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Chapter Text

“The Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra, is one of the most infamous curses in Western civilization, to the point that even muggles have heard of the incantation, though to them it has been distorted into ‘abra cadabra’. The curse is not particularly complicated, but still eludes most wizards for two reasons. First, it requires a significant amount of magical power; few wizards can cast Avada Kedavra multiple times in a row. Second, it requires pure, lethal intent that few wizards have. The intent does not have to be directed at the target- wizards have been known to power the curse with their own wish to die- but there cannot be any doubt or hesitation. In return, the caster has the most perfectly lethal spell. It cannot be blocked by any known shield spell, and being hit by the spell is instantly and always* lethal. -A Practical Overview of Defensive Magic, by Osmond Trillby, 1984

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    Lord Voldemort was, all things considered, pretty good at aiming spells. While claims that he could shoot a Killing Curse from the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower and hit a knut lying on the quidditch pitch were (highly) exaggerated, his spells usually hit what he wanted them to hit. But even the Dark Lord Voldemort makes mistakes, not that he or any of his followers would ever admit it. 

    A number of mistakes were made by Voldemort on Halloween night of 1981. The one history would remember was when he cast the Killing Curse at Harry Potter and triggered a trap his mother cobbled together out of esoteric magic and some blood runes her auror husband didn’t really need to know about. But that particular curse was a twofold mistake. It brought about his defeat on a strategic level, of course, but it also didn’t go quite where the Dark Lord wanted it to. It was only a few inches off, but the Killing Curse did not strike Harry Potter on his forehead, as its caster had intended, but rather on the boy’s right eye.

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    Harry Potter, of No. 4 Privet Drive, was currently sitting in front of a dictionary in the library of the local elementary school. The book was open to the ‘F’ section, and Harry’s eye was trained on the third definition of the word freak. “One that is markedly unusual or abnormal”, according to Merriam-Webster, who the librarian assured him was very reliable. Much more so than Oxford, apparently, although Harry couldn’t hear her mumblings well enough to understand why she had such strong opinions on dictionaries.

    Well, at least he knew why his relatives called him that word now. It was certainly true. Having a zig-zag scar over one eye was markedly unusual, he supposed. At least, he’d never seen anyone else with one eye. 

    Harry’s eye travelled a few lines up to definition 1b, “a seemingly capricious action or event”. After looking up what ‘capricious’ meant, Harry supposed definition 1b applied to things that happened around him. It was a freak when lights appeared in the cupboard despite Uncle Vernon refusing to replace the burnt out lightbulb, he thought, or when he knew what people were thinking without them saying it. 

    So he was a freak then. That was fine. Of course, he still wasn’t quite sure why his relatives said it so hatefully, but he’d begun to suspect that they were referring to more than his scarred-over eye when they called him a freak. He’d gotten the impression of images sometimes when they were particularly angry. Uncle Vernon gave him flashes of a man with messy dark hair and bronze skin like Harry’s own and a green-eyed woman with pretty red hair. Aunt Petunia gave images of a little girl, also red-haired and green-eyed, and a boy with stringy black hair and clothes almost as worn-out and ill-fitting as the rags she clothed Harry with. Once he’d even gotten something from Aunt Petunia that he somehow thought might have been a memory. The red-haired girl jumped from a swing and floated gently down to earth like she had a parachute in one of Dudley’s cartoons. It was impossible, but no more impossible than Harry seeing his aunt’s memories.

    Harry leaned back in his chair and thought. Maybe his relatives meant definition 1b rather than definition 3. If markedly unusual or capricious events occurred around him… well, Harry wondered if he could somehow control that.

---

    “Hey kid, you alright?”

    Harry looked up from where he was sitting under a slide at the playground trying not to cry from the beating Dudley and his friends had administered. Really, he should be fine, they were interrupted mid-attack by the siren song of an ice cream van. But as he looked up at the older boy standing over him, Harry suspected he still had a tear or two on his face regardless.

    “I’m fine. Just like the shade. Who’re you?” Harry asked guardedly.

    “I’m Cody. Really though kid, you’re looking down, and don’t think I didn’t see those little shits beating you up earlier.”

    Wow. Cody said ‘shit’. Not even Dudley did that.

    “Tell ya what kid, I’ve been down on my luck like you, but I know just the thing to cheer you up. There’s a really cool surprise I’ll show you tonight, okay. You know Walpole Bridge, down by the railroad tracks? I’ll see you there. Trust me, this’ll blow your mind.”

    Harry frowned. He knew this was a bad idea, for a number of reasons. If he got caught sneaking out, Uncle Vernon would probably break a few bones. And he didn’t really know anything about Cody. 

But even though he was never allowed to watch, Dudley always had the TV volume turned up very loud, and if there was one thing Harry knew from listening to Dudley’s movies and TV shows, it was that good things eventually happen to good people. Harry reckoned he was a good person, so maybe this was the good thing finally happening to him! And besides, maybe Cody’s surprise had something to do with his own freakishness. And he had felt anticipation and excitement from Cody when he mentioned the bridge.

So that night Harry used his freakishness to unlock his cupboard, slipped a kitchen knife into the pocket of his baggy trousers (he was hopeful, but was a firm believer in Precautions), and set off to meet Cody.

He arrived to see Cody leaning casually against the railing in the very middle of the bridge, looking very cool and grown-up under the streetlight. “Hey kid! Glad to see you came! I was worried you’d chicken out. Come on over, you can only see it from up here.”

Harry cautiously approached Cody and looked out from on top of the bridge. “I don’t see anything…” Harry said, turning around to frown at Cody. Then he saw the look on Cody’s face, eerily reminiscent of Uncle Vernon, and reached for the knife. Cody’s arms shot out lightning fast, one grabbing Harry’s neck and the other grabbing Harry’s wrist and squeezing painfully hard until Harry felt something break and dropped the knife.

Harry looked into Cody’s eyes and felt  his thoughts. “It is better than stray animals. I’ll throw him off the bridge and it’ll look like a suicide once the train comes in a few minutes. No one will miss him.”

If he wasn’t being choked to death, Harry would have growled in anger, or just screamed at the injustice of it all. But he could physically feel his freakishness roiling inside him, eager to protect him. So he made Cody let go. And then he pushed. 

Harry watched as Cody flew across the empty street and over the opposite edge of the bridge. Numbly, Harry crossed the street and looked down over the railing. Cody was lying on the railroad tracks, his body twisted at unnatural angles. Harry wasn’t sure if he was dead or not, but he stared at Cody for a while until he heard a train whistle.

Harry decided he didn’t need to see that, so he started walking home, trying to coax his freakishness into fixing his wrist. To his surprise, it worked after a few minutes. It hurt almost as bad as when it was broken in the first place, but now he wouldn’t have to make breakfast for his relatives with one hand. But now that he wasn’t thinking about his broken bone, he now had to think about what had just happened. The way Harry saw it, there was bad news and good news.

The bad news, of course, was that he’d just killed someone. Sure it was self defense when he threw him off the bridge, but he could have at least tried to use his freakishness to move him out of the way of the train. So he probably wasn’t a good person anymore.

The good news was that Harry didn’t think it mattered if he was a good person or not. After all, Dudley’s cartoons had talking coyotes and birds, and the only animal Harry had ever heard talk was a snake, so if the TV had gotten that wrong, he supposed they could have gotten their moral lessons wrong too. He’d convinced himself Cody was going to finally give him an explanation for his freakishness and start him on an epic adventure. Maybe even be his mentor, or his friend.

Harry scoffed to himself. A friend. Yeah right. Not for someone like him, he was markedly unusual. Harry decided that he didn’t know if the cartoons were right about there being a power in friendship- they probably were, getting beat up by Dudley’s gang hurt more than by Dudley alone- but there was also a power in freakishness. He could be strong with it. It was probably the only way he could be strong; he couldn’t be physically strong since the Dursleys starved him, and he couldn’t be one of those brilliant inventors who took over the world with clever machines since he would get beaten for “cheating” if he outperformed Dudley’s abysmal grades.

But his freakishness was a power all his own. He could use that. He could be strong, stronger than Dudley, stronger than Uncle Vernon one day. 

---

    When the first letter came, Harry focused his freakishness and slipped it into his cupboard. He read it that night under a conjured ball of light and felt something he didn’t have a word for, but would later identify as melancholy. It was a much more elaborate trap than Cody had laid, but he was sure that it would still end up with someone trying to murder him for fun, or treating him like the “other kind of freaks” Uncle Vernon had threatened to sell him to a few times.

Harry snorted in amusement the next day when two letters arrived, but he just slipped them into his cupboard to use as practice material. That night, one letter was consumed by fire that was only warm, not hot, and the other was made to say different things in the same script (such as “Dudley Dursley is a stupid pig” and “I will be strong”) before Harry tried to make it completely vanish. It didn’t work, but Harry could feel his freakishness trying.

    When four letters came, Harry began to get concerned. He didn’t know how dedicated whoever was sending the letters was to this bit, but it would only be a few days before it would be impossible to hide the sheer volume of letters from his relatives. Therefore, Harry had to be proactive.

    “Um, Aunt Petunia? There’s some funny letters in here. They’re, ah, addressed to me. Say they’re from some hog-wart place. Obviously junk, but…” Harry trailed off as he was buffeted with images from Aunt Petunia’s mind. The red-haired girl eagerly waving a letter that looked like the ones he had received. The black-haired boy sneering at her, also holding a letter. A strict-looking woman sitting in a living room with the red-head, two other adults Harry recognized from pictures he’d been forced to dust as Petunia’s parents, and a young Petunia herself. A young Aunt Petunia crying over a different letter.

    “Yes. Obviously junk. Just ignore those letters, boy.” Aunt Petunia said with obvious strain in her voice. Then she took one of the letters and hurried upstairs to where Vernon was getting ready for work.

    Harry considered the letters and the memories he had seen as he made breakfast for his relatives. Combining the memories he had glimpsed with what he thought of as the Fundamental Law of Dursleys (which was that they never, ever, had his best interests at heart), Harry could only come to one conclusion: the letters were real, and the red-haired girl was Petunia’s sister and his mother, unless Aunt Petunia had two sisters she never talked about.

    And Petunia had memories of his mother doing freakish things too! Which meant, according to the letters, his freakishness was actually magic, which Harry supposed was probably a better name than freakishness. And if the black-haired boy had a letter as well, then he was a freak too!

    Harry smiled at his breakthrough. Of course, he still had more questions. So many more. Who was the black-haired boy in Petunia’s memories? Where did he get all the things on the list? And how did he write back? He suspected the post office wouldn’t work. Hadn’t the letter said something about owls?

---

    Minerva McGonagall frowned at the sheet of parchment lying atop her otherwise perfectly organized desk. She was certain she hadn’t left it there. So after a series of charms to check for nefarious enchantments (it had been a decade since the war, but it didn’t feel that long ago sometimes.) she opened what turned out to be a letter written on the back of a Hogwarts acceptance letter.

    To Whom it May Concern

    I have received a number of letters of acceptance to someplace called “Hogwarts”. I was, of course, skeptical at first, and assumed it was an elaborate prank. However, I have since been convinced that this letter is a sincere, albeit wholly inadequate, invitation. I am intrigued by this idea, but I fear there are a number of circumstances that must force me to decline your invitation even if it is to a legitimate educational institution and not some sort of mental hospital or governmental blacksite.

    Said obstacles are, in no particular order: my lack of funds for tuition or supplies, my inability to secure transportation to Hogwarts even if I knew where it was, my lack of permission from my guardians, the fact that I have no idea where one would procure magical school supplies, concerns about my ability to secure gainful employment if I leave the normal school system to attend magic school, and the fact that my current guardians are militantly opposed to anything they consider “unusual” or “freakish”, including magic.

    If you have any suggestions concerning these obstacles, you may write me back at No. 4 Privet Drive (the cupboard under the stairs, since apparently magical letters require a specific room) or pay me a visit at said address this coming Friday, August 2nd, between the hours of 1 and 3 PM.

    If none of this letter makes sense to the reader, I sincerely apologize for any confusion or inconvenience I have inflicted upon you. As the aforementioned inadequate invitation does not actually explain how “wizards” communicate with one another, my plan is to make my freakishness magic take this letter to “Whom it May Concern”. So if you are not Who it Does Concern then I must reiterate my apologies. 

    Sincerely, Harry Potter

    Minerva swore. She took her emotional support coffee mug from her shelf, hurled it against the wall, repaired it, and repeated the process a few more times until she no longer felt an overwhelming urge to hex anyone. Then she sent a note to Poppy telling her she’d have to take a rain check for their lunch on Friday, picked up a bottle of firewhiskey, and began storming down to the dungeons to find Severus.

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    Albus frowned at the pile of cat droppings on his desk. He really wished Minerva would find less passive aggressive methods of expressing her displeasure whenever he did something she found disagreeable. Putting aside the lack of professionalism inherent in pooping on your boss’s desk, the turds did not actually tell him what the problem was, only that one existed. It was times like this he really wished he could convince the board to fund those communication workshops. 

    Then Albus smacked himself. Of course Minerva was angry! He honestly should have seen this coming. He didn’t want to have to remove fish from the menu either, but the first of the next generation of MacDougals was starting this year, and that family was infamous for their deadly seafood allergies.

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    Severus Snape sneered at the bland neighborhood that was Privet Drive. He would proudly admit he was something of a curmudgeon who found most of the eccentricities of the wizarding world to be pointless eyesores, but he would rather dress like Albus bloody Dumbledore for the rest of his life than live somewhere so depressingly uniform as Privet Drive.

    He took the lead walking up to the porch. Minerva was far more comfortable in muggle settings than most purebloods, but he knew she still felt out of place, and she looked the part. He openly smirked when she jumped a little at the chime when he rang the doorbell. Apparently she always knocked. 

    Then the door opened and Severus was surprised for a number of reasons. First, because the child looking up at him looked almost exactly like a young James Potter with Lily’s eyes, except Potter had never been that short and skinny, nor had he ever worn such a calculatedly neutral expression. The second reason for Snape’s surprise was that he felt a crude legilimency probe brush against his occlumency barriers. The third reason was that after getting an initial burst of surprise from the boy, his passive legilimency turned up nothing.

    The Potter child had an impeccable pureblood mask, an aptitude for legilimency, and rudimentary occlumency barriers. He could feel the migraines already. 

    “Please come in.” the boy said, stepping out of the doorway and leading them to sit down at a kitchen counter. “Apologies for the chairs. Aunt Petunia is very… particular about who can sit on the furniture in the living room. She has a strict no freaks policy, I’m afraid. Can I make you some tea? Or do wizards not drink tea?”

    Severus snuck a look Minerva, decided she was too gobsmacked to answer, and so did so for the both of them. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Potter. Although for future reference, wizards do indeed drink tea. We are British, after all.”

    “Very well, probably for the best. Aunt Petunia is particular about her teacups as well. So, I assume my letter found its way to one of you then?”

    “Yes, it did. I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and this is Professor Snape, potions instructor and head of Slytherin House. Based on your letter, I believe there is a lot of explaining ahead of us. Perhaps you could start by telling us what you know of magic and the wizarding world?”

    “Of course. For magic, I know I can cause capricious events.” Severus quirked an eyebrow at that peculiar description as the boy continued. “Moving things with my mind, starting fires without a lighter, healing myself, et cetera. Standard wizard things, I assume. As for the wizarding world, I had no idea anyone else could do the things I can until I received my first letter from your school, so my knowledge of this ‘wizarding world’ is that there is a magical school called Hogwarts run by someone called Albus Dumbledore, your mail apparently requires a specific room in the address, and you people seem to have no clue how jarring it is to receive a sincere invitation to a magic school if you’ve been raised to believe magic isn’t real and any mention of it is punishable by-” the boy paused. “-is punishable. So, what do I need to know?”

    Severus mentally counted to ten. He hadn’t cast any Unforgivables since the war, but Tuney fucking Evans was really tempting him. “It would seem, Mr. Potter, that this conversation is going to take longer than I had thought. Perhaps we should retire to the living room after all. I’m sure Tuney won’t mind. We’re old friends.” he said with a grin. He might not be able to Crucio the bitch, but he would damn well sit on her sofa if he pleased.

---

    Petunia scowled as she walked in the door. “Boy! I told you to mow the lawn while I was at my book club! What kind of-” She froze. Sitting on her beautiful sofa were McGonagall and Snape. And the Boy was sitting in Vernon’s armchair, with a smug little grin on his face.

    “Tuney…” Snape drawled, and Petunia’s frown deepened at that hated childhood nickname. “I’d say it’s good to see you again, but I’ve never been in the habit of telling lies to spare people’s feelings. How about you take a seat-” Snape waved his damn twig and an invisible force pushed Petunia into the chair across from him “-and we can… catch up. I have so many questions about how you and your nephew have been. Minerva, if you have nothing pressing going on, perhaps you could escort Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley?”

    “Very well.” said McGonagall, standing up and gesturing for the Boy to do the same. “We shall be apparating, or teleporting. Please take my arm.” The Boy nodded and did so. “Now, apparating can feel unpleasant. But if it’s any comfort, it won’t be nearly as unpleasant as I suspect your Aunt will be feeling. Be sure to leave some for me, Sevvy!”

    Then there was a crack, and Petunia Dursley was left alone with Severus Snape and a distinct feeling that she was in danger.

Chapter Text

    “Diagon Alley is the economic heart of magical Britain. Any business with a presence in Europe has a storefront in Diagon Alley. Amusingly, however, Diagon Alley is solely an economic presence. While the magical shopping centers of other countries are usually also population centers, cultural areas, transportation hubs, and centers of government, magical Britain is highly decentralized, geographically speaking. The magical British population is mostly spread amongst a few small towns, with the old families living in their manors and castles, although many younger half-bloods and first generation wixen are moving to non-magical cities. Magical culture in Britain primarily centers around the quidditch teams of said villages and professional duelling. Magical Britain also has highly decentralized international transportation, with only 4 legal magical ways into and out of the country: Ley Line Assisted Apparition from Plymouth to Roanoke, Virginia, international portkey to and from the British International Portkey Terminal in Liverpool, and the country’s two International Floo Terminals, from Dover to Calais and from Kirkwall to Oslo.” -The Continental’s Guide to Wizarding Britain, by Claude DuPont, 1989

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    Harry fought back the urge to vomit, while also trying his best not to look like he felt any urge to vomit. Harry was pretty sure he was only successful on the first count, based on the pitying expression on Professor McGonagall’s face. Once he was no longer in danger of losing the lunch he hadn’t been allowed to eat, he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked around. They seemed to be in some dingy alleyway. “Um, Professor, not to be rude, but are you sure we’re in the right place?”

    “Quite sure, Mr. Potter.” the Professor said, pulling out her wand and tapping a few bricks on the wall. That was another interesting thing Harry had learned from his conversation with the Professors, apparently he was still freakish even among freaks for doing magic without a wand. But apparently only very powerful wizards could do wandless magic, something that had Harry trying to make his grin seem bashful rather than viciously smug.

    Then thoughts of wands were banished from Harry’s mind as the wall opened up to a street that seemed to be a hodgepodge of various colors, architectural styles, and fashion choices, with the only common theme being magic. Harry was pretty sure he could faintly feel it in the air, although it wasn’t a particularly nice feeling. It gave Harry the impression of something rotting.

    It was easy enough for Harry to put that aside as well. Jaded though he was, even he was struck with wonder as Professor McGonagall led him through the Alley. Soon enough Professor McGonagall was ushering him inside a marble building guarded by small armored creatures wielding pikes and axes. The magic inside the lobby of the bank smelled different from the rest of the alley, like stone and metal. It occurred to Harry that stone and metal didn’t usually smell like anything, but he supposed he wasn’t actually smelling the magic, but rather sensing it in a way that his brain interpreted as smelling? Harry mentally shrugged as the Professor led him to one of the tellers.

    “Good day, Master Goblin, we are here to see the Potter account manager.” the Professor said rigidly. The teller snapped something in the goblin tongue to another goblin, and soon a third goblin was leading them into a small office, and sitting in a plush leather office chair while the two humans were sitting on uncomfortable wooden chairs just a bit too small. Harry was curious if the chairs had been magicked to be uncomfortable for humans, since a chair too small for the Professor should have been just fine for him.

    The goblin, who introduced himself as Mash Tun, launched into a series of rapid-fire negotiations with Professor McGonagall, which resulted in Harry getting a report on the state of the Potter accounts for one sickle, a list of people who held keys to the Potter vaults for one galleon and a drop of Harry’s blood, and permission to use the Mash Tun’s floo to retrieve said key for two knuts, round trip. Harry looked up from the report he was scrunching his eyebrows at to watch the Professor step into the emerald flames before returning to his befuddled scrutinization of the financial report. Harry knew he was smart for his age, and his appreciation of Merriam-Webster gave him a larger vocabulary than some adults, but he was still seeing quite clearly why 11 year olds were not bankers, not even the smart ones.

---

    Minerva stepped back out of the floo into Mash Tun’s office holding the Potter vault key and trying not to look like Albus had just shaken her to her core. Fortunately, the boy seemed too engrossed in his financial report to notice the heavy glance she shot at his scarred-over eye.

    “Here’s the key then. I believe we’ll be making a withdrawal from Mr. Potter’s trust vault and claiming his heirship ring.”

    “Really? That’ll be all, then?” asked the goblin, quirking an eyebrow at Minerva, who fought back the urge to cringe. He definitely knew what she was doing. She only hoped he didn’t call her on it.

    “Yes, I’ll likely be back later with some questions about my holdings and the bank itself once I’ve had time to read through the whole report.” Harry said, standing and carefully tucking said report into one of the pockets of his too-large trousers. They’d definitely need to make Madam Malkin’s their next stop. Also, she’d definitely need to let Albus know Harry was going to be coming back to Gringotts on his own.

    As it was, the goblin didn’t give up the game. Harry withdrew a modest amount of gold, claimed the Potter heirship ring, and they left the bank with him having no idea about the Sole Survivor Clause that could have let him claim the Potter lordship. Albus was right, there were too many ways that could go wrong, even if he was wrong about the poor lad’s scar.

---

    Draco Malfoy had to work very hard to hide his surprise when he saw the boy who sat down next to him at Madam Malkin’s. It had to be Harry Potter, he had the infamous scar, but it couldn’t be Potter, because how could the boy who most of the wizarding world thought would either be the next Dumbledore or the next Dark Lord be wearing such rags? And muggle rags, at that! Still, this could be an opportunity to make an ally, or at least gain information.

    “Hello there. I am Draconius Malfoy, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.” he said, giving the boy a polite nod.

    “I am Hadrian Potter, Heir to the House of Potter. I’m afraid I’m unsure as to whether or not my house would be considered ‘Most Ancient and Noble.’” the boy- Potter- replied. Draco raised an eyebrow.

    “Your house is indeed Most Ancient and Noble, Heir Potter. Might I ask how such a travesty as you not knowing the most basic things about your family occurred?” 

    “Well, my parents died young, as apparently everyone knows. I was sent to live with my mother’s muggle relatives, who are, shall we say, not fond of magic. I’m afraid I was only introduced to other wizards earlier this afternoon.”

    Draco’s eyes widened. This was a goldmine of information! His father would be very pleased with him! Now, to try and get more information or to try and subtly influence him? Draco decided on the latter. He seemed rather naive and open. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Heir Potter. Have you given any thought to what Hogwarts house you’d like to be in? I’m going to Slytherin, myself. It’s the best house, the house of cunning and ambition, although I admit I may be biased, since Malfoys have gone to Slytherin for generations.” he finished with a perfectly practiced Amicable Chuckle.

    “Yes, I have heard about the houses myself, the professors explained them to me. They all seem to have their strengths and weaknesses, the professors were very clear about that. I suppose I have traits from all the houses, but I suspect everyone does. Would your father be upset if you weren’t a Slytherin? How common are families going to certain houses? Professor Snape said you should just trust the process, though they wouldn’t tell me what the process is.” Potter replied, and Draco recalculated his opinion of Potter. Either that reply was genuine enthusiasm and friendliness, which would indicate Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, genuine curiosity, which would indicate Ravenclaw, or a carefully crafted deflection, which might mean he would have competition in the dungeons.

    “Familial house traditions are fairly common. There’s the Malfoys and Gaunts in Slytherin, the Turpins in Ravenclaw, the Smiths in Hufflepuff, and the Potters and the Weasleys in Gryffindor.” Draco said, deciding to try and guide Potter away from Slytherin. Harry Potter was generally assumed to be a wild card, and that wasn’t something Draco wanted to have to deal with when he tried to take over the dungeons.

    “Oh, my family is traditionally Gryffindor? Interesting.” said Potter, and then Madam Malkin was beckoning him over and giving him his box of Hogwarts robes, and Draco left to report to his parents.

---

    “Now Albus, you’re going to tell me this business about James’ son having a bit of You-Know-Who in his head, or I’ll-”

    “Easy, Minerva, I promise I will tell you everything in time. But first, please, what was your impression of young Harry?”

    “He was surprisingly well adjusted, considering that the doaty dobbers you left him with were everything I told you and worse!” Minerva exclaimed, and Albus winced. When her accent got this heavy, it meant she-

    “I oughtta tear ye a new arsehole, you hackit numpty!” There it was. At least it was “ought to” and not “will”. 

    “Minerva, I understand that you’re upset, and rightfully so. I promise you I would have found alternate living arrangements for young Harry if I had known how bad they would be.”

    “But you did know, Albus! You knew because I bloody well told you!”

    “And I should have listened to you. But what’s done is done. Speaking of, I’m curious, what wand did young Harry end up with?”

    “Elder and thunderbird tailfeather. Olivander said he traded a holly and phoenix feather to an associate in the States for it based on a premonition.” 

    Albus felt his eyebrows raise. Interesting that it was that wand that was traded for Harry’s. And elder… “Interesting. I hear thunderbird tailfeather is good for transfiguration- you might have a prodigy on your hands.” Albus said with a smile.

    “Perhaps. Now stop trying to distract me.”

    Albus sighed. “I promise I will tell you, Minerva, but depending on how young Harry turns out I may also need to tell Severus. As it is an exceedingly grim and lengthy explanation, I would prefer to only have to make it once. I swear to you, Minerva, September second I will tell you what I know and what I suspect, regardless of whether Severus is with us for that discussion.”

Chapter Text

    “Wingardium Leviosa, the Levitation Charm, is a basic spell for making an object hover in the air. The object can be moved as the caster wills it, though not very quickly. More advanced wizards tend to use Summoning or Banishing Spells for when they need something brought to them or pushed away from them very quickly, but the Levitation Charm still holds value for moving things from one spot to a second that is not the caster, or for moving things like full cauldrons that require delicate handling.” -The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, by Miranda Goshawk, 1990

---

    Ron Weasley decided that older people were weird and gross as he peeked into the various compartments of the Hogwarts Express. He had already come across two seventh years snogging, which somehow still wasn’t as gross as seeing Percy and some Ravenclaw girl holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. Girls were kind of gross too, and definitely crazy. Just look at Ginny. Gross, crazy, and occasionally scary.

    He chuckled, wondering what she would say if she knew he was looking for Harry Potter. Mum had said Dumbledore told her Harry didn’t know any other wizarding kids, and she had said Ron should be his friend, since he’d be a “good influence” on “that poor boy”. Ron wasn’t sure why his mum seemed to pity him, but he chalked it up to the scar. It seemed to make everyone go crazy. Some people said it meant he was evil, which Ron thought was stupid. Charlie had a bunch of scars from dragons and he wasn’t evil. But some people (like Ginny) thought the scar meant he would be a “brooding antihero”, whatever the hell that meant. He was pretty sure Charlie wasn’t that either. As far as Ron was concerned, scars just meant you were strong. Charlie could pick up him and Ginny at the same time!

    After wincing at a few more compartments of amorous upper-years and letting out a squeal a very manly shout at a compartment containing the twins, Lee Jordan, and a bloody tarantula, Ron saw a boy sitting alone with his nose in a book and a scar on his eye.

    “Hey, you’re Harry Potter right? I’m Ron, Ron Weasley!” Harry looked at Ron and his outstretched hand with a single raised eyebrow. 

    “Yes, I am.” he drawled in a way that reminded Ron uncomfortably of his few interactions with Draco Malfoy. He gave Ron’s hand a single unenthusiastic shake and turned back to his book.

    “So, er, whatcha reading?” Ron asked awkwardly. It was like Harry didn’t want to be friends with him! Harry didn’t even answer verbally, just tilted his book so Ron could see the title: Intermediate Transfiguration Theory. “Ah, so a Ravenclaw then?” Ron said, with an awkward laugh. Harry just shrugged. “Look, did I say something wrong? I’m just trying to be your friend here!”

    Harry sighed and looked up from his book. “You made it relatively obvious you only came in here because I’m famous. I’m not interested in friends, and certainly not ones who just want to use my fame for their own ends.” Harry drew his wand and opened the compartment door with a flick, then pointed it at Ron with a glare, and Ron found himself being levitated out into the corridor. “A word of advice, Weasley. Stand on your own strengths, rather than clinging to someone else’s. There’s nothing worse in this world than being disposable.”

    Then the compartment door closed, locked itself, and the window turned opaque. Ron huffed. No wonder poor Harry Potter didn’t have any friends! He was a jerk!

---

    Daphne Greengrass gasped as the boat rounded a bend and Hogwarts came into view. It truly was magnificent, her mother’s stories didn’t do it justice. Normally, she would be irritated with herself for such a childish display of emotion, but she supposed it could be excused since it was drowned out by the awestruck gawking of her less restrained peers. She was just glad none of said peers were trying to make small talk with her. She could do it no problem, of course, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Her boat contained herself, Theodore Nott (who she knew had a similar disdain for pleasantries), Tracey Davis (who skillfully wielded pleasantries like a fishing pole or a dagger as the situation required), and a boy who kept his head down and stonewalled Tracey’s attempts at chatting until she gave up.

    It wasn’t until they were led into an antechamber that Daphne realized the unknown fourth person on her boat was none other than Harry Potter! There goes her chance to make a good first impression. Then again, he seemed rather antisocial if his response, or lack thereof, to Tracey was any indication. Professor McGonagall (one of the good Gryffindors, according to her mother) explained how the sorting would work, and soon enough the first years were lined up in front of the Great Hall and the Sorting Hat began its song.

    Daphne used the wait to practice her magic sensing, trying to get a feel for the magic of each of her peers. Magic sensing wasn’t a particularly rare gift, and could be learned with practice, but there was a certain knack for it that ran in the Greengrass line. She suspected that most other magic sensors would be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of magic in the room, with hundreds of adolescent wizards, a few adults, one archmage, an ancient magical artifact, all in one of the most magical buildings in Britain. But she was able to get basic impressions. Hannah Abbott still gave her the impression of vanilla. Susan Bones still gave the impression of wool and stone. 

    The person right before her was an interesting case as well. She assumed Hermione Granger was a muggleborn, but her magic felt very strong for someone with no family magic to back it up. It felt like a small hurricane of ink. Fascinating! She would definitely be one to keep an eye on.

    Then it was Daphne herself, and she was not surprised to go to Slytherin like her mother before her. She had been raised for it, after all. She happily walked to the table beneath the green and silver banner and continued watching.

    Neville Longbottom was an interesting one. She had never actually met him, since he lived with his grandmother who was understandably paranoid after her son and daughter-in-law were tortured into insanity. His magic felt like bamboo, with a hint of steel. That was something to ponder. He seemed shocked to go to Gryffindor, but Daphne wasn’t. She suspected Neville wasn’t aware of the steel inside himself.

    Daphne didn’t flinch when she felt Harry Potter’s magic, but it was a near thing. It felt hungry and bitter and oh so powerful. She’d never put any stock in the people who said Potter would be the next Dark Lord, but all of a sudden she found the idea much more plausible. Especially when the hat cried out “SLYTHERIN!” at the top of its- well she supposed hats didn’t have lungs, but oh well.

---

    “SLYTHERIN!” shouted the hat. Severus sighed. He was very glad he’d thought to make an extra batch of headache cures. He’d need them, he could feel it. Especially since Dumbledore leaned over immediately after Potter was sorted and told him to meet him in his office immediately after the feast. Yes, he knew Snape usually gave a speech to the new snakes but this year he’d just have to let the prefects get them settled in on their own. Bloody Dumbledore.

    So after the feast ended with Dumbledore informing the students that they absolutely should not go into a certain corridor on the third floor (really, the man could not have been more bloody obvious if he had fucking winked at everyone after he said it) Snape pulled aside one of his prefects and quickly informed them he would not be able to give his customary speech to the first years this year. Then he, Albus, and surprisingly Minerva all trekked up to the headmaster’s office.

    “I thought you said September Second, Albus.” Minerva began with a smirk.

    “Yes, well, neither of you mentioned his basic occlumency barriers, so why wait?”

    “Oh, but Headmaster Dumbledore, aren’t the Mind Arts Dark and illegal ?” Snape drawled sarcastically. “Surely you wouldn’t use legilimency on one of your own students?”

    “Oh pish-posh, Severus, you know how difficult it is for a natural legilimens not to catch glimpses of things from unprotected minds. Harry gave away nothing. Young Mr. Weasley, however, was practically shouting his thoughts about Harry to the whole hall.” 

    “Oh Merlin, don’t tell me he’s causing problems already.” Snape groaned.

    “Not exactly. Young Ronald attempted to befriend Harry on the train rather clumsily, albeit sincerely. And while the implications in Harry’s refusal rather went over young Ronald’s head, it seems to me that Harry feels other people to be inherently untrustworthy and that friends are a weakness.”

    “He’s not wrong.” Snape muttered.

    “Severus Snape, just because you blew it-”

    “Minerva.” Dumbledore said, cutting her off sharply. “Now is not the time. I have grave worries about young Harry. You see, the night that Lily and James died, I ran some diagnostics on Harry to make sure he didn’t need medical treatment and there was something… off. One of older charms I used seemed to think there were two people in young Harry’s body. He was otherwise fine so I, regrettably, sent him to the Dursleys. But I looked deeper into the spell I used, and found it gets its reading from scanning the soul rather than the body.”

    Minerva gasped, and Snape nearly did. While he was sure Minerva was shocked that Albus knew any magic that interacted with the soul, no matter how indirectly, Snape had a horrible feeling that he knew where the old man was going with this.

    “This, combined with certain other pieces of evidence, like Severus’s Mark not being entirely gone, have led me to my current theory: Voldemort used a horrible ritual to create a horcrux, which is an object that holds a piece of the creator’s soul and must be destroyed before the creator can truly die. And I have a bad feeling Voldemort possibly made more than one. Tom always was one to go all in. And I suspect he may have accidentally turned Harry into one. I intend to run some deeper scans on young Harry if the opportunity presents itself, but we should not burden him with this knowledge. He deserves to have a chance at a normal childhood.”

    “Bullshit.” Snape growled, drawing astonished looks from Minerva, who had never heard him swear, and Dumbledore, who had never had his spy directly contradict him before. “You’ve already ruined his shot at a normal childhood with your secret keeping. You knew I knew Tuney, and had you simply told me who you put him with, I would have never let you rest until you removed him. The boy is severely traumatized and disinclined to trust people thanks to your need to play puppetmaster, and if you start lying to him and keeping massive secrets from him, it will come around to bite you in the long run. He deserves to know this.”

    “Severus, you must understand, I believe the only way for the horcrux in Harry, if it exists, to be destroyed would be… well, would be for Harry to die.”

    Minerva stood up. “If you harm a single hair on his head, Albus, I’ll-”

    “No, no, Merlin no! I wouldn’t kill a child, Minerva!” Albus interrupted. “But I don’t know what other option there is. I’ve combed through every book in the Hogwarts library that even mentions soul magic and am no closer to a solution than I was when I started.”

    “There’s more to the world than Hogwarts you daft twat! Go to the Unspeakables, the ICW, the centaurs, the goblins! Merlin’s bollocks, did you really think that because you didn’t have an answer no one else would?” Minerva shouted.

    Snape didn’t bother suppressing a grin at the shocked expression on Dumbledore’s face. “I… I actually didn’t think of that. Any of that. Very well. Next time Harry is in the hospital wing I’ll slip in and cast those diagnostics. If he is indeed a horcrux, we’ll tell him. In the meantime, I believe I have some letters to write.”

---

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room, the 5th year prefects (Jack Sheffield and Gemma Fawley) were ushering the first years in front of the armchair that was the unofficial Throne of Slytherin, by virtue of being the fanciest, comfiest, and at the front of the room. Sitting in the throne, flanked by the seventh year prefects, was Terrence Higgs, something that surprised Daphne. She had heard about the Slytherin royalty system from her mom. There were basically two ways to make your way to the top of the Slytherin hierarchy. Either through careful political maneuvering or by force. Given that the Higgs family wasn’t particularly wealthy or politically powerful, Daphne suspected Higgs was a formidable fighter.

“Hello new Slytherins, and welcome to the dungeons!” Higgs said with a grin as he spread his arms wide and lazily crossed his legs. “I’m Terrence Higgs, Acting King of Slytherin, and as the Acting King it is my duty and my pleasure to explain how things work in the house of snakes. And I’m sure many of you have been told stories by your parents, but please humor me and listen so we’re all on the same page here. There’s three rules that would normally get phrased much more dramatically, but that’s not really my style, so I’ll make it short.”

“It’s always short with you, isn’t it Higgs?” someone called out, leading to a chorus of sniggers that Higgs ignored.

“So, first, get good grades. We might not be the ‘academic’ house, but we ain’t dummies either. If you need help, ask for it. There’s schedules for tutoring for first and second year students on the bulletin board, and you shouldn’t be ashamed to use it if you need to. Think of it as utilizing the resources at your disposal.” he said with a grin. “Second. Don’t lose us points. None of the other teachers are as blatantly biased against us as Snape is towards us, but they’re generally stingier with points for us snakes, so that means we gotta fight tooth and nail for what we got. And severe point losses may be met with… additional discipline. In-house. Third, the other houses don’t like us, especially the Gryffs, so we gotta put up a united front. Try and settle things here in the dungeons rather than in the Great Hall. That’s not to say you can’t pull anything in front of the other houses, but it’s gotta be decisive. If any of you twerps go starting some sort of civil war in Slytherin, we’ll be sure to shut it down in a way that neither party likes. So that’s it for rules.”

“If you do anything that hurts our chances in quidditch I’ll hex you into a puddle, that’s a rule right?” shouted someone.

“No Flint, that’s just you being entirely too into quidditch.” Higgs said with a laugh. “On that subject though, seeing as I’m the seeker, I feel I shall be too busy to be King, so I hereby leave the Throne open to claimants. Like I said, acting King. Dezzy, may she rest in peace, thought I would get a kick out of welcoming you tykes, and ya know what, she wasn’t wrong! Now, enjoy the bloodbath!” Higgs said before standing up, stretching, and walking off down one of the corridors that Daphne assumed led to the boys’ dormitories.

One of the seventh year prefects coughed awkwardly. “I, uh, feel like I should clarify. Our previous Queen, Desmoda Dawson, is not dead. As Higgs well knows, what with them dating and all. Also, I don’t reckon there needs to be a bloodbath for the Throne. I, Damien Nott, hereby claim the Throne of Slytherin! Does anyone wish to challenge me?” There was no response. “Excellent. Any year-leader challenges?” Again, no response. “Wonderful. And second years, who is your year-leader?”

A boy stepped forwards. “I, Albert Nott, have been chosen as the year-leader.”

“Perfect.” said the eldest of the Nott brothers. “Now, unfortunately Professor Snape won’t be able to make his customary welcoming speech, but I’m sure he’ll make a suitable first impression in your first potions lesson. Now to bed, with you lot, I’m sure you’ve had long days and you need to be out here at six o’clock sharp for the prefects to tell you about the school-wide rules and lead you to breakfast.”

Daphne was about to follow Damien’s advice and head to bed when she noticed Malfoy making a beeline for Potter and she decided to stay behind to eavesdrop. “Potter. I fully intend to be our year leader. That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it?” Malfoy said threateningly.

Potter chuckled. “Not at all. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours. I’m not really interested in political power.”

“Excellent. Glad to see you have more sense than your parents did.” Malfoy said before strutting off. The common room tensed, not expecting such a blatant insult to go unanswered. But Potter just shrugged and followed Draco towards the dorms, although as he passed her, Daphne heard him muttering under his breath.

“Political power. Heh. Firepower’s where the money’s at.”

Chapter Text

    “Transforming a matchstick into a needle is one of the most common exercises for a novice practitioner of transfiguration. With both objects being of similar sizes and shapes, the exercise is primarily to train changing one material into another. It is beneficial that the transformation is from a less dense material to a heavier one, since this reduces the likelihood of accidentally vanishing or shattering the object being transformed. Advanced versions of this exercise usually focus on changing the matchstick into something larger, like a knitting needle, to give experience with transformations of varying volumes, or creating some variation on the needle, such as an engraved one or a bent one, to train the concentration needed for more advanced transformations.” -A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration, by Emeric Switch, 1911

---

Daphne sat in a corner of the Charms classroom with her arms crossed and gazed around at the various students trying to light their wands. Most of the purebloods and halfbloods had it first or second try, it was one of the most common spells for magical parents to “cheat” and teach their kids before Hogwarts. Most of the Slytherins were boasting and posturing about who had the brightest Lumos, since the natural brightness of a person’s Lumos is supposedly an indicator of their magical power or potential. Meanwhile the Hufflepuffs were helping their housemates who hadn’t gotten it yet, bless their hearts.

“Miss Greengrass, may I see your charm if you are done practicing it?” Professor Flitwick asked, his eyes barely peeking over the desks. Daphne bit back a sigh.

“Lumos.” she said quietly, and a faint light appeared at the end of her wand.

“I see.” Professor Flitwick said quietly. “You know, the strength of one’s Lumos does not necessarily-”

“I know but it does for me. I’ve done the official tests.” Daphne interrupted firmly.

“I see. Well be that as it may, I’ll tell you what I’ve told many other students in your position: raw power is far from everything. Many people assume that because I made it to the professional dueling circuit I’m some magical titan who could be on par with Dumbledore if I wanted to.The truth is, my magical core is actually slightly smaller than average. If professional duelling was all a bunch of pre-scripted malarky, I would probably be under contract not to say that, but I will say that being able to deliver quippy one liners while spellcasting is much more important to professional duelling than being able to level mountains with a sweep of your wand.” Flitwick said with a wink. “Overall, raw power is good, but it is no substitute for control. Keep working on the charm, and perhaps try changing the color of the light or oscillating the brightness. Wasn’t it Slytherin who said ‘unnecessary force attracts unwanted attention’?” Flitwick said with a smirk.

Daphne smiled back, and part of it was even genuine. She was sure Flitwick knew the actual quote was about unnecessary violence rather than unnecessary force, but it was close enough and still applicable. “Or words to that effect.” Daphne agreed, and began working on turning her light green.

She tried to ignore Potter, who had just turned his much brighter wand-light a dark purple.

---

    Hermione wished she had a clipboard. Or good old fashioned muggle pen and notebook. Trying to take notes with a quill on parchment on the back of 1,001 Magical Herbs and Fungi was quite inconvenient. But having notes on the greenhouse safety and equipment care speech Professor Sprout was giving would be invaluable. She would not be the one going to the hospital wing to get her eyes regrown because she touched them before washing her hands when working with Dillyroot.

    “That should be everything, then. There’s a stack of copies of all the rules I just went over by the door, make sure to grab one on the way out, even if I know most of you won’t review it. Make sure to bring your gardening gloves to our next lesson. Class dismissed!” 

    Hermione froze as the Professor dismissed them and the students around her snickered at her. She had spent the period precariously balancing a jar of ink on her knee for nothing? The snickers increased around her as she let out a low growl. As she angrily packs her bags and fights back tears she hears the same whispers around her as she did in grade school. Know it all. Nerd. Swot. Thinks she’s better than us. Stick up her arse.

    The points Professor Sprout gives Gryffindor for her diligent note-taking as she storms out of the greenhouse only make her angrier. Half the people whispering about her are Gryffindors, and now they’re getting rewarded for her hard work? 

---

    Neville watched sadly as Granger stormed away from the greenhouses. He wished people wouldn’t have laughed at her. He wanted to tell them all to shut up, but what could he do about it. He was basically a squib, the only person in the class not to get the Lumos charm by the end of his first charms class.

    Poor Hermione. She didn’t have any friends either, but at least it was because she was too good at everything. Neville had the opposite problem. She’d probably end up being Chief Unspeakable or something, while Neville was hauling stacks of fertilizer around some greenhouse.

---

    Harry looked at the matchstick on his desk and pointed his wand at it again. This really shouldn’t be that hard. He had turned things into other things before. And apparently his wand was specifically supposed to be good at this! How was this different from any other magic he had done?

    “Is everything alright, Mr. Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall, who had been walking among the students and trying to help them.

    “It’s the stupid matchstick! I can’t bloody- er, sorry Professor- but I can’t change it and I don’t know why! I’ve changed things before! This shouldn’t even be a big deal, I can’t even think of when I might actually… need… this…” Harry trailed off.

    “Language, Mr. Potter. But you look like you’ve had an epiphany.” 

    “I might have.” Harry muttered. “Transformatio!”* On his desk, the matchstick transformed into a needle covered with rows of small barbs. “Perfect!” he whispered.

    “I assume the spikes are intentional, then?” the Professor asked.

    “Yes ma’am. I’ve always associated my magic with necessity… for reasons I’m sure you can infer. I don’t think my magic likes exercises with no… practical applications. Sewing is made completely obsolete as anything other than a hobby by magic. I know for a fact magic can repair, resize, or just plain create clothes.”

    “Yes, but why barbs?” McGonagall asked, despite suspecting she would not like the answer. Harry gave her an unimpressed look.

    “Professor, I know for a fact that I can duplicate things, levitate them, and send things flying in a specific direction with great force. If my readings about magical theory are correct, conjuring a dozen barbed needles and launching them at someone would be fast, demand some sort of defensive response, and have the potential to end the confrontation with even a partial hit, depending on where the target was struck and what their pain tolerance is.”

    Professor McGonagall was quiet for a long time. “I see. Five points from Slytherin for language, five points to Slytherin for self discovery, and three points to Slytherin for your transformation.”

    Harry was glad for the house points, but he was kicking himself for his overdetailed analysis. Eleven year olds weren’t supposed to casually analyze how much pain you need to put someone in to get them to stop fighting.

---

    “Potter, stay behind.” Snape drawled. Potter simply nodded once, continued packing his things, then remained seated. He noted again how different the boy was from his father. It wasn’t just the missing eye or even the differences in their postures and facial expressions. At this point in his first year, James Potter already had his little gang of sycophants formed, and would have doubtless been teased for messing up his brew, or told where they were meeting after class. Harry Potter had been the odd person out and brewed his potion without a partner, and the only response to his being held behind by other students were a few curious glances from his more gossip minded classmates.

    “Sorry about my potion sir, I know I added the sweetgrass pollen a little late, but I had to finish chopping the pigeon claws, and I thought-”

    “It’s not the potion!” Snape snapped, before his mind finished processing what Potter had been saying. “...continue, though.”

    “Oh, well, I thought it was more important to get the pigeon claws in at the right stage than the pollen, since 1,001 Magical Herbs and Fungi said that magically treated sweetgrass pollen is usually used in potions as a thickener, and I haven’t seen pigeon claws in many other potions in our book, so I assumed the claws have some more specific effect, so I thought it would be better to have a slightly runny potion than run the risk of adding the pigeon claws late or improperly chopped.”

    “Ten points to Slytherin for quick thinking and risk assessment. If you had added the pigeon claws too late the window for them binding with the newt eyes would have passed and the potion would have been useless sludge. For future reference, sweetgrass pollen can generally be added at any time the cauldron is over the fire when it’s used as a thickener, and I am generally more lenient with timing mistakes when a partner brew is done solo.” Snape said.

    “Interesting!” Harry said, and Snape got the impression he actually meant it sincerely. “But if you’re not holding me back about my potion, what is it? Is this about my transfiguration lesson?”

    Snape regarded the boy in front of him for a moment. “Tell me Mr. Potter, how have you been settling in at Hogwarts? Learning your way around alright? Making friends? I know Slytherin can be… jarring… for those unprepared for it.”

    Potter laughed, but it wasn’t one with any depth. “My mind jumps to self-defence and I don’t have any friends so you’ve been sent to figure out what’s wrong. Try and fix me. While I appreciate the effort Professor- truly, I do- I don’t need fixing, or if I do I don’t want it. My mind jumps to protecting myself since that’s all I’ve ever known, and I’m stronger for it. Same with friends, I don’t need ‘em and I don’t want ‘em. They’re a liability. A weakness.”

    Snape decided in that moment to change tactics. Honesty was the way to go with this boy (as he had tried to tell them). “Mr. Potter, I will be honest with you. I have been ordered by the Headmaster to mentor you under the pretence of having been childhood friends with your mother. Officially because he’s worried about the affects of your upbringing but unofficially I believe it’s because you remind him of someone.” He paused. “Come to think of it, they’re probably hoping that I’ll take a liking to you and it’ll ‘loosen me up’ or some nonsense like that. Albus either has no reason for doing something, or several dozen, but never just one. How he wasn’t a Slytherin I’ll never know. But I will make a deal with you Mr. Potter. We’ll have private lessons, once a week, in which I teach you practical things. I won’t try and make you talk about anything you don’t want to. In return, you don’t try and make me talk about anything I don’t want to, and you try to at least keep an open mind to that whole friendship thing. Also, never tell Albus or Minnie I was up front with you about this.”

    “Very well sir. Would you really be in trouble if the Headmaster found out how you convinced me?”

    “Probably not, but I do have a reputation to keep. Do you know how much I’ve gotten away with by telling McGonagall the truth and having her not believe me until it’s too late? Lesson one, if a Slytherin tells a Gryffindor the sky is blue in a condescending tone, the Gryffindor will not believe it even if they are standing outside on a cloudless day.”

---

    * Author’s Note: Canonically, transforming thing X into thing Y has a different incantation from transforming thing X into thing Z or from turning thing Y into thing X, and possibly even for turning thing Z into thing Y. But this is inefficient even by wizarding standards, so for this fic “Transformatio” is for all object to object transformations. Thus, being good at transfiguration is about the willpower and magical control of the wizard rather than a question of memorizing thousands of incantations on the off chance you ever need to turn a quail into a coat hanger.

Chapter Text

    “Expelliarmus, the Disarming Jinx, is a highly versatile defensive spell. It will send any weapon held by the target flying away from them, and with practice the caster can choose to send the weapon in a specific direction. It’s ability to decisively end duels without causing lasting harm to the opponent makes it one of the most popular spells on the professional dueling circuit.” -A Practical Overview of Defensive Magic, by Osmond Trillby

—

    “So Professor, what exactly are we going to be learning in these lessons?” Harry asked that Saturday when he showed up at Snape’s office for his first lesson.

    “Well, I have a number of ideas. I may occasionally have you help me out with advanced potions of Poppy- that is, Madam Pomfrey- or one of the other professors has a brew they need urgently, and we can work on potions regardless if that is something you have interest in. The two things I thought you would be most interested in, however, are combat magic and the mind arts.”

    “The mind arts, sir?”

    “Yes. Tell me Mr. Potter, have you ever been able to sense someone’s feelings or thoughts despite them trying to conceal them?”

    Harry blushed a little. “Yes sir, quite frequently, especially if I try to focus it or I make eye contact. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten a few memories from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.”

    Snape raised his eyebrows. “Very impressive. You appear to be a natural legilimens, legilimency being the magical art of connecting your magic to someone else’s magic. The inverse of legilimency is occlumency, which is the skill of preventing foreign magic from influencing your mind.”

    “So basically, legilimency is mind reading and occlumency is keeping your mind from being read?” Harry asked.

    “In extremely simple terms, yes. However, both skills have other applications than looking into other people’s heads or ensuring the privacy of your own thoughts. Legilimency can be used for what is essentially telepathic communication, and significantly boost the effectiveness of certain spells which target the mind. Occlumency has even more applications, since a large part of it is knowing your own mind and how it works. It can help you ignore the effects of certain magical creatures, such as the allure of the veela or the despair of dementors. It can help you resist spells or potions that affect the mind, and countless other tricks. The mind arts are a difficult and obscure branch of magic whose limits have not been found and likely never will. A muggle scientist once said that if the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn’t, and as a general rule of thumb magic almost always makes things more complicated, except for the few examples where it makes things ridiculously simple.”

    “Well, I’m sold. How do we start?” Harry asked eagerly. Snape grinned smugly and handed him a book titled Meditation for Dummies (And Small Children). “I’d like to think I’m neither of those things, sir.” Harry huffed. 

    “Perhaps not, but it is still a good place to start. But since grading essays while you read this and trying to call it a lesson would earn me a Disappointed Frown from Albus, that book can be your homework and for now we shall work on some useful combat spells. We’ll start with Expelliarmus, the Disarming Jinx, since most wizards are helpless without their wands.”

    “Really sir? It’s not like you need a wand to do magic.”

    “Yes, accidental magic doesn’t need a wand, but as wizards age and gain more control of their magic, they generally become so accustomed to using magic with a wand they are unable to do so without it.”

    “What if someone grew up not knowing about wands, and so trained their magic to work without one?”

    Snape gave Harry a peculiar look. “Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Potter?”

    Harry smirked and picked up a quill off the Professor’s desk. He narrowed his eyes at it and suddenly it was a barbed needle like he had made in transfiguration. Turning one needle into two, then four, eight, sixteen, was even easier than multiplying stale heels of bread in his cupboard. Then he levitated them into the air, pointed them at the door, and thrust his hands forwards. And as he did so, the needles rushed forwards and buried themselves in the door.

    Snape raised his eyebrows unashamedly. “Quite impressive, Mr. Potter.” Snape said, before vanishing the needles with one wave of his wand and repairing the door with another. “One point from Slytherin for assaulting my door, two points to Slytherin for only demonstrating an attack you had already discussed with one of my allies.”

    “Thank you sir. On that subject though… it seems like Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore share all their intelligence with you. Do you share all your intelligence with them?”

    Snape pondered the boy’s phrasing for a moment, wondering if he had somehow deduced his role as a spy during the war. “If you are asking if I will be telling the Headmaster the exact contents of our lessons, the answer is no. I will not be telling him any more than he directly asks for. In fact, on that subject, I feel obliged to ask that you not discuss our study of the mind arts unnecessarily. They are not illegal, but they are quite taboo, and it would not do for people to be more suspicious of you than they already are.”

    “I meant to ask, sir, why are people so certain that I’ll be an amazing wizard? Not that I don’t intend to be, but I’ve been trying to keep a low profile so far.”

    Snape sighed. “There are a number of reasons. First, of course, is that you were somehow involved with the fall of Voldemort. Second is that you have one eye. Wizards have their own sets of superstitions, and one is that people with one eye are destined to be great wizards, likely stemming from Odin in Norse mythology. And quite frankly, you have not done anything to dispel those rumors. Nobody knows where you spent your childhood, you were sorted into the house of ambition, and you haven’t exactly been a social butterfly.”

    “Oh well. Like you said, reputations can come in handy. So, expelliarmus?”

—

    Hermione was nervous as she followed the other Gryffindors outside for their first flying lesson. She had read up on flying, and broomsticks, and even quidditch (which seemed like a stupid sport for so many reasons) but she still wasn’t a fan of heights or fast movement that wasn’t in a fully enclosed vehicle. She had seen a motorcycle accident once, and considered herself smart enough to learn from other people’s mistakes. And broomsticks seemed like they were basically flying motorcycles.

    She snorted to herself as she imagined pureblood society as an extremely pretentious biker gang. That Malfoy twerp even had the slicked back hair! 

    And speaking of the Malfoy twerp, of course they had to have flying lessons with the Slytherins. Honestly, most of them weren’t that bad, Malfoy and Parkinson were the only ones who started stuff with her, but none of the other Slytherins ever stood up for her. Then again, neither did the Gryffindors.

    And with that depressing thought, the lesson began. It was somewhat reassuring to Hermione that she didn’t seem to be the only one who was unsure or nervous. The only ones who didn’t seem at least a little apprehensive were Weasley and Malfoy, both of whom were loudly bragging about their flying skills until Madame Hooch corrected their broom grips, and Greengrass and Potter, who seemed to belong to the subset of Slytherins that considered displaying emotions to be an unforgivable sign of weakness.

    Then all of a sudden the poor Longbottom boy lost control of his broom and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut moments before she heard the dull thud of her classmate hitting the ground. He wailed and Hermione desperately tried to think of Draco with ridiculous tattoos and a leather jacket rather than the biker she had once seen smeared across the roadway.

    “Well well well, looks like the crybaby lost his remem-bawl.” Hermione heard, and she opened her eyes to see Malfoy holding Neville’s remembrall. “Maybe I’ll help the pathetic squib out and give him some motivation to learn how to fly like a proper pureblood.” Malfoy said, grabbing his broom. “I’m sure he’d do better on his broom if he was trying to get this piece of junk out of a tree, or off the roof!”

    Hermione nervously bit her lip and considered confronting Malfoy. But what was the point? She was the only Gryffindor less popular than Neville, and Malfoy would have all the Slytherins on his side. God- er, Merlin- she was a pathetic excuse for a Gryffindor. Then again, it wasn’t like the others were standing up to Malfoy.

    Then she noticed Potter give the Gryffindors and unimpressed glance, walk over to Malfoy, put a hand on his shoulder, and begin whispering in his ear. Malfoy tensed, scowled, thrust the remembrall into Potter’s hand, and stalked off to his circle of minions. Hermione raised her eyebrows and cautiously approached Potter.

    “How’d you get him to back down? And why?” she asked suspiciously. 

    “Why Ms. Granger, I didn’t get him to do anything. I simply offered him some advice that he chose to take.” They both glanced over at Malfoy, who was now glaring at them. Hermione bit back giggles as Potter gave him a cheeky wink.

    “Very well then, Mr. Potter, what was your sage advice?” Hermione asked, deciding to try and play along at the Slytherin manners game.

    “I simply reminded Heir Malfoy that the Longbottoms are an old and influential house, almost as much as his own, that Madame Hooch was very particular that nobody flys unsupervised, and that I’m pretty sure Professor McGonagall’s office would have a window that overlooks this stretch of the grounds. Given those factors, Heir Malfoy likely decided that it was a good idea not to antagonize the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom and the Most Talented and Frightening Professor McGonagall in one fell swoop.”

    Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And if it had been me he was picking on? Would you have stood up for the know-it-all mudblood?”

    “If it meant pulling one over Malfoy? Absolutely. I just would have played up McGonagall’s protectiveness of muggleborns and how it would affect his standing with the older Slytherins to lose a bunch of points. Malfoy isn’t nice, but he isn’t stupid, either.”

    “So you don’t actually care about me or Neville or any of us Gryffindors, then, we’re just pawns in your games, are we?” Hermione huffed.

    “Oh don’t sell yourself short Ms. Granger, you have much more potential than a pawn.” Harry said. Hermione cocked her head at him.

    “You know that would have sounded a lot more mysterious if we weren’t eleven years old.”

    Harry sighed. “Yes, well, I suppose facial disfigurements can only lend a child so much gravitas. I blame Professor Snape, I’ve been having- er, detentions with him recently, and I think his flair for the dramatic has been rubbing off on me.”

    Hermione was definitely sure Potter hadn’t been having detentions with Professor Snape, and not just because he never got Slytherins in trouble. But it seemed like what Weasley would call “slimy snake secrets” and what Hermione would reluctantly admit was none of her business.

—

    “So, Severus, it’s been two months of lessons with young Harry, how are things progressing?”

    Snape sighed as he surveyed the gaudily decorated hall, oddly enough not finding the subject of the conversation the Headmaster had decided to start. He wasn’t getting out of this chat, but perhaps he could delay it?

    “Fine, Headmaster. We can discuss it later. You know today is a painful day for me. Would it be so terrible to let me brood?”

    “Severus, you’ve been brooding for a decade, and besides, procrastinating is a terrible habit. So, again, how are things with young Harry?”

    Snape sighed. “As well as you could expect, I suppose. I do not think he’ll turn out like Riddle, since we both know that’s what you’re afraid of. He considers the idea of blood supremacy to be laughable and has no interest in asserting himself in Slytherin power plays aside from ensuring he is left alone. Honestly, he seems to me like an intellectual who is too cynical for Ravenclaw. Someone who’d hoard and weaponize his knowledge rather than share it with the world.”

    “He does seem to have a certain curiosity about him.” Dumbledore agreed. “Apparently he’s had some very insightful questions about magical theory for Filius and Minerva. Septima says she’ll quit if he doesn’t take Arithmancy.”

    “Yes, he does have a sharp mind. He’s been excelling at potions as well, and seems to have a genuine interest in the subject.” Snape said, and no he wasn’t proud, damnit! “It’s only his first year, but I strongly suspect I’ll be seeing him in my NEWT classes in a few-”

    Snape was interrupted by Professor Quirrell bursting through the doors of the Great Hall. “Troll! In the dungeons! Thought you should know.”

Chapter Text

    “While not strictly made for combat, Depulso, the Banishing Charm, is one most often used for violent purposes. Its ability to be used to launch deadly projectiles or simply send the target flying on its own with more force than the Knockback Jinx make it a versatile spell that can be found in the arsenal of most any serious duelist.” -A Practical Overview of Defensive Magic, by Osmond Trillby

—

    Hermione was angry as she splashed water on her face. Angry at Weasley, for being such a jerk when she was only trying to help him. Angry at herself for letting him get to her. Angry at the school for letting bullying jerks like him and Malfoy get away with it. It was times like this she wondered if maybe she would have been better off as a muggle.

    “Granger? Is that you?” a voice called from outside the bathroom. Hermione choked back a hysterical laugh. The only person to have any sort of concern for her was one of the psychopath Slytherins. As she heard her father say once, fan-fucking-tastic.

    “Yup.” she called out, sinking down to sit on the floor and lean against the wall.

    “I heard about what happened in your Charms class. You alright?”

    “Yes. And if you’re going to continue trying to comfort me, you might as well come in, everyone else is at the feast anyways. Speaking of, why aren’t you?”

    Potter shrugged as he walked in. “Apparently Halloween is when my parents died. Got me feeling a little introspective. And I was never that fond of Halloween anyways.”

    “I think you might be the only boy who doesn’t like Halloween.” Hermione said with a chuckle. “So you’ve been clear that Slytherins don’t do anything out of the goodness of your hearts. So what’s your angle here? Want me to do your homework for you, or just trying to get another one over Malfoy?”

    It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Maybe the second one, indirectly, but I’m mostly here because chatting with you is probably more interesting than wandering the dungeons contemplating my crippling loneliness and depressing childhood.” Potter said sardonically.

    “You’re lonely too, huh? Don’t suppose you’d want to be friends, then?” Hermione said.

    “Afraid not. It’s probably not what would generally be considered healthy, but I’m not really into that whole friends thing. Last person I thought might want to be my friend tried to kill me for sport.” Potter said, and Hermione got the uncomfortable impression he meant that completely seriously.

    “I- I’m not sure what to say to that.” Hermione stammered. Potter just laughed. 

    “Then don’t say anything. That seems to be a Gryffindor thing, you always think you need to say something. But anyways, I was wondering, why do you care what Weasley thinks? You’re better than him.”

    Hermione sighed. “I wouldn’t say I’m better than him, but I’m definitely wondering why I let him have any power over me.” she admitted.

    “Granger, you’re a smart girl, so don’t lie to yourself. You’re easily the best student in our year, and you’re leagues better than someone like Weasley. He’s just a bargain-bin Malfoy with more palatable politics.”

    “Fine, I’ll admit I’m a better student than them, but not better than you! You get almost every spell first or second try!” Hermione huffed. She still had no idea how Potter did it, other than that he was simply better than her.

    “Let me give you a metaphor here. Or maybe it’s an analogy, I never could keep track of those. Point is, let’s say learning magic is like climbing a cliff. Most of our classmates are starting at the bottom of the cliff. Maybe a few of the purebloods got some tutoring before Hogwarts and start a few feet up, maybe some kids got born with larger magical cores that translate into having a few pieces of mountaineering equipment, but everyone is basically equal. We’re the exceptions. I’ve been using magic out of necessity for years, and I suspect I have a larger-than-average magical core, so I’ve got a head start and a good pair of boots. But you, from what I’ve seen, are a genuine, once in a lifetime genius. While the rest of us poor sods are climbing a cliff rock by rock, you’re climbing a staircase two steps at a time.”

    “You’re exaggerating.” Hermione scoffed, blushing, but inside, she was preening. It was nice to have someone recognize her accomplishments without demeaning her in the same breath.

    “Maybe, but not by much. So I suppose to answer why I’m comforting you in all my Slytherin snakiness, I suppose it’s two main reasons. First, I’m not scared of you right now, but of all our classmates, you’re the only one I could ever see myself legitimately fearing, so I figure it might be a good idea to convince you I’m not a complete bastard. And second, one day you’re either going to have your spirit broken and you’ll wind up as a mid-level ministry beaurocrat. Or else you’ll eventually snap and decide to not let the people around hold you back, and people like Malfoy and Weasley will realize just how stupid they were to bully you. And the look on their face will be one I wouldn’t miss seeing for all the gold in Gringotts. But I was terribly worried that at your current rate that wouldn’t happen until after graduation when I likely wouldn’t get to see it, so this little conversation is my attempt to speed up the timeline.”

    Hermione snorted. “So basically you’re encouraging me to kick the sh- to kick Weasley’s butt?” 

    Harry laughed. “I’m far too Slytherin to directly encourage violence against one of my peers, particularly not one whose esteemed lineage follows the Headmaster so… fervently. All I’ll say is that I believe revenge has a much more negative connotation than it deserves. Also, not to be rude, but what’s that smell?”

    “Excuse you? I- wait, you’re right, what is that?” Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose.

    Then a bloody mountain troll bashed down the door of the bathroom with a club the size of her torso and Hermione screamed. After all, it was a troll!

    “Parkinson! Fancy meeting you here!” Potter exclaimed as he jumped to his feet and drew his wand, and Hermione snorted despite herself as she followed suit. “Right, you do something brave and I’ll do something cunning, until it moves away from the door in which case we both do the smart thing and run like hell.” Potter said as the troll lumbered towards them. 

    “The hell is that supposed to mean?” Hermione muttered to herself as she moved right and Potter went left.

    “Stupefy!” Potter shouted, and a beam of red light shot from his wand and hit the troll in the chest. The troll blinked rapidly for a moment before roaring and making its way towards Potter with renewed vigor.

    “It’s skin is extremely magic resistant!” Hermione shouted, despite suspected Potter had probably figured that out on his own.

    “Armor. Got it. Distract it for a sec, would ya?” Potter said, before pointing his wand and summoning a length of pipe off the wall. Bloody Slytherins.

    “Hey! Over here!” Hermione shouted at the troll, before casting every hex and jinx she knew at it. She thought it might have stumbled a bit at her Trip Jinx, but otherwise it was only enraged as it forced her back into a corner.

    “Any time now, Potter!” Hermione shouted at the Slytherin, who seemed to have made the pipe solid and was levitating it in front of him.

    “Duck!” he shouted, and Hermione did, while also scampering out of the way of a blow from the troll. “Depulso!” he yelled, and there was a soft ‘whump’ followed by a splat and a crash and suddenly the awful smell increased exponentially and Hermione’s back was suddenly wet. She turned around just in time to see the troll’s now mostly-headless body collapse in the corner. The wall had the rod sticking out of it and was painted with remains of the troll’s head.

    “Jesus CHRIST Potter, what did you do to that poor thing?” Hermione asked, turning to the boy who was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

    “First of all… that poor thing… was trying to turn you into paste. Second of all… got the pipe… made it solid, then heavier… then I shot it at ‘im.”

    Hermione rubbed her temples in exasperation. “So your cunning Slytherin plan was basically just making a magical anti-tank gun?”

    “That was my thought process, yes.” Harry said. “But without the gun. Also, if it’s so straightforward, how come you didn’t think of it? Also also, think you could transfigure something into a cup for me? It turns out magical anti-tank gun is a bit of a tall order for an eleven year old and I’m parched.” Hermione rolled her eyes but transfigured a shard of the wall into a simple cup and filled it up at the sinks for him.

    “Right, well I don’t think you should be standing, let alone walking, so you just stay here while I go find a teacher or a prefect.”

    “No, no, wait. I have a much better idea.”

—

    Daphne sat in the Slytherin common room along with the rest of the house, save one. The headcount by the prefects had revealed that Potter was missing, and the common room was buzzing with speculation.

    All heads turned towards the entrance as the stone wall ground open, save Crabbe and Goyle, who were much more interested in their game of gobstones. Daphne felt her jaw drop as Potter walked (staggered) in covered in blood. “Troll- upstairs- took care of it.” he muttered before curling up in the nearest empty armchair and apparently passing out. It occurred to Daphne that Potter was really very small, even for a first year.

    Albert Nott broke the silence with a little chuckle. “Reckon I’ll take him up to Pomfrey then. Someone go find Snape.”

—

    Hermione let out a shuddering breath as she walked back towards Gryffindor Tower. Getting attacked by an XXXX magical beast really put Weasley in perspective didn’t it? She let out a semi-hysterical laugh as she remembered the sound of the troll getting its head blown off. Oh Go- Merlin. Oh Merlin, she probably had troll blood in her hair. That was never coming out. She giggled again. With her luck, she probably need magical anti-troll blood shampoo that they didn’t sell to muggleborns.

    Hermione found that thought extremely funny, and she started laughing again. It occurred to her that she was probably in shock, but magic shampoo for magic blood with magic bigotry! It was just too much.

    Then she heard rapid footsteps and Professor Flitwick came barrelling around the corner. “Ms. Granger! Are you alright? Were you at the feast? There’s a troll on the loose!”

    The tiny professor’s unnecessary concern sent her into another fit of giggles. “I’m fine professor. Doing better than the troll. Probably in shock, but definitely better than the troll.”

    “There there, Granger. Let’s get you up to the hospital wing, I’m sure you’ll feel better after a calming draught.”

—

    Severus Snape was not happy. In fact, he was decidedly unhappy. Stupid stone. Stupid dog. Stupid Quirrell. And most of all, stupid hospital robes. He had a reputation to maintain, damnit, and a knee-length blue gown with white polka-dots would blow it to shreds. If a student saw him wearing this, he would obliviate them no matter how many lectures it would earn him from Albus about “loosening up” and “acting his age” and “respecting the sanctity of students' minds”.

    Thus, the curtains were drawn tight around his bed as he waited for the blood replenishers to kick in, and consequently he did not see who was being brought in and fussed over by Poppy, he only heard concerning giggles. A Cheering Charm gone wrong? Bloody teenagers can’t keep their wands in their pockets, not even when there’s a troll on the loose.

    “Are you feeling better now, Ms. Granger?” asked a voice that Severus quickly identified as Flitwick.

    “I am sir, thank you. And I think you should probably send someone down to the Slytherin dorms, Potter insisted on going there.”

    “Could you do that, Filius?” Poppy said. There were some fast footsteps as the Charms Professor presumably dashed away. “Now dear, could you start from the beginning?”

    “Right. So I was in the bathroom, having a cry because Weasley is a foul-tempered ignoramus-” ooh, that was a good one, he might have to compare notes on insult crafting with Granger sometime “-and Potter came in. I’m not sure if he was actually trying to get me to beat up Weasley and Malfoy or if he’s just too much of a nutter to admit to comforting me without an ulterior motive.” Snape bit back a sigh, Potter was undoubtedly being serious “But regardless, we were talking and then the troll came in. How did a troll get into the castle, anyways? According to Hogwarts, a History-” 

    “We’re still investigating how the troll got through the wards.” Poppy interrupted. “So, what happened next?”

    “Well, Potter tried to stun it, but that didn’t work, so he told me to distract it, then he took a piece of pipe and basically turned it into a tank shell and shot it at the troll.” Bloody Potter.

    “A… what?” asked Madame Pomfrey.

    “Ah right, purebloods.” Granger said, and Snape could have sworn he’d heard Lucius say “Ah yes, muggleborns” in the exact same tone. “Basically, he took the pipe, made it solid, made it heavier, and used a very strong banishing charm to launch it at the troll. It was exuberantly gory.” Granger said matter of factly.

    “One point to Gryffindor for amusing me.” Snape muttered under his breath. If anyone asked, he had seen a Gryffindor trip and fall flat on their face.

    “I see… and where is Mr. Potter now?” Poppy asked, her voice distinctly tighter.

    “I promise I tried to get him to come here first. But he insisted on going to the Slytherin common room so he could walk in covered in blood. Something about ‘building a reputation’ and ‘the looks on their faces.’”

    Snape sighed. He’d be having words with Potter about what was an acceptable way to establish your reputation and what was overdramatic foolishness. Not that Snape had any experience with overdramatic foolishness. That period where he tried writing sonnets to Death was a valid phase of artistic experimentation.

Chapter Text

    “Lacrimosa Sanguinus is a Dark variation on the Weeping Jinx that causes the target to cry blood instead of tears. It is an emotion-warping spell that inflicts a light desire upon the caster to make the target bleed more. The benefits of Lacrimosa Sanguinus over a standard Lacrimosa are that it is even more difficult to see through blood than tears, and crying blood usually unnerves weak willed opponents. Like many jinxes, Lacrimosa Sanguinus can be lethal if one goes for hours without it being ended, but a simple Finite Incantatum will end it, so it is only truly dangerous for muggles or wandless wizards.” -An Introduction to Dark Magic, by Patricia Malfoy, 1902

—

    “Potter!”

    Harry turned as he was leaving Potions to see Granger hurrying after him. They weren’t friends after the troll incident- he didn’t want to get backstabbed, thanks- but they talked sometimes, and it wasn’t terrible. They even partnered together in Potions once, although after seeing what disasters Longbottom caused without someone to temper his sheer ineptitude for Potions, Harry decided he’d spare Snape a migraine or eight and go back to being the partnerless one in the class, since he actually had a modicum of competence, and Snape had taught him some tricks for getting things done faster without a partner. Of course, he didn’t actually care if Longbottom’s potion disasters drove Snape to try and drown himself in a cauldron of acid, except he was actually learning really useful stuff in his private lessons and it would be a shame if that had to stop due to Neville accidentally turning a Sore Throat Potion into something that would put him on an ICW no-floo list.

    “Potter!”

    “Sorry Granger, was just having a flashback to that time Longbottom created magical mustard gas. Poor Finnegan. I don’t like him much, but he didn’t deserve a week in the hospital wing for standing too close to Longbottom’s cauldron. What can I do for you today?”

    “You act like I only talk to you when I want something from you. Which coincidentally, I do, but I also do genuinelly enjoy talking to you. Just because you think you’re too good to consider me a friend doesn’t mean I’m the same.”

    “I’m too smart for friends, not too good for them. Or too paranoid, according to Professor Snape. But anyways, what do you want and do you have something to offer in exchange.”

    Granger huffed. “Of course I have something to offer in exchange, heaven forbid we have an interaction that wasn’t transactional, you psychopath.” she said exasperatedly. “I know you’ve been having private lessons with Professor Snape and I want in. And in return I’ll invite you to my advanced lessons with Professor McGonagall.”

    Harry almost hestitated. Transfiguration was his favorite subject, but he doubted McGonagall’s advanced lessons would cover anything that would make him stronger. “As much as I’d love to accept, Granger, I unfortunately do not have private lessons with the ol’ dungeon bat, and therefore am ineligible for your exchange program. I bet lessons with Snape would be wicked though! He probably knows all sorts of ways to make people’s heads explode.”

    Hermione snorted. “You know, if I was just going on the fact that he assigns you a saturday detention every week and you’re the only Slytherin he disciplines, I might believe you, but apparently you’re keeping him in the loop with developments in your non-existent social life if he’s calling you paranoid, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sounded fond just now when you called him the dungeon bat. Which is very disrespectful, by the way.”

    Harry sighed. “Damn, you’re good. I really have to stop assuming you’re as daft as the rest of your house.” Harry bit back a smirk as he saw the conflicting emotions on Granger’s face at the backhanded compliment. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to Snape about it, and if he’s cool with it, you’re in. It might just be a me thing, or a Slytherin thing.”

    Granger beamed at him. “Thanks Potter! You’re a great friend!” she said before smirking and strutting away. Damn that girl.

—

    “I told you she’d figure it out, sir.”

    “Silence, brat. Fine. She can join our Saturday lessons for theory and combat magic, and we’ll start with lessons on Wednesday evenings to continue with the mind arts. I suppose you could use a dueling partner other than me on a Sluggishness Solution.”

    “Sure, sir, sure. I almost got you last week.”

    “Impertinent dunderhead, I only hesitated because I was about to use a Decapitation Curse until I remembered Poppy can’t fix that.”

    “Ooh, will you teach me that one next? I promise I won’t accidentally use it on you or Hermione.”

    “On first name terms with her now, are you? And fuck no, it’s not me or Granger I’m worried about you decapitating, it’s everyone else in the bloody castle.”

    “You should swear more often, sir, it’s quite entertaining. Imagine the look on Granger’s face if you casually dropped an F-bomb in class!”

    Snape sighed. Mad little gremlin. “Tell you what Potter, I will swear ONCE in class IF you admit Granger is your friend.”

    Potter sighed. “Trick question sir. Friendship implies an amount of mutual respect and trust, and while I freely admit I respect the hell out of Granger, I don’t trust her. And since you’ve said you’re too good of a legilimens for me to lie to, I shouldn’t, so I won’t. Which is an awful shame. What I wouldn’t give to see you tell Malfoy to fuck off.”

    Snape hid a small smile by crossing his legs and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Potter, I shouldn’t have to explain why I can’t tell my godson, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, to ‘fuck off.’ Speaking of fucking off, aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

    “Only History of Magic, sir. You know how Binns is.”

    “Nevertheless, I’m afraid I must insist you attend regardless of the merits of Binns’ teaching style… or lack thereof.”

    Potter sighed but stood up anyways. “Fine sir, I can tell when I’m not wanted. Just don’t act too surprised when I ask to be resorted into Gryffindor. I bet McGonagall wouldn’t make me go to Binns’ class.”

    “She absolutely would, dunderhead, and furthermore would not be nearly as tolerant of your atrocious language as I am.”

    “Eh, I bet I could bring her around. Fuck off, sir!” Potter said cheerily as he walked out the door.

    “Fuck off, Potter.” Snape grumbled fondly as he started writing out the instructions for his next class.

—

    “Tell me Potter, what is your opinion on Dark Magic?”

    Harry raised his eyebrows at Snape’s unexpected question. Good thing it was a Wednesday and Hermione wasn’t there to go squealing to McGonagall. “I’m not quite sure I have one, sir. I can’t actually find an explanation of what Dark Magic is, only warnings that it’s a ‘slippery slope’ and a ‘dark path’ and various other cliche warnings that generally only serve to make me more curious.”

    Snape sighed. “I told him restricting knowledge of what the Dark Arts are would only make people more curious… anyways, Dark Magic is an umbrella term for a number of branches of magic that either require something more from the caster than simply magic power, or that necessarily have a negative effect on the caster. They are not inherently evil, but due to the inherent risks they must be used very carefully. Many Dark spells, for example, can change the mental state of the caster with frequent usage. For anyone with basic occlumency shields, these foreign feelings can easily be identified and expunged. But for those with unguarded minds, the spells can drive you insane. There are other types of Dark Magic, but for now, I think you are ready to learn a few of the easier Dark spells, if you so wish.”

    “I do so wish, and I thank you for the trust you have shown me in talking to me about magic I assume is illegal or highly taboo.” Harry replied seriously.

    “It is illegal, though only barely. For the spells I’m going to teach you today, the legal penalty is a small fine.”

    “Ah, only illegal for poor people then.”

    “Quite. Now then, you remember Lacrimosa?”

    “Yes sir, the Weeping Jinx.”

    “Well, there is a Dark variation, Lacrimosa Sanguinus, that makes the target cry blood. Same wand motion as Lacrimosa, just a longer incantation- not that you usually bother with those.”

    Harry picked up the hang of the spell fairly quickly. Lacrimosa was simple enough, this was just that but with blood. Then Snape conjured a large black dog and Harry froze.

    “Now, Potter, I need to know you can resist the mental compulsion before we go deeper into the Dark Arts, so I need you to cast the spell on a living target.”

    “No.” Harry said, trying to subtly start making his way towards the door, though he didn’t think he was fooling Snape.

    “Potter, it’s just a conjured animal, not a real one. They don’t actually feel pain.”

    “Don’t care. They act like they do. I don’t wanna. I’m not like him.”

    Then Harry bolted from Snape’s office with one thought running through his head, though it was not his own: “It is better than stray animals!”

—

    “Potter, are you staying here for winter break?” Hermione asked.

    “Yup.” he replied, popping the P.

    “Don’t you miss your fa… nevermind.” Hermione said, blushing furiously at the glare Potter sent her. Right, most famous orphan in the magical world. How could she be so insensitive? “Er, anyways, I wanted to make sure to give you this before I left.” Hermione said, holding out a wrapped package to Potter, who for once in his damn life was displaying emotion, in this case shock. “Don’t look so surprised Potter, I told you I consider you a friend even if you don’t think of me the same.”

    Potter hesitantly took the present, looking at it like he had no idea how to react. It occurred to Hermione that maybe he didn’t, which was rather worrying. “Thanks Hermione. Er, Granger. As it happens, I got something for you too. I was gonna owl it to you over break, but I suppose I can grab it now. Walk me back to Slytherin, would you?”

    Hermione beamed at him and they began walking down into the dungeons together. “Right, now non-Slytherins aren’t allowed to know where the entrance to our dorms are, which is why you’re waiting here instead of coming around the corner with me.” Potter said with a wink, since Hermione already knew where the entrance was. He hadn’t been particularly concerned with secrecy when he was magically exhausted and leaning on Hermione for support.

    Hermione heard the grinding of stone against stone. Then from around the corner came an older Slytherin, a seventh year from the looks of his embarrassing mustache. “Well well well, what’s a little mudblood like you doing all alone down here in dungeons?” he said, drawing his wand.

    “I- I’m just waiting for a- a friend.” Hermione said, cursing her nervousness.

    “A friend? Well, I’m certainly glad to see you championing inter-house cooperation.” he said, grabbing her shoulder. “I’ll wait with you. I think I’d really like to meet the Slytherin who decided to befriend you.” Hermione gulped. She really hoped she wasn’t about to get Harry cursed.

    A minute later he came back, holding package wrapped in green and silver that ordinarily would have made her roll her eyes. “Wilkes.” he said with a nod. He handed Hermione the gift without taking his eyes off the older boy. “I’m afraid you should probably go now Hermione, it looks like there’s some in house matters that require my attention.”

    Wilkes’ grip slackened and Hermione scurried off around the corner before immediately stopping once she was out of sight and turning to listen. No way she would let Potter get cursed for giving her a Christmas present! “Well Potter, I knew Draco was isolating you within the house, but I think I’d rather be alone and friendless than associating with Gryffindor mudbloods, don’t you? Or do I need to teach you a lesson in not dishonoring our house?”

    Potter sighed, and Hermione would bet every book she owned he was rolling his eyes as he did so. “It’s called a long con, Wilkes, and you nearly ruined the payoff.” he said, and Hermione felt her blood run cold. “The little swot gets good grades, but she’s way too trusting. I gave her a cursed book I picked up in Knockturn. The guy I got it from said it’ll burn your eyes out if you read it or something.”

    “Well, looks like I was wrong about you Potter. Nice work. Here’s hoping she can take a hint and doesn’t come back after break.”

    Hermione could feel the tears in her eyes as she ran back to Gryffindor tower. Of course he was just like the rest of them. Stupid Slytherin purebloods. He was probably having a good laugh about it with Malfoy and the rest of them right now. She ignored the looks she got when she stormed through the common room and up to her dorm, throwing herself on the bed and drawing the curtains around her. She had herself a good cry for a few minutes before she heard a knocking on the door. 

    “Come in.” she grumbled. Then she heard a distinctly masculine voice clearing their throat outside her bed and she opened her curtains to see Percy Weasley standing there awkwardly.

    “Um, hi, is, ah, everything alright?”

    “What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, not particularly caring how rude she sounded.

    “Gryffindor prefects have an emergency override on the gender wards on the girls’ dorms. Ron was saying you looked upset and he thought I might be able to help.” Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Percy winced. “Yes, I know it’s rather ironic. Believe me, I know what an insensitive prat my youngest brother can be. Especially considering he wasn’t able to ask me to help you without insulting both of us.” Percy said, muttering the last bit. “But he might be right that it takes one nerdy Gryffindor to help another. If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine, I can find a female prefect if you’d prefer or just leave you alone, but I really would like to help.”

    Hermione sighed. Telling Weasley the elder- eldest- eldest in Hogwarts- couldn’t really make things worse. And based on what Weasley the younger- youngest- youngest in Hogwarts (damn, they really were a huge family) had said about him a few times, Percy might actually get it.

    “Well, I’ve always had a bit of trouble making friends, but I started getting closer with Potter after the whole troll fiasco. He’s a little off, but I thought it was just a Slytherin thing. He was adamant he didn’t consider me a friend even when I said I’d consider him a friend regardless. But earlier I gave him a Christmas present, since I don’t have an owl and I’m going home for break. He said he had one for me too so we went down to the dungeons for him to grab it. While I was waiting outside an older Slytherin came out and started hassling me, then Potter came back and started getting hassled too. He gave me the present and basically told me to run in Slytherin-speak so I left but hung back in case Harry needed help but then he started telling the other guy how our friendship was all a trick and that the gift is cursed to burn my eyes out.” Hermione said before dramatically flopping back onto her bed in despair.

    “Hmm… would you mind if I cast a few detection spells on that gift? I’ve gotten rather good at them after living with the twins.” Hermione snorted and nodded as Percy pointed his wand at Potter’s present and started casting spells. After a minute or two, Percy snorted in amusement. “Well, this is technically cursed in the broadest sense of the term. It’s not gonna burn your eyes out though, just turn your hair red and green for an hour the first time you touch it. With white sparkles, too, how festive. I wonder if Potter did it himself, this is impressive charms work for a first year.”

    Hermione looked up at him. “It’s not dangerous?”

    “Well, I’m no cursebreaker, so I can’t say for certain, but I highly doubt it. My guess is that he got you a Christmas present with a cute, festive prank attached, but lied about so that he didn’t get beat up. Slytherins are complicated, and their politics even more so. I’ve actually got a few Slytherin friends, but we have to keep our friendship quiet because it would cause a lot of trouble for them if they were caught being too friendly with a blood traitor. If you’re still worried, you can have Flitwick or McGonagall take a look, but I’m pretty sure this is just a big misunderstanding.”

    Hermione sniffed, and Percy conjured her a tissue. “Thanks Weasley. Er, Prefect Weasley? Prefect Percy?”

    “Percy is fine.” He said with a smile.

—

    Harry woke up early on Christmas. Not because it was Christmas, but simply because getting up early enough to have breakfast on the table before Vernon or Dudley awoke was a habit ingrained in him by the Dursleys. He usually used the extra time before breakfast to meditate or read. But today as soon as he was up he eagerly turned towards Hermione’s present, which he had been waiting patiently to open. He hated how happy getting a real Christmas present made him, because he knew he was starting to care about Hermione despite himself. Then he gasped, it wasn’t just Hermione’s present sitting there! There was also a soft looking bundle with a note attached and a black envelope. After casting detection spells on all of them (Harry didn’t think Hermione would send him something dangerous, but one could never be too careful) Harry decided to open Hermione’s first. 

There was a simple card inside, along with a book. Harry read the card first, vaguely remembering Petunia saying that was polite once.

This book made me think of you. Merry Christmas to my best friend! And only friend, but shut up you prat. 

-Hermione

Harry turned the book over to look at the cover and burst out laughing. It was a copy of The Prince, by Machiavelli.* Once he had gotten over his laughter, Harry turned towards the other two items he had received. He looked at the tag on the squashy package first. 

Harry, your father left this in my care at the time of his passing, and I believe it is long past time for it to be used by a Potter once more. Please don’t be too irresponsible with it, and do try to keep your poor head of house’s mental health in mind as well. 

-Headmaster Dumbledore

Harry opened the package and gasped as a silvery fabric he recognized as an invisibility cloak slipped out. He was a little concerned about the Headmaster’s judgment in giving such a powerful artifact to a prepubescent wizard sorted into the house of cunning, but oh well. 

Finally, he opened the black envelope. Inside was a photograph and a letter (on black paper). Maybe it was rude, but Harry looked at the photograph first. In Harry’s defense, it was the first photo of his mother he could actually remember seeing. It was different from seeing the impression of her when he accidentally glimpsed Aunt Petunia’s memories. She was hard to focus on, after the fact. She seemed smudged, almost. Then again, it was a memory of a memory, so maybe the quality degrades. It was a muggle photograph, but clearly showed a girl with bright green eyes and fiery red hair waving at the photographer.

For the first time, Harry let himself truly wonder what his parents were like. He’d made himself stop when he was younger, because it didn’t do him any good. It just hurt knowing he’d never know. But Snape knew his mom at least, and probably also his dad. He could actually know!

Harry was so excited he almost forgot about the letter. But he didn’t, and so looked down at the silvery ink.

Potter, it occurred to me that with your aunt being… the way she is, you may not know very much about your parents. Enclosed is a photograph of your mother from when we were children- we grew up together in Cokeworth. If you wish to ask me about her, you may do so after the feast tonight when I am suitably drunk. If you wish to hear stories about your father, go pester Minerva. -S. Snape

    Harry laughed. Snape was probably joking about asking him when he was drunk, but better safe than sorry, right? Besides, he was curious what kind of drunk Professor Snape was.

—

    Hermione grinned as her parents came down on Christmas day. She was always excited for Christmas- she was mature, not fifty- but she was especially excited to see what Harry- Potter, whatever- had gotten her. It was her first Christmas gift from her first friend, even if Ha- even if Potter wouldn’t admit it. 

    Once they were properly seated with large mugs of coffee they finally began opening presents. Hermione happily opened Potter’s first. She knew the moment the hair changing jinx took affect when her mother’s eyes opened comically wide and her dad shot coffee out of his nose when he started laughing. She ran to the mirror to see how it looked and was surprised to see what a good job Harry did with the charm. The green and red went in alternating stripes, and the sparkling bits throughout looked like snowflakes or stars.

    She came back into the family room where Hermione’s mom just said “Honey- your hair-”, which set off Hermione and her dad again. And then there was another round of laughter from all the Grangers when they noticed that the present itself was a guide to identifying and breaking jinxes and curses on objects.

    It was only after the rest of presents had been opened and Hermione’s parents were leafing through the cursebreaking book that Hermione noticed there had been a note in with Potter’s gift.

    Granger. I hope you enjoy the gift, and your hair. It should go away after an hour or so. I think. I’m much better with transfiguration than charms, but trying to tie a spell that would turn your clothes into a santa costume onto a book is a bit outside of my wheelhouse at the moment.

    Anyways, just writing this so you don’t freak out about the hair. Also to tell you to be careful who you show this too, it falls in a legal loophole created for the old pureblood families where it’s illegal to buy or sell, but not to actually own. And gift giving is a gray area within a gray area and usually boils down to if the person judging the case likes you or not, so try and exercise some Slytherin discretion with this. And don’t worry, it’s not illegal for any good reason, it just has a section on how to attach spells to objects that could theoretically be extrapolated into the magical equivalent of a bomb-making manual.

    Enjoy! 

-Potter

P.S. Happy Christmas and all that jazz

Hermione sighed and shook her head. She was starting to understand why Snape always kept a headache cure within arms reach during their lessons.

—

    The dining hall of Greengrass Manor felt very empty with just the four of them, Daphne thought. Of course, it had been bustling a few days ago, since father’s many siblings and their families had flooed in from Russia for the solstice, and the various British cousins from her mother’s side of the family had come by as well. 

    Christmas was a stark contrast, with just the nuclear Greengrass family: Daphne and Astoria and their parents, Viktor and Dalia. “So Daph, when will you tell me more about Hogwarts? All you’ve done since you got back is sleep and read!”

    Daphne smiled at her little sister. Astoria was different from her in so many ways. Daphne was cold and reserved, and played that up in front of strangers, while Astoria was vivacious and friendly. Daphne considered every angle and collected all the information before committing herself to a decision, while Astoria tended to go with her gut. They didn’t even look very much alike; Daphne took after their father with his blonde hair and brown eyes, while Astoria took after their mother’s dark hair and hazel eyes.

    Despite their differences, Daphne loved her sister with all her heart, and was probably the only person in the world whose interests Daphne would put before her own. “I’m sorry Tori, I’ve just been trying to enjoy the peace and quiet. It’s impossible to get some time to yourself at Hogwarts. There’s nowhere I can go and just read a book without being disturbed.”

    “Yes, I’m afraid Hogwarts isn’t exactly made for introverts. Try to keep your chin up though, darling.” her mother said. “How is the political situation?”

    “Dark. Damien Nott is the uncontested king, and any gray or light students keep their heads down for the most part.” Daphne said with a slight frown.

    “Hmm. Nott isn’t the worst option from the Dark. Octavius scares me a lot less than Lucius, that’s for sure.” Dalia mused as she swirled her wine glass. “Tell me your impressions of the Nott children, then.”

    Daphne gulped. It truly hit her for the first time that her impressions would have real impacts outside of Hogwarts. “Well, I don’t know much about Damien outside his capacity as King. He seems to rule more through diplomacy than force, but I naturally don’t know much about what goes on behind the scenes yet. His public persona is friendly and amicable. It’s also worth noting that he was the one who took Potter to the hospital wing after the Troll Incident.”

    “Yes, we’ll get to that later. Anything worth noting about the younger Notts?”

    “Albert is, from what I understand, extremely quick to anger and violent. He’ll likely be king one day through intimidation. Theodore is the opposite, very timid. Reads even more than I do, is almost always in the library.”

    “And within your year group? It doesn’t sound like Theodore will be a leader.” 

    “Draco Malfoy is the obvious choice. He has the support, and isn’t bad with a wand. Everyone is falling in behind him or ignoring the process entirely. With the possible exception of Potter.”

    “How so?” asked Dalia, raising a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

    “Potter is complicated. At the beginning of the year, on the first night, Draco immediately confronted Potter in the common room and basically told him to fall in line. Potter said ‘you stay out of my way, I stay out of yours’ but Draco publicly insulted Potter’s parents anyways, but Potter didn’t rise to the bait. So that would have been the end of it, except first, Potter stops Draco from putting Longbottom’s remembrall in a tree during our first flying lesson by whispering in his ear. Then there was the whole Troll Incident, where he walks into the common room exhausted and covered in troll blood, and Snape doesn’t deny the rumors that Potter killed the troll, which might as well confirm them. And finally, Potter’s started hanging out with a muggleborn, Granger. They’re not very close I don’t think, but it’s enough to raise eyebrows.”

    Viktor snorted from where he sat sipping his cocktail (something called a Bare Knuckle Boxer that he had allowed Daphne to try this year and was absolutely disgusting). “So basically, Malfoy is the leader, but will always be looking over his shoulder at Potter, nyet?” Daphne nodded at her father.

    “So what’s Potter like? Is he nice? Are he and that Granger girl boyfriend-girlfriend?” Astoria butted in. Daphne laughed dryly.

    “Tori, remember how Mom said there’s three kinds of Slytherins?”

    “The ones born for it, the ones intentionally raised for it, and the ones unintentionally raised for it!” Tori recited obliviously.

    “I think he was unintentionally raised for it.” Daphne said softly, and Tori’s bubbly enthusiasm left her as their parents exchanged significant looks. “He’s very small for our age, flinches at touch, and claims to reject the idea of friendship being a good thing. He says it’s just making yourself vulnerable for no reason.”

    “Interesting…” Dalia muttered. “Very interesting.”

—

    Harry almost asked Professor Snape about his mother after the feast. But Harry was feeling really happy with a full belly and the increasingly childish antics of the increasingly intoxicated professors. Hagrid was swinging back and forth between singing and crying with alarming speed. Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were looking at each other the same way some of the older years looked at each other before they disappeared into broom closets together. Professor Flitwick was having a drinking contest with Professor Kettleburn and the Head Girl, and the teachers were losing quite badly. Or at least that’s what Harry thought until he realized the Head Girl was silently vanishing every other shot. Then again, if the professors were too sloshed to call her on it, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to spoil her fun. And Professor Snape was passed out with a half-empty goblet of wine in front of him and a series of increasingly elaborate and silly hats appearing on his head, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore. Harry wished he had a picture of Snape in the fruit hat Dumbledore made him, that would be excellent blackmail material.

    The cheerful atmosphere was almost enough to get Harry to approach Snape. But Snape was asleep and drunk, and Harry had bad experiences with waking up sleeping adults and with drunk adults, so he decided to wait.

—

    *Author’s Note: Niccolo Machiavelli was a renaissance-era Italian diplomat and political thinker. His most famous book, The Prince, basically advocates for disregarding any concepts of morality in political decision-making. A couple quotes from The Prince that ought to get the point across are “It is safer to be feared than to be loved” and “Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are”. He’s a cynical bastard, to the degree that some people think The Prince might have been satirical.

Chapter Text

    “The Sorcerer's Stone is a mythical item considered the apotheosis of alchemy. Its ability to alchemically create True Gold and its role as a catalyst in the Elixir of Life make it perhaps the single most valuable object in the world, muggle or magical. Only one has been created in recorded history, by French alchemist Nicolas Flamel.” -The Muggleborn’s Dictionary of Magical Terms, by Stanley Benton, 1987

—

    “Potter, I believe I have found a… workaround, for our issue with the Dark Arts.” Snape began as the brat entered his office one Wednesday night. 

    “I don’t care if it’s an uglier animal sir, I’m not killing animals for fun.” Potter said stubbornly.

    “That’s not my solution you dolt, unless you mean to call me an ugly animal, in which case our Saturday lesson will consist of you practicing dodging while Granger and I practice our Stinging Jinxes.” Snape replied with a frown.

    “Wait, you mean I’m gonna be practicing on you, sir?” 

    “Yes. Weeping blood is unpleasant, but despite the spell’s Dark nature it’s still only a jinx.” 

    “Sir, weren’t you the one who said even jinxes can be lethal in the right circumstances?” Potter asked with a grin.

    “This is the exact opposite of the right circumstances for a jinx to kill me, brat. The exercise is simple: you cast the Blood Weeping Jinx on me, then end it to prove you can overcome the compulsion to make me bleed more.”

    “Very well sir. Lacrimo-”

    “NOT HERE! Merlin Potter, do you want to get blood on half the damn potions ingredients?”

    “Er, right, sorry sir. Shall we retire to the practice room?”

    “Obviously.” Snape drawled, but he was a little annoyed to realize there was no venom in it.

—

    It was much later in the year when Harry was heading to bed that he found the note. It was lying on his pillow, with a severed finger attached to the bottom with a sticking charm.

    Potter. Come to the end of the closed third-floor corridor, alone. Fail to comply and Snape dies. And make it snappy, I’ll cut off more fingers as I get bored, and it would be a shame if your potions master couldn’t hold a stirring rod any more.

    Harry swore loudly. “Potter, do be quiet, some of us are trying to OH SWEET MERLIN IS THAT A FINGER THAT’S SO GROSS!”

    Harry turned to see Malfoy staring at the finger with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. “Yes, your godfather’s apparently. He’s allegedly being held hostage and apparently I need to go to the third floor corridor of certain death to save him.”

    “Then why are you still standing here? Go save him!” Draco demanded.

    “I’m still standing here because galloping headfirst into danger without letting anyone know would be foolish in the extreme. Have someone go look for Snape and tell them to tell him to send me a Patronus message immediately if they can find him. You take this to Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Flitwick, in that order. I know you don’t like Dumbles but he’s got a vested interest in keeping Snape safe. Meanwhile, I’ll go to the third floor and stall for time.”

    “Fine. But I’m only doing what you’re saying because I was thinking it too.”

—

    Daphne swore as she read the note on Snape’s door. 

    Out harvesting moon-daisies. If the dunderhead reading this is a student with a problem that absolutely cannot wait, go to Professor Flitwick or Madam Pomfrey. If the dunderhead reading this is a colleague, I already told you I wouldn’t be available tonight and thus you are a double-dunderhead. If the dunderhead reading this is an auror, I guarantee you can’t make it stick.

    Well, the note did say go to Flitwick. And Draco panicking while holding a letter with a severed finger stuck to it probably constituted ‘a problem that absolutely cannot wait.’ Daphne sighed as she started walking towards Ravenclaw Tower as fast as she respectably could. Severed finger or not, Draco looked like a fool dashing around everywhere.

    Then again, maybe a severed finger did justify a light jog with her wand drawn. It was a bloody severed finger, after all.

—

    Harry quickly folded the invisibility cloak and slipped it inside one of his larger robe pockets. It was nice to use it for something other than cautiously probing the Restricted Section. Family heirloom safely stowed away, Harry approached the forbidden corridor. The door had been left ajar by the kidnapper, thankfully. Harry didn’t want to imagine what manner of fiendishly difficult wards and locking charms Dumbledore put on the door to keep out over-curious students.

    Behind the door was a giant, three-headed dog, a self-playing harp, and an open trapdoor. Given that all three heads of the dog were asleep, Harry decided not to question it too much and jumped through the trapdoor.

    “That was a stupid decision.” Harry thought as he fell. “If I break my neck when I land I’m gonna bloody haunt myself.” These thoughts were for naught, however, as Harry landed on a soft, spongy surface. Harry’s relief lasted about seven seconds, which coincidentally was also how long it took him to realize he had landed in the middle of a giant Devil’s Snare, at which point his relief gave way to panic, which returned to relief when he remembered that Devil’s Snare is weak to fire and he knows for a fact that he can conjure fire wordlessly, wandlessly, and with a moderate concussion.

    One burning Devil’s Snare later, Harry advanced into a room full of… winged keys? Harry shrugged, he liked flying well enough, and there were brooms conveniently leaned against the wall. He wondered if they were part of this strangely elaborate series of traps or if they had also been left behind by the kidnapper. Or kidnappers, there were multiple brooms, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it took multiple fighters to get the drop on Snape.

    The next two rooms were extremely easy, considering that they consisted of a giant chessboard where the white side was in checkmate* and a dead troll. Neither reacted to Harry’s presence. 

    The room after the troll presented a much bigger problem. Not in the riddle itself; that took Harry a few minutes but according to the riddle it was the little bottle with the blue potion. No, the problem was that if Snape was involved in the creation of this challenge, which Harry suspected he was, then all the bottles would be poisoned. Of course Snape would probably have some sort of emergency bypass code* but he could be there guessing that forever. Eventually, Harry cautiously wafted fumes from the various bottles towards him. The bottles that would have wine according to the riddle all smelled like wine, and he could identify two of the three poisons, while the third smelled so strongly of elderberries that there was no way it wouldn't cause a human issues. So in the end Harry decided Dumbledore must have shut down any Slytherin sneakiness and quaffed the blue potion. It worked, and Harry felt slightly embarrassed at how much he overthought things, before he gasped at the sight in front of him.

    The room contained three things. First was Snape, bound, gagged, and unconscious. Second was some weird mirror. Third was- Professor Quirrell???

    “You know, if both of us survive this, I’m never letting Snape live down getting kidnapped by you.” Harry said as he took a few steps forwards.

    “Shut up Potter! Do you have any idea how annoying it was to have to fake a stutter for the whole damn year?” Quirrell yelled.

    “Do you have any idea how annoying it was to have to listen to it? From where I’m standing, that stammer looks like it was a bad idea for everyone involved.”

    “Ah, but that’s where you're wrong! It kept anybody from suspecting that I was trying to steal the Stone, despite being the only realistic candidate!”

    “I find it hard to believe that a bad stammer kept anybody from suspecting you. Also, what Stone?”

    “The Sorcerer’s Stone you idiot!”

    “Wassat?”

    “It’s- wait, is this really the first you’re hearing of the Stone?”

    “Yup.”

    “Really? A bunch of first year Gryffindors figured it out it was being kept here a couple weeks ago, so I assumed the whole castle would know by now.”

    “Oh. I don’t really pay attention to gossip and rumors unless it might come in handy as blackmail material down the line. So, uh, assume I know nothing about the rumors or the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

    Quirrell sighed. “In a nutshell, it’s a one of a kind alchemical creation that can be used to grant immortality and generate infinite riches. And it’s somehow hidden in that mirror over there. And you’re going to get it for me or else your precious mentor gets it.”

    Harry sighed and considered his options. If he refused, Snape would probably die, and then he would likely be forced to via threats against himself, so there was no point in that. And honestly, considering how easy the obstacles were relative to the value of the stone, Harry kind of assumed there was some sort of trap within the trap here. “Fine. How do I get the stone out of the mirror, then?”

    “Wait, really? You’re just gonna comply? No screaming and swearing?” Quirrell asked.

    “Well yeah. You hold all the cards here. You’ve got a hostage, and I’d be a fool to think I could beat you in a fight if you can beat Snape. I don’t even have any guarantees you won’t kill us after I give you the stone other than the fact that you’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this and presumably know that executing us is just going to draw more heat. Unnecessary violence and unwanted attention and all that. So, the Stone?”

    “Yes, yes… just look into the mirror and it should appear.” 

    Harry raised a dubious eyebrow but looked into the mirror regardless. In it, he saw himself. He looked older, was holding a shiny red stone, and was standing next to an obscene pile of gold. “So, uh, can I have the stone, please?” Mirror Harry seemed to laugh and shook his head while wagging a finger at Harry like he was a dog who pooped somewhere he shouldn’t. “Well why not? I kinda need it to avoid Snape dying, you know.” Mirror Harry simply flopped back into a pile of galleons and began tossing the stone to himself.

    “Well? Where is it?” demanded Quirrell.

    “Mirror-Me is being a prick and won’t give it up.” Harry said with a huff.

    “Impossible! I checked the spellwork on that mirror! It’ll give the Stone to someone who wants to have it but not use it!”

    “Ah. Well. The thing there is, I would totally use it if I could. It wouldn’t be very Slytherin of me to have such a powerful item and not use it. I mean, from what I’ve figured out, financial capital and political power are basically indistinguishable in Magical Britain. I could just pay for anyone I didn’t like to go to jail for as long as I wanted them to.”

    “I’m sorry, what do you mean it wouldn’t be very Slytherin of you?” said a high, cold voice. For a moment Harry thought Snape had woken up and something was wrong with his throat, but he was still unconscious.

    “Well, he is a Slytherin, master.” Quirrell said nervously.

    “You mean he didn’t go into Gryffindor as we had assumed he would and you NEVER SAW FIT TO TELL ME THAT?” shrieked the voice.

    “Um, who’s this third person talking?” Harry asked confusedly.

    “Let me face him.” the third voice hissed.

    “But master, you’re not strong enough!” said Quirrell.

    “Quirrell, your incompetence has already forfited your right to life. The only question now is how painful your death will be. Now unwrap me!” Harry watched with morbid curiosity as Quirrell removed his turban to reveal a second, twisted face on the back of his head. “See, Potter? See what you have reduced me to?” hissed the face.

    “Me? The fuck did I do?” Harry asked defensively. The face blinked for a moment.

    “I’m Voldemort.” it said awkwardly.

    “Oh. OH! Wait, but everyone said you died when I was a baby?”

    “Death cannot hold Lord Voldemort! And since you can’t get me the Stone, I’ll just have to settle for seeing if Death can hold you.” Voldemort said, pointing Quirrell’s wand at Harry. 

    After the fact, Harry would say he had duelled Voldemort and survived, particularly when discussing the incident with people he didn’t like. However, Harry was immediately disarmed by Voldemort’s first spell and then was forced to duck and weave under an unrelenting barrage of curses. Voldemort was impeded by the effort of possessing Quirrell, not using his own wand, and the inherent awkwardness of having your face on the wrong side of your head, and he was still toying with Harry while giving him no opportunity to turn the tables.

    Harry absolutely would have died down there if the door to the chamber with the potions riddle hadn’t been blasted open to reveal Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and- “Snape?” Harry asked incredulously.

    Snape didn’t respond as the assembled professors immediately engaged Voldemort. And while the Dark Lord might have easily defeated a talented first year despite his handicaps, he would have struggled to simultaneously fight McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick in his prime, to say nothing of Dumbledore or the fact that he was currently a face on the back of someone else’s head. So, he did the craven thing (if you asked a Gryffindor) or the smart thing (if you asked a Slytherin) and fled via detaching from Quirrell’s head and flying through the ceiling, all whilst reassuring the Professors and Harry that he was “not yet vanquished” and would “return greater and more terrible than before.” Quirrell immediately collapsed on the floor, the bound and knocked out Snape vanishing as he did.

    Dumbledore glanced at Quirrell’s unmoving form. “He’ll be fine.” he told Harry, as if that was really what Harry was worried about right then. 

    “Forget Quirrell, was that really You-Know-Who hanging out on the back of a teacher’s head?” 

    “I’m afraid it was.” said Dumbledore at the same time Snape drawled “No Potter, that was just a very loud birthmark.

    “Ignore him, Potter, sarcasm is his defense mechanism.” McGonagall said, shooting a glare at Snape. “I think it’s probably the perfect time for that conversation we’ve been meaning to have with him, isn’t it Albus?”

*Author’s Note: It was “Sirius Black is an unloveable piece of shit who has even more daddy issues than I do”

Chapter Text

    “Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction.” -Magick Moste Evile, by Godelot, 1245

—

    Harry yawned as he sat up in the hospital wing. He had been brought there after his ‘duel’ with Voldemort since, when the adrenaline wore off, he realized he hadn’t been quite as successful at dodging as he’d thought. He’d been hit by a few Dark cutting curses that would leave scars despite Madame Pomfrey’s best efforts, and apparently he’d also been hit with some obscure curse that made the bones in the ends of his fingers grow about an inch per hour, which resulted in having bones tearing through your fingertips if the countercurse wasn’t cast quickly. Fortunately, it was. 

    “Ah, Harry, I’m glad to see you’re awake.” Harry looked over to see the Headmaster sitting next to his bed, putting a bookmark in some ancient tome he had been reading. “We have much to discuss, but I’m afraid that a great deal of our conversation will be rather one-sided, so please eat up while I ramble on.” the Headmaster said, gesturing to a large tray of breakfast food on the bedside table.

    “Alright sir. I’m assuming this is about You-Know-Who?”

    “Eventually, yes. I’m not going to start with him, however, but with a series of diagnostic charms I cast on you in the immediate aftermath of the night Voldemort was vanquished the first time. One of the spells I used indicated that it was getting readings from two individuals. Identical readings, but still two copies. I looked into the spell I used, curious as to the strange readings, and realized it was a spell that diagnosed problems by scanning the soul rather than the body. This was when I first began to suspect you were a horcrux, something I later confirmed with a very obscure spell while you were unconscious following the Troll Incident.” Dumbledore said sadly.

    There was an awkward pause as Harry finished chewing a bite of sausage. “Am I supposed to know what that is or is this supposed to the the point where I say ‘what’s a horcrux, Professor?’” he said once he’d swallowed.

    “I’d be highly concerned if you knew what a Horcrux is. I was, admittedly, waiting for something along the lines of second question. Let’s assume you asked it so I may continue with my explanation and you may continue with your meal. A Horcrux is a foul perversion of magic that uses a truly disgusting ritual to split one’s soul and place a portion of it in an external container, so that even if the creator’s body is completely annihilated they won’t die. At least, not all the way.”

    “The fuck?” Harry shouted through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. He blushed and swallowed before continuing. “You’re saying I’ve got a bit of You-Know-Who’s soul in me? And if I am the only thing keeping him alive, why was he trying to kill me?”

    “Indeed. And I believe Voldemort does not know you are a horcrux. My leading theory is that Voldemort made multiple horcruxes and this destabilized his soul enough that when his Killing Curse backfired, a piece of it… flaked off, for lack of a better term, and became attached to you.”

    “Well how do I get it out of me?”

    Dumbledore sighed. “I don’t know. However, I dare say that if anyone would know someone who’d know, it would be me. And now is when I must seemingly change the subject to your living arrangements outside of Hogwarts. Am I correct in surmising that you have no affection for the Dursleys and no desire to return to them?”

    “Sir, saying I have no affection for the Dursleys is like saying You-Know-Who wasn’t a very nice bloke.”

    “I had hoped they were exaggerating…” Dumbledore said with another sigh. “I will confess, Harry, that it was my idea to send you to the Dursleys when you were a baby, and it was a grievous mistake that I deeply regret. I hope one day you can forgive me, though I understand that process can take time. However, since you are now capable of multi-word sentences, I will gladly accept your input on where you spend your summer. I have a tentative schedule arranged for you that should hopefully prove satisfactory, though you may veto any portion you disagree with and we can discuss alternatives. My primary goal is for you to visit various associates and contacts of mine who may have a solution for your horcrux problem, but I hope you will also be able to relax, enjoy a proper vacation, and maybe even learn a few things.” Dumbledore said with a coy smile.

    “...Alright, let’s hear it then.” Harry said, suddenly much more wary of the Headmaster knowing it had been indirectly responsible for a decade of abuse.

    “The first person I hope you will consent to visit is a colleague of mine at the ICW, Madame Maria Vasquez. She’s the Cuban delegate to the ICW, an allegedly retired necromancer, and an all-around wonderful person, as long as you don’t get her started on the Statute of Secrecy.”

    Harry blinked. “Do you mean retired alleged necromancer, sir?”

    “Oh not at all. She was one of the foremost experts in death magic when the ICW banned it in the 50’s. At that point she officially renounced necromancy and accepted the job as ICW delegate that was offered to her since she was suddenly out of work. Unofficially, she made her practices slightly less blatant and took the position as a delegate to thumb her nose at the ICW and the necromancy ban.”

    Harry cocked his head at Dumbledore. “You know, I genuinely can’t tell if you like this woman or not.”

    “Good! I wouldn’t want my opinions of her to color your perception of her. I’m quite curious what you’ll make of her. My next contact I hope you’ll visit is Irena Novikova. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”

    Harry blinked. “Only person other than you to survive a one-on-one duel with Grindelwald, right? Battled him twice, at Minsk and Kursk. Was a national hero, pretty much given free reign to design the new magical Russian government after the war, was the Russian Minister for a few years before she realized that the government she created was hopelessly dysfunctional, resigned, and built herself a castle in Siberia. She’s spent the last few decades brooding in isolation, preparing to overthrow the government she created, or having wild lesbian orgies, depending on what rumors you believe.”

    “That’s an apt summary.” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. “The only thing I would add is that she’s actually related to one of your classmates. Phase three of my master plan for your summer vacation would be you returning to Hogwarts two weeks early to meet some more local associates. Specifically, the Flamels, the Goblins, and as a last resort, the Department of Mysteries.”

    Harry hummed noncommittally, and mulled it over for a few minutes. “A few questions. Did you vote for the ICW necromancy ban? What does Madame Vasquez have against the Statute? Which of my classmates is Madame Novikova related to and how? What do you expect I’ll learn in Cuba and Russia? What will my hosts expect of me in return for their hospitality? And why is the Department of Mysteries a last resort?”

    Dumbledore chuckled. “I would say you would make a good Ravenclaw if I thought even one of those questions was solely for curiosity’s sake. I voted for the ban, but I am not against necromancers who wield their power wisely and empathetically. Madame Vasquez’s grievances with the Statute are more based on historical injustices than a desire to tear it down now. As far as I know, she has only broken the Statute twice, and both times were to save lives. Irena is Daphne Greengrass’s great-aunt, on her father’s side. I expect you’ll likely pick up some Spanish and Russian. You might learn to swim in Cuba, Madame Vasquez has a wonderful beachfront villa, and I suspect you might be interested in learning a few curses from Irena. If your penultimate question is asking what chores you will be expected to do, the answer would be none, both of them have house elves. Otherwise I believe they only wish for the challenge of investigating the horcrux inside you, though Irena may try and pump you for gossip about her grand-niece. And the Department of Mysteries is a last resort because once they have a mystery, they will study it relentlessly, even if the mystery would like to be left alone.”

    “I see… you’ve given me a lot to think about sir, could I have some time to think about it?”

    “Of course. Now finish your breakfast, Professor Snape will be here soon and the verbal fencing you Slytherins are so fond of is significantly less glamorous when one party has a mouthful of food.”

—

    “You’re an ignoramus, Potter.”

    “Well good morning to you too, Professor! Yes, I am feeling much better after getting attacked by You-Know-Who, thanks for asking!” Harry replied with much more cheer than he had ever genuinely felt.

    “Delighted to hear it. Now, do I want to know why you would do something so foolish as run into a hostage situation for me?”

    Harry grabbed his wand and cast that nifty Muffliato Charm the Professor had taught him. “Sorry Professor, but you’re not allowed to die until I’ve convinced you to teach me the Decapitation Curse.” Harry said with a grin.

    Snape sighed. “Damnit Potter, you were supposed to start caring about people your own age, not start getting concerned about a cynical old bastard like me!”

    “Wow, I’ve been nothing but kind to you this whole year, and then you go and accuse me of having emotions. I see how it is.”

    “Nothing but kind to me? You tried to set me up on a blind date with Rita bloody Skeeter!”

    “First of all, you have no evidence that I was behind that you didn’t gather illegally. And if I did do that, it would have been because I could tell that you needed a distraction from the monotony of your normal routine and needed a little spice in your life!”

    “Skeeter is not ‘spice,’ Potter, she’s three liters of basilisk venom in tacky makeup!”

    “Tell that to whoever set you up on a blind date with Skeeter. Which, if you’d followed the trail of evidence I very carefully laid out for you, you would know was Wilkes.” Harry said with an eye roll that was a perfect copy of Snape’s, not that either of them would admit it. “But baseless accusations and your lake of a love life aside, I do need some advice.”

    Harry proceeded to lay out Dumbledore’s proposal, and Snape was practically salivating. “Are you joking Potter? People would kill for two weeks studying under Irena Novikova! Say yes you idiot!”

    “Oh of course I’m going to say yes. I just need your help thinking of what sort of concessions I should push Dumbledore into giving me.”

Chapter Text

AN: <Dialogue in carrots like this is Spanish.> [Dialogue in brackets like this is Russian.]

    Harry smiled as he stepped off the Hogwarts express, levitating his trunk behind him as he made his way towards the bank of fireplaces on one wall of Platform 9 and ¾. This was technically a violation of the restrictions on underage magic, but Harry wasn’t worried. For one thing, it was so busy and hectic that nobody noticed. For another, 9 and ¾ was so magical that a single Levitation Charm would be less than a drop in the bucket. And finally, Dumbledore had removed the Trace on his wand, all for the low, low price of agreeing to take a vacation he would have agreed to regardless. Besides, it was an open secret that the underage magic laws were only really intended to apply to muggleborns.

    The train ride had been surprisingly not awful. Granger had sat with him, and after he put a strong locking charm on the door nobody bothered them. After an awkward discussion about the things pulling the carriages to Hogsmeade Station that Granger apparently couldn’t see, they each pulled out their own books and read for most of the train ride. Hermione was reading some Muggle novel while Harry was going through an English to Spanish dictionary (charmed to look like next year’s Potions textbook, since while the odds of Granger working out that he was going to Cuba based on a dictionary and giving the information to someone who’d use it against Harry, why risk it?). Harry had no illusions that he’d be able to learn Spanish in two weeks, but memorizing key words and phrases, such as ‘kill him,’ ‘get ready,’ and ‘dangerous wildlife’ could give him enough information to be on guard around people who didn’t think he understood them.

    A pinch of floo powder and some dizzying spinning saw Harry arrive at the British International Portkey Terminal in Liverpool, where Harry picked up the first portkey Dumbledore had arranged for him. Apparently portkeys took exponentially more magic the further they went, so he’d be going to Cuba in multiple jumps. From Liverpool Harry portrayed to Lisbon, Portugal, and the to the Azores Islands, Fortaleza, Brazil, Caracas, Venezuela, and finally Havana, Cuba.

    Waiting at the Havana International Portkey Terminal was a woman Harry recognized from a picture Dumbledore had shown him as Madame Vasquez. She was a short woman with steely-gray hair, a long red coat with a fur lined collar, (that Harry could not fathom wearing in the Caribbean heat) and a good ten foot radius cleared around her in the otherwise crowded portkey terminal.

    “Madame Vasquez? I’m Harry Potter.” he said, approaching cautiously.

    “Ci. Drink this, it is a language potion, I will not speak English in my home country any more than is needed.” she said, holding out a bottle to him. Harry cast a plethora of detection charms Snape had taught him in the week between when he was let out of the hospital wing and when the school year ended. Snape had been very proud that Harry hadn’t taken the potions riddle at face value, since he had indeed wanted to poison every bottle, but had been overruled by Dumbledore.

    The charms indicated that it was indeed a language potion, so Harry gulped it down. It was an incredibly strange experience for the background noise of people speaking a language he didn’t to suddenly become the sound of people speaking a language he understood. 

    “Whoah. That was weird.” Harry said. Language potions allowed the user to understand a foreign language, but did not teach them to speak it very well. One could find all the vocabulary need, would be able to arrange it and conjugate it as needed, but would need to think through each step of building a sentence rather than simply speaking. Between that, the fact that they only last a week, and how finicky the brewing process is, they were usually only used by high level diplomats, though sometimes rich people would buy them to speed up their learning of a language.

    “<It usually is. Now take my arm, we are apparating.>”

    “Do I need to go through customs or anything?” Harry asked.

    “<No. It has been taken care of. Now come, we can speak more away from the crowds.>”

    Harry nodded and took the necromancer’s arm. There was a horrible squeezing sensation and then they were in a nice dining room with glass doors leading out to a patio on the beachfront. Where there was a boy who looked to be a few years older than Harry sitting shirtless in a hammock reading a book. Madame Vasquez sighed.

    “<Emilio! I told you to have a shirt on by the time I get back! Our guest is here!>”

    “<Yes Grandma, sorry Grandma!>” he said before disappearing with a crack.

    “<Please forgive my grandson, he’s a good boy when I can convince him to get off his ass and do anything. If he put as much effort into his studies as he did in avoiding his studies, he’d be the smartest teenager on the island.>” she said fondly. “<Now, how about you take your things up to your room and get settled. Then we’ll take a look at your little hitchhiker after lunch.>”

—

    Lunch was a pleasant affair, aside from Madame Vasquez pulling Harry aside beforehand and telling him that Emilio didn’t know the details of why Harry was visiting and she’d prefer it stayed that way. They had mostly chatted about surface level topics, with the Vasquez’s doing most of the topic. Harry had decided that if Madame Vasquez had gone to the trouble of getting him language potions, he would take full advantage of that to practice his Spanish. He’d decided it was a good idea to learn a language, and had decided on Russian or Spanish, for obvious reasons, but the language potion was the deciding factor that he’d be focusing his efforts on Spanish. But at this point, complex sentences still took an awkwardly long pause to formulate even with the potion.

    Then again, Harry was never someone who would be described as chatty, so he was more than happy to sit back, enjoy his first taste of foreign cooking, and learn what he could about his hosts.

    Emilio would have absolutely been a Hufflepuff had he gone to Hogwarts, with his friendly, relaxed attitude. As it was, he was homeschooled by Madame Vasquez, who he apparently lived with permanently. Harry wasn’t sure what happened to his parents; any time something that could have conceivably led to a discussion of his parents came up, the subject was subtly changed.

    If Emilio was a Hufflepuff stereotype, Madame Vasquez was a murky mixture of Ravenclaw and Slytherin traits. Harry suspected that had she been sorted at eleven, she would have gone to the house of the eagles, but the woman who stood before him had grown into a more Slytherin thought process. She wasn’t completely emotionless though, it was clear she loved Emilio, though Harry often caught her staring at him with a strange look in her eyes- something like regret or melancholy.

    After lunch, Madame Vasquez led him down into the basement, which was apparently a combination office and necromancy laboratory. Bones of every imaginable variety hung from the ceiling (Harry was pretty sure there was a dinosaur skull in the back) and the wall was lined with shelves that held bottles containing various organs or preserved corpses. Other than the shelves, the only pieces of furniture were a cluttered desk shoved into one corner and a large stone slab in the center of the room.

    “<Strip and hop on the table.>” Madame Vasquez commanded. “<Don’t look at me like that, I’ve raised two boys, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And the nudity will be important for me to get accurate results. The body, mind, and soul are all connected, and if I’m going to look at a problem with your soul having your body concealed will be counterproductive.>”

    Harry slowly began removing his robes. “<Body, mind, and soul- does that mean I’ll have to remove my occlumency walls?>” Harry asked stiltedly.

    “<Correct. I shouldn’t see anything in your mind, but on the off chance that I do, it is covered under my Healer’s Oath.>”

    “<I thought you were a necromancer, not a healer.>” Harry said as he reluctantly began removing his shirt. He heard a small gasp as the scars on his back from Uncle Vernon’s belt were revealed, but thankfully she didn’t pry.

    “<I am of course no longer a necromancer, because that would be illegal and I would never confess to doing something illegal. However, necromancers often act as very specialized healers. Thus, I swore a Healer’s Oath when I began practicing necromancy before it was banned. And while I may no longer be a necromancer, I still hold myself to that oath when I am healing someone. So nothing I learn during this session will leave this room without your express permission unless I believe it poses an imminent threat to yourself or others.>” Madame Vasquez said with a meaningful glance at the scars on Harry’s back. “<That said, I must ask: are you safe from the person who gave you those scars?>”

    “<Yes.>”

    “<May I ask who it was?>”

    “<My uncle.>”

    Madame Vasquez winced. “<Families can be… difficult.>” she said with that haunted look in her eyes she sometimes had when looking at Emilio. “<His full name?>”

    “<Vernon Jason Dursley. Why?>”

    “<Those scars remind me far too much of what my ancestors endured for my liking. There are laws stopping me from punishing this man in his life, but once he is dead, it is very easy for an angry necromancer to get their pound of flesh. Hypothetically speaking, of course.>”

    Now naked, Harry nodded shyly and hopped up on the slab/table, pondering how strange is was to have an adult angry on his behalf. The examination lasted a good two hours, and mostly consisted of Harry politely asking questions about necromancy out of pure academic curiosity and Madame Vasquez giving short replies as she poked and prodded him with various instruments. Harry rapidly deduced that Madame Vasquez either didn’t want to be distracted or just didn’t want to talk about necromancy with him, so he let the exam lapse into silence.

    Eventually, Madame Vasquez said he could get up and that she had a lot of “interesting” data to go over. She said she had a lot of books to review and a lot of people to talk to. She finished by explaining the color system for the workshop door. If the door was green, he could come in as he pleased to talk to her. Yellow meant not to interrupt unless it was important. Red meant not unless there is a life threatening emergency. Black meant that “whatever life threatening emergency you may be facing is far more pleasant than the consequences of interrupting me.” Harry could respect that.

—

    Harry didn’t see much of Madame Vasquez outside of mealtimes after that. It was a little disappointing, he had hoped to learn more about necromancy from her, but most of the time her door was red, with the occasional yellow or black. 

That wasn’t to say Harry was bored, though. Emilio was happy to keep Harry entertained. They spent a day in the magical section of Havana, went swimming at the beach (though Harry refused to take his shirt off), practiced Harry’s Spanish, or just read together. They had even dueled together a few times, and once Harry got used to moving barefoot in the sand rather than in shoes on a cold stone floor, they were surprisingly evenly matched. Though he wasn’t outstanding in any way, at least in terms of magic, Emilio had a few years of physical and magical development on Harry, but clearly hadn’t put any real focus on combat magic in his studies. When Harry won, it was by being able to cast quickly enough to overwhelm his opponent, while when Emilio won it was usually by being able to keep up with Harry spell for spell until Harry began to tire.

The night before Harry was due to leave, Madame Vasquez told him he should try to stay up all night. The plan was for Harry to leave at 6 AM Cuban time, which meant that factoring in an hour of hopping from portkey to portkey it would be 7 PM local time when he arrived, since central Siberia was 12 hours ahead of the Caribbean. Emilio happily volunteered to stay up to keep Harry company, which Madame Vasquez reluctantly allowed but she shooed him away, saying that she and Harry had business to discuss.

“<Well, I have good news and bad news.>” Madame Vasquez said. “<The bad news is that the horcrux is lodged, for lack of a better term, deep enough inside you that I can’t just hit you with another Killing Curse and be done with it, at least not without some outside element stacking the odds.>” she said.

“<Wait, when was that on the table?>” Harry asked alarmedly.

“<It was admittedly wishful thinking that it would be that simple.>” Madame Vasquez said with a sigh. “<The good news is that Albus was right to ask for a second opinion because you definitely don’t need to die. Hell, with enough research and preparation, I can probably do this without significant damage to your soul. But I do mean a lot of research and preparation, I’m going to have to fuse elements from at least two rituals together, plus some esoteric alchemy, and there’s going to be zero margin for error. The good news is that if anybody knows esoteric alchemy, it’s Albus fucking Dumbledore, and he’s even more invested in this than I am. So long as he can shut the hell up about the evils of necromancy and how important the Statute was long enough for us to actually work together, we should have something ready by this time next year.>”

—

    Daphne slid her chair closer to the fireplace. The library of Castle Novikova was a much cozier venue for her studies, but Auntie’s mysterious guest that she and Papa had been so tight lipped about was arriving tonight, and this little alcove above the entrance hall would let her see who it was before they were officially introduced at breakfast tomorrow. Normally Daphne would assume it was some government official here to beg for Auntie’s endorsement, but the conspiratorial grins Auntie and Papa sent her made her think it had something to do with her.

    A few minutes later Daphne put a bookmark in her current reading material ([Blood Magics of Western Asia], by Alexi Petrov) when she heard the doors of the entrance hall open and felt a blast of arctic air. “-and was chasing me around with the spoon!” she heard her father say, followed by a burst of laughter that always followed his retelling of the story of Astoria and the peanut butter shortage. Then she froze as she heard a familiar voice, and peeked over the railing.

    “She sounds delightful! Are your daughters here as well?” Harry Potter asked. 

    “Unfortunately Tori has a rather delicate constitution and is staying back in England with my wife, but my eldest is here with me. You’re classmates, yes?”

Daphne’s jaw dropped. First, because while she’d become used to her father acting friendly and jovial to make people drop their guard, she would never have expected Potter to be capable of the same trick. Unless he was just genuinely happy, which would be incredibly out of character for him. And secondly, what the hell was Harry Potter doing in Siberia?

—

    “[What the hell is Harry Potter doing in Siberia?]”

    Viktor chuckled at his daughter’s blunt questioning as he was reading in bed. “[Language, darling. And I’m not sure yet. Aunt Irena only said she is doing a favor for Dumbledore. We will likely find out at breakfast tomorrow, Aunt Irena has never been one to dance around the topic at hand.]”

    “[Why is he here now though? I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s here at the same time as me.]” Daphne said with narrowed eyes.

    “[You never miss a trick, do you? We build connections, darling, that’s the Novikov way. And Grandfather thinks the last Potter could be a very useful connection to have.]”

    “[And he thinks he can marry me off? You may be a Novikov but I will always be a Greengrass first and foremost!]” Daphne exploded.

    “[Peace, child. I have made it clear to Grandfather that your marriage will be up to you and your mother, and he respects that. But you have to admit, developing a relationship with Potter- romantic or not- would be very beneficial to both your families.]”

    Daphne huffed impetuously, and Viktor smiled. It was nice to see his little girl wasn’t all grown up yet. “[Father, I don’t think you understand Potter. He plays the game extremely well. Some of the other Slytherins think he has a hairy heart*, and honestly I’m not convinced he doesn’t. I eavesdropped on you two in the entrance hall and that was the first time I heard him laugh with someone rather than at someone.]”

    “[Do you really think so little of me, daughter? We both knew we were sizing each other up. I did listen to what you’ve told me of him, and tried to put him on the back foot by being friendly, and he played along perfectly. Don’t think I will underestimate him. But don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions, either. I’ve been playing the game longer than you’ve been alive, and I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. Now go to sleep, you won’t be able to help your sister if you’re dead on your feet.]”

—

    Castle Novikova was odd, Harry decided as Mr. Greengrass (“Please, call me Viktor”) led him down to breakfast. It gave him a strange sense of deja vu that Harry suspected came from its similarities to Hogwarts. Both were great stone castles, but while Hogwarts stayed cheery even in the depths of the Scottish winters it was subjected to, Castle Novikova felt depressing despite it being summer- not that you would be able to tell in Northern Russia. There were no paintings or tapestries on the walls, just dark gray stone and flickering torches.

    “So, Harry, Aunt Irena said you were in Cuba before this? How is it going from the tropics to the arctic so suddenly?” Viktor said conversationally.

    “Not bad, honestly. Temperature regulating charms are wonderful things, and while Cuba might have been hotter than England, I didn’t have to do any gardening there.” Harry replied before wincing imperceptibly. “So will Daphne be joining us for breakfast? I have to confess I’m curious as to what she’s like outside of Hogwarts.”

    “She should be, yes. What’s she like at school? Any amusing magical mishaps I can tease her about? It’s a father’s duty to tease their children, but I’ve really had to work for it ever since she stopped throwing tantrums.” Viktor said with an exaggerated sigh.

    “Not that I’ve seen, although she did get drenched in purple goo when Finnegan blew up a cauldron as she was walking by him in potions one time. She’s very reserved. Didn’t let herself get swept in Malfoy’s orbit though, so that alone makes me like her more than most people our year.”

    “Yes, I’ve heard all about that one. Draco, his name is? Here’s some free advice boy, never trust a Malfoy. Anybody who’s ever made a deal with a Malfoy has come to regret it, sooner or later. You know, some people say we Novikovs are the Russian Malfoys. Whenever someone has the nerve to say that to my face, I tell them I have three things Lucius Malfoy doesn’t: honor, a spine, and an army of cousins!” 

    Harry snorted a laugh as they entered a small dining area next to a large and mostly barren kitchen. Inside was Daphne and an old woman. Daphne’s semi-formal robes stood in stark contrast to the old woman, who was wearing fuzzy slippers and a fluffy bathrobe. 

    “Heiress Greengrass. And Madame Novikova, I presume.” Harry said, nodding respectfully to both of them.

    “Potter.” said Daphne, returning the nod. Madame Novikova said something in Russian that Viktor translated as “Welcome to Russia, Mr. Potter, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Irena.” Harry thanked her and gave her a letter that Madame Vasquez had asked him to pass on containing her regards and the results of her assessment of Harry (with his permission).

    Irena muttered something that made Daphne blush furiously and Viktor boom with laughter. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Forgive my Aunt, Mr. Potter, she’s a vulgar old thing.” This was met with more annoyed-sounding Russian from Irena, making Harry think she didn’t actually need a translator, or at least that she understood English perfectly well. Viktor laughed at whatever Irena said and responded in Russian, while Daphne rolled her eyes. Between the blush and the eye roll, Harry had seen more emotion from Daphne this meal than she would normally show in a month at Hogwarts.

    “So, what exactly are they talking about?” Harry asked her quietly. Daphne sighed. “Auntie is of the opinion that she’s old and respected enough that she doesn’t have to conform to social niceties like getting dressed for breakfast or not talking about your past conquests during mealtimes.”

    “Being able to transcend manners is a worthy life goal.” Harry said blithely. “So am I correct that she can understand English perfectly well and has your father acting as my translator for her own ends?”

    Daphne blinked at him in surprise. “I told them it wouldn’t work, but I didn’t expect you to work it out that fast. What gave it away?”

    “She responded to him calling her vulgar in English. And how are they still arguing?” Harry asked, noting with some alarm that Viktor had stood up and was now waving his arms around in exasperation as he spoke.

    “They’re not.” Daphne said with a smirk. “They’re taking turns dramatically cursing the Malfoy name while eavesdropping on us.”

    “Delightful.” Harry said as the adults started pouting at Daphne.

—

    Daphne was headed back to her room after a morning of fruitless searching through the library when she noticed a piece of paper laying in the hall in front of her room. Paper, not parchment, which meant it was almost certainly the letter Harry had passed on from this “Madame Vasquez”. How clumsy of her Auntie to drop it here of all places, Daphne thought amusedly as she picked it up.

    She read it disinterestedly, skipping over the first paragraph which seemed to be reminiscing over an old dalliance. It was the rest of the letter that made Daphne reassess everything she thought she knew about Potter.

    First, he was apparently something called a horcrux- or had one inside him- and he was apparently here to get it removed. Second, he was apparently a direct descendant of the Peverell line, and for some reason Madame Vasquez thought that “sensible measures” should be taken to keep Dumbledore from learning that. And third, Madame Vasquez was all but certain that Harry was a victim of domestic abuse.

    It was the last thing that made Daphne recontextualize Potter’s actions. She called for a house elf to bring her lunch in her room. She couldn’t face Potter now. He was too perceptive, he would know she was looking at him differently. There was a knock on her door.

    “[Auntie! You shouldn’t have shown me this!]” Daphne said when she opened the door to see Irena.

    “[Ah, that’s where that got to.]” Irena said with a smirk. 

    “[Don’t act like you didn’t drop it there on purpose to work around a Healer’s Oath. Setting aside the fact that sharing patient information is low even for us, how am I supposed to look him in the eye knowing what I know about him?]” Daphne said, thrusting the letter into Irena’s hand.

    “[If I had intentionally left the letter for you to find, it would have been a valid tactic for making sure you had the most potential information to work with. And you’ve spent a year in Scotland acting like you don’t care about anyone, including Potter, so all you need to do is continue acting like you don’t care. If you must stare at him and happen to get caught, pass it off as curiosity as to why he’s here or assessing his potential as an ally or wanting to kiss him or whatever! You’re smart Daphne, smart enough to be able to make this situation benefit you.]”

    Daphne narrowed her eyes. “[Is the situation him being here or him being abused?]” Daphne said suspiciously.

    “[Yes.]” Irena said, patting Daphne’s cheek. “[I’ll let you eat up here while you decide how you want to handle this information and get your feelings in order. But you are expected for dinner tonight, is that understood?]”

—

    Daphne felt a little shell-shocked as she walked out of the duelling hall. Auntie had said Potter had asked for dueling lessons and she wanted to see where he was at, so Daphne had been roped in to being someone for Potter to test his mettle against. Daphne knew she was never going to be on the same level as Auntie, or even many of her family members on papa’s side, but she hadn’t been prepared for how easily Potter took her apart. She focused on Impediment and Body Bind Jinxes, which she could cast quickly, consistently, and accurately. Or at least, accurately against a still target. Potter had dodged her attacks for half a minute before launching a light blasting curse at the floor directly in front of her. Daphne had flinched, and in that split second a piece of the floor Potter had destroyed transformed into a small knife and levitated an inch in front of her face.

    Then Potter had gone against her father and not immediately lost! He still lost, but they actually traded spells, and Potter had kept going until he got hit in his wand arm with a Bone Breaking Curse. And Daphne couldn’t help but note that while he certainly didn’t look like happy while his arm was broken (Auntie healed it easily), he didn’t cry. Daphne had broken her wrist once when she fell out of a tree she was climbing in the gardens, and it had easily been the most painful thing in her life. She thought back to the letter, and really hoped that Harry was just freakishly stoic, and not used to having broken bones.

—

    Daphne scowled and put Runcorn’s Encyclopedia of Magical Diseases and Disorders. Nothing there either, either on Tori’s blood curse or whatever a horcrux was. She wasn’t proud that she was considering using Potter’s medical issue as leverage if needed, but one thing the Greengrasses and Novikovs had in common was that they would do whatever it took to get ahead. “[It’s all useless.]” she muttered dejectedly.

    “Something wrong, Greengrass?” Potter asked, poking his head out from behind a shelf and definitely not startling her.

    “You might as well call me Daphne, if you’re on a first name basis with papa and Auntie. And I’m just frustrated, trying to find something but I can’t.” Daphne said.

    “Call me Harry then. What are you looking for?” He asked, walking towards her.

    “Anything on blood curses, especially breaking them.” Daphne said, obviously not going to admit to prying into his medical history.

    “Well, if there’s anything, it’d be here. Your aunt was very proud that this was the largest collection of books on blood magic outside of the ICW Library of Confiscated Materials. Although she did mention that the Longbottoms, of all people, might rival her collection.”

    “What!?!?”

    “I know right? Who'd've thought poor Neville had it in him? But apparently the house was founded by Emeric of Long’s Bottom, known to history as Emeric the Evil and generally considered the most skilled user of blood magic in history, or at least in Western Europe. Hell, if you’re trying to break a blood curse there’s a fair chance it was created by Emeric or one of the other early Longbottoms.”

“No way! The Longbottoms are one of the Lightest families, it would be incredibly hypocritical of them to have a secret treasure trove of blood magic texts.”

“First of all, we’re Slytherins, we should expect hypocrisy, especially from the powerful. But yes, I was skeptical too, but your Aunt showed me multiple genealogy books that confirm it. Apparently in the mid-1800s minister Tybalt Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom’s grandfather in law, purged any mention of the connection between his family and Emeric, and banned the select few genealogy books that go back far enough to mention it. Of course, those books are still available on the Continent, but it’s kept pretty hush-hush in jolly old England.” Harry said. 

“I can’t believe Neville Longbottom is a direct descendent of Emeric the Evil. He’s kind of the last person I’d expect for that.” Daphne muttered.

“Right? Maybe there’s two Gryffindors our year who are going to snap.” Harry said with a laugh.

    “You think Granger’s unstable?” Daphne asked sharply.

    “No more so than I am.” Harry said with a shrug.

    “That’s not reassuring. Far from it, in fact.”

    Harry sighed. “Look, the way I see it, there’s strong people, and there’s weak people. Hermione is incredibly strong, more so than either of us, though it’s hard to quantify. But she’s so used to being treated like sh- like garbage, and listening to authority, that she doesn’t stand up for herself. My big Slytherin master plan for… associating with her, is that one day she’s gonna go berserk on someone, and I don’t want it to be me, and would prefer if it was one of my enemies.”

    “You’re really trying to get Granger to kill someone? Who, Malfoy?”

    “I wouldn’t mind if Malfoy died, I won’t lie, but he has two chances left before I consider him an enemy. And more importantly, I said go berserk, not kill. Hermione going to Azkaban for murder wouldn’t benefit me, and certainly not her. Although if anyone could figure out a way to escape an inescapable prison, it’d be her.”

    Daphne’s brow furrowed despite herself. “I can’t figure you out, Potter. You sound like you simultaneously like Granger and only see her as a tool.”

    “That’s correct, yes, or at least that’s what I want you to believe.” he said smugly. “The thing is, there’s different kinds of power. Granger has a lot of magical power and is an intellectual powerhouse, but she’s a follower. I honestly believe that her following me is in both of our best interests- mine and hers, that is, I’m not quite sure how you factor in yet.”

    “If that was supposed to be a recruitment pitch, it needs some work.” Daphne said drily.

    “Oh heavens no! If you hadn’t figured it out already, I’m still at the stage of trying to determine if you’re worth recruiting.”

    “Excuse me?” Daphne asked indignantly. 

    “Look, I have a hunch that eventually you’re going to get tired of Malfoy calling the shots in our year and try to unseat him. Right now you’re interesting, but not necessarily useful, so it honestly depends on if Malfoy has gotten to three strikes by the time you make your move. Assuming I’m not overestimating you of course, you could always fall in line with him.”

    Daphne calmed herself with a deep breath and a reinforcement of her occlumency shields. “Potter, if I may ask you something, do you honestly assess people solely based on whether they’re useful to you or not?”

    Potter scoffed. “Of course not, otherwise I’d be cozying up to Malfoy. The difference between me and nearly every other person is that I don’t lie to myself. Everybody thinks about others in regards to what they can get from them and what it’ll cost. But I don’t pretend otherwise, and that makes my thought process much less muddled.”

    Daphne looked at him carefully. “You actually believe that, don’t you? I mean, I thought I was cynical, but… wow…”

    Harry shrugged. “Maybe it’s an orphan thing. I definitely wouldn’t have developed this mindset if I didn’t have to, but I’m glad I did. It makes me strong.”

    Daphne didn’t have anything to say to that, so she just sighed and picked up the next book in her stack.

—

    Snape would never admit it, but he had been glad to see Potter step out of the Headmaster’s floo two weeks before the rest of the students arrived. Obviously it was just because teaching one moderately intelligent dunderhead was far preferable to dealing with a castle full of absolute ignoramuses, not because he had developed a soft spot for the brat or because he found it endearing that Potter had walked into a trap for him. Now they were dueling and Potter was laughing his ass off as Severus tried to dispel an Eyebrow Growing Jinx that wasn’t responding to Finite Incantatum. 

    “Goddamn it! Where the hell did you learn this?” Snape shouted as he used a severing charm to reduce the weight of his ridiculously long eyebrows.

    “Emilio taught me! Or at least, he taught me the trick to make it immune to Finite Incantatum. It’s stupidly simple. Say uncle?”

    “Uncle.” Snape growled as he severed his overlong eyebrow hair yet again.

    Potter pointed his wand at him with a shit-eating grin. “Incantatum Finite.”

    Snape gaped as his eyebrows returned to their normal length. “How the hell did you do that?”

    “I’ll trade you, information for information. It’s a long shot, but do you know anything about a house elf named Dobby? About ye high, very excitable, very abused, thinks I’m amazing and in mortal danger next school year.”

    Snape froze. “Thinks you’re in danger next school year?” 

    “Yeah, he popped into my dorm last night and started trying to convince me to leave the school. Says there’s going to be ‘terrible happenings’ at Hogwarts this year.”

    Snape groaned. What the hell was Lucius up to now? “There is a house elf named Dobby owned by the Malfoy family. We will speak more about this later, but really, how the hell did you tweak the jinx like that?”

    “Strike two, Malfoy.” Harry muttered. “Well you see sir, it’s actually very interesting…”

Chapter Text

    “Incarcerous, the Restraining Hex, is a spell that conjures thick ropes to bind the target, though there are variations that use other materials such as chains, vines, or nearby textiles. The spell is most notable for its controversial categorization as a hex. In nearly all uses of the spell, it would fit the definition of a jinx: providing embarrassment or inconvenience but no lasting damage under reasonable circumstances. However, a skilled user can conjure bindings with this spell that restrict the throat, choking the target to death. And after an assassin used to spell to make it look like the Lithuanian Minister of Magic committed suicide by hanging himself in 1974, the country banned the spell and demanded it be classified as a curse (a spell which invariably causes death or severe damage to the body, mind, or soul) by the ICW. Ultimately, a compromise was reached and the spell was classified as a hex (a spell which can cause injury and even death in certain circumstances).” -A Practical Overview of Defensive Magic, by Osmond Trillby, 1984

—

    Daphne was surprised to find herself disappointed not to see Potter on the Hogwarts Express. She supposed it wasn’t that strange though, he’d proven himself to be very interesting, if not exactly likeable. But it was fine that Potter wasn’t on the Express, since she had someone else to talk to anyways. She did hope that he was here this school year though, it would be a shame if he dropped out due to his “horcrux” before he helped her overthrow Malfoy.

    “Good day, Heir Longbottom, may I join you?”

    Longbottom gave her a scrutinizing look. “Suppose it can’t hurt to hear you out.” he said, putting down his herbology book.

    “And what do you mean by hearing me out?” Daphne asked amusedly as she sat across the compartment from him.

    “You’re not one of the Slytherins who was sorted into Slytherin because they want to bully Gryffindors, which means if you’re approaching me, you want something from me.”

    “Well reasoned.” Daphne said appreciatively. “Today I just want to get a feel for you. So, what’re you reading?”

    Longbottom snorted. “I’m a lion, not an idiot. Tell me why you want to know more about me and then we can talk.”

    Daphne felt her respect for him go up a few notches. “Very well. I’m looking to put together an alliance, and I want to see if you might fit into it.”

    “Interesting.” Neville said. “But I wouldn’t enter an alliance with someone I don’t know very well, either, so how about this: we can trade questions. I’ll even answer first, to satiate your Slytherin need to get the best end of any deal: I’m reading Deadly Magical Plants of Central Asia. Why are you considering me specifically for your alliance?”

    “Well, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom having three votes on the Wizengamot doesn’t hurt. But I also have heard rumors that your house has access to some unique resources.” Daphne said, examining Longbottom’s reaction closely. Either he didn’t know what she was talking about, or he was much better at hiding his emotions than she thought he was. “What do you think of the other Gryffindors in our year?”

    Neville sighed. “Well, it’s not a secret that Weasley and Finnegan are rather rude to me. I actually think Patil and Brown are worse than them though, they just treat me like I’m five. Otherwise they’re alright, though. Dunbar doesn’t act like I’m a horrible burden when we get paired in anything other than herbology. Thomas is alright when he’s away from Finnegan and Weasley. And of course Hermione is brilliant, but is always too busy reading or having private lessons.”

    “Private lessons?” Daphne asked curiously.

    “No no no, it’s my turn now.” Neville said smugly. “What do you think of the other Slytherins in our year?”

    Daphne hid her rapid thinking behind a laugh at Longbottom turning her question around. She quickly decided that a slight breach of Slytherin unity was easily worth it if Longbottom did have what she needed to save her sister. “Nothing that I’m about to say leaves this carriage, got it? Malfoy isn’t half as smart as he thinks he is, Parkinson isn’t half as pretty as she thinks he is, Crabbe and Goyle are exactly as stupid as everyone thinks they are, Davis is trouble, Bulstrode isn’t, Nott just wants to be left alone with his books, Zabini is an enigma I can’t be bothered to wonder about, and Potter is an enigma I very much do wonder about.”

    “Interesting! I had wondered if Potter was different in the Slytherin common room, but I’m guessing he’s just as closed off there, then?”

    “Not your question yet! Do you think Granger is getting private lessons or do you know she is, and if so how?”

    “I noticed she was spending a lot of time not in the common room or the library, sso I asked to make sure she wasn’t hiding from Weasley and Finnegan or in any sort of trouble and she admitted she was having private lessons with Snape and McGonagall. Speaking of, do you have any idea why Snape would be giving a Gryffindor private lessons?”

    “No, I… wait… I think Potter might be having lessons with her! He’s always gone Wednesday and Friday nights and Saturday mornings! Maybe he arranged for Snape to help her in exchange for McGonagall helping him!” 

    “That… makes a lot of sense, actually. Although Hermione is usually in the library Wednesdays. Huh.”

    “Honestly, knowing Snape, there might be some things Harry is learning he wouldn’t teach to a Gryffindor.” Daphne mused. “Anyways, speaking of Potter, what do you think of him?”

    “Honestly, he scares me. I’d been hoping to be friends with him. Our mothers were really close, his mum is my godmother and vice versa, so I thought it would be what they wanted, y’know? But he’s… well, some of the other Gryffindors call you the ice princess, ‘cuz you’re pretty but rich and unapproachable, and he’s kind of the ice prince I guess.”

    “You think Potter is pretty?” Daphne asked with a playful smirk.

    “No! Well- I- You know what I meant! And it’s not your turn!” Neville said, blushing. “What’s the point of this alliance you’re making? Is it just political or is there something more?”

    Daphne mentally shifted herself back into business mode. “Both, although I’d rather wait to explain the ‘something more’ so I only have to go through it once. So Neville, who do you think is prettier, me or Potter?” she said, batting her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly.

    Interestingly, Neville laughed instead of blushing like she expected him to. “You, obviously.” Daphne was annoyed to find herself the one blushing slightly at his sincere compliment. She really needed to work on that.

—

    Harry had changed over the summer. Hermione wasn’t sure why, and probably couldn’t completely articulate how, but he definitely had. For one thing, he actually called her Hermione now, despite having allowed her to use his first name since she had invited him to call her Hermione back in bloody January. And he was generally more relaxed and open, and had even chosen to sit by her instead of by himself a few times. Of course, he still refused to admit he considered her a friend, and they didn’t usually talk about anything other than magic, but it was something. 

    Now, however, seemed to be one of the times they would talk about something other than magic. “What do you know about the Novikov family?” he asked out of the blue one day.

    “Um, I think I saw something about a Novikova being an important figure in the Grindelwald War? I’m guessing they’re a Russian family, but other than that I don’t know. Why?”

    “I had some… interactions with them over the summer. Daphne Greengrass’s father is a Novikov by birth.”

    “Then why isn’t she a Novikov? Or Novikova, I guess. And why were you ‘interacting’ with them?”

    “Was seeing a man about a crup*. And the Greengrasses are a matrilineal family, so the husband usually takes the wife’s name instead of vice versa. And Daphne’s father is something like the sixth child of the fourth child of a family that uses absolute primogeniture so it’s not like he was losing out on a massive inheritance.”

    Hermione snorted. “Glad I don’t have to worry about pureblood inheritance law.”

    “Ah, but you might! There’s a theory put fourth by an Unspeakable that most, if not all muggleborns are actually descendents from squibs who got kicked out of the old families. You could be the heir to Merlin and all the Hogwarts founders and never know it!”

    “Ooh, really? What was the study called? Who wrote it?” Hermione asked excitedly. Harry just laughed.

    “Oh Hermione, you’re not nearly cynical enough to make it in wizarding Britain. There was no study, only a grant request by one Jebediah Hopper so controversial it nearly made front page of the Prophet before the Ministry killed the story and Unspeakable Hopper had a terrible potions accident.”

    “WHAT?!?!” Hermione shouted, before wilting under a glare from Madame Pince. “How could the Ministry do that? Free information is the foundation of democracy! Not to mention assassinations!” she continued in an angry whisper. Harry looked at her like she was stupid, which was a first.

    “Hermione, what do you actually know about the Ministry of Magic? It’s about as democratic as South Africa**.”

    “But the Minister is elected by popular vote among all wizards in Britain!”

    “And he can’t do jack shit to make new laws. Once I turn 17, I’ll have three Wizengamot votes as the head of a Most Ancient and Noble House. For comparison, the Minister and the department heads he appoints will have a total of seven amongst them, not counting the votes that the department heads all happen to have on account of all being the heads of their own pureblood houses. The Minister is only elected to give muggleborns and halfbloods the illusion of representation so that they don’t fuck off to Australia or France the moment they’re able to and take most of the economy along with them.”

    Hermione gawked at him. “What books would you recommend I look at to learn more about this?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

    “Funny you should ask…” Harry said, grinning sharply as he pulled a long list from his pocket and handed it to her. “Some of these are muggle, but I’ll lend you my copies. And no, The Prince is not on there as a joke. Also. if you’re wondering why the actual Wizengamot Charter isn’t on there, it’s apparently been classified for centuries and I have no idea how to get a copy.”

—

    “Hey, Hermione…”

    “Hey Neville, what’s up?” Hermione asked, putting down the book she had been reading in the Gryffindor common room. 

    “I was wondering, has Daphne Greengrass talked to you at all lately?”

    Hermione scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. “No, why?”

    “Oh, no reason…”

—

    Harry spent most of Halloween brooding, as was his right, according to Snape. He glared at anyone who tried to speak to him, and tried to start a fight with some Ravenclaws who were bullying a first year from their own house. Sure, Ravenclaws were the house least associated with loyalty- Hufflepuffs were loyal because they were genuinely nice, Gryffindors were loyal because they all think they’re storybook heroes, and Slytherins were loyal because it was usually more practical not to burn bridges- but you’d think if a bunch of third years were gonna single out one of their own firsties, they would at least do it in the privacy of their own common room. He would also think they wouldn’t all run away when one of them starts barfing slugs courtesy of a second year, but Harry just decided that meant the one left behind would have to take the jinxes for the rest of them. Overall the whole incident significantly lowered Harry’s opinion of the house of eagles. Multiple upper years ganging up on a first year, then abandoning their ally when he’s attacked by a second year. Granted, Harry was pretty sure he could have taken them since they apparently felt the need to stack the numbers four to one when going against someone who had only been formally learning magic for two months, so maybe it was smart of them to run, but it wasn’t like they knew what he was capable of.

    Still, a light bout of magical violence did make Harry feel somewhat better as he sat down for the Halloween feast. Of course, he still made it exceedingly clear that he didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he actually wouldn’t have minded talking to Hermione or Daphne.

    Then someone screamed as the first people left to Great Hall and pretty soon everyone was looking at the wall across the hall*** where Filch’s cat was hanging from a torch beneath a message in blood red paint: “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware!”

    There was silence for a moment before Dumbledore started trying to calm everyone, telling the students he would look into it and that everyone should return to their common rooms. As Draco brushed past Harry, he whispered “You’ll be next, Potter.” Harry grinned. Strike three. Now how to respond…

—

    “Incarcerous.”

    Draco’s eyes flew open as he felt ropes bind his body tightly. He tried to sit up in bed, but his arms were pinned to his sides and his legs were stuck together. He turned to look around the darkened dorm room, and his eyes fell on Potter sitting on a chair next to his bed, smugly grinning at him. “GREG! VINCE! HELP ME OUT HERE!” Draco shouted. Potter just laughed.

    “Malfoy, you don’t need any help here, we’re just having a conversation. Of course, depending on how it goes, it might get very loud, so I decided to be a good roommate and cast silencing charms on everyone else’s bed curtains.”

    “When my father hears about this-”

    “-then he’ll be very disappointed that you couldn’t keep yourself from getting ambushed after threatening the guy you share a room with.” Draco silently swore to himself. Potter had a point, as he unfortunately usually did. “See Draco, I’m actually a very forgiving person. I forgave you when you insulted my family in front of a quarter of the school. I forgave you when you tried to mess with Longbottom’s stuff. But threatening me with whatever happened to Mrs. Norris? Well, that’s going a bit too far in my opinion. So I’ve come up with two solutions for our disagreement. The first, is that you never say an unkind word about me or my family again. The second is that I give Professor Snape an excuse to try brewing that Eyeball Regrowing Potion he mentioned in class the other day.” Potter said, moving his hands so his thumbs were over Draco’s eyes. He squeezed them shut and desperately tried to roll away from Potter, who cackled exactly the way he imagined his Aunt Bellatrix would after hearing Father’s stories about her.

    “The first option please.” Draco said meekly. He could concede for now and fix things later.

    Potter turned Draco back onto his back, and he felt a light pressure on his eyelid. “Say it like you mean it, Malfoy. I don’t think we could pass as twins even if you were missing an eye too.” Potter whispered.

    “PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” Draco begged, hoping Potter had done as good a job as said with those silencing charms.

    “Oh good! I’m glad we have an understanding!” Potter said cheerfully. He pulled out his wand, and Draco relaxed in anticipation of the ropes being dispelled, but instead he recognized the incantation for an Incontinence Jinx, and flushed with rage as he felt his bowels empty themselves. “Goodnight, Draco! Sleep, heheh, sleep tight!” Potter said, and Draco swore his bindings tightened a little bit as Potter climbed into his own bed.

*AN: This is of course a magical variation of the phrase “seeing a man about a dog” (which is generally used to politely indicate that you don’t want to say what you were/will be doing) since crups are basically the dog version of kneazles.

**AN: South Africa spent most of the 20th century under the apartheid system, where the white minority (about 9% of the population according to the 2011 census) ruled over the rest of the country. The country’s first multiracial election was held in April of 1994, about a year and a half after Harry and Hermione have this conversation. 

***AN: Here’s a little plot hole for you: in Chamber of Secrets, Harry is found with Mrs. Norris by the whole school outside of Myrtle’s Bathroom, which is on the second floor. The Great Hall is on the first floor, and the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dungeons are in the basement and dungeons respectively, so even if we assume the fastest route to both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers happens to go by Myrtle’s bathroom and that Dumbledore forces the whole school to stay at the feast until everyone is done, there’s still no reason for the badgers and snakes to be there. Thus, the Heir has moved his public threat somewhere it won’t be missed by half the school. Of course, now I have to find a different way for Harry to find the Chamber…

Chapter Text

    “Silencio, the Silencing Charm, is a complex bit of spellwork, but once mastered is incredibly useful. It can be cast on objects to keep them from making noise, like a squeaky hinge, or on living beings. This is of course often used to silence someone who is being annoying (and is classified as a jinx when used offensively) but it has much more serious applications when dealing with magical beings that utilize sonic attacks, such as the Fwooper or the Mandrake. Additionally, the Silencing Charm can be cast around an area to keep sound from going in or out. Thus, it can be used as a basic privacy ward, though not a very secure one since it can be dispelled by Finite Incantatum. This function can also be used to simply secure some privacy or gain some peace and quiet in a loud area.” -The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, 1990

—

    “Potter, why is Malfoy terrified of you this morning?” Daphne said as she sat down next to him at breakfast.

    “He’s not scared of me, he’s just looking at me with a newfound respect after our deep, meaningful conversation about our differences last night.”

    “I heard Zabini woke up to find him tied up in his soiled bed. You’re in an unusually good mood this morning. I don’t think the two things are unrelated.”

    “I’m just absolutely chuffed to have the Mystery of Malfoy’s Nocturnal Incontinence to distract me from this dreadful business with the Heir. I still can’t figure out how nobody heard anything. Poor Malfoy. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Potter said, conservatively smearing butter on his toast. “Perhaps it was the Heir that attacked Malfoy.”

    “Are you claiming you’re the Heir of Slytherin, Potter?”

    He froze. “I don’t randomly attack animals.” Potter said coldly, before standing up and walking out of the hall with his toast. Daphne frowned. She clearly said something wrong, but she wasn’t sure what.

—

    “Professor Snape? Do you recall when you told me that I shouldn’t advertise my Parseltongue ability?” Harry asked at their first Wednesday lesson.

    “Yes…” Snape said cautiously.

    “And you didn’t tell the Headmaster, right?”

    “Merlin’s beard, Potter, what did you do now?”

    “Nothing! Actually nothing! I was just thinking, with this Heir of Slytherin business, well, Parseltongue is associated with Slytherin, right? And I’m not the Heir but I realize how it would look if it came out that I was a Parselmouth and hiding it from the Headmaster, so I was wondering if you could arrange a meeting for me to tell him, or failing that deliver a letter to him for me.”

    “And I shouldn’t simply tell him myself because…”

    “Because as long as I’m playing it safe by telling him now I want to milk it for all it’s worth. People trust people who trust them, and I’m sure telling Dumbledore if he needs a Parselmouth I’m only an owl away will ingratiate myself to him.” Harry said, drawing a weary sigh from Snape that only served to exasperate Harry. It’s not like he was wrong.

    “Very well Potter. Have you considered telling this to Granger?”

    “I did, but decided against it. The gratitude I would gain is not worth the risk of her freaking out about it or telling someone. Especially since half the school seems to think I’m the Heir.”

    Snape groaned. “Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?” he guessed.

    “The Hufflepuffs have been surprisingly open minded, actually. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.”

    Snape frowned. “Usually the Ravenclaws are too aloof to jump to conclusions like this, especially such ridiculous conclusions.”

    “Well, I may have hexed one of them on Halloween for bullying a first year. But I was very careful not to use anything Dark or too advanced! I hear Pomfrey didn’t even make him stay overnight!”

    Snape sighed again. “At least you had a reason. Very well Potter, write a letter and I shall- of course you already have one written.” Snape groaned as Harry pulled an envelope out of his bag. 

    “A good Slytherin is prepared for every eventuality, sir. Now, are you obligated to try and sell me on the power of friendship or can we begin the lesson?”

    “A good Slytherin knows how to pick their battles. We shall begin the lesson, and I think you have enough of a foundation in occlumency that you are ready to begin exploring your legilimency talents.”

    “Yes! Finally!”

    “Unfortunately, you cannot practice legilimency on me.” Snape said with a smirk. “I am paranoid enough that I have reached a point where I could not leave my mind completely unguarded if I tried. Also, we cannot risk you plucking the exam answer key out of my brain and selling it, lucrative as I’m sure you would find it. So I’m afraid that until you can find a partner who is comfortable letting you into their head, and who will not cause problems with the study of legilimency itself, we can only continue to improve your occlumency skills. They would, of course, learn occlumency in the course of being your partner.”

    Harry scowled at Snape. “You were the one who originally suggested keeping Hermione separate from our studies of the mind arts.”

    “I never said anything about Ms. Granger.” Snape said smugly. “But I did indeed have misgivings about exposing her to the mind arts a year ago. However, you have not managed to scare her off in that time, and have grown closer to her even if you refuse to acknowledge it. I’m sure that, as her friend and professor, she’ll trust us to proceed safely.”

    “...or I can present it to her in a way that ensures her academic curiosity overpowers any misgivings she has! That’s brilliant, professor!”

    “No, Potter. Study of the mind arts requires actual trust between all involved. You are not manipulating her into doing this, are we clear?”

    “Fine, I won’t mislead her about what’s involved or push her to ignore any doubts, but if I can’t manipulate her into this, that also means I can’t play the friend card, because that would be a lie. Which means it all comes down to if Hermione trusts us and if she wants to do this, neither of which are guaranteed.”

    “Good! It should come down to that!” Snape exclaimed. “Merlin, I never thought I would be on this end of a lecture about morality in regards to the mind arts.” he huffed. 

—

    Hermione frowned as Harry cast a series of privacy spells around their corner of the library, more than he usually did. “What’s so top-secret?” she asked.

    “What do you know about the mind arts?” Harry asked, and Hermione swore she could hear nervousness in his voice. She supposed that basically being each other’s only friend (despite Harry refusing to admit it and Neville being a bit more outgoing towards her this year) meant she probably knew how to read him better than most, which made her very pleased.

    “I know that the Ministry heavily discourages their study, which means they’re probably dead useful.” Hermione said with a frown. Harry’s booklist had been quite eye-opening. Sure, it was a not-very-subtle attempt to shift her thinking to be more like his own, but she’d given it a chance, and had to admit there were some very compelling points. 

    Harry seemed surprised. “Would you be interested in learning, then?”

    “Oh my God yes!” Hermione said excitedly.

    “That was much easier than I thought it would be.” Harry said with a chuckle. I feel like I should warn you though: you’ll only be starting with defensive stuff, and I need a partner who isn’t Snape to start on the… non-defensive stuff. Which would be you.”

    Hermione frowned. “Well, I can’t say I’m thrilled about that, but I trust you, so- what’s wrong?”

    Harry had suddenly gone stiff and drawn his wand. He held a finger to his lips, then made a slashing motion and the privacy wards dropped.

    “-lencing Charm, but Finite Incantatum didn’t- wait, it’s gone!” 

    Hermione followed Harry around the corner to see Greengrass and Longbottom standing together. “Yes, it is gone.” Harry said coldly. “Greengrass, Longbottom. Fancy meeting you here.” Greengrass was as expressionless as ever, but Longbottom was blushing furiously. “I have to say Daphne, I expected this from you, but corrupting pure, innocent Gryffindors? That’s my thing.”

    “I was not innocent!” Hermione huffed.

    “You thought the Wizengamot was a democracy.”

    “Whatever! What are we gonna do about these two?”

    “These two can hear you, ya know.” Neville muttered, still staring at the ground between his feet. 

    “We can just call it a wash. We didn’t actually break the charm, somehow, so we didn’t hear anything. This is standard Slytherin skullduggery.” Greengrass said, staring hard at Harry. “Besides, I think we’re more useful to each other as allies than as enemies.”

    “You were trying to spy on us!” Hermione whispered vigorously. They were in the library, after all.

    “No, no, let’s hear her out.” Harry said, and Hermione shivered at his predatory grin. “I have to say Daph, I was expecting this conversation in a year or two, not a month or two.” They sat down, and Harry reapplied his variation Silencing Charm (“Really Harry, you must tell me how you got it to ignore Finite Incantatum”). “So, come crawling back already, huh Daph?”

    “First of all, do NOT call me Daph. Second, I’m not ‘crawling back.’ I never said I didn’t want to ally with you. We just got distracted by you being a sad, broken little boy.” Hermione expected Harry to bristle, but he just laughed.

    “I bet they also called Grindelwald and Napoleon sad, broken little boys.” There was a moment where nobody responded, and with the Silencing Charm blocking noise from the rest of the castle, it was rather eerie. Eventually, Neville broke the silence.

    “Comparing yourself to Grindelwald and Napoleon is not a good look, mate. Especially considering both of them lost.”

    “Fine, Stalin and Lenin then, whatever. The point is, you don’t change the world by thinking like everyone else, and you still want my help even if you think I’m a megalomaniac.”

    Neville began to say something but Greengrass elbowed him. “Perhaps. Here’s my proposal: I want the four of us to be allies for our time at Hogwarts, politically and academically. We can reassess the situation at graduation.”

    Everyone else in the silencing bubble had a reaction to that. “What do you mean, politically and academically?” Hermione said. “We never discussed a time limit!” Neville cried. “Why?” Harry asked.

    “Calm down, people, Merlin. Hermione, that primarily means we’d help each other study and Potter would assist me with Slytherin power games. Neville, I thought as the reasonable one you’d see why the time limit is a great clause, if Potter actually does try and follow in Grindelwald’s footsteps we don’t want to be tied to him after graduation. And Potter, because I think we’ll all benefit from this.”

    Harry frowned. “I’m not sure I see how. Please elaborate for me.”

    Greengrass sighed. “We each have reasons for wanting the others’ help. For me, my sister has a blood curse that will kill her before she’s thirty. I want you because you bring Granger and can help with Malfoy on the side, Granger because she’s brilliant, and Neville because I suspect he has access to a trove of unique information on blood magic. (“WHAT?” yelped Neville) Neville gets academic assistance from three of the best in our year, and is able to develop his social skills. (“I’m not that bad. Made friends with you didn’t I?”) Granger gets access to the libraries of three Most Ancient and Noble Houses, which I’m sure has her vibrating with excitement. And most relevantly, you formalize your access to Granger’s brilliance, (“I’m a person outside of my intelligence, you know.”) have poor, pathetic, Neville making you seem like less of a threat, and from me you get Auntie Irena’s continued cooperation with solving your horcrux problem. So, are you guys in?”

    “No!” Hermione shouted, and was surprised to find Harry and Neville saying it along with her.

    “What? Why not?” Greengrass asked, sounding genuinely shocked.

    “First of all, I have no bloody clue- pun not intended- about any secret troves of blood magic knowledge, and I won’t go making alliances on false pretences. Secondly, you seem to be under the impression that we Gryffindors are some sort of object whenever we have a friend who’s a Slytherin. I can see why you added the timeframe on the spot without telling me, but you were downright patronizing when you layed out everybody’s reasons for joining! I’m not stupid, Daphne, and you can’t just lead me around by the nose because we’re friends but I’m just a dumb Gryffindor! Also, I don’t know what a horcrux is, but that last bit sounded an awful lot like you were blackmailing Potter. And I realize Slytherins probably don’t consider it a good day if they haven’t blackmailed someone by lunch, but it still rubs me the wrong way!”

    “Yeah! I’m not just Harry’s sidekick! You act like I need his permission to do anything!” Hermione added. “Which is a shame, because I’d actually be really interested in an alliance like this, but not if we won’t all be coequal partners!”

    Everyone turned expectantly towards Harry, who just shrugged. “Honestly, I just can’t respect someone who’d make such a sloppy blackmail attempt. It’s pretty clear you don’t know what a horcrux is, because if you did you would know it’s not something to fuck around with. Moreover, you acted under the mistaken impression that I actually need Madame Novikova’s help, and in doing so have ensured that I will never trust her ever again, since she’s broken the spirit of her healer’s oath, though I’m sure she found some way to stay within the letter of it.” Harry smiled. “Also, Heir Longbottom is quite right, if you’re going to treat him and Hermione like subordinates, you’re clearly underestimating them. So I suppose the only thing left to say is to ask, what kind of flowers would your sister like at her funeral?”

    Harry cancelled the silence spell and walked off, leaving three gaping jaws in his wake. Hermione was left sorting through a complex array of emotions. There was anger, both at Greengrass for trying to blackmail Harry and at Harry for making light of Greengrass’s sister’s curse. There was pride and satisfaction, at the fact that Harry and Neville had both stood up for her. There was worry about whatever Harry’s “horcrux problem” was, as well as the fact that he was talking about people who tried to conquer Europe as if they were people to emulate. And although she hated it, she did feel a little hurt that Harry hadn’t told her about his “horcrux problem.” She knew he had secrets, and that was fine, but it was knowing that he didn’t share anything with her, and was so determined to hold her at arm’s length, that really made her heart ache. But she had promised herself that this year she wouldn’t let people hurt her with words, so she stood up and followed Harry out of the library, making her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

—

    Dear Gran

    I’ll get right into it, the alliance with Heiress Greengrass fell through. She tried to bring in Granger and Potter, as I suspected, but was patronizing towards me, objectifying towards Hermione, and made a disastrous attempt to blackmail Potter. Plus, she thought I had access to some secret information about blood magic for some reason, which was apparently the only reason she wanted me in the first place.

    Apparently the whole point of the alliance for her was to cure her sister’s blood curse. She said she wanted Potter because he’d bring Granger, who she thought was smart enough to figure it out with my non-existent blood magic library. So the whole saving her sister thing was doomed from the start, I guess, but it just hurts that I thought I finally had a friend, and she was only interested in me for my books.

    Also, Potter is officially off his rocker. I thought the other Gryffindors were jumping to conclusions when they said he’s the Heir of Slytherin, but not I’m not so sure. He certainly seems the type.

    I don’t even know if I’m gonna send this letter, it feels like it’s mostly just whining, but I suppose you need to be updated on the situation. I guess my only question is, do you think-

    No, nevermind, I know the answer and hoping will only hurt.

    Your loving grandson, Neville Longbottom

—

    Mr. Longbottom, please report to my office at 5 o’clock on Sunday evening. Your grandmother has arranged for you to floo to Longbottom Manor and dine with her that day, citing an “urgent need to discuss certain private affairs.”

    -Professor McGonagall

—

    [Dear papa,

    I messed up. Bad. Things were going well with Longbottom, and I tried to bring in Granger and Potter but everything went terribly.

    I underestimated them, I underestimated them all, and severely misjudged the situation with Potter to boot. I thought Potter’s opinion was the only one I had to worry about, that Longbottom was already bound to me and that Granger would follow Potter’s lead. But the lions have claws, or at least these ones do, and they were insulted when I tried to lay things out for Potter. And Potter was insulted by my dismissal of them too, but that’s not the big problem.

    I told Potter his best reason for allying with me was that it would ensure Auntie’s continued cooperation with his horcrux issue. He basically said he didn’t need Auntie’s help and that he no longer trusted her since she circumvented her healer’s oath. Also, he made me think a horcrux is much more than just a medical condition, so there’s probably a whole other layer of context there I’m missing since the book you oh so helpfully recommended when I asked you about the subject just said “we won’t talk about it!”

    Apologies. I’m frustrated by my failure and lack of information, but should not have implied that it is your fault.

    The worst part is that now Longbottom isn’t talking to me, he just looks sad and runs away. I think I might have given him the impression I was only his friend to get to the blood magic books. And sure, that was it at first, but I actually do enjoy his company. He’s surprisingly perceptive for a Gryffindor, and a pleasant mix of politeness and honesty with a dash of cunning.

    I don’t see a way I can fix this. I’m sorry papa. Any advice you have would be greatly appreciated.

    -Daphne]

—

    Harry was disappointed that their Friday lesson with McGonagall had been cut short. Some idiot Ravenclaw (a phrase which Harry was becoming convinced was not an oxymoron, but was in fact redundant) had tried to become an animagus unsupervised and wound up in the hospital wing covered in scales and with teeth not suited for a human mouth. McGonagall had brought them along and taught them an obscure spell that could force a transformed animagus to return to their human form and that she was using in controlled bursts to change the girl’s skin back into, well, skin. She let them watch as she fixed the girl’s arms and lower legs, but had them leave after that since the rest was either under the girl’s hospital gown or on her head, which McGonagall really didn’t want any distractions for.

    Harry was prepared to go back to dungeons and continue reading a nifty book of Dark curses Snape had lent him, but Hermione apparently had other plans, as she dragged him into a convenient abandoned classroom and cast Muffliato.

    “Hello to you too, Hermione.”

    Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “This is a serious conversation, if you please.”

    “Gotcha. Is this about Greengrass and Longbottom?”

    Hermione sighed. “Kind of? They were the catalyst, I guess. But I’d like you to promise me you won’t interrupt until I’m done talking.”

    “Alright, unless there’s some sort of emergency where I need to cast spells.” Harry conceded, and Hermione rolled her eyes again at his paranoia. But then again, he was quiet, and his attention was focused on whatever Hermione was going to say, and that kind of easy, casual respect was something Hermione craved.

    “I need to know what you really, honestly think of me, because you’re the king of mixed messages and I’m seriously considering letting you learn legilimency on me but I can’t completely trust you knowing you don’t even trust me a little bit. I’m not asking for all your secrets, or even for you to call me a friend, but I need you to be honest with me about things that concern me.”

    Harry sighed. “Before I say that, can I ask you something? Your answer will greatly inform mine.” Hermione cautiously nodded. “When I compared myself to Napoleon and Grindelwald, what did you think?”

    Hermione blinked in surprise. “I… I was worried, but more for you than for the world or whatever. I think one day you could be a Dark Lord if that’s what you want, but I really don’t think that trying to conquer the world is a healthy goal. I mean, obviously it would be bad if you started a war, but… well, honestly, if you did, I would be more concerned about the possibility of you losing than of you winning. Unless you started with all that blood purity rot, then I’d have to kill you.”

    Harry laughed. “Hermione, you do know I’m a halfblood, right? Can you imagine how fucked up someone would have to be to sincerely support blood supremacy when they’re a halfblood?”

    “Can you imagine how fucked up someone would have to be to sincerely compare themself to Grindelwald and Napoleon? Besides, it’s not like Hitler had blonde hair and blue eyes.”

    “Touche. Although I will say that I only said that to try to get a reaction out of GreengraOH FUCK.”

    “What?!?!” Hermione asked, drawing her wand.

    “Nothing, just, I realized if Greengrass knows I’m a horcrux she might know… certain other details of my medical history. And made accurate inferences based off of them. Oh fuck.” Harry could see the curiosity in Hermione’s eyes, but he was extremely thankful she didn’t press for more information.

    “Will you answer my question now?”

    “Yeah, of course, sorry. This is actually a good chance for me to try out something I was working on with Snape, it’s an occlumency technique that you basically use to figure out what you’re feeling and why. Apparently it was originally developed to be used on other people, but it turns out to be much easier to do to yourself, while still very useful for objectively analyzing things. Just give me a second, it still takes me a bit.”

    Hermione nodded and watched him, but after thirty seconds of staring at Harry as he sat there with his eyes closed, she decided it would be a much better use of her time to work on her Herbology essay.

    She was nearly finished when Harry suddenly said “Huh,” which caused her to flinch and nearly spill ink all over the whole thing.

    “Jesus, you startled me!” Hermione cast a Tempus. “You were in there for nearly fifteen minutes!”

    “Yeah, turns out my feelings towards my… only friend… are a lot more complicated than the exercises I did with Snape.”

    Hermione blinked rapidly. “Harry Potter, if you only called me that as a prank, I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll do but you won’t like it!”

    “No, of course not Hermione. I looked at things, and, well, you wanna hear the whole thing, right?” Hermione nodded, and Harry closed his eyes again.

    “Well, the primary emotions I feel towards you are respect and admiration. I was entirely sincere when I said I think you’ll easily outshine me one day. I feel a great deal of fondness towards you, although I admit sometimes it has a bit of a possessive edge to it. I actually trust you a great deal, which surprised me, it’s just that I’m very scared of betrayal by friends, so I refused to call you a friend or trust you with anything important so you couldn’t betray me. But my fear stems from… certain patterns and experiences that I had no logical reason to extrapolate onto you. Also, in the interest of full transparency, there’s a little bit of something I think might be nascent romantic attraction, but that’s a can of worms I am SO not ready to open, considering that the closest thing I have to a healthy role model for romantic relationships is that time we caught McGonagall and Pomfrey snogging in her office. So knowing all that, I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore, let alone allow me to learn legilimency on you, but I hope-”

    Harry was cut off by Hermione running up to him and wrapping him in a hug. “Don’t be stupid, of course I want to be friends with you.” She mumbled into his hair. It wasn’t fair how short he was, or how tall Hermione was, Harry thought as he awkwardly tried to return the hug.

Chapter Text

    “What do you mean they won’t close the school?” Minerva shouted. Snape closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. It was going to be one of those staff meetings. Merlin’s bifurcated penis, Saturday morning was for sleeping in, even the dunderhead kids knew that!

    “I mean that unfortunately the Board of Governors does not see the situation as warranting that response.” Dumbledore replied with a frown.

    “But why on earth not?” squeaked Flitwick.

    “Because they know I’m here to keep the students safe!” Lockheart said enthusiastically at the same time Snape said “Because Creevey is a muggleborn first year.”

    “Now Severus-”

    “Don’t ‘now Severus’ me old man, not unless you can look me in the eyes and tell me they wouldn’t have the school closed in an instant if Malfoy or one of the Nott boys was petrified.” Snape hissed. Dumbledore frowned but didn’t push the point.

    “Well, regardless, we need to discuss ways to keep the students safe without ‘undue disruptions to the learning environment,’ according to the Board.” Dumbledore said wearily. “Severus?”

    “I can brew enough Draught of the Living Death for all the students in a week and a half, but since drugging the students en masse to keep them out of trouble would likely constitute an undue disruption to the learning environment, I’m afraid I have nothing, Albus. Perhaps our most esteemed defense professor could provide his expertise?”

    Dumbledore shot him a look that indicated his sarcasm was not appreciated, but Snape didn’t give a fuck at this particular moment. “Ah, funny you should mention that, Severus, I saw a case just like this in Russia, but fortunately I was able to put two and two together and the local runesmith was able to whip up a batch of protective amulets for the townsfolk! I’m sure he’d be happy to help us out, if we covered materials costs of course.”

    “A local runesmith, you say?” Professor Babbling said doubtfully, to which Lockheart nodded enthusiastically. “Just whipped up a batch of amulets, huh?” More nodding. “And his name?”

    “Oh, it was, uh, Igor!”

    “Igor…?”

    “Um, Vodka.” Snape’s wand twitched in his hand.

    “Oh, really? I’ve never heard of a Russian runesmith named Igor Vodka. Do you happen to know where he got his mastery?”

    “Uh, Koldovstoretz?”

    “Oh, but Gilderoy, surely you know that Koldovstoretz hasn’t had a mastery program since the 1700’s.” Professor Vector chimed in. Snape openly grinned at the sweat forming on Lockheart’s brow. Grating as it was to watch him shamelessly flirt with the younger professors, they always got their payback.

    “Oh, well, you see, Ivan was a vampire. One of the good ones, though.” 

    “Who’s Ivan?” asked Vector.

    “I thought you told me just last week there were no good vampires.” commented Sinistra.

    “If he was a vampire runesmith, wouldn’t it have to be blood runes, which are heavily regulated by the ICW.” Babbling said with a raised eyebrow.

    “Forget the ICW, if he was using blood runes en masse, where'd he get all the blood?” Flitwick said.

    “Ah, well, I’ll be sure to explain more later, but we should really be getting back on topic, what with the Creepy boy and all.” Lockheart said before letting out the fakest sounding laugh Snape had ever heard.

    “Creevey.” McGonagall corrected, nostrils flaring.

    “Yes, right, my bad.” Lockheart said shamefully, and Snape swore under his breath. Of course Minerva was the first to make Lockheart admit he made a mistake. Another galleon to Pomona, then. How the hell did he lose so many bets to the head of Hufflepuff, anyway? “What I think we need to do is work on finding the perpetrator! A lot of the students have been saying it’s Potter, and I have to admit, he’s always seemed off to me.”

    “That’s because when you tried to get him to act out a scene from one of your books he hit you with a wandless Skin Wrinkling Jinx, but that’s not any of my business” Snape thought as he sipped his tea (the only thing that could make a crack of dawn staff meeting on a Saturday even remotely bearable).

    “I have every confidence that I know who is behind the attacks, Gilderoy, all that matters is figuring out how he’s doing it. I suspect the true perpetrator is working remotely, or perhaps through some pawn. At this time, I fear all I can do is ask you all to be vigilant for any unusually Dark artifacts or any children who seem to be acting strangely.” Dumbledore said gravely. “If that is all, then I’m sure you have learning environments to prevent from being unduly disrupted. Minerva, Severus, would you stay behind for a moment?”

    Snape literally bit his tongue to prevent himself from groaning. He just wanted to go back to bed, damnit! Saturdays were supposed to be the one day where he could sleep in! “Yes Albus?” Minerva asked once everyone else had left.

    “Wait, wait, wait. Before we begin, I must ask again, Albus, was there really no one better for the job than Gilderoy bloody Lockheart? And don’t you dare say there wasn’t because I gave you my application for the position as I do every year!” Snape said, glaring at Dumbledore as he spoke, before finishing with a yawn and a large swig of coffee.

    “Severus, you know I can’t risk you to the Defense Curse. Other than you, my options were, if I may be frank, an unremarkable buffoon and a remarkable buffoon, so naturally I chose the one that would give our students more interesting stories.”

    “After last year, Albus, I’m not sure we needed any more interesting stories at Hogwarts. And this year looks like it’s shaping up to be even worse!” Minerva said disapprovingly.

    “Indeed. Now, what is it you don’t want anyone else to hear?” Snape asked.

    “I suspect that it may be one of Tom’s horcruxes operating the Chamber. I don’t know what sort of protections are in place, but I suspect it would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible, for someone not of Slytherin’s bloodline to access the Chamber. And I have heard that it is possible for horcruxes to posses people, and perhaps even attain physical form independently, though information is understandably scarce.”

    Minerva paled, and Severus was sure he did the same. “If He’s using an item in a student’s possession for a student’s possession, shouldn’t we immediately do a thorough search of the students’ dorms?” McGonagall asked.

    “We should indeed.” Albus sighed. “However…”

    “The Board of Governors.” Minerva and Severus chorused in unison. “Bloody hell, do they want someone to die?” McGonagall added.

    A Gryffindor wouldn’t have noticed it (well, Ms. Granger might have) but Snape found it very telling that instead of reassuring Minerva that the Board was just old and misguided, Dumbledore simply reminded them to keep a close eye on the students and any unusual objects they might have.

—

    “Hey Professor!” Hermione said brightly as she and Harry walked into their Saturday lessons with Snape. Snape also noted that Harry seemed more relaxed, and was occasionally shooting fond glances at Granger.

    “Dare I ask what has you two so cheerful today?” Snape drawled.

    “Harry said we’re friends!” Hermione exclaimed as Harry said “Annoying Gryffindor got petrified.”

    “Harry! You have to stop making those horrible jokes!” Hermione scolded him.

    “They’re not horrible! Snape’s laughing!” 

Snape was not laughing.

“But anyways, I did some thinking using that Objective Analysis technique and realized that… I had some illogical mental barriers concerning trust and emotional connection.”

“Oh no Potter! You have a friend now! Would you like me to check your back for knives? I think I can see twenty or thirty sticking out from over here.” Snape said, monotone.

“Oh shut up! I can admit that I was wrong.”

“You were wrong, aaaaand?” cajoled Snape with a sadistic smirk.

“And you were right, sir.” Harry begrudgingly admitted.

Snape preened and Hermione could no longer resist bursting out in laughter, causing both of the Slytherins to shoot her nearly identical looks of derision, which only served to make her laugh harder.

“Very well then Potter, we shall begin while she is distracted. Point your wand at her, make eye contact, and say ‘legilimens.’”

—

    “Hey Neville, can I sit here?”

    “Uh, sure.” he said, and looked up from his Herbology book to see Hermione Granger sitting down across from him. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other day in the library, Daphne was way out of line.”

    “Thanks Neville, but it’s not you who needs to apologize. I really appreciated you standing up to her for me.” Hermione said with a smile.

    “Not like you needed it.” Neville said with a snort. “I’m not sure I’m capable enough to be a knight in shining armor or whatever. Besides, you can take care of yourself, and if you can’t you’ve got Potter.”

    “Jealous?” Hermione asked with a smirk, and was rewarded by Neville blushing a bright red.

    “Well of course I want Potter to be my knight in shining armor.” he said, recovering quickly. “I mean, someone who’s that scrawny but still manages to be intimidating at eleven is definitely someone I want on my side.”

    Hermione laughed. Neville liked the sound. “He puts on a tough act, but deep down he’s a person just like the rest of us.”

    “If by the rest of us you mean Napoleon and Grindelwald.” Neville muttered. 

    “You do realize he was just saying that to get a reaction, right?”

    “Psh, yeah. Duh. Of course I knew that!” Neville said with a nervous chuckle.

    “To be fair, he sold it really well. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to join the little study group me and Harry have! Harry’s really great at Defense and Transfiguration and Potions, and I’m pretty good at everything, but especially Charms. But we could use a Herbology specialist! And I bet you have lots of insight into History of Magic that we don’t because we weren’t raised magical!”

    “I suppose wanting me for my herbology notes is a step up from wanting me for illegal books I don’t have.” Neville sighed.

    “Oh my gosh no I didn’t mean it like that! I’d still want to hang out with you if you were bad at Herbology, I was just trying to encourage you and show you that this isn’t a pity thing.” Hermione said quickly.

    Neville stared pensively at his book for a few moments. “Two questions. One, is Potter okay with me joining?”

    “Of course! I wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t!”

    “Okay. Two, would he be okay with me joining if I was bad at Herbology?”

    Hermione bit her lip nervously. “I- I’m not sure. You can ask him yourself if you want.”

    Neville nervously fidgeted with his hands. “D’you think maybe it could be just us? He still kinda scares me…”

    “Hey, it’s alright Neville. I’m sure that’ll be fine.”

    “Thanks Hermione. You’re a good friend.”

—

    That was so much easier than with Harry, Hermione thought as she drew up a timetable for when she would study with whom. Bloody Slytherins!

—

    “Hey, Neville?”

    “Yes, Greengrass?”

    Daphne gulped at the ice in his tone, but summoned whatever Gryffindor side she had and pushed on. “Look, I just wanted to apologize to you for what I said. I… I was too focused on my goal and not enough on how other people might take what I was saying. I took you for granted and assumed you would understand things the way I intended but you didn’t and I’m sorry.” Daphne spat out, blushing as she realized how much she had rambled.

    Neville gave her a hard, searching look before his face softened. “Thank you for apologizing. Is there anything else, Daphne?”

    “I was just… can we still be friends, or did I blow it for good? I just… I liked spending time with you. Like. Stupid word tenses.”

    Neville smile. “Yeah, I’d like that. Not right now though, I’m going to study with Hermione.”

    “I appreciate the effort, Neville, but I’m pretty sure they won’t be allying with me any time soon.”

    Neville shrugged. “First of all, I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this because I like spending time with Hermione and it’s very good for my grades. Second, it might not be impossible. I think you’ll actually have more work to do with Hermione than Potter, from what she’s said he didn’t take it personally, but she very much did. Third, my Gran wants to meet with your family.”

    Daphne smiled. She had Neville. Granger and Potter weren’t hopeless cases. The only wildcard was Augusta Longbottom.

    She could still save her sister.

—

    Apparently there was a duelling club, and Harry decided he might as well go, since Snape had cancelled his and Hermione’s Wednesday lesson since he had been conscripted into helping with it.

    Students were bustling around an elevated duelling platform that had replaced the tables of the Great Hall, and Lockheart was standing on one edge, eating up the attention as he told who knows what bullshit to the kids stupid enough to still listen to him at this point. Snape was standing by the doors, and immediately pulled Harry into an alcove.

    “Lockheart? Really? I thought it would be Flitwick.” Harry whined.

    “Oh, but you see Harry, this is a wonderful opportunity for you!” Snape said with a mean smile. “You see, the heroic Professor Lockheart has, with his unfathomably brilliant powers of deduction, decided that you are the Heir of Slytherin, and that the best way for him to solve this problem is for him to publicly best you on the duelling stage, after which he presumes you’ll flee in shame.”

    “Gee Professor, that would be a flawless plan if I actually was the Heir. Sometimes I think Lockheart might be overqualified for the DADA position. But if Lockheart wants a duel, I’ll give him a duel.”

    “Very good Potter. Remember, no advanced tricks and no Dark magic. Trust me, you won’t need it.”

—

    In a little-used hallway on the sixth floor, there is a painting of a lake. It’s not a bad painting, but aesthetically speaking, it’s not remarkable.

    What is remarkable about the painting is that if one blows on the reeds in the foreground, it will turn into a one way window looking into the Great Hall. So it was by the aesthetically unremarkable painting of a lake on the sixth floor that Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, Babbling, and Sinistra met on the night of the dueling club.

    “Alright, looks like it’s starting! Last chance for any more bets!” Professor Sprout said cheerfully.

    McGonagall pursed her lips. “Screw it, five more on Lockheart staying overnight in the hospital wing.”

    “Here’s hoping!” Sinistra smirked. Soon the teachers were silent as they strained to listen to what Lockheart was saying through the magical looking glass.

    “He’s having an exhibition duel with Severus?” Sinistra squealed with malevolent glee. Minerva cackled and pulled out her omnioculars. Whatever happened to Lockheart, she was sure she’d want to see it replayed in slow motion. Many, many times.

    To the surprise of none of the Professors, Lockheart got knocked on his ass in less than five seconds with a strong Disarming Jinx. He recovered with plenty of banter that McGonagall reported made Snape’s eye twitch.

    “But of course, before I can properly instruct you all in the ways of duelling, I have to see where you all are. Perhaps a student could face me in an exhibition duel… ah, Mr. Potter, thank you, come one up!”

    The other Professors were somewhat worried that Lockheart had ignored a horde of eager volunteers to single out Mr. Potter. Professor McGonagall, however, had burst into joyful cackles, and Flitwick had a knowing smirk on his face. “I should have been more on Lockheart spending a night in the hospital wing.” the half-Goblin chuckled.

    “I should have put money on St. Mungo’s. Merlin knows Potter could do it.” McGonagall said.

    Lockheart’s second duel was almost identical to his first, except the spell hit him in the stomach instead of the chest and his wand was caught by a different spectator. And then the third went the same way, except the Expelliarmus hit him in the groin, and Lockheart decided to call it an early night.

    On the sixth floor, the assembled professors had tears in their eyes from laughing so hard, save for McGonagall, who had produced a bottle of firewhiskey from somewhere and was alternating between saying how proud James would have been of his little boy and cursing the DADA curse with a vocabulary few students would suspect her of having.

    Later that November, as he was leaving the library on one of Neville’s study nights, Harry was hit with a strange sense of deja vu. There were the same four Ravenclaw third years bullying the same Ravenclaw first year.

    Fortunately, they remembered him too, and as soon as one got hit on the bum with a Stinging Jinx, they were sprinting away. “Thank you again, Harry Potter.” said the girl Harry had ‘rescued.’ He turned to get his first proper look at her. She had tangled blonde hair, vegetable earrings, a far-away look in her eyes, and no shoes on. Her socks were pink and fuzzy, and looked very warm.

    “No problem, ah…”

    “Luna Lovegood. Most people call me Looney, though.”

    Harry frowned. “Do you like when they call you Looney?”

    “Not particularly, no, but it’s not their fault. They have an awful lot of wrackspurts.”

    “Er, right. Listen, do those guys give you trouble a lot?”

    “It’s no trouble. I’ve found all sorts of interesting things while out looking for my shoes.”

    “But do you like looking for your shoes?”

    “...I would rather be looking for a crumple-horned snorkak.”

    “Right then. Accio Luna’s shoes!” There was a brief pause before the pair heard the sound of something being dragged across the floor above them. Then there were a series of thumps and yelps. “Wait for it…” Harry muttered. The thumps and yelps got louder until the boy Harry had hexed on Halloween came into view being dragged down the stairs by his bookbag, which dragged him down the hall towards Harry as the shoes inside it deposited themself, and by extension the bag, in Harry’s waiting hand. 

    “Golly Luna, I think your shoes might have ended up in this poor fellow’s bookbag! Let’s take a look, shall we?” Harry said with mock surprise, severing the straps of the bookbag with a Cutting Charm and placing a foot firmly on the wrist of the boy’s wand hand. “Let’s see, is this Luna’s shoes? No, that’s not it.” Harry said, dropping a heavy transfiguration textbook on the boy’s chest. “No, not this either.” Harry said, flinging a handful of quills into the air and making a rain of feathers. “Could Luna’s shoes be hiding in here?” Harry asked as he emptied a jar of ink on the boy’s face. “Nope.” Harry said, flinging the emptied bottle behind him where it broke against the wall with a satisfying tinkle. “Ah, here they are!” Harry said, pulling out a pair of girl’s shoes and handing them to Luna. Then he turned and squatted down next to the boy who’d had them.

    “Listen here, buddy. I’d hoped you’d get the idea after the first time, what with you being in the smart house and all, but it looks like even Ravenclaw has a few duds, so let me spell things out for you very clearly. From this moment forward, you are not going to be a problem for my friend Luna here. You not going to taunt her, or take her things, or call her Looney. In fact, if you hear anyone refer to her as Looney, you’re gonna tell them to knock it off, got it? Wonderful. I hope we never have to talk to each other again. May I escort you back to Ravenclaw Tower, Ms. Lovegood?”

    Luna, now with her shoes on, nodded bashfully, and Harry led her confidently up the stairs the boy had been dragged down before confessing he had no idea where Ravenclaw Tower was. So Luna led the way to Ravenclaw Tower and they talked about their days. Normally, Harry wasn’t one for small talk, but somehow Lovegood’d quirkiness made it bearable. She told him about how she had been talking with the school’s youngest ghost, a girl who died here only fifty years ago, and Harry told her about how Longbottom (“A Gryffindor, Luna, a Gryffindor!”) had saved him from getting stung by a Pitchthorn in Herbology.

    Eventually Luna bid him goodbye at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower (which only had a riddle instead of a password, so that was one less obstacle if he needed to pay a late night visit to one of Luna’s bullies) and he smiled genuinely at her, and told her to come find him if she had any more trouble from the upper years.

—

As he was walking back to the dungeons, Harry noticed he was still holding the remains of the bully’s bag. So he made a detour to the nearest window, opened it, and attempted to banish it into the Black Lake. Unfortunately, the wind took it very quickly and it probably ended up somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, but it was still cathartic.

—

    The next day, Harry was called into Professor Flitwick’s office where the Charms Professor was sitting with Snape and the boy who’d had Luna’s shoes. “Mr. Potter, thank you for coming up. There seems to be a little misunderstanding here. Mr. Archer here seems to be under the impression that you unprovokedly assaulted him with Dark magic yesterday.” Flitwick said.

    “Oh dear, that does sound like a serious problem if I’m attacking students and not remembering it. All I remember happening is seeing- Archer, is it? Archer and his friends cornering a first year Ravenclaw girl, Luna Lovegood, and pelting her with Stinging Jinxes. I thought it must be some sort of new game one of those clever eagles came up with, so I tried to join in by casting a Stinging Jinx at Archer. I think, in retrospect, I might have misread the situation, since Archer and his friends immediately ran away. I must have startled them. 

    Anyway, I started talking to Ms. Lovegood, trying to get her to explain the rules of the game so I wouldn’t ruin next time, but to my surprise she said there wasn’t a game, those boys just liked Jinxing her for the fun of it, and after they had already hidden her shoes! Well, being the helpful older student I am, I cast a Summoning Charm on Ms. Lovegood’s shoes, and to my surprise, Archer here was dragged towards us by his bookbag, which contained, you guessed it, Luna’s shoes! So I searched through his bag, gave Luna her shoes back, and walked her back to Ravenclaw Tower in case there were any more ne'er-do-wells skulking about.” Harry paused a moment. “Ask Luna if you don’t believe me.”

    Harry leaned back in his chair as he surveyed his handiwork. Archer was fuming at Harry, Flitwick was glaring at Archer, and Snape looked like he needed a headache potion. “But Professor! He’s obviously lying! Summoning Charms are a fourth year spell, he’s only a second year!”

    Harry sighed. “Accio Archer’s shoes.” Archer yelped as he was dragged out of his chair before his shoes popped off and landed in Harry’s hand. “Really, you need to stop telling lies that can be disproven in five seconds. Being in the smart house doesn’t mean you don’t need to think.”

    “Quite right, Mr. Potter. Now, seeing as I find Mr. Potter’s story of standing up for a bullied child much more believable than Mr. Archer’s story of being held under the Cruciatus Curse for hours, escaping by jumping from a second floor window, and not needing to go to Madame Pomfrey or indeed showing any signs of injury more serious than a bruised backside, I think Mr. Potter can go while I have a little chat with Mr. Archer about the merits of honesty and the consequences of brazenly lying about serious subjects. And Mr. Potter, ten points to Slytherin.” Flitwick shot a glance at Snape. “For bravery and chivalry.” The potions master scowled.

—

    Christmas at the castle that year was even smaller than usual. The Heir had struck again, and with a body count of two students, a cat, and a ghost, there was a palpable tension in the air. Other than Harry, the only people who stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas were a couple of seventh years who were already cramming for NEWTs and reckoned they were safe on account of being purebloods.

    The gloomy attitude lifted on Christmas day, for the most part. Harry was happy to receive a book on traditional potions ingredients of Sub-Saharan Africa from Hermione (who had in turn received a biography of Nadezhda Krupskaya*). 

    The Christmas feast was even weirder than last year. Perhaps the castle had a certain minimum chaos level that needed to be met, and with students in low supply Professors were forced to act out. Lockheart had tried to kiss Professor Sinistra, who had responded with a mean left hook. Lockheart had looked on the verge of tears when he asked Madame Pomfrey to heal him, but Pomfrey waved him off, being too busy holding hands with McGonagall as they stared fondly at each other. So Lockheart left, but as he was going, Snape lobbed a (full) bottle of wine at him, and missed, unfortunately.

    It was at this point that the seventh years decided to leave, and that Harry decided this had too much blackmail potential for him to consider leaving.

    He was right. Flitwick began lecturing Snape about wasting good alcohol, which caused Snape to angrily mumble something, take a swing at Flitwick from across the table, miss, and collapse face-first in a bowl of pudding. Dumbledore conjured Snape a snorkel and left him to his pudding diving expedition in favor of continuing to sing Christmas carols with Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn. Wait, no, that was Toxic**, they were just really bad singers.

    Harry laughed as Professor Vector started charming the steamed carrots to launch themselves at Harry. This was good.

—

    Daphne was studying with Neville in the library and trying to focus on her Charms essay rather than the point of contact where their ankles rested against each other under the table. She was mostly successful. Then she was successful in ignoring both of those things when Harry Potter stormed up to their table looking furious.

    “Potter, listen-” she began.

    “I accept.”

    “What?” 

    “Your alliance offer. I accept, I’ll do everything I can to help your sister, but you’ve gotta help me kill the Heir of Slytherin.”

    “I thought you didn’t care about the Heir?” Daphne asked.

    “I didn’t, until he petrified Hermione.”

—

*AN: Nadezhda Krupskaya was Lenin’s wife, but also a revolutionary and politician in her own right. She was very important in setting up the Soviet education system.

**AN: Yes, Toxic was released in 2003, but I found the image of Dumbledore and Hagrid singing it together too amusing not to share with you guys. This isn’t the last time I’ll ignore the timeline for the sake of a joke, either, so get used to it.

Chapter Text

AN: {Text in these fancy brackets is Parseltongue.}

—

    “Okay, so what do we know?” Harry asked. He, Neville, and Daphne were in an abandoned classroom Harry was calling ‘mission control,’ much to the confusion of the purebloods.

    “Well, my Gran went to school here in the 40’s, and she said that the Chamber was opened one year then.” Neville said.

    “What happened? As many details as you can remember!” Harry said eagerly. No, not eagerly, thought Daphne, his tone was… hungry. If Potter wasn’t playing with a full deck before, having the only person Daphne thought he actually cared about get petrified was doing him no favors.

    “Well, it was like now, but without the messages. Or the cat. Muggleborns were getting petrified. But then a girl died and they were gonna close the school, but then it gets complicated. See, the official stance on the petrifications in the 40’s is that Hagrid, who was in school at the time, was foolishly raising a dangerous creature inside the castle. The beast was driven off, Hagrid was expelled, and the attacks stopped, so the Ministry patted itself on the back and called the problem solved. Gran says the official incident report doesn’t even mention the Chamber once, and nobody is quite sure how that rumor got started.”

    “And unofficially?”

    “Well, Gran has her suspicions. See, Hagrid wasn’t turned in until it was common knowledge in the ol’ Hogwarts rumor mill that the school was going to close. And the guy who turned Hagrid in, Tim Puzzle or something, was also rumored to have begged the headmaster not to make him leave the castle over the summers. And most damningly, Hagrid swears up and down that the creature he was raising was an acromantula, which has no way to petrify someone or kill a girl without it getting… messy.”

    Harry frowned. “Definitely suspicious. I feel like there’s some connection I’m not drawing… Fuck, I’m gonna hex myself when I figure it out…” Harry muttered.

    “...right.” said Daphne. “Anyways, what I have is genealogies. Again.” Neville started coughing very hard.

    “Don’t worry dude, everyone’s probably related to a Dark Lord if you go far enough back.” Harry said, causing Neville’s coughing fit to double in intensity.

     “So if the Heir of Slytherin is literally the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin, we might actually be looking for a muggle-born, due to the ‘Unspeakable Theory.’ The last family with confirmed Slytherin was the Gaunts, and the last known member of that family died in Azkaban a decade or two ago. Of course, it might not mean an heir in terms of blood relation, it could be a philosophical or magical heir, in which case we’re back to square one.”

    Neville sighed. “Trying to figure things out with Slytherins is hard! You’re so afraid to be wrong that you’ll never rule anything out for sure!” he said with a grin.

    “Dude, if a Slytherin is ever proven wrong or caught in a lie, they get sent to Hufflepuff. And I don’t know about Daphne, but I do not have what it takes to make it in Hufflepuff. I can be patient for Hermione or for a potion, but I can NOT deal with people I don’t know asking me how my day was. Still, I’d take them over Ravenclaw any day. Buncha bird-brains.” Harry ranted. 

    “So basically, what we have is: mysterious petrifications fifty years apart (“Fifty…” murmured Harry), the most obvious framing in the history of framings, and Tim Puzzle, who either had the craziest luck that he happened to stumble upon a convenient scapegoat for the Ministry at the same time the attacks stopped, or knew more than he was letting on.” Neville summarized.

    “Okay, the way I see it, there’s three options for what happened back in the 40’s. And if we can figure out what happened then, that should tell us what’s happening now.” said Daphne. “Option A is that the petrifications really were Hagrid’s fault and he’s been lying about it having been an acromantula the whole time. I don’t think that’s very likely because I get the impression he’s too stupid to be a good liar, but it could be a very, very long con. Option two is that it’s a coincidence that the attacks stopped when Hagrid got expelled, but good Slytherins don’t believe in coincidences. And option three is that Puzzle was in on it. What kind of a name is Puzzle, anyway?”

    “Dunno, Welsh maybe?” Neville said with a shrug. “Anyways, we got a lead. I’ll write Gran and ask her more about Puzzle, you guys try and go through the school records and old copies of the Prophet to see if he comes up. Sound good?”

    “...Yes, actually.” Daphne admitted. “Not a bad plan, Neville. For a Gryffindor.”

    “Fine then, what would your sneaky Slytherin plan of cunning cleverness be?” Neville asked exasperatedly.

    “First off, that sounded way too much like something the Weasley twins would say. Are you Fred and George stacked on top of each other in a trench coat?” Harry asked rhetorically. “And as for my plan, I can’t go into detail, but it absolutely would have involved shamelessly guilt tripping Dumbledore and getting involved in Snape’s love life again.”

    “What do you mean, again?” Neville asked alarmedly.

    “I honestly think Snape and Rita Skeeter would be a good couple once they stop trying to poison each other. But that’s beside the point! Tim Puzzle! To the library! Huzzah!” Harry shouted before running out of the classroom.

    “Should we be worried about him?” Neville asked as the classroom door slammed shut behind Harry.

    “Oh absolutely. I’ll talk to Snape about it. You’ve got a letter to write, mister. Send your Grandmother my regards.”

—

    “Potter. Take a seat.” Snape said.

    “Alright, what are we doing today, Professor?”

    “Tonight we are going to talk. About your feelings.” Harry’s hand twitched towards his wand, which in turn made Snape’s eye twitch, and the chain reaction finally ended with the corner of Harry’s mouth twitching upwards. “If it’s any consolation, this will likely be as painful for me as it will be for you.”

    “Fine. But if the awkwardness is approaching lethal levels, please do kick me out. You can’t get out of teaching me the Decapitation Curse by dying of embarrassment as you try to play therapist.”

    “Understood.” Snape said wryly. “So… Merlin, I’m not good at this.” Snape blatantly held up a small stack of muggle notecards. “So Potter, how do you feel about your best friend being petrified?” Snape winced. “Merlin, I know he was a Gryffindor, but really Albus, you could at least try to be tactful!”

    Harry closed his eyes for a few minutes, and Snape recommended he was using occlumency to objectively analyze his thoughts. “Well sir, my primary emotion towards the situation is fear that Hermione will never get cured. I know it’s irrational, since even if Lockheart blew up all your cauldrons and torched the mandrakes in his latest idiotic attempt to woo Professor Sinistra, wshe would still get cured eventually, just later. I’m also incredibly relieved that she was only petrified, and not killed. And I’ve got a very cold, murderous anger towards the Heir. So yeah, my emotions are fear or anxiety, relief that it isn’t irreversible, and deadly rage.”

    Snape forced himself to take a deep breath. “Potter. I hope that you’re not stupid enough to be hunting for the Heir on your own.”

    Harry snorted derisively. “Please, sir, don’t insult my intelligence. Of course not.”

    Snape looked at him for a long moment before nodding sharply. “Very well then. Let us put emotions behind us and focus on the Curse of the Bone Thorns.”

—

    It was only a few days later that Harry, Daphne, and Neville were deep in a neglected aisle of the library fruitlessly searching old yearbooks for Tim Puzzle when they heard Professor Dumbledore’s magically amplified voice boom through the castle: “ALL STUDENTS RETURN TO YOUR COMMON ROOMS IMMEDIATELY. HEADS OF HOUSE WILL BE BEGINNING A HEADCOUNT IN FIVE MINUTES.”

    “This is bad.” Daphne whispered. “This is an escalation. He doesn’t care about avoiding panic anymore.”

    “Yup.” Neville said grimly as they joined the throng of students leaving the library. “Well, looks like this is where we part ways for now. Stay cunning and stay safe, alright?”

    “You too Nev.” Daphne said worriedly. “Don’t do anything that would make me roll my eyes at you, okay?”

    Harry observed an awkward moment where he thought they both wanted to hug each other but neither knew how to initiate it or if they should. Or maybe he was just imagining things in the stress of the situation, he was hardly an expert on physical affection.

    When they entered the Slytherin common room, Harry was disgusted to see the mood was almost celebratory. Bets were being made at breakneck speed, and one sixth year had broken out a case of firewhiskey. It took a number of deep breaths and retreating behind his occlumency shields to keep him from starting to throw curses at the revelers.

    Then the festive mood died all at once as the door to the common room opened and Dumbledore stepped inside, holding a long sheet of parchment. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at the Headmaster. “I will now be performing the head count.” Dumbledore said quietly, but there was not a soul in Slytherin who didn’t hear him. “Abbott, Jackson.”

    “Hey, what gives? Where’s Snape?” someone shouted from the crowd.

    “He has been petrified, Mr. Rosier.” Dumbledore said grimly. “Now, is Jackson Abbott present?”

—

    The school was united in its solemnity as everyone got into the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade Station and then back to London. The people who would celebrate Snape being petrified were mourning the disappearance of the youngest Weasley, and those who would celebrate a blood-traitor being killed were cowed by the petrification of the Head of Slytherin. There was an odd camaraderie in it.

    It occurred to Harry that he didn’t know where he would go once the train dropped him off at King’s Cross. Maybe the Leaky Cauldron? He was pretty sure it had rooms for rent on the second floor. Fuck.

    The carriage ride was silent aside from the rumble of the wheels and the breathing of the black, winged horses that pulled the carriages. He was sharing with Greengrass, Longbottom, and Luna, and even the normally chatty Ravenclaw was quiet and withdrawn. It was disconcerting, seeing her like this. He found himself wanting to hear about nargles, or her homemade jewelry, or her latest conversation with-

    “FIFTY YEARS!” Harry shouted, startling the rest of the carriage’s occupants as well as some of the people in carriages next to them. “Luna, you said Myrtle, died fifty years ago, right? And she was a student here?”

    “Harry, what the fuck are you talking about?” Greengrass whispered harshly as Luna nodded hesitantly.

    “There’s a ghost Luna talks to, Myrtle Warren, who died here as a student fifty years ago! It can’t be a coincidence! She must be the person the Heir killed in the 40s!” Harry said excitedly. “How do I get these horses to turn around?”

    “What horses?” Neville asked at the same time Luna said “You can’t.” and Daphne shouted “Potter are you insane?”

    “Maybe!” he shouted before jumping out of the carriage.

    Only to be levitated back in by Daphne. “Potter, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but we’re going to tell the Professors about this at the Station, and while we’re waiting to get there you’re going to tell me what idiocy possessed you to jump out of a moving carriage? Also, what horses!?!?”

    “Okay, first of all, the carriages are not that high up and not moving that fast. I would have gotten pretty muddy and bruised, but been fine with jumping. Second, Hermione is my friend, and I’m kinda… new to having a friend, but I know that friends help each other. And since mandrake growth can’t be magically sped up, I can’t do anything to help Hermione, so the next best thing is avenging her. Also, Luna, you can see the things pulling the carriage right?”

    “Correct, they are thestrals. You are just as crazy as I am, Harry Potter.” Luna said gently.

    “...Oh.” Daphne said quietly. “Listen, Potter, you don’t need to go and avenge Granger, okay? For one thing, I think she’d be a little annoyed to be in any situation resembling a damsel in distress. She’d probably invent a new long-acting poison to use on you just so she could invent an antidote for you so you’d be even. For another, if you got so much as a scratch trying to go after Puzzle-Man she would break your kneecaps for being so reckless, and then mine for allowing you to be so reckless and also being a jackass. Besides, if you think about it, it’s almost certainly a dead end. Surely we can’t be the first people in fifty years to think of asking her what she knows.”

—

    Dumbledore was waiting for Harry at Hogsmeade Station with his phoenix, and immediately whisked him away to a dilapidated bathroom where McGonagall, Flitwick, and Kettleburn were waiting with a burst of flame. “Harry, my boy, you’ll never believe the breakthrough I just had! I was going through the records of the attacks in the 40’s when I realized there had been a disastrous miscommunication! You see, the basilisk’s permanent victim- did I mention that Hagrid and Kettleburn are 90% sure it’s a basilisk? Anyway’s, the girl the basilisk killed came back as a ghost. The DMLE assumed I had interviewed her about her death and didn’t mention it because it didn’t yield anything useful, and I assumed the same about them. And it turned out Ms. Warren here- well not here right now, she’s a little shy- anyways, Ms. Warren had a massive piece of the puzzle! She died after seeing a massive pair of serpentine eyes by this sink that has never worked in living memory! And if you chug an Arthritis Potion and look at the pipes under the sink, what do you find? A carving of a snake! Which is where you come in, my boy! I’m mostly certain that this sink hides a doorway that will respond to Parseltongue!”

    “Hold on sir, can we go back to the basilisk bit? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t they magic’s perfect killing machine?”

    “Yes, with one glaring weakness. I’ve got an enchanted pocket with a rooster in it.” Dumbledore said with a grin.

    “A real one, right, not a transfigured one? Because according to Chen’s Law-”

    “Yes Harry, I borrowed one from my- from an acquaintance in Hogsmeade. I dare say I know a thing or two about transfiguration, although it is of course always a good idea to double check. Now, if you could please try and open the door? We believe Ms. Weasley has been taken into the Chamber and we hope we may be able to save her if we hurry.” Dumbledore explained.

    “Fine, but I’m coming with.” Harry said, trying his best to imitate Snape’s ‘argue with me at your own peril’ tone.

    “Mr. Potter, I’m afraid it’s much too dangerous!” Professor Kettleburn said. “The basilisk-”

    “I know they’re dangerous, Professor, but we’ve got a rooster and no time to waste arguing about this. {Open.}”

    There was a grinding of stone against stone and the sink transformed into the mouth of a dark, slimy pipe. “I don’t suppose you could try asking it for some stairs, Mr- nevermind, he’s already gone.” Flitwick sighed as Dumbledore hopped into the pipe and pushed off with surprising agility for his age.

    “It’ll be faster this way.” McGonagall said before following Dumbledore down the slide with a grimace. Soon enough the party was assembled at the bottom of the slide and began moving forwards.

    “I’d just like to reiterate for the record how nervous I am about having Mr. Potter here. No offense, kid.” Kettleburn said as they walked briskly onwards.

    “It is not ideal, Silvanus, but he’s not wrong that we might need a Parselmouth again. Or perhaps even just someone who was sorted into Slytherin. And I assure you he is considerably more capable than your average second year.”

    They reached a grand set of stone doors without incident, save when they caught a glimpse of scales and squeezed their eyes closed while Dumbledore pulled out the rooster, only for it to turn out to have been a shed skin. Still, when dealing with something that could literally kill you with a look, Harry supposed an overabundance of caution was in order. Which is why as soon as he hissed the command for the big doors to open, he squeezed his eyes shut and Dumbledore had the chicken out.

    “Oh, hello there.” said a boy’s voice. Harry opened his eyes to see the shimmering image of a boy in Slytherin robes with a prefect’s badge pinned to his chest standing of a pale red-headed girl.

    “Tim Puzzle.” Harry growled angrily, causing Dumbledore to burst into laughter and the shade to look confused.

    “It’s Tom Riddle, not Tim Puzzle. Who the hell told you it was Tim Puzzle? That’s even worse. But Tom Riddle is not who I am, not truly.” said the shade. “I am-”

    “One of Voldemort’s horcruxes, yes, we know.” Dumbledore interrupted with a calm tone that made Riddle sneer. “You know, Harry here is one of your horcruxes, too, Tom, so I think you might as well surrender quietly since you can’t hurt him.”

    “He- why the devil would I make a child a horcrux?” Riddle asked confusedly. “See, this, this is why you should actually let me continue here. I realized the flaw with horcruxes far too late, only when Ginny here began filling me in on the events of the past half-century. See, it appears my main self has gone quite mad, which is why you need to let me finish restoring myself so I can stop him.”

    “Restoring yourself?” asked Professor Kettleburn.

    “Yes, see Ginny here has been becoming quite attached to me. And I, in turn, have been becoming quite attached  to her. And we are now attached strongly enough that she can pull me into the physical world, at the unfortunate cost of me pulling her out of it. But sacrifices have to be made for the Greater Good, Professor Dumbledore. You of all people would know that.”

    “I’m afraid, Tom, that Ginny’s life is not something I’m willing to change for a sane Voldemort to be on the loose in addition to the mad one.” Dumbledore said dryly.

    “Honestly, I’m not even sure you’re that sane.” Harry chimed in. “That, or you’re really stupid. I mean, why have the basilisk petrify people if all you needed to do was wait for Ginny to become ‘attatched’ enough to you. You could have brought her down here without a message and she would have disappeared without a trace, and nobody would have suspected you existed. So either you attacked a bunch of people without thinking it through or you thought it through and did it anyways.”

    “I… but I… fuck…” whispered Tom. “To be fair Parselmouth in the castle, so I thought once I was down here I was in the clear, but… yeah… I just…”

    “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you’re better than the version of you I ran into last year. He unironically referred to himself in the third person.”

    “I’m sorry, you what?” squawked Kettleburn.

    “Later, Silvanus. Tom, if you really are sincere about defeating your other self, I think the best way for that to happen is for you to tell us everything you can about what you planned to use for your other horcruxes, and anything else that could help us beat him.” Dumbledore said.

    “Fuck… fuck, you’re right. Okay. Horcruxes. I feel like the first thing I should say is that I was the first, apparently of many. So I don’t know any of the others for certain, especially since I hadn’t actually planned on making any more after myself. But I had definitely thought about it. My plan was this diary, the Gaunt family ring- my mother’s family, I planned to pay them a visit the summer after I was created. Then I wanted an artifact from each of the founders. I’d heard Smith bragging about a cup his aunt had that belonged to Hufflepuff, and a locket from Slytherin, and I’d charmed the location of Ravenclaw’s diadem out of the Grey Lady. I had no idea for Gryffindor though, since the Sorting Hat was too vulnerable and his sword was goblin-forged so probably wouldn’t have been able to hold a soul shard. And not even in my most ambitious plans did I have my soul in more than seven pieces, so there should be at most six, not counting Potter. You are Potter, right? Ginny told me about you, and I doubt there’s many other one-eyed children running about the school, much less ending up in situations like this.

    As for locations… I would have hidden them somewhere befitting of Lord Voldemort, obviously. It did occur to me that the safest thing to do would be to bury them in random fields or hop on a ship and dump them in the middle of the ocean, but I couldn’t just do that to pieces of my soul! So it would have been locations significant to me, to magical culture, or both. I’d have almost certainly tried to hide one here, and I’m almost certain I did. The curse on the Defense position would have to be anchored to something, something powerful. It would probably either be down here or in the Room of Hidden Things, but I took a look around down here while I was waiting and it doesn’t seem to be here, so the Room of Requirement is your best bet. Ask the elves about it if you’re unfamiliar.

    Other hiding places I considered are the cave in Dover where I tortured a few classmates on vacation, maybe wherever the Gaunts live, maybe a high-security Gringotts vault if I was ever able to claim one, and other than that entrusting them to my most devoted followers. I know for a fact I was given to Abraxas Malfoy, but I honestly have no idea how I wound up in Ginny’s hands.”

    “Thank you, sincerely Tom. I must confess I did not actually think you would be forthcoming.” Dumbledore said.

    “Listen, I’m ruthless and ambitious, but I never wanted any of this.” Tom said.

    “What do you mean, my boy?”

    “Well, it must be obvious to you that I don’t actually believe in blood purity since I’m a halfblood, or at least I don’t. Can’t speak for the main-me.”

    “WAIT WHAT?” Harry shouted. “The biggest pureblood supremacist is a halfblood? We’ve actually got a fucking magical Clayton Bigsby*?”

    “Yes, muggle father, semi-squib mother, raised in an orphanage. I’ll freely admit I’ve always been cruel, vindictive, and manipulative, but in my defense, so was everyone else I met between birth and the age of 10. Not an abundance of great role models. I went to Slytherin because I just wanted to be strong, strong enough that nobody would ever be able to hurt me. No matrons to cane me, no older boys to steal my food. No headmasters to make me think everything I owned was going up in smoke.” he said pointedly, and Dumbledore looked somewhat ashamed. Harry wondered what the story was there.

    “But anyways, being the orphan mudblood of Slytherin wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Other Slytherins attacked me for being a halfblood, and everyone else attacked me for being a Slytherin. But I was used to getting knocked around and biding my time until I could have my revenge, so I kept my head down and spent every free moment studying or practicing. Eventually people left me alone once they figured out I could give as good as I got and worse, but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted them to regret ever attacking me, so the ultimate revenge would be forcing them to respect me.

    My big breakthrough was finding out I was descended from the Gaunt line, and therefore Slytherin. I talked to the snake portraits and they helped me get into the chamber. Of course, I wasn’t going to just take my former bullies down here, it would have seemed desperate, you know? So I started having Princess- she’s Slytherin’s monster, a basilisk if you hadn’t figured it out- started having her petrify mudbloods and dropping hints that I was behind it and had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Some people believed me, especially the lower years, but Abraxas and his lot thought I was bluffing.

    I actually did intend to kill someone with my last attack, but I hadn’t realized Warren had entered the bathroom while I was in the chamber, so she died instead of Abraxas like I’d planned. But once she died I finally had the respect I deserved from Malfoy and his ilk, so I just went with it, and forced Malfoy to help me make this horcrux to prove his commitment, and also because during the summers I was forced to stay in London, and barely avoided the Blitz**. After that, it was just an ever deepening pit of decaying sanity, maintaining an image, and knowing I was in far too deep to back out. Last I heard from anyone other than Ginny, main-me was going to do some travelling and was leaving me with Abraxas.”

    There was silence in the chamber for a minute. Eventually Tom coughed awkwardly. “Um, so, if you’ve changed your mind about letting me come back, I certainly won’t complain, but we’ve only got a few minutes before she suffers irreparable damage to her magic. The horcrux is the book, obviously. A Killing Curse should do the trick, but if none of you can cast it, I can call out Princess and tell her to keep her eyes closed and let you collect some venom.”

    Dumbledore wordlessly levitated the diary out of Ginny’s hands and onto the ground in front of him. “Thank you, Tom. You have doubtless saved many lives by seeing reason today. And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry. I failed you in many, many ways, and while it is far too late for me to make adequate recompense, I thought perhaps you might like some of the last words you hear to be me admitting to the fact that I was a lazy, naive fool in regards to your living conditions and many other things. Avada Kedavra.”

—

    Harry was still twitchy from anticipation for the fight that didn’t happen as he led the Professors back up the pipe (turns out, it could do stairs!). So he was almost glad when he heard Lockheart shout “Stupefy!” as he rounded the final bend. Lockheart was an idiot who’s relatively slow moving spell was trivial for Harry to dodge after his sessions with Snape. So he easily danced out of the way and returned fire with a Diffindo that cut open a long but shallow gash across his chest that nevertheless caused Lockheart to drop to his knees and clutch at his bloodied robes while wailing dramatically. Flitwick, who had been next behind Harry and saw the whole thing, just sighed and shook his head.

    “It was a student after all. That’s another ten to Pomona…”

    “Oh dear, what happened here?” asked Dumbledore, smiling serenely at the scene while levitating the unconscious Ginny Weasley.

    “It was Potter! He jumped out of nowhere and cursed me! I fear this is the end! Please! Tell my story!” cried Lockheart.

    “Oh really now.” huffed Flitwick. “He tried and ambush us and stun Mr. Potter, who dodged and hit him with a Severing Charm. Does anybody in this damn castle know how to tell a lie that won’t immediately be called out?”

    “Nope! Definitely not!” chirped Harry.

    “Please! Someone save me! I’m dying! Slain at the hand of the Heir of Slytherin!” Lockheart begged.

    “Silencio, ya great numpty!” McGonagall snarled. “Filius, please take this twat to the hospital wing so I won’t be tempted to make more work for Poppy. Albus, you tell the train to turn around, it should only be twenty minutes out. Filius, please alert the Ministry of the situation. Silvanus, tell the kitchens to start getting ready for a feast. Potter, do go wash up, you look positively filthy.” McGonagall paused and glanced around. “Well, I suppose we all do, minus this prick.” she said, aiming a kick at Lockheart.

—

    “-cking Puzzle, really? It’s only got two letters in common!”

    “I told you I was sorry, okay, it’s not my fault Gran’s memory isn’t what it used to be!”

    “Neville? Harry?” Hermione asked weakly, slowly opening her eyes. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital wing? And why do I feel all stiff?”

    “Hermione! You’re back!” Harry said, and Hermione smiled at the genuine relief and happiness she heard in his voice.

    “Yup. Wait, back? What do you mean, back? What’s going on?”

    “You were petrified by the Heir- who don’t worry, has been taken care of. Madame Pomfrey said you’ll probably feel stiff and sore for a bit while you regain circulation in your limbs.”

    “Also, it’s the last day of the school year. Snape got petrified after you did, and they only barely got another Potions Master here in time to make the restorative draught in time for the end of the school year. Don’t worry though, you were excused from all exams.” Neville added sheepishly.

    “I- end of the school year? Oh Merlin, that’s months of studying lost! What happened while I was gone then? Tell me everything!”

    “Well, after you got petrified, I obviously decided to try and kill the Heir-” Harry began.

    “That is in no way the obvious or healthy choice and we will be talking about this later.” Hermione interrupted.

    “Yeah, that’s fair. But I didn’t know who the Heir was, so I told Daphne and Neville I’d join their alliance if they helped me kill the Heir. We worked out it was probably opened by this guy Tim Puzzle in the 40s, but hit a dead end looking for any mention of the guy. But then a student got taken into the chamber at the same time Snape got petrified, and it wasn’t until we were in the carriages on the way to Hogsmeade Station that I realized that broken loo on the second floor is haunted by the girl who died the first time the Chamber was opened. Then Dumbledore snatched me up from the station and I’ll tell you the rest on the train tomorrow.” Harry said.

    “What? No, you said you’d tell us what happened once Hermione is up!” Neville said indignantly.

    “‘Us’ being you and Daphne, who isn’t here. Besides, there’s too many people here for a privacy ward to go unnoticed.” Harry said, indicating the tearful reunions of the other petrified students with their friends.

    “You’re impossible, Harry.” Hermione said fondly. “What else did I miss?”

    “Well, other than me being friends with Daphne and Neville now, Skeeter put Snape in her list of the Top Ten Most Eligible bachelors in Britain. Snape only got placed 7th, but Skeeter was quite effusive in singing his praises.”

    At that moment Madame Pomfrey came over to them. “Everything feeling alright, Ms. Granger? Potter, Longbottom, the Headmaster wants to speak to you in his office. Password is Ice Mice.” She said brusquely. “Now go on, your friend is going to need plenty of rest- petrification is not the same thing as sleep.”

    “Any idea what this is about?” Harry asked as they walked towards Dumbledore’s office. 

    “No clue.” Neville said.

    Inside Dumbledore’s office was the Headmaster himself as well as, to Harry’s surprise, Augusta Longbottom. “Headmaster, Regent Longbottom. A pleasure to meet you, I’m Heir Hadrian Potter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.” Harry said, seamlessly breaking out the pureblood etiquette and bowing to kiss the air above the woman’s knuckles.

    “And you as well, Heir Potter. I am Regent Augusta Longbottom nee Hampstead of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. I’m glad to see someone has taught you your manners.”

    “Thank you ma’am. It’s nice to see someone appreciate them for what they are, sometimes it feels like everyone either ignores manners or only sees them as a weapon.”

    “Right you are lad, right you are.” Regent Longbottom said with an approving nod. “Now, let’s stop casting around the bush and get to why we’re here. If you are amenable to the idea, the House of Longbottom would be honored to have you stay as a guest at Longbottom Manor this summer. Your mother was very close with my daughter in law, and while being the mother in law of your godmother isn’t legal grounds for me to take you in permanently, I told Dumbledore that putting a roof over your head was the least I could do.”

    Harry only had to consider a moment before accepting. His other option was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, which would be more expensive and less comfortable than accepting Regent Longbottom’s hospitality. And Neville was a great guy, so hanging out with him would hardly be a problem. Maybe they could try and meet up with Daphne and Hermione! Harry jumped a bit when he realized he might actually have a normal summer.

    “Excellent!” Dumbledore said. “Now, the leaving feast should be starting soon, so I’d suggest you run along, Heir Longbottom, since I need to have a private word with Heir Potter for a moment. Augusta, you are of course welcome to join us for the feast if you wish.”

    “No, I already ate, thank you. I’ll see you boys tomorrow at the station, then.” Once Regent Longbottom had exited via the fireplace and Neville had exited via the door, Dumbledore’s face took on a more serious expression.

    “Now, Harry, we have some business to discuss in regards to our adventure in the Chamber. I’m sure you can understand why the situation must be handled delicately, what with it involving a daughter of the Ancient and Noble House of Weasley, a legendary predator stalking the halls of a boarding school, and Lord Voldemort. And thus, we shall lie.” Dumbledore said happily.

    “Alright, what’s our story, sir?” Harry asked with a grin.

    “The story is that on his travels, Lockheart came across an artifact that allowed him to petrify people. He never actually did anything in any of his books, only obliviated the people who actually did and making them believe he was the hero. That part is true, by the way. Let it be a lesson, my boy, on how not to use the mind arts.” Dumbledore said with a knowing look. “Anyways, it was a slow season for magical heroes who don’t have the occlumency to detect and obliviation, so after hearing about the petrifications in the 40s, Lockheart decided to completely fake the emergency for his next book.”

    “Ah, I see. Which also conveniently explains why there was a bit more of a dramatic flare this time around, what with the kidnappings and messages on walls.” Harry said.

    “Quite. So over the year Lockheart petrifies people, builds an atmosphere of tension and terror. As the school year nears its end, Lockheart kidnaps a young girl and begins modifying her memory to believe he rescued her from a basilisk after she was kidnapped by the ghost of Slytherin himself.”

    “But ghosts can’t kidnap people.” Harry pointed out.

    “Exactly, my boy! Remember, we can’t have the plan be too good, or people wouldn’t believe Lockheart came up with hit.” Dumbledore said with a smirk. “Fortunately, there’s a ward on the castle that alerts the Headmaster whenever an obliviate is cast, as well as where and by whom- that’s another truth, by the way. So myself and the other teachers find Lockheart and the rest is history.”

    Harry hummed. “Not bad. I’ve got a few questions and critiques, though, both on the story, your actions, and things going forward.”

    “I would be most pleased if you would share them.” Dumbledore said sincerely.

    “First, how’d you know Lockheart’s a fraud? I mean, he obviously is pants at anything that isn’t smiling or waving or, apparently, obliviating, but how’d you learn the specifics, and why the hell did you hire him knowing that?”

    “I assure you, my boy, I only thought he was a fiction writer masquerading as an adventurer when I hired him. I only learned the depths of his deception when we had a little chat after he attacked you. I may not be a Slytherin, but I still can be extremely persuasive when I need to be.”

    “You mean you broke into Snape’s veritaserum stockpile?” Harry asked deadpan.

    “Professor Snape, Harry. And no, actually, I just told him you were the real Heir and if he didn’t cooperate there would be nothing on Earth that could save him from your wrath. Which is also how we know he’ll play along with our story. He’s quite terrified of you now.”

    “That’s satisfying. Other question in regards to your actions: has it occurred to you that, ah, a man, who’s very good at memory charms, in a school full of young women…” Harry trailed off and Dumbledore seemed to age fifty years before Harry’s eyes.

    “I had hoped that was not yet the sort of concern you would think to have. But we have checked, Harry, subtly of course, and found no evidence that Lockheart committed any sexual assaults. Keep in mind, too, there is the obliviation alert ward, and I actually haven’t felt it trigger all year. However, in the interest of full disclosure, Lockheart did have a number of… dalliances with of-age 6th and 7th years, something we have agreed not to publicly mention in order to further cement Lockheart’s cooperation since it was not technically illegal, only extremely unsavory.”

    “That’s a relief sir. With the story I only see two potential issues. First, many people saw you grab me from Hogsmeade Station, how will we explain that since we’re keeping me out of it? Thanks for that, by the way.”

    “Unrelated emergency travel alterations. Next?”

    “Well, when people hear Weasley got kidnapped by Lockheart, they may… make assumptions about what he did, and start rumors to that effect.” Harry said awkwardly.

    Dumbledore sighed. “This is unfortunately very true. Children can be incredibly cruel. However, I have spoken with Ms. Weasley and her parents about the matter, and all parties agree that the risk of some unfortunate rumors are far preferable to it being known that Ms. Weasley was possessed by Voldemort.”

    “I suppose so. Moving forward, then, what are we gonna do about the Chamber?” Harry asked.

    “I’m not sure yet. I would actually very much like it if you could come back and let me in over the summer a few times so that I may survey it and try to figure out what to do with it… as well as what the fate of… Princess… will be.”

    “I’d be happy to, so long as I can join too.” Harry said. “Second, can I tell me friends about this?” Dumbledore beamed at the mention of Harry’s friends. “I suppose you may, so long as you impress upon them that it must remain top secret, and leave out any mention of horcruxes. As far as I’m concerned, the fewer people know that word, the better.”

    “They’ve actually all heard the word before, sir. Madame Novikova told Daphne I was a horcrux, though apparently not what a horcrux is, and then she tried to blackmail me with it in front of the other two.”

    Dumbledore’s face morphed into an expression of cold fury that looked like it belonged on Snape much more than the Headmaster. “Harry, I sincerely apologize for Irena’s betrayal. I can assure you I will be having words with her.” Dumbledore said angrily, and Harry instinctively shrunk back from the Headmaster despite knowing Dumbledore was angry for him rather than at him. “Words like Ossa Confractus.” Dumbledore added under his breath. “You may tell your friends as much as you deem fit to share about horcruxes then, so long as you impress upon them that they are the most vile magic available and I will not hesitate to ensure any student who inquires about the process of their creation does not complete their education at Hogwarts.”

    “Understood sir.” Harry said quietly.

    “Is there anything else, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his posture relaxing again.

    “Just one more thing, is Weasley going to be okay? Ginny, that is.”

        “Physically and magically, yes. Mentally and emotionally, however? I am optimistic, but only time will tell. She has good odds, though. Her family is loving and supportive, and they insist she’s a resilient soul. However, I will tell you that I have told Ginny and her parents the full story of what happened in the Chamber with the exception of horcruxes and your Parseltongue abilities. We replaced that with saying that it required someone who had been sorted into Slytherin, and with Professor Snape petrified and Professor Sinistra overseeing the boarding of the Hogwarts Express, you were literally the only available option for us to gain access. Which I suppose you were, just not for that reason. Speaking of which, a hundred anonymous points to Slytherin for helping save the life of a fellow student, and another hundred anonymous for helping convince the horcrux to cooperate with us.” Dumbledore said with a grin.

    “Anonymous points, sir?”

    “Yes, in situations where a student does not wish to be recognized for a meritorious action or where being acknowledged for it could put them in danger, students can be given anonymous points. The recipient and reason won’t be publically available, but rather only visible to the Headmaster and Deputy for review.”

    “Huh. Interesting! Thanks for the house cup, sir!”

    “I dare say you’ve earned it, my boy. Now come, the feast awaits.”

—

    The leaving feast was quite the event, Hermione thought. It started with Professor Snape and the cured students being led out to rancorous applause. Then there was a round of applause for Professor Sprout for all the hard work she put into raising the mandrakes, then for the Potions Master who had portkeyed in from Germany to make the mandrake draught. Then Dumbledore gave a brief explanation of how it turned out that Lockheart was behind the petrifications, to many gasps and a few quiet sobs.

    Hermione had a brief taste of celebrity when everyone in Gryffindor wanted to hear about being petrified from her. She didn’t like it, there were too many people, all at once. Fortunately, she only had to explain that one moment she was glancing out the window and the next she was waking up months later in the hospital wing a few times before people got bored.

    The best part, though, was when Harry pulled her aside after the feast. “Listen, Hermione, real quick. I know you don’t like Greengrass, and for good reason, but she’s actually not that bad in private. Please sit with us and Neville on the train and give her a chance and after that if you want me to stop being friends with her and just be allies, I will, okay?” he said quickly.

    “Yeah, of course! I wouldn’t tell you to stop being friends with someone just because I don’t like them, Harry. And if you and Neville both like her, there must be something worth liking. Besides her face, that is. Besides, I’m curious about the rest of your story, I wouldn’t miss that if I had to sit between Weasley and Malfoy to hear it.” Hermione said.

    “Alright, see you tomorrow then!” Harry said before joining the mass of students heading for the basement and dungeons. Hermione had a smile plastered on her face the rest of the night. She meant it when she said she wouldn’t make Harry choose between her and Daphne, but Hermione had to admit to herself that it was incredibly reassuring to hear Harry say he would choose her if he had to.

—

    Harry snorted when as soon as they closed the door of their compartment, Hermione began casting privacy spells while Daphne layered a few Locking Charms on the door. “Alright Harry, spill.” Neville said eagerly.

    “Alright, wow, you guys are eager. You sure you don’t wanna play a round of Exploding Snap first, maybe-”

    “Harry!”

    “Alright, alright, jeez. So Fawkes brought us to Myrtle’s bathroom, since apparently Dumbledore had realized that nobody interviewed her in the 40s, since everybody assumed somebody else did. So apparently he talked to her, and she helped him find the entrance, which is a sink with a snake carved on the bottom. He apparently figured out that it opens for Parseltongue, so he came and grabbed the nearest Parselmouth, me. Oh by the way guys, I can talk to snakes.”

    Harry paused for their reactions and was not disappointed, though he was a little surprised. Hermione’s reaction was the most predictable, surprise and curiosity. Greengrass surprised him in that she didn’t try to hide her surprise. She was more open with her emotions when it was just him and Neville, but he had expected her to keep her guard up around Hermione at first. And where he had been resigned to seeing surprise and fear from Neville, he was pleasantly surprised to find that while he did feel those emotions, Neville wasn’t running, just looking at him a little oddly.

    “So I told the sink to open and it did and we went down- we being me, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Kettleburn, and Flitwick.”

    “They let you go down there with them?” Hermione gasped. “That was so irresponsible of them!”

    “Hey, it was my choice. I pointed out they might need a Parselmouth again, which they did. And it wasn’t like I gave them a choice, anyway. Everything was being rushed in case Ginny was still alive, which is why we didn’t wait for aurors or anything. There was a sort of big hallway, and a big set of doors that needed Parseltongue, and then the Chamber itself. Now the next part is extremely secret, even more so than me being a Parselmouth. If you blab about anything that happened in the Chamber, I will kill you, and Dumbledore will help me hide the body, is that understood? If you don’t think you can keep a secret, go wait outside and I’ll bring you back in when we’re past the secret-est part, no hard feelings.”

    Hermione felt the tension spike in the room. Harry was being one hundred percent serious about killing to keep this secret. “I- I’ll make an unbreakable vow. To keep the secret.” Hermione offered. Harry looked at her for a long while.

    “No.” He said eventually, and Hermione suspected he had been doing that Objective Analysis thing. “We are friends and allies. Your word is good enough, so long as you understand the consequences of breaking it. That goes for all of you. If you want an unbreakable vow so that the information can’t be extracted through legilimency or truth potion, I’ll do it, but I have to trust you guys.” Harry said, and Hermione suspected he was talking to himself as much as he was to them. “So, nobody’s leaving? Right. So, you all need some context to understand this next part. A horcrux is a magical device where someone does a ritual to split their soul and put part of it inside something other than their own body, so that if their body dies, their spirit doesn’t pass on. It’s magic so evil, Godelot didn’t want to talk about it in his book about the evilest magic he knew. Dumbledore said if anyone at Hogwarts tried looking into how to make them, he would, and I quote, ‘not hesitate to ensure any student who inquires about the process of their creation does not complete their education at Hogwarts.’”

    “Did- is it just me, or did Dumbledore say he’d kill anyone who tried to learn how to make a horcrux?” Neville asked, dumbstruck.

    “Plausibly deniably, yes.” Daphne said, before taking in a deep breath. “Potter- Harry. I’m going to be uncharacteristically blunt, especially considering that I shouldn’t know that this exists. But this is clearly a big deal, so Harry, what exactly is your horcrux problem?”

    It was Harry’s turn to brace himself. They didn’t run when he said he was a Parselmouth, but this was so much worse. “Well, horcruxes are basically a second chance paid for with the blood of the innocent. But Riddle- that’s You-Know-Who by the way, Hermione- is a cowardly little bastard and didn’t stop at a second chance. We think he intentionally created six, so his soul would be in seven parts.”

    Hermione’s eyes widened. “No.” she whispered.

    “But the soul isn’t supposed to be in two containers, let alone seven. So it was very unstable by the time he came to kill me in ‘81.”

    Daphne was the next to realize where he was going, and she looked like she was going to be sick.

    “Dumbledore isn’t sure how, or why, but when Riddle’s curse backfired, his soul split again, and part of it winded up in me.”

    Daphne finally lost her battle against nausea. Hermione pulled Harry into the tightest hug she could. Neville just stared. Harry wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but eventually Harry vanished Daphne’s vomit, Hermione’s grip lessened to the point where he could breathe again, though she by no means let go of him, and Neville seemed to be back in the same reality as everyone else.

    “So… you have to die for Him to die.” Neville said quietly.

    “Thankfully no. Dumbledore and an ally of his are creating a ritual to remove His soul while keeping mine intact. Spiritual surgery, as it is.” Harry said. 

    “Has it… affected you?” Daphne asked quietly.

    “That’s probably the scariest thing about this; I don’t know. Dumbledore has said he’s confident my mother’s sacrifice will protect me from the soul shard as it did from the Killing Curse. His ally, Madame Vasquez, says my mother’s protection is entirely unknown magic and she has no idea how much the soul piece affects me if it does at all. Apparently language that is applied to the physical world doesn’t translate well to talking about souls, but in simple terms, Madame Vasquez says the soul piece is relatively small or weak, so if there are any changes it’ll likely be minor, but there’s a slight possibility that the soul piece has been possessing me since Halloween of 1981 or soon after and removing the soul piece will reveal a completely different personality, or the mind of a one year old baby.”

    “You mean… you could be You-Know-Who and not even know it?” Neville gasped.

    “Theoretically. Again, it’s incredibly unlikely. And Madame Vasquez says that even if the person I am is a piece of His soul, that doesn’t mean that I am Him.” Harry said. “Anyways, should I get back to the story? I think it might help clear some things up about the nature of horcruxes.”

    “Okay.” Hermione sniffed from his side.

    “So, we enter the Chamber and inside it is Ginny, laying on the ground unconscious and holding a diary, and there’s this mirage-like image of a guy standing over her. Slytherin uniform, prefect badge. Tom Riddle, better known as Tim Puzzle or You-Know-Who or the Dark Lord or whatever. Or at least, the portion of Tom Riddle’s soul he had stored in the diary, which was a horcrux that had somehow found its way into Ginny’s hands and was possessing her, making her open the Chamber. And Riddle had finally gotten the necessary ‘closeness’ for him to pull himself out of the book by pulling her into it. So Dumbledore says ‘give up, Tom!’ and Riddle goes ‘no you give up, Albus!’ Then Dumbledore pulls me out and is like ‘I’ve got another horcrux right here Tom, you’re not gonna kill your own horcrux, are you?’ But then Riddle says ‘why the hell is that kid a horcrux? Main-me is crazier than I thought, good thing I’m going to kill him once I’ve got a physical form. And since you guys don’t like main-me either, how about you just let me kill this girl so I can take care of him for you? You’d prefer a sane, reasonable me to main-me, right?’” Harry paused. “Actually, I don’t know if Ginny would have died or just been trapped in the journal. Either way, not good. Anyways, then I say ‘dude, you’re saner than main-you, I’ll give you that, but you still petrified a bunch of kids and drew massive amounts of heat onto yourself for no tactical advantage. There is no sane you, just not as insane you.’ And Riddle had a whole existential crisis when he realized he didn’t actually have a rational reason for petrifying people. It was funny, but sad.”

    “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard You-Know-Who described as ‘funny, but sad.’” Daphne said dryly, having apparently regained her composure.

    “I’ve probably got a uniquely warped perspective.” Harry said with a snort. “Anyway, then Dumbles says ‘if you really want to stop main-you, tell us anything that might help us beat him and then let us kill you!’ And Riddle was like ‘fuck that actually makes a lot of sense.; So he told us about what he’d thought about for other horcruxes, but the diary was the first one so he didn’t know for sure. Still, there’s plenty of leads for Dumbledore to investigate. But then he also told us about His modus operandi and holy shit you will not believe it.” 

    “You know, normally I would make a biting comment about how everyone knows He was a fanatical pureblood supremacist, but at this point I’m ready for you to say he’s actually trying to transfigure the moon into cheese.” Daphne said.

    “Even weirder. Or at least stupider. See, Riddle is a halfblood.” Harry said with a smirk.

    “What!?!?”

    “Yup. Just a halfblood in Slytherin trying to fit in. Apparently, he originally opened the Chamber to try and impress Draco’s grandpa, who was apparently as much of a dick as Draco, since when petrifying muggleborns didn’t impress him, Riddle just tried to straight-up kill him, but he accidentally got Myrtle instead. Which apparently was good enough to turn Malfoy into Riddle’s bitch, to the point that he helped Riddle make the diary horcrux. But that put Riddle in a tight spot, because Malfoy and his friends misidentified the world’s most selfishly reckless cry for attention as a declaration of war against muggle borns. And he could hardly say ‘chill guys, I just wanted to impress you’ because there’s nothing less impressive than admitting to someone you were trying to impress them. So he was trapped in this web where his new friends only liked him because he was a violent racist, he couldn’t come clean because he’d committed crimes against magic and also murder, and to top it all off, horcruxes turn out to be incredibly detrimental to one’s mental stability. So Riddle makes the brilliant decision to say ‘fuck it,’ throw himself into the grave he’d dug himself, and a decade or two later we’ve got You-Know-Who.”

    The compartment was silent. “So basically he was a kid with incredible magical power who craved the approval of a bunch of rich bigots, he accidentally killed someone, traded some sanity to have a way to cheat death, and then decided to throw himself into being as evil and insane as possible.” Hermione summarized.

    “That would be accurate, yes.” Harry said. “Although actually, I don’t know about that last bit. That certainly didn’t happen immediately, since diary Riddle did help us, and I think he was sincere about wanting to kill main-Him. I mean, the diary just let us kill it. Him? It? Pronouns get confusing with fractions of a person. Or fractions of a soul. Fuck, I dunno.”

“That’s one hell of a story.” Neville said.

“I suppose so. Also, quick epilogue, as we were coming out of the Chamber, Lockheart submitted his application to be the scapegoat in the form of a stunner aimed at my face. So that’s what I’ve been up to the past few days. Any questions?”  

*AN: Yes, this is another anachronism. If you don’t get the joke, Clayton Bigsby is character from a Dave Chapelle sketch who is a Black KKK leader

**AN: The Blitz was the German attempt to force Britain to surrender during World War 2 by constantly bombing London to destroy civilian morale. Riddle would have barely missed it- he would have left for his third year about a week and a half before it began (September 1940), and it ended in May of 1941, so Riddle would have been safe in rural Scotland, assuming he didn’t go home for winter break. But he would have absolutely seen the aftermath and heard the stories.

Chapter Text

    Longbottom Manor was lovely. It was right on the edge of a dense forest with a sprawling meadow on the other side. It was easy to see how Neville had fallen in love with plants, seeing how beautiful the ones around his home were.

    The manor itself was tastefully constructed of light woods and gray stone. It displayed wealth without being ostentatious, and had a lot of natural light. Harry idly wondered if the manor had been built by Emeric the Evil, and if so how much had changed from the original.

    Harry had been given his own suite of rooms in the guest wing, since there was more than enough space for it, and after a light supper, Augusta had left the boys to unpack their trunks and get settled in. Harry had done so, bidding Neville a quiet goodnight, and now was trying to get to sleep. But he couldn’t.

    He sat up. It felt like now that he had left Hogwarts, all the problems he told himself he’d worry about later were tearing at his insides. The potential consequences of the de-horcruxing ritual, the reactions of his friends to the knowledge of what he is, the knowledge that the main part of You-Know-Who’s soul was still out there and couldn’t be destroyed before they completed some sort of magical scavenger hunt across Britain.

    Most of all though, Harry was thinking about the similarities between himself and Riddle. The horcrux’s words swam through his mind. “No abundance of great role models. I just wanted to be strong. The orphan mudblood of Slytherin.”

    Was Harry destined to become like him, or Cody? He didn’t like killing the one time he had done it. He had been scared out of his mind when he sent Cody over the edge of the bridge, and he tried to avoid thinking about his body laying there on the tracks. Yet Harry couldn’t deny that he had a certain fondness for violence. He wouldn’t deny enjoying it when he hexed bullies, and his practice fights with Snape were exhilarating. And Hermione too, he supposed, but as clever as she was, she was nowhere near as fast, calm, or coordinated as Snape.

    Harry knew he was exceptional for his age. He was confident he could beat any students fourth year and below in a fair fight without too much trouble. Hell, he was three for three every time he crossed wands with Lockheart, but that said more about him than Harry. But Harry’s problems wouldn’t be fourth years or fraudulent authors. He had a man who was so terrifying people were afraid to say his name more than a decade after he (supposedly) died trying to kill him. 

He was strong, but nowhere near strong enough.

Harry considered telling Him that he was a horcrux, but quickly dismissed the idea. For one thing, there was no guarantee He would believe him. For another, there was no guarantee that would stop Him even if he did. Given that the marginally saner Riddle in the diary had still unleashed a giant magical snake on a school full of children without actually stopping to think about why he was doing it, Harry didn’t think that he could reliably plan around main Riddle making smart choices. Besides, since He was apparently irreversibly tied to blood purity, he’d always be a threat to Hermione, and that was what made Harry firmly discard any consideration of collaboration for good.

Harry wandlessly created an orb of light in the palm of his hand and got out of bed. He obviously wasn’t getting back to sleep, and just sitting there not doing anything wasn’t productive. So he got out of bed and began writing a letter to Madame Vasquez.   

—

    Unbeknownst to Harry, his friends were also having trouble sleeping, their minds whirling with the implications of everything Harry had told them.

    Neville was worrying. How could he not? You-Know-Who wasn’t actually dead, and not only that, but a piece of him was stuck inside one of his best and only friends! Harry might not even be Harry and nobody would know until he was bodiless and/or dead!

    Hermione was wondering. She had never considered that souls might be real, actual things that could affect the physical world. It was fascinating! Terrifying in this instance, yes, but still fascinating! She wondered what else she had never even considered, and felt that as magic was magic and she was 13, there was probably quite a bit. The thought was both comforting and irritating. There was always more to learn.

    Daphne was planning. The Dark Lord not being dead changed so many things. But at the same time, it changed nothing, because she wasn’t going to tell anyone. Especially not her parents. They loved her, and wanted what was best for her, but they would take the information and exploit it ruthlessly. And after the fiasco of trying to blackmail Harry over his horcrux (and Merlin, that was even more of a mistake now that she knew what a horcrux actually was) she was not going to try and exploit knowledge related to Him for her own gain.

—

    “Good morning, Harry!” the Headmaster said warmly as Harry stepped out of the floo into his office. He’d gotten a letter from Dumbledore a few days ago asking him to grant a party entry to survey the Chamber, so here he was.

    “Good morning, Headmaster, Professors, and others.” Standing and sitting around Dumbledore’s office were Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sinistra, Babbling, and Kettleburn, in addition to Hagrid, Madame Pomfrey, and a man Harry didn’t know, who looked dead tired and was covered in scars.

    “I think you know almost everyone here, even if you haven’t had the pleasure of having class with Professors Kettleburn or Babbling, yes? The only unfamiliar face here should be our new Defense Professor, Remus Lupin.” Dumbledore said, gesturing towards the scarred man, who waved shyly. “Well, now that we’re all here, shall we go?” There were various murmurs of assent and the group set off for Myrtle’s bathroom. Harry glanced around as the assembled Professors watched him expectantly.

    “{Open. Stairs.}” he hissed, and he couldn’t help but notice that a number of his teachers flinched.

    “Oh, I wanted to take the slide.” Dumbledore pouted as the group began their descent. 

    “Hi, uh, Harry?” asked the new Defense Professor awkwardly as the rest of the group chatted amongst themselves. It was a much different atmosphere than the first time he came down here.

    “Yes, Professor?” Harry said cautiously.

    “Well, like Dumbledore said, I’m Remus Lupin, and I, ah, was one of your dad’s best friends when we were students here together. I’m sure you’ve probably heard all about them already, but if you ever want to talk, about them or anything else, my door will always be open to you, okay? I mean, my door will always be open to everyone, I’m gonna be a professor, which still feels weird to say, but you especially. Not that I’ll be showing favoritism, mind you… I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, it’s so strange to see you, last time I did, you could hardly talk!” Lupin said, chuckling nervously.

    “I’d love to sir. I actually haven’t heard an awful lot about my parents. Professor McGonagall mentions them sometimes, and Professor Flitwick sometimes says I’m just like my mother when I do a charm well, but I don’t really know anything about them on a personal level, you know? I know my dad was great at Transfiguration and my mom was good at Charms, but I don’t know what kind of music they like, or their sense of humor, or their favorite food.”

    “Classical, mischievous, and Skittles.” Lupin said with a sad smile. “We used to tease him for hours about how he actually liked all the pureblood balls and galas he got dragged to, and he’d say- well, as your professor I can’t repeat it verbatim, but it boiled down to Mozart being called a genius for a reason and us being too boorish and small-minded to appreciate him. He was a great dancer, too, and not just waltzes and such, although when they were married your mother forced him to stop break-dancing after he broke his toe.” 

    “Um, Professor, who’s we?” Harry asked confusedly. Lupin sighed and suddenly looked miserable.

    “Well, there were only two other Gryffindor boys in your father and I’s year, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. We were the best of friends at Hogwarts; we called ourselves the Marauders and were a merry band of pranksters… although we may have crossed the line into bullying more than once. But, well, you know what happened to them… Or I guess you don’t.” Lupin said upon seeing Harry’s confused expression.

    “Right, well, during the war, your parents went into hiding using something called the Fidelius Charm. It-”

    “Ooh, the Secret Keeping Charm! Yeah, I’ve heard about that, seems devilishly complicated though.” Harry said interestedly.

    Lupin blinked in surprise. “Yeah. It was. It took your mother months to get it down, which was unheard of for her. But eventually they cast it, and made Sirius the secret keeper, and, obviously, he didn’t keep the secret. Pettigrew tried to avenge them, but he was always the worst fighter in the group, and Sirius blew him up along with a dozen or so muggles, and obviously got hauled off to Azkaban for it. Which just leaves me. The last Marauder.”

    Lupin’s melancholy musings were interrupted by the sound of loud swearing from Snape, who was first startled, then excited by the large shed skin that had spooked them on their first expedition.

    “Severus! There are young ears present!” McGonagall scolded.

    “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.” Snape grumbled as he continued to examine the skin.

    “Severus, you better be keeping a civil tongue in your classes!” she said angrily.

    “It wasn’t him, Professor, it was- um, I’d better not say.” Harry said.

    “Mr. Potter, I assure you you won’t get in trouble for having heard such language, but I would very much like to know who has been teaching you those words.” 

    “Well, it was, uh, the Weasley twins ma’am.”

—

    At the Burrow, Fred and George both sneezed simultaneously.

    “Did you do that?” Fred asked.

    “I thought you did.” George replied.

    “Huh.”

—

    “When I was a first year, they gave me a list of words I should call Professor Snape and said they were special compliments potions masters use. They, ah, weren’t compliments.” Harry said embarrassedly.

    “Those- I swear those boys will be the death of me.” McGonagall huffed.

    “Mr. and Mr. Weasley certainly have a unique sense of humor.” Dumbledore said amusedly. “Now, before we have young Harry open the Chamber proper, let’s go over the plan. We don’t know exactly where the basilisk is, or what its mental state is. We’re going to have Harry try and talk in Parseltongue with a Sonorus charm and then see if the bas- er, if Princess can hear him. If not, we’ll try and find if there are any more secret passages or doorways. But I must remind everyone to be on guard until Harry assures us it is safe. I myself shall have my cock out and ready.” Dumbledore said, pulling out the cage with the rooster.

    “ALBUS!!!”

    “The chicken, Minerva, the chicken! Although I suppose technically it’s my brother’s… anyway, Harry, how about we open the door now?” Dumbledore said, glancing nervously at the glaring Transfiguration Professor. The door opened at Harry’s command and the group entered.

    “Not really much to look at, is it?” Professor Babbling said, looking around. Now that she mentioned it, Harry was unimpressed as well. It seemed like Slytherin went to an awful lot of trouble to hide what was the medieval equivalent of an unfinished basement, and a large statue of himself. “Still, I can feel the power of the wards here. Even stronger than the school itself. They’re separate but inside… this is fascinating!”

    “I’m sure it is, but let’s examine the wards after we’ve figured out what’s going on with the most dangerous snake in the world.” Flitwick said, before casting the Sonorus charm on Harry.

    “{Hello? Princess?}” Harry called out, his extra loud hissing echoing through the Chamber dramatically. 

    “{Another Speaker? Who already knows my name? Am I going mad?}” came a muffled hissing from inside the statue.

    “{No, I’m out in the room with the statue. If you come out, will you hurt the people I’m with?}”

    “{I’ve already hurt too many people. But you are a Speaker, and I must obey… Open.}” Princess said.

    “{Wait! No! I don’t want you to hurt them! Don’t hurt anybody!}” Harry called out panickedly. 

    “{Oh, well then why did you ask me if I would? Silly Speaker.}” The statue’s mouth was all the way open now. “{I am going to enter now. Tell your companions not to be alarmed.}”

    “Alright, she’s coming out and not going to attack. But… let’s close our eyes just in case?” Harry said, and everyone agreed that sounded like a sensible precaution. Harry heard the sound of scales on stone, and was more and more nervous as the sound went on.

    “{Speaker, why do you and your companions hide your gaze? Am I not beautiful enough for you?}” Princess said, and Harry swore the serpent sounded on the edge of tears.

    “{No, of course not! I’m sure you’re quite lovely! But we didn’t want to be killed by looking into your eyes.}”

    Princess gave a hissing laugh that made a number of professors shudder. “{Silly little Speaker. My kind has a second eyelid that can block the magical effects of our gaze. Do you know how tough petrified meat is?}”

    Harry cautiously opened his eyes to see the basilisk. She was huge, bigger than any snake had any right to be. It was honestly ridiculous. She had coiled herself up in front of the statue, with her head raised to look at them. She had dark green scales, save on her pale white belly, and piercing yellow eyes that Harry had to resist flinching from. “It’s safe to look. She can control the death stare.” The various adults cautiously opened their eyes, and Harry was surprised to see a naked look of awe and fear on Snape’s face. He supposed it would take something like a basilisk to force a genuine emotional reaction out of the potions master.

    “She’s beautiful…” murmured Hagrid, and Harry glanced at him worriedly. He hadn’t had that many interactions with him, and although he seemed nice, the Baby Dragon Incident that had occurred in Harry’s first year was rather infamous. Even if it wasn’t one of the worst kept secrets in the castle, a couple of Harry’s lessons with Snape in his first year had been spent chopping obscene amounts of salamander liver so Snape could brew up massive batches of dragon antivenom. According to Snape’s grumblings, some of the upper year Gryffindor boys had been intentionally trying to get to get themselves bit as “some sort of idiotic, testosterone driven show of dominance.”

    “Well Harry, I’m glad to see Princess isn’t immediately aggressive. But could you perhaps ask her why she obeyed Tom and attacked the students? I’m afraid we’ll need a bit more information before we make a decision.” Dumbledore said, looking at Princess with interest, albeit from a distance.

    “{Thank the large one for his appreciation of my majesty.}” said Princess, who could apparently understand English. Come to think of it, could all snakes understand all human languages? Harry would have to do some more research about how exactly Parseltongue worked. “{Tell the man with the wooly chin I did not want to! I would never hurt a student without being ordered to! But he was a Speaker, so I had no choice! All serpents must obey a Speaker, even one as powerful as I! I only want to hurt the Outsiders, and even then I would never hurt an Outsider student unless they were letting in their kin!}” Princess said.

    “{What do you mean, outsiders?}” Harry asked suspiciously.

    “{The violent raiders from across the waves! The ones with the long, braided chin-hairs and the axes! Some of them even had the unnatural, pale hair. Oh how Master Salazar hated them!}”

    “...the Vikings. She means the Vikings. Bloody Hell.”

    “Language, Mr. Potter! And what exactly do the Vikings have to do with anything?” McGonagall said.

    “Apparently all serpents have to obey parselmouths, so she was made to attack students against her will. And went on a tangent about how she hates ‘the Outsiders’ which she clarified to mean Vikings and/or blondes. Not clear if she hates the latter or just thinks their hair is unnatural.”

    “{I do not mind the pale-haired ones so long as they renounce the barbarism of their ancestors. But it still makes them look like a dead creature.}”

    “Right. It sounds like we shouldn’t have a problem so long as a boat full of Scandinavians doesn’t turn up on the shore of the Black Lake.” Harry said. “And I mean, how likely is that to happen?”

    Dumbledore coughed delicately.

—

    Harry yawned as he arrived back at Longbottom Manor. Being the translator for negotiations between the school staff and a giant magical snake was a lot of work. It had taken an hour and a half to convince Princess that the contingent of Durmstrang students that would apparently be arriving by boat for the tournament that was in the works were not actually going to sack Hogwarts. And convincing her that the French contingent wasn’t a threat either wasn’t much easier. Apparently she still remembered “those bastard Normans.”

    Apparently, Princess had opinions about the monarchy. Specifically, that if they wouldn’t let a basilisk rule the country (which she insisted would be much better) then it had best be the House of Wessex. She had a lot to say about the Tudors (spineless twits) and the Plantagenets (dirty French bastards). He’d also briefly considered trying to use his occlumency to make himself forget her mentioning Henry VIII’s “unorthodox mating proclivities” before deciding that if he didn’t cause himself catastrophic brain damage in the process then Professor Snape would certainly give him some for doing something so foolish.

    It occurred to Harry that he had no idea how Princess knew about a muggle king’s… proclivities. He resolved never to ask.

    “Hey Harry, how’d it go?” Neville asked. 

    “Surprisingly well. She’s not going to randomly kill people; it turns out snakes can’t disobey Parselmouths so she was forced to do Puzzle’s bidding. That said, she did have some… outdated ideas that caused a bit of tension, but we negotiated an agreement we could all live with.”

    Neville narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t give up any muggleborn rights, did you? Because if we had to-”

    “Neville, relax, it turns out she and Slytherin didn’t actually care about muggleborns, it was the Vikings they hated! And the French, to a lesser extent, but that might just be a British thing. Although she still insists the Battle of Hastings was the worst thing to ever happen to Britain. Oh, she’s got a thing about the Spanish too. And the Dutch. Says the Greeks are okay though.”

    “...what.”

    “That’s not the only thing she’s got opinions on, either. You should hear her go on about the Puritans. Or Protestants in general. Of course, she isn’t that fond of Catholics, either, but she says at least they’re ‘predictable.’”

    “Those are the muggle religious things, right?”

    “Right. But anyways, we eventually agreed that we didn’t actually need an agreement. She was put there to protect the castle from Vikings and other attackers, because it doesn’t matter how big your army is if they all drop dead the minute they look at the castle. There was some concern about Puzzle using her again, but she said if she has conflicting orders she can choose which to obey so I ordered her never to obey him if she didn’t want to. All she asked was that she gets to eat any blondes who attack the school. We’ve also came to a few mutually beneficial arrangements: she’s gonna control the population of the acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest- because apparently there’s an acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest- and help fight Puzzle if she can. She even tentatively agreed to present herself for 7th year Care of Magical Creatures.”

    “Glad I didn’t sign up for Care of Magical Creatures…” Neville muttered. “Wait, acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest?”

    “Believe me, I’m not happy about it either. Especially since it was founded by one of Hagrid’s pets. At least with the dragon there was only one. Say, you weren’t one of the idiots who got themselves bitten by that thing, were you?”

    “Merlin, no! I’m a Gryffindor, not an idiot! I hear ‘dragon’ and I go in the opposite direction. We don’t all have a death wish, you know!”

    “Weren’t you begging your Gran to let you get a Venus Mantrap the other day?”

    “That’s different! It’s just a plant!” Neville protested.

    “That eats people! That is so famous for eating people its name mentions it!”

    “Well technically, the name only mentions trapping people, not eating them…” Neville said sullenly. Harry gave him an unimpressed look.

    “Is that really the argument you want to make?”

    “Well, not exactly, but hey, what’s in the bag?”

    “Subtle, Neville. And it’s paperwork! Well, parchmentwork. Paperwork rolls off the tongue better though.” Harry said, pulling out a thick stack of parchment.

    “What’s it all for?” Neville asked as Harry began sorting the sheets into four stacks.

    “Well, you see Neville, I met our new Defense teacher, Remus Lupin, and as it turns out, he was friends with my dad when they were in school together. One of his best friends, in fact. And it turns out my dad and his friends became illegal animaguses. McGonagall was apoplectic when she overheard that, of course, but very impressed afterwards. And I told Lupin and McGonagall that being an animagus sounded so cool and I wished I could do it with my friends, under appropriate supervision and guidance of course, and after scolding me for my blatant emotional manipulation McGonagall and Lupin said they would be willing to oversee us and Hermione and Daphne attempting to become animagi. All the paperwork is to get us exemptions from the age restriction on becoming an animagi for academic purposes. I’m gonna send off the girls’ with some letters explaining so we can meet up with McGonagall and Lupin to get started. Assuming everyone is interested, of course. Maybe I should have started with, ‘hey Neville, how would you like to be able to transform into an animal at will?’”

    “I probably won’t be able to do it. You know I’m only good for Herbology.” Neville said dejectedly.

    “You should at least do the first stage with us to figure out what your form is! But also, I think you might be better at this than you think. McGonagall said it’s as much about knowing yourself and getting into the right mindset as it is about technical transfiguration. And you’re probably the most level-headed of the four of us. So fill out the paperwork and then let’s eat our favorite foods while we can enjoy them because apparently keeping a mandrake leaf in your mouth means everything tastes like a failed potion.”

    Neville took the first sheet. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Where do I sign?”

Chapter Text

    “An animagus (plural: animagi) is a wizard who can turn themself into an animal at will. This differs from Total Human Transfiguration (see THT on page 211) in a number of ways. First, the transformation is no more difficult without a wand than it is with one. Second, magic facilitates the full retention of the animagus’s mental capacity, as opposed to THT, which sees the transformed wizard reduced to an animal level of intelligence and can cause permanent damage to the psyche if left transformed for too long. However, there are drawbacks to the animagus transformation as well. The practice stems from the traditions of animist shamans, and can react unpredictably with Western wanded magic, which also makes accidents in the process much more dangerous. Additionally, the animagus does not choose what animal they change into, but rather form a connection with a ‘spirit animal.’” -The Muggleborn’s Dictionary of Magical Terms, by Stanley Benton, 1987

—

    Hermione fidgeted nervously with the hem of her sundress. Harry had sent her the stack of paperwork to start learning how to become an animagus, and after what she had seen in some advanced transfiguration books, Hermione was eager to start. However, after seeing some of the waivers they would have to sign, Hermione’s parents were not as eager. And apparently Daphne’s parents shared that concern, since the Grangers, along with Harry, the Longbottoms, and Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape had been invited to a “casual dinner” to discuss the matter. Which is why the Grangers were now waiting in their living room in their best clothes, pretending not to all be constantly glancing out the front window as they waited to be picked up by Mr. Greengrass. So they were all startled by a knock on the back door, which turned out to be Mr. Greengrass, who was holding some sort of stone hoop.

    “You do know this is the back yard, right?” Hermione’s mom asked disapprovingly.

    “I do, and I apologize if apparating in there was rude of me, but I thought it would be preferable to your neighbors seeing a strange man appear out of thin air on your doorstep.” Mr. Greengrass said with an apologetic smile.

    “Well it-”

    “It’s fine mum.” Hermione interrupted. “Will you be side-along apparating us?” Hermione asked with interest.

    “I’m afraid not, going back and forth across the country like that would make me ravenously hungry, and my wife says I eat like a bear when I get like that.” Mr. Greengrass said with a grin as Hermione’s dad chuckled at his joke. “I’ve arranged for you all to portkey there and back.” he said, holding up the stone hoop, which was about a foot and a half in diameter and covered in runes. “Just grab on and we’ll be transported there when I say the activation phrase. I should warn you though, the sensation can be unpleasant, and the arrival rather jarring. My advice is to bend your knees.”

    Hermione bit her lip nervously, as Mr. Greengrass’s warnings did not seem to reassure them, but she supposed it was better that they were prepared. She’d heard stories about portkeys, and they were nobody’s favorite form of transportation. But their utility was undeniable, especially for those who were young or magic-less.

    “Donec id est!” said Mr. Greengrass once all the Grangers had grabbed the portkey, and there was an uncomfortable yanking sensation until they were dropped in front of a large manor. The Grangers managed to land without falling, though there was a fair amount of stumbling and grabbing onto one another for support, while Mr. Greengrass looked as if he did it all the time. Which he probably did. “Welcome, friends, to Greengrass Manor!” he said happily.

    The manor was rather tame compared to Hogwarts, but still plenty impressive. It was three stories, or at least appeared that way from the outside. It was built from light gray stone in a gothic style. It seemed to Hermione like some medieval cathedral or archive, but standing in the middle of various fields of unknown crops rather than in one of the old European capitals. Hermione loved it.

    Mr. Greengrass led the Grangers through the door into a large, open hall with various doors, on both the ground floor and the wrap-around balcony on the second floor. He ushered them through one of the first doors into a sitting room with an array of sofas and comfy looking armchairs, as well as a roaring fire. There were two people already in the room, who Hermione did not recognize but assumed must be Professor Lupin and Lady Greengrass, since the woman looked too young to be Regent Longbottom and she didn’t see the boys there.

    “Ah, you must be Hermione! Daphne has told me so much about you!” Lady Greengrass said, rising to her feet. She didn’t look much like Daphne, but Hermione recognized the same nose and impeccable posture. “And you must be her parents, yes? Wonderful to meet you! I am Lady Dalia Greengrass, of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, though of course you may of course call me Dalia. You’ve already met my husband, Viktor- he did introduce himself, yes? He often gets excited and forgets his manners. Anyway, this is Professor Remus Lupin, of the Noble House of Lupin. Also an old schoolmate of mine. Everyone else should be flooing in shortly. Viktor, why don’t you go fetch the girls?”

    Mr. Greengrass nodded and exited. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Greengrass, Lord Lupin. Er, do I bow?” Mr. Granger asked, and Hermione had to sigh. She had tried to give her parents a crash course in pureblood etiquette, but it seemed like not a lot of it had stuck.

    “Oh goodness no, that won’t be necessary. Generally, the response to an official introduction would be for the head of your house to introduce their family and companions. If this were a formal event, there would be various curtseys, respectful nods, and kisses on hands, but as I said, this is just a casual affair.” Lady Greengrass said.

    “Oh, I see. I’m Doctor Daniel Granger, of the, uh House of Granger? And this is my wife, Doctor Emma Granger, and our daughter, Hermione.” 

    “Oh, you’re doctors?” Lupin asked with interest. “What in?”

    “We’re both dentists.” Hermione’s mom said proudly. “We-”

    At that moment the flames of the fireplace turned green and Professor Snape stepped out with all his normal imperious grace. “Ah! Severus! So wonderful to see you again!” Lady Greengrass said, walking towards him with a swirl of her elegant skirts and briefly embracing him, which Hermione was amused to see brought a touch of color to Snape’s cheeks. “These are the Grangers, Daniel and Emma, and of course you already know Hermione and Remus.” she said with a smirk as she put an arm around the Potions Professor’s waist and steered him towards the group. “Why is everyone still standing? Please, take a seat! Would anyone like a drink? Severus? I know how fond you are of Firewhiskey.” she said with a teasing lilt to her voice.

    Snape sighed. “While I’m sure you’ll make sure I need it by the end of the evening, I’d prefer to keep my wits about me for now.” he said, with a glance at Lupin that Hermione nearly missed. Lady Greengrass pouted.

    “Come now, I know you two have a bit of history, but you’re colleagues now! Surely you can let bygones be bygones?” 

    Snape opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the fire turning green again and Regent Longbottom stepping out, followed by Neville and Harry. Hermione noted that they both looked good in their dress robes, Neville seemed to have gotten a bit of a tan already and some of his baby fat had disappeared, or been replaced with muscle. And while Harry was still scrawny, he carried himself with the same air of detached confidence that Snape did, and with the scar on his face he was able to make it work.

    “Lady Greengrass. May I introduce you to my grandson, Neville Longbottom, and his friend, Harry Potter?”

    “But of course!” Lady Greengrass replied, as if it had actually been a question. “My my, Daphne failed to mention that her male friends were so handsome! Perhaps in a few summers I’ll have to invite you over again to discuss a betrothal arrangement!” Lady Greengrass said, winking at the boys and causing them both to blush. 

    “Betrothal arrangements?” Hermione’s mom asked, raising her eyebrows. “Do you people still do that?”

    Regent Longbottom looked rather offended, while Lady Greengrass just seemed unimpressed and Snape was as unreadable as ever. “It’s- rather complicated.” Lupin said awkwardly, but was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Professor McGonagall.

    “Well! It seems we’ve all arrived, unless Remus or Severus are waiting on a significant other they neglected to mention to me?” Lady Greengrass said, earning a stammered reply in the negative from Lupin and a derisive snort from Snape. “A shame. Well then, allow me to show you to the dining room! I’m sure Viktor and the girls will meet us there.”

    Hermione hung back, as did Harry and Neville, so that they were bringing up the rear of the group. “It’s great to see you guys again!” Hermione said in an excited semi-whisper.

    “You too, Hermione.” Harry said, gracing her with one of his rare smiles that was not taunting or threatening, and Neville nodded his agreement.

    Soon enough they were in a dining room with chairs being pulled out and introductions being made for those who had not met Mr. Greengrass or his daughters. The table was a sturdy oak rectangle with an elegant green and gold tablecloth. Lady Greengrass and Snape were seated across from each other at one end of the table, with Mr. Greengrass next to his wife and Lupin next to Snape. Hermione’s parents were seated across from one another next to them, and then Regent Longbottom and Professor McGonagall. Then were the children, with Neville sitting next to his grandmother and Daphne next to the Professor, then Hermione and Harry, with Astoria sitting at the end of the table between them.

    “So, you guys are gonna be animagi? That’s awesome! What forms do you guys think you’ll have?” Astoria asked excitedly as a soup that Hermione identified as French onion appeared in front of everyone.

    “I’m not sure. Apparently they’re supposed to say something about you, but it’s hard to predict.” Hermione said. 

    “That’s a boring textbook answer.” Astoria pouted. “But fine, what kind of form do you guys want, then?”

    “Maybe something that flies.” Hermione mused. “I’ve always wanted to fly, but broomsticks just seem terribly unsafe.”

    “They’re not that bad.” Harry said, at the same time as Daphne said “Our Great Uncle Sergei died in a broomstick accident, didn’t he Tori?”

    Hermione glanced across the table, wide eyed, before Astoria replied “Sure, if you count getting cursed during an aerial battle as a broomstick accident.”

    “I want something strong.” Neville admitted. “I’m… not that great with a wand. It always feels like something’s resisting me. It would be nice to have that as a backup option if the wand thing isn’t going well.”

    Daphne just shrugged when her sister turned to her expectantly. “I’ll be fine with whatever animal it is. If anybody thinks their animagus form is useless, they’re just not creative enough.”

    “I want something that deals well with either temperature extreme, preferably cold. Or else something that can fly or swim. But we’ll just have to see.”

    “I guess. So what’s Hogwarts like? Daph said there’s ghosts, are there really ghosts?”

—

    Things were going well, Viktor thought as he half-listened to the Doctor Granger ramble on about some aspect of muggle tooth-healing. He focused his occlumency and felt a spike of heat in his head as he marshalled his magic into expanding his attention, allowing himself to carry on his conversation with the Grangers while also eavesdropping on the other discussions happening around the table. Nobody was discussing the animagus business yet, as it was traditional to leave the serious topics for after dinner. Or at least it was for wizards, Viktor didn’t know how such things went for muggles.

    Dalia was catching up with her old classmates, which apparently consisted of flirting outrageously with both of them while pretending like they didn’t hate each other. Viktor wasn’t thrilled about it, but they had discussed it beforehand and decided that Dalia would be the bored wife while Viktor would be the happy, oblivious foreigner.

    While his wife handled the younger Professors, Viktor was in charge of charming the Grangers- with his social skills, not his wand. They were full of questions about the magical world that he was happy to answer, in the most flattering way he could, of course. He assured them that arranged marriages were nothing they had to worry about for Hermione (which was true, she wasn’t a pureblood), told them about the Wizengamot in very broad terms (and left them to assume the whole thing was much more representative than it was), and they were now on the topic of magical healthcare.

    Viktor began explaining how magicals dealt with tooth problems (usually vanish them and grow new ones) as the rest of his attention turned towards McGonagall and Longbottom. The two older women were happily chatting with each other about whatever it was women of that age chatted about. Who fucked who in the 40s, who cursed who in the 50s and whose death was awfully suspicious, wasn’t it, if his own mother were any example.

    Finally, the children were all behaving well at the end of the table as Astoria happily dominated the conversation with her indomitable bubbliness. She was a natural when it came to socializing, though perhaps hadn’t come to completely understand it as a tool yet. Still, it was telling that she had pulled the shy Longbottom and taciturn Potter into whatever it was they were talking about.

    Viktor released his occlumency buildup and returned to focusing solely on the Grangers. Expanding your attention was useful, in fights and at parties, but doing it for too long caused the brain to heat up in ways brains are not meant to heat up. Usually the pain of frying your own brain caused people to lose their concentration before they killed themselves by overdoing that particular technique, but Grandmother claimed to have once seen a woman give herself permanent brain damage with it. Viktor didn’t know if that was true or not, but he heeded that particular cautionary tale regardless.

—

    Daphne watched Hermione’s parents as everyone made their way into one of the various parlors in the Manor. The whole evening had been arranged primarily so they could be convinced- her parents had been thrilled with the idea of her getting animagus lessons from Professor McGonagall, who was generally considered to be the foremost expert on the subject in Europe. But she had confided in them that Hermione’s parents likely wouldn’t allow their daughter to attempt it, so they decided to arrange the evening and allow themselves to play the part of protective magical parents being won over, and hoping the Grangers would follow suit. And allowing the four friends to see each other again was an added benefit.

    Once everybody was settled, Professor McGonagall dove right in. “So, I understand the Greengrasses and Grangers have some concerns about their daughters participating in the animagus project, yes? Could you perhaps outline why?”

    “Well, we looked through all the waivers we’d have to sign, and there’s a lot that could go wrong, isn’t there?” Emma Granger said. “Your school is unsafe enough without Hermione doing something that risks ‘permanent bodily transformation’ or ‘loss of mental faculties,’ or just plain death! I mean, she was petrified last year, and apparently had a run-in with a troll the year before that? Wouldn’t her time be better spent catching up on things she missed while she was petrified?”

    Professor McGonagall winced at the mention of the petrifications. “Yes, well, I would first like to say that those incidents were due to… unfortunate staffing decisions. However, the responsible faculty members are no longer teaching, and with Professor Lupin here I can guarantee we’ll have a quiet, normal school year. But if I understand, you’re primarily concerned with your daughter’s safety and her academic performance, yes?”

    The Grangers and Greengrasses nodded, the latter murmuring their agreement. “Well, for safety, let me reassure you the things you would be signing waivers for are worst case scenarios that generally result from people attempting the transformation without adequate supervision. Attempts at the animagus transformation are generally only deadly in cases where people achieve a partial transformation that is not compatible and do not have anybody on hand to quickly reverse it. Permanent partial transformations generally occur when people try to force the transformation with potions or wands and the magics react… poorly. And the insanity issue only occurs when someone believes they can just use their wand to transfigure themself into their animagus form once they know what it is, which is not true. Ultimately, there is no significant risk to learning the animagus transformation when one is properly guided and supervised. And I don’t mean to brag, but I have a mastery in transfiguration with an emphasis on human transfiguration and animagi. I am likely the most qualified person in Europe to teach someone to become an animagus. 

    As for concerns of the animagus training disrupting academics, I find it incredibly unlikely for that to be an issue. All four of our potential animagi here are excellent students and were in the top three of their year for at least one of their classes last year, although final grades haven’t officially been released yet.”

    “Really?” Neville blurted out in surprise.

    “Oh yes Mr. Longbottom.” Professor McGonagall said with a smirk. “Pomona said you were easily at the top of the class for Herbology, and I believe you came in third for History of Magic. Ms. Granger was first in Charms and History, second in Transfiguration, Defense, Herbology, and Astronomy, and third in Potions.”

    “Only third in Potions?” the female Dr. Granger said. “I know that’s excellent, but it seems a little out of character for our Hermione not to be the best at everything…”

    Daphne noticed Lupin and both of the boys straighten up like they were about to come to Hermione’s defense, but it was actually Snape’s cold tone that rebuked her. “While normally I would agree that there is always room for improvement, I believe that Ms. Granger’s year has a rather abnormal amount of talent in it. I do not have full access to her academic records, as I am not her head of house, but as her Potions instructor I can assure you that the only students she was beaten out by are Draco Malfoy and Mr. Potter here. The former is my godson and has received potions tutoring from me since he was old enough to count, and the latter seems to have only barely edged out your daughter with the handicap points he earns from doing his partner brews alone due to the odd number of students in the class. Ordinarily, Ms. Granger would be at the top of every class, and the fact that she isn’t says much more about her classmates than it does about her.” Snape said, finishing with a glance at Harry. Daphne had already suspected that he had been the top of Transfiguration and Defense, but that pretty much confirmed it.

    There was an awkward pause as Snape finished talking, and Daphne noted that Professor Lupin was staring slack-jawed at the potions master, while her mother was hiding an amused smirk behind her wine glass and her father had a pensive frown but a spark of amusement in his eyes.

    “Well… you’re sure Daphne won’t suffer academically either?” her father asked. Snape nodded, and Daphne gulped. Time to see if this would all pay off. “Then I suppose we’ll sign.” he said, with her mother giving a nod of agreement. “I did forget that Professor McGonagall specializes in this sort of thing. The transfiguration professor back at Koldovstoretz was lacking, at least academically.”

    “Could you give us a few minutes?” asked Hermione’s father before he and his wife retreated to a corner of the room for a whispered discussion.

    “I didn’t know you could be complimentary of Gryffindors.” Lupin said to Snape as the Grangers talked. Snape raised an eyebrow.

    “Oh now you know that’s not true, Remus.” Daphne’s mother said with a grin, and Daphne tried to ignore her flirtatious tone in favor of learning about her professors’ school days. “He was never anything but complimentary towards Lily. I spent most of sixth year trying to get him to be even half as complimentary towards me. A shame he was too busy brooding to notice me, but I certainly didn’t mind Black as a backup option.” Lupin’s eyes narrowed and Daphne realized that must be Sirius Black. She hadn’t realized her mom had been in the same year as him until now. James Potter too, she supposed.

    “Oh don’t give me those looks, boys. Black turned out rotten, but he was plenty of fun back in Hogwarts. One time, before James and Lily got together, the three of us- well, there’s children around, but let’s just say I could probably talk Viktor into it.” 

    Daphne was extremely grateful that the Grangers returned just then. The fact that they would allow Hermione to participate was nice, but she was mostly glad they interrupted her mother’s reminiscence about her premarital sex life. The idea of her parents and Snape- well, the less said about that, the better.

    Although… she could admit Lupin was kind of hot though, in that scarred, rugged way.

    “Excellent!” said Professor McGonagall. “We can begin the first step now, if you’re all ready. You need to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a full lunar cycle. The easiest way is to use a sticking charm to attach it to the roof of your mouth.” she said, pulling out a small bag.

    “Are there any side affects?” Neville asked. “Mandrake leaves have, ah, some rather potent hallucinogenic properties.”

    “Very astute, Mr. Longbottom. You don’t have to worry, however. As long as you don’t swallow the leaf, there’s no chance of it entering your bloodstream, and even then one raw leaf would have negligible effects. The only side effect of holding the leaf in your mouth is that it tastes strongly of metal.”

    “Why do you need to hold a drug leaf in your mouth for a month?” Hermione’s mom asked bluntly, and McGonagall blushed slightly.

    “Well, as Mr. Longbottom said, mandrake leaves do indeed cause hallucinations in magical beings, particularly when smoked. However, after being held in the mouth for a lunar cycle, it is infused with the wizard’s magic, and when smoked by said wizard gives a vision of their animagus form. It’s all perfectly above-board, I assure you.”

    Mrs. Doctor Granger looked like she had some doubts, but Mr. Doctor Granger whispered something in her ear that made her blush and acquiesce. Parchment was signed, and Professor McGonagall stuck a leaf to the roof of each student’s mouth. “We’ve got twenty-nine days before those bad boys come out, so shall we meet back up then?” suggested Lupin.

    “Yes, you’re all welcome to meet here over the summer, Daphne knows the rules for having friends over.” Lady Greengrass said. “If that’s all, I have some correspondence to take care of. Professors, Regent, it was lovely to see you all again, and Doctors, it was wonderful to meet you. But I’m afraid that making Lucius wait for a reply long enough to annoy him but not so long as to make him uncooperative is a delicate balancing act and the letter must be sent tonight.”

    “Oh, very well then. I suppose the class schedules won’t write themselves. I do wish Albus would do those but he’s even worse with scheduling than I am.” Professor McGonagall said. Everyone made their excuses (Lupin had lesson plans to create since Lockheart’s were “wholly inadequate,” Snape had potions to tend, and Regent Longbottom’s knee was acting up) and flooed home. Once it was just Daphne, her father and the Grangers (Astoria having gone to her room after dinner) her father gave the Grangers what appeared to be a piece of string but was actually a portkey back to their house. It sucked them away, and her father let out a heavy sigh and immediately slouched down in his armchair.

    “[That tired, Papa? You aren’t old enough for theatrics like that.]” Daphne teased.

    “[Hush, child. The girl’s parents were difficult. The mother almost didn’t agree. Making people go from suspicious to friendly in one evening is hard even for me.]” he said with a chuckle. “[I have to worry about that family, though. When it comes to muggleborn parents, there’s the ones that want to jump right into magic and be a part of our world, and there’s the ones who deep down want their child to be ‘normal’ and have nothing to do with us. When one parent has one perspective and the other has the other, it’s hard. Her father’s questions were all ‘can magic do this thing that we cannot?’ Her mother’s were all ‘how does magic do this thing that we do?’ Maybe your friend and her family will turn out fine; maybe it’s just that her father is an optimist and her mother is a pessimist. But if they do have troubles, make sure you’re there for your friend, okay?]”

Chapter Text

    “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?” -Wanted poster for Sirius Black

—

    Peter Pettigrew was not stupid, he just knew his strengths and his weaknesses. His strengths were a willingness to get his hands dirty, a knack for obscure magic, the ability to make cold calculations, and a willingness to take massive risks when the payoff was tempting enough. His weaknesses were an eagerness to get his hands dirty, a fascination with obscure magic, his unwillingness to take risks with no immediate reward, and his willingness to take massive risks when the payoff was tempting enough.

    So far, he’d done pretty well for himself. He’d enjoyed ruling Hogwarts as part of the Marauders, despite (or perhaps because of) being the most underestimated member. Sirius was always quick with his curses, James could perform stunning feats of transfiguration even then, and Remus was a dab hand at charms. But it was Peter who got things done behind the scenes. Peter stole the ingredients, Peter brewed the potions, and Peter made sure the potions got to their targets.

    But after Hogwarts the real world came knocking, and Peter quickly realized the Marauders had chosen the wrong side in the war. The Death Eaters were brutal and effective, not to mention held most of the power in society, while the Order of the Phoenix was mostly old fogies who couldn’t fight arthritis, much less a Death Eater, or else aurors who were too afraid of losing their jobs to do anything more than tell Dumbledore things he already knew.

    So Peter made one of his cold calculations for self preservation and turned traitor. It was also a massive risk, of course. Many people believed the Order was unwilling to kill, but that was more due to a lack of ability and opportunity rather than a moral objection. Peter was certain if he was found out they would kill him and make it look like a Death Eater attack. 

He wasn’t a high-value asset- there wasn’t much to report on in an organization as ineffective as the Order. All they did was send their irregulars to help out whenever there was a Death Eater raid, and half the time they arrived too late to be of any help. They just didn’t seem to realize they couldn’t win a war by solely reacting to the enemy’s actions.

That changed when he became the Potter’s secret keeper. It was honestly the perfect opportunity for him to move up in the world. He would be greatly rewarded for handing them to the Dark Lord, and by pretending it was Sirius, they had even given him the perfect patsy to pin the blame on so he could continue spying.

Of course, telling the Dark Lord that Potter Cottage was located at Number 7, Thimburry Lane, did not exactly have the results Peter had assumed it would. But his years as a Marauder had taught him to think on his feet and roll with the punches, as the muggles would say.

Thankfully, Sirius was the most Gryffindor-ish of Gryffindors, and immediately began to hunt for Peter rather than making sure people knew he wasn’t the secret keeper. So Peter went to his muggle apartment, packed up an expanding bag with all his more dubious potions and artifacts, and waited for Sirius.

The confrontation went perfectly. This was aided, of course, by Peter filling the street with Hysteria Haze beforehand. The potion was an invisible mist that made people more emotionally volatile, and had resulted in some great laughs at Hogwarts. Now it resulted in Sirius being so mad he seemed intent on killing Peter with his fists rather than his wand.

It was actually incredibly easy after that. A Confringo at the gas main Peter knew ran under the street, a severing charm to his finger, and he scurried away into the sewers to let old Crouch’s fanaticism put Sirius away without a trial. Eventually he taken in by the Weasleys as ‘Scabbers’ and so he had lived a pretty charmed life since he faked his death.

Until now. Arthur Weasley had left his paper on the table, and the top headline was that Sirius had escaped! Peter would admit, he was impressed. He didn’t think the old dog had it in him, he was never the craftiest of the Marauders. Peter’s rat eyes scanned the article, and froze on one sentence.

“He’s at Hogwarts.”

Crap. The paper, of course, had assumed Sirius meant his godson. But Peter knew better. Sirius chose Peter over Harry back in ‘81, and Peter didn’t doubt he would do so again.

The smart move would be to leave the Weasleys. He could kill another rat, cut off a toe, and let them think Scabbers had died of old age. But then Sirius would still be a problem, a loose end. It would be tricky to set up a trap for Sirius at Hogwarts, especially with himself as bait. But then again, Sirius was never the subtle one or the clever one. The fool would probably get himself killed on his own.

Decisions, decisions. To play it safe, or to kill the last person who could reveal Peter’s secret?

In the end, it wasn’t a hard decision. Peter was a Gryffindor, a risk taker. Scabbers would be on the Hogwarts Express that year.

—

    To say Harry was excited as he stepped out of the floo at Hogwarts was an understatement. He was so ready to taste something other than that damn leaf. Treacle tart, fresh fruit, hell, he was even looking forward to a cool glass of water. Anything other than that nasty metallic taste.

    They were doing the animagus vision thing at Hogwarts rather than Greengrass Manor since apparently with Black on the loose only Hogwarts and Longbottom Manor were considered safe enough. Harry didn’t know why the Longbottoms were okay but the Greengrasses weren’t, but it wasn’t important enough to argue over.

    “Harry, my boy!” Harry nodded respectfully to the Headmaster whose office he was in. “It’s good to see you! Now, I’m sure you’re eager to meet up with your friends and get that leaf out of your mouth, but I have a few updates I’ve been meaning to talk to you about in person. I’ve got good news, albeit with a caveat, and I’ve got bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”

    “The bad news, sir.”

    “Right. Well, as you know, Sirius Black has escaped, and it is believed he intends to, ah, finish what his master started in regards to your family.” Dumbledore coughed awkwardly. “Therefore the minister, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to station a contingent of dementors around the school. While I will never allow dementors within the grounds so long as I am headmaster, I’m afraid I have no ability to countermand the minister outside of the school. The dementors should not have much of a noticeable effect inside the school, but I thought it best to give you a bit of warning, since dementors feed off of misery and trauma, and I fear you have much more of both than anyone your age ought to.”

    Harry was tempted to remind him whose fault that was, but instead simply said “And the good news?”

    “Yes, I’m happy to report that Madame Vasquez and I have confirmed we have designed a ritual that should allow you to rid yourself of the horcrux. The unfortunate caveat is that it must be performed on the summer solstice, which just recently passed, so it will have to wait until next summer.”

    “I’ve waited this long, what’s another year? I’ve had more problems from a month of the mandrake leaf than a decade of the horcrux.” Harry said with a shrug.

    “Yes, I’ll let you get to it then. And now that I’ve got the horcrux in you squared away, I shall be able to begin the search for the others. The Gaunt Ring and four founders’ artifacts… hmm… anyways my boy, I’m sure you’re eager to get the leaf out. Everyone else is waiting in Minerva’s office. Make sure you drink plenty of water!”

—

    Remus watched as the four children sat on the floor of the transfiguration classroom, awkwardly smoking pipes. One by one, their eyes glazed over as they fell into their trances. “Any bets on their forms?” he asked Profe- Minerva- with a grin. It was weird to call her by her first name without getting a detention.

    “Oh no, you’d have to go to Pomona for that. My guesses though… hmm… I’m really not sure. Something sturdy for Longbottom. Something quick for Greengrass. Something clever for Granger, and dangerous for Potter. We’ll just have to see, though.”

—

    Neville was walking in a savannah under a cloudless sky. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking for, but the sun was in the middle of the sky, so it was noon. Then again, Neville had a feeling the sun had been in the middle of the sky for a long time.

    He saw something in the distance. What was it? A hill? A rock? A mirage? No, none of them could walk towards him. Neville fell to his knees in exhaustion as the gray mass approached, shaking the ground beneath him. It was an elephant, towering over him. It seemed so huge, yet not as big as he’d imagined. 

    It stepped forwards and reached out towards him with its trunk. Hesitantly, Neville reached out his hand to touch it.

    There was a flash of light and Neville looked around the transfiguration classroom, blinking rapidly. “Welcome back, Mr. Longbottom. It seems you’re the first to finish. How did it go?” Professor McGonagall asked.

    “It… good. I’m an elephant. An African Bush Elephant.” Neville blinked, not sure how he knew the exact species but certain he was correct. “Can I have some water?”

—

    Daphne cursed as she stumbled to her feet. The ground beneath her wasn’t ground, exactly, it was something spongy and green. Almost like-

    It all clicked as Daphne looked up to see a spider towering over her. Daphne froze, looking into its eight eyes as it raised its front two legs. Daphne didn’t know how long they stared at each other, but then the spider reached a leg towards her, and as it brushed her forehead there was a flash of light and Daphne was back looking at the transfiguration classroom.

    “Are you okay, Ms. Greengrass?” Lupin asked.

    “Spider. Phoneutria nigriventer.”

    “Excellent, but that’s not what I asked.” he said with a chuckle.

    “Er, right. Sorry. It was disorienting. Can I have some water?”

—

    Hermione was walking down a country road, fenced fields on either side. It was night, and Hermione felt like she could see every star in the universe. She wondered what secrets were out there, what knowledge. She felt very small, but did not mind it.

    She came to the top of a hill and was overlooking a city. It wasn’t a modern one, and was really more of a town, just a collection of small, torch-lit buildings along a shoreline. There was a rustling and Hermione turned to see an owl sitting on one of the fence posts next to her, looking out over the settlement with her. It rotated its head towards her without turning its body and hooted softly. Hermione cautiously stepped closer, and the owl launched into flight, heading towards the town before turning around and flying directly towards Hermione’s face. The moment they collided there was a flash of light and Hermione remembered it was all a vision as she looked around the transfiguration classroom.

    “Just waiting on Harry then?” she asked as she saw Neville and Daphne gulping down water.

    “Yup.” Neville said. “So, what are you?”

    “A barn owl!” Hermione said proudly. “So what are-” Hermione was interrupted by Harry suddenly coughing up a concerning amount of water.

    “What the hell?” Lupin shouted as Harry continued coughing and gasping for breath.

    “Fine.” Harry coughed. “Just a little roughhousing.”

    “Fascinating!” McGonagall exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a physical manifestation of a vision! What happened?”

—

    Harry was in some sort of marsh or wetlands, at the mouth of a river and looking out over the ocean. He had a feeling he needed to wait, so he did, sitting down and dangling his legs in the water. He was pretty sure there was something funny going on, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He heard birdsong, but didn’t actually see any birds. And in an environment like this, shouldn’t he be getting eaten alive by insects?

    Harry noticed a log drifting down the river. Ordinarily, a piece of driftwood wouldn’t be something to pay attention to, but Harry had a feeling it was important, so he kept watching it. It was pretty unusual for a random stick, Harry thought as it drifted closer to him. It was noticeably symmetrical, and looked almost scaly under the tropical sun. And those two spots there kind of looked like eyes, didn’t they?

    As it lunged out of the river, Harry realized that the log was not a log, but was in fact a crocodile or alligator (he wasn’t sure which) that had clamped its jaws down on his calf. Harry screamed as it dragged him under the surface of the water, and suddenly his lungs were filled with water.

    Harry felt the thing let go of his leg and he fought his way to the surface, coughing and spitting water as he tried to regain his bearings. There was already a trail of pinkish water downstream from him, but where-

    It surfaced in front of him and shot towards him, jaws open, and dragged him under again, this time by the neck. There was a flash of light and Harry was coughing up water again, only this time it was in a classroom, not a swamp. Right, animagus vision.

    Someone said something, and Harry was pretty sure he responded as he tried to catch his breath and regain his bearings.

    “What happened?”

    Right. That was McGonagall, asking a question he could answer, so he should answer it. “It attacked me.” Harry said, coughing up the last of the water. “Was it supposed to do that?”

    “People experience their visions in different ways. People are known to experience attacks, especially if their form is something predatory. May I ask what your form was?”

    The answer popped into Harry’s mind and out of his mouth before he knew how he knew. “Saltwater crocodile.”

    Lupin whistled. “Yup, that’s predatory alright.”

    “It certainly is. Now that you all know what your forms are, the next step is to learn about them. You unquestionably need to know its biology and physical form, but you should also study the symbolism and mystical significance of your animal. A key aspect of becoming an animagus is understanding why your animal is what it is, and accepting what it represents as a part of you.”

    Harry remembered the panic and terror he felt as he was dragged under the river. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what the crocodile represented, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept it.

Chapter Text

    “For enemies” -Note in the margins of Severus Snape’s Potions textbook

—

    “So, excited to be going back?” Daphne asked.

    “Definitely!” Hermione said enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to start working on my animagus transformation!” Hermione shot a glance at the compartment door to make sure it was fully closed and nobody in the halls would overhear. “I’m also really excited to start doing electives, especially Ancient Runes and Arithmancy! I wanted to take all of them, but Professor McGonagall said the last person who tried that ended up having a mental break from all the stress and now they cap it at three, so I’m doing those and Care of Magical Creatures.”

    “Yes, those are probably the best choices for you. I’m doing Runes, Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies.” Daphne said. “Any idea what the boys are taking?” she asked, since the two of them had flooed directly to the castle for security reasons.

    “Harry’s doing the same as me. Neville was gonna do Care and Divination, but a combination of me, Harry, and his Gran convinced him to do Runes and Arithmancy instead. We tried to get him to take a third, but he said he wanted to use the extra time to hone his wandwork, and, well, I can’t exactly fault him for that.”

    “Yeah, fair enough. I don’t know what the problem is for him, he does everything right. Maybe he just has a really small magical core?” Daphne said.

    Hermione shrugged. “It could be any number of things, I suppose, even just a lack of confidence.”

    “I suppose. Hey, as long as the boys are gone, I gotta ask, are you interested in anyone?” Daphne asked with a smirk.

    “Wh- you mean like, dating?” Hermione asked, blushing.

    “Yeah, sure, like dating. If that’s how you want to put it. Third year is when relationships usually start to happen, especially with Hogsmeade weekends.”

    “Oh, well Harry’s not allowed to go because of Black and Neville said his Gran won’t let him until his wandwork improves.” Hermione said.

    “That’s a shame, but who said anything about those two?” Daphne said, laughing as Hermione blushed again. “If they can’t go though, maybe you’ll just have to go with me.” the blonde added with a wink.

    “I- well- isn’t- really?” Hermione stammered. Daphne laughed, and Hermione cursed herself for thinking about how pretty it was.

    “Relax, Granger. It’s only third year, you don’t need to get that twisted up about it.”

    “Wait, but hold on. Were you serious about going to Hogsmeade with me? Like a date?”

    Daphne blushed lightly, which pleased Hermione. “I mean, I don’t really have anyone else to go with. Probably not as a date right now… but I mean… I could see it maybe happening in the future.” she admitted.

    “Really?” Hermione asked, surprised.

    “I mean I could also see myself dating Harry or Neville, so don’t think you’re so special, but yeah.” Daphne admitted.

    “So… you like both?” Hermione asked cautiously.

    “Boys and girls? Yeah, most wizards are bisexual to some degree. You’re not one of those muggleborns who thinks same sex relationships are bad, are you?”

    “No! I mean, I, ah, I think I like both too.” Hermione admitted. “But are most wizards really bisexual? Why?”

    Daphne shrugged. “Well, part of it is that wizarding culture is generally very accepting of non-traditional relationships, so most people don’t feel a need to hide or repress themselves. But the main thing is that magic encourages it and it benefits us from an evolutionary standpoint. There’s potions that can let couples with the same parts reproduce, so as far as wizards are concerned, being bisexual is just widening the field of potential mates. Of course, there are still people who are straight or strictly homosexual, and plenty of people lean towards one more than the other, but generally it isn’t a big deal. And that’s not even getting into sex and gender.”

    “What’s that got to do with it?” Hermione asked.

    “Well, sex and gender is pretty complicated already, and when you add in magic it gets even crazier. I mean, goblins have three sexes but all identify as men as humans understand it. The merfolk can change their sex if there’s an imbalance in their community. Dwarves are kind of the opposite of goblins, one sex but about a fifty-fifty split between those who identify as men and those who identify as women. Centaurs are all male and masculine-identifying but somehow still have foals. Veela are all female and use human males to reproduce. And then there’s metamorphmagi and Polyjuice and various human transfiguration spells for us humans. So wizards don’t really get too upset about people whose gender doesn’t match their sex.”

    “Really? That seems surprisingly open-minded for a society that nearly tore itself apart over blood purity.”

    Daphne shrugged. “It’s practical is what it is. The goblins are very tetchy about it, so if there is anyone who has a problem with it, they keep it to themselves. It’s never wise to piss off the goblins.”

    “What exactly happens when you piss off the goblins?” Hermione asked. “Everyone says ‘don’t piss off the goblins’ but never why! Can they mess with your accounts? Or do they- why’s the train slowing down? We shouldn’t be in Hogsmeade yet.”

    Daphne frowned. “I don’t know. I’d suggest we find a prefect but I’m sure they already know. Probably best to just… wait…” Daphne trailed off, staring out the window. But then Hermione realized Daphne wasn’t looking out the window, but rather at the frost rapidly spreading across it.

    “Something’s wrong here.” Hermione said nervously, drawing her wand. “I think maybe we should- oh God! Occlumen…cy…” Hermione trailed off, joining Daphne in staring at the iced-over window. A feeling of hopelessness swept through Hermione’s weak occlumency defenses with ease. She had never realized you could feel this small, this weak, this worthless. She hadn’t known you could feel anything this deeply.

    Hermione didn’t know how long they sat there, not bothering to move, until the door opened and both girls instinctively turned towards the noise. Standing in the doorway was a cloaked figure that seemed to radiate despair. Hermione couldn’t see what was beneath the hood- and she was certain she didn’t want to- but whatever ghastly visage must have been hidden under it slowly swept across the compartment before the thing turned and drifted away, with Hermione only then noticing that it didn’t have any legs.

    Once again, Hermione was unable to trust her perception of time, but eventually the frost on the window melted away as the train began to move again. She and Daphne didn’t talk at all as it began to move. Both were startled by a knock on the door. “Co- come in.” Hermione said, still shivering. The door opened and a boy with a prefect badge and blue-trimmed robes stepped inside. “Do either of you require immediate medical assistance?” he asked calmly.

    “I… no, I don’t think so…” Hermione said. “What- what happened? What was that thing?”

    The prefect scowled. “Bloody dementors searched the train- if you’ll excuse my language, ladies. Dumbledore apparently couldn’t be arsed to let us know. We’ve only got so much chocolate, so we’re saving it for the people who were affected the worst. Do either of you think you qualify?”

    “Chocolate?” Hermione asked, hating how stupid she sounded.

    “Yeah, it’s got stuff in it that helps with dementor exposure. That and human contact are what passes for first aid against dementors. So if you’re comfortable with it, hugging someone does actually help. So do either of you think you need the chocolate?”

    “No, thank you though. I’m sure there are other people who need it more.” Hermione said quietly. Daphne just shook her head.

    “Right then. We sent messages ahead, so there should be plenty of chocolate at the feast. Also, if any of the younger years come in here, try and be nice to them, okay? They’re pretty badly shaken, and seeing older students keeping calm goes a long way to keeping them from panicking, alright?”

    Daphne’s head snapped up. “Oh Merlin, Astoria! Where are the first years?”

    The prefect’s eyes widened in recognition. “Right, you’re a Greengrass too. Your sister is two cars back. She passed out and we can’t revive her. Herschel is staying with her, along with the Carrow twins- younger, of course. Go check on her if you want, but I’ve gotta keep going through the train.”

    Daphne nodded her thanks to the prefect and Hermione felt a warm hand on her wrist dragging her down the train and into a compartment. Astoria was laying across one of the sets of seats with an older Hufflepuff who Hermione assumed was Herschel kneeling next to her. In the other seats sat two small girls who were perfectly identical, from their straight brown hair to the relieved glance they gave Daphne and the assessing stare they fixed Hermione with.

    “Hey, you’re her sister, right?” Herschel asked Daphne as he gestured towards Astoria. “I know I’m not a proper healer but do you know if she has any medical conditions that might cause her to react like this? I promise I’ll be discreet, and I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t very concerned about this. Her heart rate has been slowly declining since I’ve been monitoring her and if it doesn’t show any signs of getting back to normal.”

    Daphne grimaced. “She has a blood curse. She’s had a couple of incidents like this before. They had to use the Superstimulus Charm.”

    Herschel raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s what they used? It’s banned for medical use due to-”

    “I know why it was banned!” Daphne shouted. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I am aware that the Superstimulus Charm is not ideal but it’s what we have. So either you can try to cast it, or I can.”

    Herschel blanched. “I can’t cast it, but I think I know someone who can. Wait here.”

    Hermione raised her eyebrows as Herschel ran off. “What’s the Superstimulus Charm?” she asked. To her surprise, it was not Daphne who answered, but one of the twin first years.

    “It’s a spell that causes someone to perceive physical touch much more intensely, but there’s a significant burst of pain as your brain adjusts to the new signals. Heightened, of course, by the very spell that caused it.” said one twin.

    “It was banned because it’s what the Cruciatus Curse is based off of.” added the other.

    Hermione gasped and turned to Daphne. “So you need to give her a watered down torture curse?” she asked. Daphne nodded mutely. A minute later, Herschel returned with an older Slytherin, who just looked between Astoria and Daphne.

    “You’re sure about this?” He asked. Daphne nodded again. “Fine. If anybody asks, I just cast a really strong Rennervate. And Herschel? You owe me one.”

    Herschel nodded and the Slytherin pointed his wand at Astoria. Hermione didn’t hear the incantation he whispered, but the spell seemed to work. Astoria sat up with a scream that Hermione was pretty sure she would have nightmares about. She was panting as if she had just run a marathon and her eyes darted around the room panickedly before they settled on Daphne.

“What- Daphne? I- what happened? Did I have another… episode?”

“There were dementors on the train. You passed out when they searched your compartment.” Herschel explained, laying a gentle hand on Astoria’s shoulder. “I’m Wayne Herschel; I’m training to be a healer. Do you want me to stay here or would you prefer I leave?”

    “...Please go?” Astoria asked quietly.

    “Of course.” Herschel said. “The prefects have their hands full dealing with this, so they conscripted some of the older students to help people out with smaller stuff. Jessica Kern and Ali Khan are assigned to this carriage, so go to them if you need anything, alright? They’ll know what to do.”

    Daphne sat down next to Astoria as Herschel left, and Hermione awkwardly sat next to the twins. There wasn’t much talking on the rest of the ride to Hogwarts, just the two pairs of sisters holding and soothing each other as Hermione tried to use her occlumency to push out the lingering despair.

—

    Daphne was still holding Astoria close as the carriages approached Hogwarts. Across from them sat Hermione and the odd Ravenclaw girl Harry seemed fond of. She had made a beeline towards them as they got off the train and unexpectedly hugged Hermione, who had been surprised, but was not necessarily opposed after the dementors. They’d had to convince her to just hold Hermione’s hand until they got into the carriage, but now Luna was practically sitting in her lap. Daphne couldn’t really blame her, she’d probably be clinging to Hermione too if she didn’t need to put on a strong face for Tori.

    Hermione gasped as their carriage came around the final bend, and Daphne twisted around to see what had drawn her attention. Hogwarts was almost entirely surrounded by dementors, nearly forming a floating ring of despair around the castle. But not over the gate they were about to pass through, where a gigantic silver phoenix circled, swiping at any dementors that came too close with a shimmering wing. As they got closer, Daphne noticed Dumbledore was standing on top of the gatehouse with his wand pointed at the sky and a look of intense concentration on his face.

    McGonagall was waiting in the entrance hall, directing first years into the chamber where they would wait to be sorted, which she assured them had plenty of chocolate in it. Astoria gave her one last squeeze and shuffled over while everyone else proceeded into the Great Hall.

    Daphne bit back a snort of amusement as Luna dashed away towards Harry as soon as she saw him. Hermione muttered something and rolled her eyes before heading over to the Gryffindor table, while Daphne sat down next to Harry, who was getting some strange looks from a few of the other Slytherins, but it was more due to comforting people seeming very out of character for him rather than any objection. Daphne was sure people would be back to normal in a day or two, but for now the shared horror of the dementors overshadowed the normal bullying and house rivalries.

    “I heard what happened, Luna, but it’s okay now. You’re okay.” Harry said awkwardly, and even Daphne was surprised. She could see Harry tolerating a hug, but he was actually trying to comfort her, even if he wasn’t exactly doing a good job of it. Luna murmured something into Harry’s shoulder that made his eyes widen before he pulled her tighter to him and continued whispering her reassurances.

    They sat like that for a while as the rest of the students trickled in. Malfoy sneered at Harry and Luna, but didn’t say anything. Eventually, Dumbledore walked in, closing the doors behind him. He went up to his spot at the middle of the staff table, but instead of sitting down he turned to address the students. “Before we begin the sorting, I think it best to address the nundu in the room. I was informed this summer that a contingent of dementors from Azkaban are going to guard the school until Sirius Black is recaptured. I was able to ensure that they will not be allowed on the grounds, but they will be waiting just outside the ward line, despite my objections.” The stony look on the headmaster’s face told Daphne that objections were probably a bit of an understatement. She had never seen that sort of cold anger on his face.

    “What I was not told, was that the Ministry apparently thought it wise to have dementors search the train. I promise you all I will be having a very serious discussion with the ministry about this. Hopefully, this will be enough to convince the Ministry to remove them. However, in the case that it is not, I must warn you all: do not go anywhere near the dementors. They are powerful, unpredictable, and completely devoid of empathy. It is nigh impossible to sneak past them, and I have no pity for anyone foolish enough to try. So don’t.” Dumbledore paused, scanning the room to make sure everyone felt the gravity of his warning.

    “That said, I cannot begin to describe how proud I am of every student here for working together, remaining calm, and comforting one another. In particular, I would like to thank the Head Boy and Girl, the prefects, and the older students who they deputized to assist in maintaining order. You had an extremely difficult and extremely important task thrust onto you without any warning and you all rose to the occasion splendidly. Now, I’m sure you are all eager for the sorting and the feasting, so I shall close with two last things. First, please make sure you eat something with chocolate in it tonight. I’ve had the elves prepare lots of it, and it really does help. Second, I understand that many people have found an anti-dementor cuddle-buddy, and they are not necessarily a housemate, so I think this time we can ignore the rule about students sitting with their houses at feasts. And I would also remind students that they may sit at other house tables during regular meals. Now, the sorting!”

    Daphne wasn’t sure if she was just being impatient, but it felt like the sortings took longer than they did last year. The first surprise of the sorting was when one of the Carrow twins, Hestia, went to Ravenclaw, while the other, Flora, went to Slytherin as expected. The next surprise was when, after four and a half minutes, Astoria went to Hufflepuff. She still ran over to sit with Daphne though, which made the Slytherin smile.

    “It’s okay that I’m not in Slytherin, right?” Astoria whispered as Hornby, Michael went to Gryffindor.

    “Of course, Tori.” Daphne said, affectionately kissing the top of her sister’s head. “You’ll probably be happier there. Just remember that being loyal and hard-working doesn’t mean you can’t also be ambitious and cunning.”

    Astoria rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’ll probably be the benevolent overlord of the badgers by the time I’m a fifth year.”

    Daphne smiled fondly. “That’s my girl.”

—

    Draco was nervous as everyone made their way towards the dungeons after the sorting feast. His father had been displeased with his academic performance last year, and he’d spent the whole summer with tutors, which Draco was still upset about. It wasn’t his fault that the mudblood girl memorized her bloody textbooks or that the bloody boy-who-lived seemed to be proving the superstitions about one-eyed wizards true!

    And his father insinuated that there would have been harsher punishments if he hadn’t at least managed to be the year leader. Draco really didn’t want to imagine what harsher punishments would be. He had seen some of the things father did to the house elves… but he wouldn’t do that to Draco, right? Not his own son?

    Surely not. But Draco didn’t want to tempt fate, and thus was nervous as he made his way into the common room. He tuned out the various introductory speeches to the first years, only tuning back in to pay attention when the new Queen, Gemma Fawley, asked if there were any year leader challenges. Draco shot a glance at Potter. Potter shot a glance at Greengrass. Neither of them said anything.

With no challenges, Goyle’s little sister proclaimed herself the leader of the second years. Huh. Apparently she was a good deal cleverer than her brother, even if they shared some unfortunate physical similarities.

Soon enough, everyone was heading to bed. Well, it seemed like he would be holding onto his position, for another year at least. Mid-year challenges were rare, generally requiring some major inciting incident. The leader of this year’s fifth years, Cole Chesterfield, had taken over when the previous leader was caught in a broom closet with a half-blood Gryffindor. It had been a bloodless coup, and he had stepped down without a fight.

Note to self, Draco thought as he began unpacking his things. Never snog a non-pureblood. Or a Gryffindor, for that matter. Better safe than sorry.

—

    “Potter, Granger.” Severus said, nodding to each of them as they entered his training room for their first private lesson of the year. “Do you have any matters you would like to discuss with me before we begin, seeing as it is a new year?”

    “Yes, a couple, actually.” Hermione said. “First, we were wondering if you would allow Neville and Daphne to join our lessons?”

    Snape pursed his lips. “Greengrass, I have no issue with. But I have heard that Longbottom is as inept with a wand as he is with a cauldron. And he does seem quite unnerved by my presence.”

    “Wonder why that is.” Harry muttered.

    “With all due respect sir, you’re… rather different in here than in general Potions lessons. And we were hoping that you might have some insight into what Neville is doing wrong with his spell casting. It’s not like Potions where he makes clumsy mistakes or mistimes things; he does everything right with his wand but it doesn’t work. And plus, if he sees you being more… helpful… in private, he might be less nervous in class and not melt so many cauldrons.”

    Snape sighed. “Very well, I suppose those are all valid points. And the other matter?”

    “I was wondering if you could teach us the spell Professor Dumbledore used to make the phoenix that kept away the dementors. On the train… well, I never want to feel like that again.”

    “That is very advanced magic, Ms. Granger, even for your prodigious talents… however, we can try, I suppose. Read up on the Patronus Charm for next lesson, I shall write you a pass for the book in the restricted section. Now, today I am going to teach you a very dangerous spell, called Sectumsempra.”

    “I’ve never heard of that one, sir!” Hermione said enthusiastically.

    “I would be astonished if you had. It is a spell of my own creation, and I have only taught it to the Headmaster. I will teach your other friends as well, but I’m sure it goes without saying that it is kept amongst you four?”

    “Of course, sir.” Potter said sincerely. “Thank you for this honor.”

    Snape rolled his eyes. “It’s not an honor, Potter, it’s a precaution. Sirius Black is on the loose and there’s a werewolf in the castle. I can assure you this spell is effective against both.”

    Hermione raised her eyebrows. “A werewolf? Who- oh, Professor Lupin, isn’t it? That’s the medical condition that kept him from becoming an animagus?”

    “Very astute, Ms. Granger.” Snape said approvingly. “A werewolf cannot become an animagus, and it is unknown if an animagus can become a werewolf. Now, Sectumsempra. It is, in many ways, a modification of the Slashing Curse. But where the Slashing Curse opens up one wound, Sectumsempra opens up many. Additionally, Sectumsempra can be maintained, opening up more and more wounds as it continues. The catch is that Sectumsempra requires extensive control of your magic, for two reasons. Primarily because Sectumsempra is relatively easy to cast, but rather difficult to end. Without proper control, the spell will keep slashing the target until the caster runs out of magic to power the spell. However, with enough practice, one can direct where the cuts appear with great precision.” Snape conjured a small, lumpy stone and tossed it into the air. “Sectumsempra!” he said, pointing his wand at it. There was a grinding sound and the rock was shaved down into a perfect cube. Snape smiled to himself at the expressions of awe on the faces of both of his pupils as he dispelled the rock. It was good to teach students that weren’t dunderheads.

—

    Lupin sat down behind his desk with a heavy sigh. It had been boggart day, and it hadn’t been fun. Mostly it was normal, juvenile fears. Clowns, vampires, and the like. But there were always a few who had something more personal, and it was those who stuck with him. Thank Merlin Dumbledore had listened to him about doing these in private.

    Some of them saw people from their past. Susan Bones saw Antonin Dolohov, the man who killed her parents, and Neville Longbottom saw Bellatrix Lestrange. Even seeing her hair disappear and the mad witch patting her bald head with comical surprise didn’t entirely dispel the uneasiness that Lupin felt seeing her again after all these years.

    Hermione Granger’s boggart had been Professor McGonagall telling her she was expelled. But then it changed into Harry saying he wasn’t her friend, and Neville calling her the M-word. That had snapped her out of it, with the slur sounding so foreign in Neville’s voice, but she was still shaken.

    Some of them had been familial. Blaise Zabini had seen his mother, smiling and sipping a glass of wine, but with her hands soaked in blood. Daphne Greengrass had seen her sister lying in a coffin. Draco Malfoy had seen his father telling him to punish himself like a house elf.

    But everyone had overcome their boggart, except for one person. Harry froze when his boggart transformed into a crocodile, and Lupin had to intervene when it started moving towards Harry. Boggarts couldn’t fully mimic the magic of things they transformed into, but crocodiles didn’t need magic to be dangerous.

Chapter Text

    “Hey George, where’d you put the map?” Fred asked with a frown, speaking freely since the rest of their dorm mates had already gone to breakfast.

    “You put it in your trunk last night, remember?” George said.

    “Yeah, but it’s not there!”

    “What?” A thorough search of both of the twins’ trunks did not reveal the Marauder’s Map. “Well shit.” Said George. “You reckon someone nicked it?”

    Fred frowned. “But we haven’t told anyone about it. Maybe they just thought it was a spare piece of parchment and took it without bothering to ask?”

    “No, no, our trunks are jinxed to London and back, it’d be easier to dash over to Scrivenshaft’s than break into one of our trunks. Well, at least for any of our dorm-mates, dunno about the seventh years. Or that Granger girl.”

    “Scary, that one is. But okay, so someone definitely took it on purpose.” Fred said with a frown. “We haven’t told anyone. But the most likely people to find out about it would be one of our dormmates.”

    “Or one of our siblings…” George added reluctantly.

    “No, not one of them.” Fred said. “Big-Head Boy Percy would confiscate it in front of the whole school, and Ron and Gin don’t have the skill to break our traps. Plus Ron is obsessing over Scabbers being missing and Gin is still… shaken… about last year.”

    “Maybe Lee thought it’d be funny to nick it? Payback for telling Mary about his tarantula?” George suggested.

    “If Mary can’t handle him having a pet spider she couldn’t handle anything else about the good Mr. Jordan.” Fred said with a snort. “It’s possible though. Or maybe we actually did just lose it. And honestly, we’ve practically got it memorized now. Knowing where people are is nice, but maybe it’s found its way into the hands of someone who needs it more, just as we stumbled upon it as innocent firsties!”

—

    Dumbledore frowned at the empty, slashed tapestry that was the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Matilda (unfortunately known to most students as the Fat Lady) had certainly been assaulted by something, all right. “Do you smell anything, Remus?”

    Severus tensed slightly at the mention of Remus’ condition, and he did not relax as the latest Defense Professor lifted his nose in the air to sniff before getting down on all fours and sniffing the floor. “I- I’m not sure.” Remus admitted. “I smell Siri- Black. He was here recently, in dog form. But… I’m not certain. Something might be messing with my nose, especially since dozens of people come and go through here every day, and have done so for centuries. Hell, I can still smell Peter like he was still here…” Remus trailed off sadly.

    “It’s alright, my boy. I’m sorry to have upset you.” Albus said, and ushered Remus away. The poor boy had been through so much.

    Nobody noticed a rat disappearing into a crack in the wall next to them, and they certainly didn’t note that it was missing a toe.

—

    Severus frowned as Longbottom once again did the correct wand motion, pronounced the incantation correctly, and barely produced any sparks. It was most puzzling. His magical core was above average, so the problem certainly wasn’t a lack of power. Longbottom tried again and Snape double checked. He was still doing everything right. The spell had no emotional component, so that wasn’t it. He had even brewed the boy a Confidence Concoction for their last lesson, but even that hadn’t helped. It was almost as if-

    No, it couldn’t be. Not something so simple, so easily fixed. “Mr. Longbottom, humor me a moment.” he said, drawing his wand before turning it and holding it out towards him. “Try it with my wand.”

    Longbottom hesitantly took it, still looking nervous around Severus, but still tried the spell again. It was still weaker than it should have been, but a massive improvement over what he had been doing before. Snape sighed and took his wand back. “Mr. Longbottom, why are you using a wand that seems to be actively fighting your attempts to use it?”

    “What? I- I’m not! This is my dad’s wand!” Neville said defensively, clutching it to his chest as the other three children turned to watch.

    “Much as I believe Mr. Ollivander to enjoy being eccentric and mysterious far too much, I will admit he is never wrong about wands, and the one thing he tells everyone is that the wand chooses the wizard. I’m afraid that wand will never work as well for you as one that chose you, particularly not while its first owner is still alive.” Snape said as gently as he could manage.

    “But my Gran said I should use it! To, y’know, live up to his legacy.” Neville said, mumbling the last part.

    “Mr. Longbottom, your father’s legacy is not a wand and quite honestly, I have no idea what your grandmother was thinking in making you use it. Talk to Minerva about it and I’m certain she will make arrangements for you to get your own wand. And if for some reason she or your grandmother object, you send them to me, understood?”

    “Y-yes sir.” Neville stammered. 

    “Good. In that case, let us then focus on the mind arts until Mr. Longbottom is no longer working with a handicap.” Severus said, seeing Potter and Granger both grin while Greengrass and Longbottom groaned. The former two had great enthusiasm for the mind arts. Potter was a good occlumens, but where he truly excelled was his legilimency, which was hardly surprising considering he had been accidentally peeking into people’s heads as a child. Granger, meanwhile, had no particular aptitude for legilimency (though he suspected she would get around to mastering it sooner or later), but loved occlumency. As she had explained it, her mind was her greatest strength, and it was wonderful to be able to directly augment it with magic. She’d had an excellent memory before, but now he could ask her what the third word in the second sentence on a page of any book she’d recently read and she could answer correctly after only a moment of thought.

    Longbottom and Greengrass were acceptable occlumens, having been taught the basics as pureblood heirs, but neither of them felt a passion for the mind arts or had any extraordinary talent for it. So when they did practice with the mind arts, it was usually Potter or Granger guiding Longbottom and Greengrass in their occlumency exercises while he worked on the other’s occlumency, or else Potter doing legilimency on Granger while he worked with the other two.

    Today, it seemed, would be the latter, since the two were already staring into each other’s eyes. Severus suppressed a snort of amusement at the thought that it would almost look romantic if it wasn’t for the looks of intense concentration on both of their faces.

    Merlin, was he getting sentimental of James Potter’s brat? Snape sighed. At least he was Lily’s, too. And a damn good wizard to boot, not to mention a Slytherin. 

There were worse people to be sentimental over, he decided.

—

    “Excellent work today. Longbottom, talk to Professor McGonagall as soon as possible.” Snape said, and Hermione couldn’t help preening a little as the four of them headed towards the door. “Oh, one more thing.” Snape added. “Some boomslang skin and bicorn horn went missing from my private stores. You four wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” he asked, and Hermione could not tell if it was an accusation or a genuine inquiry.

    Harry frowned. “No, but that’s concerning. Could it have been Black?” Harry asked.

    “It is possible.” Snape said sourly. “Dismissed.”

Chapter Text

    Draco hesitated, staring at the sign up sheet to stay at Hogwarts over winter break. He’d already sent the letter to his parents saying he intended to stay at the castle over break to focus on studying. It wasn’t even a lie, he was going to spend most of break studying. Maybe talking with Uncle Sev if he wasn’t too busy. 

    And if Draco missed the disappointed stares from his father and the worried glances from his mother, well, that was just an added benefit. Draco knew his father loved him and only wanted what was best for him. Well, what was best for the family. But that was basically the same thing, right?

    Draco shook himself out of his thoughts and wrote down his name. He was being ridiculous, his father’s disappointment was normal parental concern that his son was not reaching his full potential and his mother’s worry was her being a little overprotective of her only child, perhaps exacerbated by her crazy cousin breaking out of prison.

    Everything was fine, he told himself.

—

    Severus frowned as he looked over the Christmas feast. It was not the rowdy celebration it usually was. Snape wasn’t the only professor not to indulge himself in alcohol that night, though some certainly did. He shot a glance and a frown at Hagrid and Trelawney. They weren’t the only drinkers, but they were certainly the ones most overindulging. Severus, however, did not put it past Black to try something on Christmas, and he suspected Minerva, Filius, and Lupin all had similar thoughts based on their sobriety.

    He glanced down the table at the students and noted they too were more somber than usual. Sure, it was mostly older years staying to study, but they would still usually enjoy Christmas. Maybe it was those damned dementors. He swore this winter was colder than normal, and twice as depressing. It seemed like the distant aura of the dementors was much more noticeable when the castle was mostly empty rather than full of idiot children.

    Snape looked down the table again and Potter caught his eye, giving him a polite nod before returning to conspicuously ignoring Draco. His godson had claimed he was staying to study, but Severus was not an idiot and he’d known Draco since the boy was in nappies. That was obviously not the reason, or at least not the entire reason, but Severus didn’t push. If Draco had all his limbs chopped off and was minutes away from bleeding out he would still deny needing help if someone offered it. It was that damned pureblood pride. Snape would admit he was prideful too, but he knew when to humble himself. 

    Speaking of pride, Snape turned back to Potter. He would never, ever admit it, but he was proud of how Potter and his little band had been progressing. They were easily the most outstanding students in their year, and he suspected each of them could earn at least on OWL if they were to sit them now. By the time they graduated, he was certain they would be able to change the world if they so wished.

    Longbottom was doing much better now that he had his own wand. He was now able to go toe to toe with Greengrass in a duel, though he still could not match Granger’s creativity and diverse arsenal of spells or Potter’s speed and power. But Minerva said he was doing the best at his animagus lessons, and he had also taken to healing best of all of them when he taught them a couple of first aid spells. Poppy had even mentioned she’d given him some advanced tips and pointed him at some helpful books.

    Greengrass was also doing well. She lacked Potter’s power and instinct or Granger’s encyclopedic knowledge, but what she excelled at was control. She had excellent precision, both in her aim and in the manifestations of her magic. All of them could transfigure a desk into a meter stick, but of her year, only Greengrass could make one that was exactly a meter long. She could absolutely be an excellent charms mistress, or go into precision transfiguration. She was also the only one of them who had mastered the Patronus Charm, with hers taking the form of a shrike, while Longbottom and Granger could only get wisps of mist and Potter could get nothing at all.

    Granger was as brilliant as ever, if not more so. She was dominating her classes, to the point where Septima and Bathsheda were talking about moving her up a year or two in Arithmancy and Runes. And for someone who was not a Natural Occlumens, she was unbelievably good at it. She could hold out against his legilimency at full force for a good five minutes, and he suspected she had figured out more mental tricks than just perfecting her memory. 

    Potter was perhaps the most spectacular though, and that was saying something considering that Granger was well on her way to becoming one of the most accomplished occlumens alive at age 14. His occlumency was good, and his legilimency spectacular, but where he shone most was fighting. When they duelled, Snape didn’t hold back aside from not using any Unforgivables or instantly lethal curses, but then again, neither did Potter (the brat had been smug for a week when he finally taught himself the Decapitation Curse). When they duelled, Potter made him work for it, and Snape still lost about one in five duels against him.

He didn’t just cast quickly and dodge nimbly, was the thing. That would have simply made him good. What made him incredible was his tactics and instincts. He never hesitated, always committing himself fully to his split second decisions. Snape had lost more than one duel because Potter had made a stupid decision but then doubled down on it. But his tactics were what were really impressive. There were various duelling tactics, with varying levels of difficulty and popularity, but Potter was clearly a natural at the well known strategy of Overwhelming Force. Snape would regularly be dodging a spellbolt while also countering a few transfigured threats and keeping his thoughts from leaking through his occlumency barriers. There was no point in Potter duelling Longbottom or Greengrass because he would simply always know what they were going to do and be able to effortlessly counter or sidestep. 

Potter still had a ways to go, of course. Masterful fighters like Snape didn’t need to think about dodging or shielding, they just did. Harry still had to think, and the attention he used dodging was attention he wasn’t using to attack. Though he could cast silently or without wand movements, he could not do both at the same time, which limited his casting speed compared to Snape. And while his magic was exceptionally strong for his age, it was only average compared to adults, so he couldn’t simply rely on brute force, not that Snape ever wanted that to be Potter’s first instinct, but it had its uses.

The table shaking as Hagrid passed out on top of it shook Severus out of his thoughts. Bloody Hagrid. And now Pomona was braiding his beard. Snape smiled, for just an instant. It was a little reassuring to have a little bit of the normal chaos he’d come to associate with Christmas at Hogwarts despite Black and the dementors.

—

    Draco didn’t hear an incantation before the Body Bind Jinx locked his legs together and glued his arms to his sides. Somebody grabbed him from behind, preventing him from toppling over and smashing his head on the stones of the dungeon corridor he had been wandering. Draco looked around in panic as he was dragged into a room that was completely abandoned save for a few jars of rotting potions ingredients on a shelf. His abductor plucked Draco’s wand out of his pocket and laid him down on the floor, face up, and came into view. 

    He was short and tubby, with a mean grin on his face and threadbare clothes that were horribly filthy. Draco had thought Professor Lupin was shabby, but this man went straight past shabby and ended somewhere around ‘a public health crisis.’

    “So, you’re Lucius’s little sprog, then?” the man asked in an amused tone. “Blink once for yes.” Draco blinked slowly and clearly. As the Malfoy heir, he had once been given a brief overview of what to do if he was ever taken hostage, which was to cooperate and wait for Lucius to get him out. 

    “Excellent!” the man said before rolling up one of his sleeves. “So I trust you know what this is, then?” Draco’s eyes widened at the faint but unmistakable outline of the Dark Mark on the man’s forearm. He blinked again. “So you know we’re allies, then. You’re not going to try and run off if I unbind you, right?” Draco blinked once more and suddenly could move again.

    “Who are you?” Draco asked immediately as he sat up.

    “Doesn’t matter.” the man said. “You can call me Wormtail. Now, I’m going to need a little help cleaning up a little mess from 1981.” he said with a grin.

    “You want me to help you kill Potter?” Draco asked incredulously. He was surprised by his conflicted feelings on the matter. Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord and threatened his power in Slytherin, yet he didn’t want to just kill him!

    “No, no, no.” Wormtail said. “That would draw far too much attention. Although I suppose my plan is rather dramatic. No, I need your help with something else. Your part will be very easy. Can you cast Stupefy, Draco? That’s all you’ll need to do, really.”

Chapter Text

    “I’m afraid we have to end things early tonight, children.” Snape drawled with a smirk, though he had to admit the blatant disappointment was… fulfilling. “It’s a full moon and I need to finish the Wolfsbane, so do stop whining.” he said as he walked into his private potions lab and immediately swore as he saw the cauldron of Wolfsbane spewing a foul-smelling blackish-brown smoke that it definitely wasn’t supposed to. 

    “Is everything okay, Professor?” Granger asked from the doorway as Snape approached the cauldron.

    “No, no it is not.” Snape ground out, vanishing the ruined potion, leaving a single dungbomb in the bottom of the cauldron. He swore again. “Someone sabotaged the Wolfsbane!”

    All four of them were looking at him now as he drew his wand and began running upstairs. “Where are we going?” Longbottom panted as they ran after him.

    “I’m getting Lupin out of the castle, obviously.” Snape said. “You all are barricading yourselves inside your dormitories.”

    “We’re coming with you!” Potter said, and Snape cursed his Gryffindor genetics.

    “No, you’re most certainly not!” he growled. “Werewolves are serious business Potter, not for four third years to face no matter how talented they are.”

    “You might need backup, and you don’t have time to make us stop.” Potter said, somehow managing to sound smug even as the children scrambled to keep up with the Professor’s longer strides. He’d really have to find some way to keep Potter from using that reasoning in the future; Snape knew he’d played that card during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. As it was, they all kept running as Snape slammed open the door of the Defense classroom, finding it empty.

    “Lupin!” he shouted as he opened the door to the werewolf’s office. Empty. “Where are you, you damn monster?” he shouted, storming through his personal quarters. Empty.

    “Well shit.” said Granger, and Severus thought that summed up the situation quite nicely.

—

    Ten minutes earlier, Remus Lupin had entered his classroom and been shocked to see a rat sitting on his desk, staring at him. It didn’t move as he approached, just started squeaking. Remus’s nose twitched as it met a familiar scent, and he looked closer at the rat’s paws. It was missing a toe. “Peter?” he gasped.

    The rat nodded enthusiastically before leaping off the desk and running to the door. It made a beckoning motion with a paw before running off down the corridor. “Where are we going? It’s a full moon!” Remus whispered harshly as he followed the rat, but it didn’t stop, leading him towards the Entrance Hall.

    Questions ran through Lupin’s mind. How was Peter alive? Why hadn’t he come forward before now? Why was he here now? Where were they going? Didn’t Peter know it was a full moon? He hadn’t had his wolfsbane!

    Peter was waiting on the front steps as Lupin caught up to him. It was May, and the setting sun would normally be a beautiful sight, but all it did was remind Lupin they were on a tight schedule. The rat pointedly jabbed the tip of its tail towards the Whomping Willow a few times before disappearing into the grass and Lupin followed after. Soon enough the tree froze and Lupin ducked into the tunnel beneath its roots, to find Peter Pettigrew waiting for him. “Peter!” Remus shouted, happily hugging his friend. “You’re alive! But how?”

    “Good to see you too, old friend! But there’s no time to explain! Black captured a student and is holding him at the Shrieking Shack! And he sabotaged your Wolfsbane!” Peter said as he began jogging down the tunnel. “I’ll get the kid out while you stay at the Shack!” Peter said as Remus began to follow him.

    “What about Black?” Remus asked as they ran down the tunnel, occasionally ducking an intruding root.

    “Dunno where he is! We’ll have to play it by ear! Now less talking, more running! You’ve got maybe twenty minutes!” Peter replied. Soon enough the emerged in the Shrieking Shack. A Hominem Revelio led them to a door on the second floor that was locked. He shared a loaded glance with Peter before kicking the door. Between the aged, rotting wood and his imminent transformation, the door easily splintered under his foot and Remus was able to shoulder his way through, ignoring the splinters as Peter followed him.

    Remus was somewhat surprised to see Ron Weasley tied up in the corner of the room with a rag in his mouth. He would have expected Harry or one of his friends, but who could fathom the workings of a maniac’s mind? Peter covered him as he ran to untie Weasley. He turned the boy over and frowned. Weasley was tied up with a trick knot that could easily be unbound by the tied up person- the Marauders had learned to use muggle tricks as well as magical ones. Remus was about to turn around to tell Peter something was wrong when a silently cast stunner hit him and everything went dark.

—

    Once Lupin was bound (without trick knots), ‘Ron’ immediately spat out the rag he’d been holding in his mouth which would pass as a gag at a glance. “Are you sure he’ll take the bait?” he asked.

    “Of course! He was watching us go into the tunnel from the forest. Look.” Wormtail said, pulling out the Marauder’s Map and activating it. ‘Ron’ nodded as he saw the dot labelled Sirius Black moving down the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, not noticing the dots of Severus Snape and four of his classmates rushing up towards the Defense classroom. “Right on schedule.”

    “Are you sure?” ‘Ron’ asked, glancing at the werewolf.

    “Tempus.” Wormtail cast, double checking. “Yup! About four minutes until Siri arrives. Fifteen until the moon is out, and forty until your polyjuice runs out. I’ll even have time to gloat before you stun him.” Wormtail added with a smirk. “You’ve done perfectly, Draco. I admit I had some reservations about you, but you’ve done an excellent job so far, and without tripping any alerts about the Imperious Curse being cast! Here, you’ve earned this. And I don’t care what you do with the extra doses of polyjuice.”

    Wormtail deactivated the Map and rolled it up before tucking it into Draco’s pocket. “Now, positions!” Wormtail said excitedly before sitting down in a chair in the opposite corner from Draco and levitating the fake gag back into place.

    A few minutes later, Sirius Black stepped into the room, wand drawn, with Peter immediately standing up and reflecting his stance. “What’s your game, rat?” Black spat, glancing at Wormtail’s captive and fake captive.

    “Padfoot! Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Wormtail asked teasingly.

    “Friends don’t frame other friends, bastard. Friends don’t kidnap other friends. And friends sure as hell don’t sell out other friends to dark lords.” Black growled. “We should have ditched you the moment we knew what your animagus form was.”

    Wormtail chuckled. “Oh Sirius. While I admit I did become a rat because I’ll do whatever it takes to survive, I wasn’t lying when I said I’m clever and resourceful. Look at me right now, using one problem to get rid of another! Mr. Moony is going to kill you and then escape into the village and get killed by the aurors, and with that, I’ll be safe! The last Marauder standing!”

    Wormtail softly tapped his foot on the floor once as he was talking, and Draco quietly undid his bonds, any sound they made slipping to the floor covered up by Wormtail talking. “Moony might attack me, Peter, but he wouldn’t attack Padfoot.” Another subtle tap of the foot and Draco rose to his feet. Well, Weasley’s feet right now, but whatever. “And you can’t stop me from turning unless you stay here and make yourself a target too or manage to outduel me.” Black said smugly.

    “Ah, well you see-” tap “-the thing about that is that I have a spot of help.”

    As Wormtail (Peter?) said that, Draco whispered “Stupefy.” and a jet of red light hit Black in the back, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

    “Excellent work, kid!” Wormtail said, binding Black and laying him next to Lupin. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it? You head back to the castle now, and as long as you’re in the room where you left your clothes by the time the polyjuice runs out, you’re golden. I’ve already sabotaged the werewolf containment wards on the building, so all that’s left for us to do is disappear into the night.”

    “What if Lupin doesn’t kill Black outright? And what if they find the memory charm on Weasley?” Draco asked.

    “Werewolf attacks are only survivable if you get medical help soon after being attacked. Even if Lupin doesn’t finish the job, he’ll bleed out. And they won’t find the memory charm on Ron if they don’t look, and why would they?” Wormtail said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got all our bases covered. Just get back to the school, alright? The clock is ticking on your potion.”

    The two of them walked downstairs, and Wormtail gave him a cheeky wave before turning into a rat and scurrying out the front door, disappearing into the night. Draco couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Hopefully, they would never cross paths again now that the plan was finished. Well, not quite finished yet, but there was nothing left to do but head back before the moon rose and the werewolf shook off the stunner and broke out of the ropes and went on a rampage.

    It was unfortunate that his mother’s cousin had to die, but needs must. Draco slipped into the tunnel and began walking back to Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

    It ended up being the portraits that helped Severus and his hangers-on find where Lupin went. After hearing Snape shouting and swearing, the portrait of Avarice Bones outside the Defense classroom told him that he had seen Lupin running off down the hallway after a rat. There were fortunately enough portraits and paintings to allow them to follow Lupin to the Entrance Hall, where the Grey Lady told them she had seen a rat pointing at the Whomping Willow and Lupin going there on its prompting. That was when it clicked for Severus. “Potter. What did the wolf say Peter Pettigrew’s animagus form is?”

    Potter gasped uncharacteristically. “A rat! You don’t think…”

    Snape narrowed his eyes. “It was either Pettigrew or something Lupin thought was Pettigrew. There’s something deeper going on here. I’m going after them.” He said, and began walking towards the Whomping Willow. “Once again, if you want to be helpful, go tell people what’s going on.” 

    Greengrass pulled out her wand with a smirk. “Expecto Patronum!” A small, silvery bird appeared out of her wand and perched on her shoulder. “Professor Lupin’s Wolfsbane was sabotaged and he went to the Shrieking Shack at the direction of a rat we believe he believed was Peter Pettigrew. Professor Snape is going to investigate, with backup. Deliver that message to Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, in that order.”

    Snape shook his head as he levitated a stick to freeze the Willow. Sometimes those kids were too smart for their own good. He just hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite them tonight. Especially not if it was in the form of a literal bite.

    “I still can’t believe your patronus is an animal literally nicknamed the Butcher Bird*.” Harry said with amusement as they dropped into the tunnel. 

    “It’s not out of cruelty, you know. I don’t even think animals can really show true cruelty.” Daphne sniffed. “It’s to store food or let the toxins drain out of poisonous insects. Brutal efficiency is very Slytherin.”

    “Brutal efficiency…” Harry mused as they followed Snape down the narrow tunnel single file. 

    “Quiet, brats.” Snape hissed, shooting a glare at them over his shoulder as they continued through the twisting earth by the light of their wands. They came around another corner and Snape froze, causing Potter to bump into him. “Weasley?” Snape asked incredulously, seeing Ronald Weasley come around the next corner from the opposite direction at the same time as they did.

    “Er- Professor Snape? What are you doing here?” Weasley asked nervously.

    “I could ask you the same question, brat! I’m the Professor here!”

    “Right, sorry. I was kidnapped by Sirius Black, but Professor Lupin came and rescued me. He told me to go back to the castle to get help.”

    “Very well, go then.” Snape said, continuing forward. It was awkward for everyone to press themselves against the wall so Weasley could shuffle past them, but nobody made any comments about it.

    Which was very uncharacteristic for Weasley, come to think of it. As was addressing Severus respectfully or apologizing to him, Snape thought as Weasley passed them and they began to walk normally again. And Severus hadn’t forgotten about the missing potions ingredients. He whirled around. “That’s not-”

    “Bombarda!” interrupted the fake Weasley, pointing his wand at the ceiling of the tunnel between him and Snape’s group. There was a loud boom that echoed down the tunnel as a portion of the roof collapsed, separating them from the imposter.

    “Is everyone alright?” he asked as everyone coughed the dust from their lungs.

    “Yup.” Longbottom said. “That definitely wasn’t Weasley though. No way he has the competency or motivation to learn a sixth year spell ahead of time. Although it was definitely the type of boneheaded move he would have made, he could have brought the whole tunnel down on top of us! This must be magically reinforced because the soil composition in Hogsmeade-”

    “Yes, yes, Weasley is very stupid and we’re lucky not to be dead, but we need to keep going. If Pettigrew possibly being alive wasn’t suspicious, then someone polyjuiced as Weasley definitely is.” Snape said, and began walking forwards again. “Tempus.” He muttered as they walked. “Damnit. Lupin is transforming in thirty seconds. I’m going to go up, cast Hominem Revelio, and go from there. If there’s someone other than Lupin up there, I’ll go try and get them, if not, we wait in here until morning. The tunnel is too small for a werewolf to fit in so we’ll be safe, albeit uncomfortable. Whatever happens up there, do not leave the tunnel, understood? Otherwise I will have you all scrubbing cauldrons every day for the rest of the year.”

    They arrived at the end of the tunnel just as a blood-curdling howl cut through the air, and Snape felt a push of unnatural fear against his occlumency shields. Not that it was needed, Snape was plenty scared of werewolves without their aura of terror, but he firmly packed his emotions away for now and climbed out of the tunnel. He sighed as Potter emerged after him and didn’t even try to argue.

—

    Harry had his wand drawn as Snape cast Hominem Revelio. It showed his three friends who he told to wait in the tunnel and two people upstairs. “Do transformed werewolves register?” He whispered as Snape silently strode towards the stairs. He simply nodded. As they arrived upstairs they a horrible ripping sound and a weak grunt of pain. Snape ran towards it, Harry following.

    Previously the sight of Cody’s broken form lying on the railroad tracks after Harry semi-accidentally threw him off the bridge was the most horrifying thing Harry had ever seen. This easily blew it out of the water. A huge, humanoid wolf was crouched over a body on the floor, and its head whipped towards Harry and Snape as they entered. Its teeth were red with blood, and it was holding a hand and most of a forearm in its maw.

    “Sectumsem-” Snape’s incantation was interrupted as the werewolf moved forwards with impossible speed and sent the potions master flying back down the hall with a swipe of its claws. Snape hit his head on the floor where he landed and didn’t get back up. The wolf turned towards Harry and lept towards him.

    Harry didn’t have time to think, he just reacted, thrusting his wand forwards. Like with Cody, there wasn’t really a spell, just fear, intent, and a determination not to die. The werewolf was knocked away by a strong force and went flying through one of the rotted exterior walls, landing with a thud on the lawn of the Shack. Unlike with Cody, the werewolf immediately got back up. It howled again, and Harry winced as he reinforced his occlumency barriers. Then the werewolf ran off towards Hogsmeade. 

    That was bad. That was very bad. But Harry would deal with that in a second. He turned towards the two werewolf victims he already had to deal with. The first one was- holy crap, it was Sirius Black! He was horribly thin, had a deep bite on one thigh, and was missing part of his left arm, but it was definitely him. Snape was in better shape, though not by much. Three crimson gashed across his chest, and probably a concussion and cracked ribs. Crap.

    He levitated Snape and dragged Black back to the entrance of the tunnel and called his friends out. “Lupin got Snape and apparently Black. I knocked him through a wall and he ran towards Hogsmeade. Any ideas?” he said brusquely.

    “Fuck.” said Neville. “I can keep them from bleeding out, at least for a while. Vulnera Sanentur.” One of the slashes on Snape’s chest sealed itself shut. “But it will only last a few minutes without Essence of Dittany. Vulnera Sanentur. Tourniquo.” Another of Snape’s claw marks closed, and a tourniquet appeared on Black’s wounded arm. “But I can’t keep reapplying the spell the whole night, I’ll pass out from magical exhaustion in a couple hours at most, and I can’t stop Black’s bleeding completely. We could take them back up to the castle, but I’d need you guys to levitate them so I can conserve my magic for healing.I don’t know what to do about Lupin in the village, though.”

    Harry stood up. “You guys take them back to the castle, I’ll go after Lupin. I’ll do Sectumsempra.” he said, gulping. He didn’t want to kill one of his favorite professors, but what choice did he have? It was like Daphne said, brutal efficiency.

    He had a thought. What if the crocodile wasn’t about cruelty or bloodlust, what if it was just a predator being very good at what it did? He wasn’t a psychopath, he was just good at fighting and willing to use his skills. It felt like something clicked. “Or, wait…”

    Harry closed his eyes and felt himself shift. His eyes opened and he was looking up at all of them from much lower than he usually did (curse his stunted growth). He focused again and turned back into a human. “I’ve had an epiphany and I’ll explain later. I’ll chase him away from people in my animagus form. You guys save Snape, and I suppose Black.”

    Hermione hugged him and impulsively pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Be careful Harry. Let’s go, guys.”

    Harry’s occlumency was working overtime to set aside the feelings of Hermione kissing him (just on the cheek!) for later analysis as he ran towards Hogsmeade. There was no way he’d beat Lupin there, but Harry prayed he could get there before Lupin bit anyone.

    Harry’s lungs and legs were burning by the time he arrived in the village, and he desperately looked around for any sign of where Lupin had gone. Then he noticed the door to Zonkos was torn off its hinges. Harry wondered if there was a part of Lupin still in there that recalled the joke shop fondly or if it was just a coincidence. It didn’t really matter. Harry turned into a crocodile and went in.

    Being a crocodile was incredibly weird, but simultaneously not that different from being a human. Professor McGonagall had said he wouldn’t have to relearn how to walk or anything like that, the magic would make everything work as long as he let his instincts guide him. But Crocodiles perceived the world very differently. He could see in the dark store much more clearly, and smell the various materials of the products. And hear padded footsteps in the back room, as well as the breathing of two creatures.

    Harry didn’t need his occlumency to keep his fear at bay as he scuttled towards the back room, whose door was also bashed down. He was a crocodile, an apex predator. And werewolves instinctively listened to animagi, the more logical part of Harry thought. A saltwater crocodile was a threat to most non-magical animals, but had nothing on a werewolf.

    There was a scream that cut off into a wet gurgle as Harry came around a crate of dungbombs. There was a man laying on the ground with his throat torn out. There was a final wheeze and he died as the werewolf swallowed the flesh it had torn out of his neck. 

    Harry felt a sense of grief for the stranger and disappointment that he hadn’t been fast enough, but the crocodile did not stop to mourn the dead prey. He let out a low growl that caused the werewolf to turn towards him. For a moment Harry thought the werewolf was going to attack, but then its ears flattened and it started letting out submissive whines. Well then. 

    Harry started walking forwards, and herded Lupin out the back door and towards the Forbidden Forest. He’d let Lupin run around in there, apparently the only thing Harry would have to do then was keep Lupin from going too far into acromantula territory, which just meant going in the opposite direction if they saw any giant spider webs. Aside from massed acromantulas, the only things in the forest that could threaten a werewolf (as far as Lupin knew) were centaurs and unicorns, both of whom would run rather than fight.

    It was undoubtedly a bad night, Harry reflected as he followed Lupin into the trees. Lupin had killed someone, and possibly two people, since Harry wasn’t certain they’d be able to get Black to Madame Pomfrey before he bled out. But it could have been much, much worse. Snape should be fine, save for a few badass scars on his chest, and Black was hopefully on his way back to Azkaban. And for an uncontrolled werewolf transformation near an unsuspecting population center, one death, one turning, and one injury was about the best you could realistically hope for. Everything would be fine, Harry thought.

—

    This was not fine, Daphne thought as she levitated Snape towards the gates of Hogwarts alongside Black, Neville, and Hermione. The gates would open for them as students, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the swarm of dementors that was now descending on them. Daphne’s occlumency was much improved since the train ride at the beginning of the school year, but there were so many of them. It was hopeless, she thought, letting Snape drop to the ground as the monsters approached.

    “Daphne! Focus! We need your patronus!” Hermione shouted as Neville dropped to his knees, too exhausted from his constant healing spells to fight the influence of the dementors.

    Right. Patronus. Think happy thoughts. Think of family. She tried to bring up the happy family memories she normally used, but all she could think of was Astoria’s disease, Auntie’s treachery, and her father rationalizing it.

    “Daphne! Focus! You still owe me a Hogsmeade date!”

    Daphne blinked. Hermione. The occlumency goddess. Right. Daphne emptied her mind. The depression of the dementors was not hers, so she would not feel it. She would be happy. She would think of Tori’s hugs, her father’s laugh, her mother conjuring swarms of glowing butterflies for her to chase. And she would think of the cute look on Hermione’s face when she found something she wanted to research, of Harry’s annoyingly hot smirk when he corrected her pronunciation or wand movement, and of how Neville always made her feel appreciated as Daphne rather than the Greengrass Heiress, even when she didn’t deserve it.

    “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Daphne shouted. Her silver shrike burst forth, but this time it was much larger than it normally was. Not as huge as Dumbledore’s phoenix had been on the day they arrived, but still far bigger than a shrike actually was.

    “Great job, Daph! You take Snape, I got the others!” Hermione shouted over the flapping of the cloaks as the dementors backed away. The Gryffindor girl was levitating Black while dragging a catatonic Neville by the collar of his robes. Daphne nodded and grabbed Snape’s arm. Her patronus flickered a few times as they trudged towards the gates. 

    “Will they stay off the grounds proper?” Daphne asked as she felt them cross the ward line.

    “I doubt it.” Hermione said, grunting as Neville’s robe got caught on a protruding root and she tugged him free with a rip. “They got in during that quidditch game, and now they can see their target.”

    So Daphne maintained her patronus all the way up to the castle. She was dead on her feet by the time they reached the front steps. Her patronus had shrunken to its normal size, and had to constantly flit back and forth to keep the dementors from kissing any of them. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to get Snape up the steps. And Hermione couldn’t leave her side without getting kissed. They were so close, within the warm light of the castle torches. But there was nothing they could do. Daphne nearly cried with frustration and despair when she heard three simultaneous exclamations that filled her with relief.

    “Great Morgana!” cried Professor McGonagall.

    “Hrothnar’s sphincter!” squeaked Professor Flitwick.

    “Expecto Patronum!” bellowed Professor Dumbledore.

    The last thing Daphne saw before she passed out was a gigantic silver phoenix appearing between her and the dementors.

—

*AN: Shrikes are a type of bird that are notorious for skewering their prey on thorny plants or barbed wire. Daphne is correct in her explanation for why they do this.

Chapter Text

    Remus groaned as he sat up. The mornings after a transformation were always the worst. His whole body ached from changing forms, and sleeping on the forest floor didn’t help. At least there was a blanket covering him so he wasn’t cold as well as sore and tired.

    Lupin blinked and sat up, looking around wildly. Why did he have a blanket covering him? And everything that happened last night- did Peter set him up? But why? Did that mean Sirius was innocent?

    “G’morning, Professor.” a drowsy sounding voice said from behind him, and Lupin whirled around to see Harry Potter sitting on a rock behind him with droopy eyelids. 

    “Harry? Are you okay? What happened last night?” Remus asked, trying to suppress his panic. 

    “I’m kind of wondering that too. How about I tell you what I know while you transfigure yourself some pants and then you tell me what you know while we walk back to the castle?” Harry suggested. 

    “Ah. Right. Yes, that sounds good.” Remus said, blushing. He was so used to waking up naked and alone after a transformation that he’d stopped worrying about modesty. And even if he had set aside clothes for the morning after, this is certainly not where he’d expected to end up.

    “Right. So Daphne and Hermione and Neville and I were in our normal Wednesday lesson with Snape when he said he had to cancel early to finish and deliver your Wolfsbane.” Harry began, turning away so the Professor could change. “But then he said somebody sabotaged it so he ran to find you and we followed. We didn’t find you in your office or classroom or quarters, so we asked the ghosts and portraits where you went and learned you chased a rat into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. We thought you thought the rat was Pettigrew- were we right about that, by the way?”

    “Yes, I did think it was Pettigrew, and yes, it was. And I’m decent now.” Remus said, having transfigured himself a very basic pair of pants and a piece of rope to act as a belt. 

    “So we went into the tunnel, and ran into Ron Weasley coming back the opposite way, only Snape realized it wasn’t actually him, but Not-Weasley blasted the roof of the tunnel and collapsed it. Snape and I went into the Shack while the others stayed in the tunnel as backup-”

    “Why the hell would you do that?” Lupin interrupted, horrified.

    “Because there were two people in the Shack according to Hominem Revelio and we didn’t fancy leaving someone at the mercy of a werewolf no matter how self-preserving we Slytherins are. Full disclosure, we were fully prepared to have to, well… lethal force was on the table.” Harry said with an awkward cough. 

    “Harry, do not feel bad about that. I’m glad you didn’t have to kill me, but I would not have blamed you or Snape if one of you had to do that. I know that I’m dangerous on full moons and I would never begrudge anyone their right to defend themselves, especially not someone I know and care about.” Remus interrupted.

    “Er, right. Anyway, we went to where the charm said people were and we found you, or werewolf you or whatever, and Sirius Black. He-”

    “Wait, Black?” Lupin asked incredulously.

    “Yeah. You’d, well… you mauled him. He was bitten, and losing a lot of blood.”

    Remus felt sick. He was proud to say he’d never bitten anyone… until now. He was probably going to Azkaban, even if Sirius was a criminal- which Remus was now beginning to doubt. At the very least, the story wasn’t as simple as he’d believed.

    “Snape tried to- to stop you, but you knocked him down the hall and he was knocked out. You jumped at me but I blasted you through a wall and you ran off towards Hogsmeade. We decided that the girls would levitate Black and Snape back to the castle while Neville kept reapplying healing charms to keep them from bleeding out while I went after you. I was going to, well, use unpleasant methods, but then I had an epiphany based on something Daphne said earlier and realized that my problem with my animagus form wasn’t the concentration or not knowing my form well enough, it was that I was misinterpreting what it meant. So I went and caught up to you and chased you out here in my animagus form- we’re in the Forbidden Forest by the way. After that, you spooked a few centaurs and ate an acromantula but otherwise we were fine. After you were done with your little meal you curled up and went to sleep. I kept watch, and then you woke up and know the rest.”

    Remus let out a breath. “Okay. Fuck. Did- in Hogsmeade, before I caught up to you, did I hurt anyone?” Remus asked. He was terrified of the answer but needed to know.

    “You killed one person, that I know of. Old guy in Zonkos.” Harry said, refusing to meet Lupin’s eyes. That was the final straw, and Remus vomited. “It’s not your fault, sir. It’s whoever sabotaged your Wolfsbane’s fault. Shall we head back?”

    “Right… you must be exhausted.” Lupin said as they began to walk.

 “Well, it’s- Tempus- 9:30 so that’s about 27 hours without sleep, but it’s not actually that bad. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. And it might have helped that crocodiles are nocturnal, but I’m not sure about that one. Now what happened from your perspective?”

“There’s not actually a whole lot to tell. As you know, I followed Pettigrew from the Defense classroom. When we were in the tunnel he turned back to human form and told me Black sabotaged my Wolfsbane and took a student hostage in the shack. He said he’d explain everything later; I’d stay in the Shack to transform and he would rescue the hostage. We went there and found Ron Weasley tied up in a room upstairs. I went to untie him, but as I noticed it was a trick knot Weasley could have gotten himself out of I got knocked out, probably by a silent stunner. And I don’t remember anything after that.”

Harry frowned. “How do we get from you being knocked out with Pettigrew and who I’m assuming was the fake Weasley to you being there with Black?”

“I don’t know!” Lupin said frustratedly. “My initial reaction is that Black was disillusioned in the corner and stunned me, then Peter somehow beat him in a fight and left with Weasley. But that doesn’t explain where Peter went, why Weasley only appeared to be tied up, or why he blasted the tunnel.”

“Yeah, my guess is someone was either polyjuiced as him or he was under the Imperious curse. Shit, I should have used legilimency on him when I had the chance! Ugh, there’s so many questions!”

Remus just nodded and they continued their walk in silence. They had to take a detour so that they wouldn’t be seen by the Care of Magical Creatures class that Harry was actually supposed to be in at the moment. Maybe Kettleburn would give him extra credit for a night of werewolf wrangling. Hagrid definitely would.

Once they were inside the castle they made their way to the hospital wing. Four beds had the curtains conspicuously drawn around them, but there were two whose occupants were sitting up and visible. Hermione was reading, as usual. Weasley was eating, as usual.

Harry immediately pointed his wand at the ginger boy. “Prove you’re Ronald Weasley.” He demanded.

“What the fuck?” Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate. “Uh, on the train in first year, I tried to make friends with you but you were a right git to me.” he said after swallowing.

“Yup, that’s him.” Harry said, lowering his wand.

“‘Course, I did mention that when I wrote home, and I did kind of complai- er, use the story to warn the rest of the Gryffindors about you.” he said with a blush.

“Immediately casts doubt on the integrity of his proof of identity… that is a very Weasley move.” Harry said with a sigh.

“Oi! I had my brain messed with last night! Cut me some slack!”

“Your brain messed with?” Lupin asked.

“Oh, hey Professor. Nice abs. Yeah, I saw my rat, Scabbers- he’d been missing since the start of the year- and I went chasing after him. He ran into an abandoned classroom, then turned into this weird dude who stunned me! Only, apparently he messed with my memories afterwards, ‘cuz I also remember one of the older Slytherins stunning me through the window after I chased Scabbers in there.” Ron took another bite of chocolate. “Sho ebbybay, I wayge ubbin-”

“Don’t speak while you chew, honestly Ronald! You’ve got a legitimately interesting story for once in your life and you absolutely ruin it with your atrocious manners!” Hermione interrupted.

“Jeez, sorry.” Ron said defensively after swallowing. “So anyway, I woke up in the same room, tied up and in my boxers, with Dumbledore standing over me. He said one of the portraits had seen me go into the room a while ago and not come out and was worried. I told Dumbledore what happened, minus the bit with Scabbers transforming since I didn’t know that yet. He was like, ‘a rat, you say?’ and then looked me in the eyes really hard and suddenly I could remember Scabbers transforming. It’s really weird to have two different memories of the same event. They both feel true even though I know one’s fake.”

Harry, Remus, and Hermione exchanged meaningful stares, and Harry was considering what the subtlest way to get Ron out of the hospital wing was when Madame Pomfrey came to his rescue. “Right, your Mind Clearing Potion should have run its course now, you’re good to go. Off to class with you now, go on.”

“Mind Clearing Potion?” Harry asked once he was gone.

“Removes any hidden compulsions or commands that might have been buried in his mind waiting on a delay or for certain conditions to be met. Whoever modified his memories wasn’t an amateur, and they didn’t want to take any chances.” Hermione explained. “Now come over and give me a hug, someone used a sticking charm to keep me from getting out of bed.” she said, shooting a glare at the nurse.

“You tried sneaking out three times and refused to take the Sleeping Draught I prescribed you!” Madame Pomfrey replied indignantly. “It was for your own good! Anyways, I’m assuming you need your… usual checkup, Professor?”

“To start with, yes.” Lupin said, and Madame Pomfrey began fussing over him as Harry leaned over to hug Hermione. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay. If you had died, I would’ve killed you.” she whispered in his ear, and Harry let out a soft chuckle. He tried to lean back but Hermione pouted at him and forced him to sit on the edge of her bed so she could continue holding onto his hand.

“Are you okay Hermione?” he asked, glancing down at their joined hands. “I don’t mind, you know, this, and I know you’re easily the most tactile member of the group but you’re not usually so… insistent.” he said.

“You could have died last night!” she huffed “So forgive me if I’m a little clingy! Also… we, ah, had some trouble with the dementors last night, and touch helps.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot about the dementors! I’m such an idiot, Hermione, I’m so sorry! I should have-”

“Hey. Harry. Look at me.” Harry turned and gazed into Hermione’s eyes. He found himself blushing and he wasn’t sure why, or maybe he didn’t want to admit why, he’d think about that later. “It’s not your fault. We all forgot too. If you still feel guilty, then your penance is giving me some proper cuddles, but it’s really fine.”

Harry hesitantly kicked his shoes off and laid on top of the sheets next to Hermione, who happily wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her. She tucked her head under his chin and nuzzled into his chest, which was unusual since Harry was the shortest one in their group and Hermione the tallest, but he didn’t mind the reversal. “I’m sorry I-”

“Harry. I told you, you’re not the only one who forgot. It’s fine.”

“Actually, I was going to say I’m sorry I probably don’t smell too great right now, what with running around the forest with a werewolf all night.” he said, grinning into the curls of her hair when Hermione gave a snort of laughter.

“I don’t even care right now, I’m just glad you’re safe. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No, I caught up to Lupin in Zonkos. I’m pretty sure he only killed one person before I chased him off. Then I just supervised him in the forest and kept him from going too close to Hogwarts of the village. Now what happened with the dementors? How bad was it?”

“It was… bad. I think they were all there. I mean, we did try to carry Black right under them. I was mostly okay because of my occlumency, but Neville was wiped from the healing and passed out, and Daphne almost didn’t get her patronus up in time. I was able to keep levitating Black while dragging Neville, and Daphne was able to drag Snape while maintaining her patronus, but we still almost didn’t make it.” Hermione paused, smiling as Harry pulled her even tighter against him. “Daphne passed out on the front steps and Dumbledore saved us with his patronus and brought us here. Everyone else is in the curtained off beds. Neville and Daphne are still passed out from the combination of magical exhaustion and dementor exposure, and Snape and Black are recovering from the blood loss.”

“Is Black secure?” Harry asked, and he felt Hermione nod against him. “Good.” he yawned. “Then I think I’m gonna close my eyes, I stayed up all night, and I’m wiped.”

—

    “Ms. Granger, would you be so kind as to wake up your bedmate? It’s time to see what Sirius has to say and I’m sure young Harry would slip me some poison if I didn’t make sure he was present and conscious for it.”

    Hermione was torn between annoyance that her cuddling time with Harry was up (for now, at least) and curiosity to hear what Black had to say, not to mention embarrassment at the Headmaster referring to Harry as her “bedmate.”

    “Harry, wake up.” she said gently into his ear, without letting go of him. She felt him tense up for a few seconds before relaxing.

    “Wuzz goin’ on? ‘M sleepy.” he mumbled, and Hermione had to restrain some giggles at how cute he sounded while sleepy.

    “They’re gonna interrogate Black. Do you want to listen?”

    She looked into his eyes and saw them grow much more alert. “Hmm, yes, but also, I think I like… let’s just go listen.” he said, blushing as he got up and went over to stand by his bed. Hermione smiled as she followed suit. She was glad he liked cuddling with her, even if he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud. She didn’t need to self-reflect with occlumency to know that while she had really liked cuddling with Harry due to dementor exposure, she would like cuddling with any of her friends regardless of what monstrous manifestations of depression she did or did not run into. 

    Harry and Hermione were standing by Black’s bed, along with Madame Pomfrey and Professors Dumbledore, Lupin, Flitwick, and McGonagall, the last three of whom had their wands trained on him. It seemed like a bit of overkill to Hermione, considering that Black was not only tied to the bed with magic-suppressing chains and wearing a manacle around his neck that would prevent his animagus transformation, but also just looked pathetic. His skin was pale and stretched thin over his bones, and his stump arm was still wrapped in bandages.

    “Ready?” Flitwick asked, and once everyone had nodded, he silently flicked his wand and shot a blast of water at Black’s face. Ice cold, based on the few drops that splashed onto Hermione.

    Black predictably spat and sputtered as he was awoken. “The hell, James? I- wait- Peter- what- where- Headmaster? What happened?”

    Dumbledore was cold as he looked down at Sirius. “Answer our questions, Mr. Black, and we might answer yours. Now, will you take Veritaserum willingly or do I need to force it?” the Headmaster asked, pulling out a small vial of a clear potion.

    “What’s that?” Black asked confusedly.

    “Veritaserum, the strongest truth potion yet invented. Although I suppose it was made public a few years after you went to prison.” Dumbledore mused.

    “That’s perfect! Juice me up!” Black said, to Hermione’s surprise. She could see cooperating, but the obvious enthusiasm was odd. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows but placed three drops on the potion onto Black’s tongue, and then gazed into Black’s eyes as he swallowed. Hermione would bet every book she owned the Headmaster was using legilimency to make sure the potion took.

    “What is your name?” Dumbledore asked.

    “Sirius Orion Black, also known as Padfoot.” Black replied in a monotone voice.

    Dumbledore looked contemplative for a moment. “Why were you so eager to take Veritaserum?”

    That was an interesting way to start, Hermione thought. “Because I need you to believe me when I say I didn’t do any of the things I was sent to Azkaban for.” Black answered. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and Hermione heard a number of people gasp.

    “To clarify, did you commit any of the crimes for which you were imprisoned?” Dumbledore said.

    “No.”

    “If you didn’t betray the Potters to Voldemort, why did they tell me you were their secret keeper?” Dumbledore asked, maintaining his same serene calmness.

    “As James Potter’s best friend, I was the obvious choice for secret keeper, but anyone will break under the Cruciatus eventually, and we knew there was a spy in the Order, so we told everyone I was the secret keeper to keep the pressure off the real one, Peter Pettigrew.”

    Dumbledore hummed enigmatically, giving no indication of whether he believed Black or not. “What happened when you confronted Pettigrew after the Potters died?”

    “Peter Pettigrew blew up the street, not me. I believe he cut off his finger and fled into the sewers in his secret animagus form, a rat.”

    “And why didn’t you say any of this at your trial?”

    “I didn’t get a chance. The law the Wizengamot passed to expedite Death Eater trials kept accused Death Eaters from being allowed to speak in their own defence, to prevent filibustering or activating any magical items that might be triggered by a certain phrase.”

    Dumbledore seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Oh Barty…” he muttered. “How did you escape Azkaban?”

    “I changed myself into my animagus form and starved myself until I could slip through the bars of my cell. Dementors can’t really notice animals, so I was able to sneak down to the dock and onto the next ship leaving the island.”

    “And why did you wait thirteen years to do this?”

    “I saw Peter Pettigrew in the newspaper. The Weasley family had a photo on the front page of a copy of the Daily Prophet that Minister Fudge gave me during one of his inspections, and sitting on one of their shoulders was a fat rat with a missing toe. Knowing that he was not only alive, but hiding right under everyone’s noses, gave me enough motivation. I wanted to get out and kill him.”

    “I see. What happened last night, from your point of view?”

    “I was lurking in the Forbidden Forest, monitoring the castle. I saw Remus Lupin acting strangely and transfigured a pair of binoculars to watch him more closely. He was following a rat that I believed to be Peter Pettigrew into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. I was worried that Remus Lupin was being tricked, so I followed a few minutes after in my animagus form. When I arrived Peter Pettigrew was waiting for me, and Remus Lupin and Ronald Weasley were tied up in a corner. Peter Pettigrew taunted me and admitted to being a Death Eater, and said he planned for Remus Lupin’s uncontrolled werewolf transformation to result in him killing me and then being killed by aurors when he attacked Hogsmeade, which would eliminate the last two people who knew about his animagus form and knew or suspected that he wasn’t dead. Then I was stunned in the back and woke up here.”

    “Aha! That must be why the fake Ron wasn’t actually tied up!” Hermione exclaimed.

    “Indeed. I believe we can trust Mr. Black. The antidote, then.” Black knocked back the Veritaserum counter and blinked a few times.

    “That was weird stuff. So you really believe me?” he asked hopefully.

    “I do. Does anybody have any objections to me removing the bindings on Mr. Black?” Dumbledore asked, and proceeded to do so when nobody spoke up.

    “So can I ask my questions now?” Black asked. Dumbledore nodded. “Great, first of all, what the hell happened to my hand? And what happened after I passed out last night? How are we gonna clear my name? Is the girl by my godson Harry’s girlfriend?”

    Hermione and Harry both blushed, and Black grinned. “I believe Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger are best suited to answer most of those questions. And I would quite like to hear their answers myself.” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. So Harry and Hermione explained what had happened from the beginning. 

    “Merlin’s pants…” Black whispered. “I owe the four of you so much. And I guess Snivel- er, Snape, as well. But why’d you save me? As far as you guys knew I was a psycho Death Eater.”

    “We couldn’t just let you die!” Hermione exclaimed at the same time she heard Harry say “You could have had information, at the very least how you escaped Azkaban.” Hermione lightly smacked him on the arm. “Fine, yes, it would also have been immoral to leave you to die. Dumbledore would give me that disappointed look he does so well.” he conceded. Dumbledore gave him a disappointed look anyways.

    “Listen, Sirius, I’m so sorry I-”

    “Remus I don’t know what you’re about to apologize for but whatever it is I’m fairly certain it’s not your fault. Lemme guess, it’s for attacking me or for believing I was the traitor?”

    “Both…” Lupin admitted.

    “Well you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Both of them come down to the fact that Peter played us like an enchanted fiddle.” 

    “What? But enchanted instruments play themselves! That’s the entire point of enchanted instruments!” Hermione interjected. “Wizarding figures of speech make no sense!”

    Hermione blushed as everyone turned to look at her. Harry and Professor McGonagall looked proud. Professors Lupin and Dumbledore looked amused. Madame Pomfrey and Black looked like they’d just had their entire worldview shattered. Professor Flitwick just looked sad.

    “How I missed having you in my house I will never understand but always regret.” Flitwick said with a sigh. “If Gryffindor is ever too rowdy for you, do feel free to head over to Ravenclaw Tower; I’m sure you could teach some of my eagles a thing or two.”

    “So what do we do now? Can you clear my name?” Sirius asked excitedly.

    Dumbledore sighed. “I’m afraid that may be impossible, at least at the present moment. The only evidence we have that Pettigrew is alive is the word of a werewolf who will be wanted for having killed someone. Professor Snape and his sidekicks could testify to what they witnessed, but the word of an acquitted Death Eater and four children will easily be dismissed.”

“I resent the term ‘sidekick.’” Harry muttered, causing Hermione to hide a snicker.

“What? What about the veritasathingy?” Sirius asked.

“I suppose I should qualify my previous statement to say the only legally admissible evidence. Veritaserum isn’t perfect. It can be resisted by a skilled occlumens, and it only makes the subject say what they think the truth is. Note how you said it was Ronald Weasley next to Remus when you confronted Pettigrew despite the fact that we are fairly certain that was only someone polyjuiced to look like him. It’s like pensieve memories, it seems like the perfect evidence, but has some serious weaknesses and because it seems so reliable, it is only allowed in very rare circumstances so as not to be misleading to Wizengamot members who are, shall we say, not skilled in critical thinking.”

“That’s a suspiciously reasonable law considering this is the Wizengamot we’re talking about.” Harry said, eyes narrowing, and Hermione had to admit he had a point.

“Yes, well, let it suffice to say that there are many Wizengamot members who have a vested interest in ensuring they can’t be legally held accountable for anything they say if they were to be slipped Veritaserum.” the Headmaster said with a sigh. “Is your cynicism a reflection of you or of your house, I wonder?”

“Both, and my mentor probably doesn’t help.” Harry said, to Professor Lupin’s smothered laughter.

    “Still can’t believe you’re getting private lessons from Sni- Snape.” Black grumbled.

    “As well as McGonagall and Lupin, so stop pouting. Besides, I’m a Slytherin.” Harry said. “Anyways, Headmaster, if we can’t clear Black, what are we going to do with him?”

    “I’m afraid there are a number of factors complicating things. First is that Poppy has confirmed that Mr. Black has contracted lycanthropy. Second is that Professor Lupin will have to join Sirius on the run. The Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures has informed me that I am to hold Remus until they come to collect him, and I have misinformed them that Remus never returned to the castle after the full moon. However, there will still doubtless be an investigation and so it would behoove all of us for you two not to be here when the Ministry comes knocking, particularly considering that there is an unknown ally of Peter’s on the loose and likely with access to the castle. Fortunately, I believe I have found a solution, though you may not like it, Sirius. Have you tried to access Grimmauld Place since your escape?”

“Of course not! I was cast out of the family, remember?” 

“Have you been to Gringotts about the Black accounts or checked up on the whereabouts of your family since you got out?” 

“No! I was on the run!”

“Entirely understandable. I, however, was not, and so I have done both.” the Headmaster said smugly. “It turns out that while your mother disowned you on a social level, your grandfather never did so magically or legally. And since Arcturus outlived your parents by a few months, Orion and Walburga never had the chance to do so. You are the primary claimant to the title of Lord Black, although common belief is that it is your cousin Narcissa’s son. Grimmauld Place should let you in, and keep unwanted visitors, such as the DMLE or the DCRMC, out. I can pop by to ward a room for your transformations.”

“How will we get there though? Surely they’re keeping watch on it just in case, so we can’t apparate there or fly or use muggle transportation.”

“Just floo in. I’ll have Arthur work his special brand of magic at the Department of Magical Transportation to make sure your trip there isn’t recorded.” the Headmaster said with a shrug.

“Arthur… do you mean Arthur Weasley? I thought he was in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?” Harry asked.

“How do you know that? The Weasleys are my housemates, not yours, and I didn’t even know where Ronald’s dad works!” Hermione said indignantly.

“I’m a Slytherin darling, we just know these sorts of things. Plus, the Weasleys are in my debt for helping Ginny last year, so I did a little research on them to see how I might be able to use that in the future. Which brings me back around to Arthur Weasley; did he get transferred?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, Harry. Here’s the thing about Arthur Weasley: he is not as influential as, say, Lucius Malfoy among the political elite. But he is very popular and respected among the rank and file of the Ministry. The clerks, the mid-level bureaucrats, the security wizards, they all have a cousin or a friend who Arthur has helped out of a tight spot. Where Lord Malfoy deals in bribes and goblin-certified contracts, Arthur deals in favors and arrangements sealed with handshakes. So it won’t be hard for Arthur to get unsupervised access to the floo registrar for a few minutes.”

“Huh.” Harry said, and Hermione could tell that like herself, he suddenly had a newfound respect for the Weasley patriarch.

“Indeed. Now, I hate to kick you two boys out, but time really is of the essence here. Remus, I’ll send your things along once the Ministry has come through, it would look rather strange if your things were cleared out. Don’t worry, I will stay in touch with you both. I’ll probably pop by for a few of Sirius’s hairs once the heat has died down, so we can arrange for some sightings of him on the continent. If Peter can use polyjuice, so can we.” Dumbledore said with a wink.

“So, what, we’re going now?” Professor Lupin asked. “Who will cover my classes?”

“Indeed you are.” Professor Dumbledore said, levitating Black out of his bed. “And don’t worry about your classes, myself and the other professors can cover them for the end of the year. We covered for Professor Hawthorn most of the year back in what, your third year?”

“Right. Her.” Lupin said with a grimace. “Let’s go before you make me think about her any longer.”

Two flashes of green fire later and Black and Lupin were gone. “What happened to Professor Hawthorn?” Hermione asked confusedly.

Dumbledore coughed awkwardly. “Right, well, I must go talk with the Ministry some more, toodles!” he said before hurrying out the door.

“Yes, I must go check on my other patients.” Madame Pomfrey said, though she went into her office and locked the door for some reason.

“You can explain it Filius; you’re the one who just said she should be in your house.” McGonagall said.

“Ah, but she isn’t, and really, this might be the sort of thing best discussed among women.” the Charms Professor said. “And besides, I have essays to grade, so…”

“Oh but Filius, I have essays to grade too, and Mr. Potter is here as well. If I have to explain the Hawthorn Incident to a couple of third years I’m not letting you wiggle out of it!”

“Fine. You want me to tell them? I’ll tell them!” Flitwick said, turning to Harry and Hermione. “Professor Hawthorne took the job to get access to the Forbidden Forest so she could make porn getting gangbanged by the centaurs, and when the centaurs were insulted and turned her down, she tried it with the acromantulas, which went exactly as well as you’d expect. She didn’t even last two weeks. Happy?”

Hermione blinked awkwardly. Harry had a pained expression and a thousand yard stare, while Professor McGonagall glared at the Head of Ravenclaw with her hands on her hips. “You could have phrased it more delicately, Filius, they’re thirteen!”

“I’m fourteen!” Hermione huffed petulantly.

“Do I even want to know what a gangbang is? No, you know what, I don’t think I do…” Harry muttered.

“If you didn’t want them to get the coarse version you could have told them yourself!” Flitwick said before storming out of the hospital wing.

“Er, right then. Potter, Hermione, I trust you can practice discretion with this information?” Hermione’s head of house asked.

“Of course, Professor.” Hermione assured her.

“Acromantulas… why? Sweet Merlin, why?” Harry whispered.

—

    Neville drifted back into consciousness to find himself pleasantly warm and snug. He tried to sit up only to find a comfortable weight on his chest. He made a confused noise and opened his eyes to see a mop of messy black hair below his chin.

    “He’s awake.” a voice next to him said, and he turned his head to see Daphne snuggled into his side.

    “Good. Last recap for the day, then?” said Hermione’s voice from his other side.

    “Right.” said Harry, who was laying on top of him. “Black was innocent, it was actually Pettigrew who betrayed my parents. We can’t legally prove it though, so Black is on the run with Lupin, since the latter killed someone while transformed. Basically, it was a mess, but not as big of a mess as it could have been, and now we’re safe and in the hospital wing. How are you feeling?”

    How was he feeling? The last thing Neville remembered was getting cold, and then… the screams. Neville felt himself shiver despite being cuddled from all sides as he realized what the dementors had made him remember.

    “I remember the night they were tortured.” Neville said blankly. “Oh Merlin, I remember… they hid me in the closet. I watched. Merlin’s balls, I watched. I watched them torture them, dad and mum and… oh fuck.” Neville whispered.

    “What?” Daphne asked, sitting up. Neville frowned as he tried to remember.

    “I- I’m not completely certain. But there were three voices screaming. Two women. I think- no, I saw her, too. They tortured Bellatrix Lestrange that night, too.”

    “What? Why?” squawked Hermione.

    “I don’t know, I- I don’t really want to think about it right now, can we talk about this later?” Neville asked.

    “Oh my gosh, of course Neville, I’m sorry, that was super insensitive of me!” Hermione said, nestling closer to him. Neville blushed as he felt her breath on his neck and her hair tickling his cheek.

    “We’ll sort out if we’ve got a second innocent Death Eater to deal with later, right now you’re still recovering from the dementors and Madame Pomfrey has prescribed lots of cuddles from Harry Potter’s Gang of Reluctant Friends.” Daphne said, laying back down next to him, and causing Neville’s blush to deepen.

    “Are you reluctant to be friends with me or am I reluctant to be friends with you?” Harry mumbled into Neville’s chest. “Also, do you need some space, Nev? You’re looking a little flushed. Are you overheated?”

    “I’m fine! This is fine! Great!” Neville squeaked.

    “Alright, g’night then.” Harry murmured, closing his eye again.

—

    “Motherfucker!” Peter shouted, throwing his scavenged copy of the Daily Prophet back into the garbage bin he had snagged it from before setting said bin on fire, turning into a rat, and scuttling away to plot and scheme undisturbed.

    The plan hadn’t entirely gone to shit. According to the Prophet, Professor Remus Lupin had turned out to be a werewolf and killed one person in Hogsmeade and injured Professor Snape, and was now on the run and believed to be in cahoots with Black. But knowing what he know, Peter could read in between the lines. Snape must have showed up and derailed his plans. He had expected the Potions Professor to just send a patronus to Lupin when he found out the Wolfsbane was sabotaged and wash his hands of it, but he obviously did something unexpected if he ran into Lupin while he was transformed. And Black wasn’t dead; if they’d found his body Fudge would have made sure it was the headline.

    Peter would have sworn again if he wasn’t a rat. There was a time for risks and a time to play it safe, and now was not a time for risks. He had to assume that Snape had figured out that Sirius was innocent and/or that Peter was alive, which meant he had to assume that Dumbledore knew.

    And if Dumbledore knew Peter was the traitor, then Peter would never be safe until the old man was dead. And Peter couldn’t take down Dumbledore on his own. Which meant he only had one choice. Time to follow the rumors. Time to figure out how to get to Albania.

Chapter Text

    “As a social organization, the Chimera Club is fairly unremarkable. They host a few annual balls and galas to raise money for various charitable causes, mostly related to Hogwarts or St. Mungos, and help promising younger members build connections, but that’s about it. It’s as a political and economic organization that the Chimera Club takes its place on this list. The Chimera Club didn’t just reshape the politics of magical Britain in the aftermath of the Second Defeat of Voldemort, it has had notable international impact due to the international connections of many of the founders.” -The 100 Most Influential Magical Movements and Organizations of the 20th Century, by Terrence Boot, 2004

—

    “So I’ve been thinking-” Daphne said as the four of them sat in a secluded nook in the library.

    “Oh no.” Neville interrupted, earning him a glare from the blonde.

    “Rude. Anyways, I was thinking that next year we should unseat Malfoy as year leader.” Daphne said.

    “What’s that got to do with us Gryffindors?” Hermione asked.

    “You’re useful for plausible deniability. Slytherins aren’t supposed to publicly feud with one another, but you and Nev can easily humiliate Malfoy on our behalf.” Daphne said.

    “And we would do this why?” Neville asked. “Remember what we talked about with Gryffindors not being mindless pawns?”

    “Yes I remember.” Daphne said, blushing slightly. “Aside from the simple joy of embarrassing Malfoy, strengthening your allies strengthens yourself. We’re in this together now, whatever ‘this’ ends up being.”

    “I suppose we have been through a fair bit as a team.” Hermione said, before perking up. “Ooh! We should make a team name!”

    “Is that entirely necessary?” Harry asked drolly from where he was sitting on the table.

    “Well no, but it’s fun! Any ideas?”

    “What if we had like, a distinctive, signature look. We could be, I dunno, The Redshirts!” suggested Daphne.

    “Yeah, definitely not. For one thing, that’s a Gryffindor color, and for another, that’s already got some negative connotations in the muggle world.” Harry said.

    “Fine. What about The Blackshirts? That’s a nice, neutral color.” Daphne said.

    “That’s actually got even worse connotations.” Hermione said with a frown.

    “Brownshirts?” 

    “Absolutely not. No color-shirts*!” Hermione declared.

    “What about The Brownpants, if we can’t do shirts?” Neville said with a smirk.

    “Now you’re doing it on purpose.” Hermione pouted.

    “Just a little.” Neville grinned. “But on a more serious note, we’re Slytherins and Gryffindors, green and red. How about the Christmas Alliance?”

    “No offense, but that sounds incredibly tacky. Maybe something with snakes and lions?” said Daphne.

    “No, too exclusive. What if we want to recruit allies in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?” Harry said, getting into it despite himself.

    “So something unifying. The Dragon Alliance? Dragons are often used as a symbol for Hogwarts as a whole. In fact, according to Hogwarts, a History-”

    “Sorry Hermione but that’s a no. For one thing, everyone and their mother claims some association with dragons, it’s so cliche. For another, Draco’s name is related to dragons which kind of puts me off of them.” Daphne interrupted.

    “So we want something powerful, inclusive, but not cliche or tacky.” Harry said. “The Chimera Alliance?”

    “I like Chimeras, but ‘alliance’ sounds too militaristic. It might be off-putting. What about ‘The Chimera Club?’” Daphne said.

    “I can live with that.” Neville said.

    “Okay!” agreed Hermione.

    “I still maintain that our group doesn’t need a name. But fine, the Chimera Club it is.” Harry sighed. “Not much of a club with only four people though.”

    “Well I’m so glad you mentioned that!” Daphne said with a grin. “We’re obviously amazing. I have the political guile and international connections, Hermione has the academic brilliance and organizational instinct, Harry has the combat prowess and name recognition, and Neville has the ernest charm and the most functional moral compass of us. We could take over the world together, and we will if we want to, but we shouldn’t isolate ourselves. We can all stand to make more friends, or connections if you prefer to think of it that way.”

    “I take it you have suggestions?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

    “Of course, darling. You’ve got an in with Luna since you seem determined to be her guardian angel or something, and the Weasleys after the whole Chamber business. Ronald is probably a lost cause, he’s pretty anti-Slytherin, doesn’t like Hermione, and doesn’t have any skills that would make the effort of changing his opinions worth it. Percy Weasley is probably going places in the Ministry, but he’s graduating in a few months and is considerably older than us, so not really a realistic prospect. Which leaves Ginny and the twins. Ginny is friendly, directly indebted to Harry, and will probably be a real knockout in a few years. Being social and pretty isn’t a unique skillset by any means, but given how easy it’ll be to bring her around, it’s worth it. Everyone but me has an in with her, so I leave her to you all. And then there’s the twins.”

    “Do we have to? They’re insufferable!” Hermione complained.

    “And why do you say that?” Daphne asked pointedly.

    “You know why! Just last week, they revoked Madame Pince’s permissions as librarian and somehow gave them to me for a day! Oh, I see your point… they are rather brilliant. I bet they could get us unrestricted access to the restricted section! Just so long as they get a way to do it without also making me have to sign off on anyone who wants to check out a book…”

    “Exactly.” Daphne said smugly. “That alone would make them worth recruiting, but they’re also incredibly creative and innovative with pretty much every branch of magic taught at Hogwarts. Convincing them to turn their attention from pranks and chaos will be a tall order, but between them and Hermione we’d basically have the biggest think tank in magical Britain aside from the DoM and the Hogwarts faculty. So we should all work on befriending them. Even if they stay autonomous, being able to nudge them in a useful direction is better than nothing.”

    “Alright, you’ve convinced me. But Luna? I don’t want to… use her.” Harry said. Daphne sighed.

    “Harry, am I using you?” she asked.

    “Well, I mean, we’re friends, but we’re also very Slytherin, so it’s more like we’ve mutually agreed to use each other.” Harry said.

    Hermione stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. “Harry, you’re backsliding. Benefitting from a friendship does not mean it’s an inherently transactional relationship, remember?”

    “Yeah, right, sorry ‘Mione.” Harry said sheepishly as Hermione sat next to him on the table and laid her head on his shoulder. They had all been much freer with touching each other since the Marauder Incident, as they had termed it. Nobody really commented on it, but certainly nobody objected. “I still don’t know if we should try and ‘recruit’ Luna though.”

    “It’ll be good for everyone. She’ll be protected by her association with us, and we’ll have an in with The Quibbler. And honestly, I get the feeling that girl doesn’t really have many friends.” Daphne said.

    “Fine. But we have to actually be friends with her. If any of you hurt her I’ll curse you within an inch of your life.” Harry warned.

    “It’s cute how protective of her you are.” Hermione said, causing him to blush.

    “Yes, yes, Harry’s very attractive, now back to scheming.” Daphne said. “If Harry and I are going to supplant Malfoy, it’ll be ideal to get some more support within Slytherin. I’m familiar with Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, and Blaise Zabini, so I’ll try to work on them. You can as well Harry, but be careful. Tracey in particular is much smarter than she lets on. Outside of our houses, there’s a few people I think we could befriend. Padma Patil seems isolated in Ravenclaw, and I think Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott could be our in for the badgers.”

    “Wait, Susan Bones? Is she related to that portrait that helped us track down Lupin? Avarice Bones, I think?” Harry said.

    “Yup.” Neville confirmed.

    “What kind of a name is ‘Avarice’ anyway?” Hermione asked.

    “Oh, some of the old pureblood houses had weird naming traditions, like how the Blacks usually name their kids by cracking open an Astronomy textbook to a random page and using the first proper noun they see.” Daphne explained. “The Bones family used to name their kids after character flaws, supposedly to ward them off. There’s actually a number of instances of it working. As Minister, Avarice Bones pushed for a massive increase in the funding of St. Mungos, and during the Third Siege of Hogwarts, Gormless Bones led a group of defenders in a suicide attack against the Dutch positions to keep them distracted so that the professors could evacuate the students. But they stopped after the Licentious Incident.” Daphne said with a shudder.

    “The Licentious Incident?” Hermione asked, sitting up.

    “Nobody’s entirely sure what happened.” Neville said. “Apparently it was so scandalous that the Ministry censored nearly all the details of it. Not just in the records; they put a Taboo on certain details of the incident. All that can be safely said is that it involved Auror Licentious Bones, his sister Lascivious Bones, a penguin mask, obscene amounts of guacamole, and seventeen Romanian prostitutes, and resulted in the termination of Licentious’s employment and his exile from the British Isles. Any further details have been lost to time, and people don’t speculate out loud in case they stumble upon the truth and it lands them in Azkaban.”

    “A penguin mask? Guacamole? What were they doing, trying to-”

    Neville clamped a hand over Hermione’s mouth. “Hermione. Taboo. If you speak it, they will know. You might end up in Azkaban one day, but it will be for something much more impressive than speculating on the details of a hundred-year-old scandal.” 

    “You’d think she’d have learned from asking about Hawthorn, but no… had to give me nightmares, didn’t she?” Harry muttered.

    “Daphne, Neville, please don’t take this the wrong way, but purebloods as a whole seem kind of messed up.” Hermione said with a frown.

    “We know.” they said in unison. “Although, in our defense, at least the Redford Incident was with a halfblood.” added Daphne.

    “What was the-”

    “We are not talking about any more disturbing magical sex scandals!” Harry declared before Hermione could launch them down another disturbing rabbit hole. “Daphne, you were saying something about Bones, Abbott, and the Ravenclaw Patil?”

    “Right, yes. Most of the Ravenclaw girls our year are from more conservative families, except for MacDougal who mostly hangs out with the ‘Puffs. And the conservative purebloods aren’t nearly as aggressive towards foreigners as they are towards muggleborns or people with creature blood, but they’re not exactly welcoming either. And from what I understand, Parvati seems to think her sister unlikable and ugly, despite them being identical, so she avoids her, at least at school. So Padma should be willing to make friends with us, especially you Hermione. You are kind of the Ravenclaw-est Gryffindor in the world.”

    “I would hex you into next week if I didn’t know you meant that as a compliment.” Hermione said with a frown.

    “Honestly, I think we all have positive traits from all the houses to some degree.” Neville said. “I mean, we were all brave enough to follow Snape to the Shrieking Shack. We’re all super loyal to each other, and work our butts off in private lessons. We’re cunning enough to band together and pool our resources. And we’re all ahead of our classmates academically, although obviously Hermione in particular.” he continued, shooting his fellow Gryffindor a smile that made Harry feel weird things in his heart and made Hermione’s face turn red. 

    “You’re too sweet, Nev. Anyways, Abbott and Bones aren’t super close with the rest of their house. It might just be their choice, but if not, we could capitalize on it. Both of their families have a lot of pull on the Wizengamot, and Susan’s aunt is the head of the DMLE.” Daphne said.

    “Yeah okay, even the dumb Gryffindor over here can see how that’s a good person to know.” Neville chuckled.

    Daphne rolled her eyes. “Don’t call yourself dumb, Neville. I’m a Slytherin and a Greengrass; I don’t work with dumb people, much less find them attractive.” she said with a wink. “So, to recap. Harry and the Gryffindors will work on the Weasleys. Harry brings in Lovegood. I get the non-aligned Slytherins. Hermione gets Padma. Neville and I get the ‘Puffs.”

    “Why are we working on the ‘Puffs?” asked Neville.

    “Because I had playdates with them when I was younger and Abbott thinks you’re fit. Duh.” Daphne said.

    “What? She does?” Neville asked, blushing.

    “Yeah Neville, even I knew that. She’s not subtle about how she stares at you during Herbology. Like, at all.” Hermione said.

    “Did everyone know about this except for me?” Neville asked.

    “Don’t worry Nev, I didn’t know either. Granted, we haven’t had any classes with the three of us together since flying lessons first year so I never really had an opportunity to notice, but it’s not like it was common knowledge. I think.” Harry said.

    “Actually, it kind of was, Harry just doesn’t keep up with gossip.” Daphne said.

    “Why would I? I know if there’s anything I need to know you’ll tell me.” Harry said, pulling Daphne into a side hug.

    “I only act as your social manager because you act as my bodyguard.” Daphne said with a smirk as she lightly flicked Harry on the nose. “Anyways, you all know what to do. Chimera Club, move out!”

    “That sounded stupid.” Harry said, deadpan.

    “Oh shut up! It did not!” 

—

    Knock. Knock.

Ginny Weasley stared long and hard at the door to Professor McGonagall’s office. “Maybe she’s not here.” said Ginny’s best friend, Demelza Robins, turning towards the redhead. “Maybe she’s taking a catnap.” she chuckled as the door opened.

    “I’m wide awake, Ms. Robins.” Ginny was torn between being terrified of her head of house, who did not seem to appreciate the cat joke, and laughing at the scared squeak that Demelza made. “What can I help you two with?”

    “We had some questions about scheduling for our electives, if you have a few minutes.” Ginny said, deciding it was best to take the lead in the conversation and divert as much attention from Demelza as possible until McGonagall forgot about the unfortunately timed pun.

    “Very well then.” McGonagall said, ushering the two girls into her office. “Just make it quick, I’m kind of in the middle of-” from an adjacent room there was the sound of something heavy falling and something breaking, and then what Ginny swore was the trumpeting of an elephant. “...something.” McGonagall finished, a put-upon expression coming across her face.

    Then the door to the room all the noise had come from burst open, and Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise as Harry Potter came running out. “Professor! I’ve got some good news, and some bad news! Oh, hi Ginny, and, I wanna say Robins?”

    Ginny held back a fit of giggles as Demelza blushed furiously and nodded. Her roommate had a crush on Harry Potter, though Ginny couldn’t fathom why. Sure, he could pull off the brooding antihero look well with the scar and all, but he had been rather awkward and unfriendly the few times Ginny had met him after the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Demelza, however, seemed to think that simply meant Ginny wasn’t “the right witch to melt his frozen heart” and that he was “waiting for someone to see past his scar and truly listen to him and understand him.” 

    “Harry, is there an elephant in there?” Ginny asked.

    “No.” Harry said defensively as there was another loud elephant noise.

    “Then why does it sound like an elephant is in there?”

    “No reason!” Harry said.

    “Mr. Potter, you do know that your project is a matter of public record, yes? There’s no reason to-” McGonagall snorted “-ignore the elephant in the room. How about you keep these young ladies company while I go sort out Mr. Longbottom?”

    “Bloody hypocrite.” Ginny muttered as McGonagall left. 

    “H- hi Harry, I’m Demelza, Demelza Robins!” Ginny had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Maybe actually meeting him would end her silly crush.

    “A pleasure to meet you Demelza. It appears my reputation precedes me, but I’m Harry Potter, heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.” he said, and Ginny’s jaw dropped.

    “Where the hell was this guy after you saved me? Last year you were all ‘uh, hi, I’m Harry, durr de durp.’” Ginny exclaimed.

    “Ginny!” Demelza hissed.

    “No, no, she’s right. I was still kind of focused on being worried about Hermione and Snape to be honest, and I’ve never really been that good at, well, social interaction.” Harry said sheepishly as there was another crash from the room he’d emerged from.

    “It’s the boobs, isn’t it? You’re only being polite now that I’ve started getting boobs.” Ginny deadpanned.

    “What? No! That isn’t- I didn’t even- I swear I didn’t-” Ginny couldn’t help herself and finally burst out laughing as Demelza glared at her and there was another elephant trumpet. 

    “Merlin, Harry, you helped face down-” Ginny hesitated as Harry shot her a warning look, having regained his composure. “-the Heir of Slytherin, but you lose it when someone mentions boobs.”

    “It wasn’t the boobs! I was just taken aback that you would make such a slanderous accusation against my character!” Harry said with exaggerated anger.

    “Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself, Harry. So anyway, what’s with the elephant in the other room?” 

    “There is no elephant in that room.” Harry said as the elephant trumpeted again. “And if there was an elephant, it certainly wouldn’t be my elephant, and therefore not really my place to tell you about this hypothetical elephant.”

    There was another loud crash and the three of them flinched. “Harry, your hypothetical elephant just knocked down the door.” Ginny said, leveling him with an unimpressed look.

    “Well I’m facing away from that door and didn’t see any elephants. Is your question for McGonagall something I could answer?” Harry said, trying not to assume the worst when he heard the Transfiguration Professor shout something that he was pretty sure were Scottish swear words.

    “Maybe? We were both hoping to take Care, but it might conflict with quidditch practice- I’m seeker and she’s reserve chaser.” Ginny explained. “Do you think she’ll be able to get us into the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class instead?”

    “Quidditch…” Harry said amusedly. “Have you talked to your captain about changing times or skipping practices those days or something?”

    Ginny and Demelza exchanged a look. “Harry… you do know who the Gryffindor team captain is, right?”

    “It’s some guy named Wood, right? Where are you going with this?” Harry said.

    “Wood is… inflexible.” Demelza said. “His solution would be for us to drop Care.”

    “Well, then I guess you can do that, try and get McGonagall to make you guys honorary ‘Puffs, or take a different elective. I’d recommend Runes or Arithmancy.” Harry said. There was a thud from the other room. “Oh dear. Listen, I should probably go check on that, maybe you guys think on what I said and come back tomorrow, yeah? Feel free to come find me later if you wanna chat more!” Harry said before going back into the elephant room.

    “Huh.” said Demelza. “He’s… not what I expected.”

    “I told you so. Should we go or stay here and watch the show?”

    “We’re Gryffindors, Gin, of course we’re staying to watch the elephant!”

—

    “Mr. Potter, please stay behind.” Snape smiled as Potter winced slightly. The rest of his first Potions class since his injury shuffled out the door, with a few people shooting sympathetic looks at Potter. “Mr. Potter, I believe we need to discuss your propensity for running headfirst into danger and ignoring orders meant to keep you safe.”

    He saw Potter take a deep breath. “With all due respect sir, I will apologize for worrying you but I can’t apologize for coming with. You were going to face a werewolf without backup, and as it turned out, that would have been a lethal mistake. Not to put too fine a point on it sir, but I saved you, and that’s not something I’ll ever feel bad about.”

    Severus sighed. “It worked out this time, Potter, and while I’m certainly thankful that you saved me from the werewolf, the fact remains that coming with me was not the smartest decision. You should have gone back to the dorms as I told you to.”

    “Perhaps this is my Gryffindor ancestry showing through Professor, but I don’t think the safest decision is always the smartest decision. We took a calculated risk in coming with you, and while the results weren’t perfect, I’d bet galleons to griffin turds that things would have turned out worse overall if we hadn’t gone with you.”

    “I don’t think you understand Potter, that I am a teacher and you are my student. I have an obligation to keep you safe, even at the cost of my own life.” Snape growled.

    “I understand that sir, but me and the others aren’t regular students. We’ve got enough skills that we can return the favor from time to time. Think of it this way sir, by taking calculated risks to protect you in the short term, we ensure that you’re still alive to protect us in the long term.”

    “But you shouldn’t have to! I am useful, but not irreplaceable. Dumbledore can find another potions master if I die, but he can’t find another Boy-Who-Lived!” Snape said just a few decibels short of shouting.

    “You might be expendable to him, but not to me, sir. You’re probably the only adult I know who I both like and trust, so if Dumbledore is saying that you’re replaceable and I’m not, then you can tell him I say we’re a package deal.” Harry said quietly.

    Snape blinked, having expected a much more aggressive response. “...we’re getting off topic. Will you please promise me you won’t risk your life for me again?”

    “No. I will, however, promise not to risk my life for you unnecessarily.” 

    Snape sighed again. “I suppose that’s about as much as I could have hoped for. Go on then brat, do you need a pass for your next class?”

—

    “Hey Luna, how’s it going?”

    “Hello Harry, it’s going alright. The Yarm-Wimbles are agitated, though.” Luna replied breezily.

    “Is that a bad thing, then?” Harry asked uncertainly.

    “Maybe. It could mean there have been shifts in time. Or it could be them reacting to the increased vampire presence here.”

    “Vampires? In Hogwarts? Why?”

    “Don’t you know about the Rotfang Conspiracy? Vampires have deeply infiltrated the Ministry, and there have been all sorts of Ministry people buzzing around because of everything with Black and Lupin, so it stands to reason that some of them have been vampires.”

    “Well then. Reckon I ought to read up on vampires then.” Harry said conversationally.

    “It’s always good to know more about other magical races.” Luna agreed. “But you should read up on time magic too, just in case.”

    “I didn’t realize that time magic was a thing.” Harry said.

    “Oh yes. The Department of Mysteries has a whole section dedicated to it. Daddy thinks that’s where they keep Kronos’s skeleton.”

    “Kronos as in Greek mythology? Father of Zeus and Poseidon and Hades?” Harry asked. 

    “Perhaps.” Luna said dreamily. “I think if the Department of Mysteries had Kronos’s skeleton, it would be kept by the Unspeakables who study unique magical entities.”

    “Isn’t everyone a unique magical entity?” Harry asked.

    “Yes, and it’s important to remember that. Everyone is unique. But some things are more unique than others. There’s only one Harry Potter, but there’s plenty of thirteen year old boys, magical or otherwise. But there’s only one Kronos, and there’s nothing else quite like him.”

    “Have you ever read Animal Farm?” Harry asked amusedly.

    “Daddy read it to me as a bedtime story. I thought it was rather silly, since pigs can’t talk or build windmills, but it was still entertaining.”

    “Did you know it was an allegory?”

    “No, really? What for?” Luna asked excitedly.

    “A bit of muggle history. Hermione would probably explain it better than I could. I was actually on the way to study with her in the library, if you’d like to come with?”

    “Oh, that would be lovely! I have been meaning to ask her about some muggle things I’m curious about. See, I’ve been very curious about the magical properties of certain materials that are hard to come by in the magical world, and I was hoping Hermione could help me find a way to get them by muggle means.”

    “She might be able to. What materials?”

    “There have been some very interesting speculations on the alchemical properties of Thorium and Uranium that I’d like to investigate.” Luna said, causing Harry to begin coughing very suddenly.

    “I’m, ah, not sure Hermione will be able to get her hands on those.” Harry wheezed. “She’ll definitely be interested though.” 

    “Yay!” Luna said, and began skipping towards the library. Harry shook his head as he followed her. With Hermione the magical polymath, the Weasley twins being gifted inventors, and Luna apparently keeping up with theoretical alchemy, their little Chimera Club really was shaping up to accidentally be at the forefront of magical research and innovation.

—

    “Ugh! I don’t get what I’m missing!” Hermione huffed as she watched the one-eyed crocodile attempt to balance itself on the elephant’s back in McGonagall’s practice room (now magically expanded after the incident with Neville’s first transformation).

    The crocodile turned back into Harry, now awkwardly laying on his stomach atop the elephant. “Well for me I didn’t understand what my form really meant. Neville just was having trouble understanding how the elephant’s body worked all together.”

    Harry yelped as the animal underneath him was suddenly Neville on his hands and knees. “Arresto Momentum!” Hermione shouted, slowing Harry’s fall before he could land on his friend and break his back. “You two need to work on being in the position you want to when you change back.” she admonished.

    “Hey, I was just gonna offer my advice, but okay, I’ll work on my transformation then.” Neville said with a smirk.

    “No, wait, what is it?” Hermione asked as Neville changed back into an elephant. Apparently elephants could look smug, she noted.

    “My guess, Ms. Granger, would be that he was going to suggest you consider alternate interpretations of the symbolism of your form. You as well, Ms. Greengrass.” Professor McGonagall said. “Neville’s problem was the technical aspect of having a large and complex form, but I suspect you share Harry’s issue of having a mental block of some sort. I suspect that you both have adequate understanding of the physical aspect of your forms, considering how smart you girls are. Keep up your physical understanding, but consider the more… mystical side, as well. Spiders and owls are both laden with symbolism and meaning in many, many cultures.”

    “Screw it, better than reciting the effects of my venom again.” Daphne said. “I’ve studied the damn spider biology so much I don’t even have a reaction to the word ‘priapism’ anymore. So, back to spider symbolism. Joy.”

—

    Blaise Zabini looked up as Daphne sat down at the table where he, Millicent, and Tracey were studying. “Can I help you?” Millicent asked suspiciously.

    “Maybe you can. What do you guys think about Malfoy as year leader?” Daphne said.

    Blaise immediately sat up. “Are you going to make your move at the beginning of next year?” he asked. Daphne glanced back and forth between the wide grin on Blaise’s face and the scowl on Tracey’s.

    “If I have you guys behind me.” Daphne said, deciding to cut to the chase.

    “Hah! Told you so! Pay up, Trace!” Blaise crowed before being shushed by Madame Pince.

    “Yeah, yeah.” Tracey said, handing Blaise a few galleons. “I’ll support you, but I want exclusive access to the gossip from within the little circle you’ve built with Potter and the Gryffindors. The bet on when you try to usurp Malfoy is nothing compared to what we’ve bet on which ones of you guys hooks up with who when.”

    “Fine.” Daphne said, although everyone knew she would be exercising a certain amount of editorial control over what was released into the Hogwarts gossip mill via Tracey. “Blaise?”

    “Hmm…” he mused. “I’ll support you for a date between you or Potter and someone of my choosing, including but not limited to myself, at a time and place of my choosing in the future.” Blaise said.

    Mentally, Daphne swore. That was a powerful favor, especially in the hands of someone like Zabini. “Fine. But a date does not obligate anyone to kissing or any other form of physical intimacy.” Daphne said.

    “Of course not. Millicent?” Blaise said. This was fun!

    Millicent shrugged and turned the page of the book she was reading. “Get Pansy to stop using my shampoo.” Daphne blinked surprisedly and Blaise didn’t bother to hide his chuckle. “What? Not every Slytherin’s ambitions are political.”

    “Fair enough then.” Daphne said. “A pleasure doing business with you all.”

—

    It started, as most things do for the Weasley twins, with a prank. In this case, the prank was leaving some of their prototype Canary Creams in reused Honeyduke’s wrappers. Sanitized, of course, there was nothing funny about getting people to eat each other’s spit. Well okay, maybe if it was Flint, but that wasn’t the point. The point was testing, and Neville Longbottom was the perfect guinea pig. Careless enough to eat an unknown sweet laying around the common room, relaxed enough to take it in stride, and old enough that he really should know better by now so really they were just teaching him a valuable lesson about taking candy from strangers. 

    As planned, Neville sat down in his usual spot off to one side. The creams were placed close enough that he would notice, but not so close that it would be suspicious. He had a short conversation with Granger- that was a close call, she was pretty much the opposite of a perfect test subject- and sure enough, Longbottom paused his practice of wand motions and ate one of the creams.

    And nothing happened. George went to go double-check their secluded brewing room to make sure it hadn’t just been a dud batch while Fred continued to observe. Nothing! Longbottom just practiced for maybe ten more minutes, and then-

    And then he started walking directly towards Fred. “Maybe it’s just me, but that one seemed a little too sweet, you know? Overwhelmed the palette, as the Slytherins would say. Or at least as Malfoy would say, most of them have better things to do than rub their money in peoples’ faces. Speaking of Slytherins though, I know a couple who are interested in meeting with you and your brother. They offer funding, testing, and their services in occasionally doing pranks on your behalf in the Slytherin dorms in exchange for you guys looking into some side projects for them. Talk it over with your brother and let me know if you’re interested.” Neville said before walking off towards the boys’ dorms.

    “The hell?” whispered Fred.

—

    “I felt so stupid saying that.” Neville groaned the next day. “I’m not you, Harry, I can’t pull off cool and mysterious!”

    “No, you just didn’t think you could. Trust me, it worked, or at least worked well enough. You got their attention, that’s the important thing. They wouldn’t have agreed to meet with us if they thought you were just bluffing.” Harry reassured him.

    “They probably just want to know why their prank treat didn’t work.” Neville said dejectedly.

    “Relax Nev, even if that’s it they’ll still be impressed at a third year being able to silently vanish something in his mouth.” Daphne said. “Now get ready, I hear them coming.”

    Fred and George walked into the abandoned classroom that they had chosen as their meeting point. Harry had cleared it so that it had only one big table in the middle, with four chairs on one side and two on the other. Given that Neville, Harry, Daphne, and Hermione were already sitting on one side, the twins sat down opposite them.

    “Well, you were right Freddiekins, it was the obvious option.” said one twin.

    “I thought I was George today? And I keep telling you Fred, it’s not always a grand conspiracy!” said the other.

    “If you’re George, then why am I wearing his underwear?” the first twin challenged.

    “Alright, enough of that.” Hermione said, flicking her wand once at the first twin, whose hair turned blue. “Blue, Red, we’re interested in a potential partnership with you two, but not if you can’t take this seriously.”

    “Right, serious face on.” Blue said.

    “Excellent,” said Harry. “We’d like to start by asking, why do you prank people?”

    Red and Blue exchanged a look. “Well, I can’t speak for my brother, but I like to think that our merry antics generally make people happy. Not a one hundred percent success rate, I’ll admit, but we try to produce a net positive of happiness.” Blue said.

    “There’s also revenge!” Red added cheerily. “Derrick Marsh had to go to St. Mungos to get sorted out after he groped Alicia. We’re pranksters first and foremost, but have been known to dip our toes into vigilantism when a friend asks.”

    “Interesting, interesting. I hadn’t realized there was a reason you went so hard on Marsh.” Harry said. “Seemingly unrelated question, do you know why Dumbledore and You-Know-Who rarely actually fought in the last war?”

    “Um, no, not really.” Red said. “I’m guessing now you’re going to tell us why and also how that’s relevant?”

    “Quite.” Harry agreed smugly. “Dumbledore and You-Know-Who severely outclassed everyone else. But when they fought, it was always inconclusive. Lots of collateral damage and some light wounds but no clear victor. And since whenever one showed up to battle, the other would obviously follow, neither came out unless they wanted to force a draw. When one of them got involved, it everyone else had to just try to survive. But this, of course, changed when the Death Eaters lost their deterrent. Suddenly, there was no reason to hold Dumbledore in reserve, so the Death Eaters stopped trying to reach their goals violently. The fanatics like Dolohov and the Lestranges went to Azkaban, but most Death Eaters struck deals to stay free and active in politics.”

    Harry paused dramatically. “The violence has stopped for now. But we believe that Halloween of ‘81 was a cease-fire, not a surrender. The Death Eaters had been winning until You-Know-Who died. But one day, there will be someone else who can challenge Dumbledore, or he’ll simply die of old age, and then it’s back on. The four of us have made a group, the Chimera Club, whose goal is to be proactive during the peacetime so that we’re not caught with our pants down when the war starts back up, and we want your help. One of our goals is to push magic to its limits and take it in new, innovative directions, and that’s where we want your help. You two might not apply yourselves in class, but you’re clearly brilliant and creative. So here’s our proposal: we’ll fund your pranks and research a modest amount, help test them as needed, and occasionally even help out with them. In return, you two just have to be willing to share your notes and findings with us, keep in mind how some of your prank products might be weaponized or otherwise made useful against Death Eaters, and perhaps consult other researchers when requested.”

    Red and Blue exchanged a look. “Might we have a minute to discuss this amongst ourselves?” Blue asked. Harry nodded, and the twins hurried into the hallway.

—

    “What are you thinking?” Blue, AKA George, asked his brother once the door was shut.

    “I think this is a great idea, assuming they’re being level with us!” Red, AKA Fred said excitedly. 

    “I dunno. I know you’ve always wanted to make more of a difference or whatever, but I’m happy with what we’ve got going on right now. Honestly, to me they sound like a bunch of silly third years who are at best just messing around and creating an elaborate fantasy or at worst trying to make some sort of militia. Either way, it’s not something we want to get caught up in.” George said.

    Fred thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I agree. Normally, yes, third years preparing to fight Death Eaters would be ludicrous. But look at who we’re dealing with. Hermione Granger is probably the smartest student in the school. Harry Potter helped save Ginny. And Daphne Greengrass has a stick so far up her arse that you can see it in the back of her throat. They’re not playing around, and with Potter and Granger, they could actually do something. Maybe not now, but in a few years? Absolutely.”

    “The fact that they could be serious is what scares me, Fred! The war is over, and I don’t want them trying to restart it with something we make.” George said harshly.

    “Look, George, think about what they’re asking of us right now. We get testing, money, and assistance and all we have to do is keep them in the loop with what we’re working on. We can always back out if they start talking about killing people, but for now, we’re getting a good deal! You can experiment with those rarer potions ingredients! I know you’ve been wanting to modify the Shrinking Solution.”

    “Fine.” George said. “But if they start going too far, we’re out of there, okay? And I’m the one who makes that call.”

    “Fine, fine. But we ought to help them find a proper club room if they’re going to be experimenting.”

    “I still can’t believe we lost the map.” George grumbled. “But yeah, there’s plenty of hidden rooms we could show them.”

—

    Padma Patil didn’t look up as Granger sat down across from her in the library. “Patil? Are you busy right now?”

    Padma looked up surprisedly. “You do know I’m not Parvati, right?” she asked reflexively.

    “Of course. You’re wearing Ravenclaw robes.” Hermione said surprisedly. “Do people make that mistake a lot?”

    “Way too much.” Padma grumbled. “So what do you want with the loser Patil?”

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re not snogging a different boy every week doesn’t mean you’re a loser, Padma. Honestly, I think your sister is kind of pathetic, no offense. She just craves validation and attention. You, on the other hand, are fine with flying under the radar and from what I’ve seen, you’re very smart.”

    “Radar? What’s- no, nevermind. Look, consider me sufficiently flattered, Granger, and tell me what you want. Or is it what Potter and Greengrass want?”

    “It’s about what all of us want. And what we want is to be friends with you. Speaking of, please, call me Hermione.”

    Padma narrowed her eyes. “Okay then, Hermione, why do you all want to be friends with me?”

    Hermione sighed. “You want the strategic analysis, then? You’re smart, not a bigot, and in Ravenclaw. We’ve got long term plans that we think you might be both helpful with and interested in. On a personal level, based on what I know about you I feel like we might have been great friends if I was in Ravenclaw and I’d like to give that a shot. And I think Harry might have some questions about his heritage he wants to ask.”

    Padma raised an eyebrow. “You do know that Potters are super British, right? Founded by an Indian, but would be super pasty by now if it wasn’t for their family magic.”

    “I didn’t know that! What’s their family magic got to do with it?” Hermione asked.

    “Oh. I assumed that was just some Slytherin pity play. I suppose Potter wouldn’t know about his family history, what with… well, you know. Anyways, some of the older families have identifying traits that their family magic keeps prominent in their families. Red hair and freckles for Weasleys, tall and blonde for the Malfoys, gray eyes for the Blacks, so on and so forth. For the Potters it’s the messy black hair and their South Asian complexion.” Padma said. 

    “That’s fascinating! I wonder if it changes their genetics or overrides them completely! Do the family physical traits have any other effects?” Hermione gushed, and Padma smiled.

    “It’s said to be an indication of whether other family magics will accept you. For example, Draco Malfoy is widely assumed to be taking up the title of Lord Black when he comes of age, since his mother was a Black and he has gray eyes.”

    “What about Sirius Black?” Hermione asked. Padma shrugged. 

“Well, he’s a wanted criminal, so he certainly can’t vote in the Wizengamot. Usually if a Lord is in Azkaban the family magic will allow another eligible family member to take the title from them, but there have been exceptions.” 

    “What kind of exceptions?” Hermione asked. Padma narrowed her eyes. 

    “You seem awfully interested in the Black lordship.” Padma commented. “Not trying to become Mrs. Malfoy, are you?”

    “Ew! Merlin, no!” Hermione exclaimed before being shushed by Madame Pince. “Tell you what, come with me and I’ll explain why we care so much. We’ve got a secret room and everything!”

    “Alright, I’m curious.” Padma said, packing up her things and following Hermione out of the library. Hermione led her down a few disused hallways and stopped in front of a portrait of a large, black dragon sleeping on a hoard of gold. It opened its eyes as they approached, and Padma felt a little wary despite knowing it was only a painting, albeit a magical one.

    Hermione pointed her wand at the painting. “Incendio!”

    “What the hell?” Padma shrieked as a jet of fire shot from Hermione’s wand to the painting. The canvas burned away in only a few seconds, and while the fire spread to the portrait’s wooden frame, the frame didn’t burn.

    “Come on, it repairs itself.” Hermione said, carefully stepping through the burning portrait frame, which Padma realized was blocking the doorway of a room. Padma hesitantly followed, and turned to see the portrait seemingly burn in reverse once she was through.

    “Hey Hermione, Ms. Patil.”

    Padma turned to see Potter was sitting in an armchair near the fireplace at the opposite end of the room, reading from an ancient-looking tome. The room itself was circular and large, filled with a hodgepodge of second hand furniture. A cauldron was bubbling away against the wall, and there were a number of work tables covered in parchment, books, tools, ingredients, and various other odds and ends. “What is this place?” Padma asked.

    “This is the Chimera’s Den!” Hermione said proudly.

    “Actually, it’s officially called the Dragon’s Lair, ‘cause of the portrait and all.” Harry said with a smirk.

    “Yes, but we’re the Chimera Club and this is our base so we call it the Chimera’s Den.” Hermione huffed. 

    “It looks rather disorganized.” Padma said disapprovingly.

    “Yes, well, our research team generally cares more about learning and experimenting than filing and sorting.” Hermione huffed. (“Sorry!” Harry sheepishly added from his chair.)

    “Research team?” Padma asked curiously.

    “Yes, the Chimera Club has a lot of members who like to experiment and tinker, myself included.” Hermione said. “We also use a couple other rooms for things that might be messy or hazardous. Or for things the twins want to surprise us with.”

    “You mean the Weasley twins? Or the Carrows?” Padma asked surprisedly.

    “Weasley.” Harry answered. “Although recruiting Astoria and the Carrows isn’t a bad idea.”

    “So your little club isn’t just you two and Greengrass and Longbottom?” Padma asked.

    “Yes, we’ve also the Weasley twins, Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, and occasionally Ginny Weasley.” Hermione said proudly.

    “We got Bones and Abbott?” Harry asked sharply, looking up.

    “Yeah, Neville brought them in last night while you were down at the lake.” Hermione said. “He said Hannah was mostly just interested in him but Susan was very interested in the political side of things.”

    “What political side of things?” Padma asked.

    “Well, let’s just say that the end of the last war didn’t mean that there was a conclusive resolution to the issues it was fought over.” Harry said. “The Chimera Club believes that it is possible, if not likely, that there will be a resurgence of the Death Eaters or a similar movement at some point, and we’re taking measures to prepare.”

    “Potter, we’re teenagers. Not even late teenagers, I’m only fourteen.” Padma said. 

    “Yes, it would have been ideal to begin preparing younger, but fourteen still gives you plenty of time to learn.” Harry said amusedly.

    “You’re intentionally misunderstanding me. We’re children; if the Death Eaters come back we have no business fighting them.”

    “Correction: if the Death Eaters come back we SHOULD have no business fighting them. But I don’t like relying on other people, and definitely not a corrupt organization like the Ministry.” Harry said.

    “But what about Dumbledore?”

    “Dumbledore is powerful but he’s old and won’t be around forever. Honestly, our most likely scenario for a Death Eater resurgence is them being emboldened by him dying. That could be in a few decades or a few years. Hell, he could fall down a flight of stairs today and there’d be nothing we could do about it. You don’t have to learn how to fight if you don’t want to, but we would like to have you on board.” Harry said earnestly.

    “Also, it’s not all magical experiments and preparing for war. There’s lots of teasing Harry and Neville, too.” Hermione added with a smirk.

    “Alright, you know what? I’m in.” Padma grinned.

—

    “Ah, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see. Would you mind joining me in my office for a moment?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded, and followed the Headmaster over. “Lemon drop?” he asked, and Harry politely declined as usual. “Very well then. It is time for our yearly discussion on your summer lodgings, but there’s a few other things I’d like to talk about first. I understand you’ve been expanding your social circle a bit, yes?”

    “Yes sir. I’m still closest with Hermione and Daphne and Neville, but making new friends is nice too.” Harry said guardedly.

    “It does my old heart good to hear you say that, my boy. Particularly when I remember your attitude at the beginning of your Hogwarts career. I hear you’ve even started a club?”

    “Of sorts. I didn’t think it needed to be formalized, but the others were quite insistent.” Harry admitted.

    “I’ve heard good things about what your club is accomplishing. Professor Flitwick said Ms. Granger and Ms. Greengrass were able to conjure corporal patronuses for extra credit on their Charms finals, and of course Minerva told me about you and Mr. Longbottom’s successes with animagery. Congratulations on that, by the way, that’s one piece of magic I never got the hang of. And all of the members have done exceptionally on their exams, save the Weasley twins, who I believe did poorly as a prank rather than due to a lack of ability.”

    “You’re not worried about the… club, sir?” Harry asked. He’d had some reservations about it himself. Harry knew there were a lot of similarities between himself and Tom Riddle, and starting a club in school was just adding to it.

    “You know, I used to run a club myself, back during the war.” Dumbledore said with a wink. “But if I may be rather more blunt than you may be used to in Slytherin, I approve, Harry, even if you have been pointing out my limited longevity as part of your recruitment pitch. I think, if you play your cards right, the Chimera Club may be much more influential than the Order of the Phoenix. In retrospect, the Order always suffered from a lack of direction, and I admit I am largely to blame for that. Education has always been my first passion, and I fear I was never as good of a general or a politician  or even a headmaster as I was a teacher. I don’t believe that’s a problem you will have, however, particularly if you continue to stick with the friends you have.”

    “I’m glad to hear it, sir. Is that all before we discuss the summer then?”

    “It should be for now my boy. Now, we’re both going to have busy summers. I have to make final arrangements for the event I mentioned, in addition to helping with the ritual to cleanse your horcrux and following up on the leads we got from Tom’s diary. You are going to have the ritual, of course, and after that you’ll have quite a lot of catching up to do with your godfather.” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes.

    “My- I’m going to Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked dubiously.

    “That was my plan. Is it not to your liking?” Dumbledore asked with a frown.

    “No, it’s fine, it just… might have some logistical issues, if I want to see my friends over the summer.” Harry said.

    “Ah, not to worry. Augusta Longbottom is in the know about Sirius, and will graciously allow you to use Longbottom Manor as a stopover when you need to floo to Grimmauld Place. You’ll be going with her and Neville when you get off the Hogwarts Express, then.”

    “Alright sir, is that all?” Harry asked.

    “I believe so, my boy. I’ll see you in a few days for the solstice. I’ll pick you up from Grimmauld Place at 9, if that’s amenable to you? The ritual needs to culminate at noon, and you’ll need to be present for some of the preparations, but we should have plenty of time.”

*AN: If you’re wondering why Hermione is so adamantly against the redshirts, Blackshirts, and Brownshirts, the redshirts are the nameless crewmembers who frequently die in Star Trek. The Blackshirts were the Italian fascist paramilitary organization that put Mussolini in power, and the Brownshirts were the German version of that.

Chapter Text

    Albus Dumbledore appeared in the foyer of Grimmauld Place on the summer solstice at exactly 9 AM, and was pleased to see Harry and Remus both waiting there for him. “Good morning Harry, Remus. Thank you for your punctuality. How are you doing this fine day?”

    “Fine.” Remus waved away.

    “Alright, excited but nervous.” Harry admitted.

    “Entirely understandable.” Albus said. “Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to ease your nerves.”

    “Maybe if you could explain what exactly the ritual entails? Like, is it just gonna be a lot of chanting or is this a ‘throwing a virgin into a volcano’ situation?” 

    “I assure you that this ritual involves no volcanos, and your sexual history or lack thereof has no bearing on its outcome.” Albus chuckled. “I can explain more while we prepare, if you wish.” he added, holding out his arm. Harry grabbed on and he apparated them away.

    “Stonehenge?” Harry gasped when he saw where they arrived.

    “Indeed. This site is a crosspoint of many ley lines, and has been imbued with the magic of many generations of ancient druids. It shall serve quite adequately as a power source, and is much more ethical than virgin sacrifices.” Albus said with a smirk on his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes.

    “Alright, but- wait, why’s SHE here?” Harry said as three figures approached them.

    “Good morning to you too, Mr. Potter.” Irena Novikova said with a grin.

    “Irena.” Albus said coldly. “He has every right to be distrustful of you. However, Harry, the ritual requires three powerful witches, and Madame Novikova was already in the know.”

    “I’m sorry, I seem to be missing something here, do they know each other already?” Minerva asked.

    “They do.” Maria said. “She skirted her Healer’s Oaths to leak his medical history to her family.”

    “Professor McGonagall, Madame Vasquez.” Harry greeted cordially, before turning back to Albus. “Couldn’t we use someone else? One of the other Professors, or Regent Longbottom?”

    Irena sighed. “For one thing, we can’t change participants at the eleventh hour. For another, I hope you can understand that I do everything I do for my family, and so I will not betray you, not in this. Voldemort is a madman, and we are lucky that last time his madness was mostly contained to Britain. I do not wish to count on luck next time. Helping you hurts Voldemort, hurting Voldemort helps the world, and my family is very much a part of the world. Also, sabotaging a ritual from within would be monumentally stupid. I do not wish to be remembered as the witch who blew up Stonehenge, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Albus Dumbledore all in one go.”

    “Oh, and what are we, chopped liver?” Minerva huffed. Albus thought that phrase wasn’t very fair, he was sure Severus had many uses for chopped liver.

    “Okay, okay, I get it. So what exactly do I need to do? And also, isn’t this a tourist hot spot? Why isn’t this place crawling with muggles?” Harry asked.

    “I’ve arranged for it to be closed for maintenance, along with some Muggle Repelling Charms and Notice-Me-Nots.” Albus explained. “As for your first question, there’s a magical spring nearby. You’ll need to bathe there, to symbolically and magically cleanse yourself. You’ll put on ritual robes, which are free of any magic or other elements that could interfere with the ritual. Then you’ll go and go to sleep in the middle of the ritual space, in this case Stonehenge itself. At exactly 11 o’clock, these three lovely ladies will begin the ritual, since the entire incantation should take exactly one hour. Meanwhile, you will be having some sort of spiritual trial in your dreams. We’re unsure of what form the trial will take, but you must subdue the fragment of Tom’s soul in you and force it into a body part you are willing to part with- I have brought an array of magical prosthetic toes and fingers for you to try. If all goes as planned, you will simultaneously separate the soul piece from you at the same time the chosen body part magically destroys itself. Any questions?”

    “A few.” Harry said. “What are you going to be doing in all this?”

    “Nothing, hopefully.” Albus chuckled. “As I said, we need three powerful witches, so I’m just here in case something goes wrong.”

    “Why three, why powerful, and why witches?” Harry asked.

    “Well, the long version of those answers would require years of study to understand, but the short version is: three is a powerful magic number, as you should know from your Arithmancy classes. Powerful because rituals are draining, and soul magic especially so. Witches because both you and Voldemort identify as masculine and we need opposites, mystically speaking. I suppose there might be some issues if you or Tom is trans and in the closet, but… well, you aren’t, are you?”

    “I don’t think so, no.” Harry blushed.

    “Splendid! Then we shall proceed! The spring is just down that path, it’s invisible to muggles.”

    “Wait, sir, I was wondering… could we use my bad eye as the part I lose? Unless this will get rid of the scar.” Harry asked.

    Albus hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t see why not. The ritual will do nothing for the scar, I’m afraid, that was a consequence of the Killing Curse itself rather than the horcrux. If you like, I can see about finding you some sort of artificial eye for afterwards, or at least an eyepatch. I probably still have one laying around from my pirate phase…”

    “Pirate phase?” Harry asked doubtfully.

    Minerva sighed. “Back when he first became Headmaster, he thought he needed, and I quote, ‘a thing.’ So he spent the first semester dressing like a muggle pirate. Eyepatch, tricorn hat, the works. Even had a parrot on his shoulder a few times. Whatever did happen to that parrot, by the way?”

    Albus coughed. “Fawkes got jealous. Anyways, I’m going to go ask around about eyes, enjoy your ritual!”

—

    Albus watched as the chanting grew to a crescendo. He checked the muggle watch he had for situations like these; if he ruined the ritual with a Tempus, Maria would kill him, assuming she survived. 47 seconds to noon.

    Harry’s sleeping form began levitating. Yes, that was well within acceptable parameters. 21 seconds. He began shaking and twisting his head. Not expected, but not exactly a problem, either. 13 seconds. His bad eye popped out of its socket with a snap of the optic nerve that made Albus wince, and it hovered over Harry. 7 seconds. There was a humming, rapidly building in intensity. 3 seconds, and the eye started vibrating. And at noon on the dot, the chanting culminated, Harry flopped to the ground, and the eye exploded into nothingness.

    “It’s clear.” Maria called. “But let’s confirm. Albus, would you like to do the honors?”

    Albus nodded and cast the soul-based diagnostic on Harry, and sighed in relief as he got only one result. Granted, it did say he was missing an eye, but there was only one soul. Thank Merlin. 

    Evidently everyone could read the results on his face. “Thank Merlin.” Minerva said as Albus cast some healing spells on Harry and then put an eyepatch over his empty socket. The top and the bottom of the scar could still be seen though. If the boy was a bit older, it would look quite intimidating. “Should we wake him?”

    “No, let the boy rest.” Maria said. “Keep a close eye on him for a few days, though, to make sure there aren’t any dramatic personality changes or the like. Otherwise, my work here is done. See you in September, Albus, Minerva.” 

    Albus blinked, then grinned. “You’re leading the delegation from Montana Escondida then?” 

    “I am. And it’s Montaña! Not like the American state!”

    “Ooh, fun! I suppose I can tell you then that I’m chaperoning the students from Koldovstoretz!” Irena said. 

    “Yes, well, it’s easy for you two to be excited about it. You get to see the good sides of Bartemius and Ludo, the diplomat and the celebrity. I’ve got to deal with Bartemius the control freak and Ludo the himbo.” Albus grumbled. “Speaking of, I’ve got a meeting with Barty soon, he says it’s urgent. Knowing him that could mean his intern got him the wrong kind of tea or unknown horrors have escaped from the Department of Mysteries. Minerva, would you mind taking young Harry back to- his place of residence?”

    “Fine, but then I’m sleeping for a week. This ritual business always leaves me knackered.” Minerva said, taking Harry and disapparating with a pop. Huh. Albus had thought this was the first time she’d participated in a ritual. 

—

    “Albus! The Japanese are backing out!” Barty shouted as soon as Albus stepped out of the floo in his office. Albus groaned.

    “Did they say why? You didn’t call them any of those terms we discussed, did you?” he asked suspiciously.

    “Of course not, I’m a diplomat, I know how to hold my tongue. And no, he just gave some hogwash about the stars and divination! Now how are we going to get a ninth school on such short notice?” Barty growled.

    Albus sighed. This actually was urgent. “Well, let’s see. We could invite the Germans-”

    “That would make the Scandinavians back out and then we’re back at square one!”

    “Calm yourself, Barty. The Iberians?”

    “It’s Bartemius! And their staff and students are still barred from entering the country due to the Ministry Charter, according to the Unspeakables. Bunch of useless assholes.”

    “The Unspeakables or the- no, I’m going to assume you mean the Unspeakables.” Albus said. “The Indians are still out?”

    “Yes, same problem as the Krauts, inviting an Indian school would drive off Ilvermorny.” Barty replied.

    “I meant Indian as in ‘of the Indian subcontinent,’ not Native Americans.” Albus said drolly.

    “Ah. They still won’t reply to any correspondence from the British Ministry, so unless they’ve been more forthcoming in their correspondence with you…”

    “They haven’t.” Albus sighed. “Well this is a bit of a pickle. I suppose we could always accept Ilvermorny ditching and invite two of the unofficial American schools.”

    “No way! MACUSA is fragile enough without us backing their rivals!” Barty said emphatically.

    “Well, then it looks like we’ll have to ask one of the schools that weren’t prestigious enough for you the first time around.” Albus replied, trying not to let his anger show. “The Australians-”

    There was a hesitant knock at Barty’s door. “What is it, Weatherby?” Barty barked.

    The door opened to reveal a rather disheveled looking Percy Weasley with a number of scratches on his face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but-” a falcon shot past him and dropped one scroll on Barty’s desk and another in Albus’s lap before giving a piercing shriek and flying off down the hall. “She was very insistent.” Percy said embarrassedly.

    “Yes, yes, very well, go clean yourself up.” Barty said, waving his assistant away as Albus unrolled the scroll. It was papyrus, rather than regular parchment. Did that mean…

    “Well, I believe a solution to our problem has just presented itself.” Albus said mildly. Barty unrolled his own scroll and read it over, his eyes widening in surprise. The two men glanced at each other’s scrolls, confirming they’re identical.

    “I don’t know, Albus. This feels off. How’d they know we needed a replacement so quickly? I’ve never even heard of the Alexandria School. And according to the ICW, the Librarian is technically a Dark Lord!”

    “Sensei Uesugi might have told him, or maybe the same stars that told the Japanese they shouldn’t come told the Egyptians they should.” Albus said mildly. “I have indeed heard of the Alexandria School. They cater to the old families of Egypt. And in Egypt, that is very old indeed. And everyone knows that the Librarian is only called a Dark Lord because he doesn’t always bow down to the ICW.”

    “Albus! You’re the Supreme Mugwump! You can’t just say that!”

    “Why not? It’s true. I’ll lobby them to have his Dark Lord status revoked if it’s that important to you, but everyone knows that Alexandria isn’t a threat.”

    “Alexandria is a threat, they’re just not aggressive.” Barty said with a scowl.

    “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe. Think about the benefits, Barty. This mysterious school will bring almost as much attention as it being three teams of three. It’ll be fine!”

    “...Alright, but only because we’re desperate for a replacement. If they cause trouble, I’m telling everyone it was your idea!”

    “Nonsense, Barty, we both know Ludo is a much better scapegoat for anything that goes wrong with this.” Albus said with a chuckle. 

    “Well, you’re not wrong about that. If it does go well, it’ll be quite a show. Any predictions on the winner?”

    Albus shrugged. “I hope for a Hogwarts victory, of course, but who can say at this point? But as you know, what I’m most eager for is for my students to make some international friendships and learn about other cultures.”

    “Yes, yes, very admirable of you. Now if this crisis is concluded, wish me luck. Or maybe just patience. I need to go see MacNair about some of the creature permits, and you know my feelings about that scum.” Barty growled.

    “Yes, please don’t hex your coworkers, Barty. Toodles!”

—

    R.A.B. Who was R.A.B.? 

    Albus stared down at the replacement locket with mounting frustration. Getting it had been rather simple. A spot of blood, keeping all hands and feet inside the ride when going over the lake, and conjuring a toad to feed the potion to- everyone knew toads aren’t affected by potions that aren’t specifically designed for them.

    R.A.B… Albus was sure he’d kick himself when he realized. Oh well. Maybe the answer would come with sleep. The locket went into a drawer in his desk and Albus went to bed.

—

    Albus shivered as he walked down the halls of Azkaban. No matter how many Warming Charms he cast, the dementors always chilled him to the bone. It didn’t help that he was going to pry into the minds of some very disturbed individuals.

    His escorts stopped next to him as Albus stopped in front of the first cell in the high security block. Solomon Selwyn. He’d killed two aurors, dozens of muggles, and one of the Defense Professors, and was believed to have been involved in many other killings. And he was one of the least notorious members of the high security block. He wandlessly levitated Selwyn to the front of his cell and forced his eyes open before pointing the Elder Wand at him. “Legilimens.”

    Selwyn’s occlumency was good. Great, even. But Albus was a Natural Legilimens, and had been honing the art longer than Selwyn had been alive. Albus was confident there were only three people in the British Isles who could challenge his mastery of the mind arts. One was a formless wraith that might not even be in Britain, one was locked up a few cells down, and one was Severus Snape.

    So it was no surprise to Albus that Selwyn’s defenses crumpled after a few minutes of moderate effort. Albus didn’t go out of the way to damage Selwyn’s mind, but he didn’t bother trying to keep his probe subtle or non-invasive as he dove towards what Selwyn considered “secrets.” It was an amateurish mistake, really, keeping all his secrets in one metaphysical place. They had some secondary defenses, but they only lasted a few seconds, and Albus was learning what the Death Eater most desperately didn’t want him to.

    The bad news was that Selwyn didn’t know anything that would point him towards a horcrux. The good news was that Albus was able to pluck plenty of other interesting tidbits from Selwyn’s mind, after picking through the various childhood embarassments and sexual fantasies that had also been placed in the most guarded place in Selwyn’s mind.

    For one thing, Albus learned the technique that allowed Selwyn to bat away other people’s spells with his wand. It was a closely guarded secret by the Selwyn family, until now. Albus would happily teach it to his staff and the Order.

    For another, Selwyn had quite the head for numbers, and had been entrusted with managing the finances of the Death Eaters. He had a damn good memory, too, even after over a decade of dementor exposure. Albus had learned plenty of interesting things there. He committed the various names, dates, amounts, and reasons to memory to be sorted through in more detail later.

And finally, Albus finally knew the identity of the mysterious Death Eater known as “The Manager.” He’d never taken to the field himself, as far as Albus knew, working behind the scenes to take care of the less glamorous but still vital parts of running a terrorist organization, the ones Tom couldn’t be bothered with. Arranging schedules, ordering potions ingredients, that sort of thing. His identity had been a closely held secret, even among the Death Eaters, and there had been widespread speculation on who it was. But as the money man, Selwyn worked closely with the Manager and had been entrusted with the secret of his identity: a man named Drayton King. 

It took Albus a moment to place the name. King had never been under suspicion, but now that Albus thought about it, was a perfect fit for the role. He was widely known to be a pureblood, but had been born out of wedlock and placed in a muggle orphanage to protect the reputations of his parents. He’d been a Hufflepuff, and worked his way up to being prefect and then Head Boy before graduating to work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation during the war. He’d been an intern during the war, but now he was the Deputy Department Head and ironically serving more or less the same role for Barty Crouch and the DIMC as he had for Tom and the Death Eaters.

Albus sighed as he left Selwyn’s mind and let him flop limply to the floor of his cell. He had been so proud of King. Drayton King had seemed like he’d been everything Tom Riddle could have been: putting the unfortunate circumstances of his birth and childhood behind himself and building a career on his own merits. 

Albus hesitated for a moment before the next cell. If he’d been wrong about King, could he be wrong about Severus? About Harry?

No, Albus had to have faith in them. Severus had sworn an unbreakable vow to protect Harry. And Harry himself, well, Harry was too similar to Tom to ever follow him. But Albus dearly hoped that Harry would use his skills less selfishly than Tom had. Albus was pretty sure he wouldn’t. Severus and Minerva were good influences on him, as were his friends.

“He’ll be back, you know. It’s only a matter of time. Ooh, I can’t wait! To serve my master again… it’s a pleasure like no other.” 

Albus was shaken from his reflections by the hoarse voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. He wondered what had happened to the fiercely independent Bellatrix Black that had been Head Girl and hexed any boy who tried to get fresh with her or her little sister. She hadn’t been the perfect Slytherin, but she was about as good as Albus could have hoped for during Tom’s rise. She hadn’t been (openly) bigoted, had been outstanding academically, and had been, if not friendly, than at least willing to help students from other houses. He wondered how that promising young woman had turned into the mindlessly devoted sycophant sitting before him. He pulled her forward. Perhaps he would find the answers in her mind. “Legilimens.”

Immediately, Dumbledore felt something was wrong. Very wrong. Artificial feelings, hidden command triggers, and other modifications made to a person’s mind by someone else all had the same feeling. Bellatrix’s mind was nothing but that feeling. It was filled with conditional triggers, which all seemed completely pointless. If one of her sisters was pregnant on December 14th, she would hum God Save the Queen. If she was in Berlin on September 7th of 2004, she was to cast a Blasting Curse at the Brandenburg Gate.

Albus dearly hoped that was the worst of it. But he doubted it. He focused on the part of her mind that contained her personality. It wasn’t there. Merlin’s beard, it just wasn’t there! Where it should have been, three commands had been implanted. Be loyal to Lord Voldemort. Be obedient to Lord Voldemort. Be terrifying.

Albus shuddered. It had been theorized that a sufficiently skilled legilimens could completely overwrite someone’s personality, and it appeared that Bellatrix was the proof. He wondered if it had been Tom’s work, Rookwood’s, or a combination of both. 

He turned to her memories, metaphysically speaking. Oh dear. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised by what he was seeing after everything else. The barriers around her memories were deceptively simple: they simply required two legilimens to disable them at the same time. Otherwise… well, Albus wasn’t entirely sure, but the best outcome was Bellatrix losing all her memories, forever. The worst was something along the lines of Bellatrix exploding and taking everything within twenty meters with her.

He withdrew from her mind with yet another weary sigh. This would require some serious thinking. “You see now, my master’s power?” Bellatrix asked with a giggle. “He enlightened me. It was my apotheosis. I’m the perfect witch now, fit for him, the perfect wizard!”

Albus had to resist the urge to vomit as he turned away from her. Tom Riddle and his followers had done a lot of unspeakably horrible things, but this was one of the worst. They’d turned a bright young woman into a broken, weaponized echo of herself. 

It was with anger at that injustice that Albus broke into the mind of Rodolphus Lestrange. If he’d broken Selwyn’s occlumency, he shattered Rodolphus’s. He didn’t seem to know much in the way of useful intelligence though; he’d been favored for his loyalty, cruelty, and power rather than his cunning or intelligence. 

He only learned interesting things due to his connection to Bellatrix. Specifically, Tom had given her something important to protect that she’d put in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. Well, that sounded like a horcrux alright. One out of reach even for himself. He’d have to think on that some more.

Albus also gained insight into how the warped Bellatrix acted outside of the public eye. She had been “given” to Rodolphus as a reward for his loyalty, and to tie the Black family closer to Tom’s cause. When she wasn’t on a raid, she had three modes. She would sometimes act as Tom’s enforcer, spreading terror amongst those of his servents he couldn’t be bothered to torture personally. Other times she would be… well, a sex slave for Tom and his Inner Circle. And if she wasn’t doing anything to directly serve Tom or Rodolphus, she would do nothing. Just stand there. Sometimes Rodolphus would beat or curse her when he was angry, and she would do nothing. A few times, Rodolphus had even amused himself by not giving her permission to use the bathroom, and forcing her to wet herself and do nothing about it. 

Albus wanted to vomit, but he forced himself to look for one last memory: the attack on the Longbottoms. Why had Bellatrix been tortured alongside Frank and Alice?

He finally lost his lunch and withdrew from Rodolphus’s mind when he found the reason. Bellatrix had been ordered to find Neville, but couldn’t. Rodolphus had said they came there to Crucio three people, so if Bellatrix couldn’t find the third, she would be the third. He’d only stopped when they realized the aurors were coming.

Albus had used the Imperious Curse and the Killing Curse before, albeit reluctantly, but in that moment, a significant part of himself wanted to go for the hat trick and Crucio Rodolphus. But alas, he did not want to stoop to their level, and he did have two aurors standing right next to him. So he contented himself with spitting at Rodolphus and moving on to his brother.

Rabastan was an interesting case. What Albus gathered was that he was not entirely dedicated to the cause, but between his fear of Tom, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix, and his favorable treatment as a member of a Most Ancient and Noble House, he didn’t put up much resistance. 

There were a few things, though. Rabastan had a secondary mental cache of secrets, which seemed to be the ones he intended to keep even from the Death Eaters. There were only three memories in it. One was during a raid where he hesitated, and stunned a pregnant muggle woman rather than killing her. During a different raid, he’d intentionally missed when he shot a killing curse at a young halfblood girl, allowing her to escape. And one was the Longbottom Raid, when he cast a silent Notice-Me-Not Charm on the closet where he’d heard a small sniffle come from.

Had Albus been as optimistic as he’d been when he was younger, he might have used those memories to convince himself that Rabastan was redeemable, or at least pitiable. But Albus had grown significantly more jaded during the war against Tom, and he’d seen everything else in Rabastan’s mind, too. He still killed the pregnant woman’s husband right in front of her. He’d killed the little girl’s parents, too, and had been the one to torture Alice Longbottom into insanity. Not to mention the blood he only had on his hands indirectly. Rabastan was much brighter than his brother, especially with runes and numbers, and had been the Death Eaters’ expert on building and breaking wards. He’d broken the wards on the Longbottoms’ safe house, and on McKinnon Manor.

So when Albus withdrew from Rabastan’s mind, all he felt was disgust at the coward. Say what you will about Rodolphus, the man was committed to what he believed in. Rabastan only acted on his morals when he thought it was safe. He’d killed multiple children when other Death Eaters had been watching. He’d known every McKinnon had been marked for death when he broke their wards, including the three children in the family, and did it anyway.

Antonin Dolohov was a dud. He’d been a very powerful fighter, and had connections in Eastern Europe. He might have had valuable information to pass on to the Ministries of various Slavic countries when he was first caught, but now it was more than a decade out of date. Dumbledore memorized the information for further consideration anyways- there was always a chance something would be useful, and if nothing else Dolohov had established a number of safe houses and supply caches.

    There were only two people left in the high security block. Fenrir Greyback proved useless. He was in the high security block because it was the only one with cells equipped to contain a werewolf, rather than due to his closeness to Voldemort. He knew absolutely nothing.

    And finally, Albus came to Augustus Rookwood’s cell. “Right creepy, this one is.” one of Albus’s escorts said. “Never says a word, never moves except to eat or shit, just stares at the wall.”

    Of course, Rookwood chose that moment to sharply whip his head towards Albus with a sharp grin, causing both the aurors to jump. “Dumbledore.” he rasped. He cleared his throat. “Pardon. What can I do for you today?” he asked in a much more normal voice, sounding for all the world like they were in some nondescript Ministry office rather than Azkaban.

    This was why, of all the residents of Azkaban, Rookwood scared Albus the most. He wasn’t as dangerous in a fight as, say, the Lestranges, but the Lestranges weren’t able to go years in Azkaban without any apparent changes in their mental state. It wasn’t just that Rookwood could perfectly resist the dementors, even after a decade of constant exposure, it was that the imprisonment itself hadn’t seemed to affect him. He was just as politely unapologetic as he had been at his trial. Rookwood was a mediocre legilimens, but during his time studying the mind for the Department of Mysteries, he’d gained more mastery of occlumency than anybody Dumbledore had ever heard of.

    “Hello Augustus. I was wondering, perhaps, if you would allow me into your mind?” Dumbledore said placidly.

    “Of course, Professor! It’s my greatest work, you know. I would truly love to have someone other than myself come and admire it. Vain of me, I know, but it’s true! In fact, I’d love it so much I might not let you leave.”

    “Ah, I was afraid you might say something like that. I’m afraid I can’t make a one way journey at this time, I’m terribly busy, as always. If you’re in the mood to brag though, I can spare a few minutes, and I am curious, how are you completely unaffected by a decade of Azkaban? Resisting the dementors’ aura is child’s play to you, I’m sure, but you haven’t left your cell in years, and I’d hazard a guess this is the longest conversation you’ve had since you arrived here.”

    Rookwood laughed. “My body’s been here, keeping itself alive, but I’ve been deep in my mind. You can’t imagine the truths I’ve discovered, the abilities I’ve mastered! Honestly, Azkaban has been wonderful. No idiotic underlings or overbearing superiors or pointless paperwork to distract me from my work. Bella told you about her so-called apotheosis? I’ve actually found it, not just been tricked into believing it. My mind and magic are one now. I’m only here because I want to be.”

    “Perhaps you are not as unaffected by Azkaban as I’d thought. Farewell, Augustus.”

    Rookwood scowled as Albus walked away, but he couldn’t take the joy he normally would in getting under a Death Eater’s skin. Rookwood had to be bluffing, or at least exaggerating. Who the hell would WANT to stay in Azkaban? Then again, if anyone would, it would be someone like Rookwood. Albus hummed pensively. Should he recommend Rookwood be given the Kiss? No, it was too risky; it could push him into escaping if he wasn’t bluffing. Azkaban wasn’t inescapable after all, Sirius had proved that. Besides, he’d have to use a lot of his influence already to deal with Bellatrix.

    Albus clenched and released his fists a few times. He could already feel his hand cramping up with how many letters he’d have to write.

—

    It was early August and blazing hot, even up in Scotland. Deep in the dungeons beneath Hogwarts, however, Severus Snape did not feel the heat at all. What he felt was frustration, as he scowled down at the motionless form of Bellatrix Lestrange. Albus had managed to get her transferred to his care under the condition that she was kept under the Draught of the Living Death until she was deemed ready to be retried.

    It was an elegant solution- she would be in a deep sleep easily mistakable for death until given the antidote, and no one knew she was in the castle save for Severus, Dumbledore, and Director Bones. Even the fact that she was no longer in Azkaban was kept on a need to know basis. She was as secure as could be. The only problem was that the Draught slowed down her mental processes, which made the task of manipulating her mind to tear out the mental commands take about four times as long as it normally would have. Between that, the fact that Dumbledore and Severus were both very busy people, and the sheer number of pointless commands she had implanted in her mind, it would likely be a year before they had cleared out the mental commands. And then they would still have to see if they could find a way to undo the fundamental changes to her personality.

    Still, it would all be worth it if they could regain Bellatrix Black. Flipping His best fighter to their side- for anyone who knew Bellatrix Black would know she would be furious at the Dark Lord for enslaving her- would be an excellent play. And moreover, the sentimental part of Severus felt he owed it to her. Bellatrix Black had been the Head Girl in his first year at Hogwarts, and she had been the only Slytherin prefect who merely looked down upon him for being a first year rather than for being a halfblood. It probably hadn’t seemed like a big deal to her, but it had been a desperately needed boost of encouragement for his eleven year old self to see the beautiful, intelligent, powerful, pureblooded Bellatrix Black look past his muggle father and upbringing. 

    He raised his wand, and was about to enter her mind, when Albus suddenly appeared before him in a burst of phoenix flame, with Fawkes on his shoulder. “Severus… help…” he groaned, holding up his left hand. It was black and withered, with a ring radiating malicious magic on one finger. 

    Severus immediately began casting diagnostics on the Headmaster; Bellatrix would have to wait. He had a life to save. And after that he had a very long lecture to give on not putting on obviously cursed jewelry. 

Chapter Text

    The moment Harry stepped out of the floo at Grimmauld Place, he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his torso. Harry immediately channeled his wandless magic to throw off his assailant, and drew his wand as he turned towards the attacker.

    “Whoah, Harry, stop, it’s just us!” shouted the familiar, but panicked voice of Professor Lupin. “Sirius, I told you not to ambush him like that!”

    Harry slowly lowered his wand. “Sorry about that, Harry.” Black said, unphased. “Was that wandless magic? That’s damn impressive! And I hear you have an animagus form, too! Can I see? Does it have a name?”

    Harry blinked in surprise at the enthusiastic barrage of questions. “You’re not angry at me for throwing you off?”

    “No. Why would I- ah. Right. No, I’m not angry at you Harry, Remus was totally right, I shouldn’t have hugged you before you got your bearings, especially since we haven’t really been properly introduced. I’m Sirius Black, also known as Lord Black, Prisoner 9101, That Dashing Rogue, and Padfoot! And, of course, your godfather. You already know Moony, of course, and it’s just us guys for the summer! It’ll be great!”

    “Sirius-” Lupin tried to interrupt.

    “I’ve set you up in Reggie’s room- that’s my little brother, Regulus. It’s all decked out in Slytherin stuff, so I’m sure you’ll love it. And Reggie is cool too, for a Slytherin. Although he hates it when I call him Reggie. He-”

    “Sirius!” Lupin said, more strongly than before. Harry’s godfather turned to look at the former professor. “You’re drifting again.” he said gently.

    “Oh… right. I just forgot- it’s been so long since- I gotta go.” Harry scrunched his eyebrows in confusion as Sirius fled the room.

    “So, uh… what was that all about?” Harry asked awkwardly.

    Lupin sighed. “Sirius is still recovering from Azkaban. He’s done a lot better than when he first escaped but he still… struggles, sometimes. Sometimes he, well, acts like people who died in the war are still alive. His brother, Regulus, was a Death Eater who disappeared a few months after joining up with them, and hasn’t been heard from since. He also forgets about your parents, Marlene, Dorcas… he forgets about a lot, sometimes.” Lupin cleared his throat. “There’s a lot of bad things for him to forget about…”

    “I see.” Harry said quietly. “A couple of things, then I’ll let you go see to him. What’s with his golden hand, and what are we doing about the whole werewolf situation?”

    “The golden hand is a magical prosthetic the Blacks had sitting around in their vaults. It’s an impressive bit of magic, I’m sure Sirius would be happy to tell you all about it when he’s feeling better. And as for the werewolf thing, Dumbledore added the same dark creature containment wards that were on the Shrieking Shack, before Peter sabotaged them. They’re just a backup though, I transform in the attic and Sirius keeps me up there.”

    “So, is Sirius not a werewolf even though he got bitten?” Harry asked surprisedly.

    “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later. I’ve gotta go check on Sirius, okay? I’m sorry this wasn’t exactly the best welcome.”

—

    “So… sorry about all that earlier.” Sirius said sheepishly. The three of them were seated around the kitchen table for dinner, and it was occurring to him that he didn’t really know his godson. Like, at all. “So, uh, how’s school going? I can’t believe you’re almost halfway done with your time at Hogwarts!”

    It was horribly awkward, even to Sirius’s ears, and he was pretty sure Moony winced slightly, but fortunately Harry tried to work with him. “It’s going well. I’ve been getting decent grades, made some friends. And there’s going to be some sort of international competition next year. I had to play translator between Dumbledore and the basilisk in the basement to make sure she wouldn’t eat the Durmstrang students. Dumbledore wouldn’t say who else is coming though.”

    “There’s a basilisk at Hogwarts?” Moony exclaimed at the same time Sirius yelped, “You can talk to snakes?”

    “Er, yes and yes. It was a whole big thing last year. My second year, that is, since I’m done with third year now. Basically, a student was possessed by- well, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you. But in broad terms, a student was possessed into opening the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the basilisk Slytherin kept in there. Said student forced said basilisk to petrify students until Dumbledore figured out where the Chamber was at the eleventh hour and saved the student from death. Then later I was brought in to use my parseltongue to make sure the basilisk wasn’t going to start snacking on random students. She’s actually very nice when she’s not mind controlled, although I’ll admit she’s prone to gossip, and is rather vain. Then again, she’s probably one of the oldest animals in the world by now, so I can’t really blame her.”

    Sirius was staring slack-jawed at his godson, and Moony was acting similarly. “I have so many questions.” Moony whispered.

    “Ask Dumbledore. I technically wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I figure if he trusts you guys enough to look after me, he’ll probably trust you enough to tell you the real story of what happened. Now I’ve got some questions of my own. Should we start with Sirius’s werewolf status being ‘complicated’ or do we wanna go with the whole ‘Goldfinger’ thing?”

    “What? Goldfinger? But it’s my whole hand…” Sirius said confusedly as Moony stared intensely at Harry. (Sirius wasn’t aware, but Remus was trying to invite Harry to peek into his surface thoughts, which consisted of “Please Harry, Lily and I made a solemn pact never to let Sirius or James find out about James Bond. They would like him for all the wrong reasons and be insufferable as a result.”)

    “It’s a muggle joke.” Harry said, shooting Moony an odd look. “Anyways, hand?”

    Sirius shrugged. “It’s just an old thing that was lying around the Black vaults. Turns out, not everything my family had was evil. This here is a high class magical prosthetic. Won’t come off unless I want it to, and can change forms when needed! Check it out!” Sirius excitedly held up his golden hand and had it turn into a hook, a pizza cutter, a dildo, and a cheese grater before returning to its normal hand form.

    “Sirius!” Moony scolded.

    “What? The kid’s old enough to know about what happens in broom closets, even if he’s a bit young to be participating himself.” Sirius said with a shrug. “Right Harry?”

    Harry was blushing furiously. “I mean, I know, er, how babies are made, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

    Sirius’s face paled. “Harry… has anyone given you The Talk?”

    Harry frowned. “Er, I don’t think so? What talk? Why do you say it like it’s capitalized?”

    “Merlin’s balls, I’m gonna have to be responsible and give my godson the talk. Wait! Moony! You did that whole responsible-teacher-man thing for a year! Well, most of a year anyways. Point is, you’re obviously the much better candidate to give The Talk!”

    Moony burst out laughing, the bastard, while Harry just looked confused. “Hell no Padfoot, you’re not wiggling out of this one! Do you know, when he named you Harry’s godfather, James told me he did it just so he could make you give him The Talk someday? ‘The ultimate long game,’ he called it!”

    “No! He didn’t! Did he?” Sirius gasped.

    “I’lll never say!” Remus smirked mischievously. “Besides, I may have been a professor, and was generally considered ‘the responsible one,’ but it was you, Mr. Padfoot, who was oh so vocal about how you were the most experienced in Talk-related matters!”

    Sirius shook his head dejectedly. “You see Harry? Ol’ Moony may have been the responsible one, but he was also the mean one, and this is why.” 

    Moony snorted. “Don’t believe a word he says, Harry. I was the nice one. The other three were all tied for meanest.”

    Harry raised an eyebrow accusingly. Sirius wondered if that was just a Slytherin thing, Reggie and his cousins could all communicate volumes with their eyebrows. “I don’t find it encouraging that my father and Mr. Black were tied for meanest with the man who betrayed my parents and tried to get both of you killed a couple of months ago.”

    Moony winced again. “Harry… you have to understand, James and Sirius changed. We thought Peter did, too… I mean, look, I told you we were bullies for most of our time at Hogwarts. I was the least bad, but we were all shi- we were all jerks.”

    “Moony, you don’t have to censor yourself, you’re not a professor anymore. But yeah, he’s right pup. Your dad really cleaned up his act his last few years at Hogwarts, morally speaking. We all did. The middle of sixth year, we all kind of had a wakeup call. I- I did a stupid prank that almost got someone killed, and James only barely saved them. I think, before then, we’d all been kind of oblivious to the fact that our actions had consequences. Like, real world consequences, not just point losses or detentions, you know?”

    Harry sneered at Sirius, who recoiled with hurt. “I’m well aware. Honestly, I don’t see how anyone can reach Hogwarts without learning that, nevermind pass their OWLs.” Harry paused at the wounded look on his godfather’s face. “...but better late than never, I suppose. So what’s this about lycanthropy not being a yes/no question for you?”

    It was hardly Harry’s most subtle change of subject, but it did the trick. “Oh! It’s actually really interesting!” Sirius said, perking up. “So, everyone knows what lycanthropy does, but not a lot of people actually know how it does it. So basically, in layman’s terms, it corrupts and changes your ‘spirit animal,’ strengthens it, and ties its power to the moon. Basically the curse changes your animagus form, keeps you from being able to control it, and forces you to transform on the full moon. But since I was already able to control my animal form before I got the curse, I was able to control the curse!” Sirius said excitedly.

    “Which means…”

    “I can’t change into a dog anymore, but I retain my sense of self when I transform, whether it’s the full moon or not. I’m gonna miss dog form, and the actual transformation isn’t instant anymore and it hurts like a bitch, but otherwise I’m not having any downsides!”

    “Wait, are you saying you can transform without the full moon? That’s insane! You’re like, the perfect werewolf! Holy shit, this is insane! Can you transmit the curse? Will one of you bite me? This is fascinating! Oh man, wait ‘til Hermione hears about this!”

    “Whoah, whoah, whoah, slow down there pup. First of all, we don’t know if I can transmit the curse because I haven’t bitten anyone, and I don’t intend to test that out any time soon. And we are absolutely not biting you on purpose! I don’t even need the responsible one to tell me to know that. It’s entirely possible that I only got the control I did because my form was already canine. ‘Big dog’ is way closer to werewolf than a bloody crocodile! Speaking of which, you still need to show me that and tell me if your animal form has a name.”

    “I’ll show you after dinner. And no, no name. Is that a thing?”

    “It is for you!” Sirius said excitedly. “You’re part of a group of four friends becoming animagi together! You guys are the New Marauders! Obviously you all need Marauder names!”

    “We’re the Chimera Club, not the New Marauders. But I suppose I can consider a ‘Marauder Name.’ I’m pants at coming up with names though, so you’ll have to do the heavy lifting on the creative bit.”

    “Alright, I’m great at names! Let’s see, how about… Croc?” Sirius suggested. Harry just  rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, too obvious. Fang?”

    “That’s Hagrid’s dog’s name.” Harry said.

    “What Fangs? We can do plurals.”

    “Too close to Fang. And fangs are usually more prominent than the other teeth, which crocodiles don’t really have.”

    “Oh, right, damn. How about Jaws?”

    “It’s been done. Muggle movie.” Harry said amusedly.

    “So I take it Dundee is out, then?” Moony asked with a snicker.

    “I’ll kill you.” Harry deadpanned.

    “Easy, pup. Are there any like, common names for crocodiles other than just ‘croc?’”

    “Well, I’m a saltwater crocodile, which Australians sometimes call ‘salties.’ I’m not sure I like that as a nickname though.” Harry said.

    “Yeah, too many opportunities for innuendo.” Sirius said, though Harry didn’t understand why. “What about just Salt, though? Makes you sound tough and grizzled.”

    “...I can live with that.” Harry said begrudgingly.

    “Great! Now, your friends, what are their animagus forms?” Sirius asked.

    Harry sighed. “Neville is an elephant, Daphne is a spider, and Hermione is an owl.”

    “Okay, okay. Let’s see, you sure we can’t go with ‘Fangs’ for Daphne?” Sirius asked.

    “Yes.”

    “Fine. Maybe… Spinner?”

    “I’d actually like that one if she wasn’t a Brazilian Wandering Spider. They don’t build webs, just wander around and hunt stuff with their venom.” Harry said.

    “Damn. What about Venom then?”

    “It’s been done.” Harry and Moony groaned in unison.

    “Damn muggles. Not in a Death Eater way, obviously.” Sirius nervously added. “Toxic?”

    “Also been done. Although I actually think Daphne might like that song, at least when it’s not being sung by drunken professors.”

    “When did that happen?” Moony asked mirthfully.

    “Christmas of ‘92. Hagrid, Kettleburn, and Dumbledore were wasted. That was also the year Snape chucked a bottle of wine at someone and took a swing at Flitwick.” Harry said. “Did you guys ever stay over at Christmas? It seems like there’s an unofficial rule that professors are allowed to get a little wild at Christmas. It was more subdued last year though, what with the dementors and all. Hopefully this year things over winter break will be as chaotic as usual.”

—

    Somewhere, Bartemius Crouch Sr. felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to punch a wall.

—

    The day after his ritual, Harry was absolutely knackered. He’d slept in until 10, which was practically unheard of for him, and didn’t bother changing out of pajamas when he wandered downstairs.

    “Hey pup. How’re you feeling?” Sirius asked concernedly.

    Harry emitted a large yawn. “That about sums it up. I’m giving myself a day off today. Just reading and napping. And eating. Also eating.”

    “Not even up for a game of gobstones?” his godfather pouted.

    “I fail to see the appeal of a game that frequently results in players being squirted with noxious goo, but I suppose I could play a game or two to humor my godfather.” Harry said with an eye roll. 

    “You’re too kind to this old dog.” Sirius said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “So what about the ritual itself? What was it like?”

    Harry shrugged as he curled up in an oversized armchair. “We went to Stonehenge. I took a bath in a stream, and then took a nap and had a rather anticlimactic dream battle with the horcrux. I don’t really get how it tired me out so much.”

    “That’s rituals for ya. Now what do you mean by anticlimactic?”

    Harry shrugged. “The horcrux didn’t really fight back. I’m not sure it could have if it wanted to. We were in this room. It seemed like a basement or a cellar or maybe even a dungeon, I dunno. Anyways, it was me, the horcrux, and this weird well. The well looked like it had ink instead of water, and it was a whirlpool. And the horcrux was just this twisted, ugly baby. All I had to do was toss the baby in the well. It screamed and cried, but there wasn’t any hidden trick. Maybe it was trying to get me to take pity on it? I hesitated a little, but that was more due to thinking it was a trap than any moral objections. Should I have been more reluctant?”

    “Hey. Kiddo. You knew that was the horcrux. You did what you had to, even if it played a rotten trick by trying to guilt you out of it. I’m definitely not saying you should make a habit of it, but I don’t think you need to feel any guilt about throwing that particular baby into that particular well.”

    “But what if I do make a habit of it? What if I end up like Him? Dumbledore showed you the memory of the Chamber, you know we have a lot in common.” Harry said, not meeting Sirius’s eyes.

    “Harry. Listen to me. You’re not going to end up like Tim Puzzle- love that name, by the way. You do have similarities, don’t get me wrong, but there’s also a number of key differences. You have friends who care about you and who you care about as well. You have adults who are good influences. Well, good as in ‘not evil,’ I don’t think anyone would ever describe me or Snape as a good influence. You started at the same place, but you’re going in a different direction than he did. I think so, Moony thinks so, Dumbledore and the professors think so. You not being evil is one of the few things Snape and I agree on, so you know it must be true.” Sirius said.

    “...Thanks Sirius. That means a lot. Do you think you could get Kreacher to bring me some crackers or something? I don’t think he likes me very much.”

    Sirius frowned. “You know, now that you mention it, I don’t think that’s true. When Kreacher doesn’t like you, he’s very vocal about it. He just avoids you like you’re a nundu. Maybe crocodiles are a house elf’s natural predator or something. I dunno. Kreacher!”

    There was a crack and the elderly house elf appeared. “Horrible master calls, and Kreacher answers. What can-” Kreacher gasped. “Horrible master’s godson is fixed! The bad locket magic is gone!” he immediately clapped his hands over his mouth.

    “What the- you mean the horcrux? You recognize that magic?” Harry asked, sitting up.

    “Kreacher has said too much. Kreacher has failed poor master Regulus!” the house elf wailed.

    “Kreacher! As your master, I am ordering to tell you where you recognized the dark magic in Harry from. Regardless of any previous orders.” Sirius said harshly.

    Kreacher sighed defeatedly. “Fine. Perhaps this is what is best. Perhaps horrible stupid master can succeed where Kreacher has failed. When Dark Lord needed an elf for secret job, Regulus volunteered Kreacher. Said it was a great honor to serve master’s master. Dark Lord brings Kreacher to horrible cave. He brings Kreacher past lake of abominations. Then he makes Kreacher drink horrible potion from strange bowl, and puts a locket with evil, horrible magic in the bowl, and fills it up with more potion. Then he leaves, while poor Kreacher is dying from bad potion. But then the good master Regulus calls Kreacher, and loves his home so very much, so Kreacher comes. Master Regulus is very good and kind, and nurses Kreacher back to health from bad potion. 

    Master Regulus asks Kreacher what happens, and Kreacher tells him. Regulus realizes what bad magic the locket that Dark Lord hid was, and says that if Dark Lord is doing magics like that and treating poor Kreacher so bad, then he is no longer master’s master. He tells Kreacher to take him back to cave. Kreacher doesn’t want to, but Kreacher obeys. Master Regulus takes Kreacher across the lake, then he drinks bad potion. He takes out locket with bad magic and puts normal locket and more potion in the bowl. He gives bad locket to Kreacher, and tells him to keep bad locket secret and destroy it however he can. Then he goes to lake, and Kreacher tries to stop him, but poor master Regulus disturbs the abominations and- and they-”

    Harry awkwardly stood up and patted the elf on its wrinkled head as it burst into tears. “It’s okay Kreacher. We can help you destroy the locket, if you haven’t done so already. I promise. Okay?”

    “Really? Kreacher tries everything! He crushes locket with big hammer, but it doesn’t break! Kreacher tries to vanish it, but it stays! It doesn’t melt in the fireplace, or the oven, or the big cauldron of the strongest acid Kreacher could brew! Kreacher is a terrible elf!”

    “Really Kreacher. We’ve already destroyed an object like that locket before, and removed the dark magic from me.” Harry turned to Sirius. “Can you or Moony cast the Killing Curse? It’s that or get Princess to help. Or Fiendfyre, technically, but I’m not suicidal.”

    “Moony can’t. I could, but that was before Azkaban and when I had my own wand, not one I nicked from a napping shopkeep in Diagon, and even if I could, with the state my mind is in I probably shouldn’t be using anything capital-D Dark.”

    “I could try, I guess.” Harry suggested. 

    “Yeah, pass. I know Snape is teaching you some hardcore stuff, but the Killing Curse is on another level. You have to channel a sense of, of, just total apathy towards the idea of killing someone. You shouldn’t be able to feel that at your age, and even if you can you should still avoid it. We’ll just wait ‘til Dumbles swings by and have him do it or feed it to Princess.”

    “Yeah, alright. It’ll be a pleasant surprise for the old guy, to learn that one of Timmy’s horcruxes just fell into our laps. Thank you again, Kreacher. I promise that we’ll avenge Regulus.”

—

    Sirius cockily stepped into the dueling ring in the training room of Grimmauld Place. “Alright pup, hit me with your best sh- sonuvabitch! I wasn’t ready!”

    Harry smirked and tossed back Sirius’s pilfered wand that he had taken with a silent Expelliarmus. Moony was not making matters better by laughing uproariously from outside of the wards. “I expected better from the Dark Lord’s right hand man, Padfoot. Your age must be catching up to ya!”

    “Alright pup, I was gonna go easy on you, but it looks like you need a little lesson on respecting your elders!” Sirius began flinging jinxes and hexes with a speed few who hadn’t been through auror training could match. With each one Harry dodged, Sirius became more impressed. He didn’t just dodge everything he did so effortlessly, or at least making it look effortless. So Sirius kicked it up a notch. He started feinting, but Harry always knew when Sirius was trying to fake him out. Sirius was at least able to make him do more than dance when he broke out the area of effect spells, but the “wave” forms of even basic spells like the Leg-Locker or the Knockback Jinx took significantly more magic than the “bolt” forms. He cast those wide enough that Harry couldn’t sidestep them. 

    Infuriatingly, Harry still didn’t cast any shield spells. If the waves of magic were low enough for him to jump over them, he did. If not, he just turned into his bloody crocodile form and let them pass over his head. Sirius wasn’t even able to get him when he was a reptile because it turned out that crocodiles could move quite fast, and Harry had evidently gotten better at returning to human form in the position he wanted. Sirius tried a very low powered Lightning Whip Curse, both because he didn’t want to hurt Harry if he hit him and because his own magic was very depleted. Harry flung himself out of the way as he cast another silent Expelliarmus. Sirius didn’t even try to dodge as “his” wand went flying.

    “Bloody hell, pup, how’d you manage that? You do realize that I wasn’t going easy on you right?” Sirius panted. Then he felt a twinge in his mind. “Bloody, buggering- Legilimency? You were reading me with legilimency? What the blazes are they teaching at Hogwarts these days?”

    “I told you he was very advanced in his classes, and getting extracurricular lessons.” Moony said in the tone Sirius recognized meant he was thinking “I’d love to laugh but it’ll be even funnier if I don’t.”

    “Merlin’s knotted pubes, I didn’t think you meant the mind arts! I think I’m done casting spells for today, but I think helping you train is gonna be even more fun than I’d thought!” Sirius grinned.

    “So we’re done for today then, huh? I’m starting to think this old dog might not have any new tricks to teach me.” Harry smirked. Sirius got a dangerous glint in his eyes.

    “Oh, just because I’m low on magic doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to teach you, pup. Tell me, do you know how to dance?” the look of terror on Harry’s face was answer enough. “Moony, I know what we’re gonna do today! To the ballroom!”

—

    “So how’s staying with Black and Professor Lupin?” Neville asked as he slowly made his way through one of the Longbottom greenhouses with a watering can. Specifically, the greenhouse that operated strictly on the buddy system, hence Harry’s presence. The girls were on vacations with their families; Daphne was in Russia with family and Hermione was skiing in the Alps. So Neville had decided that today would be “for the boys.”

    “It’s alright. Honestly, it would be kind of a disaster if I wasn’t so self-sufficient, but I am, so it works out surprisingly well. Honestly, I was worried from Remus’s stories that Sirius would be annoying and try and bond with me over quidditch and pranks and flirting, but we’ve been bonding over dueling lessons instead. And dancing lessons. I tried to get him to stop by making him study Spanish with me for an equal amount of time. Joke’s on me though, it took three lessons for me to realize he was already fluent and just screwing around with me. So now it’s dueling lessons, dancing lessons, and Spanish lessons. Although having someone to actually speak with and listen to is very helpful in ways that reading and writing aren’t.”

    “Yeah, I get that. Gran taught me Old English when I was a kid. I didn’t get why until she told me about the, ah, secret side of the Longbottom family. All those ancient blood magic books are Latin or Greek, but Emeric’s personal journals, and everything related to the, ah, the family duty, are written in Old English.”

    “I’m guessing this family duty is more than just the normal pureblood stuff? And you can’t tell me about it?”

    Neville glanced back at the house, absent-mindedly swatting away a poisonous tendril creeping towards his neck with a gloved hand. “I probably shouldn’t… but I also think it would be a good idea to have someone other than me and Gran know, just in case. Apparently, Emeric wasn’t all bad, despite having earned himself the moniker ‘the Evil.’ There was… something. Emeric is very vague about what exactly it is, but he calls it Methuselah. You know the one year ceasefire in Emeric’s conquests that historians can never agree on the cause of?” (Harry didn’t know that, but he wasn’t about to interrupt) “Apparently both sides agreed to pause their fighting so that Emeric could deal with him, or it, or whatever Methuselah is. He sealed him away with a blood ward, a really powerful one Emeric designed specifically to counter his magic. It requires yearly renewal, just a few cups of blood on the runes every winter solstice. The family duty is renewing the seal and keeping the location secret in case anybody is stupid enough to try and free him. Of course, it could have died of starvation or old age in there after all this time, but with a name like Methuselah*, that’s generally agreed to be unlikely.”

    “Damn. Heavy stuff, Nev. Lemme know if you or Regent Longbottom ever need me to cover for you with the whole blood thing. Also, on a totally unrelated note, am I supposed to be able to feel those cabbages with my legilimency?”

    “Those aren’t cabbages Harry, they’re Armenian Marching Turnips.” Neville said, as if it should have been obvious. “I’m not surprised you can sense them, they’re clever little buggers. Also, how on earth do you confuse those with cabbages?”

    Harry then received a much more detailed explanation of the differences between turnips and cabbages, and the various magical strains of both, than he had ever wanted. But it was Neville, and Harry loved seeing how happy he was when he was rambling on about his plants, so Harry didn’t interrupt except ask the occasional question or request help when one of the plants was trying to kill him.

—

    Harry looked around the attic. “So this is it, huh?” It was mostly cleared out of stuff, there were just a few piles of broken junk in the corners.

    Remus sighed. “Yeah. It’s not great, but it’s tolerable so long as I’m not alone. The wolf longs for Pack.”

    “And Sirius is your pack? I’m not sure two people can be considered a pack.”

    “For werewolves, pack is an adjective as well as a noun.” Sirius explained as he came up the ladder behind them and closed the trapdoor behind him. “It’s sort of like family, but more primal, animalistic. Moony is Pack to me, and I’m Pack to him. And I’m pretty sure that our wolves will consider Salt to be Pack as well.”

    “Okay, but if it means family, why not just say family?” Harry asked.

    “It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t a werewolf, or at least a canine animagus.” Remus said. “It’s more than family. It’s also tribe, and loyalty, and community, and trust, and safety.”

    “I think that’s part of why I acted so… irrationally… about Peter. Wormtail betrayed the Pack. That’s unforgivable. James, and by extension you and Lily, were Pack, and I had to avenge them. I know I wasn’t a werewolf then, but I still understood Pack.” Sirius added.

    “Huh. Well, I can’t say I entirely understand, but I’d be honored to be considered Pack.” Harry cast a wandless Tempus, having stored his wand safely in his room. “Thirty seconds to moonrise. See you in the morning, Remus!” Harry said before transforming into his crocodilian form.

    “Huh. That’s interesting. Your eye is gone in your animagus form too. It makes sense, I guess, but-” Sirius suddenly winced and jerked his neck. “Fuck. Here it comes.”

    Watching the werewolves transform made Harry glad he hadn’t tried to get one of them to bite him. Remus was rather stoic about it, just letting out grunts and moans that turned towards yips and whimpers as the transformation progressed. Sirius, on the other hand, was screaming and openly crying as the transformation took him. When it was finished, Sirius was laying on the ground whimpering and whining while Remus seemed fine, loping over to Sirius and nuzzling his nose against the newer werewolf before he began licking him. Harry’s alligator side thought it was weird, but his human side found it very sweet. Harry simply leaned against Sirius’s side in as comforting a manner as he could. Crocodiles were not exactly cuddly.

    Eventually, Sirius picked himself up, and began grooming Remus back. They did that for a while before Remus turned to Harry. He circled Harry warily, giving him tentative sniffs. Harry, for his part, did his best to look non-threatening. That might have been counterproductive, however, given that crocodiles are ambush predators and werewolves have very keen instincts. Crocodiles were not exactly safe.

    Sirius had no hesitation, however, and happily went over and began licking Harry’s scaly back. It felt weird to Harry's human side, but the crocodile actually found it nice** and he figured this was a Pack thing, so he allowed it, though he didn’t reciprocate. Eventually, Remus must have decided it was okay, since he joined in.

    Once Remus decided that grooming time was over, he began to indulge in more stereotypically werewolf-ish behaviors. Specifically, running laps around the edge of the attic, clawing at the walls, and howling at the moon where it shined through the window. Occasionally, Remus would try to bite himself, but Sirius would redirect his attention as best he could. Between Sirius’s company and the Unbreakable and Silencing Charms on the attic itself, it was a good solution to Remus’s furry little problem.

    Harry let out a little chuff from where he lazed about on top of the trap door. Crocodiles were not meant to be as active as wolves, nevermind werewolves. Still, it was nice to be there with them, even if he wasn’t engaging much.

*AN: Methuselah is, according to the bible, the longest-living person ever, dying at the ripe old age of 969. Nice.

**AN: Fun fact I learned while researching crocodile and wolf behavior, is that hippos will sometimes lick or nibble on crocodiles, and the crocs will totally let them. Now, there are two caveats here: one, Saltwater Crocodiles wouldn’t naturally come into contact with hippos, so we can’t know if the biggest, meanest crocs would tolerate this behavior. Two, it’s entirely possible that crocodiles only let hippos do this because although they might not be predators, adult hippos are still extremely dangerous when angered, so it might just be better for the crocs to just put up with it. But it was just too cute to have the crocodile like being licked, so here we are. DISCLAIMER: Please, please, please do not try licking a crocodile yourself. I will not be held responsible for the results if you do.

Chapter Text

    “We at the International Quidditch Federation are happy to announce the official end of the 1990 Quidditch World cup. Congratulations again to our winning team from Russia, and many thanks to our kind hosts, the Deccan League! And now, without further ado, the IQF are pleased to announce that the 1994 World Cup will be held in… England!” -Jack Barnam, IQF spokesman, on the closing of the 1990 Quidditch World Cup

—

    “Harry! Come on down! We’ve got a guest!” Sirius shouted up the stairs. Harry paused his packing for the Quidditch World Cup and headed downstairs. There were only a few options for who their visitor could be. Sure enough, Dumbledore was sitting next to Sirius and Remus in the parlor.

    “Harry my boy! Good to see you! Come, take a seat, we have much to discuss.” the Headmaster said warmly.

    “Okay, does it have something to do with what happened to your hand?” Harry asked, looking at his blackened and withered left hand. Dumbledore sighed.

    “We’re getting straight into it then. I’ve had a very busy summer. When I haven’t been organizing the Tournament, I’ve been following the leads that diary-Tom gave us on the other horcruxes. I have some good news and bad news on that account. The good news is I have located and destroyed one, likely located another, and gotten a lead on a third. I’ve also learned some interesting things about Tom’s followers. The bad news is the second is quite out of reach for the time being, and the first cursed me quite severely, as you can see. I’m afraid I’m working on borrowed time now.”

    Sirius gasped. “You don’t mean-”

    “I’m afraid I do. I have about a year left, at most.”

    Remus cursed. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Have Snape take a look at it? Get Fawkes to cry on it?”

    Dumbledore sighed. “A year is with Severus’s care. If Fawkes hadn’t brought me to him immediately, I would have been dead in a matter of minutes. And the curse is a curse, not an injury, so phoenix tears won’t work, unfortunately. And as it was quite entirely my fault that I was cursed, I don’t think Fawkes is feeling very sympathetic.”

    “Okay, slow down and explain what exactly the deal is with the ones you have a lead on.” Sirius said with a frown.

    “The one that cursed me, and that I destroyed, was a ring found in the Gaunt shack. I was foolish enough to put it on, and…” Dumbledore held up his cursed hand. “The one I have a lead on is quite the peculiar case. I went to the cave, but found that someone had beaten me to the punch, and left a different locket. As for the one I have a location on-”

    “Hold on, this seems like a good time for us to tell you our news. Kreacher! Bring the locket!”

    Dumbledore’s eyes widened as Kreacher appeared holding Slytherin’s locket. “But how- of course! R.A.B. is Regulus Arcturus Black! Well then, let’s not delay.” Kreacher set it on the table, and with a flash of green light, another piece of Voldemort’s soul was destroyed. Kreacher seemed very emotional, and asked to be dismissed to compose himself, which Sirius allowed.

    “Right then. That’s the diary, the ring, and Slytherin’s artifact. That just leaves the ones from the rest of the founders.” Harry said. “You said you know where another is?”

    Dumbledore nodded. “The Lestrange vaults at Gringotts. And I do have an idea for how to get it, but it will be a rather long term endeavor. One that might have to be completed after my death. I paid a visit to Azkaban and used legilimency on the members of Tom’s inner circle that are imprisoned there. Most of them, anyways. But I learned something quite disturbing about  your cousin, Sirius.”

    “Bellatrix? What could she have done that’s worse than what we already know about her?” the fugitive asked.

    “Not what she has done, but what has been done to her. Rookwood and Riddle completely overwrote her personality using legilimency. She did nothing of her own free will, and was cruelly abused by Tom and his cronies. She is currently at Hogwarts, dosed with the Draught of the Living Death while Severus and I work on undoing their work, but it is slow going, especially with her mind affected by the potion. But once she has been restored, she will hopefully be willing to simply retrieve the horcrux from Gringotts for us.”

    Harry frowned. “I’m not sure it’ll be that simple sir. Even assuming her original personality can be restored, having memories of being the Death Eaters’ punching bag and mindless weapon will likely be traumatizing, to say the least. I want to get the Gringotts horcrux as much as you guys, but how do we know her mind won’t immediately break under the weight of her trauma as soon as we fix it?”

    “An excellent question, Harry. There is a spell, the Voluntary Memory Lock Charm, that I plan to use at a stage when Ms. Lestrange is compliant but not loyal to Tom, to have her lock away her memories of her slavery a small piece at a time. Once she is fully restored, she’ll be able to process her trauma in manageable steps, rather than be overwhelmed by all of it at once. Think of it like the difference between trying to eat a cow’s worth of beef and trying to cram an entire cow down your throat. It will still be hard, but she’ll be able to take her time and go in prepared.”

    “Alright, that sounds like it’ll work, even if using Tim’s manipulations to get her to agree to the voluntary memory lock feels a little icky.” Harry said.

    “It isn’t exactly perfectly ethical, I’ll agree, but I feel this is an instance where the ends justify the means. Now, I have a couple more items on my agenda for this visit. And I need to begin the next one with an apology. This is something I’ve gone to some rather considerable lengths to hide from you, but I felt it was necessary so long as you had the horcrux and there was a chance it was affecting your thoughts or personality. But Remus assures me there have been no drastic personality shifts since the ritual, so I now feel safe in telling you about this, and I hope you can forgive my deception, or at least understand it. There is an old rule in the annals of Wizengamot law called the Sole Survivor Clause. It allows the last person with the name and blood of a Most Ancient and Noble house to claim the lordship regardless of age, standing, or any other factor. At least on a political and financial level, whether the family magic accepts them is another matter.”

    “So I could walk into Gringotts and become Lord Potter right now.” Harry said.

    “Indeed.”

    “And I could have done this at literally any point since my parents died?”

    “Indeed.”

    “Fuck you. That said, I can reluctantly understand why you did that. Wouldn’t want ol’ Tim Puzzle getting his hands on the Potter fortune. But if there hasn’t been a Lord Potter or a Regent Potter, who’s been holding the Potter Wizengamot votes and managing the finances?”

    “The finances have been managed by the goblins. For a fee, of course. And the Potters’ designated Wizengamot proxy is Sirius, who has not been able to attend any sessions for obvious reasons. The Black and Potter seats have not been present for any Wizengamot session in more than a decade.”

    “Great, how do I change it?”

    “There’s a form you can file once you are officially Lord Potter. May I ask who you have in mind?”

    Harry gave Dumbledore a calculating look. “Snape.”

    Sirius made an odd little choking noise, while Dumbledore just sighed. “I’m afraid that might not be the wisest course of action, for a number of reasons. For one, Severus will need to return to his role as a spy at some point, and so would not be able to act as your proxy in good faith while still maintaining his cover. For another, he is terribly busy, and I’m not sure he would have time to learn how to be a Wizengamot proxy and attend sessions on top of everything else he does.”

    Harry frowned. “I’ll look into other options then, since you’re right about him being busy. No offense, but I’m not picking you or McGonagall after you kept all this from me. But also, I’m not sure Snape will be able to return to spying regardless of whether he’s my proxy or not. He’s had private lessons with me for three years now, and hasn’t tried to harm me or turn me to His side. And he’s started teaching a Longbottom and a muggleborn, too. And he was there to confront Quirrell in my first year. Besides, have you considered how much he might be able to do openly working with us?”

    “Hmm… I’ll take it under consideration.” Dumbledore conceded. “I’ve got another idea for how to get information from the inside, anyways. Now, I’ve got one more thing to do before I leave. Would you have a duel with me, Harry?”

    Harry raised his eyebrows. “Okay, but, uh, why?”

    Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I wish to see your abilities for myself, among other things. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

    It was those “other things” Harry was worried about, but he still showed Dumbledore to the training room. They bowed and the duel began. It was clear to Harry Dumbledore wasn’t going all-out. He wasn’t casting nearly as fast as Sirius could, although since both of them had their occlumency shields up, he had to put much more effort into avoiding Dumbledore’s spells than he had in his first round against Sirius. Still, Harry was holding his own.

    “Very good Harry! Now, let’s see how you handle something unconventional!” Dumbledore waved his wand, and a dozen crimson bubbles of light the size of marbles flew from the end and floated in various directions, stopping in various locations around the dueling ring.

    “Expelliarmus! Protego Orbis!” As Harry cast, Dumbledore thrust his wand skywards, and suddenly the marble sized bubbles puffed themselves up to the size of beach balls before rapidly shrinking and disappearing, except for the two closest to Harry, which he had contained within a shield bubble. He winced as he felt the magic press against them, and the shield he had cast wandlessly nearly broke, but didn’t. Meanwhile, Dumbledore somehow batted away his first Expelliarmus with the tip of his wand! Harry definitely wanted to learn how to do that. But Dumbledore hadn’t seen the second, wandless Expelliarmus Harry had lined up to be hidden behind the one from his wand. It struck the headmaster in the arm and his wand went flying towards Harry, who reached up and caught it. It felt strangely warm in his hand, almost humming. Curious. Harry had never felt anything like that from a wand other than his own.

    “Excellent show, my boy! Great use of wandless magic!” Dumbledore said enthusiastically. “I yield, by the way, if you expected me to continue wandlessly.” Harry relaxed his posture and handed Dumbledore his wand back.

    “That was a great duel, sir! What was the spell with the orbs? And how’d you just knock the first Expelliarmus away? Can you teach me how to do that?” Harry asked excitedly. Dumbledore chuckled.

    “I shall write you a pass to the restricted section for the book containing the orb spell once we return to school, just remind me about it after class. And I’m sure Professor Snape will be willing to teach you the spell-swatting technique. It’s a useful little trick I plundered from Mr. Selwyn’s mind while looking for leads on horcruxes. A secret closely held by the Selwyn family, until now.” He said with a smirk. “Well, unless you have anything else to bring to my attention, I shall take my leave. Learning of my impending death has given me even more things to do, I’m afraid, but I’m trying to take it in stride.”

    “Wait, sir, what do you mean, remind you about it after class?” Harry asked.

    “Ah, yes. Well, there’s going to be some unconventional staffing arrangements this year as I prepare to pass on. Minerva is going to be preparing to leave her post in Transfiguration to become Headmistress, Pomona is going to be stepping up as Deputy Headmaster, and then there’s going to be everything going on with the Tournament. But since I hate sleep, I’ve decided to take one last shot at a problem that’s been a thorn in my side for decades. You see, I’ve tried everything I can to figure out how to get rid of the curse on the Defense position, except for one thing that, until now, I deemed too risky: placing myself under it. So yes, come see me after one of my Defense classes and I’ll happily write you that pass.”

—

    “Harry!”

    As soon as he stepped out of the fireplace at Greengrass Manor, Harry had his arms full of an energetic twelve-year old. “Oof, hey Tori! Glad to see you too, though I could do with not almost being knocked into a lit fireplace next time!”

    “Pssh, you’re fine! And I haven’t seen you in forever!” Astoria said, not releasing Harry from her hug.

    “Tori, you saw him last week, you twit.”

    Astoria huffed and released Harry to cross her arms at her sister. She likely had some sort of witty retort, but Harry totally missed it as he stared at Daphne. She was wearing a loose blouse, muggle jean shorts, classy looking boots, and had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Harry had always known Daphne was beautiful, but all of a sudden, he felt it.

    He felt his face heat up as Daphne greeted him with a brief hug, and mentally slapped himself (which, with occlumency, wasn’t entirely figurative). “Here, be a gentleman and carry my bag.” Daphne said with a smirk as she handed him a backpack that he assumed was enchanted with Spacial Expansion Charms like his own so that she could fit all the things she wanted for the Quidditch World Cup inside. Harry and the Greengrasses were going to be there for a week, so that the children would be able to see all the finalists compete and the adults would have plenty of time to schmooze with their foreign business and political contacts.

    Neville and Hermione weren’t going to be there, unfortunately, since Hermione wanted to spend as much time with her parents as she could before going back to school and Neville simply wasn’t interested enough in quidditch to abandon his plants for a week. In all honesty, Harry and Daphne weren’t too into quidditch either- both preferred watching dueling, and not having grown up with it, Harry couldn’t take a sport with such ridiculous rules entirely seriously. But it was still neat to watch, and both were interested to see other wizarding cultures. 

    They took the Greengrass’s family portkey to the campsite where everyone was staying. They were staying pretty near the middle of the pop-up city. There were clusters of tents grouped up based on nationality from some of the countries that were less than welcoming to foreigners- particularly Britain and Scandinavia- but mostly it was a wild jumble of cultures and languages. Most people had a flag in front of their tent indicating their nationality, and based on that their neighbors for the week were from Japan and Mexico. Once their tent was set up and their luggage put away, the elder Greengrass’s allowed Harry and Daphne to go explore the camp, with the caveat that they had to take Astoria with and keep an eye on her.

    It was a lot of fun. Harry quickly realized that the borders of the magical world were not always the same as the muggle one. The union of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway that was short-lived in the muggle world still stood in the magical one. Mesopotamia, the Arabian Peninsula, and most of North Africa were still controlled by the Arabian Empire. Magical Russia wasn’t communist and never had been, but magical China was. And the US was, according to one of Daphne’s cousins that they ran into, “a shitshow.”

    They ended up eating dinner with said cousin and her fiance. Both of them teased Daphne rather mercilessly about if she was dating, and weren’t that much better to Harry. Astoria did not help matters in the slightest, happily prodding the two of them about who was dating who in their friend group. Daphne was as embarrassed as Harry at first, before rallying, telling them to “just assume we’re in one big polyamorous relationship and shut up,” and redirecting the conversation towards a different cousin who was set to begin his final year at Koldovstoretz this year. He was apparently an excellent duelist and was being fought over by the Russian aurors, the ICW hit wizards, and various sponsors on the Russian and international dueling circuits.

    Harry followed the conversation as best he could, though it wasn’t easy when he didn’t know most of the names being mentioned and the conversation frequently switched between Russian and English, sometimes multiple times in the same sentence. Eventually Astoria took pity on him and said she wanted to look around some more before bed, and dragged Harry off after her cousin promised to walk Daphne back to the Greengrass tent if it was late when they were done talking.

    “So, between the two of us… you do like Daphne, don’t you?” Astoria smirked.

    “I- she’s a great friend! And that’s all!” Harry said, his face feeling hot. How did a twelve year old manage to embarrass him more than Daphne’s cousin?

    “Ah, so Hermione then? Or is it Neville?”

    “No! Where did you get that idea?” Harry squawked.

    Astoria sighed. “The same place that everyone did. The four of you are incredibly loyal and affectionate towards each other. One of you is rarely seen without at least one of the others. You touch each other much more frequently than most friends do.”

    “You’ve got it all wrong! Look, the first two points come down to use being very close friends, and that last one is because of severe dementor exposure.” Harry explained.

    “You weren’t exposed to the dementors.” Astoria said pointedly.

    “Yes, but the rest of them were, so I was just giving them physical contact as a good friend who wants to help them recover.” Harry sniffed.

    “So you’re not going to touch them as much next year?”

    Harry sighed. “Listen Tori, I’d hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this, but at the rate you’re going, I might just remember that time I saw you kissing one of the Carrow twins.”

    “It was a game of truth or dare! But fine! You win this round, Potter!” Astoria grumbled.

—

    Fleur Delacour sighed as she climbed the stairs into the private box some of Papa’s business partners had bought out. If she’d had any say in it, she wouldn’t have come to this damn event that combined two things she thought were terribly overrated- quidditch and England- but her parents wanted her to practice her English with native speakers before the tournament and make connections outside of France. So here she was, in a rainy English forest, preparing to watch the first round of the Quidditch World Cup finals. It was Bulgaria vs Arabia for the first match, and apparently the Bulgarians had some young flying prodigy up their sleeve. Fleur didn’t really care.

    Her father drew her into a conversation with some American couple and their leering son about the latest news from North America. Same old news, really, but apparently this particular spat might affect Wartroot prices. Then she caught a sight of a couple of blonde girls and made excuses for her and Garbrielle to go thank their hosts for the invitation.

    Of course, it wasn’t Daphne and Astoria Greengrass who had invited the Delacours and the other families, but rather their parents, but that was just details. Daphne was a few years younger than Fleur and Astoria was a few years older than Gabrielle, but the Greengrass and Delacour daughters nevertheless found each other to be much better company than the average at these sorts of events.

    The two of them were already talking with a boy who looked to be between Daphne and Astoria’s age, though that was hardly the first thing Fleur noticed about him. The obvious thing she noticed was the eyepatch. She would have thought it was a silly little boy trying to look cool if it wasn’t for the scar protruding above and beneath it. The second thing she noticed was his magic. Her veela side was intrigued by the power she could feel from him, and her human side was impressed by how he had no visible reaction when he noticed her approaching, and simply continued whatever he was saying to the Greengrass sisters, who both laughed as he continued to look at her. It wasn’t lecherous, though. Fleur felt as if she was being assessed as a potential threat rather than as a sexual fantasy. 

    “Fleur! Gabbi! I didn’t know you guys would be here!” Daphne said happily. “I thought you hated quidditch and England.”

    Fleur rolled her eyes fondly as Astoria and Gabrielle hugged. “I never said that! I only said that I find quidditch to be illogical and dangerous and England to be backwards and dreary. That is a far cry from ‘atred. Besides, I am going to be in England for- well, I am not supposed to say, I’m afraid, but I could use the practice on my English skills.”

    “Oh, the tournament?” the one eyed boy asked curiously. “I’m guessing you’re with Beauxbatons, based on your accent?”

    “Oui. I am Fleur Delacour, might I ‘ave the pleasure of your name?”

    “I’m Harry.” he said curtly.

    “He’s Harry Potter, if it wasn’t obvious, he just doesn’t like all the attention.” Daphne said exasperatedly.

    “Ah yes, I do remember you telling me about ‘im. ‘E is shorter than I expected.”

    Harry rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Fleur couldn’t make out over the sounds of upper class hobnobbing, but it made Daphne put a hand on his arm. “He’s sensitive about his height (“Am not!”), Fleur, be nice.” Daphne chastised. “So who are you rooting for to win the cup this year?”

    Fleur shrugged. “As you said, I do not really care about quidditch. France did not make it to the finals, so I suppose I will root for Canada to support the Quebecois, but it really makes no difference to me. So long as the Germans do not win, of course. Or the Iberians. Or the Russians.” she finished with a smirk.

    It was Daphne’s turn to roll her eyes. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to be disappointed, won’t you, Fleur? We’re rooting for the Russians, right Harry?” Daphne said, subtly batting her eyelashes at him.

    “Actually, I’m rooting for Ireland. They’re the closest we’ve got to a home team in the finals.” he said with a grin. “Oh don’t give me that look, Daph, chances are they won’t even end up playing each other.”

    Fleur raised an eyebrow, wondering if Daphne had found herself a boyfriend, when Astoria butted into the conversation. “Actually Harry, most of the bookies have basically accepted it as fact that Ireland will make it to the semifinals and be facing either Russia or Ethiopia. And probably Russia.” the youngest Greengrass said, smiling sweetly.

    “Oh shut up, Tori! What do they know! And why were you looking at the bookies anyways?” Harry said fondly. Fleur let out a snort of amusement as Astoria’s face turned pink and she began making half-hearted excuses. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

—

    Okay, so maybe the bookies did know a thing or two about predicting the outcome of sporting matches, Harry thought sullenly as he watched the Irish and Russian teams kick off later that week, with Astoria incessantly poking him and reminding him that she told him so. Aside from his hasty declaration about what professional gamblers knew about sports betting, however, he’d been having a good time. Not so much due to the quidditch, all Harry really paid attention to in that regard was that the semifinals were Bulgaria vs China and Ireland vs Russia, and apparently Bulgaria’s seeker really was as good as everyone said.

    His enjoyment came much more from his company than the event itself. The days were spent in the Greengrass’s box chatting with Daphne, Astoria, Fleur, and Gabrielle, although his interactions with the younger Delacour sister were severely limited by the fact that she spoke very little English and he spoke very little French, though Fleur did teach him some basics. The evenings were spent exploring the campsite, sometimes with the Delacours, other times without. They ran into an average of two family members of Daphne’s per day, and various people from school as well. Professor McGonagall was wearing an Irish flag like a shawl, Sue Li waved to them from a tent with a Chinese flag out front, and they even saw Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy hanging around, although there was no sign of Draco.

    After spending most of his summer in the gloomy halls of Grimmauld Place, the liveliness of the Quidditch World Cup was just what Harry needed. It was nice to, if not relax, take things a bit easier than he had been. Grimmauld Place didn’t have much in the way of entertainment, and while Harry had been happy to practice dueling with his godfather and peruse the secrets of the Black library, it was also nice to just sit back and listen to Fleur talk about the Alchemy class at Beauxbatons, or tell Gabrielle stories of amusing Charms incidents via Fleur. 

    He also had time to process what Dumbledore had told him the day before he left. There was a lot Dumbledore had told him, and Harry got the impression that the old man was still keeping secrets. He had plenty to think about as he gazed out at the quidditch matches and let people assume he was watching.

    There was the matter of the horcruxes, first and foremost. They’d gotten half of them, plus the ‘bonus horcrux’ in his scar. And they knew where another was, and just had to wait to get to it. And that was another thing; one of the most infamous Death Eaters having been mindjacked, as Harry had taken to thinking of it. It was a disgusting abuse of legilimency, albeit a fascinating one. Harry was also curious about the Defense curse, and his eligibility for the Potter lordship, and the Tournament. But what Harry kept coming back to was Dumbledore’s impending death.

    Harry didn’t need to study Divination to know it would change everything. But he’d probably need to do so to know how things would change. He’d do his best to make predictions regardless, though. Dumbledore had three official positions: Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. Dumbledore said that McGonagall was going to be taking over as Headmistress, so that was good. He considered her an ally, or at least a friendly force, so he was glad she would be taking over in the role that would affect him the most on a day to day basis. 

    As for the Wizengamot and the ICW, Harry didn’t really know what would happen. He would learn the ins and outs of those bodies one day, but for now he had other things that were a higher priority for him to learn, and he trusted Daphne, Neville, and Hermione to tell him about anything concerning them he might need to know about. He’d also hopefully be adding Regent Longbottom to that list, as well, since he planned to ask her to be the proxy for House Potter, and by extension House Black. He’d spent the match between Khmer and Mali deciding who he wanted as his proxy. It had come down to Regent Longbottom or one of Daphne’s parents. Harry’s own political views tended to align with the former on matters of rights for non-purebloods, whether that meant muggleborns or non-humans, but he found himself agreeing more with the latter on restrictions on what kinds of magic could be practiced and studied. Ultimately, it came down to the fact that Harry trusted Regent Longbottom much more. He’d stayed with her a whole summer and had a lovely time, whereas he’d been burned by Daphne’s relatives before.

    Harry was jolted out of his morbid musings by the loud cheers that accompanied Ireland catching the snitch, sealing in the final game tomorrow as Bulgaria vs Ireland. Honestly, Harry hoped it would be a quick match, he was rather done with quidditch, quidditch players, and the wizarding world’s general quidditch obsession for a good long time. At least the mysterious tournament at Hogwarts this year was guaranteed to not be about quidditch, and in fact have nothing to do with it.

—

    The next day, as Harry and Daphne climbed the quidditch stands one last time, Hermione was in the Longbottom greenhouses with Neville being taught a new charm while learning about an obscure piece of magical flora: in this case, the Alpine Lightning Potato.

    “So this charm, just… replicates a lightning strike?” Hermione asked dubiously. “And we’re supposed to use it on the plants at point blank range? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

    “Oh don’t worry, they’ll be fine! In the wild, they attract lightning strikes, but since they’re in a greenhouse, we have to do it ourselves.” Neville said.

    “I meant dangerous for us, Neville. How does this charm not just blow us up?”

    “Well, it does if your wand tip isn’t touching anything. Lightning doesn’t actually like air that much, so rather that shooting off through the air like a spell bolt, it sort of… fries you, your wand, and anything you might be touching. Hence why you don’t use the True Lightning Charm for fighting, unless you’re jabbing your wand into someone, in which case it’s more of a dramatic execution than a fight.”

    “I know how lightning works, Neville.” Hermione said with an eye roll. “Although… has anyone tried ionizing a path of air to the target with transfiguration before casting the charm?”

    “What?” Neville asked confusedly.

    “Electricity doesn’t like going through air unless it’s ionized, which I assume is why you get that feedback and explosion problem if you try to cast the True Lightning Charm through regular air. But I don’t see why electricity would be able to tell the difference between air that’s been magically made into a conductor…”

    “What?” Neville repeated.

    “In fact, now that I think about it, using magic to exploit the massive loopholes it necessarily creates in the laws of physics has nearly as much potential as magic itself!” Hermione exclaimed excitedly.

    “Hermione, what are you talking about?”

    “Neville, think about it! All this time, me and every other muggleborn has been assuming you can’t mix scientific principles with magic, or that it isn’t worth it. But what if it is? I mean, if the True Lightning Charm actually does generate as much electricity as a lightning strike, then we’ve just blown the laws of thermodynamics out of the water! Or at least, we’ve proven that magic is much more powerful than we’ve been giving it credit for. There’s so many ways you could harness simple spells to do crazy things! I mean, think of the potential in a transfiguration based nuclear power plant!”

    “Hermione, I don’t know what most of those words mean.”

    “Think of it Neville! Magic could make science fiction into reality! All the problems with things like railguns, supercomputing, even faster than light travel, we could just magic them away! I need to write to Professor McGonagall! And Dumbledore, and Flitwick! And Harry, too, he’ll appreciate the possibilities here! It’ll be much more interesting than anything that could happen at that silly quidditch cup! Oh, you’re brilliant Neville! Enjoy electrocuting your potatoes!”

    Hermione quickly kissed Neville on the cheek and ran out of the greenhouse, leaving behind and very confused and embarrassed wizard. “Okay, but… what?” he mumbled. “Screw it, I’m going back to my plants. Plants don’t talk about new clear power, kiss you on the cheek, and then run off. Plants make sense, damnit.”

—

    After the fact, Harry would agree with Hermione that her epiphany about the potential for using magic to cheat at science was more interesting than a riot and a kidnapping attempt. However, during the course of said riot and kidnapping attempt, Harry had no idea about the letter Hermione had written him that was currently waiting for him back at Grimmauld Place, and thus one hundred percent of his focus was on the riot and kidnapping attempt he found himself in the middle of.

    The riot was actually relatively tame, as far as riots go, Harry thought. There were maybe thirty to forty jackasses stomping around the campsite, setting tents on fire and flinging hexes at anyone who wasn’t fast enough in getting out of their way. They mostly stuck to Blasting Hexes, Bludgeoning Hexes, and Bone Breaking Hexes which, while far from pleasant, were also not usually lethal on their own, and didn’t resist being healed. It was almost, Harry thought, as if the riot were only a distraction.

    The riot was only a distraction. The Greengrasses (and Harry) had gotten separated from one another in the confusion. Astoria had been hit with a Bludgeoning Hex and was being carried by her mother when a tall, thin figure wearing a silver mask had launched a large, blazing tent towards them. Dalia had dodged left, while Harry, Daphne, and Viktor dodged right. Viktor began dueling the Death Eater and told them to run. For a moment, Harry considered ignoring him and staying behind to help. Then two more Death Eaters emerged from behind a tent, and after he narrowly blocked a Stunning Spell, Harry decided that maybe running was the best option. 

    Running from the Death Eaters was a harrowing experience. Daphne grabbed Harry’s hand and led them through the campsite while Harry looked over his shoulder to block the stunners that their pursuers sent at them and return fire (generally with spells much more harsh than stunners) when he could. Against regular pursuers, this would have been a sound strategy. 

    The Death Eaters chasing them, however, did not stick to conventional tactics. For one thing, they must have had some way around the anti-apparition wards that affected everyone else, since on multiple occasions, the pair would round one corner being pursued by the fat Death Eater only to find the skinny one right in front of them, shooting a scarlet spell bolt that forced Harry and Daphne to drop to the ground. They also didn’t seem to mind causing a little extra property damage in their attempt to capture Harry and/or Daphne. Tent poles would shoot through the air and embed themselves in the ground inches in front of the two, blocking off the most direct paths towards the edge of the campsite forcing them to make detours, double back, or on one occasion, duck through a tent, knocking over someone’s abandoned supper.

    “This isn’t working!” Daphne shouted as Harry used a Shredding Curse to destroy a large piece of canvas that had been charmed to try and tie them up.

    “Stand and fight?” Harry asked, sidestepping a stunner.

    “Oh yes, please do!” the thin Death Eater said gleefully. “I’ll be happy to- gah, shit!” he said, stumbling backwards as a Ripping Curse from Harry narrowly missed him. 

The fight that followed was too fast paced for taunting from either side. Spells were fired, dodged, and blocked at a terrifying speed. The Death Eaters stuck to stunners, but Harry and Daphne did not particularly care about using spells that straddled the line between lethal and merely debilitating. 

Harry was well aware that he was in a fight for his life, even if the Death Eaters didn’t intend to immediately kill him- Death Eaters were not known for catch and release kidnappings. One wrong move and he was screwed, not to mention Daphne. And while he was almost certainly putting up a much better fight than they expected him to be able to, he and Daphne were still relying a lot on Protego, which worked fine against stunners, but less so against heavy Dark spells, nevermind the Killing Curse. Still, Harry thought as he jumped out of the way of one stunner while shielding another, this was almost fun.

He never saw the third stunner that hit him from behind.

—

    “Still can’t believe I got jinxed in the back by a bloody auror.” Harry grumbled as he sat with Neville, Hermione, and Daphne in a corner of Fortescue’s, the fruits of their back to school shopping in bags on the floor.

    “Gee Harry, I didn’t know you felt bitter about that! It’s only the 27th time you’ve mentioned it today!” Hermione said, but there was no real anger in her words.

    “29th, actually, he said it twice while you were in the loo.” Neville said nonchalantly before taking another bite of his ice cream.

    “Sorry, but you have to admit I’ve got a valid grievance here!”

    “Not really. It was really chaotic, and the auror who stunned you is the same one who kept the fat one from portkeying away with you.” Daphne said with a smirk.

    “But I-”

    “Harry, didn’t you say you had important stuff to catch us up on?” Neville interrupted, preempting another round of complaining about the competence of the auror force and questioning where his tax galleons go.

    “Yes, right.” Harry said, casting his usual thorough series of privacy spells around their booth, drawing a raised eyebrow from Fortescue himself but no comment. “So, the broad strokes to make sure everyone’s on the same page: Dumbledore is dying, Bellatrix Lestrange was a brainwashed slave, I’m Lord Potter now, and Hermione’s going through her mad scientist phase. Any questions so far?”

    “It’s not a phase, and I’m not mad, and could you please elaborate about all those other things?” Hermione asked concernedly.

    “Yes, but I’ll save them for the end.” Daphne said.

    “What’s a scientist?” Neville asked.

    Hermione sighed. “Purebloods, I swear… think muggle unspeakables.”

    Neville raised his eyebrows. “Insane unspeakables are bad news, you know that right? Like, most common reason for countries to request HIT Wizards kind of bad.”

    “Don’t worry, it’s a good kind of mad. And if it does turn into a bad kind of mad, I trust that she’ll spare us, or at least put us in a very comfortable prison. But it’s not the ‘snort the contents of a time turner to try and see if you can become your own grandfather’ kind of mad, it’s the ‘realize the broader implications of magic as they relate to physics and chemistry’ kind of mad.” Harry said reassuringly.

    “I know this will get me another frustrated sigh, but what’s-”

    “Physics is the study of how things react when stuff happens to them, and chemistry is the study of how things react when you mix them with other things.” Harry said, placing a calming hand on top of Hermione’s.

    “Okay, but how does mixing magic and muggle science change anything?” Daphne asked.

    Hermione took a deep breath. “Okay, have you heard of atomic bombs?” The purebloods shook their head. “Well, muggles invented these devices that can destroy cities in an instant and poison the ground for years. And I could, theoretically, tap my wand to this table and turn it into one of those devices.”

    Neville’s suntanned face rapidly paled, while Daphne only whispered “That’s impossible.”

    “It’s not.” Hermione said coldly. “If you don’t believe that muggles have those devices, I can lend you some of my history books. If you don’t believe someone could transfigure one, I’ve checked through all the accepted laws of transfiguration and written about it to Professor McGonagall- without that particular example, of course.”

    “Why would we want one of those things, though?” Neville asked.

    “We don’t. I personally would be happy if there was never a nuclear explosion on our planet again. But it’s an excellent proof of concept. As long as you’re familiar enough with a chemical or a specific isotope, you can transfigure that chemical or isotope. As long as you have a sufficient understanding of how a machine works, you can transfigure it. You guys know what guns are, right?” Hermione asked.

    Daphne nodded, while Neville hesitantly said “Muggle murder wands?”

    “Essentially, yes.” Hermione said, before tapping her spoon with her wand and transfiguring it into a short metal tube with a handle. “I just turned a spoon into a gun. Granted, this is a very poor gun, since I haven’t had much time to study more advanced features, but if I pointed this at someone and pulled the trigger, they would die.” She tapped the gun again and it turned back into a spoon. 

    “Okay, but this sounds like a very complicated way of getting a weapon that does the same thing as a Piercing Hex.” Daphne said.

    “Ugh, you don’t get it! It’s not about making bombs, or guns, it’s the fact that I can make specialized muggle machinery with a wave of a wand! It could theoretically be a speedboat, or a cannon, or a drill! And that’s just the basics! So many theoretical technologies and dirty tricks are possible with magic! Even if magic and electricity are completely incompatible, which I doubt, I’ve already got plenty of ideas for muggle twists on innocuous spells and magical twists on muggle inventions!”

    “Alright, alright, relax Hermione. So, uh, about all those other things.” Daphne said, redirecting the conversation effectively, if not subtly.

    “Well, the Lord Potter thing is all provisional. I’m not old enough to claim my Wizengamot seat, but as head of my house I can appoint a proxy that isn’t a wanted fugitive. Your Gran should be receiving that letter right about now, Nev. It also gives me more options for the family finances, but I’ve got my account manager managing my investments for a commission and that seems to be working out well for both of us. It’s nice, and could come in handy, but isn’t really that big of a deal.”

    “Ordinarily I would vehemently disagree, but compared to your other news pieces I suppose I have to concede.” Daphne said dryly. “Lestrange, then?”

    “Had her personality totally overwritten by Puzzle and Rookwood. Dumbledore says she’s as much of a victim of the Death Eaters as I am, especially if I’m reading between the lines about what they did to her correctly.” Harry said darkly. “Him and Snape are working on fixing her, but it’s slow going. The good news is that they think one of the you-know-whats are in her Gringotts vault, so once she’s got her free will back, she’ll probably be happy to show us into the Lestrange vaults to kill a piece of Tim’s soul. Hell, depending on how cooperative she is, the Lestrange fortune might just go straight into Dumbledore’s war chest.” Harry explained.

    “Okay, speaking of Dumbledore, what do you mean he’s dying?” Hermione asked.

“He got himself cursed while hunting a horcrux. Snape is slowing it down, but he’s got a year left. It sounds like he’s accepted it though, and is going to make the most of it. He’s going to be working on retiring from his public roles so he can have as much influence as possible on his successors- I know he said McGonagall is going to become Headmistress. He also said he’s going to teach DADA this year, so that’ll be something! Apparently he’s going to try and break the curse on the position by placing himself under it.”

    “Yeah okay, that does sound like a silver lining.” Daphne admitted. “Still, this is going to have huge ramifications, politically speaking. We’ll definitely have to discuss this a lot.”

    “Oh, absolutely. And we’ll definitely have to mobilize and expand the Chimera Club.” Hermione said thoughtfully. 

    “Yeah, and maybe even see about influencing some adults. I don’t know if the Order of the Phoenix will survive Dumbledore’s death, but we might be able to subsume some or all of it.” Daphne agreed.

    Harry hummed in agreement, staring out the window with a troubled expression. “What’s wrong, Harry?” Neville asked.

    “It’s nothing, you wouldn’t- actually, wait. Daphne, I read that magic sight runs in your family, do you have it?”

    “It’s rude to just ask, but yes, I do.” Daphne said guardedly. “And for the record, any book that says that is probably illegal.”

    “Illegal to buy or sell, but not to own!” Harry smirked. “But anyways, you know how they took me to St. Mungo’s after the World Cup? I can sort of feel magic too, although it’s mostly just impressions. And the impression I got from St. Mungo’s was something very clean and sanitized with rot and corruption under the surface. Like a shiny tiled wall, but the wood behind it is filled with termites. And I thought it was weird, but I just assumed it was the combination of sanitation charms and lots of sick people being and having been in the building. But then we came here, and I realized that I feel that same kind of rot diagon. Are they connected somehow?”

    Daphne sighed. “Yes, it’s old and complicated, but Diagon Alley and St. Mungo’s both draw magic from the Wizengamot. Them and the Ministry of Magic complex are the only three places in Britain that do.”

    Harry frowned. “Does the Wizengamot magic feel… negative, to you too?”

    Daphne nodded. “I hate it. It feels like… like it’s going to betray me. Which I know doesn’t make any sense, but when does magic ever? I can stand St. Mungo’s and Diagon, but I hate being in the Ministry proper. It feels like the building itself is holding a knife to my throat.”

    “Has someone corrupted the Wizengamot or something?” Hermione asked worriedly.

    Daphne snorted. “Yeah, the Wizengamot has. The family has a few theories for why the Wizengamot magic feels the way it does. Papa thinks the corruption of the magic reflects the corruption of the institution, and I’m inclined to agree with him. There are other possibilities, but since the Wizengamot charter is kept under lock and key by the DoM, there’s only so much investigation we can do.”

    Harry sighed. “Of course the government itself has rotten magic. Why wouldn’t it? Can’t I get some non-insane news this summer?”

    Neville grinned. “Well, I don’t know if it counts as non-insane, but Gran clued me in on the international event at Hogwarts: a centuries-old bloodsport that pits the children of various schools against each other in deadly trials and was canceled for being too dangerous for the judges. Except this time, it’s going to be, and I quote, ‘bigger and better than ever. And safer too, apparently.’”

    Harry groaned again. “Why’d it have to be bloodsports?”

Chapter Text

    “A House Elf is a small magical creature that exists to serve wizards by doing tasks around the house such as cooking and cleaning. They are highly submissive, to the degree that they like work and are sad if there is nothing for them to do, and will physically punish themselves if their master orders it. House Elves are tied to the family magic of their master, which is why they are not found in places like the Ministry of Magic or St. Mungo’s, since those places do not have a family that directly owns them.” -The Muggleborn’s Dictionary of Magical Terms, by Stanley Benton, 1987

—

    “Hey pup, can you come down here a sec?” Harry frowned at the unusual seriousness with which Sirius spoke. It was the night before Harry was due to leave for Hogwarts, had something come up? “Take a seat, Harry.” Sirius said when Harry came down to join him in the lounge. “So, look, I’ve been putting off this conversation for a while, partially because I’m a natural procrastinator and partially because I’ve been trying to convince Moony to let one or both of us have some firewhiskey for this, but he’s got a right stick up his arse about it. Something about not giving hard liquor to a 14 year old or a recovering alcoholic. Absolutely preposterous. Anyway, I’m sure you Slytherins have plenty of ways to, heheh, beat around the bush, but I’m a Gryffindor so I’m just gonna jump right in: whaddaya know about sex and relationships, kid?”

    Harry blushed furiously and didn’t meed Sirius’s eyes as he said “Tab A goes in slot B, nine months later there’s a baby.”

    Sirius let out a weary sigh. “Okay, this might take a bit longer than I thought. First of all, no euphemisms here, we need clear communication and no misunderstandings. Or so Remus says. So what you just described is a person with a dick and a person with a pussy going the whole nine yards. Wait, does that count as a euphemism? Shit. Anyways, you described sex where a penis goes in a vagina. But there’s other stuff you can do to make someone feel good, sexually speaking. You don’t need to touch your bits to their bits, you can also just use your hand or your mouth on them. In fact, it’s usually a good idea to do stuff like that before you jump into intercourse, it helps build tension, you know?” Harry didn’t know. “Also, a penis can go in a butt, or other places, people get creative. You with me so far?”

    Harry nodded, maintaining intense eye contact with the floor. “Great. Then, let’s see, uh…” Sirius pulled out a crumpled list from his pocket. “Okay, you know where babies come from, you know that there’s more to sex than penis in vagina, next up- do you have a problem with gay people?”

    Harry shrugged. “I’m fine with them, primarily on the grounds that Vernon and Petunia hated them. Not sure I’ve ever met one though. Wait, no, I take that back, McGonagall and Pomfrey flirt with each other. Heavily.”

    “Oh Merlin, is that still going on? But you’ve definitely met more gay magicals than you think. Most witches and wizards are into both, at least to some degree. Which brings me to a subpoint: you are aware that there are potions that allow same sex couples to concieve with each other, yes? So be careful about who you sleep with, especially since you’re famous, since your jizz can be used to make an Impregnation Potion. Which brings me to another subpoint, do you know the Contraceptive Charm?”

    Harry shook his head no and received a crash course on the charm, and was consistently able to cast it in five minutes. “That’s one charm just about everyone puts their best effort into learning.” Sirius chuckled. “Right, next is…” Sirius’s eyes flicked down to the list. “Consent! Right, here’s the deal with consent: you don’t do anything sexual with anyone that they’re not okay with. If you don’t know if they’re okay with it, ask! Communication is good. And if they say no, respect that. Don’t try and convince them or anything, just leave it. Like, I was a playboy asshole in my later Hogwarts years, but even I knew when to back off. I don’t think I have to tell you this, ‘cause you seem like you’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders, but if I didn’t your mom would come back to life to kick my ass.”

    “I’m not a rapist, Sirius.” Harry said with a frown.

    “I didn’t say you were! I’m just trying to do Moony’s clear communication thing. Sometimes people think a lack of a ‘no’ is the same as a ‘yes’ and it’s not and I wanted to make sure you knew that! But anyways, do you have any questions before we jump into the marginally-less-mortifying section where I talk to you about dating rather than fucking?”

    Harry shook his head no. “Great! Well, I don’t have as many specific things to say about dating, actually. Always respect your partner, or partners, but that should go without saying. Everyone has disagreements and arguments, but the important thing is that you don’t let it get personal and are able to compromise or respectfully disagree. Always give them the benefit of the doubt, within reason. Jumping to the worst conclusions will make everyone angry and miserable. That’s my main advice, which is honestly just telling you not to do the things that turned my parents into what they were. Um, let’s see, don’t feel like you have to change yourself to get someone to like you? I mean, that’s kind of what James did, but it was needed, ‘cuz like I said we were dicks… look, just be yourself, respect your partner, and don’t forget the Contraception Charm, okay?”

    “Okay. Can I go now?”

    “I thought you might want to play a game or two of chess while we stew in the awkwardness of that conversation, but if you wanna slither on back to your snake den, that’s fine by me, I suppose.”

    Harry scurried away, and after a second or two Remus disillusioned himself in the corner of the room where he’d been standing with a silenced camera. “Get any good ones?” Sirius asked excitedly.

    “Yup! He looks like he wants to disappear into the floor! But you’re not seeing them until you say…”

    Sirius sighed. “Fine. You were right, framing it as a prank in my mind did help me get through it.”

    “One day you’ll learn to stop questioning me.” Remus smirked, giving Sirius a quick peck on the cheek, before bursting out laughing. “Oh Merlin, look at this one! I think it’s when you mentioned people stealing his sperm!”

—

    Draco was surprised by how alone he felt. He was sitting in a compartment with Vince and Greg and Pansy, but he just watched out the window as Pansy nattered on about something silly and Vince and Greg tried playing exploding snap, which turned out about as well as you’d expect it to on a moving train.

    To say Draco’s summer had been rough was an understatement. His father had been furious about Draco getting shown up by Granger and Potter in terms of grades, and Draco had tried to make it better by telling him about his involvement with the mysterious Wormtail. It had backfired spectacularly. His father was apoplectic that Draco had gone and helped a dead man with a sloppy plan that didn’t even work.

    As a result, Draco spent the summer confined to his room to study, except for when his father brought him to the dueling hall for practices which invariably left Draco bruised, battered, and exhausted. It was a gilded cage, and Draco could reluctantly admit he had learned a lot, both from his book studies and his father’s… practical training. But Draco was incredibly lonely. He barely saw his mother all summer, with Dobby bringing him meals in his room so he could read while eating. He didn’t talk to his father during dueling practice. He wasn’t allowed to write letters or make floo calls. The only sentient being he’d talked to any considerable amount over the summer had actually been Dobby.

    They had developed an odd relationship. Draco had, for most of his life, disdained Dobby, because that’s what his father did. But then, after Draco’s first dueling session with his father, when Dobby had popped in to deliver his dinner, the elf looked at Draco with an expression he couldn’t identify, disappeared with a pop, reappeared with bruise ointment, and wordlessly disappeared again.

    It wasn’t until the third time this happened that Draco identified the elf’s expression: it was pity. At first, Draco was angry. How dare that pathetic creature pity him? He might be being punished by his father, but he was still a wizard, and a Malfoy at that! So Draco lashed out, screaming at the elf and throwing the jars of bruise ointment at him. That had lasted until one particular brutal session where his father had hit him square in the back with a Scraping Jinx that, while only damaging the skin, had enough power behind it to turn Draco’s back into a tattered mess.

    He’d lain motionless on his bed as Dobby applied murtlap essence to his back. They’d both been silent for a few minutes before Draco quietly asked “Why?”

    “Dobby may be a bad elf, but he is not so bad an elf as to not take care of Young Master when he is hurt.”

    “Did my father order you to do this? Or my mother?”

    “No, sir. Dobby is being bad elf because Master Lucius specifically tells Dobby to let you heal yourself, and Dobby is also being forbidden from telling Mistress Narcissa about you’s practice sessions. Dobby is being a bad elf either way, but this way is better.”

    Draco frowned. Dobby did not have his usual wailing meltdown that was his usual reaction to failing his duties as an elf, despite having confessed to disobeying a direct order. “Dobby, why are you being- er, why would you be a bad elf if you followed Father’s orders?”

    Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Dobby pause for a moment before the elf’s small hands continued tending to his wounds. “Dobby can tell you the long answer or the short answer, but the long answer is very secret. Young Master mustn't tell anyone if he wants the long answer.”

    Draco raised an eyebrow before wincing as it disturbed a cut on his forehead. “Well now I’m intrigued. What’s this long answer then?”

    Dobby hummed for a moment. “It all comes down to magic. Magic is big, and strange, and changes for reasons that nobody knows.” Dobby said, his tone shifting along with his speech patterns. “A long time ago, when humanity was young and lived in little camps, and had no homes, they tamed the wolf and made the dog. At first, both dog and human benefited greatly from the relationship. But as time passed, and humans built towns and cities and farms, dogs did not contribute as much to the relationship, while humans offered more. Yet humans did not abandon dogs and let them return to the wild, because they had an emotional connection to the dogs. They thought they were cute, and so even the old dogs and the sick dogs were indulged, when possible. It is the same with magic and humans.”

    “You mean we domesticated magic?” Draco asked, confused.

    Dobby laughed gently, and it occurred to Draco that he had never heard an elf laugh before. “No, Young Master, magic domesticated humans.”

    “Are you even listening to me? Draco? Draco!” Dobby had said. Wait, no, that was Pansy shouting in his ear and looking at him like he was dying.

    “Sorry Pansy, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Draco said, giving her a fake smile. It felt like everything had been fake for a while, though he wasn’t sure when it began.

    “What’s wrong, Drakey? You know you can talk to me about anything.” Pansy simpered.

    “Nothing’s wrong, it’s not like that. I’m just thinking about the Tournament.” Draco said. Well, he was more thinking about how one day his father had stormed in, told him about the Tournament, ordered him not to embarasses the Malfoy name in front of guests, and banished a stack of French books at him for him to refresh his memory on the language of his ancestors with.

    “What tournament?” Vince grunted.

    “The one he told us about on the platform, you moron!” Pansy huffed. “So who do you think is gonna win, Draco?”

    Draco resisted the urge to shrug, as it was terribly common. “I wouldn’t want to make a bet before I even know who the champions are.” Draco said demurely.

    “Fine, but you must at least have an idea about what the schools are like! I know your family knows so many interesting people overseas!”

    Draco sighed. At least delivering some exposition would shut Pansy up for a few minutes. “Well, there’s Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, both very respectable schools on the continent. They’ll be strong contenders, I’m sure.” Draco said. “Then there’s Ilvermorny, in America. I think it’ll depend a lot on who their champion is. If they’re from MACUSA proper or the West, they’ll probably be a pushover, but I hear some of the more, ah, radical factions occasionally send their more talented kids to Ilvermorny, so if it’s one of them things could get interesting.”

    “What about if it’s one of the Indians?” Pansy interrupted. Draco bit back an impolite sigh, for a number of reasons.

    “The Native Americans never send their kids to Ilvermorny, Pansy. Anyways, Koldovstoretz is coming too. I doubt they’ll be a serious competitor. From what I hear, they’re like an entire school of Gryffindors. A bit more militaristic than our lions, but still totally undisciplined. Then there’s the CPMA… they’ll definitely be tough. Honestly, I’m surprised the Chinese even agreed to come.” Draco said. 

    “Why’d we even invite them?” Pansy asked with a wrinkle of her nose.

    “You know, normally I’d assume it’s Dumbledore, but I hear even he doesn’t like them.” Pansy laughed just a bit too much for the not particularly funny joke. “I suppose there’s only so many major magic schools. Anyways, then there’s Mahoutokoro. They’re pretty intense, what with their warrior culture and all that, so I’d also give them better chances than most. Then there’s the Madrasa. They’re mostly a bunch of Ravenclaws, but I wouldn’t entirely count them out. The Madrasa can trace its history back to the ancient Sumerian warlocks, and the magical Umayyads must be doing something clever to last this much longer than their muggle counterparts.” Draco paused, noticing Pansy looking at him a little strangely. “Not that it’s hard to be cleverer than a muggle, of course.” He added. “And then there’s Montana Escondida. They’re pretty laid back, but with them recruiting from most of Latin America, they’ll probably find someone at least halfway decent.”

    “What about us, Drakey? What chances do you give Hogwarts?”

    “Depends on who’s picked, even more so than the others, I’d wager. Other schools have ways of dividing up their students, but Hogwarts is the only one that does so to the extent that it basically has four different cultures in one building. We’ll have a decent chance as long as it’s a Slytherin, or at least a Ravenclaw, and none of the tasks require knowledge of Divination, History, or Magical Creatures.”

    Pansy fake-laughed again. “You’re so smart, Drakey! Maybe you should be the champion!”

    Draco couldn’t resist an inelegant snort. “My intelligence is exactly the reason I won’t be competing. The competition is to risk life and limb for honor and gold. Malfoys already have all the honor and gold we could need, but even a Malfoy only has one life and four limbs.”

—

    Neville watched as Dumbledore stood up after all the desserts had vanished, one way or the other. “Well, now that your bellies are filled, I hope I shall be able to command your attention for a few more start-of-the-year announcements than usual. I shall begin with the usual: the items on the list of the door of Mr. Filch’s office are banned. Do not stay out past your curfew. The Forbidden Forest is open to all students.” Dumbledore paused, his eyes twinkling as a wave of murmurs spread across the hall. “No, just kidding. The Forbidden Forest is still forbidden. However, I have a few more unusual announcements that I assure you I am not kidding about.”

    The student body quieted down, most seeming unamused by Dumbledore’s joke. “First of all, staffing announcements: I wish I could say we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, but instead, you have me. And I must admit that at my age, I am not new to very many things.” The students broke out into murmurs again. “Of course, the constantly vigilant amongst you may have noticed that we nevertheless have a new face up here at the staff table. I am very pleased to introduce you all to Professor Moody! This year, he is going to be something of a permanent substitute on staff. I intend to retire at the end of the year, and am happy to announce that Deputy Headmistress McGonagall will be taking over after I am gone. So Professor Moody will be primarily covering Transfiguration classes while Professor McGonagall is doing Headmistress things or Defense classes while I’m doing all the many, many things I have to worry about.” The Headmaster delivered that last bit like a joke, but Neville could detect real tiredness in his tone.

    “That is only my first bit of news, however! It is also my solemn duty to inform you that the inter-house quidditch cup will not be taking place this year.” Neville was certain Dumbledore was smirking under his beard as the hall broke into furious yelling. After letting it go on for a minute or so, he produced a loud bang from his wand. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have led with that. There will still be quidditch at Hogwarts this year, but not between the houses! For you see-” oh, this was going to be good, Neville thought. “-Hogwarts has been chosen for a most prestigious honor! This year, Hogwarts is going to host the first games of the newly revived Triwizard Tournament! But this shall not be the Tournament as it was in the past, nay! This year, the Tournament will feature champions from nine schools competing by land, sea, and sky! They shall be working in three teams of three for three tasks! That’s thirty-three percent more threes! And not only that, but there shall be other inter-school competitions alongside the main Tournament! There will be quidditch, chess, dueling, and more! It shall be a spectacle the likes of which Hogwarts has never before seen!”

    There was silence as Dumbledore’s proclamation rang through the halls for a moment before he cleared his throat. “In terms of logistics, the foreign schools will be arriving Friday afternoon, and the champions shall be chosen at a feast on Sunday. Once the foreign schools have arrived, the Great Hall will be looking a little different. In order to foster relationships between the schools, our four house tables will be broken up into many smaller ones, to allow plenty of mingling. Most of the visiting students will be sixth or seventh years, since one must be seventeen by the day of the first task to enter one’s name, but there will be students from some lower years who have come to participate in some of the other competitions. I hear Durmstrang is bringing a very formidable twelve year old chess prodigy. The presence of foreign students in your classes will vary from class to class and school to school. Our guests are invited to attend whichever classes they please, but they may choose to do partial or fully independent studies. Let’s see, anything else I need to say? Oh, if you’re interested in trying out for the school quidditch team, Madam Hooch will be holding tryouts Friday morning- there aren’t any classes that day, so we may all prepare to greet our guests. And it should go without saying, but I expect each and every one of you to greet our guests with open arms, or at least courteous hospitality. I’m sure I’ll remember more announcements vis a vis the Tournament later, so keep an eye on your house bulletin boards, but for now, I bid you all adieu and good night! Enjoy your gossipping!”

    Neville rolled his eyes as the students began moving towards their common rooms. Typical Dumbledore.

—

    “Are there any challenges for year leader?”

    Draco held his breath as this year’s Slytherin queen, Alyssa Burke asked the question as part of the normal Slytherin start-of-term ceremony. He let it out resignedly as Daphne Greengrass clearly and confidently asserted that she wanted to challenge him. “I’d like to negotiate in private.” Draco said in response, earning a few raised eyebrows. There were four responses to year leader challenges: a duel, a vote, a resignation, or a parlay. The parlay was the least commonly chosen.

    “Very well. Do either of you wish for a mediator?” Burke asked. Both of the fourth years shook their heads negatively, and were ushered into a NEWT/OWL ‘private study room.’ The heavy silencing and privacy spells on it meant that it was primarily used for uninterrupted studying or uninterrupted sex, but they were also occasionally used for uninterrupted discussions.

    “What sort of concessions would you need from me to withdraw your challenge?” Draco asked resignedly.

    “Leave the other houses alone, no more using the M-word, and get Pansy to stop using Millie’s shampoo.” Daphne said without hesitation.

    Draco let out a heavy sigh and dropped into the armchair in a corner of the room, earning him a raised eyebrow. “I can’t police other people’s language, and I might slip up a few times, but other than that, I find your terms acceptable.”

    Daphne looked taken aback before her face turned scornful. “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

    “Look, Greengrass, I realize I’ve been… adversarial, if not towards you then towards your friends. But I’ve had something of a change of heart over the summer. I experienced some bad things and I learned some insane things, and my priorities have changed rather drastically.”

    “What are these new priorities, then?” she challenged.

    “Destroy the Dark Lord and keep myself safe.” Draco said. He expected derision or disbelief, but was instead met with a wand pointed at him.

    “How do you know He isn’t dead?” Greengrass asked, her voice calm but deadly.

    “Don’t curse me while we’re negotiating, Greengrass, it’s bad form. And my father had a Dark device that would keep Him from dying all the way, though I’m not entirely sure what became of it. Right now, my short term goals are doing well on my OWLs, avoiding my father’s wrath, and finding that device.”

    Daphne narrowed her eyes. “And what made you change your goals? Let’s face it Malfoy, last year if He had suddenly shown up and killed Dumbledore you’d be dancing for joy in the middle of the Great Hall.”

    “As if I would ever do something so undignified.” Draco scoffed. “But point taken. I said I experienced and learned this summer. I experienced that my father is not the man I thought him to be. And I learned that magic would rather destroy itself than see the Dark Lord control it.”

    “...What.”

    “Listen, I can’t tell you how I know, but magic is more than just a force, and it opposes Him. And I’ll admit I’m not entirely sold on mud- on muggleborns. But my father told me muggleborns are scum in the same breath he said that the Dark Lord was enacting the will of magic itself, and if he was wrong about the second part, I’m open to the idea that he was wrong about the first.” Draco said earnestly.

    Daphne lowered her wand with a sigh. “Say I believe you. Why do you want to stay year leader so bad? Won’t making sure Crabbe and Goyle don’t flunk out take up time you could be searching for this supposed device?”

    “Oh, those two would be my responsibility anyways.” Draco sighed. “Greg’s not even that bad. But to answer your question, one of my goals is also minimizing my father’s anger and redirecting it towards things that aren’t me. He was not pleased that you and your clique challenged my grades, and I shudder to think what he’d do if I was displaced as year leader. As it is, it seems our goals align now, mostly.”

—

    Hermione was awoken to what she first assumed to be an airhorn being blown directly in her ear. “ALL GRYFFINDORS TO THE COMMON ROOM! ANYONE NOT THERE IN ONE MINUTE WILL BE HEXED!” came a magically amplified shout. Hermione sleepily pulled on a bathrobe as she joined the exodus of students going down the stairs to the common room. Everyone was bleary and clad in their pajamas, with one exception: Professor Moody was fully dressed, standing on top of a table in the middle of the room, and shooting Stinging Jinxes at the tiredest looking students.

    “Professor Moody? Is everything alright?” one of the seventh year prefects asked.

    “Oh, everything’s peachy-keen, girly. Now, everyone’s here? Good. Now, with Minerva becoming Headmistress, I’ve been appointed Head of Gryffindor. Now, I realize she took a somewhat ‘hands-off’ approach to that job, but the only time I’m hands-off is when I cut a Death Eater’s hands off!”

    Hermione blinked, wondering if this was all a bizarre dream. She cast a Tempus Charm. Professor Moody was way too energetic for 2:17 AM.

    “So here’s the deal, kiddos: Gryffindor is gonna be changing. We’re not just gonna be the house of the reckless. I used to be just like you twerps: I was lazy, naive, and conceited. Then I watched my mentor die to save me from a trap I walked into. That was when I started to learn that bravery without planning is just a martyrdom complex. We’re gonna be having monthly meetings- not in the middle of the night, don’t worry- to discuss where the line between bravery and idiocy is, and anybody who gets a P or lower on an assignment is going to have a chat with me about how to change that. And no, ‘chat’ is not a euphemism for detention, as long as I see you put effort into getting better. We’ll see where to go from there. Understood?” There was silence as the house stared at him. “I said, understood?” he growled.

    There were various murmurings of assent. “Right then. Back to bed with the lot of you. Big day tomorrow, and all that. Go on, dismissed! Shoo! Scram!”

    Hermione joined the crowd headed back up the girls’ staircase, hoping the vaguely surreal experience would make more sense in the morning.

—

    The next day at breakfast, the Gryffindors received their schedules for the year in the form of origami cranes that seemed to want to poke their eyes out. They were slow and easy to catch, but Professor Moody’s smirk at the head table confirmed that it wasn’t an accident or a prank from the Slytherins. This was her life now. Hermione sighed and unfolded her crane.