” Harry said as he pushed it open and led Professor Flitwick up the stairs.

“No lock or password?” the professor questioned.

Harry shrugged.  “The door to the room was broken when I found it, and there was a lot of dust everywhere.  I fixed the door but didn’t know how to set up a password or any lock that couldn’t be undone by a standard unlocking spell.  I didn’t see the point to researching it since it seemed no one had been up here in a long time.”

“Well, with the current events, there’s certainly a point to better security now.  I’ll see what I can do.”  They got to the top of the flight, and Professor Flitwick looked around in appreciation.

“My, you have been busy.  I can see why you think Mr. Longbottom would enjoy this room.  What all do we have growing here?”

Harry identified a few of the various plants as they passed them.

Flitwick turned away from the crops to study the windows.  “Lovely work on these windows.  Very nice job.  Where’s this door lead?”

“Out onto the roof.”

Professor Flitwick cast a warming charm on himself, then stepped out for a few moments before returning.  “And excellent work on the Extension Charms too.  I’m not an expert on garden beds, but I suspect they’re also of a similar quality?” 

Harry nodded.  “I’m not an expert either, but Professor Sprout has a few that she thinks were made by the same person and she says they’re some of her favorites.”

“Well, I doubt anyone’s going to find this from the roof unless they’re looking for it specifically.  It’s too hidden, can’t see it from any of the towers, or even from the direction of the Quidditch pitch.  I think we’re fine there.  Now, let’s get started on your lesson, and after, I’ll see to the door below.”

Harry led the way to the open area at the center and the professor took a look at the dilapidated couch and chairs.  Harry had repaired them, of course, with reparo, and that had fixed the tears and a broken leg, but the Repair Charm didn’t work on long term wear and tear or if there were pieces missing.  Professor Flitwick took out his wand and pointed it at the couches.  “Reformo.”  He held his wand steady for a long minute as the faded color slowly moved back into the fabric and the cushions plumped up.  When he was finished, the couches looked brand new.  What had been rather worn, muddled greenish brown upholstery now showed green vines snaking over a darker green background, blooming with flowers in a rainbow of colors. 

“Wow,” Harry said, eyes wide in awe.

“A Restoration Charm.  It restores things to their original state.  It can’t be used on conjured materials, of course, since their original state is not existing, and it degrades non-conjured materials since you’re essentially conjuring extra bits of material to replace whatever is damaged.  If you use it more than once or twice on an object, it will start reacting to spells like conjured materials or worse.  I’ve even seen cases where material started reacting like Muggle plastics do and a general levitation charm set a couch on fire.  That made quite the mess,” Professor Flitwick squeaked with amusement.  “Never use it on something that might be structural, like the floor or walls, since degrading the material might make any other spell work less effective and you don’t want to risk disrupting a spell keeping your structure stable.  But it’s useful for good quality furniture like these had been.”  Professor Flitwick did the same for the two armchairs as well, then waved his wand to stack a few of Harry’s text books to make a step he could use to climb onto one of the chairs. “Let’s see your Summoning Charm.”

After an hour of rather intense instruction, Professor Flitwick disappeared down the stairs to work on the door.  When he finished, the door looked like ordinary stonework from the outside and opened automatically when the password was spoken.  Flitwick showed Harry how to reset the password as needed and assured him that he’d set a separate password for Hogwarts staff to use.  “I’d ask you to keep the door shut while you’re in here,” he squeaked.  “And change the password regularly, especially if you think someone might have overheard it.  Can’t be too careful these days.”

Once Flitwick had left, Harry retreated back upstairs to putter about in his garden while he thought.  Mr. Tufty being petrified was horrible enough.  It’d been a week, and Harry still wasn’t used to not having his company at night.  But a first year being petrified was a rather large escalation.  There was a drastic difference between a Squib’s half-kneazle and a Muggle-born wizard.  Mr. Tufty, as much as he was important to Harry, didn’t seem to be the subject of the attack on Halloween.  The way his body had been hidden seemed to indicate that he wasn’t useful to the plan – so perhaps an accident?  Or an unwanted byproduct?  Harry wasn’t sure.  At the very least, whomever was doing this certainly seemed to want people to think he had a grudge against Muggle-borns and Squibs.  The so-called undesirables that some pure-blooded families went to such great lengths to get rid of.  Like the Dursleys had gotten rid of him.

Who would do such a thing?  Unless someone was sneaking in, it had to be a teacher or a student.  Lockhart wasn’t competent enough and didn’t seem to be possessed like Quirrell had been, and the rest of the teachers had been at the school for such a long time that if they’d been the type to hate Muggle-borns and Squibs, everyone would know. 

That left one of the students.  But who?  It really could be anyone.

It had to be one of the other people who hadn’t hated him for reading fantasy novels the previous year.  That narrowed the list down quite a bit.  Mostly Slytherins, but there were a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws on the list too.  There was no guarantee that the Heir of Slytherin was actually in Slytherin House, after all. 

Draco Malfoy seemed to almost like Harry at certain points last year and was certainly nasty enough, but Dumbledore thought Harry was too young to do it and Malfoy was just as young.  It was probably one of the upper years since Dumbledore seemed so certain, but Harry didn’t know any of their names, just their faces.

He couldn’t accuse anyone based solely on his suspicion that they might like fantasy novels.  After all, Harry was sure that his reputation of a fantasy lover was the cause of at least half of his problems at Hogwarts.  He couldn’t do that to someone else just because they didn’t have the decency to hate him.

It was an impossible puzzle.  He had no way of deciphering which one of the group was the Heir of Slytherin or pretending to be the Heir.  It wasn’t like he could just go up and ask, and he had no intention of getting to know any of them nor did he have a reason to even attempt to talk to upper year Slytherins.  That sort of thing wouldn’t do his reputation any good at all.

Harry stopped suddenly.  His reputation. 

His already shoddy reputation of hating Muggles had taken a nose dive in the last week, to the point where several Muggle-borns – Justin Finch-Fletchley, for instance – had turned around and fled rather than risk passing him in the halls and just yesterday Colin Creevey had confronted him about Quidditch.  Now, Colin Creevey was petrified.

Harry had a sinking feeling he was going to make frequent use of those hidden passages and the kitchens.  This was not going to be a fun term.

Chapter Text

Harry’s prediction held true.  All of the student body seemed firmly convinced that he was the Heir of Slytherin and had petrified Colin Creevey for annoying him about the Quidditch game.  Harry was being thoroughly shunned by the majority of the students, though a few students – mostly the same ones that Harry suspected liked fantasy novels – either gave him regal nods of acknowledgment or simply treated him with indifference.

Draco Malfoy kept giving him significant looks, then whispering things like “Granger’s a bit dirty, don’t you think?  Something in her blood,” or “Finch-Fletchley’s not really the right sort for Hogwarts.  Rather undesirable,” or “Lisa Turpin hides it well, but her background… well, my father would never condescend speak to her parents.  Not really of the same caste, if you know what I mean.”  Then he’d give a smug, satisfied smirk like he’d accomplished something major and walk away.

There had been enough fights in classes as to who would have to work with him when they split into groups that some teachers simply let Harry stay on his own even if this meant another group had too many students.  Other teachers avoided the fights by randomly assigning a student to work with him.  Harry far preferred working alone, even in Potions where working alone meant doing twice as much work instead of simply not having anyone to correct your mistakes.

Harry continued his correspondences with Mr. Weasley, who was upset to hear of Creevey’s petrification, and Mrs. Figg, who seemed as upset as he was with Mr. Tufty and Mrs. Norris’s petrification and frantic about Mr. Filch’s safety, and there wasn’t much Harry could say to reassure her.  After all, he was fairly certain it was a student, and Filch was almost universally disliked among the students so the odds were that whomever was doing the petrifications disliked him on a personal level in addition to his status as a Squib.  He even sent the occasional letter to Theresa, who was eager to hear how his tent was turning out.

Harry poured all of his remaining time and energy into studying Charms, more determined than ever that he would manage to create his tent as planned.  The more exhausted he could make himself before bed, the easier time he had falling asleep.  If he wasn’t absolutely exhausted, he’d lay awake for hours, missing Mr. Tufty’s company.

By mid-December, Harry had mastered several higher level charms including the Imperturbable Charm which he made frequent use of on his bed curtains at night and was hard at work on the Water-Making Charm.  It was the first spell he’d learned that had a true permanent effect, and access to clean water was going to be extremely important over the summer.

He still wasn’t quite clear what made it a Charm as opposed to a Transfiguration like most of the other conjurations were.  When he’d asked Professor Flitwick to explain, Flitwick had merely said that it was an exception to Gamp’s Law and referred him to Professor McGonagall for a more thorough explanation.  Remembering the detention he’d earned the last time he “cheekily” asked her about Gamp’s Law, Harry resigned himself to being mystified until they covered the topic in their NEWT level classes. 

Early in the week before the Christmas Holiday started, Harry spotted a large number of excited students congregated around the message board in the Entrance Hall.  He waited until they’d begun to disperse, then read the notice of a new club for dueling starting that night.  The week before a holiday seemed an odd time to start a new club, but perhaps the teachers wanted to inspire people to study hard during their breaks to do well in the club meeting after the break?

Harry backed off from the board to let another student read the notice and debated with himself about going.  On one hand, he’d made it an unofficial policy to not interact with any of the other students any more than he absolutely had to.  He spent nearly every moment outside of class alone – mostly in his garden during the day, then retreating up to his dorm room once curfew started while the rest of the second year boys stayed in the common room until bed time.  Even his meals were eaten either alone or in the kitchens rather than with other students.  Attending the Dueling Club would be a rather drastic departure from solitude, especially if the club was as popular as the excitement indicated it would be. 

On the other hand, Harry hadn’t attended a single Defense Against the Dark Arts class since the first one.  Though he’d been working hard studying from the Ravenclaws’ notes and from the OWL study guides, there was only so much you could learn alone.  Second year was supposed to focus on jinxes and anti-jinxes which he could memorize but casting spells at a wall didn’t prove he could cast the spell properly.  Harry thought his Disarming Charm would work, and he thought he might even have the hang of the Shield Charm, but there was no real way to test that without a partner to trade spells with.  The Dueling Club could fix that. 

It might not help at all if everyone were free to choose their dueling partners, but if whomever was running the club assigned people randomly, he’d get at least a little practical experience in the spells he was trying to teach himself.  Maybe Professor Flitwick would be involved.  It was worth one meeting, Harry decided.  If the club wasn’t run well or he wasn’t able to actually practice Defense, he didn’t have to go to a second meeting.  He could even leave early, if it turned out to be a complete waste of time.

Later that evening, Harry decided that even if he didn’t get to practice a single spell, watching Professor Snape curse Professor Lockhart provided enough entertainment to make attendance worth it.

For extra entertainment, Harry managed to get a good viewing location where he could eavesdrop on the upper year Ravenclaws who’d wanted advice on how to ditch Lockhart’s class and a few of their co-conspirators.  They held a brief betting pool of how many seconds it would take Lockhart to win, but since none of them had been willing to bet over a second and no one could agree on how many fractions of a second it’d taken before Lockhart went flying, they had to declare the pool a lost cause and return everyone’s money.

“If it had been Professor Flitwick up there with Snape, then we might have had a show,” one of them grumbled.  “He could have beat Snape easily.  Though, he might have taken it easy on him, since Snape’s just an amateur.”

“Might have drawn it out, just to give us a proper demonstration.  We can’t learn much about technique in a duel that lasts a third of a second,” said another.

“Excuse me, it was half a second, not a third,” was the response.

“Three Eighths!” cried a third. 

“You’re all wrong,” said another.  “It was Four Sevenths.”

“Six Thirteenths.  Anyway, it’s not Professor Snape’s fault that Lockhart can’t even manage a decent Shield Charm.  Protego isn’t that hard.”

“This is why we need Flitwick up there,” one of them insisted.  “Maybe one of us should go fetch him.  He can really show us how this works.”  She paused for a second.  “It really was three eighths, I swear.”

The second one sighed.  “I already tried to ask him.  He said he’d feel bad about upstaging the current Defense teacher and that Lockhart had brewed his own potion, now he has to drink it.  And it was a third.”

Harry grinned to himself.  Lockhart’s potion seemed to be of the quality that melted cauldrons rather than cured boils.  Professor Snape was just the person to administer that sort of lesson.  But Harry agreed with them.  Professor Flitwick, being a former dueling champion, would have been the perfect person to lead the Dueling Club. 

While the Ravenclaws had been busy arguing, Professor Snape and Lockhart started circulating among the students, pairing them up.  When Lockhart got to the group of Ravenclaws, he sneered at Harry for a moment before pairing him up with a third year named Phillips. 

Phillips gave Harry a rather nervous look.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.  I know you’re only a second year.  And… uh… I’m a half-blood, just so you know.  But all my grandparents were wizards.”

Harry sighed.  “I really don’t care who’s pure-blood and who’s not.  And if I wanted people to take it easy on me, I would have gone and stood next to the first years.”

“Riiiight,” Phillips said slowly, obviously not agreeing at all. 

They waited until the signal, then moved.  Harry managed to get his Expelliarmus finished first and Phillips’s wand went flying.  “Accio!” he called and summoned Phillips’s wand back and handed it to him. 

“Do you want to try again?  I’ve been wanting to try out my Shield Charm too.”

“How… How did you…” Phillips stammered.  “Uh, sure.”

They faced off again, and this time Harry cast the Shield Charm rather than a Disarming Charm.  It didn’t work.  He did get the visible shield he was expecting, but it failed to deflect Phillips’s spell.  It might have been partially successful since his wand just barely twitched out of his hand instead of going flying, but it was just as likely that Phillips’s Disarming Charm was rather weak.  Harry bent to pick it up and was about to suggest they try again when Professor Lockhart called a halt to the dueling.

Looking around, Harry saw it was fairly obvious that most of the younger pairs had been trading more spells than just the Disarming Charm Lockhart had specified.  After the chaos had settled a bit, Lockhart decided to have a student demonstration and called Ron Weasley and Justin Finch-Fletchley forward.  Professor Snape sneered and pointed out that Ron’s broken wand wasn’t especially safe to duel with.  Harry was a bit startled at this.  Ron was dueling?  Was he trying to hurt someone?  Or himself?  “How about Malfoy and Potter?” he suggested with a twisted smile. 

Harry found himself being pushed forward towards the platform.

Lockhart sneered at him.  “I don’t think I can allow that.  Really, he shouldn’t even be here tonight.  He’s yet to show up to a single one of my classes properly prepared.”  Harry heard the upper year Ravenclaws behind him give a big guffaw.  “How about Malfoy and Longbottom?”

This seemed acceptable to all parties except Neville who was rather nervous looking then became even more nervous once he was up on the platform with everyone’s attention on him.  Harry watched with a frown as Malfoy summoned a snake instead of the Disarming Charm he was supposed be using.  That wasn’t even a spell a Shield Charm could defend against, which was the entire purpose of the demonstration!

Harry struggled to think of a good counter.  He hadn’t learned the Vanishing Spell yet.  What about the spells to protect campsites?  One of the Boundary Spells like he’d used on the Cornish Pixies?  Something about ground.  Terra?  No, that wasn’t it.  Humus?  No, that was for burrowing things, not things crawling on the surface.  Solum?  Yes, that was it.  Termino Solum.  Harry quickly cast it around himself, just in case.  A few seconds later, Lockhart’s failed charm, whatever showy thing it was supposed to do, merely flung the snake high in the air.  When it landed hard on the flagstones to the side of the platform, there was a mad scramble to retreat as the serpent looked for a new target, but students in the rear couldn’t see what had happened and were blocking the escape of those closest to the snake.

Harry stood his ground, though, knowing he was safer inside the circle he’d drawn with his Boundary Spell than he’d be if he left the protection.  The enraged snake started crawling towards Harry but stopped when it hit the boundary, then turned to look for an easier target.  It slithered straight for Justin Finch-Fletchley, who’d also been pushed to the front of the crowd when his name had been called and hadn’t yet managed to get far enough away. 

“Stop!  Don’t bite him!” Harry yelled, desperately, trying to think of a new defense.  Where were the professors?  The Boundary Spells could only be cast from within the area you were trying to defend.  An Imperturbable Charm on Finch-Fletchley's robes?  Harry had just raised his wand to give it a try when Professor Snape finally vanished the serpent.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his wand.  He looked up from the spot where it’d been to see Finch-Fletchley staring at him, angry and scared.  “What do you think you're playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

From around the room, an ominous muttering started.  “Indeed, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said, looking down his hooked nose at Harry.  “What do you think you’re playing at?” 

Harry glanced around the room, seeing him the center of everyone’s attention.  “I’d thought the Imperturbable Charm?  On his robes?” he said weakly.  “I couldn’t think of anything else.  I don’t know the Vanishing Spell.”

Snape sneered at him.  “The Imperturbable Charm?  Please keep in mind you’re a second year.  Next time you lie, at least try to come up with something vaguely plausible.”  Harry thought about defending himself, but that never worked with Snape.  “Detention, every night for the rest of the week,” Snape spat out.  “And the only reason it’s not any longer is that I don’t want my holiday ruined by supervising you.” 

“But what was I supposed to have done?” Harry protested hotly.  “Why aren’t you giving Malfoy the detention?  He summoned it.  Or Lockhart.  He’s the one that made it angry.”  Rather than answer, Snape merely spun and stalked off.

Harry looked around the room and saw no friendly faces.  Everyone seemed to be either furious or terrified.  It really wasn’t his fault.  Why was everyone blaming him instead of Malfoy?  “Potter!” came the order from Professor Snape.  “Every night.  Starting tonight.  That means right now.”  Sighing, Harry turned to follow him back to the dungeons.  It wasn’t like Snape ever needed a good reason to assign a Gryffindor a detention.  Especially Harry.

Over three hours of scrubbing cauldrons later, Harry finally climbed through the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.  The room was relatively crowded for midnight on a weekday, and Harry could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he crossed the room. 

“Slytherin,” he could swear he heard someone mutter as he started climbing the stairs to the dorm.

As he got to his dorm room, he heard voices from within.  “All I’m saying is I’m not comfortable sleeping in the same room as him anymore.  You saw what that snake did tonight.  Who knows what could happen while I’m sleeping,” said Dean.

Harry stopped and listened for a moment, rolling his eyes.  Probably the same thing would happen that always happened when Dean slept.  He’d snore.  Loudly.  Why was the snake his fault?  He wasn’t even a part of the duel!

Not that it was Neville’s fault, either, but at least he’d been a party to the fight.

“We already went to McGonagall.  She said he has to stay,” Ron said glumly.  “I don’t get why he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.  I’ve been saying that since our first night.”

“I really don’t think anything’s going to happen in the dorm room, Dean,” Neville said reassuringly.  “He’s had plenty of chances if he was going to do something in here.  Besides, it’d be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it?”

“Him getting caught won’t do me any good once I’m petrified,” Dean said.

“Why can’t he just stay somewhere else?  This is our dorm room.  We should be safe here,” Seamus insisted. 

“Because McGonagall said so.”  Ron sounded rather disappointed by this fact.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed open the door.  Trying to pretend like he hadn’t heard a thing, he started getting ready for bed.

“Heir of Slytherin or not, we don’t want a Parselmouth in here,” Ron said.

“Why not?” Harry asked, a bit bemused.  Was that all this fuss was about?  Him talking to snakes?  He thought it was something important.  “What’s wrong with talking to snakes?  Anyway, if you don’t want me in here, talk to McGonagall.  She’s our head of house.  I really don’t care where I sleep as long as I have a bed and access to a bathroom.”

“So, you admit it then!” exclaimed Seamus.

“That I can speak to snakes?  That sometimes, when they feel like it and are smart enough, they talk back?  Sure.  I don’t see why you care though.  It’s not like it’s all that useful.  Not like talking to cats or owls might be.”

Harry saw Ron and Neville exchange a look.  “Harry, how long have you known you were a Parselmouth?” Neville asked hesitantly.

“The word?  About a year?  Mr. Scamander mentions it when he talks about runespoors.  That I can talk to snakes?  I don’t know.  I think I was about eight?  Maybe seven?  One chewed me out for nearly stepping on him.  Told me to watch where I was putting my big clumsy feet, then slithered off.  Took me another year or so before I figured out it must be something I was doing and not just a magic snake.”

“A magic snake?” Dean said faintly.

“You know, a magically smart snake.  I thought it was kind of like Mrs. Figg’s kneazles.  I didn’t know what kneazles were, of course, so I thought they were just magically smart house cats that could understand every word I said.”  Harry shrugged.  “I thought the snake was like that.  Just a snake that was a bit smarter than your average snake.  Then I tried talking to a few more, and even the particularly dumb ones seemed to understand me so I realized it must be me, not them.”

“You didn’t think it was a bit… strange?” Ron choked out.

“Not any stranger than Mrs. Figg’s kneazles or sweaters that shrunk as you tried to put them on or a bad haircut that grew back overnight or my primary teacher’s hair that mysteriously turned blue in the middle of class.”  Harry looked around.  No one seemed particularly friendly.  “Lots of magic seems strange when you’ve never seen it before.

“Anyway, it’s really not a big deal.  I’m sure lots of people can talk to snakes.  It might just be they’ve never tried.”

“What did your teacher do to you that you turned her hair blue?” Seamus asked.

“She blamed me for something Dudley did.  I forget exactly what, now, but it seemed horribly unfair at the time.”

“So, this anti-Muggle attitude you have, you’ve thought that way for a long time,” Dean stated.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Harry said, stung.  “It was accidental. I was five, and I was upset.”

“So, what’s your excuse for tonight?  Was that an accident too?” Ron asked, meanly.

“Was what an accident?”  Harry looked around, but no one answered him.  “No, really, all I know about tonight is that I just spent three hours scrubbing cauldrons because Draco Malfoy summoned a snake during a duel.  I have no idea why that’s my fault, but somehow, I got blamed for it even though everyone saw him do it.  What is it that I’m supposed to have done now?”  Harry was fed up with this whole conversation. 

“You told the snake to attack Justin Finch-Fletchley!” Dean exclaimed. 

“No, I didn’t.  You were right there.  You must have heard me.  I told it to stop.”

“We heard you speaking Parseltongue,” Neville said quietly.  “We have no idea what you said.  It sounded like you were egging him on.  And you drew your wand.”

“It sounds like plain English to me.  I have no idea what it sounds like to other people.”  Harry sighed.  “And I had my wand pointed at Finch-Fletchley because I was trying to think of a spell that might help.  I thought an Imperturbable Charm on his robes might do it.  Wouldn’t do a thing if he were bit on the hand or if it crawled under the robes, but it was better than standing around doing nothing.”

“It crawled right up to you, you had your wand out, and then it turned and made right for Justin,” Dean insisted. “Then it hesitated, and you started egging it on.”

“It hesitated because I was telling it to stop.  It crawled up to me because it was trying to bite me too, but it couldn’t.  Finch-Fletchley was just the closest one it saw when it decided to look for an easier target.  I had my wand out because that’s what one does in a dangerous situation.  You get your wand out while you try to think of what spell to use.” 

“And why couldn’t it attack you?” asked Seamus pointedly.

“Because I cast Termino Solum before Lockhart blasted it and made it angry,” Harry said with a shrug.  “I was standing right there at the edge of the platform.  Seemed like a reasonable precaution just in case things got out of control.  Then when things did get out of control, it was safer to stay put than to try to run, especially with everyone shoving each other to try to get away.”

“Termino what?” Ron asked, looking rather bewildered.

“Termino Solum.  Different version of the Boundary Spell I used in Lockhart’s class against the pixies.  Remember?  They were attacking the rest of you but wouldn’t come near my desk?  It was useful and not that hard so I memorized a few variations of it.”

“So why didn’t you cast it on Justin, then?”

“You have to cast it from within the area you’re trying to protect.  Ask Hermione.  She’ll explain it to you.  I told her what spell I’d used when she asked so I’m sure she looked it up.”

“Not even Snape believed you were casting an Imperturbable Charm.  That’s what? A fifth year spell? Sixth?” 

“I really don’t remember.  Sixth or seventh.  But I wasn’t going to cast the permanent version, just the one that wears off in a few hours.  It’s much simpler than the version taught in class.”  Harry shrugged.  The spells all blurred together after a while.  It was useful and it blocked out Dean’s snoring and the rest of the boys’ noises as they were getting ready for bed.  That’s all Harry cared about.  “And what do you mean ‘not even Snape’?  Snape never believes a word the average Gryffindor says, especially not me.  I could tell him the sky was blue and he’d disagree with me.”  Neville snorted.

“We’re second years.  We can’t do seventh year spells,” Ron insisted. 

“Why not?  Is there a rule against it?”  Harry, by now, was exhausted and more than ready for bed.  “We can argue more in the morning, if you really want to, but I’m going to bed.  And I’m going to cast the Imperturbable Charm on my bed curtains so don’t bother arguing with me until I open them again.  I won’t be able to hear you anyway.”

He climbed into bed, shut the curtains and cast the charm, then smiled as their protests cut off abruptly. 

The next morning, Harry stayed behind after Transfiguration to try to talk to Professor McGonagall.  “What is it now, Mr. Potter?  If this is about your dorm room again, I already told Mr. Thomas and Mr. Finnegan this morning that my decision is final.”  McGonagall gave him a rather weary look.

Harry was startled.  If Dean and Seamus were still asking for him to be removed from the dorm, they must not have believed a word he said the previous night.  “No, it’s not about the dorm room, Professor.  I already told them I don’t care where I sleep.”  Harry took a deep breath.  “I’d like to challenge my detentions with Professor Snape.  I don’t see why I should serve detentions for a spell that Draco Malfoy cast in full view of half the student body, under supervision of two professors.  I was not the one to summon the snake.  I was not the one to make it angry.  The only thing that I can see that I did wrong was to speak to a snake in front of witnesses, and that’s not against the rules.”

McGonagall’s lips were pressed in a thin line.  “You’re not being punished for summoning a snake.  Don’t be ridiculous.  You’re being punished for sending the snake to attack Mr. Finch-Fletchley.”

“But I didn’t,” Harry protested.  “That’s what I’m trying to say.  I told the snake to stop.  I wasn’t egging it on.”

“I’ve a room full of witnesses, including Professor Snape, that are willing to say otherwise.” 

“If they can’t speak Parseltongue, how would they know what I was saying?  Professor Lockhart made the snake angry by dropping it.  It was trying to attack anyone it could reach.  It was just bad luck that Finch-Fletchley was the closest one to it at the time.”

“The closest one to it?  When it was right next to you?” McGonagall questioned sharply. 

Harry sighed.  “I’d already cast a Boundary Spell to keep it away.  When it realized it couldn’t get near me, it turned to the next closest person.”  Harry was getting very tired of having to explain this.  You’d think other students would have thought to cast their own protection spells instead of trampling each other in their rush to run away.

“And why did you have your wand pointed at Mr. Finch-Fletchley?”

“I thought an Imperturbable Charm on his clothes might help.  If his robes were impenetrable, the snake wouldn’t be able to bite him through them.”

“Mr. Potter, I would ask that you come up with a better excuse than that.  I wasn’t born yesterday.  If you were Miss Granger, perhaps I might believe that, but with the shoddy excuse for spell work you’re always turning in for classes, you can’t expect me to believe that story.”

Fuming, Harry took a scrap of parchment out of his bag, cast the Imperturbable Charm on it, and handed it to Professor McGonagall.  She took it, a bit startled, and tried to puncture it with a small knife she transfigured out of a quill, then tried to burn it, then rip it.  The parchment was undamaged by her tests. 

“Professor, I’m telling the truth.  I’d like to formally protest my detentions with Professor Snape.  If I have to serve them, I would like to know which school rule I broke.”  By now, the next period’s class full of upper year Hufflepuffs was filing into the room.  They broke into angry mutterings when they heard his declaration.

She dispelled his Imperturbable Charm and used the parchment to write him a pass for being late to Charms.  “I will speak with Professor Snape again and let you know our decision.  I would not get your hopes up, however. Professor Snape has the right to assign detentions at his discretion in any club meetings he monitors, just as he can in the classes he teaches.”

“So, what, can he give me a detention for breathing wrong?  What am I supposed to do then?  Stop?”  There were a few nervous titters from the class.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mr. Potter, and causing a scene.  Get to your next class before I take points.”

Harry sighed and gave up.

Harry took advantage of the afternoon’s canceled Herbology class to visit the library and research Parselmouths and Parseltongue.  Sure, it was an unusual skill, but it’s not like snakes were especially dangerous.  Well, not all of them.  Most of the snakes you met in everyday life were harmless, and the ones that weren’t, well, wasn’t it better to be able to politely ask a snake not to bite you than it was to be bitten?  This had to be something like Squibs, where there was more to people’s opinions than a simple dictionary definition could explain.

He asked Madam Pince for what section to look in.  She directed him towards the section for Magical Languages but admitted most of the better historical references were in the Restricted Section.  Restricted Section?  For a language?!

Resolving to get a pass from Professor Flitwick, Harry headed towards the magical languages section.

Unfortunately, the second year Hufflepuffs were sitting at a table right next to the entrance to the shelves that he needed.  Apparently, he wasn’t the only student taking advantage of an unexpected free period to catch up on research.  Though it seemed they were doing more gossiping than studying.  Harry stopped for a moment to eavesdrop.

“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen.  Potter knows he’s a Muggle-born after all.  They met at a tour group for Muggle-borns the summer before first year, not that Potter bothered to go on the tour.  Didn’t want to mix with Muggles and Muggle-borns, I assume.”  Harry rolled his eyes at this.  Hermione had been claiming the same thing since they started school.  That didn’t make it true.

“You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

“Hannah,” said the stout boy solemnly, “he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”  Well, that explained why everyone was so upset about him being a Parselmouth.  Just stupid prejudice.

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware.  The Gryffindors spread around that Filch is a Squib.  Next thing we know, Filch’s cat’s attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter before the Quidditch match. Next thing we know, Creevey’s been attacked.

“I asked the Gryffindors, you know,” Ernie continued mysteriously, “if they knew where Potter had been that night.  They said no one had seen him, he’d been gone for hours and he’d slid into the common room just seconds before curfew started, with a smug look on his face.  That was why they were so quick to sound the alarm when Creevey didn’t show up before they went to bed.  They knew something had happened.”  Harry was a bit taken aback by this.  Had he been smug that night?  He supposed he might have been.  Hadn’t he just learned the Summoning Charm?  That was worthy of a smug look or two.

“We all know how much he likes fantasy books,” Hannah said thoughtfully.  “And remember what Malfoy was saying last year – that he’s disowned his relatives.”  They all nodded solemnly. 

Harry rolled his eyes at this and decided he’d heard enough.  As nonchalantly as he could, he stepped into view and walked past them to the bookcases dedicated to magical languages and started browsing for anything about Parseltongue. 

From the group of Hufflepuffs, he heard a loud whisper, “Do you think he heard you?  When you said Justin’s up in the dorm?”

“Well, if he didn’t hear Ernie, he certainly heard you Hannah.”  Harry rolled his eyes again and ignored them as best he could.  A perusal of the books only yielded one large encyclopedia with a multi-page entry on Parseltongue and a very slim volume on noteworthy historical Parselmouths.  He’d definitely need to access the Restricted Section.

Harry turned to go and saw that every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been petrified by the sight of him.  Ernie looked especially pale. 

“What do you mean by coming over here?” Ernie said in a quavering voice.

“I thought I’d get a book,” Harry said, bemused.  “This being a library and all, it seemed the right place to go about it.”

“Those aren’t books needed for classes.  No one uses them.”

“No, they’re books about languages.  Like Parseltongue.”  They gasped, and Harry rolled his eyes again.  “Next time you want to talk about someone, you might want to pick a location that isn’t right in front of books they might want to read to figure out why you’re gossiping about them.”

“No decent person would read about Parselmouths.  Or Parseltongue,” said Ernie, his lips pressed white in fear.  “And in case you’re getting ideas,” he added hastily, “I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so –"

“I really don’t care what sort of blood anyone’s go!” Harry said fiercely.  “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?” 

“I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with,” said Ernie swiftly.  “And that you disowned them.”

“If I hated them enough to disown them, why would I still be living with them?”  Harry said, exasperated at this lack of logic.

“Well, do you live with them anymore?” Hannah ventured.  “Malfoy said you didn’t.”

Harry tried to hide his flinch at that.  He really shouldn’t have said that.  “No, I don’t live with them anymore.  Not because they’re Muggles but because they’re awful people.  You’d hate them too, if you met them.  It’s not possible not to.” 

“And where do you live now that’s so much better?”

“Does it matter?  The Forbidden Forest, the middle of a bog, in a ditch beside the road.  Anywhere is better than that house.”  Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.  Really, the only thing he regretted about not living with the Dursleys anymore was that they kicked him out before he got the chance to run away himself.  And, of course, that he had been forced to spend so much time working on Charms this year rather than reading good books.

Harry had skipped lunch entirely in favor of trying to work off some of his frustration by practicing Charms, so he decided to swing by the kitchens to see if the house elves would be willing to fix him a snack to tide him over until dinner.  They were indeed willing and Mipsy seemed pleased that Harry sat and ate an actual plate of stew at the side table like a civilized person.

Harry, not wanting to go all the way up to his seventh floor garden then all the way back down less than an hour later for his History class, was happy to sit quietly to eat his stew and peruse the books he’d checked out.  The encyclopedia entry said little that he hadn’t already put together – that being a Parselmouth was a very rare genetic ability.  Very rare in Europe, at least, though a little more common in other areas of the world.  Harry gave a brief thought to his wand.  The wand that hadn’t been made in England and had a handle carved to look like two entwined snakes.

Was that just a coincidence?  Or had he inherited this ability from the foreign ancestor he’d inherited the wand from?  He’d probably never know.

The slim book on Parselmouths was simply a compendium of short biographies of notable British Parselmouths.  Dark wizards did feature heavily, but generations passed between each one.  Surely there were more Parselmouths that just went about their daily lives and their abilities weren’t considered notable because the skill just wasn’t pertinent information?  After all, with the prejudice being as bad as it was, it wasn’t like people would advertise that fact unless they were trying to scare someone.  Or just hadn’t known not to, like Harry.

The bloodlines known to have carried the ability in England and in most of Western Europe were thought to have died out, with the only remaining bloodline belonging to a sect of nuns and monks in Italy who used the snakes in their rites, though with the rate the sect’s numbers decreased, it was noted that the sect was only likely to survive another generation or two.  The most recent notable Parselmouth was, in fact, Lord Voldemort who’d declared himself to be directly descended from Slytherin.

Once again, Harry contemplated who the Heir must be.  If Voldemort was descended from Slytherin, then, logically, Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin.  Voldemort had no heirs that anyone knew of, so was Voldemort the one petrifying people?  Could he be possessing someone like he had with Quirrell, last year?  But none of the students had developed a sudden fetish for wearing hats.

On the other hand, the message didn’t actually say that the Heir was involved.  It just said the Chamber had been opened.  But if the Chamber could only be opened by the Heir wasn’t that the same thing? 

Frustrated, Harry gave up for now.  It was almost time for History class, anyway.  Harry thanked the elves again and, promising to return for a “proper” dinner, he left the kitchens. 

In a rush not to be late, he wasn’t paying too much attention where he was going and tripped right over Justin Finch-Fletchley’s body before he even saw him.  They must have been near the Hufflepuff common room because when Peeves came a fraction of a second later and found them, his screaming soon had the hall flooded with Hufflepuffs of all ages.

In short order, Harry found himself being escorted up to the headmaster’s office by a grim looking Professor McGonagall, and he waited as patiently as he could, looking curiously around the office.  When he saw the Sorting Hat, he briefly considered trying it on again and telling it he’d changed his mind and would rather be in Ravenclaw after all.  Professor Flitwick was much nicer than Professor McGonagall, and maybe the Ravenclaws weren’t nearly so attached to studying and doing homework as he’d always thought.  They were scheming to get out of Defense class, after all.

But now was hardly the time to change houses, he supposed.

When he continued his perusal, he spotted a decrepit looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey sitting on a golden perch.

Harry looked at it in fascination as a few more feathers fell out of his tail and it suddenly burst into flames.  He jumped in shock, causing a bit of laughter from the portraits of prior headmasters, then drew closer to have another look. 

The bird had become a big pile of ash on the floor.

Surely it couldn’t be a phoenix?  He’d read about them in Newt Scamander’s book.  He wondered if Mr. Scamander had ever had a phoenix in his suitcase.  Harry drew closer to the pile of ash and crouched, careful not to disturb it, wondering what a baby phoenix looked like. 

Harry heard a throat clearing behind him and spun to see the headmaster standing behind him, looking very grave.

“Professor!” Harry exclaimed.  “Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in.  I was just watching your phoenix.  His burning day?”

Dumbledore smiled.

“About time, too,” he said.  “Fawkes has been looking dreadful for days. I’ve been telling him to get a move on.  Ah, here he comes.” 

Harry turned back to the pile of ash to see a rather ugly hatchling peek his head out of the ashes.  “I thought phoenixes were supposed to be very beautiful?”  The hatchling gave an offended squawk at that, and Harry cringed.  “Sorry to insult you,” he said to the bird directly.

“You’ve caught him at a bad time.  He’s really very handsome most of the time.  Are you a fan of creatures, Harry?”

Harry stood and moved to the seat Dumbledore waved him to.  “Mostly a fan of Newt Scamander.  And his luggage.”

“Ah, his wonderful suitcase,” Dumbledore said in a reminiscing sort of tone.

“Have you seen it?” Harry asked, enthralled.  “Did he tell you how he made it?  Do you think he’ll ever write another book?  About his suitcase this time?”

“I’ll pass along the idea, the next time I talk to him,” Dumbledore said, sounding rather amused.  “I think you’re the first student I’ve had who was more fascinated by his suitcase than by the creatures he kept inside it.”  He grew somber again, and Harry was reminded of the reason he was there.

“Sir, I wasn’t seeking out Finch-Fletchley, I swear.  I was just in the kitchens eating lunch, then tripped over him when I was leaving to get to History class,” Harry said rapidly, then broke off when Dumbledore held up his hand.

“I do not believe you’re the cause of this, but I still want to talk to you.  Did you hear anything in the corridor this time?”

Harry shook his head.  “No, but I’d been in the kitchens for at least half an hour before that and the house elves can be pretty noisy when they cook.  Even if there’d been a noise out in the corridor, I doubt I would have heard it.”

“I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” Dumbledore said gently. “Anything at all.”

“No,” said Harry.  “There isn’t anything.  Unless…” He trailed off and Dumbledore leaned forward intently.  Dumbledore already knew, surely? 

“Yes?”

A bit embarrassed at pointing out the obvious, Harry flushed.  “I got a book from the library about famous Parselmouths.  It said that You-Know-Who is the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin which is how he’s a Parselmouth.  Doesn’t that make him the Heir of Slytherin?  If only the Heir can open the Chamber of Secrets, does that mean You-Know-Who is to blame?  Neville said he was possessing Quirrell last year.  Could he be possessing someone again this year?”

 “Ah!  That is one of the likelier causes of our troubles,” Dumbledore praised.  “It’s also possible he’s working through some other intermediary and not possessing anyone at all.  I’d ask you not to spread that around to any of the other students.  There’s enough panic as it is without bringing up Voldemort, and I’d prefer not to alert him and have him escalate or change his methods or conceal himself further.”  Harry nodded in agreement.  “I’ve been checking students as I can but have not pinpointed any likely parties for possession as of yet.  How about you, Mr. Potter.  Any missing time?  Irrational emotions?  Waking up in strange places, not knowing where you’ve been?  Strange abilities you’ve never had before?”

Bewildered, Harry shook his head.  “No, not so far as I know.”  Then, a thought occurred to him.  “Wait, you think I’m possessed?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.  It would explain the Parseltongue and your strange affiliation with being the one to find the bodies.  Your isolation would make it easy for you to slip away from your peers unnoticed.” 

“But I’ve known I could speak to snakes since I was eight.  That’s nothing new.”  Dumbledore sat back in his chair, looking oddly disappointed.  Harry pulled out his wand and showed it to the headmaster.  “See how it’s carved like snakes?  Maybe I have a non-European ancestor that I inherited the ability from.  It’s just a coincidence.  Just like it’s a coincidence that I’m the one finding the bodies.  And I’ve just been studying a lot, not being possessed. I haven’t even been wandering around the castle like I did last year.”

Dumbledore inspected the wand closely, not touching it.  “Hm…  Yes, I see.  Still, you wouldn’t mind if I did some tests of my own?”

Harry shook his head and Dumbledore lifted his wand towards Harry, and his vision grew blurry for a few minutes as his head swam.  Harry swayed in his seat when Dumbledore ended his spell.  “And may I see your wand?” 

Silently, Harry handed it over.  “Prior Incantato.”  Harry watched in fascination as shadows of the spells he’d cast that day poured out of the end of his wand.  First, the Water-Making Spells he’d been practicing during the lunch break before he learned Herbology had been canceled, then the animation spells they’d practiced during Charms class, the Imperturbable Charm he’d demonstrated for Professor McGonagall the spells they’d cast in Transfiguration that day, and finally the charms he’d cast while bathing and getting dressed that morning.

Professor Dumbledore handed it back.  “Studying hard, indeed,” he praised.

“I’m not possessed, am I?” Harry asked.  He supposed it would be possible for him to miss time while studying in the evenings and not notice, as long as he was back in his garden before he woke up.  It wasn’t like Mr. Tufty was there to tell him something was wrong.

Dumbledore shook his head.  “I saw no signs of that.”  Harry gave a sigh of relief.

“You may go now, Harry.  Though, please keep in mind what we’ve spoken about today?  Don’t go straying too far into abandoned sections of Hogwarts while we’re still looking for Slytherin’s creature, and if you hear anything or notice any of your fellow students behaving oddly, please let a professor know.”

“Of course,” Harry said.  He certainly wouldn’t wander Hogwarts without Mr. Tufty as an escort when Voldemort was wandering its halls too!

Harry turned to go, then, at the last minute stopped.  “Professor, can I ask a favor?”

Dumbledore’s eyebrow rose in question.  “Of course.  Perhaps I might even grant it.”

“Could I have a pass for the Restricted Section?”  Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose higher still.  “Nothing bad,” Harry rushed. “It’s just that Madam Pince said most of the books on Parseltongue were kept in the Restricted Section and I wanted to learn more.  Especially about Parseltongue and Parselmouths outside of Europe.  I only found two in the normal stacks.  One is mostly biographies of various Dark wizards and the other is just an encyclopedia entry.”

“Hm,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  “I can see where that might appeal to you.  Unfortunately, I don’t know the title of one off the top of my head.  The Hogwarts Library, as good as it is, mostly focuses on European magics and the ones about Parseltongue in Europe are all rather dire and dangerous for your age.  Let me inspect the books myself first to see which ones might be age appropriate.  I will not give you a pass for the Restricted Section as a whole, but if I can find appropriate books on Parselmouths or Parseltongue outside of Europe, I will write you a pass for those specific books.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said gratefully and left.  Harry decided to skip History entirely and headed straight up to his garden.  There was the Diagon Alley library to peruse, too, and that’s where his catalog was.

Harry received a note from Professor McGonagall as he ate dinner in the kitchens that night.  His detentions, to his vast lack of surprise, were to continue as scheduled.  In Potions class the next day, Professor Snape gave him another detention for “distracting the class by breathing too loudly.”

Chapter Text

Besieged by angry Hufflepuffs, Peeves singing “Potter, you rotter”, and nightly detentions that lasted into the morning hours, the week passed extremely slowly.

Filch and Snape seemed to be having a competition as to who could come up with the most unpleasant tasks for him to fulfill.  Snape was winning but only because the students couldn’t concentrate and turned their potions to near-cement like states daily.

Finally, the weekend arrived, and Harry watched from an upper window and celebrated as he saw students stream towards the carriages that would carry them to the Hogwarts Express.  He was really looking forward to a quiet holiday.  Well, as quiet as it could be with the Gryffindor Common room full of Weasleys.  Mr. Weasley had mentioned in his latest letter that their second son, Charlie, had been badly burned by a dragon in Romania.  Mrs. Weasley had gone to visit him at the preserve and help nurse him back to health.  Mr. Weasley was busy with working as much overtime as he possibly could, covering for employees in other divisions of the DMLE.  Since they didn’t want their children unsupervised at home for days on end, the Weasleys had to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. 

Harry worried a bit for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  And Charlie of course.  He knew that the Weasleys loved their kids and big dinners like they’d have on Christmas.  He couldn’t imagine why Mr. Weasley had felt he had to work overtime for the whole holiday instead of taking it off to stay with his kids, especially with another child being petrified in the last week.  What could be more important than having your children home safe for a major holiday?  Harry decided he’d ask Percy.  But first, he had to go serve his final detention for breathing.

Hours later, Harry crawled through the portrait into the Gryffindor common room, exhausted.  Snape had seemed determined to give him a detention he’d remember for the whole holiday and kept him scrubbing at the tables and floor until they gleamed.  When Harry had finally announced that he was done, Professor Snape had merely sneered at him and told him he’d forgotten to do the walls. 

Harry had stopped by the kitchens on his way upstairs and gotten them to pack him a small dinner basket.  He was almost too tired to eat, but all he’d had to eat all day was a hasty bowl of porridge and a cup of tea.

When he looked around the common room, he could see Percy hard at work at a table, studying, the twins were off in the corner looking as if they were planning some bit of mayhem, and, to Harry’s surprise, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were sitting by the fire laughing about something.  Harry hadn’t thought Neville’s Gran, as overprotective as Neville made her sound, would be willing to let him stay in a nearly empty castle, even if it hadn’t had Slytherin’s monster running loose. 

“Harry!”  Percy called officiously.  “I wasn’t aware you were staying for the holiday.  Your name wasn’t on the list McGonagall gave me.”  Ron, Hermione, and Neville looked up, startled, and stared at him.

“I was never in the common room when McGonagall came by to collect names so I had to verbally tell her after Transfiguration class.  She must have forgotten to write it down,” Harry said, approaching Percy so they didn’t have to shout across the room at each other.

Percy frowned at him.  “You weren’t at lunch or dinner either.  And you’re hours past curfew.  You may not be aware, but curfew is still in effect, even if school isn’t in session.  It’s not safe to wander after hours, especially at the moment.”

Harry slid into the seat across from him and opened his picnic basket.  He hadn’t spent more than a few seconds in the common room at a time since the night of Halloween, but he didn’t want crumbs in his bed, and he had intended to chat with Percy.  “I wasn’t allowed to eat lunch or dinner.  I had detention with Professor Snape.” 

“All this time?  Surely he must have allowed you time to eat dinner.” 

“From just before the train left this morning until now.”  Harry looked at a large clock on the wall.  It was now nearly one in the morning.  “So… fifteen hours?  Sixteen?  And, no, he didn’t let me stop to eat.  He left himself, but didn’t let me go.  He said if I left the room before he could see his face in the polish on the floor, I’d just have detention again tomorrow.”

Harry started unpacking the basket.  Thankfully, it seemed the house elves had listened to his plea for a simple dinner and merely given him a jar full of piping hot creamy tomato soup, a large roll of crusty bread with butter, and a jar full of hot chocolate to go with it.  Harry could see various pieces of fruit and other snacks at the bottom of the basket.  They were obviously hoping he’d stay awake long enough to eat more, but if he didn’t, it’d all still be good in the morning.  Ignoring the bowl and spoon Mipsy had provided, he sipped the soup right out of the jar, then tore off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the jar as well.  He gave a sigh of pleasure, eyes drooping in exhaustion.

Percy made a noise of protest at his lack of decorum, though Harry had seen far worse manners at The Burrow’s dinner table.  At least Harry was chewing with his mouth closed. 

“Have you heard from your dad?  How’s Charlie doing?” Harry ventured when he finished chewing.

“As well as can be expected,” Percy sighed.  “He’s out of danger now, though, so it’s mostly just waiting for the burn paste to do its job.  Dragon fire is no joke, so it takes a while.  Mum’s helping him out with things like getting dressed and cooking.  Both his hands and arms were badly burned so he can’t really do much of anything for himself right now, they’re so covered in bandages.”

“But he’ll recover?”

Percy nodded.  “Might be some scarring, especially on his arms, but they think his hands will be fine, and that’s the part I think everyone was most worried about at first.”

“Good.  Your dad seemed really worried about him in his letter.”  Harry chewed another bite of bread as he hesitated.  “Percy, is everything else okay with your family?” he asked quietly.  “I would have thought you would have all gone home for Christmas, even if your mum couldn’t be there.  Your dad sounded like he’s been spending a lot of time working.”  Percy looked at him sharply.  “I know it’s none of my business.  I’m just worried.”

Percy sighed.  “Well, don’t tell my father I told you, but it was reported in the Daily Prophet this morning, after all, so it’s hardly a secret.”  Percy waited for Harry to nod in agreement.  “Ron and Neville’s little stunt at the start of school had consequences.  Dad had an inquiry at work for enchanting a Muggle artifact and they fined him a large amount of money.”  Harry winced.  He knew the Weasleys didn’t have much at all to spare.  “Lucius Malfoy has been calling on him to resign and the laws to be repealed.  It looks bad for one of two employees in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office to be caught misusing Muggle artifacts.  Makes a joke of the laws.”

“I thought your dad built loopholes into the laws when he wrote them?”  Harry asked. 

“Not big enough ones, apparently.  They would have covered the car if it’d just been found in our garage, but Ron was caught flying it.  Hard to argue that it wasn’t meant to be flown after that.  Dad’s been expecting some sort of fine so he’s been working all the overtime he could ever since it happened, but this was a lot more than he was expecting.  He has a year to pay it, thankfully, but it’s going to be very, very difficult.”  Percy glanced up to check that his siblings were out of earshot.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but if anyone here will understand, it’s you.  I think Mum and Dad are scared they’re going to lose the Burrow.”  Harry’s head flew up in shock.  The Burrow?!  “Not the whole thing, but you know Mum and Dad own a lot of the land surrounding it?”  Harry nodded.  The Weasleys owned several acres, including the pond and some of the woods that were needed to shield the Burrow from the view of their Muggle neighbors.

“They’ve scrimped and saved our whole lives to buy all that.  They’ve been planning on giving each of us kids an acre as wedding presents and build us houses to live in while we’re off on our honeymoons.  It’s always been Mum’s dream to have us all living close together and have all of her grandchildren under foot every day.  The land itself was cheap but they’ve had to pay taxes on the land all these years.  You know land taxes are free for your first acre and go up with each additional acre you own?”  Harry nodded.  Property taxes sounded rather expensive, from what Harry could tell.  “We’ve sacrificed a lot to keep that extra land all these years.  Now…  Well, if they can’t pay the fine in time, they might lose it.  They might have to sell part of it anyway, just to not have to go into debt.  Imagine, having Muggle neighbors.”

Harry stared at him, eyes wide.  Muggle neighbors meant no Quidditch.  No broom riding.  Having to be careful about what you said or where you and your visitors apparated from, even what you wore when you stepped outside your door.  Pretending to be… well, not the Dursley version of normal.  Most muggles weren’t that obsessed with absolute and perfect normality.  But at least not so abnormal you attracted attention.  Even the Burrow itself, with its crooked construction, might not stand up to that level of scrutiny.

“What’s your family going to do?” Harry asked.

Percy sighed and checked on his siblings again.  “Don’t tell any of them I said this, okay?  I don’t think they’ve realized how bad it is yet and I don’t want their Christmas ruined.”  Harry nodded. 

“Dad’s been working all the overtime he can which is why we’re not at home right now.  Mum’s been trying to get a job of her own, but she’s never worked before. Always stayed home with us kids.  Bill and Charlie are going to help out too, as much as they can.  Well, Charlie was before he got so injured.  Who knows how much he’ll be able to help now.  I’m planning on trying to get a job this summer.  I’ll be seventeen by then.  Dad mentioned he might apply for Hardship Waivers for the twins and Ron so they can get jobs.  Maybe Ginny too.  Harry’s eyes got even wider.  That was a big deal.  Wizards seemed to consider it incredibly shameful if a child had to work before graduating Hogwarts.  Especially if they had to work before turning seventeen since that usually meant manual labor for low wages.

“Wow…”  Harry turned to look at Ron and Neville, sitting with Hermione next to the fireplace, laughing.  He wondered if Ron had any clue what he’d actually done when he flew that car.  “I don’t know what to say.  That’s awful.”  Harry turned back to his basket and grabbed the jar of hot chocolate, the mug, and a small packet of marshmallows.  He poured half the chocolate into the mug, added some of the marshmallows, and slid it over to Percy.  He rummaged around in the basket and found a few biscuits to offer as well. 

He sipped his half of the hot chocolate for a minute and thought.  “Your parents still think I’m coming to live at your house next summer.  In your field, I mean.”  Percy stared at him in surprise.  This was obviously news to him.  Harry flushed a bit, but fair was fair, and Percy was sharing Weasley family secrets.  He shouldn’t be ashamed of sharing a few of his own.  “I don’t have anywhere else to live, you see.  The Dursleys kicked me out this summer.  That’s why your parents invited me to stay with them and arranged for me to stay with Theresa.”  Percy’s eyes were rather wide now too.  “I need to tell them I’ve changed my mind just in case they’re counting on rent money or something.  And your dad probably still thinks there will be good jobs for underage wizards in Diagon Alley.” 

“There’s not?” Percy said quietly.

Harry shook his head.  “I spent a week there, looking for work.  I got two mornings’ work.  Both paid in barter, not cash, and I think one of those jobs was just because the guy felt sorry for me.  I went to every single shop in the Alley, and not a single one was interested in hiring me for full time work for next summer.”  Harry shrugged and looked at Percy. 

“Fred and George might be able to get work in Ottery St. Catchpole or Muggle London if they can manage to blend in with Muggles.  They’ll be fifteen by then, right?”  Percy nodded.  Harry had his doubts about any of the Weasleys being able to blend in with Muggles, but the twins had to be clever to do half the things they did.  They might be able to catch on quick enough.  “Muggles don’t have magic, so they need more manual labor than wizards do.  Washing dishes, waiting tables, sweeping floors, that sort of thing.  It should be easier work than what I’ve heard is available to underage wizards.  Ron will be harder.  A thirteen year old can technically work in the Muggle world, but it’s mostly just stuff like yard work, mowing lawns, walking dogs.  It doesn’t pay well, and there won’t be much of it in a village your size.  It should be easier for you, if you’ll be seventeen.  All the real jobs go to people who can use wands and you’ll be able to apparate to get where ever you need to go.  You might even be able to get a paid internship at the ministry or something, if wizards even have that sort of thing” 

This made Percy swell with importance at the idea of working at the ministry before he deflated. “I don’t think we do.  What’s an internship?”

“It’s where you do simpler tasks related to a profession as a learning experience while you’re still in school.”  Harry spent a couple of minutes doing his best to explain the concept, though he wasn’t entirely sure how it worked himself. 

Percy tilted his head thoughtfully.  “That sounds a bit like a cross between an apprenticeship and some of the Hogwarts clubs where they practically apply spells learned in classes.  It’s an interesting concept, but wizards really frown on students working before finishing their schooling.”  Harry made a note that he really ought to pay more attention to clubs next year if they were like internships.  They couldn’t all be as bad as the Dueling Club, could they?  “When you write to Dad, you ought to tell him about that.  He’d be fascinated.  And there’s no way internships could get him into trouble.  Nothing to enchant.”  Percy gave Harry a wry smile.

“What are you going to do this summer, if you’re not going to live with us?” 

Harry shrugged.  “I’ve heard Hogsmeade has more jobs available.  I’m going to stay there and see what I can find.  It won’t be a good job – probably nothing like what you’re thinking.  But, hopefully, it’ll be enough to pay the bill I have coming at the end of the summer and keep food on my table.” 

“Where are you going to live?”

Harry checked to make sure no one had gotten closer.  “Promise you won’t tell?  I mean, your parents know but not Ron and them.”  Percy nodded.  “I’m making a tent.  Well, I’ve already made the tent.  Did that months ago.  I’m trying to enchant it so it’s more of a proper wizard tent instead of a Muggle style one.  I’ve been working on it all year.  A friend told me that there’s some fields where I can pitch the tent in Hogsmeade.”

“The Squib shanty town?” Percy asked, shocked.  Harry motioned for him to keep his voice down.  “I mean, I know it exists, but Mum’s never let me go into that end of Hogsmeade.  Hogwarts doesn’t really let the students explore much on weekends either.  I’ve barely seen more than the High Street.”

“Well, that’s why I’ve been putting off telling your parents.  I know they won’t approve.  But that’s my plan.  Even Theresa agreed there’d be more jobs available in Hogsmeade than in Diagon, and she lives in Diagon so she’d know.  There’s no good way for me to get from the Burrow to Hogsmeade every day, which means staying in Hogsmeade, which means the tent city.”  Harry finished his hot chocolate and stowed the empty jars in the basket.  Percy drank the last bit of his chocolate and handed the mug back to Harry to be stowed away as well.  Harry found a few more biscuits and some candies and passed them to Percy.  Someone had to eat some of them, or Mipsy would be upset with him.

“I’m off to bed.  Scrubbing the floor for fifteen hours straight is exhausting.  Thanks for telling me.  I won’t tell them you told me anything.  In fact, tomorrow, I’ll go to the library and look up the Daily Prophet article, just so if it comes up I can honestly say I read about it in the paper.”  Percy gave him a grateful smile.  “But they need to know my plans just in case it affects their plans, especially the part about the lack of jobs in Diagon.  I’ll wait until your mum’s home, then write and tell them my plans.  Maybe with six months to work with, your dad can pull some strings and find Ron and the twins better jobs than the ones I found.  He must have met a lot of people in his job, have a lot of contacts.”

Percy nodded.  “That’s one of the biggest advantages to working at the ministry – knowing the right people for any sort of situation.”

As Harry headed up to the dorm, he hoped that Percy was right.  He just couldn’t imagine The Burrow, of all places, would ever be the same if they got Muggle neighbors nearby.

Harry returned his picnic basket the next morning, the first real day of his holiday, and watched as Mipsy peered inside then drooped her ears in disappointment at how little had been eaten.  “Mr. Potter is not liking Hogwarts cooking?” she asked.

“No!” Harry said frantically.  “I mean, yes, I love your cooking.  The soup was excellent.  It was just that it was really late and I was too tired to eat much.  I would have eaten more of the biscuits this morning, but I knew you’d rather I eat a proper hot breakfast.  With plates and tea and things.”

A little mollified, Mipsy continued to verify the contents of the basket, made a scandalized sound, then pulled out the still clean bowl and spoon and glared at Harry accusingly. 

“I’m sorry, Mipsy.  I really was very tired.  But it still was the best tomato soup I’ve had in a long time, even if I didn’t use a spoon.”  Harry tried very hard to look earnest and abashed.

Mipsy pointed to the side table demandingly.  As soon as Harry sat, several elves rushed over with a big platter with a full English breakfast and a tea service.  “Mr. Potter is eating every bite,” Mipsy commanded, eyes narrowed.  Harry nodded obediently and ate while reading through his study notes for defense.  He glanced up every now and again while he ate and noticed far more eyes on him than usual.  Apparently, the elves were bored with so few students around to feed and care for.

As soon as he finished, his plate was whisked away, his tea cup refilled, and a small plate with an eclair was placed in front of him.  “Mipsy, breakfast was excellent, as usual, but I’m full and –”

Harry broke off at her glare.

“Mr. Potter is liking Hogwarts cooking?”  Harry nodded automatically.  “Then Mr. Potter is eating Hogwarts cooking,” she said with finality.  Helplessly, Harry returned to his reading, drank his tea and ate the eclair. 

When he was finally done with both, he sat back.  “Thank you,” he said to the elf that came to collect his plate and tea service.  “That was an excellent eclair too.”  The elf grinned and gave a little bow as he moved away, and Mipsy returned to the table.

“Mipsy, could I have another picnic basket, please?”  Harry asked.  He saw her eyes narrow.  “Not for dinner!  I promise, I’ll come down for dinner.  I’ve just got a lot of work to do in the garden with the harvesting, and…”  He trailed off at her glare.

“Mr. Potter is not eating any food from his garden?” she asked, significantly.

“No!  Of course not.  I promise, I won’t.  Well, I might need to nibble a pea or two.”  Mipsy’s eyes narrowed further and Harry rushed to explain.  “But it’s only to taste them, that’s all. I don’t know quite what a ripe one looks like.  It’s not because I like peas better than your food.”

“And Mr. Potter is not cooking?” she verified.

Harry shook his head frantically.  “No cooking!  Just preserving.  Blanching the vegetables and putting them in a potion, I promise.  And I’ll definitely come down for dinner, too, and eat at the table.”

“We is making all your favorites for Christmas dinner,” Mipsy said, her eyes still narrow.  “We is making an entire treacle tart, just for Mr. Potter.  We is watching.  If we is thinking Mr. Potter is not liking Hogwarts cooking, we is giving the tart to someone else and Mr. Potter can bake one for his self.”

Moans at this blasphemy came from some of the watching elves, though there were a few giggles too.  Harry paled at the threat of no treacle tart for Christmas dinner.  “I promise!  No eating vegetables and no cooking!”  A few more giggles floated through the room as Mipsy gave him a final glare then turned to help the rest of the elves pack a basket.

Harry retreated to his garden, laden with a basket full of bottles of pumpkin juice, pasties, biscuits, slices of cake, gingerbread, fruit, chocolates, and candies.  The elves had even included a large jar of tea leaves.  He was well provided for and couldn’t possibly get hungry enough to dare eat a vegetable while he was harvesting.

When he got to his garden, he put the heavy basket down with a sigh of relief and turned to examine his crops.

Each batch of preserving potion was supposed to fill half a dozen liter sized jars.  Harry was using half liter sized jars, so that meant a full dozen jars had to be filled before the potion cooled if he didn’t want to waste any of it.

Keeping that in mind, Harry browsed his garden beds, seeing what was ready to harvest.  

Starting with the peas, Harry examined the pods.  He’d never actually seen fresh peas in a pod before so he wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to look like, nor how many pods he’d need to shell to make a half liter.  Feeling a bit guilty for betraying the house elves, he ate a few experimentally, trying to figure out what a ripe pea pod looked like.  Once he figured it out, he pointedly ate a couple of biscuits and drank some juice, just to prove he liked Hogwarts cooking better, then looked at his vines critically.  He thought he had more than enough for at least a couple of half liters, and more would be ripe in a few days.  He’d start with peas.

Then the runner beans, then the tomatoes.  Harry grabbed a bowl and got started.

Even though shelling the peas took far more time than he’d expected, he still managed to finish his first dozen jars of food before lunch.  He’d wait a couple of days for more to ripen, then do another dozen or two jars.

After a lunch of juice, pasties, fruit and a piece of gingerbread, Harry headed off to the library to read the Daily Prophet article like he’d promised Percy he would and pick up the books he’d ordered from the Diagon Alley library.  His Christmas present to himself was to spend at least two hours a day reading novels, something he’d not felt right doing all year with the need for a tent looming over his head.  But if he couldn’t read something fun during Christmas, what use was a holiday anyway?

The Prophet article took only minutes to locate and read, and shortly Harry was at Madam Pince’s counter, asking for his books. 

Sniffing at his selections, she slid over the pile of books from Diagon which included a book on snake rituals from around the world and another couple on Parselmouths in addition to several novels.  He’d gotten a few earlier in the week, but they hadn’t been any more helpful than the ones in the Hogwarts main collection so he’d ordered more.  “Here you are, Mr. Potter.  And the headmaster dropped off a pass for the Restricted Section.  I already pulled the book out for you.”  She reached under the counter and brought up an extremely old looking book.  “What he’s thinking letting a second year student read about Parseltongue, of all things…” she grumbled with a pinched expression on her face.  “If he hadn’t delivered the pass himself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Grinning and mentally thanking the headmaster’s foresight, Harry thanked her and carried the stack to his garden.

Before settling down to read, Harry turned back to his harvest.  The rest of the fresh vegetables weren’t quite ready yet but the garbanzo beans and quinoa both were, so he carefully harvested the quinoa bit by bit and shook the seeds into some of the flour sacks Mrs. Weasley had padded the jars with, then did the same for the garbanzo beans.

After finishing the day’s gardening chores, Harry settled down to read with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits and chocolates.  It felt strange to be reading a fiction book after months of focusing solely on Charms, but it was also nice.  He’d picked a book about a curse breaker, having asked Mr. Weasley for suggestions.  He’d been fascinated by Mr. Weasley’s description of his oldest son Bill’s job in Egypt.

Harry lost himself in the tale of a team of curse breakers tramping through a South American rain forest, and their hair raising adventure breaking in to a temple abandoned centuries ago.  They even traveled with their own set of magical tents and trunks!

Before he realized it, it was dinner time and he wandered back downstairs, nose still in the book.  He bumped into someone on the stairs, murmured a vague apology, and barely noticed when they took his elbow and started guiding him along.  He was startled a few minutes later when a persistent nudging broke him from his trance, and he looked up to see that he was seated at a quiet spot near the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, rather than being in the kitchens as he’d planned. 

The nudge came again, and Harry realized Percy was trying to pass him a platter of pork chops.  Hastily, he put the book down and took the platter and served himself dinner. 

“Good book?” Percy asked wryly.  Blushing a bit, Harry nodded.  “You really ought to pay more attention on the stairs.  You might trip on one of the trick steps or fall off if the stair starts moving.  You were headed entirely the wrong way when I started leading you here.  And you want to stay alert in the halls, with things as they are,” Percy lectured.  Harry hadn’t thought of Slytherin’s Heir at all.  He supposed it was rather careless of him to not pay attention.  “Even if things were better, you’re still around Fred and George, and being distracted near them and food is never a good idea.”  Harry laughed. “You missed breakfast and lunch again,” Percy continued disapprovingly.  “That’s just not healthy, no matter how good your book is.” 

“Oh, I did eat breakfast and lunch, I promise.  A full English, eclairs, pasties, fruit, gingerbread, cake, biscuits, tea…  I’ve been eating non-stop all day.”  Percy shot him a look, as if to verify his story.  “I think the house elves are rather bored, actually.”

“Or they’re trying to make up for you hardly eating a thing yesterday.”  Harry shrugged.  It was a possibility.  Percy’s eyes landed on the book.  “You know, I think that was Bill’s favorite book.  I remember him reading it over and over again.  Never could get into it myself.”

“Your dad recommended it to me.  It’s really exciting.  I just go to the part where the lethifold attacked their camp when they slept.” 

“Bill says that 90% of the time, curse breaking is all mundane research, book work, and boring slogs.”  Harry slumped in disappointment.  “But the other 10% is even more exciting than the book makes it sound.”  He perked back up.  “Are you planning on being a curse breaker?”

“I really hadn’t thought about it yet.  I do know I want to travel a lot.  Graduation seems so far away and there’s not much point to a well paying job when I’m in debt.  It’s not like I really want them to earn any more money off of me,” Harry said bitterly.  “So that’s another five or so years after graduation before the debt expires.”

“Hmm…” Percy said thoughtfully.  “Still, you don’t want to waste your time.  Good opportunity for an apprenticeship.  Some don’t pay any more than room and board, if that, and they can last for years.  It tends to exclude all but the richest from certain professions, but it might work in your favor.   You can also spend the time meeting the right people, gaining connections for future employment, building up your reputation.

“In any case, you do want to think about it.  Or at least a range of possibilities.  You choose your electives this year, so you need to have some idea or you won’t pick the right ones.  If you don’t have the right OWLs or NEWTs, you won’t get the best jobs.”

“I’ll think about it, I promise,” Harry said, though with Flitwick’s assurance that he could take OWLs without taking the classes, Harry was sure it wasn’t quite as dire a dilemma as Percy was making it sound. 

Having served himself and cut up his pork chop for easy one-handed eating, Harry reopened his book.  He never did get around to studying that day.

The rest of the week passed quickly in a similar fashion, though Harry had learned his lesson and did his charms practice and other serious reading before diving into his novels.  But even most of his serious reading was interesting that week. 

The book of snake rituals wasn’t all that useful since most of the rituals described had little or nothing to do with Parselmouths.  One of the exceptions was a better description of the sect of monks and nuns in Italy that had been mentioned in the other books he’d read.  The sect used hallucinations induced by snake venom to obtain visions of the future.  Harry found the concept rather fascinating.  The particular breed of snake used was extremely deadly and a tolerance for the venom had to be built up slowly by low, regular doses throughout one’s life, starting in infancy, and any slight miscalculation on dosages resulted in severe side effects or death.  Harry was entirely unsurprised the sect was dying out.

The other potential Parselmouths mentioned was a small cult of Muggle Evangelical Christian faith healers in America that spoke in tongues and handled snakes, led by a Squib from a family of noted Parselmouths.  The Squib in question refused to confirm or deny rumors that he was also a Parselmouth, though if he were, it would go a long way towards explaining his cult’s good record of avoiding even minor snake bites. 

The other two books on Parseltongue from Diagon were useless, consisting of biographies of the same Dark wizards that Harry had already read about but the thick book the headmaster had provided from the Restricted Section was utterly fascinating.

It detailed various communities of Parselmouths and uses for Parseltongue throughout the world; everything from a group of wyvern speakers in China, groups of renowned healers in India and Southeast Asia, to small communities of Parselmouths deep in the African jungles that bred runespoor, to sailors that tamed sea serpents to drag their boats into harbors and sink enemy ships.

The book then diverted into a brief chapter regarding uses for Parseltongue itself, though it was mostly all speculation.  Since it was a magical language, all Parselmouths across the world could communicate with each other, hearing only accented voices in their native tongues.  That there were further implications of it being a true magical language was hinted at in the text, but never directly discussed.

Additionally, it noted that there were trends among Parselmouths across the world.  Involvement in the healing arts was a very common trend, though whether this was due to something particular to the Parseltongue ability itself, whether it was being raised in communities full of healers, or whether it was merely the fact that Parselmouths often raised magical breeds of snakes whose venom and eggs were extremely useful in healing potions was a matter of hot debate.  Use of Parseltongue by various Dark wizards throughout history and throughout the world was another large trend, though whether this was due to something inherent in Parseltongue or due to mental instability caused by inbreeding in an effort to keep the Parselmouth ability active in a family was also a matter of hot debate.  The book noted that the vast majority of Parselmouth Dark wizards stemmed from isolated bloodlines rather than organized Parselmouth communities, leading credence to the inbreeding theory.

Harry was fascinated by all of this.  He’d always thought of speaking to snakes as being a relatively useless ability, since the snakes he’d met were all rather stupid, but it sounded far more useful than he’d thought.  Imagine, to be able to travel the world and easily communicate with other Parselmouths…  Well, English was far more common than Parseltongue but it still warranted consideration.  And what were the implications of it being a true magical language?  Was that why so many Parseltongue books were in the Restricted Section?

There was also the possibility of it leading to a career.  Harry wasn’t particularly interested in being a healer but breeding snakes?  Or milking them for venom or collecting eggs?  That was more interesting.  If magical breeds of snakes were more intelligent than mundane breeds, it might be even more rewarding. 

If there were Parselmouth speakers who could speak to Chinese wyverns and sea serpents, what other magical breeds might be capable of Parseltongue?  Could a Peruvian Vipertooth dragon, for instance, speak Parseltongue?  What about an occamy? 

Harry suddenly wondered if there were any good books about snake breeds written by Parselmouths.  Was there a Parselmouth version of Newt Scamander who’d traveled the world, talking to all the different types of snakes, detailing their observations?  Harry resolved to find out. 

On Christmas, Harry pulled back his bed curtains to find that, despite it being just past dawn, Hermione was already in their dorm room, whispering conspiratorially with Neville and Ron.  When they heard him move, they turned and looked at him as if he were intruding on a private meeting he had no right to barge in on.  Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed his clothes and his presents, and closed his curtains again so he could get dressed.  How private could it be in a shared dorm room with him sleeping feet away?

“What if he heard us?” he heard Hermione whisper.

“He did something to his curtains.  Some sort of silencing charm.  We’ve been testing it with all sorts of sirens and he never wakes up,” Neville whispered back.

“Still, what if he heard about the… you know,” she said.  “I knew we shouldn’t have talked about this in here.”

“I really can hear you, you know.  You’re not that quiet,” Harry said in a normal tone. 

They cut off abruptly.  “Uh, talk about what?  We were just talking about Neville’s Christmas presents, right Neville?  He’s trying to surprise someone.”  Harry rolled his eyes again.  Ron was not the best liar in the school, by far.

Harry opened his presents, having three this year.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent him another green sweater and a very old and battered cookbook.  That they’d spent the time and money to find a copy of one of Mrs. Weasley’s favorite cookbooks despite their current financial difficulties made Harry grin, and he put on the sweater immediately.  Theresa had sent him a gift certificate for her shop, good for one bolt of whatever non-specialty fabric he liked and a matching spool of thread.  Mrs. Figg had sent him a pillow, just the right size and shape to fit into Mr. Tufty’s basket, along with note saying she knew he missed Mr. Tufty but spring was right around the corner, which made Harry tear up a bit.  Spring couldn’t come fast enough, in his opinion.  The past two months wouldn’t have been half as bad if he’d had Mr. Tufty’s loyal company.

Harry had given Mr. Weasley a ballpoint pen and a small packet of sticky notes and included a letter explaining, as much as he was able, how they both worked, how they were made and what they were used for.  It seemed a bit inappropriate now, given the fine he’d just gotten for enchanting Muggle artifacts, but he’d bought them that summer and had nothing else to give on short notice.

He’d sent Mrs. Figg, Mrs. Weasley and Theresa some potpourri balls made of dried lavender sprigs and an assortment of dried herbs for tea, as well as fresh herbs for cooking in Mrs. Figg’s case.  Mrs. Figg did have her own herb garden, but in the middle of winter, she’d be using dried herbs and would probably welcome fresh.  Theresa had mostly brought takeaway when he was staying with her, so he left the fresh herbs out and Mrs. Weasley might not even be home by the time fresh herbs would spoil so he’d send them as soon as he heard she was home again.

He felt a brief pang that Neville hadn’t sent him a Christmas present this year like he had last year.  To be fair, neither had he.  He’d debated it, but in the end, he had nothing Neville would want, and the confrontation about him being a Parselmouth was the closest they’d come to having a conversation since the Quidditch tryouts.  He’d talked to Hermione more recently than he’d talked to Neville, and considering that he tried to avoid conversations with Hermione and didn’t mind talking to Neville, that was a very telling fact. 

Harry listened to Ron complain about getting a maroon sweater which he apparently hated the color of and had to smile.  Idly, he wondered if Mrs. Weasley had gotten her children’s preferences confused, which did happen occasionally, or if convincing her that Ron loved maroon had been the twins’ idea of a joke.

When Harry opened his curtains again, Ron made a biting comment about how his Slytherin green sweater was appropriate for a Parselmouth, and Harry immediately resolved that when he wrote the Weasleys their thank you letter, he’d make sure to casually mention how Ron had said he loved that shade of maroon. 

Ron could always learn a color changing charm if he hated it that much.

The day after Christmas, Harry was met with a dilemma.  Mrs. Weasley had given him six dozen half liter sized jars all total, plus assorted other jars.  Harry had planned to preserve a full two dozen jars of whole tomatoes and had planted what he thought was enough tomatoes of a variety that produced all their fruit in a short window in order to ensure that happened. 

Now that the harvest had come, he realized that he’d planted far too many tomatoes for simply preserving whole peeled tomatoes.  He’d already preserved a dozen half liter jars full, plus two of the liter sized jars so he knew about how many it would take to fill the other dozen, and he had far more than he would need.  He’d planned on drying any extra, and he could still do that, but it seemed a bit wasteful of his limited selection of jars, especially when something like tomato sauce would condense the tomatoes further and that’s something he’d need as often as he’d need whole or diced tomatoes.

But did he even know how?  Or have the right equipment?  He was sure there was a spell to do the saucing bit, but what about other things? 

He didn’t have the special jars for sauces, anyway, just the ones with the fixed lids.  Though that wasn’t a huge problem.  There were several things he could cook, like soup or spaghetti, that might need a half liter of tomato sauce, especially if he ate it two days in a row so he could finish the jar before it could spoil.

More importantly, he hadn’t had the heart to continue the rune research he’d been working on the night Mr. Tufty had been petrified, so he had no real stove.  He’d brought in a large flat stone from out by the lake to act as a heat proof surface and a few more to prop up his pot and cauldron and conjured flames under them.  That was fine for making tea and blanching since that only needed the water to be boiling but trying to make the potion with it made it clear it was a lot harder to maintain a simmer.  The potion had worked out but only because it was relatively quick to brew. 

Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought the tomato sauce would take a long time to thicken up and reduce, and he wasn’t sure he could do that with his conjured flame.  Not without risking burning and ruining it.

Plus, he was rather certain that would count as cooking, which Mipsy had given him very strict orders not to do.  He’d eaten his fill of treacle tart at the Christmas dinner, so that threat was no longer valid, but he wanted treacle tart next Christmas too!

Perhaps she’d forgive him if he explained he wouldn’t eat it until summer?  Harry sighed.  Somehow, he didn’t think so, but he could ask her opinion anyway, he supposed.

When he ventured down to the kitchen to ask, however, Mipsy looked at him as if had suggested something rather vile.  “Students is not allowed to cook at Hogwarts!  That’s a job for elves!”  Agreeing nods were seen all over the kitchen. “Mipsy told Mr. Potter that gardens mean cooking, but Mr. Potter didn’t listen to Mipsy.”

“I’m sorry!” Harry said quickly.  “I know I’m not allowed to cook, and I’m sure your tomato sauce would be better than any sauce I could make.  That tomato soup you gave me last week was the best I’ve had in a long time, and I don’t think I could ever make anything half so good.  But I don’t live here in the summers so I have to suffer and eat my own, much worse cooking.”  Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the grouped elves started looking a bit friendlier.  “I don’t have a stove anyway, so I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.  Which, I don’t!” Harry added that last bit frantically when he saw a few frowns return.  “It’s just that I do need the food this summer and I have extra tomatoes I don’t want to go to waste.  I could dry them, but it’s a lot for drying, and I’d need more sauce than dried tomatoes anyway.”

Mipsy gave him a look as if he were particularly slow witted.  “Is easy,” she declared.  “Elves take the tomatoes and cook them, as is elves’ job.  Then elves give it back to Mr. Potter.”

Harry watched as elves throughout the whole room nodded emphatically.  That solution hadn’t occurred to him.  He’d been so fixated on doing it himself, but there was certainly centuries of precedent for elves doing the cooking in any home they lived in so it was surely allowed. 

“I would love that.  I know there’s certain rules about not taking things out of Hogwarts that belong to Hogwarts so I’d need to provide all of the ingredients, but I’m not sure what I need for tomato sauce.  Just tomatoes, right?”  Several of the elves looked at each other, and Harry thought he might have said another particularly stupid thing.  “Er… I’ve got some herbs too? Oregano, basil, um… and a couple bulbs of garlic and a few small potato onions?”  The garlic and potato onions he’d bought that summer had been intended for planting, but he could easily order more via owl if he needed to.

One of the elves Harry didn’t recognize stepped forward.  “Violet is helping sir.  Sir will go to garden and call Violet, then Violet will see what sir has,” she said shyly.

“Thank you, Violet.”  Harry glanced at Mipsy, who gave him a shooing motion.  Having been given orders from someone far too scary to cross, Harry left the kitchens quickly and called Violet as soon as he got to his garden.  She appeared, along with two other elves, and they perused the vegetables and herbs.  Harry produced the garlic and onions and the half a box of empty jars he planned to use for the rest of the tomatoes. 

After a few minutes, the elves put their heads together and consulted each other, then Violet broke away and came over to Harry.  “Sir has sugar?  And vinegar?” she asked tentatively.

Harry had to think.  It’d been a long time since he’d last cooked.  “I have sugar left, I think, half a bag worth.  And vinegar, I have ordinary and red?”  He’d used the red to mix with oil and herbs to create a simple dressing for his salads the first two weeks.  Violet looked pleased at this news and went to report her findings to the other elves who nodded rapidly, ears flapping in their excited enthusiasm.  Soon, the elves were rushing around his garden, collecting ingredients.  Not just the ripe tomatoes, onions, garlic and herbs he’d expected, but also chilies and green tomatoes.  They even took a leftover cob of corn and some of the fresh peas.

When they were finished, Violet came back to Harry.  “Sir is bringing sugar and both vinegars to the kitchens.  Then sir is making preserving potion.  Double batches.  And bringing it to the kitchens when he comes to dinner.”

Harry agreed, a bit bemused, and the elves disappeared along with their baskets and the half box of jars.  A double batch of preserving potion?  They’d only taken enough jars for one batch.  But he was learning there was no point to arguing with house elves – they always won – so he followed Violet’s orders even though she wasn’t nearly as scary as Mipsy.

Harry quickly headed off to his dorms to get the sugar and vinegar from his trunk.

When he got up to the dorms, the door to the second year boys’ dorm was locked.  Confused, he rattled the handle for a bit, and he heard muffled cursing coming from inside and some thumps.  “Hold on a second!” he heard Neville say. 

Harry rolled his eyes and waited a few seconds.  “Alohomora.”  The lock clicked and Harry pushed the door open.  Ron and Neville were sitting on Neville’s bed, holding school books as if they’d been studying, but Harry doubted this was at all true.

“Why did you lock the door?” he asked. 

“Uh, no reason.  We were just revising for Charms,” Neville said nervously.  “We weren’t expecting you back until tonight so we didn’t realize you’d need in.”

“Revising.  Right,” Harry said slowly.  “Well, that might go a bit better if Ron was holding his textbook the right way up.” 

Ron glanced down and blinked in surprise to see that he was, indeed, holding his Charms book upside down and flipped it around hurriedly.  “Imagine that.  We’ve just been studying so hard my eyes were crossed and the words were all blurring together.  No wonder it’s been so slow going.”  His ears turned a bit red.

Harry rolled his eyes at them.  Ron was such a bad liar.  They both were.  “Hermione’s not studying with you?” he asked casually.

“Uh, no,” Neville said in a rush.  “She’s sick in the hospital wing.  Something she drank, I guess.”  Ron gave a little snigger.  “Big feast yesterday, you know, lots can go wrong.”

Harry looked at them for a moment.  “Right…  Well, better not let the house elves hear you insult their cooking like that or you’ll not get any dessert for a week.  I just need to get something and then you can go back to doing… whatever it is you’ve been doing that isn’t studying.”  Harry saw them exchange worried looks as he crossed to his trunk and flipped it open.

It was a mess, as if everything had been pulled out then put back in great haste.  Like when he started trying to open the door.  “Why were you in my trunk?” he said coldly.  “There’s nothing that belongs to you in here.”

“We haven’t!  We’ve just been here studying,” Ron insisted. 

Harry glared at him.  “With an upside down textbook?” he questioned.  “Then why is my trunk such a mess?”

“Maybe you left it that way?”  Neville said.  Harry glared harder.  “Maybe some Slytherins did it.  Sneaked in and messed it up as a prank?”

“You think Slytherins got into the locked Gryffindor tower, into our locked dorm room and messed with my things as a prank,” he said flatly.  “And how did they get the password to get past the Fat Lady’s portrait?  And do it without you noticing while you’ve been sitting here?”

“Maybe they eavesdropped and overheard the password.  And we haven’t been here very long ourselves.  Just got in a minute or two before you did,” Ron said defensively. 

“I thought you’d been studying so long that you’d forgotten you’d practiced the locking charm and your eyes were so crossed from the effort that you didn’t realize your book was upside down?” Harry pointed out dryly.

“We were studying in the library before we came up here.  That’s where my eyes started crossing.”

Harry glared some more, then looked back down at his trunk.  Sitting right on top was his Account ledger.  Slowly, he reached down and picked it up.  He was sure it had been near the bottom since he had no use for it at Hogwarts.

He flipped through it, trying to spot any tampering.  None of the accounting pages seemed to have been altered.  “Did you mess with this?  I could get in serious trouble if something happens to it.  Goblins don’t have any sense of humor when it comes to money.  At all.”

“We haven’t touched it!  I told you, we’ve just been here studying,” Ron insisted, but he sounded nervous now, rather than defensive.

Harry resolved to go through the ledger with a fine toothed comb at the first available opportunity.

He got to the end, where he’d stuffed his various legal documents into the back cover.

He took the packet and flipped through it.  He was almost certain they hadn’t been in that order the last time he’d looked through them.  Harry looked through them with more care.  There were his birth certificates, his Hardship Work Permit, and the lease from this summer.  But where was the Termination of Undesirable Relations?  “Where are my documents?  The rest of my documents?  They’re missing,” he stated coldly.

“I don’t know!” Ron denied.  “How should we know where you left your documents?”

Glaring, Harry slammed his trunk closed.  “How stupid do you think I am?”  Ron and Neville exchanged nervous glances. 

Harry cast a Levitation Charm on his trunk and headed out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” Neville said nervously.

“Percy is right downstairs.  Don’t go anywhere.  I’m sure he’ll be interested in talking to you both.”

Harry stormed down the stairs, trunk floating behind him.  Percy looked up at the noise.  “Do you mind?  I’m trying to study.  I just managed to get Fred and George to pipe down but now you too?”

“Ron and Neville broke into my trunk and stole some important legal documents,” Harry said.  “Can you search the dorm room so I can get it back?  Call Professor McGonagall in here, if you need to.  Or the headmaster.  I’m not picky.”  The twins looked over at this statement.

“I’m sure they didn’t –” Percy started.

Harry cut him off.  “They had the door locked when I first tried to go in.  When I got the door open, they pretended they’d been studying, but Ron’s book was upside down.  My trunk is all out of order and my documents are missing.  Please call Professor McGonagall.  I’d like the entire tower to be searched, top to bottom, starting with my dorm room.”  Fred and George looked at each other in alarm before hurrying over.

“Not our dorm room, please,” one of them said.

“It wasn’t us, we promise,” the other said.  “But it would be rather awkward.”

“We can stop the search whenever I get my documents back,” Harry conceded.

“What did they say happened to your trunk?” Percy asked.

“They claim that they’ve been in the library all day and just got back a couple of minutes ago, and that some Slytherins must have sneaked in and did it.”

Percy narrowed his eyes.  “Those two?  In the library on a holiday?  They were in here playing Exploding Snap hours ago and I made them go upstairs so I could get some peace and quiet.  They’ve been here all day.”

“Ron’s a terrible liar.  And he’s lying.  I need my legal documents back.  It’s really important,” Harry insisted.  It was also a rather embarrassing document that he didn’t want Ron sharing with everyone. 

“Don’t worry, Harrikins.  We’ll get your things back for you.”

The other twin nodded firmly.  “We’re not getting our dorm searched if we can help it.”

They went up the stairs and Harry and Percy followed. 

Ron and Neville looked up guiltily when the group barged into the dorm room.  “Oh, hi, Percy.  This is just a misunderstanding, Harry.  Look, your papers are on the floor.  They must have fallen out of your ledger when you picked it up.”  Ron pointed, and there, sitting right where his trunk had been, was a packet of folded parchment. 

Harry rushed over and picked up the packet.  It was his Undesirable Relations declaration.  “Is that the missing documents?” Percy asked icily, glaring at Ron and Neville. 

Harry glanced through it quickly.  It certainly seemed to be unaltered and the original, though who knew if Ron and Neville had managed to make a copy to keep for themselves. “Yes, this is it.”  Harry sighed in relief and tucked it away into his pocket.  “Funny place for it to have fallen.  Since, for it to have been there, it would have had to be under my trunk.”

“This is why Ron’s such a bad liar,” one of the twins said in a deliberately loud whisper.

The other nodded. “No attention to detail.”  They snickered.

“Is anything else of yours missing?”  Percy asked, still glaring at the nervous looking duo.

“I don’t know.  I just saw my ledger sitting on top and focused on that,” Harry admitted.

“Go through it now, please.  We’ll wait.”

Harry unpacked his trunk slowly, trying to think of what was supposed to be in it.  He’d carried a lot of his belongings up to his garden over the course of the year.  When he got near to the bottom of the trunk, he heard some tinkling glass when he lifted out the bedding. 

There, sitting on the bottom of the trunk, were the lamps he’d gotten out of his vault for future use in his tent.  They were broken, the pieces sitting among the pots and pans and cooking utensils.  They must have just been tossed in the trunk without a care in the rush to repack the trunk.  Previously, they’d been rolled in the bedding to cushion them.

Harry lifted out one of the pieces.  “These belonged to my parents,” he said with a glare.  Neville cringed.  Percy waved his wand and a cast a Repair Charm.  Luckily the lamps flew back together, as good as new.  Harry tested them quickly and was relieved to find they still worked.

“It was like that when we found it,” Ron stated quickly.

“I thought the Slytherins did it,” Harry spat out.

“They did!  We meant that the trunk was like that when…”  Neville trailed off at Harry’s look.

“Is everything there?  Nothing else broken?” Percy asked.

Harry rummaged around for a minute longer.  “There’s one or two things not here, but they’re all little things.  I probably just took them out myself and forgot about it.  I’ll have to double check, just in case, but everything else looks like it’s okay.”  Harry pulled out the sugar and bottles of vinegar from the cooking supplies nestled on the bottom, set them aside and started repacking the trunk.  “My ledger had the legal documents tucked inside and that’s the most important thing in the trunk right now.  I still need to check to make sure it hasn’t been messed with.  I just glanced at it, didn’t really look in detail.”

“Right.  Well, let me know if anything else is damaged.  I think these two and I need to go have a chat with Professor McGonagall.”  Percy motioned for the two to follow him and stalked off.

Neville hesitated at the door.  “We really are sorry about the lamps.  We didn’t mean…” Neville trailed off again, not wanting to incriminate himself. 

“But you’re not sorry about breaking into my trunk and stealing my things?” Harry spat out with a glare.  Neville looked away, then turned and followed Percy down the stairs.

“Well, thanks for that bit of entertainment, Harrikins.  Glad it all worked out,” one of the twins said.

“If you need any supplies to get them back, dungbombs, itching powder, you know.  We consider it our brotherly duty.”

“It’d be a civic service, really.”

Harry gave them a wry smile.  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.  Might give it a while, though.  Be a bit suspicious if a dungbomb showed up right now.”

They nodded.  “You’ve much better attention to detail than Ron, then,” the one said cheerfully, then they turned and left.  Harry smiled as he continued repacking the trunk.  He really ought to figure out how to tell Fred from George one of these days.

Harry finished repacking, placing the ledger, sugar and vinegars right on top, then levitated his trunk down the stairs after him.

His clothes could stay in the wardrobe, but he wasn’t going to leave anything else in the dorm room unattended.  Once was enough.

After dropping off the sugar and vinegar in the kitchen, Harry was shooed off with a basket of lunch and snacks to take up to his garden and stern orders to come down to the kitchen, not the Great Hall, for dinner and to not forget to bring the preserving potion.

Harry quickly found the missing items sitting on a table where he must have discarded them and forgotten, then rechecked his trunk again more carefully to verify that everything was there and nothing was broken.  He pored over every inch of his ledger, then the rest of his legal documents but couldn’t find any alterations.  It seemed like they really were just after the Undesirable Relations declaration. 

Harry grabbed one of the food sacks and went over to his black beans and brooded as he worked to harvest the dry pods and shell the dry beans.  He’d assumed that Neville was just humoring Ron and Hermione’s fears.  It wasn’t that big of a deal; they weren’t great friends, not like Neville was with the other two, so it made sense he’d take their side.  He’d even begun to hope that maybe Neville was just concerned that he was possessed like Professor Dumbledore had been.

But taking his paperwork was several steps to far.  There was no good reason to steal that.

What had they been planning on doing with it?  Spread it around and make him a laughing stock for the whole school’s amusement?  So, they could laugh at him for being declared a Squib as an infant?  Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in a dark mood and opted to practice his offensive skills for his Defense class, just so he could pretend to himself that he was cursing the attempted thieves. 

Harry went down to the kitchens for dinner as ordered and handed over the cauldron full of preserving potion.  Once he was settled at the table, the elves brought a big platter over, Violet leading the way proudly.  Harry looked at it in surprise.  There on his plate was his corn, still on the cob, his peas, and for the main dish was a large serving of pasta, dressed with a spicy smelling tomato sauce and a grilled chicken breast on the side.  Harry took a deep sniff in appreciation.

“This is what you made from the things from my garden?”  They nodded eagerly.  “Thank you!  It smells amazing.”  He took a bite of the pasta.  “Tastes amazing too.”  They all smiled proudly at the praise and left him to his dinner which did taste every bit as good as he’d said.

When he ready to leave, they brought over his box of jars, neatly filled and labeled.  The box was rather fuller than it’d been when he’d given it to them.  In addition to his cauldron and the remaining sugar and vinegars, there were several more jars with the floating lid that could be used a little at a time without spoiling.

They had a big jar of plain tomato sauce, a smaller jar of tomato paste, and jars of seasoned pasta sauce, Arrabbiata sauce, spicy tomato jam, and green tomato chutney.  In the ordinary jars he’d provided, they’d put seasoned diced and crushed tomatoes, six jars of each.  Harry wasn’t sure what Arrabbiata sauce was, but he was hoping it was what he had for dinner, and the spicy tomato jam sounded wonderful as well.  Harry was very glad they’d insisted on doing the cooking. He’d have something to look forward to in the summer time.

“Thank you, Violet, I’m really looking forward to trying all of this.”  He looked around the room, trying to include everyone.  “Thank all of you, I know you didn’t have to do it.  It must have been a lot of work.”

“No work, cooking is fun.  There is not many students not here to cook for right now.”  Violet shyly curtsied and moved off to go scrub the pots and pans.  Harry returned to his garden in a far better mood than he’d been when he left.

When he got back to Gryffindor tower that night, Percy motioned him over.

“I just wanted to let you know that Ron and Neville have been given detention every afternoon for the rest of the holiday.” 

Harry wondered which staff member got the unpleasant task of supervising it.  He hoped it was Filch.  There really wasn’t anything left to clean in Snape’s classroom after his own detentions and maybe having someone to punish would put Filch in a better mood.  “Thanks for telling me,” he said.

“If you think they’ve gotten into your things again, let a prefect know.  I’ll spread the word when they get back.”

“I will, but I removed most of the things from the dorm and put them where I usually study.  I’ll just keep them there until I figure out some sort of security for my trunk.”

Percy nodded.  “Prevention is better than trying to catch them in the act again, I suppose.  Professor Flitwick should be able to help with that.”

Harry thought of the password the professor had put on his garden door and nodded.  “I’ll make sure to ask him when the term starts up again.”  They had another tutoring session scheduled the day before the term resumed.  Harry would bring him the trunk then.

The next day, Harry was headed up to his garden when he thought he heard an echo of a footstep behind him.  He paused, pretending he was looking for something in his bag while listening and trying to twist his body just enough to look behind him.  Nothing.

Slytherin’s monster had gone right by him too, hadn’t it?  Invisibly?  For a wild moment, his heart raced and he reached quickly for his wand, then he forced himself to calm down.  Slytherin’s monster didn’t have footsteps.  Just a creepy voice.  But what about the Heir?  Was he being followed by the Heir right this second?  By Voldemort?  Or his agent?  Harry’s pulse started beating fast again. 

He started moving again, casually turned a corner, and broke into a run as soon as he thought he was out of sight.  After a few seconds, he heard the footsteps behind him again, louder and running right behind him.  Harry grabbed his wand, pointed it behind him blindly and fired every spell he could think of that might slow them down.  Tripping Jinxes, Jelly Legs Curses, Impediment Jinxes, Leg Locker Curses, Full Body Binds, and Disarming Charms.  He even tried the Stunning Spell a couple of times, though he was sure it hadn’t worked.  He felt a little silly.  If it was Voldemort, there was no chance a Jelly Legs Curse would do any good at all, but his best chance was to flee.  Finally, just after Harry had shot another Disarming Charm behind him, he heard a faint clatter, followed by cursing.  That must have been their wand!  That’d give him at least a few seconds.  They’d have to stop to pick it up, wouldn’t they?

Harry quickly filled the corridor with smoke from the Smokescreen Spell, ducked around another corner and into a secret passage he was sure not many people knew about since it didn’t lead anywhere particularly useful. 

He raced ahead, listening carefully, and never heard the entrance open or footsteps following him, so he was reasonably sure he’d managed to get away.  Still, he didn’t relax until he’d made it to his garden and safely closed the door behind him.

As he headed up the short flight of stairs, he thought about the cursing he’d heard.  Something about that voice had sounded familiar.  Harry struggled to place it.  Had it been… Neville?  Harry was almost certain it was, now that he had time to think about it.  So, probably not Slytherin’s Heir, then, unless Neville was being possessed.  Harry wondered what Neville thought he was doing?  First stealing his paperwork the previous day, now chasing him invisibly. 

That was some pretty high level magic that he hadn’t thought Neville was capable of doing.  Would this count as something significant enough to report to the headmaster?  Didn’t it count as an unusual ability that Neville shouldn’t ought to have? 

Harry paced for a bit, trying to decide.  Better safe than sorry, wasn’t it?  Slytherin’s monster had been invisible after all.  It could be related.  It wasn’t like being checked for being possessed hurt.  It’d just made his head feel funny for a minute.  He could wait until this afternoon when he knew Neville would be in detention then slip out and send the headmaster an owl.

Suddenly, he stopped.  Whether or not Neville was possessed, if he could be invisible, he could come back tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.  If he was more subtle next time, then Harry would lead him right to his garden.  If he was close enough, he might even hear the password and get in whenever he pleased. 

Worried, Harry descended the stairway again and changed the password on the door like Professor Flitwick had showed him. He’d just have to change the password every time he opened the door.  Inconvenient, of course.  He needed a better solution.  He’d eventually either forget to change the password or forget the password itself.

It wasn’t until when he was retrieving a new book to read from the pile of library books sitting on the table and spotted one of the books on Parselmouths that he realized the obvious solution.  Parseltongue.

It probably wouldn’t help if Neville were possessed since Voldemort was also a Parselmouth, but if he wasn’t, if it was just plain harassment, it would help.  It’d even be a password he could use on a trunk in the dorm.  Even if someone overheard it, it would be harder to mimic a magical language than to memorize an English password.

Experimentally, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn’t come. Maybe he had to be face to face with a snake to speak it?  That would be rather inconvenient.  Especially when one was trying to speak to another Parselmouth who didn’t speak English.  Maybe it just took practice.

There was always learning to cast the spell Malfoy had cast to summon a snake to speak to, but he doubted he could get away with doing that in the dorms on a regular basis, especially if others were around.  A picture of a snake?  What about his wand?  The snakes on the handle?  Would they work?  Harry pulled out his wand and tried again. 

It took several tries, but he finally thought he managed it.  It was hard to be sure since it just sounded like English to him, but he thought he heard a bit of a hissing undertone to his words.

He tried it several more times until he thought he was able to do it reasonably often.  Now, he just needed a good password.  Or set of passwords.  With Slytherin’s Heir in the school, it would be a wise precaution to change the password frequently.

That evening, Harry received a return note from the headmaster.  He would speak to Neville about the incident, but he knew how Neville was invisible and it was nothing to be alarmed over. Harry breathed a sigh of relief for Neville’s sake, though it would have been nice to have some sort of explanation for his behavior the past couple of days.

The rest of the Christmas holiday passed rapidly.  Harry finished up his harvest, with a half dozen jars each of spinach and broccoli, a dozen each of corn, beans, and peas, two dozen of tomatoes, and all of the extra tomato products the house elves had cooked for him, plus the quinoa, buckwheat and black beans, and he still would have whatever further peas, runner beans, and tomatoes came in to harvest for dried goods.

He never again heard footsteps following him but often felt like he was being watched and followed anyway.  It made him rather nervous but knowing that it was only Neville and that Neville wasn’t possessed reassured him.  Neville wasn’t the sort to curse someone without cause, and with a password in Parseltongue, his garden was safe, even if he was overheard.

Chapter Text

After the nearly care free, relaxing holiday, the return of the other students was particularly stressful.  They still hadn’t forgotten what had happened with Finch-Fletchley the final week of the last term, of course, nor all the rumors that had existed before then, but something seemed different.  Harry struggled to figure out exactly how it was different, but there was an added coldness to the looks he was getting now, instead of mere hot anger.  Some bitterness, from a few people that hadn’t been there before.  It was subtle, but Harry was fairly sure he wasn’t imagining things.

It baffled Harry a little.  He’d been disliked, in one way or another, for most of life, so he was used to it, but there was usually a root cause.  Back in Little Whinging, the root cause usually pointed back to the Dursleys in some way.  Either one of their lies or Dudley blaming something on him for laughs.  Here at Hogwarts, last year it had centered around that conversation in the dorms about his enjoyment of fantasy books and his lack of knowledge of Muggle popular culture, and this year, it started with his refusing to play Quidditch and changed when he was caught next to Mrs. Norris and the others.  Even the Dursleys’ dislike of him had been explainable, in the end, though he hadn’t realized it at the time.  Their hated of magic, them knowing he had magic, whatever his mum and her friend had done to Aunt Petunia when they were teens.  It did make some sort of sense, once he had all of the facts.  But this new coldness didn’t make any sense at all.  Nothing had happened in the last month to change their opinions, yet their opinions had been altered, at least a little.

In the end, it was Percy who finally followed him up to the dorms one night and clued him in.

“I’d like to apologize for Ron’s behavior.  I’ve taken points, of course.  It’s a gross violation of your privacy but the damage is already done.  There’s no way to put the pus back in the bubotuber once it’s all over your hands.”  Percy’s voice had an added coldness to it, a great contrast to their few conversations over the holiday.

“Ron’s behavior?  What’s he done?”  Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  If Ron was involved in all of this, it might explain it.

“He’s spread the word about you… ahem… the contents of the document he stole from you over the holidays.  Since I’d already told the prefects to keep an eye out for further thefts of legal documents, and Neville is agreeing with him, of course, he has a great deal of credibility.” 

Harry was rather confused by this.  It made no sense.  He’d expected Ron to spread the word about him being disowned for being a Squib.  He’d expected people to laugh at him, not hate him more.  “I’m sorry Percy, I just don’t see how what Ron found would cause… well, what I’ve been seeing this week.  What exactly has he been saying?”

“That he found a Termination of Undesirable Relations form, of course.  That you’d used it to disown your Muggle relatives.”  Percy’s voice was cold.  “I’ve got a Squib cousin, you know.  We’re not close, but we wouldn’t have stooped so low as to disown her.”

“That’s not true!” Harry shot back hotly.  Had this been Ron’s plan all along?  Not to embarrass him but to further ruin his reputation?  Or had he wanted Harry to do his work for him and show everyone proof he’d been declared a Squib?

“I never disowned the Dursleys, as much as they deserve it.  Ron’s lying.  Just making things up.  What he found was embarrassing.  He’s… well, not just him.  Neville must be in on it, I suppose.  Anyway, they must be gambling that I won’t be willing to tell people what the document really said.  They’re just making them sound worse than they are, and they know I can’t contradict them without proving the embarrassing story is true.  They win either way.”

Percy frowned and looked at him thoughtfully.  “Ron’s a lot of things, but one thing he’s not is a good liar.  You said so yourself, when this all started.”  Harry gave him a grudging nod.  “But you don’t seem to be lying either, yet your stories don’t match.  Is there any chance Ron and Neville misunderstood what they found?”

This hadn’t occurred to Harry.  “I suppose.”  He thought for a minute.  “Yes, maybe.  It’s really dense.  It took me ages to read it and, in the end, I had to take it to Professor Flitwick to get him to explain it to me because even after reading it several times I still didn’t understand it.  Even the professor had trouble understanding it until I explained the context.  If they just glanced at the form and assumed they knew what it said from the title at the top…  And I did interrupt them so they couldn’t have had much time to actually read it.”  Maybe they hadn’t taken the document for the fun of it, but to take to Hermione so she could decipher it?  Hermione figured out those dense legal books that had baffled Harry last year.  Percy looked rather relived at this easy explanation.

He sighed and shrugged.  “Well, even if they are making an honest mistake, the mistake’s been made and it can’t be undone.  What I said is still valid.  I can’t disprove what they said without admitting to something really embarrassing.  I’ll have to live with people thinking… well, it’s really what they already thought, isn’t it?  That I hate Muggles?  It’ll go away, eventually, when Dumbledore catches the Heir of Slytherin and the petrified people are cured and can tell what really happened to them.”

“I really don’t think this is the sort of story that is going to go away, Harry,” Percy lectured.  “Nor should it.  It’s rather serious.  I really think you ought to tell your side of things.  The embarrassment will go away too.”

“People are already mad about me being a Parselmouth, not that it’s my fault, and mad about me being caught near those people.  They hate me already.  They may as well hate me for one more thing.  Why not?” Harry said stubbornly. 

Percy sighed.  “Well, just keep it in mind.  Now, what’s this about your trunk having a Parseltongue password?”

“It’s not against the rules, is it?” Harry challenged.  “And a Parseltongue password is safer than one in English.”

“Now, Harry, you really have to keep an eye on how things look to others.  Appearances are very important, you know.  You’ll never go far in life if you don’t keep an eye on your reputation.”  Harry settled in to listen to another lecture.

Surprisingly, Professor Flitwick agreed with Percy.

“I do wish I hadn’t given my word to keep this a secret.”

“I can’t deal with being laughed at and hated at the same time.  Maybe after the Heir is caught, I’ll reconsider.  Right now, everyone would just assume that me being disowned is why I hate Muggles.  It won’t do any good to explain.”

Flitwick gave a squeaky sigh.  “At least consider telling your head of house.  Or allowing me to tell her.” 

Harry shook his head stubbornly.  Professor McGonagall wasn’t on his side.  She’d already called him a liar to his face several times this year, without proof, and she hadn’t even asked for his side of the story with the Dursleys, even though she’d demanded that he consider theirs.  She’d probably think he deserved to be disowned.

“If you’re worried about being teased, you might try telling the people the truth sometime before the summer holiday so it’s old news by next year,” he tried.

“Maybe,” Harry said grudgingly.  “If Dumbledore catches the Heir first.  I’ll think about it.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask for.  Now, about our lesson –”  He launched into an explanation of the longer casting with more magic and the odd final mental twist needed to make a permanent, lasting spell.

With the school year in progress, Charlie recovered, and Mrs. Weasley back at home, Harry sent her the selection of fresh herbs he’d wanted to give her for Christmas.

In his letter, as he promised Percy he would, he thanked them for the offer of renting the field but explained that he’d decided to try to find work in Hogsmeade rather than Diagon Alley and would find a place there to pitch his tent so he wouldn’t have to impose on the Weasleys for transportation multiple times a day.  Telling a bit of a white lie, he mentioned he’d gotten advice from a former Hogsmeade resident and implied she’d recently lived there, rather than decades ago.

They’d see through his attempt to disguise the fact he’d be in the tent city, of course, but they’d fuss only because they cared, which made it a little easier to tolerate.  Plus, it being in writing instead of being lectured in person would make a big difference.

He explained, as clearly as he could, the lack of work in Diagon for those who couldn’t use magic and what he’d been told of what Hogsmeade was like for comparison.

Remembering Fred and George, he contrasted what types of Muggle work could be found at various ages, including as much detail about internships as he could recall, since Percy had thought Mr. Weasley would find it interesting. 

As an afterthought, he decided to address the issues he’d been having with Ron.  Better they hear the full story from him than believe Ron’s assumptions.

You may have been hearing things about me from Ron.  Over the Christmas holiday, he and Neville found some of my legal documents.  One of them was a Termination of Undesirable Relations form which they misunderstood to be me disinheriting the Dursleys.

That’s not true.  It’s actually the other way around.  The Dursleys disinherited me.  It wasn’t anything I did, I promise.  It was the Potter family debt.  I mentioned this summer that the Dursleys managed to separate their finances from mine and that I was paying rent.  Disowning me was how they did that.  I don’t know all of the details, and I suppose it doesn’t matter much, but the bill collectors offered them the chance to disown me when I was a baby, and they accepted. 

Since the reasoning given was the option meant to disinherit relatives without magic, Ron interpreted it as me disinheriting my Muggle relations. I can’t explain he’s wrong without admitting the Dursleys effectively declared me a Squib, and I refuse to do that because I don’t want to be teased, especially with everyone still disliking me because they’re scared of the Heir of Slytherin and found out I’m a Parselmouth.

That rumor is true, by the way, though I doubt I’m at all related to Slytherin.  I’m assuming I inherited the ability from whichever ancestor my wand belonged to, but that’s just a guess.

I was wondering if you could ask Charlie something for me.  Does he know if a Peruvian Vipertooth can speak Parseltongue?  The name has me curious, and it does look more snake-like than the other breeds of dragons.  I tried to look it up, but none of the books said, and I thought a dragon keeper might know.

Harry frowned at the letter.  It wasn’t perfect, but hopefully it’d address the Weasleys’ biggest concerns.  And it wasn’t too embarrassing of an explanation, either.  No real need to go into how much the Dursleys hated magic and hated him for being capable of it when he could just focus on the financial aspects.

The Weasleys’ return letter did make a fuss about the tent city but didn’t seem nearly as surprised or upset as Harry had thought it would.

Theresa said something to Molly the other day that had us wondering if Diagon Alley was really as good an idea as I thought it was, and you never mentioned if you’d found work.

I do wish you’d still rent our field, though.  We’d feel a lot better if we could keep an eye on you, especially this first summer.  I’m sure we’d be able to manage something for your transportation.  The shanty town isn’t exactly safe and the Forbidden Forest is even less safe.  But I suppose it’s up to you, and your reasoning is sound, even if we don’t like it.

Molly’s been looking for work herself.  Just a little something to keep her busy now that Ginny’s at Hogwarts and the house is empty all day. 

Mr. Weasley continued on for a bit and promised to ask Charlie about the Peruvian Vipertooths the next time he had a chance.  Tellingly, his letter didn’t ask a single question about anything Muggle, an entirely unprecedented omission, as far as Harry could recall.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that Theresa had stepped in as well.  He doubted his plans would have gone over nearly so well if he’d revealed them back in August.  In his response, he made sure to praise Mrs. Weasley’s cooking and suggest restaurants or bakeries.  Though, he was sure cooking for a restaurant wasn’t as much fun as cooking for a family, Mrs. Weasley was certainly skilled at cooking for a big crowd. 

At the beginning of February, his lessons with Professor Flitwick finally moved on to the Undetectable Extension Charm.  To Harry’s surprise, even though he hadn’t practiced it, he immediately got a result in the silver goblet Professor Flitwick had given him to practice with.  It wasn’t the doubling of dimensions that the Extension Charm was supposed to cause, but it was far more than the wavering bottom of the trunk he’d gotten the prior summer.  Harry grinned eagerly.

“Very good for a first attempt!”  Professor Flitwick praised with an excited giggle.  “Now, let’s try again.  Mind that final flick of the wand.  It goes like this.”  He demonstrated it again. 

They had an extra long tutoring session that day, and by the end of it, Harry was able to double the dimensions in the goblet fairly regularly, though he hadn’t made any of his attempts permanent. 

“Excellent work!  Now, this is only the first step, as I’m sure you’re aware of.”  Harry nodded reluctantly.  “What makes this charm so tricky and difficult, especially when it comes to needing large amounts of extension is that you must hold the first layer steady, not ending or completing the spell and cast it a second time and possibly a third or fourth, to create additional layers, feed all the layers as much magic as you can manage, then complete the layers together, as a single spell.  Quite tricky that way, holding all of the layers simultaneously and feeding them equal amounts of energy so they can stay stable.”

Harry nodded.  “I can live with two layers of Extension, but three would give me more room to work with.  I’m not looking for a mansion, just a place to sleep and cook,” he admitted.  Harry had done his best to work it out and he thought doubling the dimensions twice would give him about as much space as a tiny bedsit.  Three would give him about as much as a small flat on the ground floor, with enough height for a second story, if he ever had the opportunity to build a proper home inside. 

“Good.  Two layers of Extension should be easily achievable if you continue to work as hard as you’ve been recently, though we’ll aim for three to give you a challenge.  What I’d like you to do the next two weeks is to focus on casting the Extension Charm on this goblet, just once, but hold the spell for as long as you can each time, without ending it. See if you can get it up to two or three minutes each attempt, then end it without making the effect permanent.  Do it over and over again, until it seems as easy as breathing and then do it some more.  The more effortless this part of the charm is, the more success you’ll have casting additional layers.  If you can make enough progress, we’ll work on starting a second layer of the spell in our next session.  Any questions?”  Harry shook his head.

“Now, your canvas is going to be a little less responsive to magic than a silver goblet, but the theory is the same, so I’d like you to continue practicing on the goblet.  It’s more easily replaced, in case of accidents.  In the meantime, do you have any scrap canvas left over from sewing your tent?”

“A little.  Not enough for another tent.”

“Is it enough to make a bag?  We want something of similar material and construction to your tent, without the risk of damaging the tent itself.”

Harry thought for a bit, then nodded.  “There should be enough.  Maybe even enough for a small satchel.  I’ll have to double check.”  The double walled design would take up extra fabric, but he thought there might be enough, if it wasn’t too big.

“A satchel would be a good size.  No rush.  I presume you’re not going to be ready to attempt canvas for several more weeks, but I’d like you to have it made by then.  We’ll use the bag to practice your spell work on.”

Harry left the tutoring session in a great mood, glad that he was finally seeing tangible results.  Even just the one round he achieved that day would make his tiny tent a lot more livable though a mere doubling of the dimensions wouldn’t give him enough room for separate cooking areas or rest rooms.  He still had five months left to finish the tent.  He had plenty of time.

Harry practiced as often as he could manage over the following two weeks until he felt he’d almost be able to cast the charm in his sleep and could maintain it for minutes at a time.  By the time the next tutoring session rolled around, Flitwick pronounced him ready to try casting a second layer of the charm.

It was an exercise in frustration.  Harry would cast the charm effortlessly the first time, but the second he split his concentration and tried add a second layer, he’d lose control of the original layer, causing it to fail.  At the end of the session, he was no closer to getting it to work.

Professor Flitwick, though, was encouraging.  “Never mind, Mr. Potter.  If layered spells were easy to cast, trunks and tents would be cheap.  Just keep practicing, and you should get it.  It might take a few weeks.  It’s considered to be a tricky spell to learn for a reason.  But you’ll get it, I have no doubt.  You might find it helpful to also do more practice on the Summoning Charm.  The split concentration needed for summoning two separate objects at different speeds is similar enough that it might be of benefit to refresh your memory.”

Despite Flitwick’s reassurances, Harry couldn’t help but be a little discouraged.  Casting the first layer of the spell had become so effortless that he’d assumed the second layer would be nearly as easy.  Yet it seemed slippery.  The harder he tried to keep hold of both layers, the more difficult it seemed. 

He practiced almost obsessively, and by the time the next tutoring session rolled around, he’d made enough progress that he was able to occasionally finish the second layer, doubling the interior dimensions of the goblet yet again though he wasn’t able to hold the spells for long after that. 

“Good!  Good!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed with an excited bounce when he saw it.  “You’re almost there!  It’s just a matter of practice at this point.  I know it seems impossible at times, but just keep practicing.  It’ll eventually be just as easy to cast a second layer as it was to cast the first.  When that happens, we’ll start on a third layer.”

It seemed almost inconceivable to Harry that he’d ever finish a third layer.  Two layers had been difficult enough.  But even the second layer had seemed impossible weeks before, and he almost had that worked out.  He’d just have to practice some more.

Whenever Harry grew frustrated with the Extension Charm, he took a break to work more in his garden.  He cut and dried any remaining chilies and tomatoes once they were ripe, harvested the runner beans and peas as they dried in their pods, and planted his next round of vegetables.

In addition to the potatoes, onions and carrots he’d sowed the previous year, Harry added garlic, potato onions, parsnips, another type of dry bean, acorn squash, beets, and another round of buckwheat in the remaining beds.  He’d never heard of potato onions until Mrs. Weasley had shown him hers, and she’d seemed surprised that Muggles didn’t grow them.  They’d tasted like normal onions to Harry and the smaller size of the bulbs might work better for his single serving meals, so he was trying them this year as an experiment.  If he liked them enough, he’d plant more potato onions next year and fewer regular onions.

He also sewed the satchel that Professor Flitwick had suggested.  There was just enough canvas left, as long as the strap and some of the reinforcing bits were made from scraps left over from sewing his school robes.  Harry wasn’t thrilled with the bright yellow color since it was sure to show dirt fairly quickly, especially on a tent that was outside all of the time, but he hadn’t been offered a choice in the what color of canvas he’d gotten.  Johanson had merely given him the remainder of canvas from a much larger order.  Between the yellow canvas and the black strap and trim, it was a very Hufflepuff looking bag.

It wasn’t very big on the outside.  It only looked big enough to hold two or three of his school books but with Extension Charms on it, it wouldn’t have to be big to be useful.  In a spurt of inspiration, thinking of the Excellent Extensions book he’d read on the Hogwarts Express, Harry used a few of the remaining scraps of canvas to add a small pocket for his wand onto the strap of the bag, where it’d be in easy access while carrying the satchel without having to fumble around with opening the bag to dig it out.  He’d focus on the main bag to practice his Extension Charms, of course, but once he finished the main bag, there was no reason not to have another pocket.

School life continued, though Harry was frustrated with the homework and school work that took up valuable practice time.  The students still actively shunned and avoided him, though Harry had grown used to it and coped by spending as little time in their presence as possible, but as the months went on and no further students were petrified, their active fear of him did seem to diminish a little. 

Harry still often got the feeling he was being watched or followed.  He’d never heard the footsteps again, though once or twice he thought he heard a whispered comment.  Neville presumably had company in his vigil.  Several times, he quietly opened the door to his garden and stood, hidden behind the tapestry, listening.  Most of the time, he heard nothing, but every once in a while, he did hear something.  A quill scratching, parchment or fabric rustling, or book pages turning.  On one memorable occasion, he heard Ron’s voice complaining that he was bored.  Harry retreated quietly, and when he came down to listen again half an hour later, he heard the unmistakable sound of Exploding Snap being played.

Still, just in case it wasn’t always Neville, Ron, or Hermione, Harry whispered the password to his garden as quietly as possible and changed it every few days.  Voldemort or his agent was presumably still around, after all, and it didn’t hurt to be careful.

By the time April rolled around, Harry’s obsessive practice paid off, and he was able to cast the Extension Charm three times on the silver goblet fairly consistently.  Professor Flitwick pronounced him ready to start practicing on the less responsive canvas bag, which was more difficult than Harry expected.  It took a great deal more concentration than working with the silver goblet, both because he was only charming the outside layer of canvas while avoiding the inner layer, and because the canvas was harder to work with.  It was different enough from the goblet that Harry almost felt as if he had to start learning the charm from scratch.  His admiration of Mr. Weasley’s skill in charms increased even further.  Sure, the car was entirely non-conjured, but the interior of the car contained lots of plastics and mixed fabrics that must have been far more difficult to work with than mere canvas.  Harry wondered how Mr. Weasley had done it.  Perhaps he’d enchanted the frame of the car rather than the interior?  If the car wasn’t such a touchy subject, he would have asked, but he didn’t think Mr. Weasley would welcome questions right now.

He dutifully reported his exciting progress on the tent to Mrs. Figg, Theresa, and the Weasleys who were all congratulatory and a bit relieved.  He was running out of time, after all.  He still had to work on the interior of the tent, even after he finished it.

Whenever he made it to Diagon Alley, he’d be able to get his parents’ furniture from the vault, but he’d still need to figure out something for washing up, a toilet of some sort, and cooking.  And cold food storage, of course.  He didn’t want his carrots withering in the summer heat again, and he’d rather have real milk than the powdered milk he’d resorted to last summer.  A floor would help the tent last longer, too, but Harry had no way to manage that. 

Plus, all of the charms he’d need for the interior of the tent.  He’d learned most of the ones he needed already.  Flitwick had worked many of them into his study schedule, first as temporary charms, then as practice for permanent charms but he hadn’t learned them all, and he was sure it wasn’t quite as easy as it sounded to cast them all on the same object. 

In one of the Weasleys’ letters, they reported that Mrs. Weasley had managed to find work as a baker in a cafe in Hogsmeade that sold lots of breakfast breads in the mornings and tea with accompanying treats in the afternoons.  Harry made an effort to be congratulatory and promised to stop by to say hello if she was still there in the summer, but there must have been something unpleasant about the job because neither Mr. or Mrs. Weasley seemed that happy about it, and she was still looking for something “a bit more suitable.”

When it came time to choose electives after the Easter Break, Harry was rather indecisive.  He knew Runes was useful so that was an easy selection, as was Care of Magical Creatures.  He wasn’t sure if Kettleburn taught about snakes, but there were sure to be applicable skills, even if he didn’t.

He would learn Muggle Studies on his own to earn an easy OWL like Flitwick had suggested, but what about Arithmancy and Divination?  Arithmancy sounded as if it could be useful, especially at the NEWT level, but it was also a lot of book studying, which Harry wasn’t nearly as interested in as he was in actual spells.  And he’d seen Theresa and Mrs. Figg frown at the dregs of their breakfast tea far too often for him to think that Divination wasn’t useful.

Finally, Harry resorted to asking Professor Flitwick for advice during their next tutoring session.  After discussing Harry’s uncertain career goals and his desire to travel and have adventures, Flitwick recommended Harry take Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Potter, you’re a very practical person,” Flitwick gave Harry a cheerful smile.  “Our Divination professor loves to indulge in theatrics that would frustrate you and be counterproductive.  Divination can be useful, but I think you’ll do far better learning through books and practicing on your own than you would by going to class.  Study what methods work for you or interest you, ignore the rest.

“Few careers specifically require a Divination OWL, much less a NEWT, so it’s really only needed if you’re trying to obtain as many as possible.  Especially if you’re already planning on trying to get the Muggle Studies OWL?”  He ended the last bit as a question and Harry nodded.  “Excellent.  Eleven OWLs is nothing to scoff at, and you’ll make far better use of your time studying for your other subjects than by trying to learn a divination method you’re not suited for.  I’m aware of how difficult it can be to learn from Binns’s lectures alone.  No sense in earning an OWL in Divination, only to fail History.”

Harry made a face at the thought of History class, but he supposed the goblin rebellion that spurred the debtors’ laws had made a big difference in his own life, so they weren’t entirely pointless.  If only Binns didn’t drone on so much. 

Professor Flitwick gave a squeaky laugh at his expression, then said, “Now that that’s settled, let’s see your progress on the Extension Charm.”

Harry had made quite a bit of progress on the charm.  He’d managed to work up to three layers of the charm on his bag and was able to hold all three stable for several minutes.  “Excellent work!  Now, the only thing left is to push as much magic into all three layers as you can before completing the spell.  It’s a permanent charm, of course, but that’s a bit of a misnomer.  It still only lasts as long as it has the energy to last, though that is usually counted in years rather than the days of a typical charm.  So, the more energy you can put into it, the longer you’ll be able to go before having to redo your work.  Keep it as even as possible.  If you push twice as much magic into one layer as into another, it can fail catastrophically when you least expect it.  Let’s switch back to the goblet for this, just in case.”

The professor produced the goblet again, and Harry got back to work.  Harry performed the spell on the goblet several times before Professor Flitwick pronounced himself satisfied.  “I think you have the hang of it.  Let’s try it on your bag now.”

Carefully, Harry cast the spell on the bag’s outer layer three times and fed it as much magic as he could manage.  Professor Flitwick made an approving sound.  “Good, good.  Now just complete it.”  Harry gently did, tying off all three layers together and completing the spell.  When he was done, he was nearly gasping with exertion, but when he opened the bag, the previously small space seemed enormous – at least as big as the inside of his father’s trunk was. 

Elated, he showed it to Professor Flitwick.  “Excellent work!  You rest for a bit while I check the stability of the charms.”  He produced tea and chocolate biscuits seemingly out of nowhere, and Harry nibbled at them while he watched Flitwick inspect his bag. 

“Did it work?” he asked anxiously when Flitwick sat back and reached for his own cup of tea.  Professor Flitwick added multiple lumps of sugar to his tea and stirred before answering.

“Very well indeed.  I imagine that the charms will last at least two or three years.  You’ll want to keep an eye on the fabric for wear.  Small rips and tears can make the spells less stable, even after the fabric is repaired.  That’s one reason why this is generally done with more sturdy material, like leather, if it’s something that’s going to be carried around and subjected to abuse.”

Harry sighed in relief at the news.  “I was going to use an Imperturbable Charm on it,” he offered.  “Both the inner and outer layer.”

Flitwick nodded.  “That would be my suggestion as well.  You still might have wear where the strap attaches, but you seem to have reinforced that area adequately.  There’s another pocket on the strap.  Were you wanting to charm that as well?”

Harry nodded.  “I think it’ll just barely be big enough for my wand, if I measured it right.” 

“Well, once you have your energy back, you can work on charming that and I’ll check it as well.  A wand is far too valuable to trust to shoddy spell work.”

Harry finished his cup of tea and pulled out his wand again.  This time it seemed harder and he wasn’t able to feed the layers nearly as much magic as he had been the main compartment.  He frowned in dissatisfaction and canceled the spell rather than completing it. 

“Well, we can try that pocket again later,” Professor Flitwick promised.  “But you’re certainly ready to do your tent.”  Harry grinned at the news.  “Let’s meet again next Sunday for one last session.  I’ll come up to your garden this time.  You have more open space to pitch your tent there than I do here in my office.  We’ll do your tent first, then the second pocket of your bag.

“In the meantime, you can certainly cast whatever charms you like on the interior of the bag.  It’ll be a good practice for your tent when it’s completed.  But I would like you to rest, particularly on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning.  Study book work or work in your garden, if you like, but no strenuous spell work.  Save up as much strength as you can for charming the tent.  I have a feeling you’ve been overextending yourself.”  Flitwick gave Harry a stern look, and he nodded sheepishly.  “You’ll want your tent to last as long as it possibly can so the more magic you have to spare, the better.  Make sure to eat a good breakfast and lunch on Sunday too.”

Harry left his session with a newly charmed bag, elated at his success.  Just one more week until he had his tent charmed!  The only thing that could make it better would be if Mr. Tufty were there.  He only had another month to wait.

Chapter Text

Harry’s elation carried him through the next week.  After a day of rest, he completed many of the charms on the interior of his bag.  Feather-light Charms, Imperturbable Charms to protect it from damage, and charms to keep the contents steady as the bag was moved.  He even managed to cast the final spell Mr. Weasley had added to his mother’s trunk to ensure the top layer of content was always near the top of the bag.  Since the bag was now more than two meters deep, it was a very necessary spell.  He had more spells he needed to cast on his tent, of course, but things like a spell to level a floor didn’t make sense in a bag that had no floors.  It wouldn’t really even make sense in his tent until he had flooring installed.

Once he thought he had all the spell work completed, he placed a small bowl full of water in the bag, fastened it closed and shook it.  When he reopened the bag, the bowl of water was undisturbed and the bag was dry.  Grinning at his success, he put the bag away.  No use risking damage to it before he could charm the second pocket and cast the Imperturbable Charm on the outer layer of fabric.

After that, he took Professor Flitwick’s advice and concentrated on catching up on his homework which he’d been neglecting in his drive to master the Extension Charm and once again got the more helpful Runes books out of the library.  There was only two months of school left, after all, and they still had exams to take.  He’d have to hurry if he wanted Professor Babbling to help him with any Runes projects.  She’d hardly have time once she was inundated with procrastinating students to coach and exams to grade.

On Friday evening, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower just before curfew to find his dorm room in an uproar.  Instead of all of his roommates being down in the common room as they normally were at that hour, they were all in the dorm, gaping at the contents of Neville’s trunks which had been strewn all over the room.  Neville’s cloak lay ripped on the floor, his textbooks lay scattered with the bindings broken and pages falling out, his sheets were pulled off his bed, wardrobe emptied, drawer pulled out and dumped everywhere, ink bottles smashed.  It was a huge mess.

Harry’s bed and wardrobe were in a similar state, though without the destruction.  Sheets were pulled off his bed, mattress askew, wardrobe open and clothes pulled off the hangers and belongings pulled out of the drawer.  Not that he had anything more than his clothes, ink and a spare quill in his wardrobe, but it’d still take time to tidy up.

Harry gave the room a leery look, then noticed the unfriendly glares from Ron and Neville. 

“Give it back,” Ron snarled.

“Give what back?” Harry asked, baffled.

“The book you stole from me!” Neville exclaimed.  “Bad enough you stole the book, did you have to ruin my things too?  I told you, the lamps were an accident!”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Harry denied.  “I haven’t been in the tower all day.  Did you do this to my things?  Go through them again?”

“Come off it.  We know it’s you.  It had to be you.  You’re –” He broke off suddenly with a glance at Seamus and Dean.  Then obviously changed what he’d been about to say.  “You’re trying to get us back for going through your things this Christmas.”

“It wasn’t me.  I haven’t been in the tower all day,” Harry said again. 

“I’ll go get a prefect for you!” Dean offered.  “They’ll get your book back!”  He dashed out the door and returned with Percy and Terrence, the seventh year prefect.  They looked around the room in amazement.

“What happened here?” Percy asked.

“Harry broke into Neville’s trunk, stole his book, and destroyed his things,” Seamus declared.

“To get him back for this Christmas!” Dean added.

“I didn’t!” Harry exclaimed.  “I’ve already told you.  I haven’t been here since I left the dorm this morning.  Ask the Fat Lady.  Ask the whole house.  People notice when I walk in the door, if only so they can glare at me.  Someone would remember if I’d come in.  And it looks like someone’s been through my things too!”

“Well, it had to be a Gryffindor.  No one else can get into the tower.  The only Gryffindor with a reason to do it is you,” Ron said nastily.  “We searched your bed and wardrobe ourselves trying to find it.”

“When the same thing happened at Christmas, I thought you said it could be a Slytherin? That it’d be easy for a Slytherin to get in.  What happened to that story?”  Ron and Neville glared at Harry.  “And who gave you the authority to search my things?” Harry demanded.

“Well, there’s an easy way to tell.  Potter, empty your bag and open your trunk so we can search them,” Terrence declared, with a mean look in his eye.  “We certainly have that authority, and there’s plenty of cause.”

Harry stared at him, mouth agape.  “No,” he denied firmly.  Everyone in the room turned to glare at him.  “You haven’t even asked him what book he’s missing or how to tell it’s his.  I don’t have his book, but he could point to any book in my bag and claim it’s the one I stole, even if it’s mine.”

“You never described your documents back at Christmas.  Just yelled at us for taking them.”  Neville’s voice was steady and firm.  “I don’t see why I should have to describe my book.”

“My legal documents are a good bit more distinctive than an unspecified, undescribed book.  They had my name all over them.  Hard to mistake them for anything else.  You haven’t even told us the title of the book you’re missing,” Harry shot back.  “What’s to stop you from claiming my Charms textbook is yours and getting me in trouble just because you feel like it?”

“He has a point, Neville.  What book are you looking for?  Describe it for us.  Title, anything distinctive that would make it distinguishable from one of Harry’s,” Percy said pompously.

Neville suddenly seemed reluctant to cooperate.  “It’s…  It’s a garden journal.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes.  He had a garden too, and Neville surely could have guessed he kept planting records, just like they’d learned to do in Herbology class, though he didn’t have anything so organized as a bound journal.  “Be more specific.  There’s lots of gardens and garden journals in this castle.”

Neville was silent for a long time.  “Well?” Percy asked imperiously.  “Go on, describe it.” 

“It’s thin,” Neville stated slowly, obviously reluctant, “With a black cover.  It’s an old diary no one ever filled out.  I haven’t started using it yet so it’s blank.”

That was a good deal more descriptive, but something was odd.  “Why are you so eager to find a blank diary that isn’t even for this year?” he asked. 

Ron glared at him.  “As if you don’t know!”  He turned to the prefects.  “Isn’t that distinctive enough?  Make him open his trunk.”

At Percy’s nod, Harry sighed, then emptied his bag on his bed and spread the books out. Then he knelt next to his trunk, concentrated on his wand and hissed “Always winter and never Christmas.”  Not the most cheerful of quotes, but after months of changing two passwords twice a week, he was running out of good ones, especially since he wasn’t sure how well names and proper nouns translated to Parseltongue.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terrence give a shudder at the sound.  “You need to change that password to something respectable,” he demanded.

“It’s not against the rules,” Harry stated firmly.

“It’s against common decency,” Terrence muttered.  “Change it.”

“No,” Harry refused.  “It’s not against the rules and my roommates have a history of stealing my belongings.” 

Percy sighed.  “This isn’t helping us.  Harry, empty your trunk, please.”

Harry found himself glad that he’d left the vast majority of his belongings up in his garden.  The only thing in his trunk was one set of textbooks and a small roll of parchment.  Harry grabbed an armload of books and laid them on the bed, then returned for a second armload, and Percy and Terrence came over to inspect them.  “Why do you have NEWT level textbooks in your trunk?” Terrence demanded. 

“That’s none of your business,” Harry stated.  “You’re looking for a diary, not for a textbook.” 

“The journal’s really thin.  He could have hidden it in any of the text books.”  Harry rolled his eyes at Neville.  There was no journal in his things.

Harry watched closely as Percy and Terrence flipped through his books, but they found nothing.  “It’s not here.”  Percy came to verify the trunk was empty and then checked Harry’s bag.  “He doesn’t have it.” 

“Then go search that room he’s always in. He’s the one that took it.  It’s got to be somewhere!”  Ron’s voice was loud and insistent.

“What room?” Percy asked.

“It’s up on the seventh floor.  There’s a secret passage behind a tapestry,” Neville contributed.

Harry started repacking his spare text books into his trunk and his study materials back into his bag.  When he turned he finished and turned around, Terrence was looking at him expectantly.  “Well?  Take us to that room so we can search that, too.” 

Harry glared at him.  “No.  I didn’t take the diary.  I don’t have it.  You don’t have any cause to single me out specifically.”

Percy sighed.  “You do have cause to mess with Neville’s things, though, in retaliation for Christmas.”

“No,” Harry refused again.  “It wasn’t me.  I haven’t been in Gryffindor tower all day long.  Ask the Fat Lady.  Find a single, credible witness that says I’ve been here today.  I haven’t.  Lots of other Gryffindors have been.

“Search Gryffindor tower first.  They’re right that it does have to be a Gryffindor, but it wasn’t me.  It’s likely somewhere in this tower.  If you search the tower and don’t find it, then I’ll cooperate with searching my study area, but I’d prefer Professor Flitwick or Professor Sprout be the one to search, not another student or even a prefect.”  At least the two of them knew about his garden, and neither of them would go digging around in his plants and wrecking his crops like he suspected Terrence would do.

Percy sighed then left the room.  Harry started tidying his area.  By the time he’d rehung his clothes and started in on making his bed, Percy returned.  “The Fat Lady confirms he hasn’t been in the tower since before breakfast,” he reported.  He turned and looked at the rest of the room.  “I assume one of you has been in the room at least once between now and then?” 

They all nodded.  “The room was fine after Potions class when I dropped off my cauldron,” Dean said. 

“And it was fine an hour or two before dinner,” Neville confirmed reluctantly.

“All right, then the next step is Professor McGonagall.  The sooner we get her up here, the sooner we can find –”

“No!” Neville’s panicked voice said.  “No, no need to bother McGonagall.”  They all turned to stare at him.

Harry narrowed his eyes.  It was important enough to insist on searching his belongings, even his garden but not important enough to bother McGonagall?  Did this diary even exist?  Or were they just trying to get into his garden again?

“Well, it’s your choice, of course, but if you want your book back, we have no other options,” Percy said slowly.

 “It’s just a blank book.  I can just get another,” Neville said in a rush.  “Don’t worry about it.”

As soon as the prefects had left the room, Ron turned on Harry. 

“Who’s the thief now?” he demanded. 

“Not me,” Harry denied calmly.  “You just heard from Percy.  I haven’t been in the tower all day.”

“You sneaked in somehow,” he insisted.  “It had to be you.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “There’s over a hundred people who have the password to this tower.  Any one of them could have done it.  Unlike other people, I don’t have the ability to turn invisible at will.”  Harry glared significantly at Neville who colored and avoided his stare.

“Who said anything about invisibility?” Ron said nervously. 

“Seriously, it’s not me.  Look elsewhere if you want to find your thief. If it’s that important to you, you need to go to McGonagall.”

“You know very well we can’t do that!” Ron yelled.

“Why not?” Harry asked curiously.  “If it’s just a blank journal?” 

Seamus and Dean looked between them, also looking rather curious. 

“Never mind,” Neville grumbled, then turned his back on Harry to start cleaning up his side of the dorm.

“Don’t go through my things ever again.  If you think I’ve taken something of yours, call a prefect.  That’s their job, to mediate disputes.”

The next day was another Gryffindor Quidditch match, which Harry wanted no part of.  He didn’t want to be accused of cheering for Hufflepuff, after all.  While he was in the kitchens for breakfast, he asked the house elves for a picnic basket so he wouldn’t have to come back down for lunch which they happily provided.

Harry took the basket and retreated back up to his garden and spent the morning peacefully planting lettuce and spinach, then he settled down to deciding which of the rune projects he wanted to start with. 

Cool boxes to use for roots or dairy would be easy enough, as long as he could find boxes to use.  The designs were very similar to the oven he’d made the previous year.  The stove would be harder, if only because it would need to be carved into a rock to make it fire proof.

The more difficult problem was a toilet.  He couldn’t find any solution anywhere in the books he’d checked out. 

Frustrated, he put the book away.  He’d have to look in the library again and see if he could find a better solution.  A Vanishing Charm could work, he supposed, but he’d always neglected Transfiguration, and he didn’t think he could manage it by summer time.  Briefly, he contemplated trying to do the research while the rest of the school was at the Quidditch match, but he dismissed the idea reluctantly.  Matches were unpredictable.  No telling when the students would be back.  It could wait until another day.

In the meantime, he had studying to catch up on.  He’d kept up with his classes most of the year, but he’d neglected them for the past couple of months in favor of obsessing over the Extension Charm.  He’d done most of his homework but only what he absolutely had to and only haphazardly.  He suspected he was going to fail Defense.  No reason to fail any other subject too.

In the mid-afternoon, Harry was curled up with his Transfiguration text book, a cup of tea and some fruit the house elves had given him to snack on.  Suddenly, his peace was interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared.  Startled, Harry turned to find the headmaster standing at the edge of the seating area, a grave look on his face.

“Mr. Potter, I must ask you to come with me.” 

Confused, Harry stood and obeyed.  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.  There has been another attack.”  Harry’s eyes widened.  “This time, the victim has died.”

“Who is it?”  Selfishly, Harry hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew or had ever interacted with.

“Penelope Clearwater.  A Ravenclaw prefect.”  Penelope?  Harry didn’t think he knew her unless she was one of the ones involved in the Ravenclaws’ anti-Lockhart conspiracy.  “She was attacked near the library while most of the school was at the Quidditch game.”  Harry was suddenly immensely relieved he’d decided to wait until later to do more Runes research.

“This is very important, Mr. Potter.  Did you hear or see anything unusual today?  Noises, voices, see anything strange?” 

Harry shook his head.  “No.  I got a picnic lunch from the house elves when I was at breakfast and came straight upstairs after that.  I’ve left a couple of times to use the bathroom, but that’s just down the hall.  Other than that, I’ve been here all day.  I wasn’t planning on leaving until it was time for dinner.”

“Hm.  Your conservatory is quite far away from both the library and the central stairwell.  Your door’s been shut all this time?”

Harry nodded.  “Yes, except for the times I opened it to go to the bathroom.  I promised Professor Flitwick I’d keep the door shut whenever I was in the room.”

“That would have muffled any noise further, I assume.”

“Someone, I assume it was Neville and Ron, was playing Exploding Snap in the corridor not too far from the entrance a couple of months ago, and I didn’t hear a thing until I came down the stairs and opened the door.  There’s no way I’d hear any noise from the central stairway.”

Professor Dumbledore sighed.  “I did try to tell them you aren’t the Heir, I assure you.  What about your studying today?  Anything adventurous?”

Harry had to ponder that for a minute before he realized what the headmaster was asking.  “Oh!  No, hardly any spellwork at all, actually.  Professor Flitwick wanted me to rest this week, today and tomorrow morning especially.  I did some Runes research earlier, but I’ve mostly been gardening and catching up on the theory portions of classes.  The most adventurous thing I’ve done today was a few drying charms.”

“Good, good.  Not that extracurricular studying is wrong but best to have as few questions as possible.”

Suddenly, Harry felt rather uneasy.  “Questions?  From who?  Where are we going?”

“With the death, there must be an official inquiry by the DMLE.  Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he clarified when Harry made a confused sound. “They’ve been attempting to verify the whereabouts of all students during the day and interview everyone for anything they might know about the attacks.  Since you’re a primary witness to three of the attacks and had an altercation with two of the victims so far, you’re one of the ones they’d particularly like to speak with.”

Filled with trepidation, Harry said, “That’s all a coincidence, though.  I don’t even know who Penelope Clearwater is.  I’ve never spoken with her, as far as I know.  I certainly wouldn’t have hurt Mr. Tufty.”

Professor Dumbledore sighed.  “Nonetheless, certain procedures must be followed.  I must urge you to not lie about anything.  Tell the complete truth, even if you feel the answers you give are embarrassing or portray you in a bad light.  It will be worse if you omit details or lie and it can be proven.  However, do not indulge in speculation, especially your theories about Voldemort being the Heir.  It is not widely known he has returned, and any such claims will only hurt your cause.”

“Most of my embarrassing things are a matter of legal record.  I couldn’t really hide them from the ministry, even if I wanted to.”  Harry wasn’t thrilled by the idea of explaining the Undesirable Relations declaration, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.  “Most of what I know about Voldemort is second or third hand, through Neville.  So, it’s better than rumor, but wouldn’t it be Neville’s story to tell? 

“What’s going to happen to Hogwarts?  With Clearwater’s death and the Heir still here?”

Dumbledore gave a great sigh.  “It is likely that the school must close early this year to give us more time to search the school.”

“But I’m not ready for summer yet!  I… My tent isn’t finished, not even close, and my vegetables won’t be ready to harvest for over a month,” Harry protested.

“Unfortunately, you may have to live with the tent as it is if it can’t be finished before the school closes.  If it comes to it, I’ll see what I can do to make sure your vegetables make it to you this summer, though the safety of our staff is a priority over onions and potatoes.  Is there much left to do in your conservatory?”

“No, I suppose not.  I had a couple more things I was going to plant, but they aren’t a big deal.  The buckwheat… Well, I can just use that as compost, I guess.  I can’t ask anyone to conjure butterflies every day until it’s pollinated, not if it’s not safe.  I’ve got more, and flour is cheap.  I tried to make it so I didn’t have to do much during exams, so it’s mostly just waiting for things to mature and be ready to harvest.”

“We can discuss it in more detail later, if it’s needed, though with luck, the culprit might be uncovered during interviews today or Mr. Creevey, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, or Sir Nicholas might have seen something before they were petrified so I have great hope we can resolve this before next September. 

“Now, the DMLE are interviewing most of the students down in the Great Hall.  I thought it might be better if you could be interviewed somewhere a little more private.”  He led Harry to a door just to the side of the gargoyle statue that guarded his tower.  “Before we go in, please allow me to hold your wand for the duration of the interview.”  Harry looked at him, eyes wide.  That sounded rather ominous.  “Your wand’s rather unusual design might cause some concern.  I’d prefer it not to be damaged by any overly enthusiastic DMLE officers.  One of the ones sent today is known for being rather rash.”

Reluctantly, Harry pulled it out of his robe pocket and handed it to the headmaster, who took it with a grave nod and, after placing it in his own pocket, opened the door to a well lit sitting room. 

“Officers, I’ve brought young Mr. Potter.  Mr. Potter, this is Officers David and Wainwright.  I believe we’re still missing Aurors Moody and Shacklebolt.”  The headmaster motioned Harry to one armchair and took the one opposite him.  The two officers were seated on a couch, and the couch opposite them was empty.  A tea service sat on the low oblong table in the center of the arrangement. 

The walls were lined with bookshelves, partially stocked with books but with sculptures and bookends taking up a large portion of the space.  Strangely for the castle, there was not a single portrait or painting in the room.

“They’ve been delayed downstairs.  I see no reason to wait.  We can get started immediately.  This should be a fairly quick interview, and we can get this all cleared up.  Headmaster Dumbledore, if you’ll give us some privacy?”  Officer Wainwright’s expression was rather disdainful when he looked towards Harry.

“Ah, I don’t believe that to be wise.  Mr. Potter is still a minor, no matter his rather unusual legal circumstances.  While he’s in my school, he will be treated as any other minor.  His head of house and the other Professors are occupied downstairs supervising the other interviews.  I believe I will supervise this one.”  Looking at Wainwright’s sneer and David’s less than pleasant expression, Harry was very grateful that the headmaster had decided to stay.

“It will just be a waste of your time.  I’m sure you have a good number of weighty issues to attend to.”

“I really must insist on staying,” Dumbledore said with a steely tone, though his expression remained genial.  He leaned forward and served himself a cup of tea and took a biscuit.  “Harry, I saw I interrupted your tea when I fetched you.  Please help yourself.”

Though he was really too nervous to want tea, Harry poured himself a cup anyway, and took a couple biscuits.  At least fiddling with the cup would give him something to do with his hands.  Wainwright glared at the delay. 

“Mr. Potter, from interviewing the other students, we’ve been given testimony that you are a Parselmouth,” Wainwright started, making the word ‘Parselmouth’ sound like a foul word.

“Yes,” Harry admitted.

“Thus, you are the Heir to Slytherin,” Wainwright continued.

“To the best of my knowledge, I’m not related to Slytherin at all, though after a thousand years, it’s possible I’m vaguely related and just not aware.  It’s not like I know my family tree.”

“Come now.  All the other known Parselmouth bloodlines in Britain have died out.  What other bloodline could you be related to?”

“I’m really not sure, but I do know that at least some of my ancestors came from outside of Europe.  I’m assuming that I may have inherited the talent from one of those ancestors.”

“Several generations ago, one of the Potters married an Indian witch.  Parselmouths are more common there, though the skill is still rather rare,” Dumbledore cut in.  Harry looked at him in curiosity.  He hadn’t known that. 

“Hmph.  Well, a Parselmouth is a Parselmouth, regardless of the bloodline. Now, why did you direct your snake to attack Mr. Finch-Fletchley?”

“I didn’t!  First, it wasn’t my snake.  Draco Malfoy conjured it, not me.  Second, I was trying to get it to stop, not to attack,” Harry explained.  He was rather tired of this misunderstanding.

“We’ve a hundred credible witnesses that have testified otherwise, including two esteemed professors.”

Harry wanted to scoff at the idea of Lockhart being thought of as ‘esteemed’ but managed to keep a neutral expression. 

“They’ve misunderstood.  They didn’t understand what I was saying.  I was telling it to stop.  I wasn’t trying to egg it on.”

“And you being found next to Finch-Fletchley’s body just after an altercation with his peers?  Was that a misunderstanding too?”

“Yes.  It was just a coincidence.  I was in the kitchens for at least half an hour before then.  I tripped over him when I left,” Harry stated, trying to stay calm.

“I was able to confirm this with several house elves,” Professor Dumbledore interjected.  “He’d been there for forty five minutes and left minutes before the alert was raised.  I checked his wand just after it happened.  He’d cast dozens of spells that morning but not a single one could petrify anyone.  There was nothing alarming in what I found.”

“And you disowning your Muggle relatives.  I suppose that’s –”

He was interrupted by the door slamming open.  In the doorway stood a large man with a scarred face, leaning heavily on a staff.  He had one brown and beady eye and one large electric blue eye that constantly moved in random directions, even seemingly looking backwards.  Behind him stood a tall black man with a gold hoop earring and a young woman with blue hair.

The scarred man limped forward, every second step thudding oddly.  “Wainwright, you pillock, I told you to wait.  As much as you’d like it to be otherwise, this is an Auror investigation now.  You have no authority here.  We’re only letting you observe out of courtesy,” the rather intimidating man growled. 

“And whose men are doing the questioning of the other students?  Why treat this one differently?”  Wainwright said sullenly.  “We were just getting to the meat of the questioning.” 

“Madam Bones has made it an Auror investigation so if you don’t like it, take it up with her,” the man growled.  “This is a bit more serious than a mere robbery or theft, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Alastor, right on time,” the headmaster interjected smoothly.  “Can I offer you some tea?  Or you, Kingsley? Trainee Tonks?”  The scarred man and woman shook their heads but the black man poured himself a cup as they seated themselves on the empty couch.  “Harry, this is Auror Moody, Auror Shacklebolt, and Auror Trainee Tonks.”  The headmaster indicated each in turn.  “And, of course, this is Harry Potter.”

Shacklebolt gave Harry a long look over his fresh cup of tea.  “You’re the spitting image of your father, you know.” 

“You knew my father?” Harry asked curiously.

“Hm.  Quite well.  Mad-Eye as well.”  Looking at Auror Moody’s wandering blue eye, Harry couldn’t help but think Mad-Eye was a rather apt nickname.

“Enough pleasantries.  Time enough for that later, once the castle is safe,” Moody growled.

“Well, I’d just asked Potter why he hates Muggles so much when you walked in and interrupted us,” Wainwright said snidely.  His professional pride was obviously hurt by Moody’s dismissal. 

“No, you didn’t,” Harry said before he could think better of it.  “You asked why I disowned the Dursleys, which isn’t even true.  I didn’t.”  Harry saw Auror Tonks giving him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh?  Then why do we have an entire school full of students all claiming that you did?” Davis said snidely.  “Surely, they can’t all be lying.”

“Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom broke into my trunk over the Christmas holidays and found a Termination of Undesirable Relations form.  Either they didn’t understand it or just didn’t have time to read it because I’d interrupted them.  They assumed that I disowned the Dursleys.  I didn’t.  The Dursleys disowned me.”  Harry heard Tonks draw in a startled breath.  “Everyone else’s knowledge comes from Weasley and Longbottom gossiping about it.”

“You expect us to believe that Muggles disowned a wizard?  On what grounds?” Wainwright protested.

“That’s hardly the issue at hand, Officer Wainwright.  Traditionally, that’s kept private.  The documents will be on file at the Ministry so we can easily check the story,” Shacklebolt stated firmly. 

“I hope you’ve got better security on your trunk now, boy!” Moody growled.  “Keeping documents like that lying around for anyone to steal.  That’s what bank vaults are for!” 

“Professor Flitwick helped me add a password to my trunk.  I’m going to put the documents in my vault the first chance I get.  I hadn’t even thought of them not being safe until I realized they weren’t.”

“Well, what about –”

Moody cut Wainwright off.  “What about you shut your mouth and let the Aurors do the questioning on our own investigation,” he growled.  “Now, Potter, let’s start from the beginning.  When was the first time you realized there was something wrong this year?”

“Back in September, the first weekend of school.  I’d overstayed curfew and was sneaking back to Gryffindor tower around midnight or so, when –” Harry told them the story of the strange voice he’d heard coming from the central stairwell.  Then the second time he heard the voice on Halloween, finding Mrs. Norris and Mr. Tufty being missing.

“What about Colin Creevey?”

“I didn’t even know he had been petrified until Professor Flitwick told me the next afternoon.” 

“He had been annoying you that day?”

Harry nodded.  “I think one of the older kids dared him to.  It was all about the stupid Quidditch team.  I just ignored him and left.”

“Several of the other students said you looked smug when you came into the dorm that night.  Why?” Shacklebolt asked.

“I didn’t overhear anyone mention that until months later so I don’t remember what I was thinking about at the time.  I do remember I was working on Summoning and Banishing Charms that week.  Maybe I’d made some progress on it that day?  But I really don’t know.”

“But you weren’t in the dorm until curfew that night, were you?  So, no alibi for then?” Wainwright asked.

Harry shrugged.  “I never go to the dorms until I have to.  It’d be more remarkable if I had been there that night.”

“About this Dueling Club.  That’s the one that interests me,” Auror Moody growled.  “Why’d you go to that when you never go to any other clubs?”

“I… well, I had the good fortune of being kicked out of Professor Lockhart’s class on the very first day.”  Auror Shacklebolt snorted the sip of tea he’d just taken.  Harry risked a glance at the headmaster and saw his eyes twinkling merrily.  “I’ve been trying to teach myself so I don’t fall behind.”

“No chance of that, from what I can tell,” Shacklebolt muttered under his breath.

“We’re supposed to study jinxes and anti-jinxes during second year.  I don’t have anyone to practice with, so I thought the Dueling Club would be a good idea.  I assumed Professor Flitwick would be there, since he’s a dueling champion.”

“Hm.  So, you go, Draco Malfoy conjures a snake, Lockhart annoys it, and then?”

“Well, I’d cast a Boundary Spell when I first saw the snake so I knew I was safer staying put than I was trying to run.”  Moody gave an approving sort of noise.  “It came up to me but ran into the boundary.  It turned to look for an easier target.  It picked Finch-Fletchley.  I told it to stop, and it did.  People overreacted because I’m a Parselmouth and assumed I was telling it to attack, which I wasn’t.”

“Why did you have your wand pointed at Finch-Fletchley?”  David’s voice was snide.

“I was trying to decide what to do if the snake started ignoring me.  The only thing I could think of was an Imperturbable Charm on his robes.”

“I’ve confirmed with Minerva that Mr. Potter does indeed know the Imperturbable Charm.  She was quite surprised.  And rather impressed, I daresay,” Dumbledore cut in, speaking over David’s disbelieving scoff.

“You didn’t think of summoning the snake?  Moving it away from Finch-Fletchley?”  Shacklebolt asked. 

“No, that never occurred to me.  Moving it again would have just made it even madder.  We were right in the middle of a crowd of panicking students.  There wasn’t really a safe spot to move it to.  I was really mostly hoping that someone who knew some better spell to use would step in.” 

“Don’t snakes always obey Parselmouths?” Tonks interjected.  “That’s what I always heard.  Why were you worried it’d keep attacking?”

“That’s what the book Professor Dumbledore let me read said.  I didn’t know that at the time.  I’ve talked to snakes off and on over the years but never tried to give them orders, just held conversations.”  Harry shrugged.  “I grew up in the Muggle world, so all I knew about Parselmouths at the time was the definition.  Parseltongue just sounds like English to me, so I didn’t realize people wouldn’t be able to understand me or be scared.”

The headmaster looked up sharply at that, though Harry wasn’t sure why.  “It sounds like English to you?”

“Yes?  Well, now that I’ve been practicing, I can kind of hear a hissing undertone when I speak it.  I’m not sure I’d be able to distinguish between English and Parseltongue when I was listening to someone else, though.  I haven’t been practicing listening, just speaking.”  Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face.

They asked a few more questions about the Dueling club, then had Harry describe finding Finch-Fletchley in the hall outside the kitchens.

“And today?” Shacklebolt asked neutrally. 

“I’ve been in the room I use to study all day.  I went there right after breakfast and other than a couple of bathroom breaks, I was there the whole time.  There’s a Quidditch match today.  Gryffindor’s playing,” Harry explained.  “I figured it’d be better if I avoided everyone for the day, just in case we lost again.”

“I understand you had an altercation with Percy Weasley last night?” Shacklebolt asked.

“No?  Who told you that?  I had a fight with Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom, not Percy.  They accused me of stealing something out of Neville’s trunk.  I don’t know who did it, but it wasn’t me.  They called in Percy and Terrence, the seventh year prefect, to sort it out.”

“You were annoyed at the prefects, and then the next day, one of the prefects’ Muggle-born girlfriend is found dead.  Surely you can agree that is a strange coincidence,” Wainwright sneered.

Harry stared at him in disbelief.  “I didn’t even know Percy was dating anyone.  I don’t think I ever met Penelope Clearwater.  I certainly had no idea she was Muggle-born.  I was annoyed at Ron and Neville and the situation in general, not Percy.  Percy was nice about it, especially compared to Terrence.”  Harry felt a brief pang for Percy.  He’d been worried about his parents, the fine, and the Burrow, and now he lost his girlfriend too.  “Percy, at least, was willing to confirm with the Fat Lady that I hadn’t been in the tower and was going to call McGonagall when I asked him to.  Terrence was the one demanding that I let him search the room I study in and refused to consider that anyone else could be guilty.  He even demanded I change the password on my trunk.”

“Oh?  Why’d he do that?” Shacklebolt asked, interested.

“It’s in Parseltongue.  He said it was indecent.”

Wainwright made a choking sort of noise.  “Are you… You’re flaunting that you’re a Parselmouth!”  Wainwright sounded incredulous. 

“I have to occasionally get into my trunk when my roommates are there.  A phrase in Parseltongue is more secure.  Even if they heard it, they couldn’t replicate it.  At least, I don’t think so.”  Moody looked very approving, but Harry couldn’t tell what Shacklebolt or Tonks thought.

“Surely we’ve heard enough!  The boy has no alibi for any of the incidents, motive for all of them, and has admitted to being a Dark wizard.”

“As I mentioned earlier, the house elves confirmed his alibi for the attack in December.  Unless you believe he was able to find and petrify his target in a matter of minutes without any trace of such a spell on his wand?” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

“No reliable witnesses.  Elves’ testimony is not admissible in court, you know that.  Without knowing the method of petrification, a clean wand means nothing.”

“Has anyone had the sense to check Potter’s wand today?” Moody growled.

Wainwright turned to Harry.  “Well, boy, hand it over,” he demanded imperiously.  Harry glanced at Dumbledore. 

“It’s right here, Officer.”  Dumbledore produced Harry’s wand.  “Prior Incantato.”  As had happened in December, ghosts of the spells Harry cast that day poured out of the wand.  After watching dozens of spells, Dumbledore finally said “I see nothing out of the ordinary for a second year student.”

“Hm.  Except for the Drying and Summoning Charms and the Water-Making spell.  Third, Fourth and Sixth year spells?” Shacklebolt remarked wryly. “But certainly nothing that would cause a petrification.”  Harry had completely forgotten about the Water-Making spell.  He’d just been refilling his tea kettle.  At least he hadn’t been practicing Defense that morning.

Wainwright, though, was looking at Harry’s wand in utter disdain, and Harry was glad when Dumbledore tucked it safely away in a pocket. 

“Alright.  So much for preliminaries.  Let’s get down to the real questions,” Moody growled.  “Now, Potter, that night in September, –”  The group questioned Harry closely about the incident, focusing on the details he’d left out of his story to start with.  The loudness of the voice, what it sounded like, the precise words used, the exact time, how Mr. Tufty had acted and when.  They then went over Halloween night in similar detail, then the Dueling Club, then finding Finch-Fletchley and Sir Nicholas.

They were just about to start for a second time when Wainwright lost his patience.  “The boy’s an admitted Parselmouth and we’re hunting the Heir of Slytherin.  Surely there’s no need for all of this questioning?  It’s rather cut and dry, don’t you think?  Or are you letting your former friendship with his parents taint your opinions?”  His voice was accusatory. 

“Well, this is an Auror investigation.  We’re a bit more thorough than the ordinary DMLE,” Shacklebolt said evenly.  “We like having all of the facts.  The voice Potter heard seems to be rather important.  If you feel you’re wasting your time, I believe there’s other things that need done.  Perhaps you can see if there’s any important facts discovered during the questioning of the other students.  Why don’t you go check?  In fact, I’ll come with you.”  Shacklebolt set his empty tea cup on the table and stood, then motioned Wainwright and David towards the door. 

As they were exiting, Moody called after them, “See if you can get a seating arrangement for the Halloween Feast.  We need to see if anyone else wasn’t there that night.”  Shacklebolt gave a wave of acknowledgment as he closed the door.

“That man is trouble,” Moody growled as soon as they were alone.  “He’s not entirely wrong, though.”  He glanced at Harry.  “I’ve arrested and convicted men with half the circumstantial evidence that we have in your case, boy, and felt proud of it.”

Harry felt his stomach twist in worry.  “But you believe me, don’t you?”

Moody gave him a long look then a slow nod.  “As much as I believe anyone, which isn’t much.  But I’m called Mad for more reasons than just my eye these days.”

“I do want to thank you for doing me the favor of attending to this investigation personally, Alastor.  I know you’re not precisely supposed to be in dangerous situations until they set that leg to rights,” Dumbledore said. 

Moody grunted.  “Leg’s gone.  Too much Dark Magic residue to fix it now.  They’re shoving me out the door.  I see their point.  Can’t run after Dark wizards with just one leg.”  The bitter look on his face indicated he’d be happy to try.  “If there’s any case to go out on, it’s a case big case like this one.  One that matters, something a bit challenging, to prove my brain’s still good, even if my leg isn’t.”  He sighed.  “Well, let’s get back to it.”

Then they started over again.  Dumbledore seemed particularly interested in the sound of the voice, where Moody seemed more interested in the loudness and location, if Harry had seen any moving shadows and confirming with Dumbledore the location of hidden passages in the areas of the attacks.

Finally, all questions exhausted, Moody sat back.  “Don’t see any way around it, Albus.  Unless one of the other students come forward with new evidence, you’ll have to close the school.  That will give us four months to search.  Go over it with a fine tooth comb.”

Harry’s heart sunk.  He was not ready to leave for the summer.  Not even close. 

“I had hoped we’d be able to contain this to the school,” Dumbledore sighed.  “If we send the students home and one of them is behind it… Well, who knows what the next target will be or if we’ll be able to discover how it’s being done in time to prevent further issues.”

“Set up a checkpoint before boarding the Hogwarts Express.  Check everyone and their belongings for Dark Magic residue,” Moody grunted.  “Better yet, tell all of the kids to have their trunks packed before breakfast, so they can be taken to the train separately.  Have the elves collect them while everyone is down at breakfast and don’t tell them the trunks are being searched.  Keep the kids in the Great Hall from breakfast until it’s time for them to board the Express.  Then search the kids and any extra bags they have a few at a time as they board the train.  That way there’s less of a chance to hide what we’re looking for.  One last chance to catch something.  Still, it’s too dangerous to have all the kids here while there’s a murderer on the loose.” 

Dumbledore sighed, then nodded.  “I believe we can arrange that, if you can provide enough manpower to check the trunks and students.  It might take most of a day to thoroughly check everyone.” 

“Start bright and early tomorrow morning.  If we can get the students loaded by early afternoon, they’ll be back home for a late dinner.”  He turned to look at Harry. “And you, Potter?  Will you be available this summer, if we need a Parselmouth?”

Harry was startled.  Why would they need a Parselmouth?  But he nodded.  “I was planning on staying in Hogsmeade.  I can easily come back to the school if I need to.”

“Good, good.  Well, Albus, you start on arrangements.  I’m going to take a closer look at that stairway.  Tonks, you stay here with Potter.  Make sure that Wainwright doesn’t come back and start any trouble.”  The blue haired witch nodded eagerly and Moody struggled to his feet and thumped his way out the door. 

Dumbledore stood as well.  “I’ll have the house elves send up some dinner for the two of you.  I believe we’ve talked right through it.”

Harry put down his long since cold cup of tea and uneaten biscuits and sat back glumly. 

“Well, it’s not all bad, is it?” Tonks said suddenly.  “You’ll get a double holiday out of it.  You can do twice as much.  Have twice as much fun.”

Harry gave her a look.  “Except for the fact that I’m homeless, won’t have any good place to sleep, and will only have a quarter of enough food to last the summer?  I hadn’t finished my summer preparations yet.  I was counting on having another two months to get ready and only two months out of school, not four.”  Tonks looked stricken.  He sighed.  “Maybe I can rush through some things tonight or tomorrow while they’re boarding the Express.  Professor Flitwick was going to supervise, but I assume he’ll be busy.  He’s Clearwater’s head of house.”

“Very likely,” Tonks said, rather subdued.  Harry got up to look out the window.  After a few minutes, Tonks gave a pleased murmur and he turned back to look. The tea service had vanished, replaced by dinner plates and serving platters. They served themselves though Tonks’ plate held more Yorkshire puddings and gravy than it did roast beef, carrots, or potatoes.  “They remembered my favorite!  I’m horribly clumsy.  I don’t dare try to make Yorkshire pudding myself.  I’d burn the kitchen down.  My mum’s aren’t half as good as the ones here.  And rhubarb crumble for pudding, too!”

Harry gave a half smile and tried to enjoy the dinner, but it sat like lead in his stomach. 

Tonks did her best to keep up a light conversation through dinner, asking about his favorite classes and Quidditch teams, singers, and so on. 

Finally, over pudding, Harry asked, “Have you been an Auror long?  Mr. Moody said you’re a trainee still?  What makes the Aurors different from the ordinary DMLE officers?  Do you have different types of cases?”

“Call him Moody or Mad-Eye, kid.  He’d laugh if he heard you call him Mister.  I was just hired, really.  Barely even a trainee but they wanted someone to help Moody with… well, whatever he needs help with while he adjusts to his leg injury.  I’m not sure what that is, since he’s determined to do it all for himself anyway.  Even without a leg, he can beat me in a duel without trying very hard.  I jumped at the chance to work with him at least once.  He’s a legend! 

“After this case, Moody will have to retire and they’ll put me back into school with the other trainees.”  She made a face.  “I might have picked a different career if I’d known there would be this much studying.”  She took another bite of her rhubarb crumble with a rapturous expression on her face.

“The regular DMLE take care of every day matters.  General petty crimes, thefts, robberies and assaults.  Even some of the simpler murders.  The domestic stuff, you know.  Aurors tend to take over the more serious investigations.  Dark wizards, that sort of thing.” 

Their conversation moved on from there, jumping from topic to topic as time passed.  It was long after curfew and Tonks was demonstrating her Metamorphmagus talents by altering her nose and hair when they heard voices from the corridor.

“Bad business, Albus,” a voice was saying in rather clipped tones.  “Very bad business.  Three attacks on Muggle-borns and one death.  Things’ve gone far enough.  Ministry’s got to act.”

“That must be Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic,” Tonks said in a low tone.  “It’s never good when politicians get involved.  Nothing ever goes right.  More worried about their reputation than about actually catching the right people.”

“I assure you, Cornelius, we are acting,” came Dumbledore’s voice.  “I’ve arranged with the Aurors to have the students and their luggage checked for Dark Magic and cursed objects as they board the train tomorrow.  Between that and any testimony we can obtain from the petrified students in a month, we hope to be able to track down the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Headmasters have been looking for the Chamber for centuries, Dumbledore,” another voice drawled lazily.  “Yet you, in your arrogance, feel you can find it in a mere four months?”

“Ah, but I have a vital resource the other Headmasters lacked: the cooperation of a Parselmouth.  I believe that will enable us to succeed where the other attempts failed.  There are several hints that snakes and Parseltongue are key to this entire mystery.”  Dumbledore’s voice was full of false pleasantness.

“I’ve been in touch with the other governors, and they all agree that your decision to close the school so abruptly is rather hasty.”

“What would you have me do, Lucius?” Dumbledore inquired in a steely tone.  “I have one student dead already.  Surely you don’t wish to wait until there’s another death?”

“That other voice must be Lucius Malfoy,” Tonks whispered.  “He’s one of the school governors.  Very rich, very influential, especially with the minister.”

“Come, now, Albus,” said Fudge, with a hint of impatience.  “Don’t you think you’re overlooking the obvious here?  You just said yourself that Parseltongue is key here, and you have a Parselmouth within this very castle.  Surely you can see our logic.  There can’t be two Parselmouths within the castle walls.  Not with the skill being as rare as it is.  The boy must be to blame.”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Mr. Potter has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore.  “I’ve done everything I can to verify his version of events, as well as his lineage.  He is not the Heir of Slytherin, nor is he the one petrifying the other students.”

“Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “The Ministry’s got to do something, and closing the school won’t suit.  Not when everyone other than you agrees who is to blame.  Remove the threat, and the school can stay open.  The boy’s a Parselmouth and his record is against him.  I checked.  There’s a Termination of Undesirable Relations on file for him, and he has a criminal record already.  At the age of ten, no less!”

“You have a criminal record?” Tonks whispered, incredulously.  “For what?”

Harry eyed the door with trepidation.  “Working underage without a hardship license.  I think that’s what they’re talking about.”  He glanced at Tonks and at her stare, shrugged sheepishly.  “I wanted to attend Hogwarts.  Had to buy school supplies.  I didn’t even know the Ministry of Magic existed at the time.”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Mr. Potter away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore.  “I will still be closing the school, for the safety of all of our students.”

“Ah, yes, this is where I come in,” Malfoy’s voice cut in smoothly.  “The governors feel it’s time for you to step aside, Dumbledore.  This is an Order of Suspension.  You’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch.  You’ve had six months to investigate and have found nothing so far, yet now you’re acting rashly and ignoring all the evidence pointing towards a single party.”

“I have full confidence in the Aurors’ ability to discover the Chamber but only if we can keep the cooperation of Mr. Potter.  We cannot do this with students still in the school.  It would put all of their lives at risk.”

“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge.  “We’ve got one student connected to all the attacks, with motive, opportunity, and, most importantly, an ability you state is vital.  How would it look if we just let that student walk free?  We’ve got to do something.  Dawlish has been here all day and he agrees that Potter is the obvious guilty party.”

Harry’s heart sank right down to his feet.  “Is this as bad as I think it is?” he asked Tonks nervously.  She nodded, her mouth set into a grim expression.

“Yet, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt both agree with me that the cause is elsewhere.” 

“Moody is due to retire any day now on medical grounds.  Who knows what that curse did to his brain.  Last I heard, the mediwitch said there will be lasting effects.  Paranoia, insomnia, irritability.  His judgment can’t be trusted anymore.  Shacklebolt is being led astray by their long friendship.”  A fourth voice interjected.

“That’s Dawlish,” Tonks said with a sour face.  “He’s an Auror.  Brown-noser.”

“The governors have agreed the Aurors can stay to investigate, up through the summer.” Malfoy’s silky voice said.  “Whether Moody remains is up to him and the DMLE.”

“If they find something, another cause, another guilty party, any other explanation for the attacks… Well, if they find evidence it isn’t Mr. Potter, though that’s dreadfully unlikely, we’ll let him out and no more said.  With our full apology, even.  If not, we’ll proceed with a trial.” Fudge’s voice sounded nervous again.  “We’ve got to do our duty, Albus, surely you see that.”

“Let me out of where?” Harry whispered.

“Azkaban, I assume,” Tonks said, her mouth in a grim line.

“Wait, that prison that drives prisoners mad within weeks?” Harry whispered in a panic. 

Tonks nodded grimly.  “It’s the only one in England.  Though it’s only maximum security and long term residents that are continually guarded by dementors.  Shorter term inmates and people awaiting trial are housed in a separate area.  It’s far from pleasant but survivable with your mind intact.”  She placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“We’ll keep working on this, Harry.  Moody, Kingsley, and I.  And Dumbledore, too, when we can get him back in the castle.  Trust us.  We’ll figure it out, and when we do, we’ll get you out,” she whispered urgently.  “Understand me?”

Harry nodded automatically, though his mind was reeling in shock.  Azkaban…

Out in the corridor, the discussion had continued and was now interrupted by the thumping of Moody’s leg and staff.

“Nothing I can do about it, Albus.”  Moody’s voice was grim.  “Amelia’s signed the warrant and won’t listen to reason.  All I could do was to get her to agree that Potter should be put into the minimum security holding area until his trial.”  Tonks’s hand tightened on Harry’s shoulder reassuringly.  “Best get the boy a cloak.  A thick one. Waterproof and windproof, if you’ve got it.”

Harry heard a sigh.  “Hinky,” Dumbledore’s voice called authoritatively.  A second later, Harry heard a popping noise of a house-elf appearing.  “Get me my winter traveling cloak.  The good black one.  Then get one of Mr. Potter’s sweaters.  And an extra two pairs of socks.”  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Harry would have laughed at the thought of the headmaster ever wearing a black garment. It seemed very out of character.  There were two more popping noises. 

A moment later, the door opened and Dumbledore entered, looking far more serious than Harry had ever imagined he could be, followed by Moody, a man with long blond hair who looked remarkably like Draco Malfoy, smug smirk and all, a man in a pinstripe suit carrying a green bowler hat, and a gray haired man wearing robes similar to Moody’s and Shacklebolt’s.

“I trust that you heard the conversation,” Dumbledore said quietly.  Harry nodded numbly, and Dumbledore handed him one of his Weasley sweaters.  “Put that on now.  Remember, I’m supreme Mugwump in the Wizengamot.  I do have some pull, and you won’t be forgotten.  The investigation will continue here.  Moody and Kingsley have my full confidence.” 

Harry took the sweater and put it on in a daze.  Hadn’t Dumbledore already said that they needed a Parselmouth to catch the Heir of Slytherin?  Or, at least, to find the chamber?  And Dumbledore was leaving too!  When he had the sweater on, Dumbledore handed him a thick cloak and Harry draped it over his arm.  “But you said –”

“Trust me, Harry, you won’t be there a day longer than I can help it.”  Harry nodded reluctantly.  It wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

“I can take the boy from here, Moody.  Save your leg the trouble,” the gray haired man said.  Dawlish.

Moody frowned but nodded.  “I’ll get back to work on that stairwell.  Potter, I’ll be seeing you again,” he looked at Harry steadily until he nodded.  He thumped off followed by a reluctant Tonks.

“We can find our way out, Albus.  I’m sure you have much to do.  Your suspension starts at midnight, and it’s already past eleven,” Fudge said breezily.  “Dawlish, if you will?”  Dawlish grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him along in Fudge’s wake.  Harry had a brief moment to glance back at the headmaster before he was pulled around a corner and out of view.

Chapter Text

Harry was taken to a cold, rocky beach by an unpleasant form of travel that Dawlish called a Portkey.  At least a dozen other people were waiting.  Most were standing free and holding brooms, but one other was bound and looking rather dazed.  Harry was directed to put on his cloak, then was bound and forced to drink a foul smelling potion that made everything go hazy.

After, he was never able to remember exactly how they got to Azkaban.  Harry had vague impressions of following orders, of flying on a broom under someone else’s control, and of seeing a towering citadel silhouetted against the moonlit sky, high on a rocky crag.  He even thought he remembered people talking and of photos being taken and being led down dark hallways.  But all of the details were blurred, and Harry wouldn’t have been willing to swear that any of it actually happened.

All he really knew was that when he awoke, he was freezing and still damp with salty water despite having been wrapped in Dumbledore’s cloak.  He his glasses and shoes were missing, leaving him in socks, trousers, t-shirt and sweater.  He sat and took a look around him.  He had trouble making out the details without his glasses but he seemed to be in a long narrow room made of dark stone and separated into two rows of small cells by iron bars with a narrow path down the center.  He had a hard time counting, but he guessed there were around a dozen or so cells total.  Each cell was only a little over a meter deep but around three meters wide.

Tiny, blurry windows high up provided just enough light to see by.  There were indistinct figures in most of the cells sitting and talking quietly in pairs.  Harry shivered hard and wrapped the cloak around himself tightly.

“Ah, hell,” he heard someone mutter.  “Hey, Cal, new guy next to you is just a kid.”  Harry squinted in the direction of the voice and saw someone staring at him, then heard cussing coming from the cell next to him. 

“Merlin’s beard, he is a kid.  Hey, kid, how old are you?” the man said.  He was average looking, with sandy blond hair and brown eyes and wrapped in a cloak of his own. 

“Twelve,” Harry forced out around chattering teeth.

“Twelve!”  He heard some more cussing.  “Hey, kid, what’s your name?  I’m Cal.  That bloke over there is Ralph.”

“Harry.  Harry Potter.” 

“Harry, why don’t you come over here so we can talk?  The guards don’t like it if we make much noise.  Just drag your pallet over to the bars.  Well, as close as you can get, anyway.” 

Harry did as he suggested, his over-sized cloak dragging on the floor, and Cal did the same, stopping within a few inches of the bars. Though there wasn’t anything visible between the bars, it felt like a solid wall, rather than empty space.  Harry sat back down on the pallet and wrapped up again. 

“It should warm up a bit more soon.  It’s nearly noon,” Cal assured him quietly.  “Once your clothes finish drying, you’ll be warmer.  You got any extra clothes to change into?”

Harry explored the cloak’s pockets and found a pair of thick wool socks that miraculously seemed dry.  They were garish purple with shooting stars in various neon colors.  “Just socks.”  He changed them hurriedly and lay his damp ones out to dry.  He did the same for a second damp pair he found in another pocket.  That pair was orange with green polka dots.

“Good, that will help.  You’ve got a hood on your cloak too.  Pull that up until you’re warmer.”  He waited until Harry had obeyed and tucked the cloak tighter around his feet.  “Wool sweater, wool socks, good cloak.  You’re already doing better than most around here.”

Harry glanced around again.  “Moody said I’d need a cloak so the headmaster loaned me his.  And the socks.” 

“Moody?  Mad-Eye Moody?”  Harry nodded.  “Good thing if you can get him on your side.  And Headmaster Dumbledore too.  Very good.  You’ll be out of here in no time, I’m sure.  Not sure if it was explained to you yesterday, but this is the minimum security wing of Azkaban.  Well, one of them, at least.  There’s probably more than one, but this one is mostly for people awaiting trial.  Do you know when your trial is going to be?”

Harry shook his head.  “Four months?  Maybe?  I didn’t do it, and Fudge said if Dumbledore and Moody could prove it they’d let me out before then.”

“Fudge, Minister Fudge?” Harry nodded and Cal whistled.  “Sounds like a mess.  Want to talk about it?  Don’t have to, of course, lots of people don’t.”

“It’s kind of complicated.  There was girl murdered at Hogwarts yesterday.”  Cal drew in a shocked breath.  “I didn’t do it,” Harry assured him hurriedly, “but Minister Fudge said it had to be me and sent me here.” 

“My niece goes to school there.  Who died, do you know?” 

“Penelope Clearwater.  She’s a Muggle-born.  Sixth year Ravenclaw prefect.”  Cal was visibly relieved.  Harry’s shivering was slowly subsiding.  “Do you know about the attacks at the school?  I’m not sure what was in the Daily Prophet.”

“Never read that rag myself,” Cal stated, “but my brother-in-law let me read my niece’s letters about it.  Been in here a couple of months, though, so haven’t heard anything lately.”

“Nothing has happened this year, up until yesterday.  Clearwater died while everyone was at the Quidditch match.

“I… I don’t want to talk about why, but everyone thinks I must be the Heir of Slytherin that’s been attacking people.  By some strange coincidence I kept being linked to the people who were attacked.  Either I was the one to find them, or they were someone who’d annoyed me recently or both.”

“So, they threw you in here when they needed someone to pin the blame on in a hurry.”  Harry nodded miserably.  “Well, if you’ve convinced Moody you’re innocent, he’ll keep on looking.  He’s not one to be swayed by politically convenient solutions.”

“I hope so.  The headmaster wanted to send everyone home once Clearwater died, but the governors suspended him so he couldn’t.  They’re letting the Aurors stay to investigate, but the students are staying at the school too, not getting sent home.”

“Ah, hell, so the kids are still in danger?  Well, I hope Moody works fast and that the teachers take reasonable precautions.”  He stood.  “I’ll be right back, kid.  Let me spread the news.  Lots of folks have family in school even if it’s just a cousin or nephew or something.  Penelope Clearwater, you said?  Sixth Year Ravenclaw prefect?  And Dumbledore’s suspended, Aurors on site.”  Harry nodded.  “Back in a bit.”  Harry watched as he went to have a whispered conversation with the guy in the cell in the opposite side then a slightly louder one across the center corridor with Ralph. 

He was back in a few minutes and settled down on his pallet again.

“Sorry about that.  We only get whatever news people have when they come in here.  No newspapers, no letters from home, nothing.  News like this is something everyone will want to know.  Can’t do anything but worry, of course, but we want to know anyway.” 

He gave Harry a smile.  “We also want to know the latest Quidditch scores.  You wouldn’t happen to know them, would you?”  Harry laughed and shook his head.  “You’d be the most popular guy in the room if you’d had them memorized.  Worshiped, if you could give play-by-plays that you heard on the Wireless.”

“How long do people usually stay here?  If this wing is mostly for people before their trials?  You said you’ve been here for months?”

“It depends.  Sometimes it’s only a few days, most get trials in a week to two weeks.  I’ve been here since February because my only chance of getting off is to get a solicitor.  I’ll get off on time served if I have a solicitor and will be here for years if I go to trial without one.  My wife is working on that.  We don’t have a lot of money, though, so it’s going to take her a bit longer to get the funds together.  Ralph has been here about a month.  Four months for you, you said?”

“Fudge said they’ll give Moody until September to catch whoever it is.  If they catch them, they’ll let me go.  If not, they’ll give me a trial.” Harry shrugged again.  “Moody said he’s convicted people with half the amount of circumstantial evidence as they have against me, so if it goes to trial, it probably won’t be decided in my favor.”

“Hey, don’t worry about that yet, kid.  Plenty of time to worry about it later.  Just have faith in Moody and Dumbledore for now.  They’ll keep at it, you’ll see.”  The news about the events at Hogwarts had traveled all the way down the room by now, and the volume of the worried conversations was slowly increasing.  Cal sent an irritated look in their direction.  “Those guys need to keep it down or the guards won’t be happy.”

“What happens if they aren’t happy?” Harry asked.

“If we’re lucky?  They’ll just raise some charms so we can’t see or talk to each other.  If we’re not?  They call in the dementors to do a sweep through the room.  An extra sweep.  They already come through a couple times a day, but they call them in special, sometimes, if they think we need to be kept in line.”

Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Hey,” he heard a loud, annoyed whisper state from behind him.  “Share the news, man!  What’s everyone talking about?”  Harry turned to see the rather indistinct blur of the man in the cell adjoining his, opposite from Cal’s.  “Well, pass it on!”  This time the whisper was louder.

“Better go pass it on, before he attracts too much attention,” Cal advised with another worried look towards where Harry presumed the guards must be.  “Go on, he won’t bite.  I think he has a little sister who’s a third year.”

Harry took the few steps to cross the cell, cloak dragging on the floor.  When he got close enough to make out the man’s features, he could see why Cal might have felt the need to reassure him about biting.  The man was horribly scarred all over his exposed flesh, especially his face, leaving his expression permanently twisted.

“There was a murder at Hogwarts yesterday,” Harry explained.  The other man’s breath caught.  “Sixth Year Ravenclaw prefect.  Penelope Clearwater.  They said I did it and brought me here, but it wasn’t me.  So, whoever did it is still at the school with all the students there.  Headmaster Dumbledore’s been suspended so he’s not there anymore but the Aurors are.”

“Merlin’s beard…” The man said slowly.  “And you’re just a kid yourself.  Younger than my baby sister.  This related to those petrifications last year?”  Harry nodded.  “Clearwater, the name’s not familiar.  Do you know who she’s related to?”

“Muggle-born,” Harry admitted.  “So, probably no one in this room.” 

The man breathed a sigh of relief.  “Thanks, that makes it easier.”  He turned and hurried to the cell on the opposite side, presumably to pass the news along. 

Harry returned to his pallet and sat back down.  He was a lot warmer now, but his feet had gotten cold again when he walked on the stone floor.  He made sure to tuck his cloak around them. 

Harry glanced over towards the scarred man.  “What happened to his face?  The scars looked like burns.”

“He’s into experimental potions.  Had one with a lot of acid in it explode in his face a few years ago.  Must not have deterred him too badly.  He’s in here for buying highly regulated ingredients without a permit.  Don’t let his looks scare you off.  He’s a nice guy.  So, Harry, what’s your favorite subj–”

Cal’s words were cut off abruptly as a stone wall sprung into place where the bars had been.  Harry looked around.  The bars on all three sides had been replaced by towering dark stone walls.  The cell, already tiny, seemed even tinier when he couldn’t see out of it.  Only a tiny sliver of daylight was visible from the window above, just barely enough to light his way.  After the whispering and rustling of the last few minutes, the absolute silence was a little unnerving.  Harry wished he’d thought to ask Cal how long the punishment would last. 

He took the time to explore his cell.  It was as tiny as it appeared at first glance.  There was a small stone basin built into the back wall.  At Harry’s touch, it silently filled with cold, slightly brackish water.  It would work for washing, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure it was safe to drink.  A tiny ledge next to it held a small bar of soap, a wash cloth, and one of the tooth cleaning sticks he’d seen the other Gryffindors use instead of a toothbrush during their first year before they all learned the spells for cleaning teeth.  All appeared new or at least clean.  Another ledge on the other side of the sink held a bowl, spoon, and glass.  The glass was full of fresh water.  When Harry drank it, it refilled itself automatically.

There was a deep depression in the floor near the back of the cell, and from the appearance and smell, it seemed to be some sort of sunken, mostly buried chamber pot.  Harry made use of it experimentally, and after a minute, the waste had disappeared. 

There was nothing else in the cell other than his bare pallet.  He returned to it and settled in to wait.  Harry discovered he was not good at waiting patiently.  He was so used to having a book to read, a project to work on or some task to do that just sitting and staring off into space seemed alien to him.  Harry tried to recount the plots of the books he’d read to himself, trying to relive them in his mind, occasionally interrupted by his growling stomach.

After what seemed to be an eternity but was probably only an hour or two, the walls between the cells disappeared, the iron bars returning. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Cal whispered quietly.  “Must have a good guard on duty today.  It’s usually a lot longer.”

“Longer!” Harry said.  “It seemed like forever.”  Around the room, conversations were resuming, though a lot quieter than before.

Cal shook his head.  “Often, they’ll leave the spells up until the shift changes or until they need to come in to the wing for something.  They don’t like doing any more work than they absolutely have to, so they just don’t bother taking them down.  They can see through the walls, of course, so it’s just us that’s affected.  Some of them think it’s funny to see us bored.  Power trip, you know. 

“So, I was asking earlier, what’s your favorite subject at school?  What house are you in?  Are you a first or second year?” 

They talked about school for a while, Charms especially, then a bit about Harry growing up in the Muggle world, then Cal talked about his family for a while. 

“My wife, Sylvana, and I have two kids.  Anise is four and Laurel is eight.  I’m really worried about them.  Her family will help out, but only one parent in the home is rough, you know?  Sylvana… well, I hope someone talks her out of it, but there’s a family acre.  Sylvana and I live on one half, her brother and his wife live on the other half, and her mum lives in a small house between them.  Sylvana was going to try to rent out her half to get some extra income and live in a tent she’d borrow from a friend instead of a house.  Said she was going to Hogsmeade, if you can believe it!  Didn’t want to put her brother out any more than having new neighbors already would.  Not that there’s a lot of room on her brother’s side of the acre to pitch a tent.  He’s got several kids of his own to feed, so it’s almost entirely all planted, and there’s her mum’s garden too.”

“The tent city in Hogsmeade?”  Cal nodded.  “I was going to live there this summer.  Is it that bad?  I heard it was a little rough, but not as bad as the reputation made it out to be.”

“Ah, I suppose it’s not, really, but my kids are country kids, not city kids.  Sylvana won’t be able to keep them cooped up in the tent all day long.  Our place is on the outskirts of the Forest of Dean, you see, so the kids are used to being able to play in the forest whenever they like.  It’ll be hard to keep them out of the Forbidden Forest unless she watches them every second of the day.  Which she can’t do since she has to work, cook, clean, and sleep sometime. 

“My one of my sisters and her kids live in the tent city too, so she’ll have some company and help from her, and hopefully my kids will learn from my nieces and nephews about how to act and what’s safe and what’s not.  We’ll see what happens.  I’ll just feel a lot better when I can get out of here and help out.”

Cal visibly shook off his brooding mood.  “Well, if you’re going to be in the tent city this summer, you need to go say hello.  They’ll show you around, teach you the ropes, introduce you to the right people.  Sylvana Gladely and Ashley Groves.  Hopefully I’ll be out of here by July, but you never know.  If I’m not out of here by then, well, pass on that I’m doing fine, would you?” 

Harry solemnly promised and, hoping to change the subject back to less depressing topics, asked what it was like living next to the Forest of Dean.  Cal was able to talk enthusiastically about this for quite some time.  After, Harry described some of the Muggle books about living outside that he’d grown up with.  Cal was especially fascinated by My Side of the Mountain. 

“Imagine, your family owning an acre, and no one living on it!”  He went on to describe some vaguely similar Wizarding kids’ books, which Harry tried to memorize the names of.  He’d surely have some time to read this summer.  Assuming he wasn’t in Azkaban, of course, but he had to trust Dumbledore and the Aurors.

They made an effort to keep to lighter topics, interrupted several times by Harry’s growling stomach.  “Sorry,” Cal explained.  “You were still drugged asleep at breakfast, and we only get two meals a day.  Dinner’s not for a while yet.”

Harry thought longingly of the roast beef and potatoes he and Tonks left on the platters at dinner the previous night.  Somehow, he doubted that dinner in Azkaban would be nearly as tasty.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon, a strange hush fell across the room, not as if people had stopped talking, but as if they’d simply stopped making noise altogether or as if Harry had gone deaf.  The already rather dim room grew darker, even though there didn’t seem to be much difference in the amount of sunlight visible in the windows high above.  Then a wave of cold swept across Harry, but a wave that chilled him from the inside out, rather than a cold wind that could be guarded against.

Looking towards the entrance of the wing, Harry saw a pair of towering black blurs moving slowly down the center corridor.  They paused for a long minute outside each cell before moving on.  When they got a bit closer, Harry could see that they were gliding along the ground rather than walking and were draped in long black robes that completely hid them, their faces deep in shadow.

Dementors.

All of Harry’s enjoyment of his conversation with Cal drained away from him, and he couldn’t even remember why he’d thought Mr. Tufty’s quirks and treatment of Scabbers had seemed at all amusing.  Instead, all he could think of was finding the petrified Mr. Tufty in the back of a long unused cupboard, hidden as if he meant nothing at all to whoever placed him there where he might not have been found for decades if Harry hadn’t happened to look in the right classroom.  He dwelled on the long, cold nights without Mr. Tufty beside him, the awful night of him pacing the common room, wondering what was wrong with Mr. Tufty and waiting for curfew to be over, how he felt when the pet-finding spell failed.  And how no one had cared that Mr. Tufty had been petrified.  No one had offered to help look or offered the slightest word of condolence to him.  Never mentioned Mr. Tufty again, not even in relation to Scabbers, as if he’d never mattered to them at all.

He remembered getting kicked out of the Dursleys’ home.  Remembered understanding he’d been disowned.  That the Dursleys truly weren’t his family and hadn’t been for a long time.  That he’d be deep in debt for at least another decade and would be all on his own and that no one could give him so much as a place to sleep or a hot meal for more than a few days in a row.

He remembered realizing that he’d never fit in at Hogwarts, just like he hadn’t fit in on Privet Drive, that he’d somehow ruined his chances of making friends beyond repair, all for a little misunderstanding over a simple book.  Why had he ever thought he could possibly have a friend his own age?  Hadn’t the Dursleys shown him that was impossible?  He had nothing to offer any potential friends.

The closer the dementors got, the more intense his memories got.

He remembered last night, listening to the headmaster talk to the Minister and Lucius Malfoy.  Why had he ever hoped he wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban, or that he’d ever leave?  They’d been looking for the Chamber of Secrets for centuries.  They’d never be able to find it now.  The headmaster himself had said that they’d need a Parselmouth to find the Chamber.

Finally, the dementors were right in front of his cell.  The cold intensified.  It was icy, damp, and misty, and drawing each breath hurt.  He felt he was drowning in the cold, that he was breathing solid ice instead of air.  From far away, he thought he heard people screaming, agonized but hoarsely, as if they’d been screaming so long they couldn’t scream any more.  Over it all, he could hear a mad laughter, as if someone were amused by the sound.  Entertained by the pain they were causing.

Harry tried to scramble away, but he couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t see, and even if he could, his cell was only a meter deep.  There wasn’t any place to retreat to.  A thick white fog was swirling through his cell, around him, inside him, through every part of him.  His eyes rolled up in his head as the mist dragged him down into the icy cold.

“Harry!  Harry!  Kid, are you alright?”

Harry stirred slowly, realizing he was lying face down on his pallet.  “Cal?” he asked, dazed.  “Who was that screaming?  Laughing?  Who…”  He trailed off, sitting up shakily.

“No one, kid.  It was the dementors.  You’re remembering something, that’s all.  They can make you remember every awful thing that ever happened to you and forget every good thing, every hope you ever hoped or dream you ever dreamed.”  Harry glanced over in time to see Cal give a huge shudder.  “Like you’ll never be happy again, never get out of this cursed place, that you’ll still be here centuries from now when the entire world has moved on and forgotten you.”

Harry shivered and wrapped himself in the cloak again, pulling the hood up.  But it did no good.  The cold was inside him, not outside in the cell.

“I remembered… Last night Dumbledore said that they needed me to track down Slytherin’s Heir and open the Chamber.  But I’m not there.  The only way for me to get free of here is for them to find the Heir and the Chamber, but if they can’t do that unless I’m there, then… Well, people have been searching for centuries, haven’t they?  They aren’t going to find it in four months. 

“And, then I heard people screaming.  And someone laughing at their pain.  As if it were the funniest thing in the world.”  Harry gave another big shudder.

“Headmaster Dumbledore and Moody are smart.  They’ll figure it out, you’ll see.”  But Cal’s reassurance was halfhearted at best, and Harry could tell he didn’t entirely believe it. 

“My Sylvana… my kids.  They’d be better off just ignoring me.  They’re out there, they’ve given up our home, their lives.  My kids are growing up in the tent city when they could be out in the forest, on the family acre where they belong.  All because I was stupid enough to get caught doing something I shouldn’t.  What if something happens to them?  If they wander into the Forbidden Forest, or if they mess with something they shouldn’t?  Stumble into the middle of a duel or a brawl?  It’ll all be my fault.  I thought I could earn a bit of gold quick.  Get a really nice present for Anise’s birthday.  Now her dad’s in Azkaban.  Great present that turned out to be.

“They should just give me up and go back home where they can be happy and safe.  A solicitor… well, it’s not a guarantee, you know.  They’re sacrificing everything, and they can’t even be sure I’ll ever get out of here, that they’ll ever see me again.  They’ll forget all about me, in the end.”

“They’re with your sister and her family.  They’ll take care of each other, teach each other.”  Harry reminded him.  But his response was halfhearted too, and they let the conversation lapse.  They were quiet for a time, both deep in dark thoughts. 

“Kid, hey kid, come over here.  It’s my turn.”  Harry turned around to see the scarred man beckoning to him.  “Cal, quit hogging the new kid.  I need someone new to tell my stories to.”

Cal snorted.  “May as well go over there, Harry.  He’s not going to give up.  I’m not good company right now anyway.” 

“I’m not either,” Harry whispered back.  He stood anyway.

“Titus doesn’t care.  He’ll talk your ear off whether you talk back or just sit there.”

Harry dragged his pallet over to the opposite side of his cell, next to where the scarred man had already put his pallet.  “Go get your bowl, too,” he said in a low tone.  “They’ll be serving dinner soon, such as it is, and food always makes it a bit better.”

Harry obeyed and was soon settled back on the pallet with his bowl next to him. 

“I’m Titus by the way,” he offered.

“I’m Harry.”

“Well, Harry, let me tell you about the time when this friend of mine and I were –” and Titus launched into one wildly implausible story after another.  Harry discovered that Cal was right.  Titus really didn’t need any participation on his part.  He just needed to sit there and nod every minute or so to prove he was still awake. 

Partway through Titus’s third story, their bowls suddenly filled with a thin stew.  Harry nearly choked on the taste of the first bite.  “Foul, isn’t it?” Titus asked.  “Tastes like they add a nutrition potion to it.  Eat as much as you can.  It’ll be a long, cold night, and breakfast won’t taste any better.  The hot food will help.”  The bowl automatically refilled itself when he emptied it the first time, and Harry managed to eat a second bowl full.  It didn’t refill a third time, though Harry noticed Titus had gotten a third serving.  Titus shrugged.  “The bowls refill from the main pot until the pot is empty.  You have to eat fast to get more than two bowls.  So, where was I?  Ah, yes, the bubbly potion.  Now, what I was trying to make was –” And he launched right back into his story.

Slowly, after a couple more stories, Harry began to be drawn out of his dark mood and to be interested in the tales.

“So, there we were, prefect banging on our dorm room door, demanding we let him in, cauldron full of… well, we’d hoped that it’d let the user do controlled levitation.  But we hadn’t finished brewing it yet.  We were scared sick that he’d drag us to Snape, which would have been the end of us.  We’d nicked a whole shipment of fresh billywig stingers from his private stores to make it, you see, and we would have been expelled for sure if he ever figured out it was us.  Anyway, there we were, cauldron full of evidence, extra billywig stingers on the table.  Nothing we could do but add the extra stingers, give it a quick stir and drink it down, fast as we could.  Then we burned our notes and tossed the ashes out the window.  They couldn’t prove anything.  Except, it turns out a half brewed levitation potion with too many stingers doesn’t actually levitate anyone.”

“What did it do?” Harry asked, rather entertained, despite the circumstances.

“It made us fly high as a billywig in an entirely metaphorical fashion instead of a literal one.”  Harry snorted.  “Effects lasted a good long time, too.  Over a month.  Of course, we couldn’t go to Madam Pomfrey, because how could we explain it?  So, we just had to suffer.  Well, we didn’t suffer at the time.  It all seemed hilarious, even when we were getting detentions for offering McGonagall a toy mouse stuffed with catnip.  Frank put a name tag on it – ‘Minnie’s Mouse’.”  Harry gave in and laughed.  “We found out it was her birthday, you see, and it seemed like a good present at the time.  Got a whole week of detention for it.  Hours of polishing suits of armor, breaking into giggling fits at the thought of the expression on McGonagall’s face when she unwrapped her gift.  By the time the potion wore off, we had over a month of detentions built up.  That’s in addition to the detentions we’d served while under the influence.”

Titus gave a great sigh.  “I tried remaking the potion a few times.  Managed to make myself levitate like we’d originally designed but never could duplicate the getting high aspect.”

Titus told another story, then quietly said, “You feeling better now, kid?”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, thanks.  Those dementors…”  He trailed off.

“Those dementors.” Titus stated with derision.  “Foul beasts.  Listen, they want us to be miserable.  The worse we are, the more they like it.  You can’t let them win.  It’s hard, but you’ve got to shake it off as quick as you can.  The more time you spend brooding between their visits, the worse the next visit is going to be.  If you start letting them convince you you’re here for good, they’ve won.”

“I heard someone screaming, someone laughing at them.  I’ve dreamed about it a few times but never that clearly.”

“You’re Harry Potter, right?  Same Potter family that lived in Godric’s Hollow all those years ago?”  Startled, Harry gave a nod.  “You’re probably remembering the Death Eaters attacking your godfather and his friend.  I can see why that’d make you upset. 

“The dementors drag up your deepest, darkest fears and memories.  I can only imagine what you heard that night.  And whatever happened to put you in here.  Cal, I know, is really worried about his family, and I always think of the time that damn potion exploded in my face.  I know it’s hard, but as quick as you can when they’re gone, you need to start thinking of other things.”

“How’d you shake it off so fast?” Harry asked.

“Well, I am a Ravenclaw.  Learned Occlumency way back when.  Being able to control what you’re thinking about is good for all sorts of things.  Too late for that now, though, for you.  There is another way.  It’s a bit harder, but it takes less training if you’ve the right type of hobbies.  Do you do anything that’s creative?  Something that takes a lot of concentration and focus?”

Harry pondered that for a bit.  Did his tent count?  It was literal creation, wasn’t it?  The Undetectable Extension Charm took every bit of focus he could manage.  “Maybe?  There’s this one charm I’ve been learning.  I’ve been studying it for months and it’s really difficult.”

“It’s worth a shot.  Listen.  Dementors feed on unhappiness and despair.  They can’t stand happiness and hope.  It’s poison to them, understand?”  Harry nodded.  “They chase away all your hope and peace and try to bring forward your worst memories.  So, the thing to do is fill your mind with something they can’t chase away.  Something that isn’t peaceful or happy.  If you can find one thing to focus on, to obsess over, to the exclusion of all else, they can’t take that away from you.

“Some find something dark to hold on to.  Someone who betrayed them, or a desire to get even, or even a desire to commit the same crimes again.”  Harry spared a brief moment to think of the Heir.  “Don’t do that to yourself.  It gives you control over your mind again, sure, but you’re too damn young to focus on revenge.”

“So, what do I need to think of, then?” Harry asked.

“Utterly neutral thoughts.  Something that doesn’t have any emotion to it.  An intricate spell or creation process is a good method.  Anything that takes a lot of focus.  You need to focus on the process itself, not its result.  For me, I’d focus on brewing a difficult potion, the timing of adding each ingredient, how it’s prepared, getting the heat of the flame just right to keep it at a simmer or a boil.  I couldn’t think of having a finished Felix Felicis, because that sense of accomplishment would be something the dementors would chase away and give them a path in to making me think about failing to brew the potion correctly or the time that potion blew up.  But as long as I can keep myself focusing on ingredients, stirring, and timing, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, that’s time that the dementors will have less of an impact.  Got it?”

“So, for me, I’ve been learning the Undetectable Extension Charm, so I need to think of trying to hold on to the layers already cast, adding another layer to the spell, and feeding them all energy?  But not think of whatever I’m charming, just the charm itself.”  Harry pondered that for a bit.  “Thanks.  I’ll give it a try.”

“Might take you a few attempts to get it right, but even a few seconds of keeping your focus is a few seconds you’re stealing back from the dementors.  No harm in trying, anyhow.  Gives you a bit of structure to your thoughts, instead of one random bad memory after another.”

Titus was quiet for a moment, then in a teasing tone said, “Undetectable Extension Charm, eh?  And you’re only a second year?  Are you sure you’re in Gryffindor?  Why aren’t you in Ravenclaw?”

Harry laughed.  “Well, the hat did offer Ravenclaw, but I thought Ravenclaw was all about doing good in school and studying and homework.  I didn’t realize until this year that it wasn’t true.”

“So, you would have been one of those Ravenclaws?  The ones that deliberately get kicked out of classes to get more time for their mad projects and make Professor Flitwick nearly tear his hair out in frustration as he tries to make them actually put in enough effort to get OWLs and NEWTs?”

Harry grinned and nodded.  “Probably.  I’ve already gotten kicked out of Defense class.  Best thing that happened to me all year.”

“Oh?  How’d you manage to do that?  Do tell.  It’s your turn for story time.  Can’t make me do all of the talking.  I’ll go hoarse.” 

Harry told the story of his first day of classes, and then of the Ravenclaws’ plot to get rid of Lockhart altogether.  “I’m rather disappointed in them, really.  I was hoping they’d manage to chase Lockhart off months ago,” Harry finished.

“You never know,” Titus said.  “They might still pull through.  Or perhaps they got a separate peace set up with Lockhart.  I’ll have to ask my baby sister for Ravenclaw’s side of the story.  She’s in her third year.  Now, when I was in my seventh year we had this horrible, useless prat of a teacher for Defense, and of course, I wanted as much study time as possible for my NEWTs, so I –” and Titus was off on another of his tales. 

They talked for the rest of the evening, the room growing pitch black as the sun set.  Abruptly, Titus’s voice cut off, and Harry guessed that the guards had raised the barriers for the night, as Titus had warned him they would.  Sighing, Harry felt his way towards the chamber pot to use it one last time, then settled in to try to sleep.

The next morning, Harry found himself grateful to Professor Dumbledore for the loan of his cloak and to Moody for suggesting it.  It’d been a very cold night, and without any sheets or blankets, the extra length of the cloak had made it easy to stay completely wrapped up and covered, and being waterproof, it had shed the morning dew easily, though a dense fog rolling through the room still made everything cold and damp. 

Harry sat huddled in the cloak and tried to think of the Extension Charm, reliving casting it in as much detail as he could, practicing for the next time the dementors came through the wing.  He’d spent so much time working on it the past few months that it felt natural to be focusing on it again.

When the stone walls disappeared and the bars returned, Harry noticed that Cal was awake and Titus still seemed to be sleeping.  He dragged his pallet over to be next to Cal’s again.  Cal gave him welcoming, if sheepish smile.  “Sorry about last night,” he said.  “I know I shouldn’t let the dementors get to me, but I can’t help but worry anyway.”

“It’s alright.  Titus had some great stories.”

“Oh?  Did he tell you one I haven’t heard yet?”  Cal had heard most of them, though he hadn’t heard of the one about Titus’s failed shenanigans to get expelled from seventh year Defense class.  “That’s Titus, for you,” Cal said with a shake of his head.  “Even second hand, his stories are entertaining.  That reminds me of this book I read once.”

Cal enjoyed reading as well and was happy to relate some of his favorite novels.  He’d read most of the Wizarding books Harry had read – understandable since Harry had barely scratched the surface of what was available and had mostly read the more well-known books – but was fascinated by the Muggle books Harry could remember.  He was especially interested in Muggle fantasy fiction, both the details of the plots and the concept as a whole.

“My mum was a huge fan of fantasy fiction,” he said.  “The nastier, the better.  You may have guessed, but I come from a very long line of Slytherins.  It just seems odd to me that Muggles would read it too.”

“It’s different when you don’t know magic is real or what it’s like.  It’s all imaginary,” Harry tried to explain.  “The Muggles who don’t like it, don’t like it because it’s not real or because it’s formulaic, or because it’s seen as being for children, not because they think it’s putting them down.”

“It’s a hard thing to try to wrap my brain around,” Cal admitted.  “Some of what you’ve mentioned doesn’t sound like proper fantasy at all.  That one about the ghosts wasn’t fantasy.”

“It is to Muggles.  They don’t know ghosts exist so they don’t think it’s real.”

Cal made a noise of frustration.  “That’s not exactly what makes something a fantasy.  You could write a book about… oh, I don’t know.  Invisible unicorns that poop rainbows.  Those don’t exist, but it still wouldn’t be a fantasy.”

Harry and Cal talked about what made a fantasy a fantasy, but neither could quite convince the other.  Finally, Cal put an end to the discussion, saying that he’d read one or two of the fantasy books Harry had mentioned and they’d continue the debate after he had a better understanding.

Harry thought about how much it said about his school year that he had to be sent to Azkaban before he had the time to sit down and talk about books.

An hour or so after a breakfast of gruel every bit as vile and disgusting as dinner the previous night had been, the same strange quiet and dimness fell over the room as had fallen the previous night and a chill swept through the air.  The dementors were back.

Harry stared at the dementors in trepidation.  Usually, knowing what to expect helped him cope, to prepare mentally, but it wasn’t helping this time.  Harry tried to force his mind to the Extension Charm.  The incantation was Extendo Duo.  It started like so, with this wand movement, and the goblet got that momentary shiver right before it expanded like it should.  And then you had to keep the spell going, to not drop it while you cast another layer and then…  But Extension Charms were worthless in Azkaban, weren’t they?  Why was he spending his time on it?  Harry couldn’t cast one here, he’d always be within arm’s reach of a dementor.  When they came, they could always just reach out and touch him, whenever they liked, just like they were close enough to touch him now. 

The bone deep chill was back.  The air so cold that it hurt to breathe, cold like he was sure his parents had been after they died, like Mr. Tufty’s petrified body had been when Harry found him discarded in the cupboard.  Harry heard the screaming again, the mad laughter over everything. 

And then it was over, and Harry found himself shivering, damp with sweat or mist from the cold fog that had come from the dementors, and the echoes of the screaming still echoing in his ears. 

Mr. Tufty was still petrified, wasn’t he?  Still cold.  Harry wondered if Mr. Tufty was still aware of himself.  How could he not have thought to ask Madam Pomfrey?  Should he have been visiting?  Talking to him like you would a coma patient?  What would happen to Mr. Tufty when Harry wasn’t there when he woke up?  Would Professor Dumbledore let him stay?  Or arrange for him to go back to Mrs. Figg?  Perhaps he’d befriend another student instead.  Sleep on their bed at night, and even after Harry made it back to Hogwarts, if he made it back, Mr. Tufty would be happier with his new friend’s bed instead of in the unfriendly Gryffindor tower where his fights with Scabbers had made him so unwelcome.

But hadn’t Mr. Tufty wanted to come with him so badly that he’d tripped Mrs. Figg and broken her leg at the merest hint that such a thing might not be possible?  Hadn’t he shepherded Harry through the Forbidden Forest a year ago?  Protected him from whatever was on the stairwell in September?  His loyalty wouldn’t be easily lost.

Harry sat for a while brooding.  What would become of Mr. Tufty?  What did Mrs. Figg think of him now?  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?  Theresa?  Would they believe in him?  Or would they be swayed by whatever the rumors about him said?  Were they hoping he’d get out of Azkaban soon?  That he’d be stuck here forever?  Was Moody even looking? Making any progress?

Harry tried to put it out of his mind.  It would take time, and as long as it seemed to him, he’d been here less than two days.  Two visits by dementors.  Or three, if the dementors had come while he was sleeping yesterday.  Maybe that’s why he’d been so cold when he woke up.  He was certainly colder now than he’d been an hour ago.

“Come on Harry, my turn now,” he heard Titus whisper.  “You want more of my stories, don’t you?”  Harry turned to look at Cal who was just staring off into space as if he hadn’t heard a thing.  Maybe he hadn’t.

Slowly, Harry dragged his pallet over to Titus’s side and listened to more stories, which at least did give him something better to focus on than his brooding thoughts, and they seemed to gain vibrancy over time as Harry warmed up again.

Eventually, Titus asked, “So, how’d it go?  Did you try to focus on your charm?”

“Well, at first.  It seemed to work for a few seconds, but when the dementors were closer, I was watching them.  It seemed like all I could think about was them and how they could reach out and touch me whenever they liked, and I couldn’t get away.  And about how cold it was, which led to thinking about other cold things.”  Harry gave a shudder. 

“Bad as yesterday?”  Harry shook his head.  “Try closing your eyes.  You might focus better if you don’t know exactly how close the dementors are to you.  It’ll help you visualize the spell better too.  Concentrate on every little detail.  Will yourself to see it, act as if you do see it happening.”

“I’ll try.  Not like there’s much else I can do, anyway, is there?  Not a lot of entertainment to be had when the dementors are here.”

“That’s the spirit!  They do tend to interrupt my stories, don’t they?  Dreadfully rude of them.  I’ll never tell them one of my stories unless their manners improve.  Unlike you, who’s such a good listener.  I’ll tell you all the stories you like.  More than you like, I’m sure.  Now, this story might be a bit risqué for your age but just memorize it and tell it to yourself when you’re older.  Back when we were still in Hogwarts, my friend and I had this crush on this girl, so we decided to see if we could improve on an old love potion –” and off Titus went, telling the story of how a botched potion transferred their crush from the girl to the girl’s cat and had magnified it to pure obsession and the chaos that had followed with them desperately trying to gain the cat’s romantic affections.

After a couple more stories, he shooed Harry back to Cal.  “You go see if you can cheer up Cal.  He’s probably ready to think about something else now.  Frank’s over there in the corner cell by himself brooding.  We’ll talk again after the evening rounds.”

Cal was, indeed, ready to think about something else, and though he lacked enthusiasm at first, he was eventually talking about his favorite books with as much enjoyment as he had been early that morning.

Around noon, Harry heard whispering start up again that reminded him of the too-loud conversations from the previous day.  “What’s going on?” he asked Cal.  “Sorry, I can’t see much without my glasses.”

“Looks like the new guy on the far end woke up and had some sort of news that has everyone riled up.  Be right back, let me go hear it.”  Cal got up and walked over to the guy in the cell on the opposite side.  A couple of minutes later, he came back and gave Harry a strange look.  “So, the news is basically what you told us yesterday.  The murder of the girl at Hogwarts, and they’re pinning the blame on you.  It’s being reported in the papers that you’re a Parselmouth, have a criminal history going back more than two years, and have disowned your Muggle relatives.  Any of that true?  The Prophet’s a horrible gossip rag, but that’s some pretty strange stuff to make up.”

Harry cringed. “Some of it’s true.”  He briefly explained about being disowned as a baby and what his ‘criminal history’ consisted of.

“Well, I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it yesterday.”  He sighed.  “I’ll go partially defend your honor, and you may as well go gossip about yourself with Titus.  I’m sure he’s eager to hear what has people riled up.”  He turned and walked back to the other adjoining cell, and Harry reluctantly walked over to Titus.

“So?” Titus asked.  Harry sheepishly related both the newspaper’s version of the story and his explanation of the allegations.

Titus snorted.  “That’s not much news.  My sister told me about the Parseltongue thing at the Dueling Club when she was home for Christmas.  I figured out it must have been you yesterday.  But how on earth did Muggles use Wizarding laws to disown a wizard?”

Harry sighed.  “Long story.”

“We’ll save it for later, then.  We’ll have plenty of time for stories at dinner.  Let me go pass it on before Frank starts getting restless.”

Harry went back to his pallet and settled back in.  Eventually, Cal returned.  “Must be weird to be passing on news about yourself,” he said. 

Harry laughed.  “It’s weird to think that I’m in the papers in the first place.”

“How’d people figure out you’re a Parselmouth?” Cal asked curiously. 

Harry related the story of the night of the Dueling Club.  By the time he was finished, the volume of conversations in the room still hadn’t died down.  It was just as loud as it had been the previous day.  Harry found himself absurdly grateful he didn’t have his glasses on.  He could still feel the people in the room staring at him, but at least he didn’t have to see it.

“My mum would have been over the moon to meet you,” Cal said eventually.  “And devastated to hear that you don’t think you’re related to Slytherin.”  Harry laughed.  “No, seriously.  We Slytherin families don’t see him quite the same way as people in other houses do.  We see him as upholding traditional Wizard culture and values and just try to sweep the whole hating Muggles and Muggle-borns under the rug.  Or, in some extreme cases, like my mum, she glorifies them too.  If Slytherin thought so, it must be true, mustn’t it?”

He sighed.  “I was so glad to get out of that house.  I’m just as Slytherin as I used to be, raising my kids to be good little Slytherins too, but all that anti-Muggle business is just nonsense.”

“What do Slytherins think Slytherin House is about?” Harry asked curiously.  “Stereotypes have you lying and scheming and doing all it takes to come out on top, no matter how it hurts others.”  If Ravenclaws weren’t necessarily all about doing homework and making good grades, surely there was more to the other houses than their stereotypes.

“There’s way too many Slytherin politicians willing to do whatever it takes to win their elections and use their positions to coerce bribes from people needing favors.  I suppose the reputation is well earned.  There’re quieter ambitions too.  Being the best in your profession, inventing new spells or potions, a renowned scholar or just being the best you can personally be.  Even something like earning enough money to buy an acre for each of your kids.”  Harry thought of the Weasleys’ acres they were saving for their children’s wedding presents and wondered what Mrs. Weasley would think if she heard Cal say that it was a Slytherin thing to do.

“And Wizarding traditions aren’t all bad either.  Things like the importance of families and acres and such can apply just as well to the Muggle-born as they do to the pure-bloods and half-bloods, though it usually takes a couple of generations of living on the same land for people to really understand, unless they’re unlucky enough to be poor.  Quidditch is nearly universal.  Now, clothes, that’s one tradi–”

Like it had the previous day, the bars had given way to stone walls.  The guards must have gotten tired of hearing people talking.

Harry sighed and used the privacy to clean himself as best he could with the washcloth and soap.  Then, restless from the inactivity of hours of mere sitting and talking, he paced until the cold of the stone floor chilled his feet enough to drive him back to the pallet to warm up again.

He sat and brooded, wondering what was going on at Hogwarts, how Percy was coping with Clearwater’s death, how the Weasleys were doing with their debt, if Mrs. Weasley had found a job she liked better than the job in the cafe.  Then he turned to thinking about books, recounting plots to himself and wishing he had a few good books with him to read.

When his feet had warmed up, he paced again, trying to get a little bit of exercise in.  Not that pacing the three meter length of the cell could ever compare to the endless stairs and corridors in Hogwarts, but even a little walking was better than just sitting doing nothing.

Harry spent the next stretch of time alternating between pacing and warming his feet.  The walls seemed to stay in place for hours.  He wasn’t sure how long it took, but it was definitely far longer than it had been the previous day.  By the time the bars reappeared, the angle of the sunlight filtering in from above had noticeably shifted.  Harry thought it might be the late afternoon.

“Almost time for the dementors,” Cal observed with an evaluating look at the windows.  He sounded defeated.  “It’s always worse when you haven’t had the chance to talk beforehand.  So, where were we?”

“Traditions,” Harry reminded him. “You were saying something about clothes?”

“Ah, yes, I was.  Blending in with Muggles would be much easier if we dressed more alike.  Now, nothing wrong with robes but –” and Cal rambled on for a couple of minutes about his opinion of clothing, before his voice faded away, and the silence, dimness, and coldness of the dementors returned.

Following Titus’s advice, Harry closed his eyes and started imagining himself casting the Extension Charm, trying to visualize it in as much detail as possible. Then a second layer of the spell – you had to cast it just so, to keep the first layer stable.  Then the third layer.  But the slippery spell got away from him, and his concentration failed, just like his tent would fail.  Wasn’t it silly that he, a second year, would ever be arrogant enough to think that he could manage a NEWT level charm?  Silly to think that he deserved a good place to live?  Were the Dursleys right to make him live in a cupboard?

Wasn’t he just wasting his time making a tent?  Shouldn’t he just give up and look for places to rent?  Rent like his parents had rented that house in Godric’s Hollow?  The house full of screaming, full of that insane laughter?  He could hear the hoarse screaming now, and the shrill laughter that set his teeth on edge.  Cold, icy air that made every breath hurt and his very bones and teeth ache swept over him, cold that wasn’t the air at all but something inside him.  Harry tried to focus on the Extension Charm again.  How did it start?  But the screaming and the laughter was too overwhelming and he couldn’t remember.

Slowly, the screaming faded, and the worst of the cold slipped away.  Suddenly, Harry could remember the Extension Charm.  It was Extendo Duo with this wand movement, and how could he ever have forgotten?  He could do it in his sleep by now.  He ran through it in his head.  He was sure he could do it.  Hadn’t he already done it to his bag?  The tent was the same exact thing, wasn’t it? Not that much harder.  He’d make it work.  No need to rent anything.  Harry forced the memory of the screaming out of his mind firmly and went through the charm again.

After a minute, he opened his eyes.  He was rather weak and sweaty but felt better than he had the previous night or that morning.  Cal, though, was still staring off into space.  When he heard Harry move, he waved him off. “Go talk to Titus now, Harry.  I’m no good for you.” 

“Your wife is going to get you out of here,” Harry said.  “She’s working on it.”

“Well, maybe she shouldn’t,” Cal said sharply, then sighed.  “Go on.  Go keep Titus company.  I’ll be alright in a while.”

Harry stood and pulled his pallet over to Titus, who looked at him critically.  “You look a lot better than you did this morning,” he said.

“I feel better too, thanks. It didn’t work, not entirely, but when it stopped working I was thinking so hard about the charm that all the things the dementors made me think about was the consequences if project I’m in the middle of with the Extension Charm failed, and things progressed from there.  When the dementors left, it was easier to convince myself that I know the Extension Charm than it was to think of… well, yesterday I was worrying about how they’d ever find the Chamber of Secrets and get me free, which seems almost impossible to believe can happen, even when the dementors aren’t here.”

“Good.  Glad to hear it helped.  Practice is all you need, and unfortunately, you’ll get more chances to practice.  Now, you owe me a story.  Before you start, let me tell you about this great idea I had for a perpetual flame potion that needed ashwinder eggs which, unfortunately, are way too hard to come by, so I –” and Titus launched into yet another story.

When he had Harry laughing again, which didn’t take nearly as long as it had that morning, he wrapped up his story.  “Okay, your turn now.  Just how does a Muggle disown a wizard anyway?” 

Harry did his best to explain the Dursleys, who were beyond explanation and told a few of the more ridiculous things they’d done over the years, finishing with the night the ministry owl had invaded their dinner party.  Harry did his best to make it as entertaining as possible and they were both laughing by the end of it.  Not wanting to spoil the mood, he ended the story there, not delving into their retaliation.  This, of course, made Titus think of a few entertaining stories about owls to he just had to share.

They paused their conversation for dinner, then resumed.  When it was getting late, Titus got serious.  “Listen, if things are still on schedule, I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.  I’ve got my trial.  Frank’s is the day after.  Hopefully, I’ll just get another fine like I usually do, but even if they give me a sentence to serve, I’ll be in the other wing, not in here.”  Harry felt a pang at the idea of not having Titus’s cheerful company and distracting stories.  Still, he was glad that Titus was being freed.  Hopefully. 

“Don’t forget what I’ve said about the dementors.  Every time they can make you think about dark thoughts, that’s time they’re stealing from you.  Neutral thoughts, as much as you can, while they’re here and get back to happy thoughts as soon as you can after.  Don’t let them win.  Don’t give them a second more unhappiness than you can possibly avoid.”  Harry nodded solemnly.  “And try to keep hope that you’ll get out of here soon, too.  You’ve got people working on that, right?”

“Moody said I’d see him again, that he’d be searching for the Chamber and the Heir.  Headmaster Dumbledore said I wouldn’t be here a day longer than he could prevent.”  Harry tried to will himself to believe that it was true.

“Don’t forget that either.  Remind yourself of it whenever you can.  Now, do you need me to pass on any messages?”

Harry shrugged.  “I know Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are probably worried about me, but I don’t know what to say to them.  Mrs. Figg – well, Mr. Tufty should be unpetrified sometime this month, and I don’t know what will happen to him if I’m not there.  I don’t know if he’ll want to go back to Mrs. Figg’s house or stay near Hogwarts or something else.”

“She can make arrangements, I’m sure.  Though, hopefully, you’ll be out by then, don’t give up.  Where’s Mrs. Figg live?  And the Weasleys?”  Harry told him.  “I’ll pass on your good wishes.  Though, really, the Weasleys?  You’ve got terrible taste in friends.  I think he might have been one of the chaps that arrested me.”  Titus made a face as Harry laughed. “Ah well, I suppose I deserved it, getting caught like that.”

“Cal would probably like to be remembered to his wife.  Sylvana Gladely.  He thinks she’ll be in the tent city in Hogsmeade.”

“I’m going to see what I can do for her.  Not that I have much money either, especially when I’ll have a fine of my own to pay, but maybe there’s something else she needs.  Try to keep him company, won’t you?  After the dementors go?  He’s fine most of the day, but the hour or two after the dementors visit are rough for everyone.” 

“I’ll just pretend to be you and talk endlessly until he feels better,” Harry promised, trying to keep a straight face.

“I’m an excellent role model, I’ll have you know.  A barrel full of laughs.  You know, I tried to bottle laughter once.  It did not go well, to say the least.”  And Titus launched into yet another story and they talked about lighter things until the walls reappeared and it was time for bed.

When the bars returned the next morning, Titus was indeed gone, and a new man was sleeping in his place.  Harry sighed and went to go join Cal and passed the morning in conversation.  After breakfast, the dementors returned.  Harry’s attempt to avoid their influence didn’t go as well as it had the previous night, but he still counted it a partial success.

It took him half an hour to pull his mind back to cheerful, hopeful things, but once he managed to do it, he tried to emulate Titus and talked to Cal without really expecting a response, discussing some more of the Muggle books he’d read or knew of.  Eventually, Cal started participating in the conversation again.

“Titus put you up to that?” he finally said.

Harry nodded. “Though it only makes sense.  The new guy is still asleep so it’s either talk to you or talk to myself.  It’s a bit less weird to talk to you.”  Harry paused for a second.  “Titus said he’d look in on your wife and kids if he can.  See if they need anything.”

“He’s a good guy, that Titus.  My wife will probably feed him just to shut him up for a few minutes.  Won’t work for long, though.”

“She can just tell him she’s seen some rare potion ingredient for sale and he’ll take off in a hurry,” Harry suggested with a laugh.

“Probably, though Sylvana loves feeding people, so she won’t mind.  This one time, she –” and they spent a few hours talking about Cal’s family.

Around noon, the man in Titus’s old cell began to stir.  Harry watched idly as Frank called him over and they started talking.  After a long conversation, Frank moved to have a conversation with the person in the cell opposite.  “He must have something newsworthy to say.  Maybe it’s the Quidditch scores,” Cal said hopefully.  “Go see what it is.”

Obedient and curious, Harry stood and went to stand next to Titus’s former cell.  He waited patiently until Frank had returned to talk to the new guy, but the man never moved to talk to him.  Eventually, he called, as loud as he dared, “Hey, is there any news?”

He saw Frank gesture towards him, and the man turned to look at Harry briefly, shake his head, and turn back to talk to Frank.  “He’s too shy,” came the vaguely amused comment from Frank.

Sighing, Harry went back to his pallet.  “He apparently doesn’t want to talk to me,” Harry said wryly.

“Must be about you again,” Cal said, a bit amused. “Don’t worry.  Ralph will share when it gets down to him.”

“The new guy definitely wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor.”

Ralph did indeed share with Cal.  “So, apparently, the character assassination in the paper has continued.  You vandalized your ever-suffering relatives’ home this summer, then assaulted your aunt when they tried to withhold your allowance to pay for repairs which is when they evicted you.  And there was a breach of the Statute of Secrecy at your address.  Lots of quotes from your neighbors about how kind your relatives were for taking you in and how awful you are for how you treated them.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Mix of truth and fiction.”  Harry briefly explained about the Ministry owl and the Dursleys’ role in the neighborhood’s gossip.

“Your relatives sound like a nasty piece of work,” Cal said, bemused.

“My former relatives, if you please. I don’t want to claim them anymore.  And, yes, they’re rather nasty.  They were willing to disown a two year old, after all.” 

“True enough.  Okay, I’m going to go defend your honor.  Again.”  Cal left for a few minutes, and Harry sat and pondered the situation.  Perhaps he really should have gone and shown Mrs. Robinson his lease, despite the risk of Child Services being called.  Avoiding the situation had seemed the best solution at the time, but it was backfiring on him now.

By the time Cal returned, the volume of whispers was growing, just like it had the previous two days.  “Adults apparently like to gossip just as much as the kids at Hogwarts do,” Harry commented.

“Three days in a row of juicy news, with the subject of the news in the same room as them?  Best source of gossip I’ve seen since I got here.  They’re arguing about whether or not the kids at the school are still in danger.  If they don’t keep it down, the guards will put the walls back up or worse, and we’ll regret it.  So, about this ministry owl.  What on earth happened, if you don’t mind telling that story?”

“Oh, that one’s pretty funny, actually.” Harry related the story, which made Cal chuckle. 

“All that, over normal owl post?”

“Well, post owls aren’t normal to Muggles.  That’s why it was considered a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, I guess.  Anyway, the Dursleys weren’t happy about it at all.  That’s when they started raising my rent and slandering me to the neighbors when they got too curious as to what I needed the money for.”

“But it wasn’t your fault, was it?  Not your owl.”

“No, but it was magic, and that’s all they cared…”  Harry trailed off as the walls reappeared, then sighed.  Not that sitting and talking was a lot to do, but it was better than sitting and brooding.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t last too long.

Like he had the day before, Harry used the time to wash as best he could at the sink.  He was half through when he realized the chill and his shivering wasn’t entirely due to the icy cold water, and that the cell was far too dim and misty for mid-day.  Dementors.  The guards must have called them for a special sweep as Cal mentioned they sometimes did when the prisoners were “too rowdy.”  Hurriedly, Harry started trying to envision casting the Extension Charm, but it was too late, and he couldn’t focus.  Thoughts of Mr. Tufty’s cold body filled his head, along with echoes of screaming and laughter.

When the dementors finally left, Harry found he had sagged to the floor and was leaning against the wall.  Between being damp from trying to clean himself, extended contact with the stone floor, and the chill from the dementors, he was icy cold all over and shivering. 

It seemed to take forever, but he finally summoned enough motivation to shakily crawl over to his pallet and arrange his cloak around him, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible.  But the chill was as much inside him as outside him and he couldn’t stop shivering.  He hadn’t realized how much Titus’s stories had helped him recover faster, but now, with nothing to distract him, all he could think of were the memories the dementors had brought to the front of his mind.

“Happy things,” he reminded himself. “Think of happy things.  Don’t let them win.”  But thinking of books or Titus’s stories seemed pointless.  It wasn’t like he’d be able to read another book while he was in Azkaban, and Moody ever finding the Chamber and the Heir was highly improbable so he was going to be here for a long, long time.  He shuddered.  The warmth of his garden and growing things seemed likewise remote. 

“Neutral things, then.  Think of neutral things.”  Harry mentally started reviewing all of the charms he’d learned that year.  Incantations, wand movements, uses, even the theory behind them.  It seemed to help a little bit.  Shakily, he stood and went back to the sink and picked the washcloth off the floor, rinsed the soap out of it, then off his skin and draped it so it could dry.  Spotting the tooth cleaning stick, he grabbed it.  It wasn’t a wand, but it’d do to practice wand movements. 

He spent the next hour or two reviewing his Charms work, then Transfiguration, then Defense.  By the time he’d run out of things to review, things seemed a little less dreary.  He still had trouble believing that he’d ever make it out of Azkaban, but he was at least able to not dwell on it.  He returned the tooth cleaning stick to the shelf where it’d stay clean, then sat and dreamed of what it’d be like when he was older and could travel at will, imagined all of the things he’d see, all the new people he’d meet.

He’d travel to warm places, he decided.  No place with cold salty air, like Azkaban.  Tropical places, with lots of sunlight, the heat of midday.  He’d go to Egypt and see the pyramids and other tombs.  Maybe Bill Weasley would show him around, if he was still there.  Or go to Greece and visit the temple to Asclepius where snakes were used for healing and not feared.  South America, maybe.  Charlie Weasley had said that he’d never heard of Peruvian Vipertooths speaking Parseltongue but maybe they could and no one wrote it down.  He could go see for himself.  And if he went north to Central America, he could see that flying serpent, the coatyl.  Or he could go to India and meet some nagas and occamys.  Australia for boomslangs.  Or Africa to meet runespoors.  And while he was there, he could meet other Parselmouths, visit various ruins and cultural sights, taste the foods, everything he’d ever dreamed of experiencing.

Wizards lived a long time, he could do it all.  He had his tent, after all, so all it’d cost him would be the transportation and food, as long as he had a bit of space to pitch the tent.  That book on magical backpacking had talked at length of how to find good, unnoticeable places to set up a camp.  Hard in well-to-do urban areas but easier in remote wilderness areas or very poor urban areas where one more tent in a slum would be unremarkable. 

Harry whiled away the hours daydreaming of exotic things far away from Azkaban. 

Eventually, the bars returned, but Harry barely had time to greet Cal before the dementors returned.  Harry determinedly closed his eyes and focused as hard as he could.  The Extension Charm was Extendo Duo and went like so.  And then you had to cast another layer.  And another.  And hold all the layers steady, feed it all the magic you could manage.  Evenly, to keep it stable, but of course, if you didn’t keep it stable, it would fail and you’d have to start over.  And what was the point of starting over with dementors in the room? While stuck in Azkaban?  Faintly, Harry started hearing the screaming again.  Heard the laughter.

But the sound faded away as the dementors left.

Harry kept focusing on the Extension Charm for a few minutes, then other charms.  When he finally was able to think of happy things again, he turned to Cal who was staring off into space and shivering.  Three times in a day with no distractions between two of the visits had obviously shaken him.

“So, I was thinking,” Harry whispered.  “I want to travel.  Visit all sorts of places.  I’m going to start with the warm ones first.  India, maybe.  One of my ancestors was from there.  That’s how I’m a Parselmouth.  I bet occamys are interesting.  Do you think they speak Parseltongue?  They’re sort of like serpents, but they have wings and legs too, so I’m not sure.  But I can find out.  And the nagas –”

Harry rambled on about all of the places he’d visit and things he’d see.  It wasn’t until after dinner that Cal finally responded.

“If I ever get out of here, I’m going home.  Back to our acre where we belong.  I’ll never leave.  I’ll still be there when I’m old and gray.”

“Well, having an acre sounds great too, but I don’t know if I own one, much less if there’s a house on it.  I know I’ll own a tent just as soon as I get out of here.  I’ll have been living in it for years by the time I graduate.  It’ll be as much of a home as anything else, so I can travel and take my home with me.”

“Ah, but no land.  Home is nothing if you don’t have land.  That’s where people who rent flats in the city go wrong.  Land is earth, and earth is elemental magic.  Powerful stuff.  Especially if you’ve lived in the same area for generations.  It gets into your bones.  Nothing can beat rune stones made from stones from your family acre.  Never could read tea leaves, but rune stones?  Reading those are like breathing.”  Cal was silent for a minute.  “How do you not know if you own an acre?  That’s not generally something you could not know about.”

“Well, I know my father sold a property in London, but that was bought after the family got rich.  If they owned another property before that, I should still own it.  Though who knows what it’s like or where it is.  After decades, there might not be a house on it at all.  No one has lived there since… well, at least before my father was born.”

“Good riddance to the London property.  That’s not good land for an acre.  Too crowded and polluted.  No, what you need is land like ours, out in the country.”  Cal warmed to his subject and was soon talking about plans for the future, of what he was going to plant, of hoping that he was out and got his family back to their acre in time to plant what they could for the fall harvest.  Or, failing that, by spring.  And long term plans of buying the acre next to them or at least one nearby to gift half an acre each to their children when they were of age.

“You don’t need a full acre, after all.  Half an acre is really enough to give you a big garden and a bit of a paddock for a goat or two.  A quarter acre, at minimum.  Can’t grow enough to feed a family on much less than a quarter acre.  A full acre, though.  Imagine, enough for a few goats or pigs plus enough to grow grain too.  Not that grain’s very expensive, but it’s the principle of the thing.  Everything you need to eat all from your own land.  That’s how your land gets into your bones.  It doesn’t happen if you just live there and buy all your food from the store.”

“What do you think would happen if you grew your food in a tent?  If you had one as big on the inside as Newt Scamander’s suitcase?  Enough for a farm and raised your family in it for generations?”

Diverted at last from worrying about his own family and their absence from their land, Cal debated the subject with Harry.

“Maybe traveling will get into my bones and genes,” Harry said.  “Then we’ll be rootless, always moving from place to place in our tent, seeing new things and meeting new people.  We’d be Narnians from birth.” 

“Maybe that’s already happened,” Cal teased.  “You’re awfully fixated on travel.  What are Narnians?”

“Did I forget to tell you about The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?” Harry said, aghast.  He related the story to Cal.  “I was reading that when I got my Hogwarts letter.  Then I got to Diagon Alley, and Mr. Weasley told me about tents and Scamander’s suitcase.  That’s what got me interested in charmed luggage.  I know there’s more books in the series, but between working to pay for school and recommendations from Mrs. Figg, I’ve never had the chance to read them.”

“That reminds me of a book I’ve read as a kid.  No luggage, but an entire hidden magical country on an island in the middle of a lake.”  And they discussed books for the rest of the evening.

Harry was startled awake in the middle of the night by the sound of the door to his cell slamming open, letting light and sound flood in. 

In the entrance stood two guards with their wands out.  “Get up,” one of them said harshly. 

Hardly daring to hope, Harry asked, “What’s going on?  Are you letting me go?  Did Moody find the Chamber already?”

The guard snorted.  “Dream on.  Get up.  You’re being moved.  We need your cell.” 

Harry scrabbled to make sure he had his spare sets of socks then slowly stood.  “Where are you moving me to?  I was supposed to stay in this wing.  That’s what Moody promised me.”

“Moody has no say here, and we’re tired of the talking.  Three days in a row.  There’s plenty of empty cells in the wing for creatures and half-breeds.  That’ll be good enough for the likes of you.”

Harry approached the guards and the second shoved a vial of familiar smelling potion into his hand.  “Drink.  Or we’ll make you drink.”

Harry drank and after the potion took effect, all he could remember was confused images of long corridors, brief glimpses of the sea, and crashing waves.

When Harry awoke, he was once again freezing cold and slightly damp.  Idly, he wondered what the point of the potion was.  To prevent him from having enough free will to try to escape?  Or to make it so he couldn’t remember which way to go even if he did get out of his cell someday?  He supposed it didn’t matter much.

He sat up and looked around.

This wing seemed similar to the wing he’d just came from.  Dark stone walls and bars, light filtering in from windows far overhead, and a room longer than it was wide.  The cells themselves were different.  Rather than a meter deep and three meters long, the cells were three meters deep and varied in width.  Harry’s corner cell was only a meter wide, but looking down the room, he thought he could spy at least one cell that was about three meters wide and padded with straw rather than a pallet.  A centaur paced restlessly in the cell.  Another cell that seemed to be two meters wide held a man as large as Hagrid, laying on a pallet that took up the majority of the floor space. 

The larger cells seemed to have multiple sinks in them.  Perhaps they were somehow customizable?  With removable bars to accommodate larger cell sizes for the non-human inmates?

Above, Harry spotted a grid work of bars several meters up, long before the cells reached the height of the windows.  If those bars turned solid when the other walls did, he’d be left in pitch blackness. 

The room was absolutely quiet.  Harry could hear himself moving but heard nothing from any of the other inmates, not even rustling from the centaur pacing on the straw.  Apparently, they were not allowed to talk to each other.  Rather than sitting in pairs quietly chatting, most of the prisoners in this wing were listlessly laying on their pallets staring at the ceiling. 

Harry was in the corner cell with the cells nearest to his empty.  No one to talk to, even if it had been allowed.  His stomach was already growling.  He’d apparently been drugged enough to miss breakfast again.  Harry sighed and tried to make himself comfortable.  This was going to get very boring, very quickly. 

He sat, leaning against the outer wall and gazed out over the rest of the room, already missing Cal.  The guards were rather like the Dursleys, weren’t they?  Blaming him for things that were beyond his control.  He wondered what they’d say if he told them so?  Would they laugh it off?  Be offended?  Think the Dursleys were right?  Maybe Harry should introduce them to each other and see what happened.  Harry spared a few minutes to imagine what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would do if they were in the cell next to him being forced to look at such unnatural things as centaurs or… well, was the large man a giant, or half-giant like he suspected Hagrid might be?  And he’d thought he’d seen a flash of extra long white teeth when the man two cells down yawned.  Vampire, perhaps?  The Dursleys would hate it, which made the image even more entertaining to Harry.

Eventually, though, the vision lost its amusement.  They’d probably only blame him, and their yelling would get old after a while even if Harry wouldn’t be able to hear them. 

Harry turned his thoughts back to books, remembering plots and trying to figure out what might have happened to characters after the books were over.  What would have happened to Sam after he said, “Well, I’m back”?  How did he move past what he’d seen in the battles?  Settle back into a quiet life at the Shire?  Did he have nightmares?  Regrets?  Did he miss Frodo?  Was he glad to get back to his family and his home?

Harry was sure he’d have nightmares if he ever got out of Azkaban.  When he got out.  He had to believe he would get out eventually, he’d promised Titus, Moody and Dumbledore that he’d try to believe.

His musings were interrupted by a blur of black motion at the far end of the room, which seemed to dim and chill.  Dementors.  It wasn’t anywhere near dinner yet.  Perhaps the different wings had different schedules?  Harry forced his mind away from the dementors and on to the Extension Charms, as hard as he could.  The dementors’ visit seemed to last longer than it had in the other wing, but Harry managed to keep his focus until it seemed easier to concentrate.  When he opened his eyes, the dementors were gone. 

Harry reviewed various charms for a while longer before returning his mind back to Middle Earth.

The dementors came twice more before dinner and once after it.  Over the next few days, Harry learned this was perfectly normal.  There was always at least half a dozen dementor visits each day, often more. 

Though Harry was able to avoid the worst of the effects, it was still exhausting.  No wonder everyone seemed so spiritless and listless.  There was barely enough time to recover before the dementors came around again even if they’d been allowed to talk to get their mind off of things.

Harry was profoundly grateful that he’d been housed next to Titus for the first two days.  His lessons were invaluable.  Even if the dementors hadn’t been there, the absolute silence and lack of interaction with any living being would have sapped his strength.  He kept hoping that they’d move someone into the cell next to him, just for a few hours of a change of pace but this wing didn’t seem to have the turnover that the other wing did.  As far as Harry could tell, no one new had come in at all, certainly not to any of the empty cells near him.

As the days passed and the dementor visits continued, it began to be harder for Harry to drag his mind back to pleasant things, especially as evening approached and it got colder and darker.  Harry would start off the day determined to not let the dementors win, but by dinner time, he had a hard time remembering why it mattered at all – why anything mattered, why he should even bother choking down the disgusting watery stew instead of just letting it sit as so many of the other prisoners seemed to do.  He seemed to be permanently cold.  No matter how much he tried to huddle to conserve warmth or pace to get some exercise, the cold would not go away.

About a week after he’d been moved to the wing for non-humans, Harry awoke once again to his cell flooding with light and noise.  There was only one guard this time.

“Get up,” came the implacable order.  Harry made sure the extra socks were still in his cloak pocket and obeyed. 

“Drink.”  A familiar vial was held out to him.

Harry took it but didn’t drink.  “Where are you taking me?  Another wing?  Another cell?  Hogwarts?” 

“Drink it.  Now.”  Not having much of a choice, Harry drank and was left with the dazed impression of a lot of dark stairwells and open battlements. 

When he awoke, Harry found himself in a new cell, smaller than the others he’d been in, only a bit bigger than an adult would need to lay down flat.  Here, there was no pallet at all, just a cushioning charm on the floor itself.  This one was constructed of solid stone without any iron bars except for a tiny window in the normal cell door.  The only light filtered in through the door from a distant window, leaving the cell in near darkness. 

When Harry tried to look out of his cell, all he could see was another stone wall a few feet away.  He listened but heard nothing at all.  There must be the same silencing charms up for this area as were in the wing for non-humans.

Like the previous times he’d awoken in new cells, he was freezing cold.  He could even see his breath in the air, and the cushioning charm on the floor did nothing to insulate him from the cold stone.  Harry wrapped himself tightly in his cloak but it didn’t do any good.  It was hard to concentrate.  Absently, Harry noted it as the effects of the dementors.  Automatically, after the experiences of the last week, he started reviewing the Extension Charm, going over and over it in his head, waiting for the dementor to leave.  The incantation is Extendo Duo, the movement was such, and then you added another layer, then another, then fed it as much energy as you could.  Harry held the image as long as he could, but the dementor was still there when he was finished.  Not much closer but still not so far away that he couldn’t feel the effects. 

Harry gritted his teeth and did it again.  And again.  And again.  The dementor was still there.  Closer this time.  Extendo Duo.  Extendo Duo.  Even closer.  Extendo Duo.  But why was he trying so hard?  This was pointless.  He couldn’t get away from the dementors, no matter how hard he tried.  He was trapped here.  Maybe he’d live out the rest of his life in this same small cell.  Exte– But Harry’s concentration was gone and visions of a petrified Mr. Tufty filled his mind and echoes of screaming and laughing filled his ears and he could think of nothing else.

Eventually, the dementor moved a little further off.  It wasn’t completely gone, but Harry could begin to think again, could remember Titus insisting that he not give the dementors a single second more attention than he could help, though he couldn’t remember why it was important.  Grimly, Harry started over.  Extendo Duo.  He poured every bit of concentration he could into making the image as vivid as possible.  Extendo Duo.  Extendo Duo.

It went on and on.  The dementors moved from time to time, sometimes closer, sometimes further away but never completely gone.  Harry took the brief respites when they were furthest away in order to regather himself as much as possible, to try to prepare himself for the stretches when they were closest. 

Harry lost track of time, and only the scent of the stew made him aware that dinner had arrived.  It seemed thicker and fouler than it had been, as if the nutrition potion was more concentrated.  Harry finished the bowl and waited, stomach still aching with hunger, but it never refilled itself.  Sighing, he stood to rinse it and was returning it to the shelf when he noticed the tooth cleaning stick.

He’d used one to revise his school work before.  Maybe a prop would help him concentrate?  He had nothing to lose other than to risk dirtying the stick, and he could always wash it before he used it on his teeth.  Feeling the dementors coming near again, he snatched it up and resettled on the floor.  Extendo Duo. 

The dementors never left.  They were there when Harry finally fell asleep, they were still there when Harry awoke in the morning, and they stayed there throughout the next day and the day after.  Whenever he could manage, Harry focused his mind on the Extension Charm, envisioned it as clearly as he could remember, willing himself to believe he was truly casting it over and over again.  He built up from three layers of the charm to four, up to five, up to implausibly large amounts – ten layers, a dozen.  Surely even Newt Scamander’s suitcase had fewer than a dozen layers of Extension Charms on it?  But Harry had trouble remembering who Scamander was or why he envied his suitcase.  The suitcase wasn’t important, his tent may as well not exist.  What was important was the Extension Charm.  Extendo Duo, over and over again.

Whenever Harry lost focus, his mind flooded with images.  Mr. Tufty, the sound of screaming and laughter, imagined scenes of Slytherin's monster unleashed on the Great Hall at mealtimes or on Mrs. Figg alone in her home.  The Weasleys’ Burrow with a Muggle high rise condo being built next door, full of new neighbors every bit as nosy and judgmental as the ones on Privet Drive.  Harry, old and gray, still stuck in his cell with the dementors hovering just outside.

But then, Harry would look down at the stick in his hand that was ceaselessly going through the wand movements for the Extension Charm and vaguely recall that it was important.  He didn’t remember why it was important that he kept focusing on the Extension Charm.  He barely even recalled what the spell was supposed to do.  He just understood that it was important that he keep focusing on it.  No matter how boring an infinite repetition was, the thoughts that flooded his mind when he didn’t focus were far worse.

Time slipped away in a strange fashion. 

Harry was always exhausted.  He stayed awake as long as he could, caught brief naps when he could no longer manage to keep his wand and mind moving, awoke to nightmares, and started over again.  And he was always cold.  Cold from the cold, damp air, cold from the cold stones he had no choice but to sit on and lean against, cold down to his bones and in his soul from the dementors.  He stayed bundled in his cloak as much as he could, but it did nothing at all to keep him warm.

Harry was always hungry but didn’t always remember to eat.  He resorted to leaving his empty bowl beside him and eating whenever he noticed it was full but it was dark in his cell and hard to see.  Often the food was stone cold by the time he noticed it, and he thought that sometimes he had breakfast or dinner twice in a row.  He wasn’t sure if he was eating meals and not remembering them or if he had missed some bowls of food altogether. 

His world narrowed down to his little cell, just big enough to lay down in.  It was hard to remember that anything beyond it actually existed, that it was real.  There were just those four stone walls.  Sometimes there was a little bit of light, sometimes it was pitch black.  Sometimes there was food in his bowl, most times there wasn’t.  Sometimes he was awake, sometimes he slept.  There were just those for walls, the dementors, and endless rounds of Extendo Duo, day after day and week after week.

Chapter Text

When the cell door opened and light flooded his cell, Harry dismissed it as being unimportant.  It wasn’t the ever-lingering presence of the dementors, it wasn’t a full bowl of food, it wasn’t an Extension Charm.  It was meaningless.

“Potter!” came a voice.  That was meaningless too.  “Found him!  He’s in here!” the voice called loudly, making Harry flinch a bit.  It’d been so long since he’d heard anything other than himself.

“Extendo Duo,” he mumbled, moving his stick, yet again.  “Extendo Duo.”

Suddenly a hand grabbed his, holding his hand still.  “Harry!” the voice called again.  “Can you hear me?”

That was not meaningless.  He needed his hand and his stick.  He pulled away and started over.  “Extendo Duo.”

“Merlin’s beard.  How is he?”  came a different voice.

“I can’t get him to look at me,” the first voice said.  “I’m not even sure he knows I’m here.”

“Let me try.”  There was a bit of motion before someone new knelt next to him.  “Potter!  Look at me!” the voice barked.

Harry didn’t look.

“Potter!  Snap out of it!  We can’t keep the dementors away for much longer.  Come on, kid.”  A hand reached out and lifted Harry’s chin up.  He squinted into the light, unresisting, but as soon as they let him go, he lowered his head back down to his charm. 

“Extendo Duo.”

“It’s no good.  Hand me that Dreamless Sleep.  Let’s see if he’ll drink it.” 

A hand tried to take his stick away again, but he clung to it and pulled it away from them.  He needed that.  It was important.  Finally, they took his left hand and pressed something cool into it and left their hand there, holding it steady.  “Drink that, Potter.”

This, Harry remembered.  He shook his head stubbornly.  He did not want to drink a potion.  Every time he did, he woke up someplace worse than before.  He tried to push it away, but the other hand held it still.

“Stunner, maybe?” 

A sigh.  “We might have to.  It’ll be better if we can get him to take the potion, though.  Drink!”  The voice barked the order out forcefully.  “Come on, kid.  Don’t make me force it down your throat.”

After a moment, the vial was removed from his fingers and held to his lips.  Another hand held his head back as the potion was poured into his mouth.  “Swallow it!  Now!” 

Harry finally gave in and swallowed, and his cell faded away.

When Harry awoke again, he was in a bright, white room.  He was mostly warm and laying on something soft.  He had a faint aftertaste of chocolate lingering on his tongue.  Rather disoriented, he stirred and tried to sit up.  Where was his stick?  He scrabbled around in the bedding looking for it. 

“Mr. Potter!  Awake again, I see.  Ready for some potions?”  Harry glanced up and recognized Madam Pomfrey holding a tray of vials.  He glanced back down and started looking through the bedding again.  “What are you looking for, Harry?”

“Where’s my stick?  I need it.  It’s important.  It keeps the dementors from winning.” 

“I’m not sure what stick you’re talking about,” she said gently.  “Your wand?”  Harry considered that for a moment.  He was sure his wand would be even better than a stick so he nodded.  “Professor Dumbledore is still keeping it safe for you.  He’ll bring it by as soon as I tell him he can visit.  There’s no dementors here.  You’re at Hogwarts.”

Harry pondered that for a few minutes, rather confused.  “No stick?”  Without his stick, how could he cast an Extension Charm?

“You don’t need it right now.  You’re safe.  I’d hardly let those foul things in my nice clean hospital wing, now would I?”  Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head.  Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and the head of the bed rose so he could lean back on it.  “Now, it’s time for some potions, and then I’ve got some hot chocolate for you.”

Harry thought about resisting, but he knew that Madam Pomfrey was one of the people that couldn’t be argued with.  She was rather like Mipsy; she always won her fights.  “We’ll start with the Wit Sharpening Draught, I think,” she said and passed him a vial.  “A Draught of Peace,” then “Nutrition Potion.  You’ve missed far too many meals.”  One potion after another was handed to him.  Finally, Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied.  “Let me get you your hot chocolate and you can enjoy that, then sleep a little more when you’re done.” 

As soon as she’d vanished through the curtains, the bed jostled as something jumped onto the foot of it.  Harry squinted at the gray blur.  “Mr. Tufty?” he asked tentatively.  A reassuring meow answered him, and Mr. Tufty moved up the bed to nuzzle at his chest.  Harry hugged him as tightly as he thought Mr. Tufty would allow.  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.  “I’m glad you’re back.”

They stayed like that for a while until an aggrieved sigh made him look up.  “Familiars are not allowed in the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter.”  Mr. Tufty settled heavily on Harry’s lap and looked at Madam Pomfrey defiantly.  Finally, she gave in.  “Well, just this once, I suppose.”  She handed Harry a large mug.  “We’ll try some real food when you wake up but chocolate will do you more good right now.  Sip at that.”

Harry held it in one hand and sipped at it, while petting Mr. Tufty with the other.  Mr. Tufty purred comfortingly.  Harry felt quite warm by the time he was done.  He handed the empty mug back, and Madam Pomfrey handed him another vial.  “Dreamless Sleep.”  Harry made a face but obediently drank and was barely aware of Pomfrey spelling the head of the bed flat again.

When he woke again, he sat up and looked around.  Mr. Tufty was nowhere to be seen.  He could hear Madam Pomfrey not too far away, but she sounded busy helping another student.  His stomach gave a loud rumble.  He was starving.  Madam Pomfrey had promised him real food when he woke up. 

Maybe Harry should save her the trouble and go get it himself?  He could eat at a table, with plates and silverware, just like Mipsy was always nagging at him about.  The food always tasted better in the kitchens anyway.  Harry swung his feet out of the bed, stood, and swayed on rather shaky legs. 

He squinted at the bedside table.  He couldn’t see his glasses, but there was his wand!  Harry snatched it up gratefully.  Now the dementors wouldn’t win.  And he could go eat, couldn’t he?  These were just curtains, not stone walls.  They wouldn’t turn to stone if he touched them, would they? Like the bars had turned to stone? 

Harry touched them experimentally.  When they stayed soft cloth, he walked through the opening and looked around again.  He could see a big blur of motion on the other end of the room.  Madam Pomfrey was helping someone else.  Surely, she wouldn’t mind if he went to go eat?  She’d said he could.  Destination in mind, Harry wandered out of the room, wand moving restlessly in his hand.

He made his way down to the basement but, disoriented by his lack of glasses, he was rather confused and made a wrong turn.  Then another.  Where were the kitchens?  He needed to find Mipsy.  He was hungry. 

He wandered, starting to get rather agitated as he failed to find what he was looking for.  The more agitated he got, the more he started to wave his wand and mumble to himself.  Suddenly, he bumped into something.

“Hey!  Watch where you’re going, why don’t…”  They trailed off.  “Potter?” they asked.  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be out of the hospital yet.”  Harry blinked at them vaguely.  They weren’t Mipsy.  He turned and started to walk off.  He needed to find…  He felt someone grab his shoulder. 

“Merlin, you’re freezing.  You’re just in pajamas, too.  Not even any slippers or socks.  Come on, let’s go sit by the fire a while, shall we?”  Gently, they started to tug him in the other direction.  Harry resisted for a moment, then gave in.  There was a fireplace in the kitchens, wasn’t there?  Maybe they were taking him to Mipsy.  “Boomslang,” he heard them say, then a wall slid open and he was guided through. 

“Come on, Potter, let’s go sit by the fire.”  They gently pulled at him.  Harry looked around him.  Lots of green and silver.  Was that a window?  Underwater?  Aquarium?  This wasn’t the kitchens.  He tried to pull away, but the hands were insistent.  “Montgomery, get up.  Let Potter sit next to the fire.  Fawcett, go get us a blanket or a cloak or something, would you?  He’s cold.”

They pushed Harry down into a chair very near the fire.  “What’s going on?” he heard someone ask. 

“Found him in the hallway.  He must be delirious or something.  He’s not really responding to anything.  One of you go see if you can find a professor.  Not Professor Snape, he’s busy brewing.  They’ve got to be looking for him by now.” 

Harry looked around again.  Where was Mipsy?  He spied a bag sitting on the table next to his chair.  Suddenly, he remembered.  The Extension Charm was for bags, wasn’t it?  He reached for the bag and pulled it close. It was made of soft leather.

“Hey, Potter!  Leave my bag alone!” 

Harry ignored him.  “Extendo Duo,” he mumbled.  “Extendo Duo, Ext–” but the bag was pulled out of his lap. 

“Come on, Potter, let’s get you warm while we wait.”  A cloak was draped over his shoulders and a blanket over his lap.  He was agitated for a moment at the loss of the bag until he realized the cloak had pockets.  He checked them for socks.  Some wool socks would be nice.  He wondered what happened to his? His feet were cold.  But the Extension Charm worked on pockets too, didn’t it? 

“Extendo Duo,” he mumbled, concentrating hard.  “Extendo Duo.  Extendo Duo.”

“What’s he doing?” he heard someone ask. 

“Extension Charm, it looks like.  Fawcett, you don’t mind if he charms your pockets, do you?”

“Extendo Duo,” but with the fourth layer, the spell failed.  He tried again, and again it failed on the fourth layer.  He tried again, and it failed again.  He was agitated by his failure.  When the spell failed, the dementors won, didn’t they?  He didn’t want them to win.  He raised his wand to try a fourth time, when a hand stopped him for a moment.  He looked up.

“Just do three layers, Potter.  All I want is three.  You can do three layers, can’t you?”

Harry nodded jerkily.  They let his hand go and he tried again.  After the third layer he fed it as much magic as he could and completed the spell.  “Thanks, Potter.  Those will be some nice pockets.  I’ll be able to fit a lot in there.”  Harry started on the pocket on the other side.

“How’d he learn the Extension Charm?  That’s NEWT level.”

“Who knows.  Where’s the teachers?”

“Zabini and Greengrass went to look for them.  They’ll be here soon.”

Harry finished with the second pocket, then started to look around again.  The leather bag from earlier, now empty, was thrust back in his lap.  “Here, Potter, you can charm my bag, if you like.  Sorry I interrupted you before.”

Harry took it and started charming.  Frustratingly, it kept failing on the seventh layer of the Extension Charm.  After several times, someone grabbed his hand again.

“Just do six layers, Potter.  Montgomery would like it if you Extended it six times, wouldn’t you, Montgomery?”

“Oh, yeah, six layers is plenty.  Any bigger and I won’t be able to find anything.”  Harry got to work. 

“If smaller sizes mean you can find things, shouldn’t he be shrinking the bag, not Extending it?  You’re forever losing your quill.”

“Well, now I’ll be able to fit thousands of quills in there so it won’t matter if I lose a few.”

Harry finished with the main compartment and started on the front pocket.  Above him, voices bickered about how many quills it was possible to lose in a year.  Harry finished the front pocket, then laid the bag aside.  A hand took it away.  “Look at this!” a rather pleased voice said.  “This is bigger than my bedroom at home!  Might even be bigger than the common room!” 

Harry started looking around restlessly.  Wasn’t he trying to find something?  Another bag was thrust on his lap.  “Here, Potter, try this one,” a posh sounding voice said.  “Lots of layers of Extension, please.” 

Harry took it obediently. 

Frustratingly, he couldn’t get a single Extension Charm to work.  What was wrong?  Were the dementors coming back?  He didn’t feel them yet, but he couldn’t let them win, could he?  He tried again and again, growing more agitated each time it failed.  A hand grabbed his.  “It’s no good, Potter.  That one won’t work.  How about we find you another cloak to charm?” 

Harry pulled away and tried again.  “Extendo Duo,” he said clearly.  But it failed again.  Not even a shiver of movement.

His hand was grabbed again. “Warrington changed his mind.  He doesn’t want his bag charmed after all.  Isn’t that right, Warrington?”  Harry glanced up. 

“Of course I want my bag charmed!  That’s a good bag!  Genuine dragon hide!  Much better than Montgomery’s bag.  His is only regular leather.  I paid good gold for that.  I don’t know why it isn’t working, but it’s not my bag’s fault.  He must be too tired to charm anything now.” 

A few snickers floated through the room.  “You keep telling yourself that, Warrington.  The bag’s still not getting charmed, not even a little bit.” 

“I told you that bag was way too good of a deal to be the real thing.  No one sells dragon hide bags at that price without something shady going on.”

“I thought it had just fallen off the back of a broom, not that it was a conjured fake.  I tested it for being conjured!  It passed!”

Harry ignored the bickering and bent back to his task.  Why wasn’t it working?  The dementors would come back and… There was a flurry of movement by the door.  A colorful blur moved into his field of vision.  “Extendo Duo.”  Once again, it failed. 

After some murmurs, the colorful blur came closer.  “Harry, what are you doing?  Madam Pomfrey is looking for you.”

“Keeping the dementors away.  Out of my mind.  But it’s not working.  Extendo Duo.”  Once again it failed and Harry was near tears.  “They’re going to come back,” he said urgently.  “It’s not working.  They’re going to win.  I promised…  I promised Titus I wouldn’t let them win.  Extendo Duo,” he tried again. “I can’t…  Why won’t it work?  They’re going to be here soon.  It has to work.”

A wrinkled hand closed over his.  “Let me take a look, maybe I can spot the problem.”  The hand removed the bag from his lap.  “One of you, go get a Draught of Peace from Professor Snape.  He should have just finished brewing a fresh batch.  And if any of you can spare a few squares of chocolate in the meantime, I’d appreciate it.”  There was a blur of movement by the door.  “Hm… I think I see the issue.  Someone’s used a Restoration Charm on this.  It must have been rather worn.  It can’t hold an Extension Charm anymore.”  The bag was laid aside. 

There was a guffaw of laughter.  “Second hand!  You paid top gallon for a second hand bag!”  A wordless protest followed.

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery, that will do nicely.”  The same wrinkled hand placed something into Harry’s hand.  “Here you are, Harry.  Eat this while we wait for your potion.”  He nibbled at what he’d been given.  Chocolate, with toffee bits.  He liked toffee.  He ate it enthusiastically.

“But the dementors…” Harry said.  “They’re going to come?”  It was a question now. 

“I’ll keep them away for a while, so you can rest.  They won’t get into Hogwarts.  You’re safe here.  You trust me to keep them away?”  Harry considered it for a moment then nodded. 

“Good.  Now, where were you wandering off to?”  Dumbledore asked.  “You’ve given Poppy quite the scare.”  Dumbledore waved his wand, conjuring a garish purple and gold dressing gown and matching slippers.  “Put those on now,” he said.  “You must be cold.”

“I was looking for Mipsy.  I’m hungry,” Harry explained.

“Oh?  Did you get lost on the way to the kitchens, then?”  He nodded.  There was a blur of movement nearby.  “Thank you, Mr. Nott.”  After a moment, a vial was held out to Harry.  “Drink this for me, Harry.”  Harry looked at it consideringly but didn’t take it.  “Is there a problem with the potion?”

“I don’t want to wake up there again.  I want to stay here.”  Here, he could rest, couldn’t he?  He didn’t want to wake up in another stone room.

“You don’t want to wake up where?  In the hospital wing?” 

Harry shook his head.  “No, there.  The hospital wing is fine.  Mr. Tufty was there.  But he wasn’t supposed to be.  He wasn’t there the second time.  Did Madam Pomfrey make him leave?”

“I daresay she might let him stay now.  I imagine if he’d been there when you woke up, you’d still be there too.”  Harry considered this and nodded.  He wouldn’t leave Mr. Tufty behind.  “It’s a Draught of Peace, Harry, nothing else.  You’ve had several already.  Take this, and we’ll get you back into bed and see about getting Mr. Tufty for you.”

Harry took the vial and drank it.  “Mipsy too,” he reminded him.  “I’m hungry.  She likes me to eat with plates.  At tables.  She’ll get mad at me if I don’t.”  But it didn’t seem like as large of a concern as it had seemed a minute ago.

“I think she’ll let you eat in bed, just this once.  Now, put those slippers on, and we’ll get you back to bed.” 

Clumsily, Harry put the slippers on.  Bed sounded good.  He was rather tired.  But where were his socks?  Shouldn’t he have socks too?  Did he lose them?  Would Dumbledore be mad?  “I think I lost your socks,” he confessed.  “And your cloak.  They’re missing.”

“They’re fine.  You didn’t lose them.  They’re just being washed.  I’ll see about getting you another pair, though.  One can never have enough socks.”  He urged Harry to his feet. 

“And my glasses.  I need my glasses.”

“Now, those are truly lost.  Somewhere at the bottom of the North Sea, I suppose.  Don’t worry about them just yet, Harry.  Come now.  Let’s get you back upstairs.

“Miss Fawcett, Mr. Montgomery, I’d suggest taking your cloak and bag to Professor Flitwick so they can be checked before putting anything very large or heavy in them.  Including yourself, Mr. Montgomery.  The charms look stable at first glance, but it wouldn’t do if they failed at an inopportune moment.  Thank you all for your assistance.  Thirty points to Slytherin, I think.”  Dumbledore carefully led Harry out the door.

When he next woke, Harry felt more alert, mind clearer.  Mr. Tufty was right by his side and let out a loud yowl when Harry awoke.

Instantly, Madam Pomfrey was bustling thorough the curtains.  “Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?”

“Better?  It’s easier to think, at least.” 

“Hm.  Good.  That’s the Wit-Sharpening Draught doing its job.  The last dose must not have quite worn off yet.  Stay here while I get you your next dose.  Don’t go wandering again,” she said sternly, then hurried off.

After another set of potions, she brought over a tray.  Gruel.  Harry made a face and pushed the tray away.  “Aren’t you hungry?”  Madam Pomfrey fussed.  “You have to start eating.  You can’t live on nothing but Nutrition Potions forever.”

“Can’t I have something else?” Harry asked.

“A light porridge will be easy on your stomach, Harry.  You’ve got to ease into it.  Can’t jump straight from eating nothing to pastries or a Full English.”

“At least thicker?” he pleaded.  “That’s what they gave me for breakfast and it was disgusting.”  Madam Pomfrey sighed and took it away. 

She came back a few minutes later with a much thicker porridge with brown sugar and jam, just how Harry liked it.  “Better?”  Harry nodded enthusiastically.  “I’ll get you a Stomach Soother, then.  I’ve no doubt you’ll need it.  Eat slowly.”

Harry ate slowly, savoring every bite.  It was the best thing he’d eaten in weeks.  Maybe even months, as far as he knew.  By the time he’d gotten back to the hospital wing the previous afternoon, all he’d had the energy to do was drink a cup of broth and eat a slice of dry toast.  His stomach, however, was protesting by the time he finished and he was grateful for the Stomach Soother. 

“What day is it?” he asked. 

“Wednesday.” 

“No, I mean, is it still May?  June?  September?  Later?  I don’t know how long…”

“It’s June 9^th.  You’ve been here for four days.  You were taken to Azkaban on May 1^st.”  The answer came from the headmaster, who’d come in while Harry was distracted with the food.  Behind him stood the dark skinned Auror.  Shacklebolt?  Yes, that was his name.

“So, just over a month?  It seemed like forever.  Years.”  Harry shuddered, then stroked Mr. Tufty when he nudged his hand. 

“I’m sorry it was so long.  Do you feel up to answering a few questions, Harry?  We’re still trying to piece together how it was you ended up where we found you.”

“I… maybe.  Some of it’s really fuzzy.  And I don’t think I’m ready to think about most of it yet.”

“You started out in the standard wing for those waiting for a trial?” Dumbledore questioned.  Harry nodded.  “And you were there for three days.  What happened then?”

Harry licked his lips nervously and hesitantly told them of how he was moved between cells.  He was shuddering by the time he was done describing the final cell.

“Did the guard say why he was moving you the second time?” Shacklebolt asked.  Harry shook his head.  “Could you describe the guards?  Did they give any names?” 

Harry shook his head.  “No.  Both male, but it was dark in the cell and bright behind them.  I never got a chance to really look at them.  They were mostly just silhouettes.”

“Was the guard the second time one of the same ones that was there the first time?”

Harry shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll look into it some more.  We’re having a full investigation, I assure you.  You weren’t supposed to be moved at all.  Even if you had to be moved, for some reason, you should have gone to a standard low-security wing for short term inmates, not to the wing for non-humans.  We never even thought of looking there.  And you never should have been in the high security wing where we found you.  That’s reserved for the long term inmates – the ones we’re never letting out.”

Harry shuddered again.  “I thought I never was going to get out. I think I forgot there even was an out to want to get to.”

“We’ll find out what happened,” Shacklebolt assured him.  “That gives us some clues to go on, at least.  We’ve been trying to find a full squad and official paperwork, but from what you said, that’s not what happened.”

“Can you tell me why you are so focused on the Extension Charm?” Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry nodded shakily and explained Titus’s strategy of filling his mind with complicated, neutral thoughts.  “In the first and second wing, it worked okay.  When I was thinking about the Extension Charm, the dementors couldn’t make me think of…” Harry broke off and gave another shudder.  “But in the third wing, the dementors weren’t ever not there so I couldn’t ever not think about the Extension Charm.”

“Hm.  Well, it remains to be seen whether that was beneficial or detrimental in the long run.”  Harry petted Mr. Tufty absently for a few minutes.  “Kingsley, do you have any more questions for Harry?”

“I might have some later, but not right now.  We’ll need to look into this first, see if we can narrow down who those two or three guards are.  I’ll keep you apprised of my findings, Albus.”

After Shacklebolt had left, Harry ventured to ask some questions of his own.  “Professor?  What happened?  If Tufty is here, is everyone else cured?  Did you catch the Heir?  Or the person who was working for them?”

“Mr. Creevey, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, and Mrs. Norris were unpetrified, right on schedule.  They’re fine, though it’s likely that Mr. Creevey and possibly Mr. Finch-Fletchley will have to repeat their school year.  As for the Heir – well, that’s a thornier issue.  Remember how we discussed how the Heir was likely to be Voldemort, and that there was possibly possession involved, or he was acting through an intermediary?” 

Harry nodded.

“Both have proven to be true.  Young Miss Weasley was passed a cursed artifact last summer that seems to have been the means for the possession.  A small black diary.”

“The diary that Neville thought I stole from him?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, the very same.  You see, Miss Weasley eventually realized it might be cursed tried to dispose of it.  Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley discovered it and were trying to decipher its secrets, not realizing how dangerous it was.  At some point, Miss Weasley was confounded and placed under a compulsion charm to retrieve the diary from Mr. Longbottom’s trunk and write in it again.  The possession resumed which was when Miss Clearwater was killed and you were taken to Azkaban.”

“Who confounded her?” Harry asked.

“Ah, that remains a mystery.  After interviewing the entire student body several times, Alastor and Kingsley finally managed to narrow down the list of suspects to Miss Weasley and two or three other students.  It took them another two weeks of investigating before they followed Miss Weasley to where she’d begun hiding the diary and interrupted her as she was writing in it.  They found she was possessed by the diary but only intermittently which was why it took so long to pinpoint the cause.  That was when I returned to Hogwarts.

“Further investigation showed that Miss Weasley’s mind had been tampered with, beyond the possession.  We’d proved that you weren’t the Heir at that point, but we still didn’t know who the accomplice was.  Without proof, Minister Fudge was unwilling to admit he was wrong and set you free. 

“The mind healers took several sessions with Miss Weasley before they were able to conclusively prove that at least some of the confounding and compulsion charms dated to after you’d been taken to Azkaban.  Miss Weasley must have been struggling to come forward and confess since the compulsion charms to remain quiet and keep writing were renewed often.

“That was a little over a week ago.  After we gained the required proof to clear you and Madam Bones agreed it was sufficient evidence, she sent to Azkaban to have you released, only to find you weren’t where you were supposed to be and no record as to where you might have gone.  They eventually had to search the prison top to bottom, cell by cell, to find you.  Even then, it took them searching twice.  They missed you the first time.”

“So, you don’t know who was doing it?” Harry asked, worriedly.  “Who was really doing it, I mean.  Not Ginny.”

“Unfortunately, not.  We do suspect who was behind passing the diary to Miss Weasley and have a good idea as to how and when that was done, but there is no proof.  They have not been in the castle often this year so there must be another accomplice somewhere here in the castle.  Since Miss Weasley could have been confounded at practically any time, even in the corridors between classes, it’s quite difficult to determine who it was.  Even if we’d been able to narrow the list to a handful of suspects, at that point too much time had passed for testing wands to be an effective strategy.  Unless they act again and are caught, it’s possible that we’ll never discover who the accomplice was.”

“And the monster?  Is there a monster at all?  Did you find it?”

“Ah, the monster.  It does exist and we believe we know what it is.  A snake, of course.  We’ve not yet sought it out.  Miss Weasley remembers little of her time being possessed, just disjointed scenes.  This is fortunate for her but unfortunate for us since she is unable to lead us to its lair.  However, Alastor thinks he’s discovered where the entrance might be. 

“We believe the snake is trapped where it is for now, and with students in the school, it’s best we leave it undisturbed until summer time.  If you are still willing, we may call on you to come to the school to assist us.  We believe it will require a Parselmouth to gain entrance to its lair.  Until it’s dealt with, do not go speaking Parseltongue to random statues and paintings.  You might release it without meaning to.” 

Eyes wide, Harry nodded.  “I promise.  Well, I won’t do it on purpose, at least.  I didn’t mean to wander around yesterday, but I did it anyway.  If I’m looking at a snake painting I might talk to it by accident.”

“We’ll rely on your Mr. Tufty to ensure that doesn’t happen again,” the headmaster said with a twinkle in his eye.  Mr. Tufty stretched lazily over Harry’s lap as if to demonstrate that he had Harry adequately restrained and confined to his bed.

“And Ginny?  Will she be okay?”

“In time and with adequate medical care, yes.” 

Adequate medical care.  That sounded expensive.  “Can they afford that?” Harry worried aloud.  “They already have the fine to pay.” 

“Her early mind-healer treatments were included as part of the investigation and some of that will continue.  Young Bill is attempting to work out a deal through his curse breaking contacts to get her more treatment the family can afford.  Perhaps through barter of some sort.  Curse breakers do have experience with damage caused by cursed artifacts.  Let us worry about that, for now.”

Harry nodded reluctantly, then gave a shiver as he was suddenly chilled. 

Professor Dumbledore noticed and leaned over to retrieve the thick purple dressing gown he’d conjured the previous day and Harry took it gratefully.  “It’s important you rest and try not to worry about anything until you’re recovered yourself.  It might be time for another round of potions.  Let me notify Poppy.” 

He vanished and shortly returned with Madam Pomfrey who had a steaming mug in her hand. 

She handed it to Harry.  More hot chocolate.  He took it with a grateful smile and sipped at it.  “It’s fortunate for your taste buds that chocolate is an excellent remedy for dementor exposure.  It won’t replace your potions regiment, but it is a good supplementary tool.  I dare say you’ll be quite sick of chocolate by the end of the summer.”

Harry shook his head in denial.  “I’ll always love chocolate.”

“Hm.  We’ll see what you say in three months.”  She placed a bowl of chocolate chunks on the bedside table.  They’d obviously been broken off of a rather large bar.  “If you start feeling cold or anxious, take a piece that and let it melt on your tongue.  Call for me too, of course, but it’s better if you have it as near you as possible.

“Now finish that, and you can take a nice nap.  Headmaster, no more talk of unpleasant things, if you please.  That’s quite enough for the day.”

“Indeed.  I believe we were done.  Harry, we can talk more later, if you still have questions.  Would you like me to bring you anything?” 

“A book?” he said hopefully.  Sitting in bed would get quite boring and he doubted Madam Pomfrey would let him get up soon. 

“No school books,” Pomfrey scolded.  “Any spellbooks, for that matter.  At least, not for a few days.  I’ve no idea how you expect to read without your glasses.”

“A novel!  I like novels.”  Then remembering the Hogwarts library’s dearth of fiction, he added, “I’ve got a catalog for the Diagon Alley library, if Madam Pince doesn’t have anything.  Or maybe something about traveling.  Someplace warm.  I can hold it really close or enlarge the book to make the print bigger.”

“Hmph.  Maybe for short periods.  If you’re feeling well and behave.  Something very light and entertaining, nothing heavy or serious,” she said to Dumbledore.

“I’ll see what I can find.  Harry, I’ll leave you to your hot chocolate and rest.”  He turned and vanished out of sight. 

When Harry awoke from his nap, he managed to slide out from Mr. Tufty, who watched him closely as he made his way to the bathroom.  As he finished and washed his hands, he wondered what he was supposed to be doing?  He’d slept, like he’d been told.  Now what was next?  Wasn’t there something about books?  Light books? Or was that books about lights?  Was he supposed to be going to the library?  There were lots of books in the library.  He was sure he could find what he needed.

He made his way out of the bathroom and headed for the door.  Suddenly, there was something in his way.  Mr.  Tufty.  Did Mr. Tufty want to come with?  Madam Pince didn’t usually allow familiars in the library, but maybe she’d make an exception this time.  Harry bent and scooped Mr. Tufty up, and continued on his way out the door.  Mr. Tufty started yowling loudly. 

“Shh,” Harry said.  “Madam Pince won’t let you check out any books if you make noise.”  But Mr. Tufty wasn’t heeding his warning and kept yowling.  Harry frowned at him in concern.  “Mr. Tufty?  Don’t you want to go to the library?” 

“Mr. Potter, where do you think you’re going?”  Startled, Harry turned to see Madam Pomfrey.  What was she doing here? 

“The library?” Harry said, rather uncertain.  “But I don’t think Mr. Tufty wants to go.”  Mr. Tufty had stopped yowling when Madam Pomfrey spoke. 

“I imagine he doesn’t.  Come along, back to bed with the both of you.  You’re overdue for your Wit-Sharpening Draught.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be going to the library?  There’s… books about lights? Or light books? Books that are lit up?  But there’s books there.”  He let Madam Pomfrey steer him back to the bed. 

“The headmaster has them, remember?  You need to stay in bed so you’ll be here when he brings them.” 

“Oh.”  That did sound rather familiar.  The library at Hogwarts was bad, wasn’t that part of the problem?  He climbed back into the bed when directed. 

“I’ll be right back with your potions.”

A few minutes later, Harry was rather embarrassed.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to try to leave.  It’s just that I remembered we’d talked about books, and I thought I was supposed to go get them.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it just yet.  We just need to make sure you take your potions on time, that’s all.  Luckily, your Mr. Tufty was there to stop you.  I may have to rethink my stance on familiars at this rate.”

But the timing of the potions, particularly while he was sleeping, continued to be an issue.  Harry tried to leave the hospital wing three more times in the next two days.  Once to try to go to the library again and twice to visit his garden, though he couldn’t remember what he wanted to do there.

On the third day of him being awake, Madam Pomfrey, announced he would be having visitors in a few minutes.  Seeing his surprise, she explained, “Oh, no, not a student.  We’ve banned all students from the Hospital Wing.  Too many tourists pretending they had headaches.”  Madam Pomfrey scowled at the temerity.  “Detentions for anyone setting foot in here, unless they have a valid medical emergency that can’t be handled by their head of house.”  Madam Pomfrey prodded Harry to get out of bed and put on his dressing gown.  “No, it’s the Minister, Madam Bones, and a few Aurors.  They’re here to discuss the results of their investigation into how they managed to lose you in that awful place.” 

“The Minister came too?” Harry asked, amazed.  “I thought it would just be Auror Shacklebolt again.”

“Well, I certainly hope they’re coming for more than just an explanation.  The Minister owes you an apology too.  A financial one,” Madam Pomfrey stated firmly, a grim expression on her face.  “There needs to be some sort of monetary compensation.”  She started ushering Harry over to a small table that was theoretically used by her patients to do homework, though in practice, she rarely let them out of bed long enough for it to ever be used. 

“Summer is coming.  Soon.  Hopefully we’ll have you off of most of the nutrition potions by then, but you’ll likely need to take daily doses of Wit-Sharpening Draughts and Draughts of Peace for some time.  At least through the summer, possibly several years.  Possibly regular doses of Dreamless Sleep too.”  Madam Pomfrey’s face was rather serious.  “That will be very expensive, and you’ll need a large enough settlement to pay for them.  Whatever they offer you at first, hold out for more.  A lot more.”

Harry looked at her, his eyes wide.  “With the debtor’s laws, I can’t actually receive a lump sum settlement.  That will go straight to the creditors, unless it’s enough to pay off the debt, and then I only get the excess.”

Madam Pomfrey stilled her bustling for a few seconds, a frown of concern on her face.  “Can you ask for direct payment of bills?  Especially health care?  That’s your most important issue right now.”

“I… Yes, I think so.”  Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember the details.  “I think I can accept the sorts of things that I can use vouchers for.  Health care, housing, food, school supplies, that sort of thing.  Anything non-material.”

“Get as many years of fully paid health care as you can.  Potions, healer’s fees, all supplies, everything.  Maybe a few more years of Azkaban related expenses.  If you can get that, there’s a healer I’ve been wanting to bring in to consult on your case but didn’t since you couldn’t afford it on your own.  Once you have that, then work on the rest.”

Pomfrey hurried off and was shortly back bearing a fresh Wit-Sharpening Draught.  “Extra strength,” she declared.  “Nothing wrong with getting all the medical assistance you can get.”  Harry was fairly certain he wasn’t due for another dose for several more hours, but by now he knew better than to argue with Madam Pomfrey.

Harry spent the next few minutes of waiting for the Minister to arrive desperately thinking of what sorts of non-monetary compensation could possibly make up for being in Azkaban for a month, and of those possibilities, which he stood the greatest chance of actually getting.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the Minister and his entourage left.  He then turned to look at Moody and Tonks, who’d stayed behind.  “You really don’t have a clue why that guard moved me?” 

Moody thumped his way over to the table and sat down.  Tonks slid into the seat beside him.  “The first group of guards – well, emotions were running high.  Several have family in the school.  A couple are Muggle-borns themselves.  You’re a Parselmouth.  Take your pick as to the most likely reason.  They refuse to say much other than the fact that there was a raid and they had one more inmate than they had open cells to put them in.”  Moody’s scowl showed what he thought of that excuse.  “That final guard, though, the one who was working alone… Well, he says he was unnerved by how much the dementors didn’t seem to affect you and thought you weren’t being properly punished.  Load of dung, if you ask me.”

“You don’t think it’s true?” Harry asked.

Moody shook his head.  “The level you were on – the maximum security wing – is constantly guarded by dementors, night and day.  You were found only a few cells down from the Lestranges, for Merlin’s sake.  No one goes there without a damn good reason.  If he’d had transfer paperwork, they could have cleared out the dementors for a few minutes while they put you in the cell, but no paperwork?”  Moody shook his head in disgust.  “He put you in there, cleaned your cell, got your food delivery arranged.  That takes time.  No sane person stays around dementors any longer than they have to.  He must have had a very good incentive to do it, but neither Kingsley or I could get it out of him.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of the dementors which immediately sent Pomfrey bustling off to fetch him a fresh mug of hot chocolate.  She quickly returned with it, and Harry sipped it gratefully.  “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.  I’m not sure I would have gotten half as much without your potion.  I can see why taking it before an exam constitutes cheating.”

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” she quoted with a smile.  “If you will excuse me, I’ll contact Healer Laity while you finish your discussion.  I’d like to see if I can get her over here for a consultation tonight.” 

“What potion did she give you?” Tonks asked as she took a seat at the table. 

“A Wit-Sharpening Draught.  An extra-strength one, she said.”

“Having your wits about you in a negotiation like that is always a bonus.  I think you impressed Bones and surprised Fudge.  Current rumor has you unable to string two thoughts together coherently.”  Moody sounded amused at the prospect, though his false eye rolled back as if it were following Pomfrey’s path.  “I think they were expecting you to blindly agree to whatever they offered.  If Fudge had expected actual negotiations, he would have brought a legal consultant to do the bargaining and his undersecretary to take notes.”

“Well, when I don’t get the Wit-Sharpening Draught on time, I can’t string two thoughts together coherently,” Harry admitted sheepishly.  “I went in search of the kitchens a few days ago and couldn’t find them.  I know exactly where they are, have been there at least twice a day for months, and I still got lost.  Somehow, I ended up in the Slytherin common room.  I’m still not sure how I got in there.”

“That’s probably where Fudge got his information,” Moody said with a bit of distaste in his voice.  “If Malfoy Junior told Malfoy Senior about it, Lucius would have told the Minister as a favor.”

“Well, I think it worked in my favor this time.”  Harry had managed to get all of his medical expenses covered for five years and any remaining Azkaban related medical issues covered for a further five years after that.  He also managed to negotiate generous stipends to cover this summer’s school supplies and groceries and a much larger stipend for housing which could be used to outfit his tent in whatever fashion he wanted.  He’d even gotten them to agree to pay off his bill for the tent canvas at Johanson’s shop.

For non-monetary compensation, the Minister had agreed to declare him an Emancipated Minor which Dumbledore pointed out was necessary for the negotiations to be legally binding in the first place.  He’d also agreed for the Ministry to forgive any current debts owed by Harry or the Potter estate to the Ministry and to waive all required payments or fees to the Ministry on his behalf for the next five years and agreed to help expedite discovering who the current executor for the estate was and replacing them with an executor of Harry’s choice.

Unfortunately, his final request for a Wand Waiver for underage magic could not be granted.  After multiple instances of corruption and bribery were uncovered, the law had recently been amended and Wand Waivers were no longer available to anyone who didn’t have at least one OWL in a wanded subject.  Harry was forced to settle for the guarantee of a Wand Waiver as soon as he earned an OWL.

“Maybe I should have held out for a bigger monetary value, but I’ve been trying to find out how much I actually owe for the last year and a half.  It’s hard to make plans when I don’t even know what I’m making plans for.  It’ll be nice to get the estate straightened out and get a new executor.”

“I can ask my mum if she’d be willing to be your executor,” Tonks offered suddenly.  Harry looked at her with surprise.  “If you don’t already have one in mind.  She’s related to your godfather.  Or, used to be related, at least.  She was disowned when she married my dad.  She told me once that Sirius was her favorite ex-relation, hands down, and that she liked him better than she liked the rest of the family put together.”

“Do you think she’d agree?” Harry asked.  “I can’t pay her for her time, and it’s bound to be a huge headache to get all of the information I want.  Court records for the original lawsuit, trying to figure out where things like photograph albums were sent, any remaining deeds or property records, that sort of thing.  The last thing I need is to have another executor who doesn’t really want the job.” 

“I’ll ask her but I don’t think she’ll mind.  She enjoys that kind of challenge, especially when she has explicit permission to be nosy.  If she’s willing, the two of you can meet for tea or something sometime this summer and discuss it.”

“Even if she’s not willing, I’d like to meet her or at least exchange a few letters.  It’d be nice to hear a few stories about Sirius.”

“Well, I can tell you a few stories about him, as well.  And your father.  I didn’t know them especially well, but they were both Aurors, so I do have a few stories from those days,” Moody contributed.

“I’d love that,” Harry said.  “Professor Flitwick put me in touch with a few of their year mates, so I’ve heard a little about what they were like when they were at Hogwarts, but don’t really know anything about what they did after they graduated.  I’m not even sure how my parents died.  All I know is what was in the Daily Prophet – that there was a fight with Death Eaters and an explosion of some sort.”

“I think Madam Pomfrey would have my hide if I talked about that right now,” Moody said gruffly.  “We’ll sit down and have a good chat about it later on.  Maybe this summer when you’re here for the Chamber.  Should be plenty of time then.  Now, unfortunately, I think it’s time for class.  Lots of work, pounding knowledge into thick skulls.  Not a single fifth year can do a decent Shield Charm yet.  It’s bloody criminal.”  Moody levered himself up and thumped out of the Hospital wing. 

Harry stared after him a bit bemused.  Hadn’t those Ravenclaws declared the Shield Charm to be easy the night of the Dueling club?  Weren’t they fifth years?  They’d talked about studying for their OWLs.  “Is Moody teaching?” Harry asked curiously, wondering how high Moody’s standards were.

“Oh, you haven’t heard about that yet?  Only unofficially.  Officially Moody and I are still here to keep an eye on the Chamber until we can make sure the basilisk is dealt with.  Unofficially, he’s bored, so he volunteered to fill in for Lockhart.”

“Basilisk!  That’s what the monster is?”  Tonks nodded.  “What happened to Lockhart?”

“Oh, the Ravenclaws have been hard at work.” Tonks’s eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm at being able to share juicy gossip.  “They’ve spent plenty of time this year cross-referencing and fact-checking Lockhart’s books.  They’d settled for turning Defense into a study hall but Clearwater always wanted them to do more.  A very public embarrassment, at minimum.  After she died, the school was on lock down.  Students weren’t allowed to go anywhere, other than classes, meals, and their common room.  No Quidditch or clubs.  They used the extra time and devoted it to more research, in honor of her memory.  Eventually, they managed to work out that Lockhart actually hadn’t done any of what he claimed.  Each book was based on someone else’s adventures.

“They sent someone to confront him, to see what he’d say, and he confessed!  He’s been obliviating people and taking credit for their deeds.  He was proud of it!  Then he obliviated the student to make him forget what he’d found out.  Little did he know that the whole house was in on it.  That there were plenty of eavesdropping witnesses and lots of documented proof.  The Ravenclaws went straight for the DMLE – the school was crawling with Aurors and general officers at that point – and had him hauled off.”

“Wow!”  Harry said, eyes wide.  “I knew they were trying to get rid of him, but I thought they’d given up since nothing had happened in months and the year was nearly over.  Is the student he obliviated okay?”

“Well, depends on your definition of okay.  Turns out, obliviation is the only spell Lockhart’s good at.  The kid’s never going to remember what happened for himself.  The mind-healers could try, but Lockhart’s work was too solid.  Trying to reverse the obliviation would cause more damage than simply letting it stay put.  Since only memories about Lockhart were removed, nothing that will affect his life long term, they think it’s safer just to let things stay as they are.  Kid’s the hero of the day, and he’ll never remember exactly how it happened.”  Tonks gestured emphatically at this, and somehow managed to knock over Harry’s fortunately empty mug.  “Oops, sorry about that, Harry.  I’ve never met a cup I couldn’t knock over.  Let me go get you another one.” 

When Tonks returned with a fresh cup of hot chocolate, Harry asked, “Are you sure your mum won’t mind?  About being the executor?  I don’t exactly have a stellar reputation right now.  I heard about some of the Daily Prophet articles.”

“Which ones? The ones right after you were arrested?” Tonks asked.  Harry nodded.  “Well, first, anyone with any common sense knows not to take the Prophet too seriously.  They’ll print any scandal that they think will get them money and write it in the most dramatic fashion possible.  It’s a rag, and everyone knows it.

“Second, yes, the first round of articles were the worst muckraking sort of garbage.  But after we proved you were innocent and realized we’d lost you in Azkaban, they changed their tune fast.  A couple of the reporters tried to interview your aunt and uncle to get a good quote.” 

Harry cringed at the idea.  “I imagine that didn’t go well.  What happened?”

“Your uncle tried to shoot them with his shotgun,” Tonks said dryly.

Harry’s eyes flew open.  “Are they alright?” 

Tonks nodded.  “Luckily, they had the sense to send a Muggle-born with Rita Skeeter to help her blend in, so she knew what it was and hit him with a Disarming Charm just in time.  The gun still went off, but fortunately, it missed.  After that, the Prophet changed their tactic to dig up every bit of dirt they could get on the Dursleys and found lots of it.  They printed the real story of you being disowned, for one thing, and of how you didn’t assault your aunt or vandalize their home, and of how you were suddenly kicked out without any warning last summer.  They even got a copy of your lease from this summer and got a Realtor to explain how strange it was, even in the Muggle world.”

Harry looked at her with wide eyes.  “How’d they even find all of that out?” he asked.

“Some sort of leak at the Ministry, I assume, for anything to do with documents.  The Minister would have been very interested in redirecting attention from the mess in Azkaban to… well, just about any other topic.  And some of the tales the Dursleys were telling about you were just impossible, so they knew there was more to the story.  They kept digging and managed to find Arrbella Figg.  Once they convinced her to talk to them, the rest of the story came out.”

“I’m not sure if I should be grateful to them for correcting the record or upset that they had to correct it in the first place.” 

Tonks chuckled a bit.  “Grateful, I think, judging by what the students have been thinking of you this year.  You come out of it looking like an angel for putting up with those clowns for so many years.  Don’t worry.  People will get bored of talking about it eventually.”

Harry sighed.  “That’s what Professor Flitwick suggested back in January, I guess.  To tell my side of the story before the summer holidays, so that the gossiping dies down by September.”

“In any case, don’t worry about my mum.  She’s automatically on the side of anyone who’s disowned.  Disowned and the godson of her favorite ex-cousin?  If she refuses, it’ll be because she doesn’t think she has the time to do the job properly, not because of your reputation.”

Chapter Text

With the settlement taking care of his medical expenses, Madam Pomfrey was able to get Healer Laity, an expert on dementor exposure who lived in Hogsmeade, to come for a consultation.  She’d promptly made some adjustments to his potions regiment which seemed to help a lot.  Harry’s tendency to try to leave the Hospital Wing right after waking faded, though it didn’t entirely disappear. 

Once his new glasses arrived, Madam Pomfrey started allowing him to receive and write letters, and he quickly exchanged several with an immensely relieved Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Figg, and Theresa.  A letter to Sylvana Gladely mentioning Cal and asking after her family received the reply that they’d managed to hire a solicitor, and Cal’s trial and probable release was scheduled for the following week.  The family would continue to live in Hogsmeade throughout the summer, and she and Ashley were looking forward to meeting him.  Harry was rather embarrassed to realize he didn’t know Titus’s last name, nor where he lived and thus couldn’t send any letter to thank him for his help in Azkaban.

When Madam Pomfrey grudgingly started allowing him general spellbooks though still no actual studying, Harry asked and received the runes book with the plans design for the cold boxes he was hoping to use as a portable root cellar and several conjured wooden crates and sand to use for their construction.  A couple of visits from Professor Babbling saw the cold boxes completed.

With a week to go before the summer holidays, Madam Pomfrey even began allowing him to leave the Hospital Wing for brief periods of time as long as he was supervised by a professor or reliable upper year student and avoided crowds and stressful situations.  Luckily, Percy had been willing to accompany him and Mr. Tufty to his garden. 

“What’s all this?” he asked in surprise, as they stepped into the room.

“It’s just my garden,” Harry said, a bit abashed.  “Potatoes and onions and things.  For me to eat this summer.  They should all be ready to harvest.”

“I knew you said you’d be living on your own, but I had no idea you were doing all this,” Percy said, looking around with wide eyes.  “Or that your secret study room was so luxurious.  Most people settle for taking over an abandoned classroom.  Right, well, where do we start?” 

“We?” Harry asked, rather surprised.  “I thought you wanted some quiet study time?”

“I thought you’d be reading or studying too.  I’ve got the summer to study.  I can spare a few hours to help with this.  We’ll be done in no time.” 

“Let’s start with the onions, then.”

As they got to work, they had plenty of time to talk.  “How’s Ginny doing?” Harry asked. 

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.  Physically, she just has severe magical exhaustion.  The diary was draining her, you see, to fuel whatever it was doing.  She’ll be fine by September.  Mentally, though?  That’s trickier. 

“She knows that she killed Penelope and got you sent to Azkaban.  That’s difficult for her even though she can’t remember it.  She says she keeps worrying about what else she might have done that she can’t remember.  And who knows if the cursed diary has any lasting effects we haven’t discovered yet.”

“I don’t blame her.  For the imprisonment, I mean.  Let her know, if you think it’ll help,” Harry offered.  “I blame You-Know-Who and whoever gave her the diary, and whoever messed with her mind, not her.”

“You-Know-Who?” Percy asked, rather startled.  “What does he have to do with it?”

“Isn’t he the Heir of Slytherin?” Harry asked, confused.  “The one behind the cursed artifact?  The one who possessed Ginny?”

Percy stared at him.  “You-Know-Who is dead,” Percy said slowly.  “Everyone knows that.  He’s been dead for more than ten years.”

“You should really ask Ron and Neville to tell you about Quirrell.  You-Know-Who was possessing him all of last year.  He’s only sort of dead.  He’s living enough to still be possessing Ginny and killing Penelope, at any rate.”

“The headmaster never said…” Percy trailed off.

“Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  Maybe I’m wrong?  I guess the headmaster never explicitly said it was him either, when he told me about the diary a few days ago,” Harry said, beginning to doubt himself.  “He did sort of imply it was You-Know-Who though.  He said both our theories were correct.

“When I talked to Dumbledore at Christmas, he agreed with me that it had to be him.  I thought it was possession again, like with Quirrell.  The headmaster agreed it was a possibility but thought he might be working through some intermediary.  He asked me to not tell anyone since he didn’t want people to panic and he was still trying to figure out how it was being done.  If both theories are true, doesn’t that mean it was You-Know-Who? 

“Maybe he still doesn’t want to panic people, or he needs more time to research the diary to figure out how it works?  You might ask your parents.  He probably told them more than he told you.  Bill, too, I guess.  He’d probably need to know what really happened so he could arrange for the right type of treatment.  But ask discreetly.  If no one has told Ginny, I’d hate to be the cause of her finding out.  And I might have misunderstood the headmaster.”

“I’ll do that,” Percy said slowly.  “Now, Madam Pomfrey forbade me from stressing you out.  Let’s find a lighter topic.  How are your classes coming?  Are you catching up?”

“I’m forbidden from stressing out, remember?” Harry said dryly.  “I’m not allowed to study until summer starts.  I heard about Lockhart from Tonks.  I’m really jealous that Moody is teaching and I can’t go to his classes.  He’s got to be a great teacher.  What’s the students’ version of the Ravenclaws’ grand plot to rid the school of Lockhart?  I’ve been curious all year long as to what they were doing.”

With Percy’s help and some judicious spell work, it went much faster than it had the previous year, and they quickly had his onions, potatoes, and garlic set out on a table to dry and cure for a day or two, along with the acorn squash.  The carrots and parsnips were harvested, trimmed, then stored in a cold box with damp sand, and the dried beans had been gathered into one of the remaining food bags.

“Is that it?” Percy asked. 

“I think so.  The buckwheat’s a lost cause.  I’ll just turn them under next time I’m in here and let them compost in place over the summer, same with all of the rest of the leftover debris.  I’ll take care of the herbs, beets, lettuce, and spinach right before we leave so they’re fresh.  Greens only last a couple of weeks.  Thanks for your help.” 

“Of course.  Mum would send me a howler if she thought I’d let you do all that by yourself while I sat around.  Now, I do need to get the two of you back to the hospital wing soon before Madam Pomfrey starts getting worried.”

“Let me just grab a few things.  Madam Pomfrey said I could charm my tent tomorrow but only under her supervision since it’s tiring.”  Harry grabbed his new yellow satchel and quickly started packing it with the tent, notes for the construction, and his Charms books.  His library books had disappeared as had the picnic basket and fruit and the tea cup he’d been drinking from when the headmaster came to get him had been emptied and washed, so he assumed one of the elves had been in his garden to clean sometime in the last two months.

“You still haven’t charmed your tent yet?” Percy asked with concern.  “Aren’t you out of time?”

“Just about, yeah.  I charmed this bag as a test piece, though, so I know I can do it.  Well, mostly charmed the bag.  I have one more Extension Charm to do on the wand pocket and one final Imperturbable Spell, and then it’ll be finished.  Charming the tent won’t be a problem,” Harry assured him, though the Extension Charms were only the first things he needed.  But the settlement would fund a shopping spree that should help set up a kitchen and bathroom.

“Okay, I think that’s all I need for now.  I’d hate to be late for my scheduled nap.  Madam Pomfrey would chain me to the bed until school lets out.”

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Flitwick greeted cheerfully.  “I hear you’re ready for me to check the charms on your tent?” 

Harry nodded.  “And…” Harry nervously glanced to make sure Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot. “It went well enough that I recast the Extension Charms on my bag when Madam Pomfrey was busy with something else.  Could you check it too?”

“Of course, of course!”  Harry showed him to the corner where Madam Pomfrey had let him set up the tent.  While Harry looked on a bit nervously, Flitwick checked the charms on his new bag, then on the tent.  After a few minutes of checking the exterior, he removed his shoes and disappeared inside.  When he came out, he had a wide smile on his face.

“The Extension Charms are very well done.  I’m impressed!”  he complemented.  “Not professional level but that will come with a bit more practice.  They’ll outlast the fabric with as often as you’re planning to use it, and that’s all that’s needed.  It might even be the fabric at fault.  You’ve certainly hit its limits on the amount of magic it can hold.  Five layers on the tent and main pocket of the bag and three on the wand pocket?”  Harry nodded in confirmation.  “Did this seem particularly difficult to charm?  Any problems with concentration?”

Harry shook his head.  “No, though after doing all three charms, I was a bit tired.  I was fine after a nap.  The charm itself felt easy, like I could have added a few more layers without much trouble, if only the fabric would have allowed it.” 

Flitwick nodded, as if Harry had confirmed his thoughts.  “I think you’ve gotten the hang of the charm enough that you can begin to cast it in reasonable amounts on your own.  Anything more than five or six layers or if you think there’s something wrong with it, please have me take a look at it, but none of your recent Extension Charms have been at all unstable.”

Harry smiled in relief.  “How big is it?  I peeked in earlier, but you’d warned me to not go in, so I couldn’t see much, just that it seemed open inside.”

“Why don’t you come and see?”

Harry eagerly went over.  “Shoes off, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick advised.  “You’ll want to keep your shoes off, ideally, until you’ve installed some sort of floor.  You need to protect your fabric as much as possible and the bottom of the tent will see the most wear.”

“I cast the Imperturbable Charm on it.  That should help some,” Harry offered as he took off his shoes and crawled in after Flitwick.

After he was in there, he straightened and looked around in awe. 

“Oh, wow,” he breathed. “It seemed large from the doorway, but it looks even bigger when you’re inside it.  Cavernous.”  He walked a bit and stared up at the ceiling soaring high above.  He’d not had a choice in color and received a bright yellow.  He’d been worried that dirt would show easily on the bright color, but now, with the light from the Hospital Wing shining through it, it provided a lot of illumination.  A white or light blue might be better, perhaps make it resemble a sky, but any light color would be preferable to something dark.  Imagine what it’d look like if he’d ended up with a garish purple or dark midnight blue!

“I never expected I’d be able to get it to be this huge.” 

“The effects of layered spells can increase very quickly, especially on something like the Extension Charm that doubles dimensions with each layer.  Exponential growth,” Flitwick offered. “Though that’s offset by an increase in the difficulty of casting it.  You’ll learn about it in Arithmancy.  I’d estimate you have almost half an acre here, though it’s not all tall enough to stand up in along the side edges.”

“I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with all of this,” Harry said. 

“With a space this big out of plain canvas, you’ll need to be very careful about weight,” Flitwick cautioned.  “Make your Feather-light Charms as strong as you possibly can.  You’ll still have the potential to overload the charms, though, so try to charm all heavy items individually.  It’d really be better if you could build an inner frame of a better material than canvas, but that’s not really practical on this scale unless you’re building a mansion.”

“No, I definitely have no use for a mansion,” Harry confirmed.  He wandered a bit more, inspecting the sloped side as it got down to meet the floor of the tent.

Half an acre.  Well, the best thing he could do with half an acre was to treat it like an acre.  He smiled.

“Raised beds.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” Professor Flitwick replied. 

“Raised beds, like in my conservatory.  I’d have to get them to regulate temperature, provide artificial sunlight and water, that sort of thing.  A big indoor garden.

“That’s what I’ll do here.  I’ll have a living area, of course, with a kitchen and bed and house type stuff, but I’ll have a big garden that I can take with me anywhere I go.  Well, eventually.  I’ll start slow.  I don’t really need something this big while I’m at Hogwarts.  I don’t even use all of the beds in my conservatory, most of the time, so I hardly need more, but that’ll give me a few years to experiment.  Start with growing the more perishable things that I can’t preserve.  Or grow some of the things that take longer to mature.  There’s more than enough height in here to even plant a few trees if I’m careful about the sizes and where I put them.”

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you given a thought to joining any clubs next year?  With that sort of plan, you’d fit in well with the Artificer's Club I sponsor.  They enjoy collaborating on projects like that.  Mr. Montgomery – the boy whose bag you charmed – is a member.  They’ve been making plans to turn his bag into a large communal study area for their NEWTs.  He was quite impressed with your work.”

“Impressed with his bag?” Harry asked, baffled.  “I thought he’d be mad.  I don’t remember asking permission first.”

“Layered charms are notoriously difficult,” Flitwick smiled at him.  “I only require two layers for an Acceptable and three for an Exceeds Expectations.  An Outstanding comes from the duration of the charm – if you can get it to where it’s likely to last multiple years.  It’s very rare any of my students go beyond three layers.”

The final few days of term passed in a blur of packing, finishing up in his garden, arranging his tent to his liking, and strictly enforced mandatory naps.  Harry even managed to squeeze in a visit to the kitchens to say goodbye to Mipsy and eat all the chocolate cake he wanted.

The afternoon before they were to leave, Harry received a summons to the headmaster’s office.  Madam Pomfrey grudgingly allowed him to go but only if he were chaperoned by Mr. Tufty.  Harry briefly thought of protesting that he didn’t need a chaperon at all, but it wasn’t like he wanted to leave Mr. Tufty behind, even if he didn’t like the way Pomfrey had worded it.

“Ah!  Harry!” The headmaster said genially.  “Come in and have a seat.”  He waived Harry to the remaining open chair.  “Sherbet lemon?” Dumbledore started to offer a bowl of candies, then withdrew it.  “I suppose Poppy would disapprove.  A chocolate, perhaps?”  He put the bowl of sherbet lemons down and offered a small box of cream filled chocolates instead.  Harry took one gratefully.  He did love chocolate, but Madam Pomfrey’s supply was intended for medical use and was plain without any added flavorings or fillings.  Harry suspected she’d disapprove of the cream filled chocolates nearly as much as she would the sherbet lemons.  There wasn’t nearly enough chocolate in the chocolates to be properly medicinal.

“I thought we might go over your summer plans,” Dumbledore started.  “I understand you’ll be allowed to start catching up on your school work soon?”

Harry nodded.  “Hopefully, starting tomorrow.  I’ve got an appointment with Healer Laity.  She seems to be a little less… overprotective than Madam Pomfrey.”

The headmaster’s eyes twinkled with humor.  “Well, Poppy does enjoy her hovering.  That wouldn’t be nearly as practical in an everyday clinic like Healer Laity’s. 

“Once you’re cleared for studying, you will have a great deal to catch up on.  I believe I’ve already mentioned you’re not responsible for the homework you’ve missed?”  Harry nodded.  “And there were no end-of-term exams, which puts us in a bit of a quandary as to how to tell if you’ve learned the year’s lessons.  We’re not so much concerned about Miss Weasley’s or your ability to catch up, but Mr. Creevey and Mr. Finch-Fletchley have missed a great deal of schooling.” 

Harry blinked in surprise.  He’d assumed he’d catch up on his own over the summer, though he did see why they’d be worried about Colin, especially.  He’d missed nearly his entire first year.  “What’s going to happen?”

The headmaster outlined a plan to have him, Ginny, Colin, and Justin return to Hogwarts a few days early to take comprehensive exams to prove they were ready to move on to the next year’s material, or if they needed to repeat a class or be offered remedial lessons during the course of the year.

When he was finished, Dumbledore looked at Harry.  “Do you have any concerns about the exams?” 

“Not really, other than for Defense and maybe Potions.  I only missed two months and I’ll have all summer to catch up.  It’s hard to imagine my getting so low a grade as to require me to fail entirely rather than just needing remedial lessons.”

The headmaster sighed.  “I’ll have a discussion with Severus regarding the need for leniency and unbiased grading.  I’ve no doubts you’ll be able to catch up by the end of the summer.  Though, if it interferes with your orders from your healer, please let us know and we’ll try to work around it. 

“Have you made living arrangements for this summer?  I admit I’m rather concerned about you living on your own with your tendency to wake up a bit confused.” 

“Yes,” Harry said.  “Healer Laity set it up so that I can pay a friend of mine and his family a bit of money to check up on me a few times through the day, especially right after I wake up.  She has some sort of plan for Mr. Tufty to be able to summon help.  She said she’ll explain it when I go to her clinic tomorrow.”  Harry gave Mr. Tufty a few strokes.  “He’s gotten really good at recognizing when I’m about to wander off.  I am getting a lot better, I promise.”  Harry had only tried to leave the infirmary twice in the last week – once to try to go to the library again and a second time to go out to the lake, though he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to.  It’d been pouring that day.

“Good.  If anything changes or you need any assistance, please do let me know.  I will be remaining in Hogwarts for the majority of the summer, so I will be close by.”

“I will,” Harry promised.  “Though, I’m really looking forward to living on my own for once, so I hope what we’ve set up already will be enough.”

“Ah, the independence of youth!” Dumbledore exclaimed, the twinkle back in his eye.  “You’re a few years early for that.  Quite precocious.”  Harry grinned.  “Now, with regard to the Chamber.  We’re finalizing plans with regard to that now.  We’ll be ready to try to enter the Chamber in two weeks.  Would you be available then?” 

Harry nodded.  “As far as I know.  I don’t have any real plans besides studying and exploring Hogsmeade.”

“We think we’ve come up with a plan that should let you remain in relative safety while the experts handle the basilisk.  If it works, it shouldn’t take more than an afternoon or two on your part.  I’ll send you an owl with the exact date and time when we know it.  Just let us know if it conflicts with anything you need to do.”

After a few more minutes, Dumbledore gave him a thick sheaf of parchment – course outlines to use a study guide and what looked to be Hermione’s notes for the entire year – and bade him have a good week.

The next morning, he was about to board one of the carriages that was waiting to take the departing students to the train station in Hogsmeade when he heard a voice behind him calling his name.

“Harry!  Wait up, Harry!”  Harry turned to look and sighed when he saw Neville, Ron, and Hermione running towards him, pulling their trunks behind them.  Sighing, he turned back around and boarded the carriage.  Mr. Tufty leapt in as well.  A few seconds later, the trio boarded it after him.  “You don’t mind if we join you, do you, Harry?”  Harry did, in fact, mind, but since they were already in the carriage, there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.  As much as he’d grown tired of Madam Pomfrey’s overprotectiveness, he’d been enjoying the privacy that the hospital wing had provided.  Someone had even retrieved his clothing and trunk from his dorm, so he hadn’t even had to set foot in the Gryffindor Tower to pack and had been able to avoid interacting any student but Percy.

“I… uh… Well, that is… We just wanted to apologize,” Neville stammered, face red.

“For?”

“For… uh… thinking you were the Heir this year?”  It sounded more like a question than an apology.

“Which part of thinking I was the Heir are you apologizing for?  The part where you stalked me invisibly for months?  The part where you went through my belongings, and stole private legal documents?  Or is it the part where you then misunderstood those documents and spread your misinterpretation throughout the entire school making an already bad situation even worse?  Or when you accused me of theft without any evidence whatsoever?”  Harry scowled at Neville, daring him to answer.

“Uh…”  Neville quailed at his glare, then gathered himself.  “All of it?” 

“Fine.  You’ve apologized.  Now leave me alone.”  Harry rummaged through his new bag, looking for something he could pretend to read for the few minutes it would take to get to Hogsmeade.  He was beginning to wish he’d just walked instead of taking the carriage.

“That’s not how apologies work,” Hermione lectured.  “You’re supposed to accept his apology and forgive us for our mistake.”

Harry glanced up.  “You want me to lie, then?  Forgiveness isn’t earned in a five minute conversation.”

“Can’t you see why we’d think that?” Ron exploded.  “Come on, think of it from our point of view.”

“Think of this year from mine,” Harry said flatly.  “I’m under no obligation to forgive anyone.  Dumbledore me questioned extensively less than two weeks before you broke into my trunk, and I was able to prove that I wasn’t the Heir to his satisfaction.  What made you so sure that you knew better than him?”  He stopped rummaging in his bag and focused on Ron.

“Well… Funny story, there…  We… Uh…”  Ron trailed off, unable to come up with a suitable explanation.

“We asked Malfoy,” Neville said in a small voice.  “He said it was you.” 

Harry scoffed and started rummaging in his bag again.  “Since when do you listen to anything that git says?” 

“Well, I… We disagreed on who the Heir might be.  I thought it was Malfoy, but Ron thought it was you.  Hermione wasn’t sure.”  Harry rolled his eyes.  “So, we asked Malfoy about it.  He thought he was talking to his friends.  He said you were the heir and bragged that he’d been the one to tell you to attack Justin.” 

Harry sighed and stopped rummaging and put his bag aside.  This conversation would take a while.  “Just because he’s an arse doesn’t mean I’m the Heir.  All he did was tell me that Finch-Fletchley was a Muggle-born, albeit in a rather crude fashion.  But he also named a dozen other people, including Hermione, and none of them were attacked.  Malfoy’s an idiot.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Neville said in a small voice.  “I was hoping we could still be friends?” 

Harry looked at him incredulously.  “Tell me, at what point did you figure out I wasn’t the Heir?”

“When Dumbledore told Ron that Ginny had been possessed by the diary,” Neville admitted.

“So, a month and a half ago, you were perfectly willing to believe I was capable of murder?”  None of the three would meet his gaze.  “You never once considered that I might be possessed?”  Neville shook his head.  “And you were willing to think I’d petrify Mr. Tufty?  As what? A way to cover my tracks? Gain sympathy?  How could you possibly think I’d do something like that?”

“We didn’t know about Mr. Tufty,” Hermione said quickly.  “No one knew he’d been petrified other than you and a few of the professors.  We didn’t find that out until they started curing people and he showed up.”

Harry stared at her.  “How could you not know?” he asked, incredulously.  “He slept in the dorm every single night.  He was attacking Scabbers at least once a week, if not more.  Isn’t it rather obvious when he’s suddenly no longer there?  Why didn’t any of you just ask me where he was? If he was doing okay?  You knew he was missing.  The whole common room heard he was missing.”

Ron and Neville exchanged nervous looks.  “I went to Professor McGonagall,” Ron eventually stated, ears turning red.  “I had him barred from the tower.  I figured she’d done something to prevent him from getting in and just not told you yet.”

“I… what?  Seriously?  When you knew I was trying one last thing?  We’d just cast that Soft Paws spell on the tower as a whole, and you didn’t even give it a chance to see if it’d work before going to McGonagall?”

“Well, you weren’t doing enough!  I had to do something!” 

“Something like, I don’t know, keeping Scabbers on your side of the room?  Or even in the dorm room?  It can’t all be on my side, Ron.  Some of it is your responsibility, too.  I can cast whatever spells I like on the dorm room, but they’re no good when Scabbers wanders off to the common room where they’re not in effect.”

“Scabbers never goes into the common room,” Ron said defensively.  “He sticks near me.  But he should be able to go wherever he likes.”

“He’s a rat, Ron,” Harry said flatly.  “Prey.  Lots of things eat rats.  Part of your job is to keep him safe from predators, which means keeping him confined so he’s not around those predators.  And he does go to the common room at night.  I’ve seen him there myself.  He probably sleeps all day because he wanders all over the place doing who knows what all night long.”

“Well, I kept him safe from predators by getting Mr. Tufty out of the tower,” Ron said mulishly.  “Now I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“This is one thing I didn’t miss this year,” Harry sighed.  “Arguing about Mr. Tufty and Scabbers.  Look, let’s say you were right.  That the reason Mr. Tufty wasn’t in the dorm room was that you’d gotten him kicked out.  Left him stuck in the hallway where one cat had already been attacked and petrified.  How is that better?  You knew I thought he was missing.  Mrs. Norris had been petrified just hours before.  So why did all of you sit around, thinking he was safe, while I’m up in the dorm room worrying all night long?  None of you thought to tell me?  Seriously?”  Harry looked around, but they all avoided his gaze.

“We didn’t want to argue about it again,” Neville said in a small voice.  “I thought about telling you, but your curtains were closed when I went upstairs.”

“I wasn’t asleep.  I didn’t sleep a wink that night.  You could have just called my name, and I would have opened the curtains.”

“I’m sorry,” Neville said again.  “I know that’s not much, but I’d like it if we could be friends again?”

“You want to be friends with someone that you had such a low opinion of that you could conceive of him being a murderer.”  Harry glared at Neville, and he nodded miserably.  Harry sighed.  “Why?  Why do you even want to be my friend?  Why did you ever start being nice to me in the first place?  I could never figure that out.”

“I well…  I… We…” Neville glanced at Hermione.  “Well, you haven’t got any other friends, so I thought you might…  want one? Or need one?”  He trailed off uncertainly.

Harry glared at him.  “I’d rather have no friends at all than only have a friend because they pity me.  I’m perfectly capable of making friends on my own, thanks.  I don’t need your charity.”

“Well, you don’t have any friends,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly.  “So, you need some.”

“Of course I have friends.”  Harry rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide it from them.  “What do you call Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?  Mrs. Figg?  Theresa?  Mipsy?  The Gladelys?  I think I’ve even managed to almost make friends with Percy, though it’s kind of hard to tell whether he considers me a friend or part of his prefect obligations.”

“Adults don’t count,” Ron said. 

“Is Hagrid not your friend?  I thought he was.  I’ll have to tell him you don’t consider him a friend anymore.  And Percy isn’t an adult yet, as much as he’d like it if he were.”

“You know what I mean,” Ron argued.  “People our age, in classes with us.” 

“I really don’t see the point.  Sure, it’d be nice to have someone to pass notes to, but I’m not going to stoop to accepting friendship with people who only are offering because they feel sorry for me.  Not when you’re willing to let me worry that Mr. Tufty has died, or when you’re willing to not speak to me for two months because of something stupid like Quidditch or –”

“Quidditch isn’t stupid!”

Harry continued as if Ron hadn’t interrupted him “Or if you’re willing to take Draco Malfoy’s word over my own word or accuse me of theft or think I’m capable of murder.  I don’t need that sort of friendship.” 

Harry turned to look out the window.  Surely riding from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade couldn’t take that long.  It was just around the lake.  Thankfully, they did seem to be nearing the station. 

“Listen, Ron, tell your parents I said hi, okay?” 

“Tell them yourself,” Ron said.  “I don’t do favors for people who aren’t my friends.” 

“I can’t tell them myself.  I won’t see them.  Well, I’m sure your mum will stop by and say hello in person sometime soon.  But I’d appreciate if you said hi for me today.”

“I’ll tell them,” Neville offered, voice rather small again.

“What do you mean you won’t see them?  Aren’t you going on the Hogwarts Express?” Hermione asked stiffly. 

“No, I’m not.  Thank you, Neville,” Harry said absently, as the carriage started to slow.  “I appreciate it.” 

“Why not?  Where are you going instead?” Hermione questioned with a bit of an impatient tone and furrowed brows. 

“I’m staying here, of course.”  Harry, still gazing out the window, started to grin as a familiar face came into view and waved enthusiastically as the carriage finally halted.  “Look, I’ve got to go.  Someone’s waiting for me.  We can argue about this more next year, if you still want to.” 

Harry opened grabbed his bag and hopped down from the carriage, waiting for Mr. Tufty, then walked over, still grinning.  “Cal!  Hi!”

“Kid!  It’s good to see you!”  And Cal wrapped him in a warm hug.