Chapter Text
My God, you have taken a sliver of my life, my soul, taken me — like a Horcrux — hidden me inside your soul and locked me away. And for that, I can never truly die. My body could be left behind and lost to the world, but as long as a part of me stays with you, then I shall live on. For all the bodies dropped by your wand could never amount to the times I'd drop for you — drop to your feet and worship you like the blood of Merlin stains your robes and the Elder Wand rests in your palm.
My God, my Lord, my so merciless Lord, you have taken me and made me yours.
Within the crowd of witches and wizards flocking to shake Harry Potter’s hand, a pale man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.
“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid from beside Harry. “Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts, the one I was tellin' yeh about earlier,” he introduced.
“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, his lips twitching as he smiled, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”
Harry's eyes lit up, and he reached his small hand out for a friendly handshake, to which Professor Quirrell eyed it hesitantly, rubbing his hands together in an anxious gesture instead.
"N-nice to m-meet you, P-Professor Q-Quirrell," Harry smiled brightly, but withdrew his hand to rest at his side once more when he noticed the Professor wouldn't accept it. "D-do you have a stut-t-tter, too?"
In all of Harry’s eleven years, he has not once met another soul like him.
He hardly ever spoke, for he was always made fun of by the other kids at school. Even by the Dursleys. They'd cut him off, ignore him and walk away, insulted and mocked him, and even shouted at him to spit his words out or to just shut up altogether. He never had any friends, and no one to listen to him. Other than his Primary School teachers, who were a lot kinder, and the most patient people Harry ever knew. Until he met Hagrid.
Hagrid was simply lovely. He was surprised to find out Harry stuttered when he spoke, but he told Harry that he wasn't alone because there was a Professor at Hogwarts who also had a stutter. Hagrid always listened to Harry with patience, never interrupted him and spoke to Harry with the utmost kindness and respect, all with a warm smile puffing up his rosy cheeks.
It was quite the shock of Harry's life when Hagrid came crashing into the shack, causing a ruckus with the Dursleys and explaining to Harry, as best as he could, what he really was and what really happened to his parents. It was absolutely brilliant. Maybe it wasn't the best introduction to the Wizarding World, but with Hagrid sticking up for Harry and his parents, giving Dudley a pig's tail, providing Harry truthful answers, and taking Harry away from the dreadful Dursleys, he didn't think he'd have it any other way. It was a moment Harry would never forget, and he would forever be thankful.
And now, Harry has met someone like him. For the first time, Harry felt as though he could relate to someone. Perhaps he could confide in Professor Quirrell about his anxiety caused by the speech impediment and how to cope with it all. Maybe now he could speak freely with another person. Hagrid seemed to like the Professor, and Harry had a feeling that he could actually get to know and like the Professor, too.
Professor Quirrell blinked rapidly, "Oh, well, y-yes," he smiled weakly, his hands rubbing together with more vigour.
“W-what sort of m-m-magic d-do you t-teach, Professor Q-Q-Quirrell?” Harry asked with a small, timid smile of his own.
“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought.
But the other witches and wizards crammed together in the Leaky Cauldron wouldn’t let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
“Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.”
Harry looked over his shoulder and through the crowd as he was pulled away by Hagrid. "G-goodb-bye, P-Professor Quirrell!" Harry waved to the Professor until Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. Hagrid grinned at Harry.
“Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh — mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”
“Is he a-always that n-nervous?” Harry looked up to Hagrid with wonder.
“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience..."
Ah. So, Professor Quirrell didn't always stutter, and he wasn't always nervous, unlike Harry. That's ok, perhaps Harry could still ask the Professor more about how he feels about his stutter once he goes to Hogwarts. Maybe he could help Harry with it.
Hagrid continued, "They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”
Vampires? Hags? Harry’s head was swimming, no wonder the Professor is the way he is now. It was all rather brilliant, if you ask Harry. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.
“Three up... two across...” Hagrid muttered. “Right, stand back, Harry.” He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley."
﹌﹌﹌
After a thrilling trip to Gringotts and a stop at Olivander's, Harry's next visit was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for his uniform.
Getting his wand was the thing Harry was most excited for, although he hadn't at all expected to trash the place in search for one. He felt terribly awful for the damage caused, but Olivander kindly said that he was not to worry! For there was a child who had come in just earlier that day and got a nosebleed upon their search for the right wand! Harry doesn't think that made him feel much better. Were wands supposed to do that? Apparently not, when Olivander said that it was awfully strange.
But Harry found his rightful wand, and Hagrid's birthday present was marvellous; such a pretty snowy owl. It was by far the best birthday Harry had ever had.
Afterwards, Hagrid had ushered Harry to Madam Malkin's while he slipped off for a 'pick-me-up' in the Leaky Cauldron for his nausea after riding the Gringotts cart — taking the owl with him. Harry couldn't fault the giant for needing a drink, so he agreed and nervously ventured into the shop alone.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
“Hogwarts, dear?” she said, when Harry started to speak. “Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face and equally pale blonde, slicked-back hair was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”
Harry swallowed anxiously and nodded to the boy at his right, not wanting to risk stumbling over his words and be made fun of already.
“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at more wands,” said the boy with a roll of his grey eyes. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”
Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.
“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.
Harry shook his head.
“Play Quidditch at all?”
Harry shook his head again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.
“I do — Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”
Harry, again, shook his head, feeling more stupid by the minute.
“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”
“Mmm,” hummed Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting. Or rather, say anything at all.
The boy gave Harry a side-eye and arched his brow. "Not much of a talker, are you? You know, it's rude not to answer people properly, don't you?"
Oh dear, here we go.
"S-s-s-sorry," Harry stammered out, his mouth twitching into a frown and his brows scrunched together.
The boy chuckled. "No need to be nervous, little mouse. I'm not going to bite you… Yet," he smirked. "My name's Malfoy," he introduced proudly. "Draco Malfoy. Yours?"
Harry sighed hopelessly. "H-Harry P-P-Potter."
Draco almost broke his neck with the pure speed he used to whip his head around to stare at Harry with wide eyes.
"Harry Potter?" Draco asked with sheer amazement, his lips quirking up at the corners until he corrected himself and schooled his face back to that of calm and prideful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry," he said, reaching his left hand out for a polite handshake.
Harry had to turn away from Madam Malkin — who was also staring at Harry wide-eyed — to shake Draco's hand.
"L-like-w-wise, D-Draco."
“Oh! And Happy Birthday!”
Harry tilted his head. “Th-thank you. H-how did you know it was my b-birthd-d-day?”
Draco looked a bit sheepish. “I just remembered the date I saw in a few books.”
“I-I’m in books?!” Harry squeaked.
“Of course, you are. You’re The Boy Who Lived!” Draco scrunched his pointed nose. ”Why do you talk like that? I'm not actually going to bite you — that's just uncivilised," he said pompously.
Harry sighed again. "I have a s-t-tut-t-t-"
"Well, come on, spit it out," Draco urged impatiently.
"-T-tter. I have a stutter. I c-can't help it," whimpered Harry bashfully.
Draco gave Harry an incredulous look. "You mean you can't stop it at all? Aren't there spells and potions to stop stuff like that?"
"I wouldn't kn-know," Harry shrugged.
The witch attending to Draco stood up straight and said, “That’s you done, my dear. You can wait here until your father returns to check out." She smiled to the two boys and left with Draco's tailored robe after slipping it off him.
"What do you mean?" Draco continued to Harry, gracefully stepping off the stool and peered up at Harry. "Just try, it's quite simple. Here, I'll show you. I'll say a sentence, then you'll repeat after me. M-"
Harry gave a frustrated huff and cut in before Draco could finish. "You d-don't think people have t-tried that?"
Draco frowned. "Well, how else is someone supposed to help if you can't use spells or potions?"
"The t-teachers at P-Primary School said that the best th-thing to do is to be p-p-patient, don't f-finish sentences for me, and just l-l-listen to what I have t-to say."
Draco folded his arms. "Well, I'm sorry, but nobody has time for that. We can't stand around all day waiting for you to finish a sentence," he rolled his eyes.
Harry, his heart sinking, grimaced with a scowl. "If you d-don't want to t-t-talk to me, then d-don't!"
Draco huffed, affronted. "Well, I never said that, did I?"
"Well then, if you w-want to t-talk to me, then s-s-stop insulting me!"
"I'm not insulting you! I'm just telling you how it is."
"I a-already know how i-it is!” Harry sniffed back the prickling of his eyes. “P-people t-tell me a-all the time!"
"All done, dearie," Madam Malkin cut in nervously at the confrontation, slipping the robe off Harry and letting him hop down to follow after her, making Draco follow after him.
"All right, calm down," Draco glowered. "Don't get your words all in a twist and make a scene."
Harry whipped around to face Draco when they reached the counter. "H-has anyone e-ever t-told you that you're the m-most f-f-frustrating person they've ever m-met?"
"Why, that's rude!" Draco pouted petulantly as Harry paid for the robes and waited for them to be bagged. "Has anyone ever told you that-"
"W-whatever you're a-b-bout to say, I'm s-s-sure they have." Harry grabbed the bag of his robe offered to him by a stiff Madam Malkin, her eyes flitting between the two boys.
Draco scoffed lightly. "Could at least let me get a word in, just because you can't. Potter, wait!" Draco chased after Harry when he swivelled on his heel to storm out of the shop.
"L-leave me alone!" Harry weaved through the racks of robes, not bothering to look back at the boy chasing after him. He should have known. Of course, it would always turn out this way.
"I'm sorry, all right!?" Draco dashed in front of Harry and gripped his shoulders to stop him from leaving. "Look, let's be friends and start over. Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy," Draco said politely, holding his hand out again for a handshake with a face of indifference.
Harry glared at the offered hand. "You want t-to be my f-f-friend? After you j-just insulted me to H-Hogwarts and b-back?"
"Yes. And I'm sorry, we got off on the wrong foot because, whilst you can't talk properly, I have a big fat mouth that won't shut up. I'll try not to insult you again," Draco explained, head held high arrogantly and hand still in the air.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the pale boy. "You just d-did it a-again, though."
"That was to make a point."
"If I was f-f-friends with you, you'd d-d-drive me mad."
"What are friends for?" Draco smirked with an elegant one-shoulder shrug.
"Again, I w-w-wouldn't know."
Draco gave a surprised look at the admission and dropped his hand. "Well, you're in luck, then! Because you've just found yourself the best friend one could have."
Harry shook his head. "F-friends don't s-s-sound as p-pleasant as I th-thought, then."
"Don't be ridiculous. Being friends with me comes with loads of benefits!"
"I've n-not found any yet."
Draco turned his nose up. "Well, for a starter, I'm your — what — first friend ever? That in itself is nice. But having a Malfoy as a friend is-"
"-A pain in the bum?"
"I was going to say a privilege. And, while you have trouble talking, I have no problems saying anything since my big mouth won't shut up, as previously established. And therefore, we're perfect for each other," said Draco matter-of-factly.
"H-how would I b-b-benefit from your mouth?"
There was a sputtering sound of someone choking somewhere inside the shop.
Draco scrunched his face up in disgust at the horrid sound. "I wonder what their problem is. People nowadays," he shook his head disapprovingly. "Well, I'm not afraid to say what comes to mind."
"I th-think that m-might be the p-p-problem," Harry pointed out crossly.
"Nonsense,” Draco waved off. “If someone were to come up to you and pick on you, I would simply tell them to shove off and insult them back," he replied with a pleased smile.
Harry gave an unimpressed look in response. "W-why d-do you have to be so m-mean to everyone?"
"Because people are stupid and need to be told that," Draco asserted. "And it's only fair I stick up for my friends. Also, it's funny."
"D-d-did you think being m-mean to me was f-funny?" Harry combatted heatedly, unsure why he was still entertaining this conversation.
Draco looked offended. "No! If I did, I wouldn't have said sorry and wanted to be your friend. I don't just say sorry to anyone."
Harry knitted his brows together in confusion. "W-why do you w-want to be my f-friend?"
"Who doesn't?! You're Harry Potter! You're famous!"
"So, you d-don't actually like me, then," Harry frowned.
"Oh no, of course I like you. You're fun to talk to."
Harry was completely baffled. This was probably the longest conversation he'd ever had with anyone, and furthermore, had never met a more contradictory person to have one with. The boy clearly wanted to be Harry's friend if he was kicking up such a fuss over it, and according to him, anyone would. It was... rather flattering actually.
No one had wanted to be Harry's friend before. He didn't want a friend who didn't actually like him for who he was, although he supposed beggars can't be choosers. But that didn't subdue the hollow feeling of disappointment. But why would Harry even want to be friends with someone as pompous as Draco Malfoy? He was stuck up and snooty, mean and rude — despite Draco's obvious dislike for rude individuals — and he made Harry's head spin around and around in confusion at his contradictions and reminded Harry of his cousin. Draco was bad news, he could tell. And yet...
"You're s-so confusing," Harry sighed in his exasperation. "Even if I have d-d-difficulties with it?"
"Yes, even so. Father says that one of the most important things in life is connections. You are a valuable connection — quite fierce, a no-nonsense type of wizard, which I respect."
Harry didn't know if he agreed with that observation if he was willing to stay here and listen to Draco's nonsense and get talked around in circles. But if connections are so important, then the Malfoys sound like you wouldn't want to be against them.
"Also," Draco drawled on, "you don't make me fall asleep by blundering on and on about stupid stuff some of my other friends do. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how they even got into Hogwarts at all."
"Why are you f-friends with them, then? You s-s-said you're mean to s-stupid people — are you m-mean to your o-other friends?"
"No, I just tell them how it is. And..." Draco thought to himself for a moment, then frowned. "Well, I don't really know why I'm friends with them, to be honest. But I'm not going to stop," he declared simply.
Harry shook his head with wonder. "You're awfully strange."
Draco beamed. "So are you!"
The scuff of the front door opening and closing, followed by the sound of a cane clicking against hardwood floor alerted Draco to look over his shoulder. Harry could have sworn he'd seen a flash of something akin to dread sweep over Draco's face before it was gone.
"Ah look, Father's here. Come," Draco instructed, tugging at Harry's sleeve to drag him along. "Father, look! This is my new friend, Harry Potter," Draco introduced confidently, pulling Harry close to flaunt him like a prize. "Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy."
Wait a minute, Harry never agreed to be friends!
Lucius — a tall, intimidating figure — gaped at the small boy beside his son before he closed his mouth, then opened it again like a fish out of water. Eventually, he seemed to find his words.
"M-Mr Potter! You-..." Lucius swallowed thickly, his similar, cold grey eyes darted to Draco, "Your friend?"
"Yes Father," Draco agreed but seemed to second-guess himself. He looked up quizzically at his father. "Are you all right?"
Harry plucked up the courage to reach his hand out for what seemed like the hundredth handshake that day.
"H-how do you do, M-Mr Malfoy? D-do you have a st-t-tutter like me?" He asked, eyes alight once more.
"No!" Lucius snapped with distaste and cleared his throat, shaking Harry's hand firmly when the boy deflated anxiously. "My apologies, Mr Potter. I was simply rather taken aback and found myself speechless. Forgive me for- Wait, you have a stutter?"
"Yes," Draco and Harry said in chorus.
"Oh... Can't you get that fixed?" Lucius asked curiously.
"Father, Harry and I have already had this discussion," Draco informed as if it were obvious. "He can't just get it fixed. And he hasn't tried magic yet, although I'm not sure why," he frowned, turning to Harry.
Prompted by their questioning looks, Harry answered unsurely, "I've lived with M-Muggles my whole l-life," hoping that was the correct use of the term 'Muggles.'
Apparently it was when the Malfoys’ face shifted to understanding as if it answered all their questions.
"Ah, there," said Draco, turning back to his father. "Maybe once he's at Hogwarts, he can fix it there."
Lucius hummed with a piercing stare at Harry, icy gaze examining him thoughtfully.
"I see," he said, voice just as cold and calculating.
Harry was grateful when the booming voice of Hagrid interrupted the exchange.
"All done, Harry?” The giant called out. “Mr Malfoy," Hagrid said warily by way of greeting, squeezing through the door and lumbering up to them with the owl cage in hand. "Not botherin' little Harry here, are ya?"
Lucius scowled, eyeing the giant up and down. "Of course not. I was simply greeting my son's new friend. Isn't that right, Mr Potter?"
Harry nodded shyly.
"I see," Hagrid said, noticing Harry shuffling uncomfortably. "Well, come on then, Harry. Still got a few more stops ta go."
Draco caught Harry's wrist when Hagrid started to direct him out of the shop. "If I don't see you at the station, I'll see you on the train, most likely near the back," he smiled hopefully.
Harry nodded. "A-all right. Nice m-meeting you both."
"Listen, Harry," Hagrid began cautiously once they were out of the shop and on their way to their next stop, "I'm glad you're getting along with other kids an' all that, but I feel it best ta warn yeh — those Malfoys are bad news," he said gravely.
Harry peered up at the giant, unsure if he was happy that his assumption was right or disappointed that his first friend ever was the wrong person.
"H-how so e-exactly?"
"Well..." Hagrid chose his words carefully in an internal debate. "They aren't the nicest of folk. Rather mean," he decided delicately. "All Slytherins — an' I'm suspectin' that young'un will be one, too.
“Then there's the fact that his parents were..." Hagrid gulped, peeking down at Harry and then back toward their trek down the winding road, "Death Eaters," he muttered under his breath. "Course, they pleaded innocent; said they'd been bewitched to do whatever You-Know-Who said. Whether that's true or not is... debatable, though they were cleared of all charges."
"D-Death Eaters?" Harry parroted in concern. That didn't sound good.
Hagrid shushed him to keep his voice down, then clarified, "You-Know-Who's followers. His henchmen."
Harry sucked in a breath. "And d-do you believe they were b-bewitched?"
Hagrid's eyes shifted from one side to the other repeatedly in thought, then waved a large hand dismissively.
"Ah, I shouldn't really be sayin' all this. Not nice to gossip. I just want you to be aware and make yer own informed decisions, is all. Have all the facts laid out before opinions. Just be careful, yeah?"
They made a quick stop at an ice cream parlour, now venturing to Flourish and Blotts. Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).
“What’s up?” said Hagrid.
“N-nothing,” Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, “Hagrid, w-what are S-Slytherin and Hufflepuff?”
“School houses. There’s four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but-”
“I-I bet I’m in Huffle-p-puff,” said Harry gloomily.
“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”
“Vol-, s-sorry — You-Know-Who w-was at Hogwarts?”
“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid.