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Harry didn’t know who, or what, had it out for him, but he was going to get them back. One day. Somehow.
It wasn’t Voldemort. That was the oddest bit of all - that it wasn’t Voldemort. Harry knew that.
He had killed Voldemort thrice over. Stolen his Name in the Chamber of Secrets and owned his Soul, every shattered bit of it, chewed his way through the bits as they were located. Tom Riddle wasn’t a problem anymore.
But someone was leaving him messages. Little bits of go away strung around the doorways, the common room, the quidditch pitch.
He was willing to play nice until they brought the Quidditch Pitch into it.
To Harry’s knowledge, very few of his classmates hated him. Oh, there was Malfoy, high strung and always calling out Harry’s borrowed name as if it were a knife, and yes, alright, Finch-Fletchley was still a little mad about the snake thing, but the worst he did was glare at Harry. Finch-Fletchley didn’t even know Harry had his name.
Very few people knew they’d given Harry their names. They really didn’t seem to care.
Harry hoarded the twinkling bits of Self and Soul like the treasure they were, unknowingly given and all.
But if he wasn’t being tormented by anyone who’s Soul he held, who was doing it?
“Got another one?” Seamus asked, wrinkling his nose.
Harry nodded. It was in their doorway, little thistle-like blooms a pretty purple that was unfair for something so rude.
Seamus flicked his fingers, and the pennyroyal burst into flame.
“Thanks,” Harry huffed.
Seamus just shrugged and stepped past. “Repay me by making them stop.”
As soon as he figured out who was doing it, he would.
*
Harry wasn’t the only Folk in his dorm. He wasn’t the only Folk in Hogwarts. If he were, he wouldn’t have ever learned What He Was.
There were lots of Folk. Half-folk, like Seamus, who draped over Dean and would rip the throat out of anyone who hurt him, a mutualistic relationship no one else understood. Fair Folk, like the creature in Hermione’s dorm with pointed ears and a glamour that tasted like grave dirt. Hidden Folk, like Harry, with borrowed names and faces and quickly growing power.
Leanan Sidhe, Bain Sidhe, Aes Sidhe, Changelings. Summer and Winter, Seelie and Unseelie.
All here, peppered between muggleborns and purebloods and halfblood wixen, who all slept better at night believing their human magic made them special.
Wixen like Voldemort, so scared of death but so willing to inflict it on everyone around him.
Wixen who die, too young and stupid to understand that what they call immortality is just growing up.
Harry is a young changeling. This is his first life. He’s learning.
He’s still better at it than they are.
*
The first task of the Triwizard tournament was dragons. Harry watched with His friends, hearing the discontent and confusion of the dragons, and stayed still, knowing with comforting certainty that there was a Faerie in Hufflepuff who will free them later.
The Durmstrang Champion fought his. The Beauxbatons Champion enchanted hers. The Hogwarts Champion tricked his, at first, and then fought it.
They were going to be tormented for the next week.
Harry joined the crowd congratulating the Hogwarts Champion, because it was something to do and Diggory was kind enough. Not kind enough to share his name, but kind enough that Harry didn’t mind him.
The other Champions were in their own huddles. Harry thought he caught the eye of one of them, but Hermione tugged him along, and he let her.
*
There were more pennyroyal lining the path to the library. Hermione burnt them with a scoff. “They’re not even threatening you with flowers, just telling you to go away. Exams are more important than this.”
And Harry laughed, and followed her, and when the Durmstrang Champion hung around a little too closely, Harry met his eyes with the same smile he’d worn when he began eating Tom Riddle’s Soul.
The Beauxbatons Champion stayed on the other side of the library.
*
There was a dance over break. The “Yule Ball.” The professors didn’t burn a Yule Log. There were other missteps too, things that had other Faeries refusing to attend or showing up with too sharp smiles and dresses woven with flowers and spells, but Harry only noticed the first one.
The Faerie in Hermione’s dorm tricked her way onto the planning committee, laid out a thousand flower arrangements that guarded the edges of the outdoor dance area.
Harry took Ron, and Hermione came with them as a trio, and they danced in the middle of the room until they were sick with laughter, carefully styled hair gone wild and dress robes melting into each other as they stumbled to a fountain to rest.
The Durmstrang Champion approached them a few minutes later. He’d danced with Parvati Patil for the opening dance, so Harry watched suspiciously when he asked Hermione to dance next.
But she said yes, and Harry let His people make their own choices, so they took to the floor next. Hermione’s blue dress swirled around their ankles, complimented the Champion’s red dress robes.
Patil joined them in trade, dropping onto the bench and spilling punch all over her hand.
“You well?”
She yawned, but her eyes were bright. “He’s a good dancer. And a nerd. Don’t have much in common, though.” She smiled. “He told me before we got here that he had his eye on Hermione.”
“No hard feelings, or trickery?”
“No hard feelings or trickery,” she assured. “Fay would’ve taken him out.”
Harry nodded, relieved.
Hermione’s laugh carried across the ballroom. Harry settled. He and His were alright.
*
The Triwizard Tournament continued. Harry attended the tasks with the other students, perching with Ron and Hermione and Neville - the first people who were His, who gave him their names and only noticed what it meant later, who didn’t run screaming or crying to try to plead for them back - on the fences around the stands.
There were no visuals for the task, just three champions deep within the lake.
It was more fun this way. Harry could watch the visiting students, instead of the carefully curated fighting.
Beaubatons’ Folk and Nonhuman students were much more open about it, watching with bright eyes and sharp teeth, teasing and making deals with the organizer, with other students. Durmstrang’s were not nearly so visible, all hats and sunblock, uniforms made to cover skin and anything that might look out of place. Their glamours were all weak.
Harry threw his head back in the sunshine, listening to the rushing of wind and the ebbing conversations, Neville and Ron discussing how they’d tackle the task. It smelled like Mer and Magic, the lake angry about the Veela dropped in the middle.
*
Harry picked up the next set of flowers in the courtyard, frowning. They weren’t cursed, just rude, and there had already been a blowup fight between Hogwarts Faeries about who was leaving them. No culprit had been found.
“You are a very vexing creature, ‘arry Potter.”
Harry turned, met the eyes of the Beauxbatons Champion. “I wasn’t aware we were opposed.” Honestly, people needed to stop deciding they were enemies without consulting him. Malfoy had claim to that spot, and Harry had too much going on to keep entertaining two worst enemies. Voldemort made him miss exams three times.
How could he be a good student if he was always missing exams? How could he blend in if he was always drawing attention?
She sniffed. “You have not answered to any request for a meeting. What else could that snub mean?”
“I haven’t seen any.”
She scoffed, flicked her hair. It shimmered with magic, an attempt to draw attention and information. Harry ignored it.
“I have left requests all over your school.”
“Must have done them wrong.”
Her delicate face scrunched up. “Excuse me?”
“Must have done it wrong,” Harry repeated, shrugging. “Someone would have answered if your request was done properly.” Probably not Harry, to be fair, but one of the other dozens of Folk.
“I left plenty of fleur de menthe pouliot around your school!”
“Fleur de- what?” Harry was strictly bilingual; he spoke English and Parseltongue, and nothing else. “You’re going to have to explain.”
She rolled swoon-worthy eyes. Harry wasn’t moved.
“I wanted to talk to the Changeling who saved the world.”
“Well, we’re talking,” Harry said. He was not comfortable with this, he hated people who came to him for his fame. They always wanted the worst deals, like the Skeeter Human. He had her Soul now, had shut her up, let Hermione write the contract because she found it fun. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to outfox the Beauxbatons Champion. “What do you want?”
“A deal. We should team up with each other.”
“And what will this get me?”
“A safe place to hide, should anyone choose to test your mettle.”
“Politely, I refuse.” Harry took a step back.
“It’s not appealing at all? We could add in something more advantageous, like a marriage-?”
“I have no interest in marriage.” That was a later Harry problem. “And certainly not from a deal I didn’t write.”
She pursed her lips, tilted her head in the way upper years did when they wanted their significant other to bend. “Are you sure?”
“He already said no.”
Harry jumped at the arms that draped around him, shiny teeth bared and black eyes glaring.
The Beauxbatons Champion openly glared.
“She’s right. And if I were to make a marriage deal, it would be with someone willing to be Mine. Not trying to Use me.”
“It would be a deal of mutual use.”
Harry rolled his eyes, and deliberately set one of the flowers down in front of the Beauxbatons Champion.
“You’re asking for a meeting while ignoring my requests?”
“He’s telling you to leave,” the Hill Faerie scoffed.
The Beauxbatons Champion drew herself up. “I see that we have different communication methods between countries. I apologize for any earlier insult.”
“Wait, you’ve been leaving these?” Harry asked, leaning forward enough to slip out of the Hill Faerie’s grasp. She let him go easily, attachment for show.
“Yes.”
Well, that was one mystery solved. Hopefully the last mystery of the year, Harry really wanted to sit exams.