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Chapter Text

Harry had a hard time getting used to sleeping in his new bed.

The softness of it was off-putting, making him feel like he was going to drown any second. He even tried sleeping on the floor, which made sleep an option for a little bit.

But then Ron woke him up, under the impression that he'd fallen off instead of leaving it voluntarily, and he had to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning on the unnatural surface.

This resulted in him being barely able to keep his eyes open in the morning which was considerably Not Good.

On the positive side, it was Friday already: one more day till the weekend, which he could spend looking for a solution.

On the more negative side, the first lesson was going to be Potions, and Merlin knew he was going to need every ounce of alertness for that, if even a fraction of what the older students said was true.

Everyone was saying that Professor Snape was strict, but there were still two possible variants. Either he was the Lawful Strict sort and was going to treat everyone equally strict, or he was a Petty Strict and would inevitably choose Harry as his target.

Hearing what was said about his preferential treatment towards Slytherin and unexplained hate towards Gryffindor, Harry was leaning towards the second option.

Breakfast passed in relative silence, Ron too busy stuffing his mouth, for which Harry was thankful. At least he had some time to try and attempt to appear vigilant.

Hedwig swooped down mid-breakfast, dropping off a note, which turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting him for tea that afternoon.

Sparing half a thought on how the man had sent him a note with his own owl, he scrawled an answer on the back of the note and sent it back.

The Potions class - a double lesson with the Slytherins - took place in the dungeons, not far from the Great Hall.

It was considerably colder though which somehow helped with staying awake. The walls of the classroom, lined with all sorts of pickled specimens in glass jars, held his attention quite well, too.

He barely had the time to take out his textbook and quill before Professor Snape swooped inside, his cloak billowing after him as if he’d ran the entire distance between the classroom and wherever he had been before that.

Similarly to Professor Flitwick, he started the lesson with a roll call.

And just like the tiny man had done, he paused just before Harry’s name.

“Ahh, yes,” he drawled, “Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity.”

Malfoy and his cronies sniggered at that. Harry had a bad feeling about it.

“Present, sir,” he still said, hunched over the desk.

Professor Snape scoffed slightly, continuing with the roll call.

He looked up at the classroom once he was done. Perfect, Harry thought. He looked like he was going to give a speech.

Harry readied his quill. At least noting what he said would keep him awake. Hopefully.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Professor Snape began, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet still clearly heard. Was it magic or dungeon acoustics? Who knew. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death; if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry noted everything down dutifully, happy it was helping him stay alert.

“Mister Potter!” Uh oh. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

What kind of a question was that? This was the first lesson! If they were expected to read ahead, why had no one said so?

“I…don’t know, sir,” he said, hoping that that would be all.

Honestly, he should’ve known better.

“Tut, tut.” Professor Snape sneered at him. When did he move so close? “Fame clearly isn’t everything.”

Whoever said it was? He didn’t even know he was famous until a month ago! At least the anger livened him up a little.

“Let’s try again, Mister Potter.” The glint in Professor Snape’s eyes was downright diabolical. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry remembered hearing about it somewhere, or maybe he read it in one of the books? Something about swallowed hair…

“In a stomach, sir?” he tried.

“Whose stomach,” the professor nearly growled.

“I don’t know, sir.” Maybe it would be better if he just gave the man what he wanted and stopped even trying?

“Last one, Mister Potter. What’s the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry had no idea, but became alert enough to notice the standing - nearly jumping - Hermione and her outstretched arm; she must’ve been at it since the first question!

“I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I think Hermione does, though.”

A few people laughed but only the Gryffindors. That didn’t spell anything good.

“Sit down, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape snarled, and Harry realized he had just upped his difficulty level for interactions with the man for the next seven years. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the ‘Draught of Living Death.’ A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of aconite.”

Turning around, Professor Snape stalked back to the front of the class.

“Well?” he called out when nobody dared to move a muscle. “Why aren't you all copying that down?"

The classroom filled with the sound of quills scratching on paper. Harry bent down to write again.

“And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mister Potter.”

Aww, heck. He didn’t think he could count on any improvement anytime soon.

They got divided into pairs based on some random factor Harry couldn’t really identify, but he was still thankful because it landed him with Hermione.

And if he had learned anything in the past week, it was that Hermione always knew the correct answer.

They would manage to brew the “simple potion to cure boils” despite Harry currently being half-zombie.

The next half an hour passed for him in a weird state of borderline deliriousness. Harry felt kind of like he was back in the Dursleys' kitchen, dicing, cutting, and crushing various ingredients.

Professor Snape said to follow the recipe on the board, but Harry couldn’t really see all the way to the front. He figured the recipe in the textbook would be exactly the same, deciding to follow it instead.

He was just going to add dried nettles when somebody clutched his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Boy! What are you doing?” someone hissed, and in a moment of confusion, Harry thought he was back on Privet Drive.

“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” he said on auto-pilot, before realizing his mistake.

The hand on his arm tightened slightly. He hunched down further, attempting to save the situation with submissive behaviour.

“What did you just say?” Professor Snape drawled. It might have seemed neutral, but Harry could hear that he was seething with anger.

Well. It had been fun to stay at Hogwarts for an entire week.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just-” he attempted to explain, but Snape didn’t let him.

“Did you mean ‘Petunia,’ as in, ’Petunia Evans’?”

“Umm.” Harry knew that that was some sort of trick question. He had no idea where the trick was, though. “No, sir. I don’t know anyone named Evans.”

Professor Snape let go of his arm, straightening up. Harry thought he was in the clear until he saw the absolute rage on his face.

The classroom was silent.

Too silent.

Harry looked around, surprised to see the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces.

“I’m sorry, is that someone important?” he asked, blinking, his brows furrowed.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, the smug expression gone from his face, exchanged for something uncomfortably close to pity, “your mother’s maiden name was Evans.”

“Oh.” Well, that was awkward. He turned back to the professor. “In that case, Aunt Petunia must be the same person you asked about. She goes by Dursley now, though.”

Professor Snape looked like he’d just eaten a toad or something.

Waving his wand, he made all of their potions disappear.

“Class dismissed,” he said. “Mister Potter, stay behind.”

That was most definitely not good.

The class cleared out quickly, no one wanting to stay even in the general vicinity of an angry Professor Snape. Ron hesitated at the door, but one look from the man got him scrambling to leave.

“Mister Potter.” Professor Snape turned back to him, but that seemed to be the end of his resolve.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I do not even know where to begin,” he said, his eyes closed. “For the first time, I hope I am wrong. I last saw Petunia years ago, so let me ask you this: are you happy in her household?”

Had Harry been a little less reserved, he would have snorted. Happy? Yeah, sure.

But this was getting too dangerous for his tastes, and getting into trouble with both the school and the Dursleys was the last thing he wanted.

“I am grateful that they took me in and provided me with clothing and food, sir,” he said with practiced ease. Sure, all he got were rags and scraps, but it was better than nothing. And honesty was always a nice touch.

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes.

It seemed Harry needed to work a bit harder to dismiss his suspicions.

“Let me ask something else then,” he said. Harry didn’t dare relax. “Why were you adding nettles to your potion?”

Oh, something easy. “That’s what the textbook said, sir.”

“I told you to use the recipe from the blackboard.”

Why would the recipes be different?! Harry thought. That was completely ridiculous.

“I can’t see the blackboard, sir,” he said instead. “I thought the textbook would have the same recipe.”

“When was the last time you went to an optometrist?” Professor Snape folded his arms.

Harry scrunched up his forehead. “Opto-what?”

“Where did you get your glasses?”

“Aunt Petunia brought them home one day when the teachers complained that I couldn’t see the blackboard even from the front row,” Harry offered helpfully. That was a good thing, right? Normal?

Seeing Professor Snape’s brows climbing up his forehead told him it was not, in fact, a good thing.

“In that case,” he started in a tone that Harry didn’t like at all, “we will go to Madam Pomfrey and get you a checkup.”

Oh no. A checkup was not something that Harry could get without revealing the worst parts of his home life.

“Is this really necessary, sir?” he asked, trying for the “rational adult” tone that Aunt Petunia always used. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stuff to do. I can just swing by the Hospital Wing after classes.”

“And am I to believe you will do so?”

Great, a Smart Adult, just what Harry needed right now.

“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape crouched next to him, “we can help you. We can keep you safe.”

“That’s what they always say,” Harry grumbled, unable to keep his frustrations bottled up anymore, “and then they meet Aunt Petunia and suddenly I’m an ungrateful, spoiled child, they treat me like a liar at school, and then I have to spend a full week in my cupboard.”

“A cupboard, Mister Potter?” the man repeated. “She puts you in a bloody cupboard?”

“Well, yeah.” Shrugging, Harry started wondering when he could leave. There was still a bit of the lesson’s time left, so maybe the professor would lose interest before then. “Dudley needed a room for his toys, and freaks don’t deserve nice things.”

Professor Snape looked as if he was just told that cauldrons could fly on their own.

“Oh, Merlin,” he whispered. Standing up, he whooshed to the other side of the room. “‘Spoiled rotten,’ he said, ‘treated like a prince,’ he said. Even house elves aren’t treated like that!”

Uh-oh, angry adult. Step one, try to leave the danger zone. Maybe he would forget before the next lesson.

Slipping out of the chair, he picked up his bag and took his book from the desk but decided not to risk getting the parchment and quill too.

He was halfway to the door when Professor Snape caught him.

“Where are you going, Mister Potter?” he demanded. Harry turned around, alarmed, staring straight into the man’s eyes. “I don’t believe you were dismissed.”

Oh, right, this was school.

Then realization dawned in his eyes. Realization of what, exactly, Harry had no idea.

“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape began. “Harry. Sit down.”

So far, no one had called him "Harry" in anger yet. Was that good or bad?

Deciding it was better to follow the directions, he walked back to his seat.

Professor Snape took a stool from the row in front of Harry and sat down on the other side of his table.

“I am not angry,” he said.

That was a lie.

“Well, I am not angry at you,” the man added with a roll of his eyes. “I should have said that earlier. I apologize for that.”

Harry hadn’t seen apologies be used as a technique to get him to admit to doing something wrong yet, but he wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I also apologize for my earlier behaviour,” Professor Snape added. “I was operating under… incorrect assumptions.”

That was very unusual. Unusual was nothing good in a situation like this.

“I knew your aunt when we were children,” the man added. Oh? “She was in no way fit to take care of children back then, and I do not believe she’s changed much.”

That was it. If Harry nodded to that, the man would tell his aunt, and then he would be in big trouble.

“Aunt Petunia is a very good mother and aunt,” he said. That was the furthest thing from the truth he’d ever said, but sacrifices needed to be made.

Professor Snape looked very sad for some reason.

“Child,” he sighed, “you are under the impression that I am on your aunt’s side. I am not.”

There was nothing that Harry could say to that.

“I do not know why you were placed in her care,” the man continued. “In fact, I am certain that in her will, Lily listed her and her walrus of a husband as people she did not want you to go to. Once I find out what happened, I will make sure you will never return there.”

Suuuure. Just like what the other three people who had managed to figure out something was amiss had said.

“You don’t believe me.” Professor Snape noted. “Understandable. You have heard that before, and yet no one has done anything about it, have they?”

“No.”

“Do you know what an Oath on Magic is?"

“No, sir."

“Taking an Oath on Magic means that if the taker was to break it, they would lose their magic," Professor Snape explained. “Can you recognize the significance of that?"

Harry could only nod. He would never take an oath like that if he didn't fully mean it!

“I, Severus Tobias Snape, solemnly swear that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Harry James Potter will never return to the Dursleys’ household, nor will I allow him to be placed in another abusive home. Furthermore, I will do everything in my power to ensure that he will have the remaining part of his childhood in conditions appropriate for a child. So mote it be."

Harry might've had some idea of how serious the Oath was when the professor had explained it, but only when feeling the swirl of magic settling around the man did he realize that there was no way for Professor Snape to change his mind.

He truly was on Harry's side.

“I never knew my middle name was ‘James,’” Harry offered, feeling the tears rolling down his cheeks.

And while Professor Snape had no idea how to react to that or how to calm him down, he was at least trying.

Chapter Text

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how dare you!” Professor McGonagall hollered as she strode into the office, Professor Snape in tow.

Harry initially wasn’t too happy when Professor Snape had said that they would need to inform her, but now, brought along to see her verbally chew out the person responsible for his placement at the Dursleys’, he was quite content.

But Dumbledore didn’t look concerned. And that made Harry feel concerned.

“What seems to be the problem, Minerva?” he asked jovially with a unnatural twinkle in his eyes.

“You said that you were keeping an eye on him!” she screeched, motioning vaguely in Harry’s direction. “You said that he was being treated properly!”

“Harry is standing here alive and with a healthy outlook on life,” Dumbledore said, finally putting away his quill. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

In that moment, Harry knew he had already lost. He had let himself feel hope when Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and even Madam Pomfrey had expressed concern about his well being.

But in the end, the decision would fall to the headmaster.

And he didn’t seem to think that there was anything amiss.

“‘Healthy outlook on life’?! What is that supposed to mean?!” Professor McGonagall looked like how his primary school’s librarian had when she’d seen the fire that Dudley had made in the library, using books as kindling.

The fault, obviously, had fallen on Harry.

“Harry was brought up to be a humble, friendly boy,” Dumbledore explained. “That’s all I could’ve asked for.”

“Albus, he was kept in a cupboard,” Professor Snape said quietly, as if keeping his voice low was the only way he could restrain himself from violently attacking the headmaster. “That’s not really the best environment for a child.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders froze mid-shrug, as if realizing halfway through the movement that it wasn’t really the best thing to do.

“What was done is done,” he said, finally. “We can’t change the past; we can only move forward.”

“So you agree that Harry should not go back there anymore?” Professor Snape asked.

“Don’t be absurd, Severus.” He made a sound that sounded dangerously close to a snort. “Of course he’s going back there, it is crucial that he does.”

“Crucial?” Professor McGonagall wore the look of cold fury that Aunt Petunia reserved for the rare times when Harry misbehaved in public. “How is sending him back to an abusive household crucial?

“Crucial for what, exactly?” Professor Snape’s voice was still quiet but even more lethal. “Albus? What are you planning?”

Dumbledore looked ready to evade the answer.

“Perhaps Harry should be taken to bed…” he suggested. “It is, after all, late…”

Professor McGonagall pointed a finger at him. “This is not the end of this discussion! You will answer me as soon as I return from taking Harry to the common room!”

Taking hold of Harry’s arm, she led him out of the room and down the moving stairs.

He was pretty sure that that was, in fact, the end of the discussion.

***

“What are you doing, Severus?” Dumbledore asked as soon as they were alone.

“Fulfilling my promise, as far as I’m concerned,” Severus said dryly. “You did make me swear to protect the boy. Or have you forgotten?”

“The boy is safest at the Dursleys’.” All traces of the twinkly look had disappeared from the headmaster’s eyes. “Do not question my judgement.”

“Safest? Poppy said that his scan was the longest she’s ever seen, second only to Lupin’s after a dozen years of werewolf transformations!”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, standing up. Severus took a step back, old instincts acting up.

But the headmaster was more interested in a shelf filled with various gizmos than his potions professor.

“He’s a piece in a game bigger than just us, Severus. The fate of the entire wizarding world lies on his shoulders.”

Severus remained speechless for a moment.

“He’s eleven!”

“And he vanquished Voldemort when he was one.” Dumbledore finally turned around. “He’s our only hope. You of all people should know that.”

Well, that was unnecessarily harsh.

“There is still time,” he argued.

The headmaster sighed again. “Less than we'd hoped.”

“Headmaster?”

But the man said no more.

“But why Petunia?” Severus wasn’t going to leave with no answers.

“Blood magic is powerful.” Dumbledore turned around, his face set in an unnaturally determined expression. “More powerful than any curse.”

Severus’s mental cursing got interrupted by Minerva storming back into the room, looking marginally calmer than the last time she'd done so.

“What did I miss?” she asked, false calmness ringing in her voice.

“Blood magic bullshit,” Severus answered promptly before the headmaster could spin it in his favour.

“Now, now, Severus-” The headmaster still tried, but Minerva was not having it.

“What could possibly be so bad,” she spat through clenched teeth, “that you are willing to leave the boy in a mentally and physically abusive household?!”

Dumbledore lost all pretense of a kind grandfatherly figure. “Voldemort.”

Severus grimaced slightly, restraining himself from clutching his left arm. Stupid, built-in respect-o’meter.

“You just said that Harry destroyed him that Halloween night!” he said.

“I said vanquish-”

“Do you honestly believe he could still be around?” Minerva said quietly.

Dumbledore seemed to think that that meant she'd turned to his side, the old coot.

“I know it,” he said gravely. “I have reasons to believe Voldemort had taken steps to ensure a state extremely close to immortality. Even complete destruction of his body wouldn’t kill him at the moment.”

Minerva blanched, swaying slightly.

Severus just sighed. Having the Dark Mark still on his arm kind of spoiled his surprise.

“If the boy has to defeat the Dark Lord, wouldn’t it be better if he was sent somewhere to train?” He argued. “Somewhere he wasn’t beaten and starved? Somewhere he could gather strength so that he would be able to stand against Him?”

Dumbledore turned towards the shelf, hiding his face. “It is not strength that he needs, but compassion. The will to do what needs to be done for the wizarding world.”

Minerva inhaled sharply, drawing Severus’s attention. “Albus, he’s eleven!”

“And has already been marked by the Dark Lord as his equal.”

“So what?! He still deserves to have a loving family!”

Dumbledore sighed, deflating like a punctured balloon. “Having a loving family is something that gives people strength to survive. That’s not necessary to defeat Voldemort.”

“Then what is?” Severus sneered. “The willingness to die?”

The silence was all the answer they needed.

“Merlin.” Minerva transfigured a chair as she fell, the heavy cushions barely managing to catch her. “You want him to die.”

“That is the only way-”

“Like a pig for slaughter.” Severus grimaced, staring at the back of Dumbledore’s head. “Quoting someone who has long since stopped being the wise man we all thought he was, you disgust me.”

And with a swish of his robes, he left the room.

Dumbledore wasn’t going to be of any use.

The headmaster finally turned around, a calculating look in his eyes as he gazed at the closing door. Softening his gaze, he looked at Minerva.

“Minerva, surely you understand-”

The professor cursed him with boils in places where the sun didn’t reach on her way out.

***

That night, Severus Snape spent hours going through every legal book stored in Hogwarts. And if there were some manuals on child-rising between those, well, who would tell?

He wasn’t going to let another boy end up like he did. He had sworn two oaths: it was time he upheld them.

***

That night, Minerva McGonagall sat by the fire with a bottle of the strongest scotch she owned, thinking about the past, present, and future. Regretting never checking up on the boy, regretting agreeing to Albus’s plan in the first place.

But she knew now. And she was going to do everything in her power to make up for it.

***

That night, Harry Potter slept comfortably in a bed transfigured by Professor McGonagall to be perfectly firm. For the first time he could remember, nothing hurt or ached.

And even if he was going back to the Dursleys for the summer, he still had ten months of comfort to enjoy.

Chapter Text

“Merlin, mate, you alright?” Ron offered him instead of his usual greeting the next morning. “No one’s seen you since Snape held you back! We were all so worried that he murdered you! You weren’t even at dinner!”

“I ate in the Hospital Wing,” Harry said before his brain had fully woken up, regretting it almost immediately.

“He sent you to the Hospital Wing?!” Neville butted in with a whisper-scream, his mind clearly running straight to the darkest scenario in which he was next.

“He just ordered me to go for a checkup.” Harry tried to salvage the situation. “He didn’t like how scrawny I looked.”

“Can’t believe I’m agreeing with the git, but you are kinda scrawny,” Seamus said with his back to Harry as he changed his shirt.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “my mum would freak out and try to feed you something immediately if she saw you.”

At any point before coming to Hogwarts, Harry would have immediately taken her up on that offer. But now, the chances of that happening were low: Dumbledore clearly wasn’t going to let him leave the Dursleys’.

“So, what’re your plans for today?” Dean asked, utilizing the lull in conversation. “I think I’m going to go chill at the Great Lake.”

“I was going to try and find the kitchens!” Ron said. “Twins always bragged that they found them in their first year, I wanna beat their record.”

“Oh, crap!” Harry face-palmed. “I completely forgot about the tea with Hagrid yesterday! I’ve gotta go apologize to him!”

Not waiting for any response, he grabbed a change of clothes and ran to the bathroom.

“Have you noticed that he never really changes out in the open?” Seamus pointed out. “Ya think he’s ashamed of his scrawniness?”

“I think it might be more than scrawniness.” Neville stared at his bed sheet, Charms textbook clutched in his hands.

“What do you mean?” Dean looked up from tying his shoes.

But Neville had already made a decision, and that decision was to stop talking and leave the room.

A moment later, Harry left the bathroom, but he simply threw his clothes onto the bed and ran out of the dormitory, ignoring the boys’ calls.

“I just hope he’s alright,” Ron said, to the murmurs of agreement from the other two.

***

Harry ran the entire way to Hagrid’s hut.

It was only when he was knocking on the door that he realized that he had no plan for what to say.

“Down, Fang!” sounded from behind the door, and then it swung open, revealing the overwhelming form of Hagrid. “Hullo, Harry.”

“Hi!” Harry breathed out, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come yesterday! Professor Snape kept me after class, and then he took me to Madam Pomfrey, and-”

“It’s okay, Harry.” Hagrid smiled at him gently. “I’m happy you’re here now. Wanna step in for a cuppa?”

“Sure!”

The inside of Hagrid’s hut looked just as homey as the outside suggested.

Motioning for the boy to sit at the table, Hagrid bustled around while preparing the tea.

Harry had to sit on his hands just to stop himself from going over and trying to do the preparations for the man.

The rock cakes kind of reminded him of the cakes Mrs. Figg had always served him: opposite in consistency, as the name suggested, but equally inedible.

Harry still pretended to enjoy them.

“How’re the classes?” Hagrid asked, sitting down with two cups of tea.

And so Harry told him about the classes he’d had so far, stopping briefly before recounting Potions.

How much was he going to say? How much could he say?

“Ah, Professor Snape givin’ you trouble?” Hagrid guessed at the pause. “Well, you do look just like yer father, and I can’t say that the two of them ever liked each other.”

That remark ensured that Harry was now completely distracted from their previous topic.

“Can you tell me more about my father?” he asked, putting on his best puppy eyes. “And my mother?”

Hagrid scratched at his beard sheepishly. “Can’t tell ya much about yer mother, ‘m afraid. Never knew her all that well.”

“Did you know my father, then?”

“As much as I know the Weasley Twins.” The man grinned wildly. “Yer father and the three others were inseparable in school, they were like one entity, I’m telling ya! Marauders, they called themselves.”

“Three others?” Harry wished he had some paper on him, but for now he needed to trust his memory.

“Yeah! Remus Lupin - the most sensible of the bunch! - Peter Pettigrew, that poor dear, and-” His face darkened, and he quite literally spat out the last name. “Sirius Black. That traitor…”

Hagrid started mumbling under his breath. Harry couldn’t quite understand what was he saying, but it sounded bad.

Time to retreat, he thought.

Thanking him for the tea and cakes, he excused himself with homework and left as quickly as was possible without seeming rude.

Well, that was a disaster. But at least it gave him an idea: if Hagrid had known his parents when they were in school, maybe other teachers would have something more to say about them?

Spotting Professor Sprout near one of the greenhouses, he decided that there was no better time than the present.

“Professor Sprout!” he shouted as soon as he came close enough to be heard. “Do you have a moment?”

Professor Sprout raised her head. “Oh, Harry!” she said, wiping her hands on her work apron. “Sure! Have you got some questions?”

“Yeah,” Harry shuffled on his feet, but he didn’t have a backup Herbology question, “though not about the plants.”

“Oh?” The woman looked at him curiously. “What is it about, then?”

“My parents,” he said, dropping his head shyly. “I was wondering if maybe you could tell me something about them?”

Professor Sprout seemed really surprised about the request.

“Oh, sure!” she said eventually. “Come in for a bit, I was just about to take a break!”

The fruits she offered him as a snack were good. What she told him about his parents was even better.

“Your father, James, he was one of the biggest pranksters I’ve ever seen,” Professor Sprout began as they sat at her desk on those uncomfortable tiny stools they always used during the lessons. “The Weasley Twins come the closest to him so far, but they’re still nothing compared to the original Marauders…”

She told Harry about some of the pranks she knew about, most of which happened in her greenhouses or the Great Hall.

The simple changing of hair colors, making someone sprout tentacles, charming tiny birds to follow people, singing songs they liked, spiking the food to make everyone barf snails…

“And everyone sat there barfing snails?” Harry asked, on the edge of his stool. “Even the professors?”

“Well… not exactly.” Professor Sprout looked slightly uncomfortable. “It was only the Slytherins, to be frank.”

“Only Slytherins?” Harry repeated. He didn’t particularly like Slytherins because of Malfoy, but that was only one person…

“Gryffindors and Slytherins have never liked each other.” She shrugged. “That whole house rivalry of theirs. I think your parents’ last years at school were the worst it’s ever been, but it’s not like the situation’s any better now either.”

“Oh.”

“But enough about that!” Professor Sprout said. “Sadly, I can’t really tell you much about your mother. She was good at Herbology, had a natural way with plants; what else could you expect from a ‘Lily’? Very quiet girl though, and she always sat with S-" She cleared her throat. "That one Slytherin boy.”

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. It was time to leave.

“Thank you, Professor Sprout!” he said, jumping off the stool.

Leaving the greenhouse, he wondered who he should visit next.

Professor McGonagall was out of the question. If he went to her now, she would only feel the need to explain why it was necessary for him to go back to the Dursleys at the end of the year because Dumbledore surely had managed to convince her by now.

So no, no Professor McGonagall. No Professor Snape either, for that matter. For the exact same reasons.

That left… Professor Sinistra, Professor Flitwick, Professor Binns, and Professor Quirrell. And all of those other teachers he sometimes saw at the head table but had no idea who they were.

Harry decided to start with Binns, mostly because he knew the ghost would still be in the classroom.

His stomach grumbled as he entered the castle. Fortunately for him, breakfast was still being served.

Not wanting to waste any time, he ran into the Great Hall, sat at the nearest table, devoured some food he wasn’t quite able to identify, and left again before anyone could react.

His predictions were true: Professor Binns was still in the classroom. From the looks of it, he might have never left.

He was also lecturing about goblin wars.

Harry assumed that some unfortunate older years had a Saturday history lesson, but when he turned, the classroom was completely empty.

“Umm…” He closed the door behind himself, walking towards the desk. “Professor Binns?”

But Binns didn’t react. Sitting down at one of the desks, Harry decided to just wait until he stopped lecturing.

Since he had nothing better to do, the lecture actually even sounded pretty interesting.

A few minutes later, however, Professor Binns stopped - at a point where Harry would argue to have been the best part! - and cleared his throat.

“Any questions?” he asked, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I have one, sir!” Harry said quickly, not willing to lose the chance.

Professor Binns blinked lazily, focusing his eyes on Harry.

“Oh, Mister Potter,” he said. “What is your question?”

“Could you tell me about Lily and James Potter?”

The ghost stared at him for a moment.

And then stared some more.

“Is this one of your pranks, Mister Potter?” he finally asked, tilting his head a bit. “Shall I expect Mister Black to jump out of the shadows and cover me in glitter any moment now?”

Harry didn’t quite know what to say.

“Umm, could you tell me something about just Lily Evans, then?”

Professor Binns frowned heavily. “Young man, you know I do not approve of your... obsession with Miss Evans. She is an excellent student, and she should be free to spend time with her academic equals, not be constantly assaulted by a group of pranksters!”

Well, that only raised more questions.

“Yes, sir!” Harry said, getting up, turning on his heel, and walking out of the classroom.

Closing the door, he could see Binns gradually reverting back to his unemotional self and picking up his lecturing right where he’d left it.

Shrugging, Harry decided to go find another teacher. He did, obviously, prefer to avoid Professor Quirrell - he’d gotten a migraine every time he’d looked at him so far - so the only options were now Professor Sinistra or Professor Flitwick.

And since he had no idea where Professor Sinistra’s offices were, well, Professor Flitwick it was, then.

His office was clearly marked and easily accessible since not only did he teach Charms, he was also Ravenclaw’s Head of House.

Harry didn’t even have to knock on the doors, they swung open before he could touch them.

“Ah, Mister Potter!” Professor Flitwick said, raising his head from the papers he’d been working on as soon as Harry hesitantly stepped over the threshold. “Having trouble with the material?”

“No…” Harry said. “Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m here, sir.”

“Oh?” The teacher put down his quill, turning to face Harry. Motioning at the nearest desk, he said, “Why are you here, then?”

“I was meaning to ask… could you tell me something about my parents?”

Professor Flitwick brightened up, making himself more comfortable on his chair.

“With pleasure! What would you like to know?”

“Everything?”

The man chuckled softly.

“Well,” he began, “James was good at charms but only those he could use for his infamous pranks, sadly. Lily though… she was brilliant, a true prodigy! I’ve never seen such raw, natural talent!”

Harry listened curiously, but it wasn’t much more than he had been told before. Everyone always talked about their studies or the Marauders’ pranks, but…

“What about their personalities?” he asked. “Do you know anything of their interests? What they liked to do?”

“Oh,” Professor Flitwick deflated a little, “I’m afraid-”

The doors swung open, revealing the billowing cloak of Professor Snape.

Harry startled badly enough to fall from the chair.

“Ah, Severus!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed excitedly, motioning at Harry with his hand. “Just the man we need!”

Professor Snape turned to look at Harry.

Harry attempted to make himself look even smaller than he already was, bracing himself for the yelling.

“Mister Potter,” Professor Snape said softly, and Harry risked looking at his face to gauge the emotions: surprisingly, he didn’t look angry? Amused, even?

“Pro- Professor Snape,” he managed.

“Harry was just asking me about his parents!” Professor Flitwick supplied helpfully. “There’s only so much I can say, but you surely have something to share! You were all in the same year, after all, and-”

“Thank you, Fillius.” Professor Snape interrupted. “I shall talk with him about that at a later time. I have come to you to discuss something else. Coincidentally, it is also related to Mister Potter.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. He’d been trying to sneak out as soon as Professor Snape had said he’d come with a specific purpose in mind, but now…

“Sir?” he asked, looking at Professor Snape.

“Sit down, Mister Potter,” the man said, his expression suddenly way more somber. “Filius, do you know how one goes about opening last wills that were locked ten years ago?”

Oh. He was… he was actually doing something about Harry’s situation?

Professor Flitwick stared at Professor Snape, glancing quickly between him and Harry.

“If there’s reason to suspect that the will has been violated, then yes,” he said eventually. “Do you-”

“I do.”

“But goblins don’t tend to just take a wizard on their word, you’ll need some hard proof-”

“How about medical scans indicating a decade of abuse?” Professor Snape raised a single eyebrow. “How about a Pensieve memory-showing of Lily swearing that she would never allow her Muggle sister to take care of her children, even if only temporarily?”

Swaying slightly, Professor Flitwick caught onto the desk before he came into danger of falling.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” he murmured. “Muggle? That’s not what Albus said!”

“The headmaster said many things that appear to be completely false.”

“That’s it!” Professor Flitwick jumped off his chair, grabbing a cloak from the hanger near the door. “Do either of you have something to do that absolutely cannot wait?”

“I believe we should include Minerva as well,” Professor Snape answered without giving a straight answer, which Harry started to believe was his default setting. “Seeing as she is Harry’s Head of House.”

“Harry?” Professor Flitwick turned to face him. “Do you have anything important to do?”

Harry shook his head. “Just homework.”

Professor Snape got a weird expression on his face. Like he was trying to hold something back.

“Splendid!” Professor Flitwick startled him out of his musings. “In that case, let’s go check on Minerva, and we may go!”

“Go where, sir?” Harry had no idea where wills could possibly be stored. In the Ministry, maybe?

“Why, to Gringotts, of course!”

Chapter Text

Professor McGonagall seemed to think that the excursion was a splendid idea. And so, the four of them found themselves standing on the stairs of Gringotts before the clock struck noon.

That was already more effort than anyone had ever made for Harry.

But he didn’t let himself feel hope just yet. What if the goblins said that there was nothing in the will about him not being allowed to go to Petunia? What if the will said he was to go to his aunt? What if they weren’t allowed to see the will at all?

The guards at the door certainly didn’t look very enthusiastic to see them enter.

“Hello,” he said timidly, but they only glared at him harder.

“Goblins don’t really like us wizards,” Professor Snape whispered to him when they passed the guards. “And with good reasons. Do not feel discouraged: they are very professional.”

Harry managed to feel a little bit better.

The inside of the bank was just as overwhelming as the last time he was there, people and goblins bustling on the separate sides of a long counter.

Finding the shortest-looking queue, the four of them prepared themselves for a long wait, even despite the goblins' exceptionally effective services.

Harry waited patiently, used to not expressing any signs of his anxiety. It would’ve gotten him in even bigger trouble if he ever showed impatience during some of his aunt’s and uncle’s rants.

Finally they reached the counter, which somehow still managed to catch Harry by surprise.

“We are here to inquire about the last wills of James Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans,” Professor Flitwick said. He had unanimously been chosen to speak, as his parentage would place him above the humans in goblin hierarchy, just in case the goblins weren’t feeling like being nice that day.

It turned out that that precaution was completely unnecessary.

“Finally!” the goblin - Robok, Harry managed to read his badge - said, throwing his hands up.

Waving his hand, he made a part of the counter rise up. “Follow me!”

Harry was very confused. He was pretty sure that that wasn’t exactly the standard procedure.

They were led to an office that looked pretty much like any Hogwarts teacher’s office, if said teacher was particularly fascinated by axes.

Robok gestured at the chairs.

“As is the common procedure, you will have to take a blood test to confirm that you are who you’re claiming to be,” the goblin said, handing each of them a piece of stone. “The kind of information we are about to share with you is beyond sensitive.”

The professors all used some kind of spell to prick their fingers and press the bleeding tips to the stone surfaces. Harry didn’t know that spell, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t really allowed to use magic anyway.

But fortunately for him, he had a scab on his hand from when he’d fallen over that morning. Picking at it, he then pressed the freshly bleeding wound to the stone.

The goblin said nothing, not counting the raise of his brows, when collecting the stones and went towards a set of drawers covering the entire wall behind his desk.

He murmured something that sounded like a confused “Interesting…” when checking the stones, but it seemed to be mere curiosity rather than any sort of obstacle.

Clearly the goblin was particularly well organized: in just a few short moments he turned around to face them once again, setting the thickest stack of parchment Harry had ever seen on the desk.

“What is this?” Professor Snape asked, his eyebrows so high that they were completely invisible, despite his hairstyle usually allowing for a wide range in their movement. “I am fairly certain that the Potters did not have enough time to write this monstrosity as their wills.”

“You are correct,” Robok said. “This is the log of every irregularity in performance of standard duties related to the vault.”

“I’m hoping that they are all since the establishing of their family vault?” Professor McGonagall said, her voice sounding as if she already knew that that was not the case.

“Yes,” Robok said, turning the book upside down and taking the bottom sheet of paper. “Those are all the irregularities since the seventeenth century. These,” he gestured to the remaining mammoth, “are the irregularities since the thirty-first of October, 1981.”

Professor McGonagall swore something that was so atrocious that Harry didn’t even know what it meant while the other professors looked murderous.

“What happened that day?” he asked, even though he had a suspicion.

“Your parents’ deaths,” the goblin answered, looking at him suspiciously. “I suppose the bank records aren’t the only ones we’d find irregularities in during that time period, are they?”

“No,” Professor Snape said. “There are much more.”

“We suspected as much,” the goblin sighed. “But wizards tend to get terribly outraged whenever we talk about anything other than banking, so we couldn’t really do anything.”

“Do we need to review the entire thing?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Goodness, no!” Robok looked honestly terrified at the prospect. “It can wait. We don’t have that kind of time right now. The wills might take a while by themselves.”

“Where do you store people’s wills?” Harry asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“Usually we have the original in the family vault and then the copies: one is sent to the ministry and another is stored in our specialized vault to prevent any chances of forgery. The copy in the ministry is read with family and closest friends or representatives present. I believe those two wills were read in the presence of,” the goblin checked some different piece of parchment, “‘A. P. W. B. Dumbledore, only.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Professor Snape sighed.

“So we can’t see it?” Harry asked. “Or will we have to go to the ministry? Do they keep the wills after reading them?”

“They don’t,” Professor Flitwick said with a scowl. “They say it would take up ‘too much space,’ like we’re not capable of expanding it! As if they don’t store every prophecy ever made!”

“Oh…”

“You may retrieve the copy from your family vault,” Robok said. “We don’t usually allow children access before they reach the age of maturity, but this is, I believe, one of the cases in which we can make an exception.”

Robok stood up, motioning at them to follow him once again. This time Harry could see where they were going; he recognized that part of the bank from the last time they were there.

The carts.

Harry hoped that they would be just as fun as when he'd ridden them before.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick took the first one as the carts for deeper-situated vaults were way smaller than the ones for transporting clients to newer ones.

Something about older tunnels and safety precautions, apparently.

Harry startled when Professor Snape offered him a vial of a potion, downing a similar one himself.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, earning a half-smile.

“Anti-nausea potion. This is going to be a long and bumpy ride.”

And he was right. The ride took way more time than the last one, in Harry’s estimate. Having no watch, he couldn’t have been sure, but it definitely felt much longer.

The station they ended up on was lit only by flickering torches for some reason. The shadows danced across the stone walls, crisscrossing randomly. Harry saw figures in the dark out of the corner of his eye, but every time he turned his head, they disappeared.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were waiting for them on the platform. Once together, Robok led them through a tunnel so small that Professor McGonagall was forced to bend almost in half, and Professor Snape had to adapt some uncomfortable looking semi-crouch.

The only ones unaffected were the goblin, half-goblin, and Harry.

Harry, who soon became affected by something entirely different.

“Is that a dragon?! How did it get in here?!”

The creature visible from the opening of the tunnel was, indeed, a dragon. A majestic creature with scales so bright it seemed they shone in the darkness of the cave. Harry could see its paws, tail, and parts of its torso, all of them encompassed in golden chains.

The dragon appeared to be sleeping with its tail towards the group, and Harry hoped it would remain sleeping for the entirety of their trip.

“Yeah,” Robok said. It took Harry a moment to remember that he’d asked a question. “We bought her off the black market; she was blinded by the training her previous owner provided and advertised for potion ingredients.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know much about dragons, but… “Wouldn’t she feel better outside?”

“We tried to get some preservationists to take her, but all of them denied.” Robok led them down the path by the wall, passing giant golden doors regularly. “The Romanians said that they would take her once they had enough resources, but they’ve been sending us reports on the state of their place for the past twenty years, and we’re not convinced that they’re ready to take her in as of yet.”

That sounded… way nicer than the first thoughts Harry had had about the situation.

“Why is she bound, though?”

“It’s moreso jewelry rather than chains.”

“Jewelry?”

“She’s blind and the weight of the gold proves to be very comforting to her.” The goblin stopped in front of a door, although Harry couldn’t see any difference between it and the others they’d passed. “Here we are. Press your hand to the panel on the right and the door will open.”

Harry did so, still managing to flinch in surprise when the door whooshed open. He soon forgot all about it when he noticed the contents of the room.

There wasn’t any gold inside, but there was no doubt that it was all incredibly valuable, be it worth its weight in Galleons or simply holding sentimental value.

Entering the vault, Harry had no idea where to go first: everything simply looked way too enticing.

He ventured towards a stack holding hundreds of wands, spotting a portable wall with a plaque reading “Paintings” on it.

Would those be magical portraits? Would he be able to talk to his ancestors?

The first couple of pictures he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. Forgetting all about the teachers and the wills, he inched forward, barely even blinking.

On the left hung a portrait of a man who looked just like Harry: identical dark skin, the same messed up hair, and even the glasses that they wore were strikingly similar.

The plaque on the frame said what Harry already knew: “James Fleamont Potter” with the dates of his birth and death underneath.

On the right sat a woman whom Harry had never seen in his life, but he could guess who she was.

His mother. Her red hair fell around her face, her mouth curved into a soft smile even as she was sleeping.

Harry would give anything to be able to talk to them.

Coming even closer, he outstretched his hand-

“You can’t,” Professor Flitwick said, grabbing his arm. “Waking up a portrait releases incredible amounts of energy. If you did so in here, it would destroy everything else in the vault.”

Nodding numbly, Harry dropped his arm.

“Why haven’t they been woken up yet?” he asked.

“There is no one who could do it. Other than you, there is no one else currently alive who can access this vault.”

“We found the wills!” Professor McGonagall called out, waving at them to join the rest.

Harry left the portraits reluctantly. The adults were gathered around a tiny table on which sat two globes. They could’ve been mistaken for marbles if not for the swirling blue lights inside them.

But there was no parchment.

“Where are they?” Harry asked.

Professor Snape pointed at the marbles. “In the wizarding world, people store their wills in the form of a memory rather than writing it down.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t really understand what that meant.

“Let’s get on with it,” Professor Flitwick said, taking out a piece of parchment and a quill capable of standing on its own. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”

Robok took one of the globes and put it in a tiny bowl placed on the floor.

A ghost emerged from inside of it, a bluish glow surrounding a person whom Harry would grow up to resemble.

“James Fleamont Potter, born the twenty-seventh of March, 1960. This is my last will and testament,” the figure spoke.

After that he started listing off a number of names Harry didn’t recognize, assigning them different amounts of money, personal belongings, or possessions.

The quill dutifully noted everything, so Harry figured he didn’t have to try and remember it.

After several minutes of that, the figure took a deep breath.

“As for my son, Hari James Potter,” he said, sighing and rubbing his eyes, misplacing his glasses slightly. “If I die before he reaches the age of maturity, all parental rights are to be given to my partner, Lily J. Potter, née Evans. If it so happens that she also dies, I would wish for him to be placed with his godfather, Sirius Orion Black, and his partner, Remus John Lupin. If they, for any reason, can’t take him, I would wish for him to be placed with Frank Carl Longbottom and his partner Alice Heather Bell. So mote it be.”

Silence fell over the vault.

Harry wondered who all of those people were. Why could none of them take him in?

“So those were his choices,” Professor Snape said eventually. “A convicted murderer, a Dark creature, and a couple currently acting like toddlers who live permanently in St. Mungo’s, even though he was aware at the time that they were also being targeted. Splendid.”

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall admonished. “He couldn’t have known…”

The only thing that Harry was sure of at the moment was that his father’s will didn’t provide him with any alternative to the Dursleys.

There was still his mother’s though.

Robok took the marble out of the bowl, and placed the other one inside it.

A ghastly copy of Harry’s mother emerged.

“Lily J. Potter, née Evans, born on the thirtieth of January, 1960,” she began with a soft smile, identical to the one she was sporting in the picture. “This is my last will and testament.”

“I leave most of my possessions to my partner, James Fleamont Potter. If he was to die, divide them as per his will. The only exception would be the trunk stored somewhere in the family vault containing all of my potions journals. It has a plaque with the name of Severus Tobias Snape, to whom I’d like to leave it.”

Harry glanced at Professor Snape who looked extremely surprised, going as far as to drop his arms from his trademark “folded with their thumbs up” position.

“Sev, my old friend, I know you’ll think this is a bribe. It is. For what? You’ll know soon enough.”

The woman - Harry’s mother, he still couldn’t believe he could see her speaking to him - brushed a wild strand of hair out of her face.

“As for my son, Hari James Potter - Hari, my darling.” Harry could almost feel the love in her voice. “If I happen to die before he reaches the age of maturity and my partner James Fleamont Potter is unavailable, under no circumstances is he to be placed with my sister and her husband, Petunia and Vernon Dursley!”

The scream took Harry by surprise.

“My sister is unfit to raise my son for a multitude of reasons that I will not list here. I would wish for him to be placed with his godfather, Sirius Orion Black, and his partner, Remus John Lupin. If they are unavailable, I would wish for him to be placed with Frank Carl Longbottom and Alice Heather Bell.”

So, the exact same people that his father had listed. But at least she objected to his placement at Aunt Petunia’s house…

“However,” Lily continued after a deep sigh. “As there is a war going on, I recognize the dangers placed upon the people I nominated. And as Voldemort seems very determined to kill my son, I understand that additional protections are to be provided.”

Or perhaps there was still a chance?

“This is why if I die protecting him, let it be known that I will be invoking an ancient blood ritual that would offer him protection for as long as he lives with someone who shares our blood.”

That meant Aunt Petunia. As far as Harry knew, there was no one else from their family, be it Muggle or magical. Didn’t the goblin say so?

“That’s why for my last nomination, I choose Severus Tobias Snape for the periods of time that Harry doesn’t spend at school, for which he will receive compensation. No offense, Sev, but I don’t really fancy my son living on Spinner’s End - surely you understand. As for the period he spends at school, I’d like to nominate his Head of House as the secondary guardian. So mote it be.”

Well. Harry did not expect that. But it didn’t sound bad, so-

“Ah, one more thing!” the ghost of Lily said, flickering softly. “If we have died while under Fidelius, be it known that our Secret Keeper was Peter Jadeus Pettigrew. Sirius Orion Black served as a decoy and was in no way capable of betraying us. Oh! Also, Peter is an unregistered rat Animagus. Don’t believe he’s dead unless you have the majority of his body.”

And with that, she retreated back to the marble.

The silence somehow felt really loaded.

“Are you telling me,” Professor McGonagall said in a dangerously low voice, “that Sirius Black spent a decade in Azkaban for nothing?!”

“Let us not forget that the Headmaster knew that he was innocent,” Professor Snape added. “And yet, having all the power needed to free him, he did nothing?”

“Whoa, that’s something I would have never expected you of all people to say!” Professor Flitwick added. “With all that animosity between you and Black…”

“Do not mistake my words, I detest him. But no one deserves to spend this long in Azkaban, especially not for something they had not even done.”

“Alright, so we’ve got Sirius’s business to sort out,” Professor McGonagall said, visibly gathering herself together. “But why did Lily say that you’re a blood relative of herself and Harry?”

Professor Snape frowned. “I am not sure…”

“I can confirm that this is true,” Robok piped in. “The blood tests I had you all do? They said you had an Oath of Blood with Lily Evans and therefore you are, in the eyes of magic, a blood relative of Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” Professor Snape said.

“But when did you take an Oath of Blood?” Professor McGonagall wondered.

“At the beginning of our fifth year,” Professor Snape supplied. “Not long before our… falling out. I was not... aware that it was binding.”

“Well, it definitely was.” Professor Flitwick rolled up his parchment and hid it, along with the quill, in one of his pockets. “So now both you and Minerva have some sort of a shared custody over Harry. This is going to be interesting.”

“My mum said my ‘Head of House,’” Harry said. “But what if I had been sorted into Slytherin? The hat considered it.”

“At the time that the will was made, I was not yet a Head of House,” Professor Snape said. “In fact, I was not even considering becoming a teacher. As far as she knew, that scenario was about as realistic as the Headmaster wearing some normal robes for once.”

“What should we start with?” Professor McGonagall wondered. “There’s so much new information…”

“If I may,” Robok said. “Lily Potter expressed belief that Peter Pettigrew might still be alive.”

“Yes, but how are we supposed to find him?” Professor Snape said. “As a rat Animagus, he might be hiding literally anywhere!”

Professor Flitwick and Robok exchanged a glance.

“We have a way to locate him,” Robok said eventually. “It is rarely used, if ever, but I believe that this situation is dire enough…”

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Professor McGonagall turned around, storming towards the exit. “We’ve got a rat to hunt!”

Chapter Text

The hunting turned out to consist of waiting in the office while Robok and Professor Flitwick went to retrieve whatever it was that goblins used to locate someone.

And while Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Harry sat on the slightly too small chairs, waiting impatiently for the news, Professor Flitwick and Robok made their way through the long corridors of the Gringotts Bank.

After all, they couldn’t possibly keep such a sensitive instrument too close to the entrance in case some wizard caught wind of such a thing existing and made the bright decision to try and steal it.

Passing several doors and staircases leading further and further into even more intricate pocket dimensions, they finally reached their destination: a plain looking bronze door with no additional security.

If you counted being programmed to only allow those with goblin blood to enter as not-secured, anyway.

What made the long journey worth it laid behind that door: another pocket dimension filled to the brim with bookshelves, each and every one stuffed with documents.

Documents containing sensitive information about every single one of the bank’s customers.

Professor Flitwick and Robok entered the room, but stopped soon thereafter, coming to a halt in front of an old desk with an even older goblin sitting behind it.

“Purpose?” the goblin croaked out, his voice rusted from disuse.

“Location of a supposed-to-be-dead murderer,” Robok supplied.

“Name?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

The old goblin took a long scroll of parchment from a stack stored neatly to his left, reading through it surprisingly quickly.

“Wait,” he said, standing up and walking off, disappearing between the shelves.

He returned not even five minutes later, a file clutched in his hands.

Slapping it down on the desk, he opened it and put on glasses which had been resting on a chain around his neck.

Professor Flitwick glanced at the pages, but they seemed empty to him.

“Status: Alive,” the goblin read dispassionately.

“That confirms it.” Robok nodded. “In this case, we are allowed to inquire about his whereabouts.”

“Location: Hogwarts.”

Hearing that in the near-mechanical voice was an odd experience.

“May we have a map?” Professor Flitwick asked. He wasn’t going to believe it until he found the rat. The nerve of that rat!

The goblin somehow gave off an impression of sighing heavily despite not doing so. Reaching for a piece of parchment, he pressed it to the page in the file, whispering something harshly.

A moment later Professor Flitwick held a map of Hogwarts in his hands, a cherry-colored dot announcing the presence of Peter Pettigrew somewhere inside what must’ve been the-

“Well,” he said, reluctant to swear. “I don’t think he’s legally allowed to reside inside Gryffindor Tower with all the children there.”

Robok had no such qualms.

***

“Bad news, everyone,” Professor Flitwick said, entering the office empty-handed some time later.

“You can’t find him?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“We can.”

“Where is he, then?” Professor Snape furrowed his brows.

“Currently at Hogwarts,” Robok said, handing over a relatively small-scale map of the castle and its surroundings to Professor McGonagall. “In what I was informed to be the Gryffindor Tower.”

No one said anything, digesting the news.

“How the hell could he be in my tower?!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, her accent getting a bit heavier. “With all my students?! Surely I would have noticed!”

“Surely the Headmaster must’ve noticed,” Professor Snape added.

“Could he be hiding as somebody’s pet?” Harry asked.

“He could be.” Professor Snape nodded. “But we have no way of knowing which of the students brought a rat as the animals are barely regulated, and what little regulations we do have are not even enforced…”

“No, I mean, Ron’s got a rat called Scabbers. He’s old and ugly and missing a finger.”

The adults exchanged glances.

“Well,” Professor McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment, minutely calmer. ”I believe we shall go and get that rat, then. And then get Sirius out of Azkaban, somehow.”

Professor Flitwick glanced at Robok. “Do you think he’d mind if Gringotts sued him for stealing goblin-made artifacts?”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, taken aback. “Weren’t you planning to help him?”

“If we sue him for that, we can take over his punishment,” Robok explained. “That will get him out of the hell-on-earth that wizards call prison and into our care, making the officials at the Ministry believe he’s far worse off.”

“That sounds like a plan that might work.” Professor Snape nodded. “Is there anything that we can do to help?”

“Retrieve the rat,” Robok said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

And with that, the only thing left for them to do at the bank was to exchange goodbyes and leave.

***

“That Robok guy was really nice,” Harry said once they were out in Diagon Alley.

“...Robok?” Professor Flitwick paused putting on his gloves.

“The goblin?”

“Oh, but his name was Rolook!” Professor McGonagall said.

“Merlin, I keep forgetting how bad your eyesight is,” Professor Snape added. “How about we go to an eye-healer since we are already in Diagon?”

“After some lunch, I hope!”

“Of course, Filius.”

***

Apparently ice cream was an appropriate meal to get for lunch in the wizarding world.

Harry couldn’t really decide on one flavour since he’d never really had a choice before. Once he said so though, the owner - Fortescue was his name - charmed his bowl to change flavours with every bite, so it was pretty entertaining.

The visit to the healer was much less pleasant.

“This must be the worst eyesight I’ve ever seen!” Healer Daisy exclaimed for what must’ve been the fifth time already. “And those glasses? I’ve seen a lot of Muggle glasses, but this atrocity takes the cake for the worst pair in existence!”

Harry sat patiently on the stool as she examined him, Professor Snape right next to him. The two of them were slightly glamoured for the trip, the magic obscuring Harry’s scar and Professor Snape’s general features.

They had split up, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick going back to Hogwarts to apprehend Scabbers, or rather, the man who was pretending to be Scabbers.

“What options do we have?” Professor Snape apparently had either lost his patience or decided that Healer Daisy had had enough time to inspect Harry.

“Well, I mean, it’s a pretty strong defect,” Healer Daisy said, now going through a cabinet full of tiny vials. “So resetting it would take a lot. And i do mean a lot, especially considering how small for his age the boy is.”

“A lot?” Harry had no idea what she was talking about. A lot of money? He did have a full vault, so that wouldn’t be a problem. But why would she bring up his size?

“Yeah, like, a full twenty-four.” The mental image of Healer Daisy popping a bubblegum bubble popped into Harry’s mind. It would have certainly fit her bright pink hair, that was for sure.

“Twenty-four of what?”

“Hours, Harry,” Professor Snape said. “You would be as good as blind for twenty-four hours during which your body recreated your eyes and their connections to the brain, prompted by a specific potion.”

That didn’t sound enticing. “Would it hurt?”

“If the potion is brewed properly, it should not.”

“I can assure you that it’s the highest quality potion you’d be able to find!” Healer Daisy said, deciding on a vial. “The Potions Master who brewed it - I’m sure you’ll meet him when you go to Hogwarts, he’s a teacher there, I’ve heard - he’s considered one of the top five in the world and arguably the best one in Europe!”

Harry glanced at the professor curiously, but he seemed to be surprised to hear that, if the furrow of his brows was anything to go by.

“Yes, I am sure it will be adequate then,” he said distractedly. “Harry, do you wish to take the potion right now? It would be done by lunchtime tomorrow. Otherwise, you would need to wait for next weekend.”

“Today’s good.” Harry shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had anything important to do. Save for the homework. But he’d still have half of Sunday to complete it, it’d be fine.

Healer Daisy handed the potion vial to Harry, who, with only a very quick glance towards Professor Snape, drank it with little to no hesitation.

“You’ve got a very brave son, sir!” Healer Daisy said, and Harry was incredibly glad he got to see Professor Snape’s flabbergasted expression before the potion rendered him blind.

“Yes…” he heard the professor say. “Harry certainly is brave.”

And then the world turned into a swirl of indiscernible colours.

***

After going back to Hogwarts, Severus escorted Harry to Minerva. They exchanged brief updates: the rat had been handed over to them by Weasley the Younger with little to no argument on the basis that they were giving him a check up, and had already been taken back to Gringotts.

From there, Minerva was the one who would take Harry to his dormitory, since Severus’s presence anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower would only raise questions and rumors.

Before Severus could leave, Quirinus left the teachers’ lounge, a determined expression on his face as he made a beeline for the Potions Master.

Sighing internally, he prepared himself for infuriating talk about some menial topic, unnecessarily prolonged by the stuttering.

“Is it true what Minerva said?” Quirinus inquired, with surprisingly minimal stuttering. “About Potter? About how those Muggles treated him?”

“If she told you that he was abused, then yes, that is correct,” Severus said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “But I fail to see what business it is of yours.”

“Just surprised, that’s all. Thank you, Severus, do let me know if you need any help with that situation,” the man remarked, quickly walking away.

What a strange man, Severus thought, turning towards the dungeons and dismissing it as unimportant.

***

Once safely behind the doors of his office, Quirinus sat heavily in his chair, head in his hands.

“I am not going to let that child suffer!” a voice from the back of his head hissed. “Lest he becomes as powerful as I did! Change of plans: we are staying in the castle, and we are making sure that Dumbledore goes down!”

“But Master, what about the Philosopher’s Stone?” Quirinus asked, the stutter slightly more pronounced now that he was terrified out of his pants.

“Scratch that, I’m already immortal, and you’re a decent vessel. We’ll work on the smell and face-on-the-back-of-the-head problem - until Yuletide Break, at the latest! - but our major project will be ensuring that the Potter child receives a childhood - or whatever remains of it - that will make him weak and pliable!”

“As you wish, My Lord…”

***

The next week passed way too slowly for Harry’s tastes.

On the outside, absolutely nothing had changed. No one was aware that he had new designated guardians now and that he wouldn’t go back to the Dursleys’ anymore. No one even knew about his eyes being healed!

Although that last one was mostly intentional; Professor Snape had insisted on getting a pair of glasses identical to his old ones, only with no prescription, so that Dumbledore wouldn’t realize anything was amiss just yet.

He attempted to talk to Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall - even to Professor Flitwick! - but they all seemed to be awfully busy recently.

All three of them took to leaving the classroom immediately after the bell rang - sometimes even before! - and Harry somehow could never find them in their offices.

He almost started to think that they’d changed their minds; that they no longer wanted to help him, no longer wanted to be his official guardians…

But they wouldn’t have done that, right?

Harry wasn’t sure, but experience told him that it was pretty likely.

Adults tended to give up easily if they figured out that the gains-to-expenses ratio wasn’t to their liking.

By Friday, he was ready to just send a letter thanking them for what they’d done for him already but refusing anything else. He’d survived a decade with Aunt Petunia, he could survive another six summers.

They always knew he was magical, how much worse could it possibly get?

And with his official thanks, the adults would feel good about themselves and their efforts without actually having to do anything difficult, and they could all go back to how it had been at the start of the year.

He didn’t actually get a chance to do that, though.

Professor Snape called out to him as soon as he entered the classroom. It was only a simple “stay after class, Mister Potter,” which didn’t reveal anything to any other student but was incredibly important to Harry.

Not having any idea whether the professor was going to tell him that nothing more was going to be done about his situation or if he had some good news to share, the lesson was pure torture.

The only respite was the fact that after cooking three meals a day for the Dursleys since he’d been four, chopping, crushing, and mixing came to Harry really easily.

He could immerse himself in the task completely, practicing the art of thinking about absolutely nothing but what he was cooking.

On the downside, it made him really susceptible to Slytherins sabotaging the contents of his cauldron.

His potion started bubbling dangerously, snapping him out of his trance. Having no idea what to do, he did what he would have done if that had happened while he was cooking: he lowered the heat and put the next ingredient inside, stirring slowly.

Finishing the last steps of the recipe, he resigned himself to simply handing in a messed-up potion even if he did reach a color close to the one he was supposed to.

The bell rang, and everyone stirred to life, bottling their potions - or attempting to do so, in the case of some people, cough Neville and Malfoy’s thugscough, who had somehow managed to get their end products to coagulate - and packing away their stuff.

Finally, the last person left and Harry was alone in the classroom with Professor Snape.

“Your potion?” Professor Snape said, outstretching his hand.

Harry glanced at his own hand, surprised to note that he was still clutching the little vial.

Handing it over, he waited anxiously as, for some reason, Professor Snape decided it was the perfect time to examine it.

Was this going to be his excuse? You are not good at potions, so obviously I cannot take you in.?

“You did not follow the recipe,” the professor said. “Why?”

“It started bubbling, sir. The recipe didn’t say anything about that, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just… guessed?”

“You guessed.”

Harry flinched slightly. Subtle science, exact art... He didn’t think Professor Snape would be happy with that answer, but it was the truth.

“Tell me what changes to the recipe you made.”

“Well, after the potion started bubbling, I lowered the heat,” Harry said, shifting slightly. “Then I added the chopped nettles and stirred, um, eight times clockwise.”

Professor Snape hummed softly, tilting the vial as if the sloshing of the potion was somehow capable of telling him anything.

“Were you aware Mister Malfoy added frog’s spleen to your potion, which caused the discrepancy?”

“Oh.” No, Harry was not aware of that.

On the other hand, how did Professor Snape know?

“And yet, you still produced a potion equal in quality to those of Mister Malfoy’s and Miss Granger’s.”

Harry’s mind short-circuited.

That… hadn’t happened before.

“I… sir?”

The professor was looking at him weirdly, as if he was some sort of specimen in a jar.

“We will work with that later. For now, however,” he set the vial down with the rest of the students’, “I asked you to stay behind for a different reason.”

Oh Merlin, the anxiety was eating him alive.

“Meet me tomorrow in front of the main entrance, directly after breakfast.”

Alright, that wasn’t what Harry had been expecting, but it was better than his ideas, so he wasn’t going to complain.

“Where are we going, sir?” he asked instead.

The professor suddenly looked as if someone had asked him to drink the three most butchered potions and smile afterwards.

“You are going to meet your godfather,” he said eventually, and Harry could remember being very excited before darkness encompassed him.

Chapter Text

Apparently, you could faint from too much excitement.

He woke up a couple of hours later - he thanked Merlin that Potions had been his last class that day! - and found himself lying in the weirdly comfortable, crispy sheets of the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey stayed around long enough to inform him that she was keeping him in the wing overnight before she gave him some dinner and disappeared back into her office.

Having nothing better to do, he tried to focus on his homework since he would be away for a big part of Saturday, and who knew what was going to happen?

But every time he tried to read something or work on an essay, the buzzing in his head made it nearly impossible, turning his train of thought back to the ‘I’m meeting my godfather tomorrow!’ station.

Sirius Black. His godfather.

A person who could’ve been raising him instead of Aunt Petunia.

Could have been, had it not been for - if Harry understood what little information he’d put together from the professors’ talks - the rat, what was his name, Peter Pedigree?

Suddenly Harry felt less guilty about stepping on Scabbers’s tail on one of the first days.

How would it go? Would the man be disappointed in Harry for not knowing anything about his parents? For never even thinking about doing any pranks, like his father did? For not being as good of a student as his mother was?

What sort of person would he be after having spent the past ten years in a prison that everyone seemed terrified of?

Only time will tell, he decided, giving up on his homework.

But sadly for Harry, sleep had given up on him, too.

***

“I should’ve given you a sleeping draught,” was the first thing that Madam Pomfrey said to him when she saw him the next morning.

Harry looked up from his Charms homework, which he had been doing since three o’clock that morning with relative success.

“I’m not sure it would’ve helped much,” he offered, writing down the last line of his essay and rolling the parchment up. “Besides, I’m used to getting little to no sleep.”

For some reason Madam Pomfrey looked like she was going to cry.

Visibly gathering herself together, she set a hovering tray filled with Harry’s favourite breakfast food over his knees. How did she know what to get?

“Make sure to finish it,” she said, waving her wand in a motion that Harry already knew meant she was using a diagnostic charm. “Severus told me that he's taking you to see someone first thing this morning, so you’ll need lots of energy!”

Harry nodded eagerly, digging into the waffles and bacon. Having delicious food that he could actually eat and wasn’t expected to cook himself gave him an incredible feeling that he couldn’t quite identify.

Professor Snape entered the Hospital Wing with a billow of his robes just as Harry was finishing his glass of milk.

“Have you slept at all?” he said, his eyebrows rising high enough to disappear almost completely. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you, sir, good morning to you too,” Harry replied, instantly horrified.

He’d completely forgotten that getting no sleep loosened up his tongue quite a bit! Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble…

Or so he thought. Professor Snape just smirked at him, looking at Harry kind of like how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at Dudley when he did something they deemed worthy of praise.

“Ready to go?” the professor asked instead of commenting on Harry’s slip up.

“Yes, sir!”

Throwing away the duvet, he slid his legs down, standing up a bit wobbly after having spent so long lying down.

“You are intending to go in your sleepwear?”

Harry flushed, noticing his school clothes lying on a chair nearby. Gathering them in his arms, he left for the bathroom.

Several minutes later he was changed and ready to go, literally buzzing with excitement.

“You were too excited to sleep, were you not?” the professor asked, eyeing him with an expression weirdly close to concern.

Harry only shrugged, but no one could even pretend that it wasn’t a confirmation.

“I made a mistake in telling you where we’d be going.”

“I mean, I would’ve probably spent the entire night worrying anyway if you didn’t.” Harry shrugged again. “If I had a choice, I would take knowing over not knowing any day.”

Professor Snape’s expression grew serious, bordering on contemplative. Harry was already very confused by Professor Snape’s expressions that day, and it had barely even started.

“Let us go, then,” he said, turning around with a billow of his cloak.

Harry added “how do you make your clothes always do what you want?” to the list of questions he intended to eventually ask Professor Snape about, right after a long string of questions about his mother and other related matters.

***

The Goblin Hospital turned out to be accessible exclusively by going through Gringotts. From what little he managed to remember from Professor Binns’s standard lectures, that was completely understandable.

Rolook took them to the reception, from where one of the nurses showed them the way to Sirius’s room.

The hospital looked pretty much exactly like any other hospital Harry had been in; granted, he didn’t visit a lot of them, but he counted those that he'd seen on the telly.

He wondered briefly how the goblins had managed to get Sirius out of the supposedly “worst place on Earth” in under a week but soon decided it was better not to think about it in case he jinxed it.

Pausing before opening the door, he straightened his robes out in nervousness.

“Do not fret,” Professor Snape said.

“Wow, I feel better already,” Harry snapped back. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he added in a mumble, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You did, and it is alright.” The man grabbed the handle. “Being nervous does that to a person. Although why anyone would be this anxious to meet this dog is beyond my recognition.”

“Do you know him?” Harry really wanted to meet the man, but at the same time he kind of… didn’t?

“We were in the same year at school,” Professor Snape said. “Different houses, though.”

“Have you visited him in here yet?”

“Not before now. Minerva and I were busy setting up a case with the goblins. I believe only Filius had the time to see him. And Lupin, of course, but that was a given.”

Before Harry could ask any more questions, Professor Snape opened the door, motioning at him to enter.

The room was the standard size for goblins, which meant that the magically enlarged bed capable of holding a grown wizard stuck out like a sore thumb.

The man lying on it looked as if someone had taken a skeleton from one of those Halloween displays at the shops, put it in some sort of skin suit, and stuck a long-haired wig tangled beyond recognition on top of it.

Next to the bed sat a man considerably better kept - although he also wasn’t that far from being malnourished - but even though his clothes were clean, they were still rather close to falling apart at the seams.

Looking up from a book that he was reading, the man - Harry guessed that it was that Remus Lupin Professor Snape had mentioned - seemed very confused to see them.

“Lupin.” Professor Snape nodded sharply. Harry decided that the best course of action was to hide behind the teacher, clutching at his coat.

“Snape.” Lupin responded with a similarly jerky nod, shifting his gaze from Professor Snape to Harry. “And Snape Junior, I presume?”

The choked gasp from the direction of the bed alerted them to the fact that Sirius Black was now awake.

“Remy!” he rasped out in a voice that was most likely painful to produce and definitely painful to hear. “That’s Harry!”

Lupin only stared at him blankly.

“Harry Potter,” Professor Snape drawled, seemingly unaffected. That eye-healer last week had probably made him immune to people assuming that Harry was his son.

Dawning realization appeared on Lupin’s face.

“Oh,” he said, putting away his book. “Oh! I had no idea… hello, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry responded, not looking out from behind Professor Snape. He’d already made eye contact with the man before, he didn’t need to do it again, right?

“Harry, honestly.” Professor Snape sighed, stepping away. “I have no idea why you are so shy all of a sudden.”

Harry could feel a sarcastic remark coming up, but Sirius managed to beat him to it.

“Maybe it’s because you told him that Remy’s a werewolf, Snivellus!” he snapped.

Harry, Professor Snape, and Lupin stiffened, although because of different reasons.

“A werewolf?” Harry gasped, immediately hiding back behind Professor Snape, who now had his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“First, Harry, werewolves are basically harmless if it is not the full moon, and I can assure you that there is at least a week before the next one.”

Harry relaxed slightly. If Professor Snape said that Lupin was safe…

“Second, Black, do you believe this to be some sort of competition? ‘Who can out Lupin more times?' I am sure you will be happy to hear that with the current count of two to zero, you are winning.”

His godfather at least looked a bit ashamed of himself. Although Harry did wonder when the first time was that he’d told someone about Lupin.

He made a mental note to never tell him any secrets though, just to be on the safe side.

The moment of shame soon ended when Sirius’s face contorted with anger.

“Well, maybe you haven’t told him about that, but I’m sure you’ve fed him lies about his father. You never did like him much, did you, Sni-?”

“Would you stop with that juvenile nickname already?” Professor Snape sighed, but Harry could see that it was an act.

Sirius sat up straighter, ready to badmouth Professor Snape some more. But before he could make a single sound, he slumped back over, instantly asleep.

“I am terribly sorry,” Lupin said, putting his wand in his sleeve; that looked like a terribly dangerous way of transporting it! What if it fell out?

“In this particular instance I am willing to overlook it, since I do know firsthand what Azkaban does to a person.” Professor Snape folded his arms behind his back. “It is, however, not your place to apologize for that dog.”

“Still,” the other man shrugged, “he should be out for around fifteen minutes, at most.”

“We shall use this time to talk in peace, then.” Professor Snape waved his own wand, transfiguring something - Harry wasn’t sure what, exactly - into two more chairs near the bed.

Although, to be frank, everything was near the bed in a room of such small size, and with the three chairs inside it felt even more cramped.

The silence felt awkward. Harry squirmed in the chair; it might’ve been comfortable, but he certainly wasn’t.

He kept searching his mind for a question to ask, but now that he had an actual chance to get a proper answer, he somehow couldn’t think of anything…

“Lupin, tell the boy about your relation to his father,” Professor Snape said, sounding bored. “We haven’t got the whole day, and that would be as good a start as any.”

Relief washed over Harry, allowing him to slump in the chair a bit more comfortably.

“Well,” Lupin started, now with the entirety of the shared anxiety in the room transferred to him, “we were close friends in school. The four of us: your father, Sirius… Peter… and I, we called ourselves Marauders. Many joked that we were one person in four bodies…”

Harry fidgeted with his fingers. He already knew all that! It was all the teachers ever talked about.

“Harry?” Professor Snape seemed to somehow notice his discomfort.

“Is something wrong?” Lupin added.

“It’s just…” Harry really didn’t want to sound rude. “When I talked to the teachers, they always told me how smart my mum was and how much of a prankster dad was and how you were all inseparable and stuff, but… no one ever tells me what my parents were like.”

Lupin blinked slowly. “Oh.”

A moment passed.

“Well, James always spent forever in the bathroom,” he offered eventually. “It was really annoying in the mornings, especially when he came out with his bedhead deliberately being even messier.”

“Why would he do that?” Harry said, baffled.

“He thought it was making him cool.”

“Spoiler alert: it was not,” Professor Snape stage-whispered.

Harry couldn’t help but giggle.

“That’s so silly!” he said. “Who would want to have even messier hair? I wish my hair was better behaved! Like Professor Snape’s!”

“You might be the only one with such an opinion.”

Turning his attention back to Lupin, Harry finally managed to find some questions. “What was his favourite food? Favourite color? Any quirks? Was he nice?”

Lupin laughed loudly, but Harry didn’t think he was laughing at him.

“In order: Belgian waffles dunked in pumpkin juice, red and gold, he liked to mess up his hair even further during the day, and…” He hesitated slightly, shooting a glance at Professor Snape, who looked back at him, unimpressed, shrugging slightly.

“He was… he was trying to be a good person,” Lupin said, for some reason looking as if he had aged ten years in the past second. “He made some mistakes, but… we all did, at the time.”

There was something they weren’t telling him.

“Professor?”

“What Lupin said is essentially true.”

“But?”

The two men exchanged a glance, seeming to have temporarily forgotten about their less-than-warm relationship.

“Yeah, I think Sirius’s waking up,” Lupin said, trying to change the subject.

Sirius though, as was in his nature, did the contrary and stubbornly remained sleeping.

“Harry,” Professor Snape slid off his chair and crouched next to him, “this is a very sensitive matter. If I promise to tell you all about it when we - both you and me - are ready, will you curb your curiosity and not ask anyone else?”

Harry fiddled with his fingers some more.

“I’ll... try?” he offered hesitantly. “But I think I might know what it’s about.”

The men exchanged a glance again.

“You do?” Lupin asked.

“I mean… I already talked to some of the teachers, and I learned quite a lot…”

“Oh?” Professor Snape sat back down on his chair. “Do tell.”

“Professor Sprout said that dad and you all used to prank Slytherins a lot and that mum had a Slytherin friend. And Professor Binns said that he really disapproved of dad’s obsession when my mum was brought up. And Professor Flitwick said that you were ‘just the person we needed’ when I asked about mum...”

“And what conclusions did you reach from that?”

Harry took a deep breath. “That you were that Slytherin friend, and my dad really hated you for that? Sir?”

Professor Snape looked at him with that weird expression again, like Harry was a riddle he couldn’t solve.

“You are correct,” he said.

“And you were mean to me during that first lesson because I look exactly like my dad, and you thought I would behave like him, too.”

“It seems I was completely wrong on that front: you may look like Potter, but inside you are a carbon copy of your mother.”

Harry beamed, taking it as the compliment that it was intended to be.

Sirius groaned, sitting up slowly.

“What happened?” he slurred out. “I feel like that one time when Prewett hit my head instead of the Bludger.”

“You were being very rude,” Lupin said with a smile way too sweet-looking to be real. “So I gave you fifteen minutes to cool your head.”

“How about you just tell me about some of your pranks?” Harry interjected quickly, trying to avoid any more conflicts.

That relatively clumsy misdirection somehow worked incredibly well. Thoroughly distracted and probably not remembering about Professor Snape sitting in the same room, Sirius divulged unto him stories from their Hogwarts years, the most of which Harry had already heard about.

Chapter Text

Two hours and a hearty meal later, Harry and Professor Snape returned to Hogwarts.

Harry tried his best to conceal his pockets which were filled to the brim with different types of pastries the goblins had offered them.

Apparently, goblins were great at both banking and baking.

Logically, he knew that there was no real reason why he would have needed to take any of it along.

But the other, more basic, part of Harry reasoned that he could never be sure when he’d be forced to miss a meal.

The way in which Professor Snape was pointedly avoiding looking anywhere near his pockets told him that the man could at least partially understand Harry’s need to be prepared.

Harry was prepared to bolt immediately after stepping over the threshold of the castle, however, a bony hand clutching his shoulder prevented him from doing so.

“One more thing before we part ways, Mister Potter.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“In private, if you will.”

Harry had a very bad feeling about that, but still, he followed the man obediently. It wouldn’t do to argue with a teacher.

They went towards the dungeons; Harry’s best guess was that they were going to Professor Snape’s office.

His hands felt way too clammy, but he didn’t dare wipe them in case Professor Snape noticed.

Finally, they reached the Potions classroom, passed it, and instead stopped in front of the doors next to it.

Professor Snape pointed his wand at the handle, murmuring something that Harry couldn’t hear. The door swung open easily, revealing a room covered in shelves, each of them filled with specimens.

Motioning at Harry to enter, he followed behind, closing the door with another wave of his wand.

“That was a silencing and anti-eavesdropping spell,” Professor Snape said, putting his wand away. “The door will still open for you.”

That did make him feel better, though Harry hadn’t even noticed at first that he’d been worried about it.

“What did you want to talk about, sir?”

“Sit down,” the man went around his desk, kneeling next to a set of drawers, “and place the contents of your pockets on the desk, if you would.”

Harry’s stomach sank. So much for understanding.

Emptying his pockets, he briefly considered concealing some of the pastries, but eventually he decided against it. Professor Snape would probably notice, and who knew how he would react?

The man in question stood up, turning to face both Harry and the desk, two boxes clutched in his arms.

Setting them next to the pile of pastries, he took the top one - Harry was pretty sure it was empty - and started waving his wand around it, mumbling something incomprehensible.

“Here,” he said a moment later, setting the box down, and, with a single swish of his wand, transferred all of the pastries into it.

Harry observed the process mournfully, regretting not eating some more of them. He was really looking forward to trying those newt-shaped cookies.

When Professor Snape handed him the box, he just stared at him in confusion.

“Sir?”

“The charms will keep whatever you put inside fresh for a month,” the man said, putting away his wand and sitting down. “Although I do not recommend testing the maximum longevity.”

Harry continued staring.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Take it.”

Taking the box mechanically, Harry cradled it in his arms.

“T-thank you, sir,” he said, standing up.

“That is not all I wanted to talk about with you.”

Oh, great. What else had he managed to screw up? Did he say something wrong during the meeting?

“Sir?”

“I believe you wanted to know more about your mother?”

In all the excitement, he’d completely forgotten about wanting to ask about her!

“Yes, sir!” he said, sitting up a little bit straighter. “How did you know each other?”

“Lily and I grew up a couple of streets away from one another. I was the one who told her she was a witch.”

Harry didn’t know much about social interactions, but he was pretty sure that going up to someone and telling them “You’re a witch!” wouldn’t be met with much understanding.

Imagining the indignancy on his mother’s face, he tried to cover up his snickers, failing miserably.

A faint shadow of a smile appeared on Professor Snape’s face.

“Yes,” he nodded, “admittedly, it could have been done with more… tact. In my defense, I was nine at the time.”

“What was she like?”

Professor Snape fidgeted with his hands, gaze stuck somewhere far, far away.

“She was… kind. Brave. Willing to do anything for what she thought was right.”

He went silent for a second, melancholy clear on his face.

“Charms were always her strong suit, even before Hogwarts. She used to swing really high on swings, jump off, and gently float down, or make flowers bloom for her. Her parents - your grandparents, Henry and Heather - were delighted when she got her Hogwarts letter. The same could not be said about Petunia.”

“Have you been to their house?”

“I was a frequent guest before Hogwarts and during our first year.”

Now, there was only one more burning hot question he had to have answered. “Which bedroom was my mum’s?”

He hoped that it was the one he had been given when Aunt Petunia got scared of the Hogwarts letter.

It would really suck if Dudley had gotten that bedroom, or if it was the room Aunt Marge had used - Harry doubted it would’ve been the Master Bedroom.

“Her window was foolishly situated near the wooden roof above the terrace. She used to climb out of it and sneak out at all times of the day and night, to the annoyance of virtually everyone.”

Waaaait a second, there was no terrace at Privet Drive, yet alone a roofed one. What was Professor Snape even talking about?

Some of the confusion must’ve shown up on his face.

“We both lived in Cokeworth,” Professor Snape said. “Well, I still do. Petunia… She left her family home as soon as she could.”

Oh. That explained a lot. Harry was kiiiind of relieved. Of course, he would’ve liked to have been able to go to the room that she had lived in, try and connect with her somehow, but on the other hand, at least Aunt Petunia didn't have the chance to destroy it now.

“I could…” Professor Snape sounded very hesitant for some reason. “I could take you there over the winter break, if you’d like.”

“Isn’t there someone else living there?” Why would a house just stay empty for years? It would’ve been completely overgrown and destroyed inside, wouldn’t it?

“The current inhabitants will not be… opposed to your visit.” Professor Snape still had that weird expression on his face, kind of like he was in pain.

“If they’re okay with it, I’d love to go visit!”

A moment of silence passed as Professor Snape simply nodded in acknowledgement.

“Now, I know you have many other questions. I will do my best to answer them all.”

And he did. Professor Snape patiently answered every question that Harry had, the full dozens of them, only drawing the line at dinnertime.

Which was, in Professor Snape’s opinion, six in the evening. Harry didn’t even know they served it so early! Everyone in the Gryffindor Tower usually left no earlier than half past seven.

Although judging by the mostly filled Slytherin table - and the groups of older students at the Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s - it seemed that their house was the only one who en masse procrastinated on getting dinner.

Understandably, the Gryffindor table was empty. Harry didn’t really fancy sitting there all by himself.

He’d already spent a couple of minutes standing in the entrance, but no one paid him any attention; not yet, at least. Taking his time to look around, Harry finally managed to spot a familiar face.

Maybe not exactly a friendly face, but it was a start.

Besides, Malfoy had wanted to be his friend when they'd met at Madam Malkin’s and on the Hogwarts Express. Surely he wouldn’t mind if Harry joined him for dinner? He also seemed quite alone, the only first year at the table filled with older students, not even Crabbe and Goyle to keep him company.

Making up his mind, Harry walked straight to the Slytherin table, sitting next to Malfoy.

The boy glanced at him briefly, focusing more on his dinner. Half a second later, when his brain registered that it was Harry Bloody Potter sitting next to him, he whipped his head back around.

“Are you lost, Potter?” he sneered, trying to school his expression into something more befitting a person of his position. Well, a person of the position he believed he had.

“Nope,” Harry replied cheerfully, loading his plate. Slytherins seemed to have completely different dishes! Maybe he would wander off to their table more often, they all looked delicious.

Malfoy blinked at him. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Eating.”

“Don’t mind him,” one of the older students said, not even raising her head from a book she’d been reading. “He came over for breakfast last Saturday, too.”

“And we just let him?” Malfoy sounded completely flabbergasted. It was pretty funny. Harry could understand why the Weasley Twins spent so much time pulling pranks if that was a reaction they got often...

“What can we do?” The girl shrugged, turning a page. “He’s the Boy Who Lived. It’s not like we can just throw him out.”

That stopped Harry for a second. Swallowing what was already inside his mouth - he had to use a bit of pumpkin juice to help get it down - he turned to the girl.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can go, I didn’t want to intrude…”

The girl just looked at Malfoy pointedly.

“You can stay.” He sighed. “It’s not like you’re doing anything against the rules.”

“Thanks!” Harry went straight back to his food. “Would you mind if I came over some other times, too? Your food is so different from what we’ve got!”

“Really?” Malfoy craned his neck, trying to catch a glance at what dishes were on the currently completely empty Gryffindor table. “How so? I thought that the house-elves made the same dishes for everyone.”

“House-elves?”

“Yeah, you know, they clean and cook?” Malfoy waved his hand, like the topic wasn’t absolutely fascinating new wizarding knowledge. “So what dishes do you have?”

Come to think of it, it probably wasn’t that to him.

“For one thing, we’ve got far more potatoes and way less rice,” Harry said. “Everything’s way less spicy, too.”

“That sounds boring,” Malfoy sneered.

“Just because it’s not spicy doesn’t mean it’s not delicious!”

“Whatever.” Shrugging, Malfoy drank the rest of his juice. “Ours is clearly superior. I doubt I would find your food tasty.”

Harry spoke before his mind could list all the reasons why his sudden thought was a Bad Idea.

“Then you would have no trouble coming over to eat at our table tomorrow, would you?”

Malfoy froze halfway in standing up.

“Pardon?”

“I dare you to eat dinner at the Gryffindor table tomorrow,” Harry repeated. “You’ll taste what we’ve got, and we’ll see if your food is truly superior.”

“Fine!” Malfoy huffed, standing up fully, and leaving with not a word more.

Harry only realized what he had just done when the doors closed after the boy.

Shrugging slightly, he went back to his food, missing the way that the older girl had abandoned her book to stare at him.

***

Going back to the tower, there was still at least an hour before anyone would go down for dinner and he had absolutely nothing to do.

The only boy from his dormitory currently in the common room was Neville, and he seemed to be struggling through his homework.

Come to think of it, wasn’t he a Longbottom? Did that mean that he was somehow related to the Alice and Frank who had been mentioned? Harry would need to ask someone. Maybe Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape would know?

But for now… Figuring that he had nothing better to do, Harry went to get his homework.

“Hi, Neville,” he said, going over to the table. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh, hi, Harry!” Neville startled, leaving a big splotch of ink on his parchment. “Aw, shucks.”

“Oh, sorry!” Great, now Harry had just caused Neville to have to rewrite his essay, just great.

“It’s alright.” Taking out something that looked like a common Muggle rubber, he pressed it to the splotch, absorbing the ink. “It happens all the time. Have you started on Transfiguration yet?”

Harry set his books on the table, opening the Transfiguration textbook. Storing his essays in their respective subject’s books proved to be very effective.

“I have, but I don’t exactly get what all the rules are talking about…”

***

An hour later, Harry had both a finished Transfiguration essay and a new friend.

Chapter Text

He’d almost forgotten about daring Malfoy to come eat at the Gryffindor table.

Or, well, correction: he had completely forgotten about it until Malfoy actually came to their table.

“And what are you doing here?” Ron sneered from the other side of the table.

It took Harry a second to realize that he was talking about someone behind him, rather than Harry himself. Easy mistake to make, since Ron for some inexplicable reason seemed to have been cross with Harry since last night.

Another second passed before he remembered Malfoy.

“Oh, hi!” he said, turning around. Scooting to the side, he patted the free bit of bench next to him. “Glad to see you here!”

“Of course I’m here,” Malfoy said with a sneer of his own, but maintaining an air of superiority to go with it seemed a bit hard to do when he was simultaneously climbing onto the bench. “Malfoys keep their promises.”

Harry wisely decided not to point out that it was a dare rather than a promise.

“Here, try some of the jacket potatoes!” he said instead, passing the dish over to where an additional plate had appeared in order to accommodate the new arrival. “They’re really good!”

The rest of the table was unusually quiet. Harry looked up, noticing all of them staring at him.

“What?” he said, defensively.

“You… you do realize that this is Malfoy, right? A Slytherin?” Ron said, the emphasis making it clear that he had no idea which one of those was worse.

“Yeah, so? Last I checked it wasn’t illegal to eat at a different table.”

That made most of the others slowly restart their conversations, although Harry was pretty sure that Malfoy would feature in them heavily.

But Ron wouldn’t give up that easily.

“It doesn’t mean he’s welcome here,” he grumpily said, crossing his arms. It was kind of weird to see him forget about his food.

“Actually, Potter invited me yesterday,” Malfoy said, finishing loading his plate. “That means that I am, in fact, welcome.”

“Mate, what were you thinking?” Ron turned to Harry now, who had froze with a fork halfway to his mouth.

“I’m pretty sure I was thinking about how different the food at the Slytherin table is,” he said, popping a piece of chicken inside his mouth.

“How do you even know about that?!”

“I ate at theirs yesterday.” Harry shrugged. Why was it such a big deal?

“Wha-!”

“Mate, just drop it.” Seamus rolled his eyes at Ron. “So, Malfoy, heard the news? Upper years keep saying we’re gonna have flying lessons this week.”

“What, you’re just going to talk to him?!”

“That’s what we usually do during dinner, isn’t it?” Honestly, why was Ron so angry about it?

Ron stood up, stomping off angrily. Deciding to talk about it with him sometime later, Harry turned back to Malfoy. He looked quite smug, but still in the range of normalcy.

“What are we going to fly on?”

***

It turned out that wizards actually flew on brooms. And that Malfoy loved jacket potatoes.

***

The first flying lesson was scheduled for Thursday, directly after lunch.

Malfoy, who so far had stayed away from the Gryffindor table since the first time, decided to join them for breakfast.

Ron, who hadn’t been speaking to Harry since Sunday’s dinner, immediately left the Great Hall, leaving his breakfast half-eaten. It seemed that upholding your principles required quite a lot of sacrifice.

“How come you never get any owl-post?” Malfoy decided that that was a proper way to greet Harry as he was wiggling his way into the bit of free space that he had next to him.

“Who’s supposed to write to me?” Harry snorted, moving a bit. “My aunt and uncle are Muggles.”

“Oh.” Malfoy furrowed his brows, loading up his plate. “What about the fanmail?”

Um, what? Since when- oh. Right. He was considered a celebrity in the wizarding world, as Professor Snape had so aptly put it during their first lesson.

“I’ve never gotten a single piece of mail addressed to me, save for the Hogwarts letter,” Harry said, stuffing his face with bacon. Crispy, warm, perfect, and what was best: cooked by someone else.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Besides, wouldn’t they need my address to write to me?”

“Owls don’t need addresses,” Neville said, broodingly stirring his porridge. Why was he even getting it if he seemed to not like it very much? “You only need the name of who you’re writing to.”

“That seems pretty convenient.” Harry nodded in approval. “Maybe it’s just that no one thought to write, then?”

Malfoy and Neville exchanged glances.

“I wrote a letter when I was seven.” Malfoy shrugged, looking into his plate like it held all the answers in the world. Or tomato slices sprinkled with chives. He seemed to hate chives very much.

“Me too,” Neville added. “Gran said that I should. I bet a lot of people wrote to you.”

Harry blinked at them.

“I’ve honestly never gotten anything,” he said. “I’m so sorry, you must’ve felt awful when you didn’t get any response.”

The moment got broken by the parliament of owls - Granger said once that a group of owls was called that, and Harry only remembered it because he found it funny - swooping down with their mail.

Malfoy and Neville got packages. Harry didn’t.

“Oh!” Neville dug out a glass marble full of white smoke. It kind of reminded Harry of his parents’ wills. Had Neville’s Gran died? Did they send him her will?

“My condolences,” he said, just in case. “I’m sure that your grandma is happy, wherever she is.”

Neville stared at him like he was crazy, ignoring the way the globe lit up with red.

“Potter, what are you talking about?” Malfoy asked, looking just as perplexed.

“Um…” His parents’ wills hadn’t glowed red… “What is that, then?”

“It’s a child’s toy,” Neville said slowly. “A Remembrall, it glows red when you forget something.”

“Why would you think it meant that his grandmother died?” Malfoy didn’t even look smug like he usually did when Harry didn’t know something; he just looked confused.

“I thought it was her last will?” he offered hesitantly.

“Why would they send her last will to me?” Neville put the glowing ball back in the packaging, hiding the entire bundle in his bag. “That’s silly. There would be an official reading at the Ministry-”

“How do you even know what a last will looks like?” Malfoy interrupted. “I didn’t think Muggles could do that?”

Harry didn’t know if he was allowed to tell them about the visit to Gringotts, but he was pretty sure that the answer was “no”.

“Oh, look, it’s so late, I gotta go,” he said, grabbing a couple of bagels and running off.

How long could you avoid a person you shared a dormitory with? At least Malfoy would be easier.

Chapter Text

He successfully avoided running into both Malfoy and Neville right until the flying lesson. By then, he hoped that they would already have forgotten about the discussion they’d had at breakfast.

To be completely sure, he managed to get to the field where the flying lessons were to take place just a couple of seconds before Madam Hooch came.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she barked before Harry could even catch his breath. “Everyone, stand by a broomstick. And be quick about it!”

Harry found the nearest broomstick, quickly claiming it as his own. It was old, and some of the twigs were sticking out, but it seemed to be in relatively good condition. At least, compared to the other school brooms.

“Now, stick your hand over the broom and say up!”

Everyone did so.

Most of the brooms just tumbled around, but Harry’s shot right up. Malfoy’s and Neville’s seemed to be right on opposite ends of the spectrum: while Malfoy’s bucked high and eagerly, Neville’s stayed put on the ground.

Maybe they could feel intent, like horses? Neville had seemed reluctant every time the boys had talked about flying that past week.

And they talked about it nearly constantly, Harry was honestly going crazy. Broomsticks this, Quidditch that, like there was nothing else to talk about.

Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount the brooms, and checked everyone’s grip. Apparently, Malfoy had been holding his broom wrong for years now. That was going to be one heck of a bad habit to get rid of.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground,” Madam Hooch instructed when all were seated properly. “Just a few feet up, and then straight back down by leaning down slightly. Three, two-”

Neville started violently, shooting straight up, like those videos of spaceships they sometimes showed on the telly.

Well, that was definitely more than “few” feet up.

Holding on to a broom going straight up was apparently just as hard as it sounded, and soon Neville was falling towards the ground, landing with a loud crack.

The broom continued upwards, but was now drifting towards the Forbidden Forest. Did it have a conscience? Would it now live as a wild broom?

Madam Hooch looked as pale as Neville did now, running towards where he laid in the grass, immobile.

Harry could remember one time when Neville had told them how his uncle - Augie-something - once tried to awaken his magic by throwing him down the stairs.

And pushing him off a branch.

And out of a window.

Come to think of it, Neville got thrown out of a lot of often highly situated places. A drop from a broom, from this kind of height, couldn’t have been anything too bad.

“He’s unconscious!” Madam Hooch yelled, shattering Harry’s train of thought. “None of you move a single muscle while I take him to the infirmary! Touch the brooms and you’ll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch!”

Taking Neville into her arms, she tottered over to the castle, disappearing inside.

“Oh. My. God,” Malfoy said.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Parvati Patil, although Harry suspected that it was more of a reflex at that point; both because of the shit that Malfoy tended to spout at random intervals, and because the Gryffindor boys had no idea when to stop talking when it came to brooms and Quidditch.

“What, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy Parkinson responded, most likely out of a reflex as well. That Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was pretty ridiculous, and they were barely a month into their first year!

“Look!” Malfoy darted forward, picking something vaguely translucent up from between the grass blades. “It’s that Remembrall Longbottom got this morning!”

He raised his hand, the marble glittering in the sun.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry said. He had a bad feeling about all of this. Kind of like all those times that Dudley had taunted him or some of the other students.

“How about I leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find?” Malfoy smiled in a way that spelled trouble. “Maybe… up in a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but it was already too late. Malfoy took off, flying just as well as his boisterous talk had said, hovering slightly above the nearby oak tree.

Harry knew he shouldn’t do that. It would be way better if he stayed on the ground, maybe even let Malfoy get caught by one of the teachers.

But on the other hand…

He grabbed a broom.

“No!” shouted Granger; he’d kind of expected her to. She was always a stickler for the rules. “Madam Hooch told us not to move! You’ll get us all in trouble!”

Harry mounted his broom, kicking off the ground, soaring high and fast.

Adrenaline shot through his veins, blood pulsed in his ears, and in that instant, for a single moment, he was truly, utterly, happy.

Maneuvering the broom with what could only be ingrained reflex - as he had been taught no more than how to sit on it - he turned sharply and floated towards Malfoy.

He looked stunned for some weird reason.

“Give the ball here, Malfoy,” he said with more bravado than what he was feeling, fueling it with the happiness of the flight rather than courage. “Or I’ll knock you off your broom.”

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy tried to sneer, but he couldn’t quite paint over the worry.

Harry grasped the broom with both hands, moving forward with incredible speed. Malfoy barely managed to steer away. Harry turned around, now in the same position that Malfoy had been in seconds ago.

Some of the students below them clapped.

“No Crabbe and no Goyle here, Malfoy,” Harry reminded him quietly. “Give me the ball.”

Malfoy looked at him like he had just performed a proving of skills more appropriate for a highly skilled professional Quidditch player rather than a person who was sitting on a broom for the first time in their life.

Oh, wait.

“You want it? Then go get it!” Malfoy said, preparing to throw the ball.

“I know that one!” Harry said before he could let go of the marble. “It’s what a Seeker does, isn’t it?”

Malfoy froze. Harry did too, as he realized that he only knew about that because Malfoy was constantly boasting about how great of a Seeker he was going to be.

Uh-oh. Now Malfoy would feel the need to accept the challenge despite it not being a challenge.

“Alright,” Malfoy said, a proud expression firmly on his face. Harry wanted to facepalm very very hard, but he feared he’d slip off the broom. “I’ll throw this up, and whichever one of us catches it first, he wins. The winner gets both the marble and the title of best Seeker among the first years!”

He said that as if it was a valid title, good Merlin.

“Fine,” Harry groaned. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Malfoy threw the ball up, letting it pass by. Only then did he dive in pursuit.

Harry followed him quickly, speeding past him, trying to catch up with the tiny ball.

The wind whooshed past his ears, and he outstretched his arm, wary of the quickly disappearing distance between himself and the ground.

He vaguely registered Malfoy stopping his descent somewhere above him, but he paid him little attention, focusing on the glass ball instead.

Catching it seconds before it hit the ground, he dropped the broom, tumbling to the ground. He knew how to take a fall like this.

“HARRY POTTER!” someone yelled.

Yes, that’s my name, he managed to think. What he said, was barely, “Uh-oh.”

Professor McGonagall was running towards them at full speed, which was a lot faster than Harry had thought her capable of running.

“Draco Malfoy!” she yelled a second later, spotting the other boy still hovering in the air, caught between the need to get on the ground and the desire to stay out of sight.

He couldn’t have possibly succeeded at both, but he sure managed to fail at them both.

“Never… in all my years at Hogwarts…” she said between the heavy breathing. Harry stumbled to his feet, still clutching the Remembrall. Malfoy finally landed next to him, throwing away the broom as if it was going to help him. “You could’ve been seriously hurt! How dare you!”

Yay. He wondered what the Dursleys would say when they saw him on their doorstep barely a month into the school year? The only upside was that Malfoy was also involved.

Come to think of it, he always preened about how important his father was. Surely he wouldn’t let his son get thrown out? And if Malfoy wasn’t expelled, then Harry Potter-

Oh, wait, he was a celebrity here. Somehow, he always managed to forget that bit. They couldn’t really expel him, right?

And even if they did, there were probably other schools willing to take him in if he paid enough. His vault’s savings seemed quite plentiful.

Some students tried to defend them, both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, although everyone was sticking up for only one of them at a time, but Professor McGonagall shut them all down before they could finish a single sentence.

“Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, follow me,” she said curtly, turning around and marching straight back to the castle. Harry could still hear her mumbling curses under her breath.

She led them up the stairs, through the Great Hall, and straight towards one of the unused corridors. Opening the doors to a classroom that Harry had never been in before, which was empty save for Peeves - who vacated it eagerly after a single glare from Professor McGonagall - she told them to wait inside.

“I’ll have to get Wood and Flint,” she murmured thoughtfully, leaving through the door. “And maybe- yes…”

That didn’t sound good. Wood? That he could handle, the teachers used to break out sticks on him. But flint? Did she mean flint as in the stone? Or maybe fire? Harry wasn’t sure, and honestly? He didn’t really want to know.

“So,” Harry said, trying to distract both of them, but mostly himself, “guess we’re not getting expelled. Do you think we’re getting out on your father’s power, my fame, or some mixture of both?”

“What?” Malfoy looked weirdly pale. Did he really think that they would have been expelled just for that? “We’re not getting expelled?”

“Obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Did you really think that they would expel the Boy Who Lived and the Malfoy family’s son for a bit of illegal flying?”

“Oh, right.” Some color returned to Malfoy’s cheeks, but whether it was relief or embarrassment, Harry couldn’t tell. “But they will still have to punish us somehow.”

“Like Professor McGonagall said, ‘wood and flint.’”

Malfoy fell down, landing on the nearby chair.

“We’re going to get beaten?”

Harry shrugged. There were many things that they could do to them that weren’t exactly beating.

It seemed pretty out of character for the Professor McGonagall whom he knew, but… to be fair, he hadn't seen her while she was angry yet.

The sound of many pairs of steps echoed in the corridor outside, and the door opened.

Professor Snape stood in the threshold, and he looked absolutely furious.

“Uh-oh!” Harry managed to voice before ducking under the nearest table.

Or, rather, trying to do so.

He froze in midair and gently floated down towards a chair next to Malfoy.

“Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter,” he said. “Care to explain what the two of you were thinking?”

Drop your head, think of nothing, Harry chanted inside his head, doing exactly that.

“‘M sorry, Godfather,” Malfoy said, making Harry momentarily put his standard behaviour on hold in order to do something far more important: stare at Malfoy.

But before he could comment, Professor McGonagall entered the room, slightly out of breath, two boys running behind her.

“Severus, honestly!”

“Do not tell me that you are not outraged!” Professor Snape turned to look at her. “They could have died!”

“They could’ve, but what matters is that they didn’t! Let’s focus on what we came here to do!”

Harry knew the drill. Standing up, he moved forward, kneeling with his back exposed to the teachers.

“Shall I remove my shirt?” he asked, sneaking a peek at them.

“Goodness gracious...” Professor McGonagall gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Professor Snape instead knelt down next to Harry, bringing him up and into an embrace. That was an… unusual feeling.

“Uhh… sir?” Harry had no idea what to do with his hands.

“No one, no one will hurt you while you’re in this castle,” Professor Snape murmured, tightening the hug.

Finally, he let go but stayed kneeling. Harry turned his head, still trying to stare at Malfoy, who was now pouting.

“I want a hug, too!” he said with a pout, folding his arms across his chest.

Harry stood up, crossing the short distance between them and hugging the other boy.

Or, well. Trying to? He wasn’t exactly sure how one was supposed to go about hugging another person. Were you just supposed to hold them like a bundle of laundry?

“Thanks,” Malfoy said, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I meant my godfather, but still.”

“Oh.” Harry stepped back, dropping his arms.

“Sooo…” one of the boys behind McGonagall said. “Why are we here?”

“Mister Wood, Mister Flint,” Professor McGonagall said, solving some of the mysteries Harry had regarding those words. “You are looking at your new Seekers.”

“WHAT?” basically everyone said.

“You heard me.”

Chapter Text

“Minerva, that is-”

“Unfair?” Professor McGonagall interrupted with a cockily raised brow. “A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, you can’t say it’s unfair.”

“Sweet Merlin.” Professor Snape raised his hands in exasperation, turning around.

“Seekers?” Malfoy whispered softly.

“But they’re first years!” the boy with the Slytherin crest said.

“And they handled their brooms better than some of your current players.” Professor McGonagall looked pretty smug. “Believe me, normally I wouldn’t do this, but the last couple of years…”

“I must agree.” It sounded like it physically hurt Professor Snape to say that. “But that is still not a reason to enroll two eleven-year-old boys into the school’s teams when they are not even allowed to keep their own brooms yet!”

“I mean, we have had a couple of players who have borrowed team brooms to fly,” one of the boys - the Slytherin one - said. “That way we wouldn’t break any rules.”

“See?” Professor McGonagall pointed to the student happily. “No troubles there. Admit it, you want to do this, too.”

Professor Snape sighed but didn’t deny it; for him, that was almost a confirmation.

“Umm.” Harry raised his hand slowly. “I don’t really know how to play Quidditch?”

All eyes landed on him.

“Mister Wood will explain the rules to you,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Basically, all you need to do is what we did today: catch a small object before the other Seeker does,” Malfoy added.

“Ah, thank you for reminding me of that, Mister Malfoy.” The voice of Professor McGonagall dropped, making Malfoy look even paler than he usually did. “There’s still the matter of your punishment.”

Harry gulped. They can’t expel you, he internally repeated to himself. They just put you on the Quidditch team, they wouldn’t…

“Mister Flint, Mister Wood, if I am not mistaken, you practice independently from your team every morning before classes, correct?”

The two older students nodded.

“Perfect.” Professor McGonagall clasped her hands together. “In that case, this is your punishment: Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy, you are to join Mister Wood and Mister Flint in their morning training until the winter break.”

Harry looked at her, shocked. That was their punishment for flying the brooms when they were without adult supervision? More broom flying without adult supervision?

He definitely wasn’t going to complain, and from the looks of it, Malfoy wasn’t going to either.

“Do not tell anyone of your being admitted to the teams,” Professor Snape said. “And when asked about the punishment, tell them that you have morning detentions. We don’t want anyone to complain about you getting the positions before the tryouts even take place.”

The boys both nodded.

“You may go back to your classes now,” Professor McGonagall added. “Work out the details of your morning practice and which brooms you’ll be borrowing.”

And with that, both of the teachers left the room.

“We meet up at six, finish by seven-thirty,” Flint grumbled out.

Six? Malfoy mouthed out, but he was clever enough not to actually say it.

“We’ll go through the brooms tomorrow,” Wood added. “Don’t be late.”

“Scram, now.”

Neither Harry nor Malfoy had to be told twice.

***

Slytherins and Gryffindors shared no more classes that day.

Harry hoped that he could talk with Malfoy at dinner - since they couldn’t tell anyone about what had really happened - but, to his disappointment, the boy was nowhere to be found.

Mentally resigning himself to a lonely dinner, he didn’t notice the twin shadows creeping behind him until their owners sat themselves firmly on both sides of his person.

“Well done,” George said quietly, thumping him on the back. “Wood told us; we’re on the team too, as Beaters.”

“We’re definitely going to win that Quidditch cup this year!” Fred said, grinning wildly. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant!”

“There’s nothing but rumors going around about your flying lesson,” George started filling up a nearby plate, “so you must’ve made quite an impression.”

“Flint was almost skipping when he told us!” Fred nodded, getting an entire jug of pumpkin juice.

“Anyway, we’ve got to get going, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.” The two of them stood up, maneuvering carefully as to not spill their juice or food.

“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week.” Fred snickered.

“See ya!” they said in unison, leaving quickly, before any of the teachers could get around to questioning them about the food that they were taking.

Harry followed their departure with his gaze. A moment later he was quite glad that he did, as he spotted Malfoy entering the Great Hall.

The blond looked around the tables, looking a bit disappointed after spotting Harry.

A smile - which Harry wasn’t even sure about when it had appeared - slowly slid off his face, leaving confusion in its wake.

He hadn’t done or said anything to insult Malfoy recently, had he?

Malfoy seemed to brace himself before moving towards the Gryffindor table, flanked by Parkinson and Zabini instead of his standard set of Crabbe and Goyle.

That was... unusual, to say the least.

“I challenge you to a Wizard’s duel,” Malfoy said as soon as he got within Harry’s hearing range. “Tonight, at midnight, in the Trophy Room; wands only. I will have Pansy and Blaise with me, and you may bring two people as well.”

Harry blinked. Malfoy was already turning around, ready to leave.

“What?” Harry said. “But… why?”

“To make up for the disgrace of losing our previous contest,” Malfoy said without looking at him.

And then he just left, followed by the two other Slytherins.

Harry could only sit there, flabbergasted, staring at their retreating backs.

“Hi, Harry.” Neville appeared suddenly, sliding into a seat next to him. “What did Malfoy want?”

Harry got as far as opening his mouth before realizing that he couldn’t find his voice.

“Malfoy just dared him to a Wizard’s duel,” Granger piped in from the opposite side of the table. “At midnight! Can you imagine how many points you could lose if you were caught? I hope you’re smart enough not to go.”

“Oh, but I ought to.” Harry finally managed to speak. “It wouldn’t be fair to Malfoy if I just decided not to show up. It must be important to him for some reason. He said I can bring two people; wanna come with me?”

Both Neville and Granger stared at him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head at the back of his own.

“I’m really bad at magic,” Neville said.

“You don’t even know me,” Granger added.

“So what?” Harry shrugged. “You already know about the duel, and I don’t know that many people to begin with.”

Granger frowned.

“I am not going to break school rules!” she hissed, standing up and stomping away.

“Neville?” Harry turned to the boy. “Oh, wait, you were in the Hospital Wing, weren’t you? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Neville turned back to his food. “I’ll go with you.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks!”

***

Waiting was the worst part.

Harry waited until all the other boys were asleep before sliding into Neville’s bed, the two of them trying to find some useful spells in their Charms textbook.

“Eleven-thirty,” Neville said eventually once his Tempus alarm sounded. “We’d better get going.”

They put on their bathrobes - it was cold in the castle even during the day, yet alone at night! - made sure that they had their wands, and slowly made their way out of their dormitory and into the Gryffindor common room.

The fireplace was already almost extinguished, just a few embers still glowing within the heat.

They'd almost gotten to the portrait hole when a voice sounded from the chair closest to where they stood.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to do this.”

A lamp flickered on. Hermione Granger sat there, wearing a bathrobe and a frown.

“You can still come with us.” Harry shrugged, getting back on track. Neville took a little bit longer to follow him.

“I almost went to the prefect!” Hermione stood up, following them through the hole, never shutting up. “He would have put a stop to this! This is so silly, why would you endanger our House like this? You’re going to lose all the points I got today for knowing about Switching Spells!”

Harry stopped without warning, both Neville and Hermione crashing into him.

“Are you going to walk us to the Trophy Room?” He raised a single eyebrow. “Because if you are, I’d ask you to remain quiet.”

“Of course not!” she scoffed. “I’m-”

She cut herself off as she caught sight of the empty painting behind them. The Fat Lady was gone, and without her, no one could get into Gryffindor Tower.

“I guess I am coming with you,” Hermione said quietly, all the fight going out of her. “At least if we get caught I’ll be able to say that I tried to stop you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Harry shrugged, starting walking again.

“Or, rather, wander the halls at night,” Neville murmured.

They kept walking, in fear of finding Filch or Mrs. Norris at every turn. Fortunately, the Trophy Room was on the third floor, not that far away from their tower.

Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini were already there.

The moonlight shone across the crystal trophy cases, the multitude of trinkets shimmering as Harry, Neville, and Hermione piled into the room, closing the door behind them.

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded his head.

“Potter.” Malfoy responded in kind.

But before either of them could say anything more, steps sounded in the corridor outside the door.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

Filch and Mrs. Norris out there in the corridor, ready to bust them? It was more likely than you’d think!

Harry blanched before making a run for it, grabbing wildly at whoever was the closest to him.

They started running - Harry just hoped that the ones he didn’t manage to catch would follow him anyway - caring more about getting away quickly than making no noise.

A suit of armour fell down somewhere behind them. Harry had a weird feeling that it was Neville who’d made it fall, but he didn’t have time to check.

They ran as quickly as they could, turning sharply at corners. Harry was in the lead, even though he had no idea where they were or where they were going; other than as far from Filch as possible, that is.

Crashing into a tapestry, they found a hidden passage behind it, which led them somewhere near their Charms classroom.

As it was miles away from the Trophy Room, Harry deemed the distance sufficient.

Dropping the hands he was holding, he leaned on the wall, breathing heavily.

“I think...” He panted out. “I think we lost them.”

“You think?” Malfoy wheezed out from right behind him, making Harry turn around.

He was sitting on the floor, seeming to have collapsed as soon as Harry had let go of his hand.

The other person he was holding was Neville, now doubled over, spluttering. Behind him stood Hermione, clutching at the stitch in her chest.

They had lost Parkinson and Zabini somewhere.

“We’ve got to...” Neville gasped. “We’ve got to go back to the tower.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “And quickly.”

“Wait!” Hermione caught her breath. “How did Filch know we would be there?”

All eyes turned to Malfoy.

“I didn’t do anything!” he said quickly, raising his hands in defense. “You think I would have shown up if I had tipped him off?”

“That’s right.” Hermione frowned. “You’re not stupid enough to do that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Hermione?” Neville sounded timid. “Did you do it?”

“No!” She denied. “I only… considered it…”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Harry cut them off. “We’ve gotta get back to our dormitories.”

That silenced everyone.

But with them being silent, something else just had to go wrong.

A doorknob rattled, and from the classroom in front of them floated out the semi-transparent form of Peeves.

Who literally squealed upon spotting them.

“Shut up, Peeves!” Malfoy hissed.

“Wandering around at midnight, ickle Firsties?” He cackled, completely ignoring the boy. “Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

“Not if you don’t give us away,” Harry pleaded. “Please, Peeves.”

“Hmm…” Peeves seemed to genuinely consider it. “I don’t know… I really should tell Filch, for your own good, you realize…”

“Oh, shut up and let us pass!” Malfoy snapped.

A giant mistake, as it soon turned out. Peeves took a deep breath, looking deeply offended.

And then he started yelling.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under the ghost, the four of them ran for their lives, slamming into locked doors.

“Oh no!” Neville said, trying to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge.

They could hear Filch’s footsteps as he ran towards the source of Peeves’s shouts.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled, grabbing the closest wand - Malfoy’s, as it was - and whispering Alohomora at the lock.

Something inside it clicked and the doors swung open, allowing them through.

And not a moment too soon - as soon as they were safely behind the once again closed doors, Filch’s voice appeared in the corridor.

They all pressed their ears against the wood, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” he was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” Peeves singsonged.

“Peeves!”

“Say please first.”

“Fine!” Filch scoffed. “Please.”

“NOTHING! Ha-ha! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please!”

And then Peeves whooshed away, leaving Filch to curse in rage. Not for long, though, as he left way sooner than they’d thought he would.

“He thinks that the door is locked,” Hermione commented.

“I think we’ll be okay now,” Harry added. “Would you stop that, Neville?”

He turned around, quite annoyed at Neville for having been tugging on the sleeve of his bathrobe for the past minute, but as soon as he did, he could understand why he’d been doing that.

Because the doors they had passed didn’t lead to a classroom.

They led to a corridor.

The forbidden corridor on the third floor.

And now they’d gotten quite a close look as to why, exactly, it was forbidden.

Three giant dog heads attached to a single giant dog body stared down at them, drooling excessively into a giant puddle at its feet.

“Aaah!” Malfoy yelled, grabbing the doorknob before anyone else could even blink.

They all left the room, snapping the door shut behind themselves, running wildly until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, taking in their disheveled bathrobes and flushed, sweaty faces.

“Never mind that!” Harry panted out. “Pig snout, pig snout!”

The portrait swung forward, letting them inside the common room, where they promptly collapsed into the nearest armchairs.

“Pig snout?” Malfoy was the first to say something, reminding them that he was still there.

“Ah!” Neville yelped, almost falling over the arm of his chair had Malfoy not grabbed the front of his bathrobe.

“It’s not us who comes up with those.” Hermione shrugged.

“Merlin, that was one giant Cerberus,” Malfoy thumped his head on the back of the armchair. “Dumbledore must’ve finally snapped, to keep a beast like that inside the school! We’ve got the Forbidden Forest for a reason, haven’t we?”

“Do any of you pay any attention to your surroundings at all?” Hermione looked between them. “Did you not see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I was too busy with its heads to look at the floor.”

“A trapdoor!” Hermione sounded exasperated. “It was standing on a trapdoor! It was obviously guarding something!”

“Well, let’s not find out what it was,” Neville mumbled, slumping in the armchair. “That’s one sentence I’m sure will not fall from your mouth, ever.”

Malfoy sniggered, looking surprised that he did.

“I hope you’re pleased with that Wizard’s duel of yours.” Hermione stood up. “We could’ve all been killed - or, even worse, expelled! I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

And with that, she left, disappearing up the stairs.

“Well, at least she’s got her priorities in order,” Malfoy said, his eyebrows raised high.

“Now, what do we do with you?” Harry asked. “It’s not like you can just go back to your dormitory when Filch’s prowling around.”

“What, are you suggesting that I stay with you tonight?” Malfoy, if it was even possible, looked more surprised than ever.

“What other option is there?” Neville shrugged.

“The beds are giant, anyway,” Harry added. “We could Wingardium Leviosa Neville’s over to mine and make it into a sleepover.”

“Or we can use an expansion charm,” Malfoy drawled.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever, as long as we can go to sleep sometime soon.”

***

Later that night, when the three of them were lying in a single bed, Harry remembered something that he had wanted to know.

“Malfoy?” he whispered in the general direction of the blond.

“Mhm?” Malfoy mumbled back.

“Why did you actually challenge me to a duel?”

A moment of silence followed, stretching far into the night. Harry almost thought that Malfoy wouldn’t answer, either pretending to be asleep or genuinely sleeping.

“Slytherins didn’t like that I’d lost,” he said eventually. “They said it was no surprise that out of us two, you would be the better one. I wanted to prove them wrong.”

“Huh.” Harry wasn’t sure what to say. “We can say that you won the duel?”

“Without Pansy and Blaise?”

“Would they go against your word?”

“Hm…” Malfoy seemed to be genuinely considering it. “I suppose they wouldn’t.”

Harry nodded, even though he knew that Malfoy wouldn’t be able to see it.

And with his curiosity sated, he could finally drift off to sleep, hoping to catch at least a few hours of peace.

Chapter Text

That peacefulness only lasted so long.

At an ungodly hour in the morning, when no person should have been awake, a scream pierced through the weak silencing charms on their curtains, instantly waking every boy in the room.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, instantly locking gazes with an equally nervous Neville.

Malfoy was not with them.

Jumping out of the bed, they staggered towards the source of the scream, noting Seamus and Dean curiously sticking their heads out from between the fabric of their curtains.

Ron’s curtains were open, and his bed was empty.

Harry was starting to have a pretty good idea as to what had happened.

Entering the bathroom, they saw what they’d expected to see: Malfoy in his robes, drying his hair, and Ron, still in his pyjamas, looking as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“Harry!” he yelled as soon as he spotted them. “Can you see this? Malfoy’s in our bathroom!”

“Yes, Weasley, astute observation,” Malfoy drawled.

“Is that any reason to wake our entire dormitory?” Harry asked, the absence of adrenaline making him drowsy. “I was hoping I could catch a few more winks.”

“Are you serious?!” Ron still wasn’t losing his volume. “Malfoy! Is! In! Our! Bathroom!”

“Yes, and he slept in our dormitory.” Neville rolled his eyes, the gesture destroyed slightly by him immediately rubbing at said eyes. “It’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

Ron had officially lost his words. Malfoy used that distraction to drop the towel he’d been using onto the drying rack and walked out of the bathroom.

“Anyway, Potter,” he said, turning around slightly, “our detention is starting in fifteen minutes, so you’d better get ready.”

Harry flinched, running to grab clothes from his trunk.

“Were you even going to wake me up?” he yelled after Malfoy, receiving distant laughter as his only answer.

***

Harry wasn’t late to the practice, but it was a close call.

Both Flint and Wood - as well as Malfoy - were waiting on him, hunched over some magazine.

“Ah, here you are, Potter,” Wood said as soon as he spotted him, leaning on his broom.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry panted out, having been running the entire way down to the pitch.

“You’re right on time.” Flint shrugged. “Nothing to apologize for.”

“In any case, come here.” Wood motioned at him, pointing to the magazine. “We’re in need of new team brooms, so you two might as well have some say in the choice.”

“I won’t be much help,” Harry said, coming closer still. “I don’t really know much about brooms.”

“Well, I’m still voting Nimbus Two-Thousand.” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “It’s the absolute best broom out there right now.”

“And way out of our budget,” Flint grumbled, flicking Malfoy’s ear with his fingers, making him drop the pose he'd been in. “Comet Six-Twenty or Thunder Maxima, those are the options we're considering here.”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, flip a coin?” Harry asked. “If neither of them is significantly better than the other, we could spend weeks going back and forth.”

“Or,” Malfoy said, making Wood groan, “we can just go for the best option. My father could easily buy Nimbuses for the entire team-”

“And make it look like you bought your way into the team?” Wood raised his eyebrow. “Professor McGonagall thinks that you’ve got enough talent to get you on the team a year before either of you would be eligible to even try out. And you want to throw that out of the window by making it seem like your father bribed us?”

Malfoy visibly wilted.

“No, I-,” he stammered. “I don’t want that…”

“Then we’re getting the Comets.” Flint decided, walking off to get some practice brooms.

The rest of the practice passed with no arguments.

***

Harry and Malfoy went to breakfast together, exhausted but happy.

Ron was already at the table. Now that the shock from seeing Malfoy in their bathroom had worn off, he glared at them freely, annoyed at something.

But, then again, recently that was just his standard expression when looking at Harry.

“You didn’t get busted?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“So it was you who went to the Prefect, then?” Malfoy decided that that was important enough to ask to stop ignoring Ron’s existence.

“Obviously,” Ron scoffed. “My older brother is a prefect. Who did you think it was?”

Malfoy looked ready to throw hands with Ron.

“Not arguing, I hope?” Professor Flitwick quipped, passing by them.

“No, sir,” they said in unison.

Harry and Malfoy ate at the Slytherin table that day.

***

Time passed quickly in the castle. It was passing far too quickly for his liking - just eight months more and he would have to go back to Privet Drive - unless Professors Snape, McGonagall, or Flitwick managed to get him out of there.

He rather doubted they’d manage that. After all, the final decision still belonged to Dumbledore.

But for now, he was going to make the most of Hogwarts - the one place he could truly call his home.

The morning of Halloween started with the smell of baking pumpkins wafting through the corridors. Harry couldn’t wait to see what would appear on the tables.

It continued much the same way: Professor Flitwick had finally deemed them ready to make small objects fly, something Harry and basically everyone else in the classroom had been dying to do ever since he'd made Neville’s toad float around the classroom.

Despite the eagerness to try, Harry moved slowly. What Professor Flitwick had told them about that one wizard who'd gotten crushed by a buffalo after an unsuccessful charm was enough to make most of the class cautious.

Harry’s feather was twitching softly. Neville’s kept bumping up and down rapidly. Seamus’s somehow caught on fire after he poked it impatiently. Ron’s wasn't moving at all, which only caused him to shout “Wingardium Leviosa!” louder and louder.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Hermione snapped eventually. “It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Ron grumped out.

Hermione rolled her eyes, pointing at her feather. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather rose obediently, hovering above their heads.

“Well done!” Professor Flitwick appeared out of nowhere. “Everyone, look here, Miss Granger’s succeeded!”

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class.

“It’s no wonder that no one can stand her,” Ron spat out while packing his belongings, seemingly talking to no one. “She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Hermione pushed past Harry and Neville, bumping her bag into Ron on her way out, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Harry would feel sorry for Ron - getting hit with a bag filled to the brim with heavy books must’ve hurt rather badly - but after what he'd said, he definitely deserved it.

“I’m pretty sure she heard you,” Harry said.

“So?” Ron looked at them snootily. “She must’ve noticed she has no friends.”

“She has us!” It was the angriest Harry had ever seen Neville be. “You twat.”

And with that he left the class, Harry following after shooting Ron a nasty look.

Hermione didn’t turn up for the next lesson, which would be pretty worrying if it was any other person.

With Hermione, it was extremely concerning.

“Maybe she’ll come to the Halloween Feast?” Neville suggested, although he didn’t seem sure.

“Let’s hope she will.” They were going to curse Ron with something nasty regardless.

They had barely sat down when Draco wiggled in between them.

“Where’s Granger?” he said without preamble. “I heard some rumors that she’s been crying in the bathroom in the dungeons for some reason. It’s not true, is it?”

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance.

“Ron was being a prick during Charms,” Neville said. “We haven’t seen her since. She missed DADA!”

“We’re gonna have to go get her, then,” Malfoy said, standing up from the table.

The door crashed open to reveal a panting Professor Quirrell, the turban on his head slightly askew.

“Troll!” he yelled breathlessly, looking genuinely terrified. “In the dungeons! Thought you ought to, ought to know…”

And with that dramatic declaration, he sank to the floor, unconscious.

Panic saturated the Great Hall.

Professor Dumbledore fired off several purple sparks from his wand before silence fell again.

“Prefects! Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Malfoy scrunched his brows. “But our dormitory is in the dungeons.”

Neville just looked resigned. “Hufflepuff’s too.”

Harry didn’t care if he was going to lose points.

“Hey!” he yelled. “No!”

Everyone looked at him.

“Mister Potter…” Dumbledore started.

“No! Slytherins and Hufflepuffs live in the dungeons! You can’t send them down there!”

Dumbledore’s eyes strayed, looking at Malfoy with something as close to resentment as he was willing to show in public.

“What does our Saviour propose, then?” Professor Snape drawled. Harry could recognize that it was meant to be sarcastic, but…

“We should stay here,” he said. “It’s easier to protect one group of students who are standing still than four groups of them that are moving, isn’t it?”

“More teachers could go look for the troll,” Neville added.

“There’s also the fact that you were sending us off with prefects as the highest authority.” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “What were they supposed to do if they found the troll?”

“They do have a point, Headmaster,” Professor Flitwick pointed out.

“Quite.” Professor McGonagall nodded. “A point to each for problem solving.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore didn’t seem to think it was well at all. “Filius, Severus, Minerva, Pomona, stay with your Houses. The rest, please, join me in the corridors.”

He left the Great Hall without a glance back, the teachers following him.

“Prefects, count students,” Professor McGonagall ordered. “If someone is out there, we need to know. Filius, if you could help me charm some defences at the entrance?”

They left quickly, far too quickly for Harry to react or reach them in time.

That only left one option. Well, there was Professor Sprout, but… He didn’t really know her.

“C’mon.” He motioned at Malfoy and Neville. “Professor Snape!”

Professor Snape turned to look at him, straightening slightly, his eyes tracing over the three boys and widening in understanding.

“And where is Miss Granger?” he asked once they were close enough to speak in relative privacy.

“Most likely in the dungeons' bathroom,” Malfoy said.

“She’s been missing since our Charms lesson,” Neville added.

“She doesn’t know about the troll!” Harry said, tugging at Professor Snape’s sleeve. “She might be in danger!”

Professor Snape took out his wand.

“I could send her a Patronus message,” he said. “She will need to remain in the bathroom until the threat has passed.”

“There must be something more we could do!” Harry wasn’t used to feeling anxious for others, but he was rather certain that he didn't like it.

They couldn’t just tell her to hide and hope for the best!

“Someone could Apparate to the bathroom?” Malfoy suggested.

“Apparition does not work in Hogwarts, Mister Malfoy.”

“That’s not true,” Neville said quietly.

Professor Snape just raised his eyebrow.

“House-elves can Apparate,” Neville continued, even though concentrated attention from Professor Snape made him stutter a little. “I’ve seen them do that a few times in the tower.”

“It is a good idea,” Professor Snape said. “Sadly, I do not know any of the elves’ names.”

“I do,” a voice sounded from the direction of the floor.

Harry glanced down. Professor Quirrell was conscious once more, leaning on his arm halfway to sitting up. He seemed… different, somehow.

“Dusty!” he called out, coughing softly.

Well, the floors maybe weren’t the cleanest, but what did it have to-

Ah! A tiny creature with enormous ears popped into existence. Judging by his wrinkles alone, he was positively ancient.

“You called, Master-?”

“Yes.” Professor Quirrell interrupted the elf before he had a chance to finish his sentence. “There is a student in the girls’ bathroom in the dungeons. Locate her and bring her here.

“Yes, sir!” The elf disappeared with a pop.

Professor Snape knelt down, a vial appearing in his hand. He supported Professor Quirrell’s back, helping him drink the contents of the vial.

“Do not exert yourself,” he advised as steam escaped Professor Quirrell’s ears. “You have classes tomorrow.”

“I will be fine.” Professor Quirrell waved off his concern - even if it did sound purely professional - and sat up straighter.

The elf appeared again with a startled Hermione holding onto his hand.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes slightly red and puffy.

“There’s a troll loose in the school,” Malfoy supplied helpfully.

“We were worried about you,” Neville added, Harry nodding fiercely in agreement.

Neither of the trio was prepared for when she tackled them all into a hug.

“Is that all, Master R-?”

“Thank you, Dusty.” Professor Quirrell interrupted the elf again. “You are dismissed.”

The elf nodded his head, disappearing once more.

Professor Snape was looking at Professor Quirrell rather suspiciously.

Just a moment later Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick returned to the Great Hall, moving straight towards the little group.

“The count is complete,” Professor Sprout approached as well. “The prefects couldn’t locate a Slytherin and three Gryffindors-”

“That would be us.” Draco waved cheerfully.

“Everyone’s present, then.” Professor McGonagall nodded. “I don’t think we should send the students to their dormitories at all tonight.”

“Let’s continue the feast, then,” Professor Quirrell suggested, stretching languidly.

“And what to do with the students afterwards?” Professor Flitwick asked.

“It has been a long time since there were any sleepovers between the houses…” Professor Sprout suggested hesitantly.

Professor Snape sighed heavily. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“But such an entertaining one!” Professor Flitwick piped in.

The night was shaping up to be far more interesting than even Harry’s wildest initial estimates.

***

The feast continued, even if in a little more of a somber atmosphere than previously.

None of the other professors returned before the end of the feast, but Professor McGonagall assured them that everyone was safe. The troll somehow managed to continue evading capture.

Once the clock passed the latest rational time for keeping the party going, the tables were pushed towards the walls. Someone convinced the Castle to manifest a couple of bathrooms and a stack of sleeping bags appeared in the middle of the Hall.

Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Neville managed to get their bags in a nice little corner, shielded from two sides by the walls and by a table from the other.

That seemed to be one of the most private spots currently available in the Great Hall.

“Should we do something about the Cerberus?” Draco asked as they settled.

Neville groaned.

“What can we do?” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like we could get it out of there.”

“Even if we could,” Neville said, “do you really think that unleashing a giant three-headed dog on a school full of children is a good idea?”

“Headmaster clearly knows about it.” Hermione nestled deeper into her sleeping bag. “We shouldn’t interfere with whatever he’s planning.”

“Can we talk about it later?” Neville covered his head with an arm. “I’d really like to sleep now.”

Silence settled. The queue that had formed in front of the bathrooms had disappeared by then.

“I’m going to the toilet,” Harry announced, standing up. He’d been once before, but he hadn't really fancied brushing his teeth among the mob of others.

His friends muttered some acknowledgements, but otherwise did not stir from their positions.

Harry pushed the door open, checking the bathroom for possible occupants.

Catching sight of Professor Quirrell, he opened his mouth to say hello. His brain then registered the fact that his professor’s turban was currently lying on the counter in front of him, and his greeting turned into a startled yelp as he covered his eyes.

“Sorry!” he said. “I’m not looking!”

A short pause followed, filled only with soft rustling.

“It is alright,” Professor Quirrell said eventually with surprisingly little stutter. None, even. “You can uncover your eyes now.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry repeated. “I didn’t know anyone was inside.”

“It’s fine.” The man waved off his apologies, turning his attention back to whatever he was doing at the sink.

There was an array of various health and beauty products on the counter, most of which Harry did not recognize. It still felt a little awkward to only have a toothbrush with himself.

He hadn’t expected to see anyone in the bathroom, yet alone another teacher. Dumbledore had said that only the Heads of the Houses would stay in the Great Hall, hadn’t he? And that could only mean...

“Has the troll been caught?” Harry asked, unable to fully contain his excitement.

“Oh, no.” Professor Quirrell corrected something on his face. “Not as far as I know. I’m just not allowed to go wandering through the halls. Something about the bad record regarding the DADA teachers.”

“Oh.” Harry was rather disappointed. But, on the other hand, that meant that they wouldn’t have their sleepover cancelled!

He settled at the sink closest to the entrance, trying to disturb Professor Quirrell as little as possible.

Eyeing between two dispensers, he decided that the green one was far more likely to hold toothpaste.

It was nice of Hogwarts to provide them with soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and other products that they needed for personal hygiene. After all, it wasn’t like they could just pop to the shops and buy more when they ran out.

That is, if the student in question had even brought any in the first place. Harry hadn’t - Hagrid had only taken him to do his school shopping. He didn’t own any toothpaste.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Professor Quirrell said, just as Harry was about to press the button.

He turned to look at the man, who was busy doing… something to his eyebrows.

Hovering his hand over the other dispenser’s button, he waited for any comments.

“Not that either,” the teacher said, pulling his forehead skin taut. “I’m afraid the Weasley twins have replaced all the soap and toothpaste with some sort of incredibly sticky substance.”

Harry dropped his hand. Well, that was unfortunate. Guess he would either heave to brush his teeth dry, or not at all…

“Here.” Professor Quirrell tossed him a tiny, flat tin. Harry just barely managed to catch it without dropping it or his toothbrush. “It’s no different from the Muggle type.”

Opening the lid, Harry stared at the contents of the tin. It didn’t look anything like a toothpaste he knew… it looked more solid, and touching it with his brush only confirmed it.

How was he supposed to use it?

He turned the lid over, looking for clues, but he only saw Gibbs in loopy writing.

“You’re supposed to rub your toothbrush on it, until it froths,” Professor Quirrell explained, now looking at Harry curiously. “Have you never used it before?”

“No.” Harry tried doing just that, and got some foam on the bristles. Well, as long as it was working, he supposed there was no reason to complain. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Hmm.”

Professor Quirrell went back to drawing on his face, or whatever it was he had been doing, and Harry focused on brushing his teeth.

He was torn between brushing for a full two minutes or finishing it as quickly as possible, but eventually his lack of decision only ended up in filling the evening quota.

He rinsed his mouth and toothbrush but decided that he had better not rinse the paste in case it was easily dissoluble.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the tin next to Professor Quirrell’s sink.

“No problem at all.” The man was now using yet another unknown object. Had he done something to his eyes? They looked far darker, and one of them had a dark spike drawn in the corner… “Those Twins sure do get the strangest ideas.”

“Ron said that his mum thought about merging them when she found out she was having twins,” Harry said. “Since his uncles were twins and were just as much of pranksters.”

“Merging them?”

“Yeah, some traditional magic thing.” Harry didn’t know all the details himself, but, well. If there were trolls, and biting plants, and flying brooms, surely a spell to make two people one also had been created? “Ron said that she threatens them with it every so often, usually when they pull a very bad prank.”

“Hmm,” Professor Quirrell said again, staring at Harry intently. “I must think on this.”

“Okay,” Harry said, taking a step back.

But before he could get much further, Professor Quirrell slumped where he stood, barely managing to grab the edge of the sink.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Y-y-yes, yes.” Professor Quirrell straightened up again, although he did not seem nearly as tall. He looked at the thing in his hand. “What was I-?”

“I have no idea, sorry,” Harry said, backing out as quickly as he could manage without making it seem as if he was running away. “Good night, sir!”

Chapter Text

November began with massive drops in temperature. Everything started turning more and more grey except in the mornings when said everything was instead white with frost.

The Quidditch season was about to begin, and with the date coming closer Captain Wood was getting crazier every day, scheduling unexpected practices every moment he could get enough of the team on the pitch.

Harry suspected that Draco was similarly overworked, but he didn’t have an opportunity to ask. Ever since the Halloween Feast and the whole troll business, they’d only been able to see each other briefly during meals, somehow managing to exchange a couple of words.

Harry had had more interaction with Hermione and Neville, but it mostly involved talking about homework and working on it, respectively. Hermione tried to get him to read Quidditch Through the Ages, but he wasn’t able to find a spare moment for that.

He figured that practicing the moves would be more effective than reading about the sport in a book anyway, but he did appreciate the brief summary that Hermione gave him.

The longevity of a match came as a big surprise. He expected it to be an hour and a half at most, like football, but it turned out that there was no set restriction - the game was going to continue until one of the Seekers caught the Snitch.

Apparently there was a certain match one time - before they’d figured out all the proper charms for each ball and the stadium - which had to end by mutual agreement, as the Snitch had left the stadium at some point.

It had supposedly lasted over a week, and the scores were well into the thousands in points. How no one had noticed that they were lacking a Snitch until it was spotted in a nearby village remained a mystery.

The day of the first match came far too quickly for Harry’s liking.

All four of them sat at the Slytherin table, Hermione and Neville pestering both Harry and Draco to eat some breakfast.

“You need to eat something!” Hermione was losing her patience. “You’ll both need the energy!”

“You hear that, Draco?” Blaise Zabini didn’t look away from his plate. “If the Gryffindors are telling you to eat when they're the ones you’ll be playing against, you really have to.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he did put some rice with chicken and what was probably a rather spicy sauce on his plate. Harry followed his example, although he settled on rice only. He didn’t feel like puking his guts out in the locker room, or, Heaven forbid, in the air. And with how bland the meals had been at the Dursleys’, that would have been more than inevitable.

By eleven, the whole school was out in the stands. Hermione and Neville promised to cheer for them both, to Draco’s visible confusion.

“It’s just a game, isn't it?” Hermione shrugged. “Whichever of you wins, we’ll still be happy.”

“Best of luck,” Neville added, and the two of them went off to find a good place to sit.

“Well,” Draco said, watching them disappear, “may the better Seeker win?”

“And gain the title of best Seeker among the first years?” Harry teased. “Sure.”

Gryffindor and Slytherin had their lockers on opposite sides of the stadium, separated further by the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw lockers, forcing them to break apart.

Harry changed quickly, and while he didn’t really hear Wood’s speech, he did join in when everyone cheered.

He followed the rest of the team as they entered the field, feeling entirely under-prepared.

Madam Hooch was the referee. She was already in the air, waiting for both of the teams to join her, her broom in hand.

“Now I want a nice, clean game,” she said once both captains shook hands. “Mount your brooms, on my mark.”

A shrill whistle tore through the stadium, and fourteen brooms rose into the air.

Someone was talking, narrating what was happening on the field for the crowd. Harry was too focused on trying to find the Snitch to listen.

At least he didn’t have to remember any rules. Oliver had said that as long as he didn’t crash into the stands, the grounds, or another player, all he had to do was catch the Snitch, and everyone would be happy.

So that’s exactly what Harry was trying to do: make everyone happy.

Well, perhaps not everyone. Draco certainly would be happier if he was the one to catch the Snitch. His entire team, no, his entire House would probably be happier if it were the Slytherins who won the match.

Unless he caught the Snitch when the other team had over one hundred and fifty points of a lead; the Slytherins would win, which would make them happy, while Harry still would've been the one to actually catch the Snitch, which would fill the conditions to make the Gryffindors happy.

Harry wasn’t quite sure if it was a loophole that he wanted to test.

And getting an equal amount of points... You’d think it’d make everyone happy, right? And yet, it would probably just make everyone unhappy. People at Hogwarts got really passionate over a school game.

Didn’t they have any other games to play? Harry didn’t see any other fields. Was no one playing football? Volleyball? Basketball? Heck, even chess! There had been a chess club at his primary school and several others for various sports.

Was Quidditch, in which only twenty-eight players could participate a year - unless someone got hurt and had to be subbed - truly the only game available in a school of several hundred students?

He spotted a flash of gold and turned his broom towards it in excitement. Sadly, it was just somebody’s watch glistening in the sun.

Harry’s hands were starting to get stiff from the cold; he really should’ve brought some gloves. Wishing hard for the Snitch to hurry up and show itself already, Harry did his best to warm up. It was way too cold to be flying around for any long amounts of time.

A Bludger - a big, iron ball which seemed too dangerous to have around, yet alone actively hit with a stick hoping to hit other players - came his way once, but he managed to dodge it.

“Alright there, Harry?” Fred, or perhaps George, yelled as he chased after the Bludger, sending it towards the Slytherin captain.

Harry didn’t bother answering, seeing as the twin was already on the other side of the stadium.

Somebody - the commentator seemed to be the most likely suspect - yelled something about seeing a Snitch.

Harry could see it too, just like Draco. They were both flying towards the tiny fluttering ball, but Harry was just barely faster. He could see it, it was so close-

A broom appeared right in front of him. That in itself wouldn’t be such a problem, but on said broom sat a student four times as big as Harry, and he did not feel like crashing into that wall of muscle.

He turned his broom sharply, and it spun out of control with Harry just barely managing to hold on to it.

The rest of the team gathered to do something that Madam Hooch ordered in recompense - it seemed that the Gryffindor team got a free shot out of that; not bad, perhaps Harry should try almost-crashing into other players more often?

But the damage had been done, and the Snitch was gone once more.

Harry went a little bit higher, cycling around the field. He dodged another Bludger. He corrected his grip.

At first he thought it was because of the Bludger, but he soon lost his balance a bit, his broom lurching there and back.

But he should’ve already recovered from that. He corrected his grip again. He corrected the way his feet were placed in the stirrups. He even shifted his bum.

But the broom was slowly slipping out of his control, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Well, he did try to hold onto it with every body part that he could, but it wasn’t like that would do much against a slippery piece of wood that decided it didn’t want to be a riding broom anymore.

It wouldn’t do to fall off of it while he was this high up.

He pointed the broom downwards, trying to find the best angle, but he shouldn’t have bothered. The broom did not want to land.

It much preferred to zigzag through the air, making turns far too sharp for Harry’s liking.

The broom kept moving up and away, and Harry did not like that in the slightest. He turned to look at the stands, trying to communicate with someone - preferably a teacher - that his broom was out of his control.

As if sensing his momentary distraction, the broom bucked wildly, throwing him out of the seat.

If he wasn't in a bad situation before, he definitely was now. He was holding on to the broomstick with only one hand, and it was slipping. The fact that the broom was still moving did not help.

He looked at the stands again, noticing Professor Snape, who was saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear it. The professor raised his hand slightly, his fingers clenched into a fist. Making sure that Harry could see it, he opened his hand.

Harry did not like that.

He let go of the broom.

He started falling, speeding up with every second, turning around wildly.

A fall from this height would definitely make him a splatter on the ground. Were there charms on the field?

Something fell into his mouth, choking him, distracting him from noticing that somehow his descent had slowed down.

He floated gently to the ground, coughing violently the second he felt something solid beneath his feet.

A flash of gold, covered in spit - he’d caught the Snitch. He’d ALMOST SWALLOWED the Snitch. Well, wasn’t that exciting.

“I got it,” he yelled, holding the Snitch up high. “I have the Snitch!”

He was right. None of the Slytherins looked happy.

***

“Foolish child,” Professor Snape kept grumbling later, while Harry was being subjected to Madam Pomfrey's not-so-gentle care. She hadn’t been that happy about seeing him in the wing again. Perhaps he should visit her more often to make her forget how his previous visits were always due to his injuries.

“I didn’t do anything though,” he said eventually. “It was all the broom’s fault! And you told me to let go of the broom, I just followed your instructions.”

Professor Snape sighed, staring out the window.

“I know,” he said eventually. “Nevertheless, I was still worried.”

It was a weird feeling, to know someone worried about his welfare. He could get used to it… But no, those were dangerous thoughts. Don’t raise your expectations and you won’t get disappointed.

“You may also wish to know that one of your friends set me on fire,” he added dryly.

“What?” Harry had managed to croak out before the doors to the infirmary burst open, letting in far more people than Madam Pomfrey’s policies allowed.

“No more than two visitors at a time!” she informed them immediately.

“We’re just here to congratulate,” one of the twins said, completely ignoring her disgusted face at the state of their robes and the brooms they’d brought in with them.

“And let him know that the party’s soon!” the other twin added.

The team all spoke one after another, collectively conveying less than the twins did, but Harry trusted that there was no new information to be had.

Eventually they left, followed by a furious series of Scourgiefies from Madam Pomfrey.

Four students had been left in the infirmary, looking sheepishly at Madam Pomfrey.

“Oh, alright!” She sighed. “I’ll pretend I’m seeing double and go lie down for a bit.”

In front of his bed now stood Draco, Hermione, Neville… and, a bit surprisingly judging by his recent behaviour, Ron.

Hermione avoided looking at Professor Snape so carefully that she barely even looked at Harry, her eyes straying somewhere towards his feet. Harry had a sudden suspicion that he knew exactly which one of his friends had set Professor Snape on fire.

“I believe I shall take my leave,” the professor in question said, smirking at Hermione, who was now also blushing, still avoiding looking at him. “Mister Potter, Madam Pomfrey would most likely like for you to stay overnight in the infirmary, just to be sure. The rest of you… Do make sure not to dawdle here too long, the curfew is soon. Goodnight.”

With a nod to all the students in general, he left the infirmary.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Neville asked, the whole lot of them coming closer to the bed. They all looked worried - Draco also looked rather sad on top of it, but he had just lost his first match. Ron looked quite uncomfortable as well, but still.

It was a rather… a rather weird feeling. Now there were a whole five people who would care if he got hurt! And all he did was be nice and talk to them once in a while. He was definitely getting the better end of the stick here.

“I’m fine,” he said eventually, remembering the question. “I barely got a scratch on me.”

“I can’t believe Snape would do something like that!” Ron said, his expression shifting quickly to righteous anger. That one sure was easy to placate. “I know he’s a git, but to try and actually kill a student?”

“What?” Harry blinked, confused.

“He wouldn’t do that!” Draco protested immediately. “He’s a teacher!”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Hermione said. “But he had been muttering a spell under his breath, and the broom only stopped bucking right after I-”

“Right after Harry fell off it.” Neville interrupted.

“It doesn’t prove anything!” Draco argued. “Whoever cast it obviously would stop after Harry fell, there was no point to continuing!”

“Besides, Professor Snape helped me,” Harry cut in. “He told me to let go of the broom.”

The other four exchanged slightly awkward glances. Harry mentally revised that last sentence and sighed.

“Look, guys, the point is that Professor Snape is on our side, alright?” he said eventually.

“How can you be sure?” Draco and Ron said simultaneously.

Harry opened his mouth.

Could he tell them about his parents’ wills and how Professors Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick were working towards freeing him from the Dursleys? They’d never said anything about him not being able to tell the others, but they did keep it all rather quiet. Perhaps he should ask one of them first.

Harry closed his mouth.

“See?” Hermione said. “You can’t know that for certain!”

“Can we talk about this later?” Harry asked, faking a yawn. “I’m rather tired, and since Madam Pomfrey won’t let me go today, I might as well rest a bit, right?”

“Oh! Of course!” Hermione said quickly, and made for the door, grabbing Neville on the way.

Draco followed closely behind, shooting Harry a look that promised another discussion soon. Ron was rather obviously dawdling.

“Hey,” he said once the other three were out the door.

“Hey,” Harry responded uselessly. Since Ron had been acting like a jerk lately, he could get to the point himself - Harry wasn’t going to make it any easier.

“I’m sorry!” Ron rushed out. “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

“You were also rude to Hermione and Neville.” Harry pointed out. “Why?”

“Well,” Ron was clearly fighting a scowl here, “it’s just, we’re supposed to be friends, right? And then you went off and made friends with Neville, and Granger and Malfoy…”

“Ron.” Harry sat up, looking Ron straight in the eye. “Ron, you know I can be friends with more than one person at a time, right? This is not a competition. I can be friends with Neville, Hermione, Draco, AND you at the same time. As long as you’re not rude to them, at least.”

Ron was getting redder by the second, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Yeah,” he said, “I can do that.”

Harry grinned, outstretching his arm.

“Friends?”

Ron took his hand right away.

“Friends.”

***

At the same time on the other side of the Castle, Quirinus Quirrell was currently walking into every single obstacle on his way to the DADA office.

He stumbled inside, hitting his shoulder on the door frame, and locked the door behind him before ripping the turban off his head.

“What are you doing?” he snapped angrily, his eyes struggling to somehow look at the back of his head.

“I should be asking you the very same question!” a high-pitched version of the Dark Lord Voldemort’s voice responded. “I told you not to endanger the Potter boy anymore!”

“But Master, the plan-”

“Has changed! As you well know! And yet you continue to disobey me! First the troll, now cursing his broom… Would you like to go hex him while he’s sleeping, too?”

Quirrell, quite wisely, decided to stay silent.

“Right, that’s it,” Voldemort said, and that was the only warning that Quirrell got.

His back went rigid, arching backwards, and his teeth chattered briefly before he collapsed.

With a sigh, Voldemort stood up, dusting off his robes.

“I swear, no sense of fashion whatsoever,” he muttered under his breath, rummaging in his sleeves for the wand. He found it, eventually - locked inside a desk drawer, of all places! - but by then he was no longer in a mood for anything more than a simple transfiguration of the most offending bits of his new clothes.

Sitting down at the desk - far past its prime, but Voldemort had no time to go hunt down restorative charms for the wood and varnishing - he barely resisted thumping his head on it.

This whole thing was going catastrophically. He couldn’t focus on making Potter weak if he didn’t have full control over his form, but he wasn’t yet powerful enough to possess Quirrell’s body for longer than about an hour at a time, and the bumbling fool was less than useless at researching the merging spell.

Voldemort suspected that the prospect of being permanently booted out of his own body was overriding any fear he had managed to instill within the vermin.

Ah, well. He would just have to visit the library himself. He never had any troubles finding exactly what he was looking for.

Chapter Text

The next time all five of them managed to meet up - as a sort of trial run for Ron, to see if he was serious about trying to be friendly with everyone and not just Harry - was the following Saturday, shortly after lunch. At Hermione’s insistence, they met in the library, to both catch up on their personal lives and do their homework.

Harry doubted any homework would actually be done, but it seemed rather rude to say that.

There was a nice table in the back of the library, right between the History and the Divination sections; no one ever came over there, judging by the slight layer of dust.

Well. No one but Hermione, and now also Harry, Neville, Ron, and Draco.

They sat down, spreading their books, scrolls, and quills all over the table… And that’s about as far as they got.

“So,” Draco said. “The trap door under the Cerberus.”

Hermione’s eyes gained a dangerous glint, while Neville groaned loudly.

“What trap door?” Ron asked. “What Cerberus?”

“Right, you weren’t there,” Draco said, before launching into an enthusiastic retelling of the failed duel.

“So… you want to go through the trap door to see what it’s guarding?” Ron said by the end of it.

“I do wonder what could be so important as to trap a wild creature within a tiny room,” Hermione said, somehow materializing a Magizoology Atlas. “I’ve read that they require at least a mile of walking per day to keep healthy. I can’t believe the Headmaster would just ignore that!”

“Does that book say anything on how to get past one?” Harry asked, trying to get a look inside. Hopefully it wouldn’t, and they could just forget about the entire thing...

“Not really,” Hermione said, “but I saw a Taming the Beast volume the last time I was in the Care of Magical Beasts section, let me just go get it really quick…”

Pushing the chair back in a rush, Hermione accidentally knocked one of the books behind her down. With a gasp, she quickly bent to pick it up.

“Huh,” she said, staring at the cover. “Magicae Familia?”

“That’s blood rituals,” Draco supplied. “Magical adoptions and the like.”

“My mum’s got a copy,” Ron said. “She always says it’s got the best spells for pregnancy troubles.”

“It’s also illegal,” Neville added dryly. “My gran would probably kill me herself if she ever found me reading it.”

“Illegal to buy,” Draco said, “not illegal to own if it’s a family heirloom.”

“Shouldn’t it be in the Restricted Section then?” Harry asked.

“It definitely shouldn’t be in here,” Hermione said, still frowning at the book. “The Magizoology section is right next to the Restricted Section, I’ll just drop it off there.”

She skipped off, leaving the boys to discuss whatever they wanted - probably not their homework. Possibly the Cerberus, or maybe differences between things illegal to buy and illegal to own.

Hermione didn’t have high hopes though. She was probably going to return to the four of them discussing Quidditch.

The Restricted Section was first on her list - then, with her hands free, she would climb the shelves to get Taming the Beast.

She forgot about one little detail though: the Restricted Section was, as the name suggested, restricted.

Hermione stood by the rope hanging across the shelves, worrying her lip. On one hand, she wanted to return the book where it belonged… But on the other hand, students were most definitely not allowed to enter that section without a teacher’s permission.

A soft cough from behind her interrupted her thinking. Hermione twirled around, landing face to face with Professor Quirrell.

“S-sir!” she peeped, startled.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Quirrell responded. He sounded somewhat… different than normal. “I do hope you were not trying to get into the Restricted Section.”

“No sir!” Hermione said, thrusting the Magicae Familia forward. “I just found this book in the Divination section, and I wanted to put it back where it belonged!”

“Hm,” Professor Quirrell took the book out of her hands, staring at the cover. “Let me take care of this, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you sir!” Hermione said, wasting no time in running away to the Magizoology section. Time was, after all, a precious resource.

***

Hermione was having a crisis.

It had to have been the first time no books at all had been able to provide her with the information she needed.

Harry just thought it was hilarious.

She had been ranting about the necessity of a properly stacked library and the right to free knowledge for about ten minutes now.

And… well. If she were to go raise her concerns with Professor McGonagall, or, God forbid, Headmaster Dumbledore himself, that would surely raise some questions, and that would launch all five of them into trouble…

But! Chances were that the method for subduing a Cerberus would be something really difficult. A charm, or a hard-to-obtain object or something, which would land them in a blind corner even with the knowledge, finally putting an end to this whole illegal adventure.

And Harry was willing to take those chances.

“We can still find how to tame the Cerberus,” he said once she took a moment to catch her breath. “I’m sure Hagrid knows all about it.”

“The half-giant?” Draco scrunched his nose with derision.

“The very friendly Keeper of Keys,” Harry corrected with a strong emphasis. Draco did not argue.

“It’s not like we can just drop by unannounced though,” Neville said. “It’s just bad manners, especially since none of us have been down in his home before.”

“I’ve been there,” Harry said. “He invited me in for tea. I could bring you all along, and I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”

The others looked slightly hesitant.

“You don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.” Harry shrugged. It would be even easier to fake something difficult that they supposedly needed to do if there were no other witnesses. “I can go ask him myself.”

“No, I’m coming along,” Hermione said immediately.

“Me too,” Neville added, just as Draco opened his mouth to say the same.

“Sure.” Ron shrugged. “Fred and George always say he’s chill.”

“Great.” Harry smiled, tidying up his stuff and standing up. “No time like the present, right?”

With only minimal grumbling - as his friends had slowly realized that the visit was necessary if they wanted to pass through the Cerberus chamber - they packed up and made their way outside.

The path to Hagrid’s house wasn’t long, but it was long enough for Ron’s newfound patience to run out, needled along by Draco’s taunts. Harry kept elbowing them both in the side whenever one said something rude, but a scuffle still managed to break out.

“Honestly!” Hermione scoffed.

She and Neville stood over the tussling boys, but while Hermione seemed disapproving, Neville just seemed resigned.

Well, he did live in the same dormitory as Ron. It was hard to sleep in the same room for nearly three months and not know that Ronald Weasley would pick a fight with his bed curtains if they dared trip him.

Maybe it would be better if they let it all out right there, right then. Ron would get “punch Malfoy” out of his system, and Draco would see the grass stains on his clothes and hopefully think twice before starting another brawl…

“What’s going on out here?” came Hagrid’s booming voice from behind them and Harry’s tentative plans shattered.

“They’re fighting out who’s the fairest of them all,” Neville offered.

Somehow that made them both freeze.

“How dare you!” Draco exclaimed, draped dramatically over the ground. “I have been mortally wounded! I shall never recover!”

Ron clambered to his feet, striking a dramatic pose.

“You dare insult us such, you’ll have no impunity!” he declared.

“For this goal we shall act with absolute unity!” Draco finished, pretending to die a moment later.

“Oi!” Ron yelled. “Get up, Brothilda, you’re not supposed to die yet!”

“I shall die whenever I wish to, Etheldraya!”

“What just happened?” Hermione asked.

“They both went bonkers and forgot their names?” Harry offered.

“It’s a play,” Neville said. “Fair Fairy Lady. Every wizard has seen it at some point or another.”

The glint in Hermione’s eyes spoke of hours she was going to spend in the library later, hunting down whatever information on the play that she could find.

Harry would stay out of her way until she finished. Or no, perhaps he should help her. Digging up a popular play must be safer than trying to break into a room with a Cerberus inside.

Speaking of which…

“We came over for tea,” Harry said to Hagrid. “If you don’t mind that there’re five of us…”

“No, of course not.” Hagrid dumped a burlap bag on the ground next to the wall of his hut. Harry liked the rusty-red stain on the burlap about as much as the wet squelch it made when connecting with the ground - that is to say, he didn’t like it at all. “I was just about to have a break, too. Come on in!”

Well, that was easy.

They piled into the hut after Hagrid. Hermione, Neville, and Harry took the chairs around the table, while Ron and Draco were delegated to the freshly dragged in bench alongside Fang.

“How’re yer classes going?” Hagrid asked. Hermione was happy to fill him in on every assignment they had been given this past week in extreme detail as he prepared six mugs of tea.

Harry tuned her out for the most part - he already knew all of it, he was in all the same classes - choosing instead to focus on the pair of boys on the bench who were having a more subtle continuation of their fight.

It seemed to involve petting Fang - who seemed rather happy with his choice to wiggle himself in between the two of them - in such a way to cause the dog to drool on the other’s robes.

“Sounds like you’ve been having a busy week,” Hagrid said, putting the mugs down on the table, along with a plate of rock-hard, almost perfectly round lumps one would call cakes for lack of a better word...

Harry would, of course, take one to be polite. But he wasn’t really in a mood to loosen any of his teeth today though, so off to his pocket the cake would go.

He just hoped his friends would correctly interpret the wiggles of his eyebrows and avoid biting into the cakes.

“How about you?” Neville asked, sounding genuinely curious. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Hagrid waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a full moon soon, so I’ve been mostly prepping to help out with the unicorn foals.”

“Unicorn foals?” Harry tuned back into the conversation fast enough to get auditory whiplash. Unicorns were real?

“Yeah.” Hagrid made a show of picking a cake for himself. “At least two of the mares are pregnant, so it’ll be rather busy this month.”

“Why is the full moon significant?” Hermione asked, the glint of unsatiated curiosity appearing in her eyes once more.

Unicorn breeding customs were still better than trying to sneak past a Cerberus.

Hagrid plucked one of the rock cakes from the stack, plopping it inside his mug.

Ah. Well. That explained a lot.

Harry promptly drank just enough of the tea to put his own cake inside.

“Unicorns are always born on the full,” Hagrid said. "Every month, if the mare so wished, although most choose to take longer breaks."

"Every month?!" Draco yelled. By the state of his robes Harry would wager he was losing their little competition. "That's so unfair! Horses can only have babies every year!"

The entire room stopped to stare.

"What?" Draco shifted under the sudden pressure, puffing up indignantly. "I like newborn foals! I don't like the wait."

"And humans have nine months of pregnancy, cats two months, elephants two years…" Hagrid fished his cake out with a spoon, popping it inside his mouth.

"Are you saying that unicorns are closer related to cats than horses?" Hermione asked.

"Merlin, no," Hagrid barked out a loud laugh. "The only other animal they're related to at all are Thestrals."

"That's… unlikely," Hermione muttered, and Harry felt compelled to agree. He may not know much about evolution, but even he knew that all the organisms on Earth were connected.

"Well." Hagrid frowned. "I bet they are somehow related, but they must've diverged at some point before animals on Earth developed spines."

“Animals on Earth?” Harry repeated. Why the distinction?

“Why, yes.” Hagrid seemed excited to share the information. “Unicorns and Thestrals were brought from the moon by Tschang O about a millennium and a half ago. And not even Merlin would know how long they spent up there before that. Whoever they were related to must have died out eons ago. It’s almost impossible to get any good reference books on their anatomy...”

There was a moment of silence as all of that knowledge slowly sunk itself into the children’s brains.

And then they all spoke on top of each other, barely two questions audible enough to understand.

“Wizards have been to the moon?”

“Unicorns are from the moon!?”

Hagrid blinked.

“Yes, unicorns are from the moon,” he said. “And yes, there were two wizards who visited the moon. Tschang O, banished there for a most heinous crime, and her husband Hou I, who brought her back at the cost of his own life… Very tragic story...”

“How did they survive up there?” Hermione asked eagerly. “I’m assuming there was complex spellwork involved for the wizards, but the unicorns? Do they just not need to breathe?”

“Why would they need to not breathe?” Draco seemed absolutely befuddled. “The moon’s just a place. It’s not like it’s underwater or anything.”

In the excruciatingly long while it took Hermione to turn her head, Harry had realized that there were two possible explanations behind Draco’s comment.

Either magic allowed people (and animals) to survive on the moon without noticing that anything was different… Or the wizarding world had never moved past teaching the fable of the moon, where it was no different from Earth.

Harry had a feeling he knew which version was the case. Munching on his not-so-rock-hard-anymore rock cake, he settled back to watch the show.

"Have you ever been to the moon?" Hermione asked sweetly, gathering intel before the deathly strike.

"No." Draco shifted slightly, a shadow of discomfort passing through his face. "It's really far, and even Portkeys have their limits..."

"Have you ever seen a picture of the moon?" Hermione continued, her honey-sweet smile sliding off as she spoke. "Have you ever met anyone who's been to the moon?"

"Well, no… But it's not like you have, either!"

"I have, actually." Hermione raised her chin proudly. "And I'm sure Harry has seen some photos as well?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded obligingly. The Dursleys had never let anything space-related play on the telly - too much like magic, apparently - but he had been curious enough to look it up at the library. The librarian watched him like a hawk the entire time - it had been after Dudley's impromptu bonfire - but it was worth it.

To see the Earth as just a pale blue dot in the distance… Breathtaking.

“No way!” Ron piped in, bringing Harry back to Earth. “Where did you see them?”

“In a history textbook,” Hermione said primly. “A Muggle history textbook. We’ve been to the moon six times since 1969, and have been near it several times more.”

“That’s impossible,” Draco scoffed. “How could Muggles possibly get that far?”

“Explosives,” Harry offered. “Lots and lots of explosives.”

Draco had nothing to say, but the ashen cast of his face spoke for him.

"Moving on," Ron said. "Wow, Fang drools a lot when he sleeps. Can you imagine if you had a dog with three heads? You'd never be dry again!"

Not the subtlest of approaches, but Harry supposed Ron at least had tried to be overt about it. And really, it was for the best. There was no way Hagrid would-

“True.” Hagrid nodded his head sagely. “You put on a little music, and Fluffy could fill up a bathtub within minutes!”

Ah, well. Apparently Hagrid would go about happily spilling secrets to a bunch of eleven-year-olds without a second thought.

“Actually, I’m also curious about the unicorns,” Harry said, doing his best to cover up how the other three - Merlin bless Neville, the only other reasonable one - were now brimming with excitement. “How did they survive on the moon?”

Ron and Draco sent him identical glares. What else did they want from Hagrid? He’d already spilled all the beans they'd came for.

“They lived up there a long, long time ago, when it could support plants,” Hagrid said. “But then at some point, it went all dry and barren, and the unicorns slowly died out, all but the eggs. Same with Thestrals - the eggs are what Tschang O brought back to Earth and nurtured till they woke from hibernation.”

“Magical hibernation?” Hermione asked. “If they survived centuries without any nourishment, it must’ve been magical.”

“Closer to millennia, but yes,” Hagrid said. “Nearly pure magic, these ones.”

They nodded in clear awe at that, at a loss for words.

The clock in the corner of the room struck four, startling them all.

“Oh, my, it’s this late already?” Hagrid said. “I’ve got to go check up on the Hippogriffs…”

“We better go, too,” Hermione said, to the enthusiastic nods from everyone else. “We’ve still got loads of homework to do.”

“It’s been really nice to see you, Hagrid,” Harry said with a smile. “I promise we’ll try and visit again soon.”

“Ah,” Hagrid said with a suspiciously wet chuckle. “I’m just happy yer willing to spend time with boring ol’ me.”

“Not boring at all, sir,” Neville said with a confidence he so rarely displayed.

“Run along, now,” Hagrid said, gathering the mostly half-empty mugs in his arms. “It’s gonna get dark soon, ya better be back in the Castle before that!”

They left with a chorus of goodbyes, without a single glance back. After all, they already knew what they were going to do next - and Harry could guarantee that it wasn’t homework.

Chapter Text

Really, it shouldn’t have been any surprise at all that barely half an hour later all five of them stood before the locked door on the third floor.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Neville asked.

“You don’t have to go with us if you don’t want to,” Draco scoffed, trying to hide the note of hurt in his voice.

“No, no, I’m coming,” Neville said immediately. “Somebody’s got to act as the voice of reason.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Hermione asked in a huff.

“I’m just saying you’re all a little bit too interested in what’s under the trapdoor to consider the possible dangers.”

Hermione looked pretty skeptical.

“Aaaalso I’m the only one who can sing well enough to hopefully send a Cerberus to sleep.”

“Fair point.” Ron nodded. “Can we go inside now?”

"We better get this over with before anyone notices we're gone," Harry added, clearing the way for Hermione. She was still the only one who'd mastered the unlocking spell, no matter how hard Draco tried to pretend otherwise.

The door swung open and the five of them piled inside.

Ron pulled the door closed while Neville started singing a wordless tune, cutting the Cerberus' soft growling in half.

It took no time at all for all three heads to nod off, leaving the trapdoor sandwiched between its left head and the rest of its body, although still leaving it accessible.

Draco was the first to reach it, pulling it open with a spell. Whoever had put the Cerberus inside had clearly thought that locking the trapdoor would've been overkill.

The children stared down into the dark hole.

"How deep do you think it goes?" Ron asked, standing slightly too close to the edge for anyone's comfort.

"Only one way to find out." Harry shrugged, stepping right into the middle of the nothingness.

The only thing stopping him from plunging straight down were the four pairs of arms now clutching onto him.

"Are you actually insane, Harry?" Draco asked, pushing him out of the danger and instead into Ron's waiting arms. "There're plenty more ways to find out!"

As if to prove it, he cast a spell - Harry could only recognize the 'Lumos' part of it - creating a globe of light spiraling down into the abyss.

There was perhaps a ten-foot long drop before a plant could be seen growing at the bottom, its big, meaty leaves curling away from the light.

"~It's a Devil's Snaaare~," Neville sang.

Both Ron and Draco blanched.

"How do we deal with that?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione. She answered with a shrug, the words of 'I don't know' too bitter to pass through her lips.

"~It doesn't like fire~." Neville rolled his eyes. "~Hermione, you have some fire~?"

Ron grinned. "She set Snape on fire, of course she's got some."

"You set Professor Snape on fire?" Draco exclaimed incredulously.

Right, Hermione thought while fighting down a blush. Both Harry and Draco had been in the air at the time.

"Irrelevant," she said primly, producing the jar of blue flames from her robes' pocket. "How do we get down there?"

"Jump?" Harry proposed. "The plant will break our fall."

Everyone's eyes turned to Neville.

"~It won't eat us if we burn it soon enough~." He shrugged.

Harry looked pointedly at Ron, who was still clutching him tightly.

"Right," he said, finally letting go. "Sorry, mate. Go right ahead."

Harry did just that, plummeting straight through the hole in the floor.

That was kind of fun.

Right up until the Devil's Snare tried to ensnare him.

"Hermione?" he called out. "Can I have that fire now?"

A jar dropped from above, barely missing his head. Uncapping it quickly, he threatened the plant into unhanding him, moving to the bare patch by the door.

"Can we follow now?" Ron yelled.

"One at a time!" Harry said.

The remaining four made their way down slowly, falling through a second door as soon as Hermione unlocked it.

Whatever they were expecting, a giant chamber filled with flying keys was not it.

Hermione went over to the other door, trying out the unlocking charm on it.

“Somebody warded it against the use of Alohomora,” she said with a tiny frown.

Their eyes flew to the ring of flying keys.

“This is going to take forever!” Ron groaned, causing the others to stare at him in disbelief.

“Did you somehow miss the brooms stacked by the door?” Neville asked.

“And we’ve got two Seekers with us!” Hermione added. “This is going to be easy.”

“Yeah! We can find the key easily,” Draco said with a sneer, puffing up his chest.

“Yeah?” Ron went slightly red. “And how are you going to figure out which key is the right one, genius?”

“We’re looking for something big, probably old-fashioned,” Neville said, having wandered closer to the door. “Definitely silver.”

“Like the handle,” Draco added with a nod.

Ron went redder, but did not argue. A moment of near-silence fell. The tiny wings that the keys had made quite a lot of noise when there was no talking to mask them.

“Right,” Harry said, going over to the stack of brooms. “I’d wonder why they conveniently put half a dozen brooms down here, but so far the answer shapes up to be, 'wizards have no common sense.'”

“It is weird.” Neville nodded. “Whoever created this obstacle-”

“Professor Flitwick!” Hermione and Draco said at the same time, scowling slightly when they realized they weren’t the only one to put that together.

“-They could have just charmed the correct key to like them and fly to them as soon as they entered. No need for flying.”

“Maybe Flitwick likes to fly?” Ron asked, clearly deciding to simply move past the embarrassment.

Harry grabbed the brooms, putting them on the floor by the others.

“It doesn’t matter if the key likes Professor Flitwick since none of us are him,” he said, calling his broom to himself. “Let’s just all get in the air. The more eyes on the task, the sooner we’ll find the key.”

Ron called the broom to his hand effortlessly, like he’d been doing it his whole life already, and started circling around the room. Draco was on in no time at all, too.

“Let’s find it.” Hermione nodded decisively, raising up with perfect posture.

Now all of them were in the air - except for Neville, who was pretending that there was no broom by his side.

Harry, sure that he would get on with it sooner or later, focused on scanning the flock of flying keys.

“Just call the broom towards you!” Ron called out.

“It’s just 'Up!'” Hermione nodded. “You can do this!”

“Yell it like you mean it!” Draco added, and that must’ve been the stir that made the potion boil over.

“UP!” Neville yelled, and the broom… stayed right where it was.

Instead, there was now a branch connecting the handle to Neville’s hand.

“Umm,” he said, pulling his hand back.

The branch followed slowly.

Draco landed down next to him, trying to call the broom up, but it didn’t budge.

“Huh,” he said, nudging it with his foot.

It still didn’t budge.

Hermione and Ron landed as well, gathering around the broom. A more thorough examination showed the cause of its uncommon lack of mobility - aside from the branch, it also grew numerous roots, digging deep into the cracks between the stones making up the floor.

“I don’t think this broom will fly anytime soon,” Ron said.

“That’s not good.” Neville sighed.

“We could stay on the ground with the net,” Hermione offered. “I saw one by the brooms.”

“I’ve got it!” Harry exclaimed, the correct key clenched tightly in his hand. “Oi, what are you all doing down there?”

“Longbottom’s broom got rooted to the floor,” Draco offered with a slight pout. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you went and got the key yourself.”

“Not my fault none of you followed the plan.” Harry shrugged, coming down and discarding the broom without a second thought. “Come on, let’s go see what’s behind this door.”

“What should we do about the broom?” Neville asked. “If somebody came down to check on the chambers, they would notice that we’ve been through here.”

“They’d notice somebody had been through here,” Ron said with a shrug. “There’s nothing really connecting it to us. I say we leave it.”

“That’s surprisingly sound logic.” Hermione nodded approvingly.

Ron visibly decided to not comment, instead going over to the door that Harry had already unlocked.

And waiting for them on the other side was a giant chess set.

“I’ve got it!” Ron and Draco said at the exact same time.

They shot glares at each other.

“I had the best of tutors!” Draco said, his nose so high up in the air it was almost vertical. “And, I almost represented Wiltshire in the National Championship!”

“Well, I did represent Devon in the nationals!” Ron countered. “And I placed fifth, with a distinction for being the youngest participant ever!”

“We get it, you’re both good at chess.” Neville sighed.

“Can’t you just work together?” Hermione asked.

Five minutes and approximately fifty-seven different arguments later, the answer turned out to be “no”.

And they hadn’t even gotten on the chess board yet!

“What if I just got on the broom and checked out what’s in the next room?” Harry whispered to the other two.

“Wouldn’t the chess pieces notice?” Neville whispered back.

“No, look.” Hermione pointed out. “They’re all far too interested in the argument.”

The three of them took a moment to glance at the bunch of stone chess pieces crowded around the arguing boys. They seemed entirely too fascinated by it.

Harry climbed on his broom, glad he'd kept it from the previous chamber.

Keeping close to the ceiling, he slowly flew across the board. He didn’t even bother to get off his broom when opening the door, just in case.

Seeing a giant, vaguely humanoid being covered in long, tangled fur clutching at a giant club, he was sure he'd made the right choice.

Harry slammed the door closed before the troll could notice him. Instead, he accidentally alerted the chess pieces.

They could move pretty fast when they were angry.

“Run!” Harry yelled, speeding away on his broom.

He didn’t bother moving all the way up to the ceiling, focusing on his speed. That didn’t seem to deter the pieces as much as he'd hoped. A bishop and two knights managed to grab onto his broom, slowing him down enough to allow another two pieces to latch on.

Everyone else was already back in the chamber with the flying keys, waiting for him, leaving Harry with only one choice.

Speeding as much as he could, he aimed the broom at the door and climbed on top of it.

At the last moment he jumped off, just barely making it through the door before Draco and Neville slammed the door closed.

A loud thud and five crashes followed.

“Do you think anyone’s going to notice that?” Harry asked, rubbing his ankle.

The five took a moment to look back at the door, which was now sporting a few large cracks.

“Like Weasley said, nobody’s going to trace it back to us.” Draco shrugged.

“Why did you slam the door?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Ron jumped on. “What was behind them?”

“Something worse than Fluffy?” Neville added, helping Harry up.

“Way worse,” Harry said, hobbling on one leg. “It was the troll from Halloween, I think.”

“They kept it?” Draco’s voice went a little bit shrill. “After it escaped? What if it were to wander out again?”

“It would have had a pretty hard time climbing out through the Devil’s Snare,” Hermione said.

“That reminds me.” Neville kept holding on to Harry, for which he was very grateful. “How are we getting out of here?”

“Brooms?” Ron suggested.

Sadly, taking into account Neville’s grounded broom and Harry’s shattered one, there were only three serviceable brooms left.

“We can share,” Neville pointed out. “I couldn’t use one on my own anyway.”

“You can come with me, then.” Harry nodded. “How are you guys gonna divide?”

Ron and Draco exchanged a look. And then just kept staring at each other. Growing bored of it, Hermione mounted a broom and joined Harry and Neville in the air.

“Come on!” she yelled at the two boys, who had somehow not noticed that everyone else was in the air now. “Hurry up!”

Neville started singing the same wordless tune as they approached the trapdoor.

Hopefully Ron and Draco would get over whatever their problem was and get on the broom before the rest of them left.

Fluffy was already snoring on the floor when they flew in (which did involve some complicated gymnastics in Neville and Harry’s case) and now they were faced with a different problem - how to return the brooms?

The other two boys joined them soon enough. Apparently “not wanting to be left behind in the room with a giant Devil’s Snare” was enough of a motivational boost for them.

“So…” Hermione said, having gathered all three brooms. “What do we do with these?”

“We could Wingardium Leviosa them,” Ron proposed.

“Great job on the pronunciation!” Hermione beamed.

“But we can’t.” Draco frowned. “We closed the door.”

“Let’s just dump them down,” Harry proposed. “It’s not like we’ll be going down there again, and nobody else should.”

Hermione, shrugging, did just that.

They could hear the crunch of breaking wood before they closed the trapdoor. At least the Devil’s Snare would get some enrichment.

With nothing else to do, they left the chamber.

And behind the door, on the forbidden third floor corridor, a teacher was waiting for them.

Chapter Text

“I see,” Professor Quirrell said once the door snapped shut behind the group. “I oughtn’t have worried about you attempting to enter the Restricted Section of the library, Miss Granger. You all had the much more ambitious goal of breaking into the Forbidden Corridor instead.”

You couldn’t not wince at that tone.

Fidgeting slightly, they all remained quiet.

“Not even going to try and make an excuse?” Professor Quirrell raised an eyebrow.

“We got lost?” Ron proposed weakly.

“Then I shall personally escort you to the Great Hall. And I trust that after dinner you will be able to find my classroom with no trouble?”

What else could they possibly do but nod and follow him downstairs?

Professor Quirrell then paid them no mind when they reached the Great Hall, moving swiftly towards the Teachers’ Table. Moments later, both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape turned to glare at the group.

The Gryffindors’ Table, sitting right there up front, did not seem particularly inviting at the moment. Instead, Harry followed Draco to the Slytherins’ Table. The rest of their group was quick to join them, squeezing themselves in at the end furthest away from the teachers.

If any of the Slytherins wanted to protest, one look at their guilty faces and another at the furious professors had left them generous enough not to mention anything.

Only Ron seemed to have any resemblance of an appetite left, the rest barely poking at their plates.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape left the Hall early, heading somewhere in a rush. Harry had an uncomfortable suspicion that they maaaaay have been going to check on the traps.

It was all too soon before their dinner was over. Professor Quirrell, who had spent the last ten minutes leaning on the wall behind their backs, snapped his book shut.

“If you’ll follow me,” he said, moving towards the exit.

At least they probably wouldn’t get expelled?

Somehow, the way to Professor Quirrell’s office seemed to take forever and no time at all simultaneously.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape weren't there yet. Harry was rather torn on whether or not that was a good thing.

The five of them settled into one of the middle rows (as far as they could get without making the teachers want to stalk closer) and waited silently.

Meanwhile, Professor Quirrell sat on his desk - Hermione seemed rather scandalized by that - grading papers. For some reason, all of them were brightly colored, from neon pinks to the most radioactive greens.

Harry suspected that that might be why the classroom felt somewhat… off. He could feel that it was different, but he just couldn’t put his finger on why exactly it was…

“Is it just me or is the garlic smell missing?” Ron pouted. “Aww, man.”

Everyone - including Professor Quirrell - looked at him.

“What?” he said, squirming under the attention. “I liked it. Always made me think of my mum’s roast beef.”

“We just had dinner,” Hermione said.

It was a fair point, but then again, when had Ron ever not been thinking about food?

Ron just shrugged.

“I’m afraid the smell will not be making a return,” Professor Quirrell said, turning back to his papers.

“Are you not afraid of vampires anymore, sir?” Draco asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Neville and Harry moved to elbow him at the same time.

Putting down the papers, Professor Quirrell’s expression turned thoughtful.

“I suppose…” he began slowly, “I have realized that they’re unlikely to attack me while I’m at Hogwarts. Therefore, there is really no need to stink up the classroom, as the smell clearly lingers. It already took some strong charms to purge the scent after barely three months alone, I couldn’t imagine having to do it after a year.”

“Will you go back to using garlic over the summer?” Ron asked eagerly. “If you survive the curse, that is.”

Now Ron was the one being elbowed, and this time, Hermione joined in too.

“What?” he said indignantly.

“That was rude!” Hermione exclaimed.

But Professor Quirrell didn’t look offended - if anything, he looked amused.

They didn’t have the time to say anything else, however, as the doors were then thrown open, letting in the missing professors.

Harry had never seen anyone as angry as Professor McGonagall looked at that moment. He was honestly surprised that there wasn’t any smoke coming out from under her pointy hat. Professor Snape seemed calmer, but that was no real indicator in his case. Harry only really ever saw him yell in the Potions Classroom.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She turned, stomping hard as she paced back and forth from the door to in front of the blackboard.

“Never-! Never in all my life-!” she kept mumbling. “Such gall! Entering the Forbidden Corridor! Destroying five school brooms! Cracking a door! Crushing several of my chess pieces!”

Harry could feel himself getting smaller and smaller with every turn the professor took. Just a few more and he would disappear completely, he was certain.

“Not to mention the necessary… subterfuge to obtain the information on handling the Cerberus,” Professor Snape added. “Perhaps we should have Hagrid here, too.”

“It’s not his fault!” Neville blurted out, seeming shocked that he had.

“Yeah!” Ron added, standing up. “We tricked him!”

Harry didn’t see the point of drawing extra attention to himself, as they were all in trouble anyway, but he stood up as well. He could see Hermione and Draco doing the same, Neville now hidden slightly behind them.

Professor Snape just looked at them. Oops, Harry thought. They’d just confirmed that that was where they’d gotten their information from.

“What were you even thinking?” Professor McGonagall asked, now calm enough to stand still. Somehow, that was worse. “What possessed you to break into the one corridor that’s off-limits to students?!”

“We…” Harry started, realizing that this wasn’t going to sound good. With a wince, he continued. “We stumbled across the Cerberus and wanted to see what was under the trapdoor?”

A vein on Professor McGonagall’s forehead started bulging dangerously.

Professor Snape sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

“I never thought I would see a group worse than the Marauders,” he mumbled, barely audible. “The Weasley Twins have come close… but you five? You all have a death wish, I swear.”

“We’re not doing it on purpose!” Draco protested.

“That is even worse,” Professor McGonagall said. “That is so, so much worse.”

“I am at a loss as to what sort of punishment would teach you all to be more self-preserving at this point.” Professor Snape shook his head. “Lost points would mean nothing but your House’s dissatisfaction, and Merlin knows that detention would do little to deter you, except perhaps give you less time for mischief...”

“If I may?” Professor Quirrell interrupted softly, the first thing he had said since the other two professors had entered the classroom. “I may have an idea.”

“I would love to hear it.” Professor McGonagall graciously allowed.

“I propose an essay, two feet of parchment” —Hermione perked up at that— “covering each danger that they stumbled upon this afternoon, and all the ways in which they could have gotten hurt had they not been exceptionally lucky.”

“...That may actually impress upon them the importance of safety and thinking things through first.” Professor Snape nodded, looking vaguely impressed.

“And daily detention until the winter holidays,” Professor McGonagall added grimly. “As you said, Severus, it’ll give them less time to get into trouble until they understand exactly why they should avoid it.”

“Who would oversee the detention sessions? I would rather not mix this group with any of the dunderheads who’d be in my classroom for detention due to their own blunders.”

“I typically stay in my classroom between last period and dinner,” Professor Quirrell offered. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trouble to keep an eye on the five of them for those three hours a day.”

Personally, Harry thought that his emphasising was weirdly unnecessary, but it seemed to have convinced the other professors easily enough.

“But what about our homework?” Hermione despaired. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron and Neville. It wasn’t like any of them ever really used that time to do any schoolwork anyway.

“You can still complete it whilst in detention,” Professor Quirrell said, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

“Not if we’re scrubbing cauldrons,” Ron grumbled.

“Or the trophies,” Neville added.

“Or sorting through the potion ingredients,” Draco said with a brief glare in Professor Snape’s direction. Apparently he gave detentions to the Slytherins as well, who would have known?

Professor Quirrell blinked.

“Why would you be performing menial labour during your detentions?” he asked, turning to the other professors. “Is that typical?”

“What else would they be supposed to be doing?” Professor Snape said, looking baffled.

Professor Quirrell turned to Professor McGonagall, as if waiting for her to back him up.

“It is an efficient way of passing the time,” she said instead, defensively. “But I shall take over the same period on Sundays, starting with tomorrow. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired, Quirinus.”

“And I shall handle Saturdays,” Professor Snape added.

“Of course,” Professor Quirrell said with a disarming smile, although it did look a little tight.

“Come now,” Professor Snape said, opening the door. “We shall escort you all to your dormitories.”

“Wait, sir!” Harry yelped before he could think about it. “I, uh, I have a question.”

The professor stopped, turning back to look at Harry, his eyebrow quirked.

Now, how to make all the others leave while he asked…

“Umm, I… it’s-” He stumbled over his words. He’d really rather not pretend that it was an awkward type of question if he could help it. Pleadingly, he added, “Sir.”

Professor Snape didn’t seem to understand what he meant, but thankfully, Professor Quirrell somehow did.

“I wouldn’t mind escorting Mister Malfoy down to the dungeons,” he said, sliding off the desk. “And I assume you wouldn’t mind Severus escorting Mister Potter, Minerva?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned, but she nodded sharply.

“Goodnight, Quirinus, Severus, Mister Potter,” she said. “Miss Granger, Mister Longbottom, Mister Weasley, if you could follow me, please.”

The adults exchanged their goodbyes while the children merely grumbled under their breaths.

“At least we’ll see each other more often now,” Draco managed to mumble, before he had to run after Professor Quirrell’s swiftly retreating back.

“Well?” Professor Snape said once they’d all left, snapping Harry’s attention back to him. “What is it that you wanted to ask?”

“How much can I tell my friends?”

It was better not to waste any more time. So far, he had told them nothing of what was going on; nothing about how Professor Snape was not actually absolutely awful, or how Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were helping him had been mentioned. Furthermore, not a word had been said about his parents’ wills, about Scabbers being that Peter Pedicure guy, or about how Sirius Black was really innocent, either. He hadn’t even mentioned that his eyes were fixed yet!

Professor Snape’s expression turned pensive.

“How much do you wish to tell them?”

“Everything?”

And now he looked faintly amused. That was good, right?

“Repeat after me, Mister Potter,” he said slowly. “Muffliato.”

“Muffliato?” Harry repeated dutifully.

“It is a charm which will prevent eavesdropping. Use it whenever you want to speak of any of these topics. You may tell your friends as much as you wish, providing you first extract from them a promise to keep it to themselves.”

Harry beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

Now he just had to find a good time to talk to them all at once… Well, there was always their newly-received detentions, right?

***

A trip down to the dungeons and back didn’t take that long, but by the time he returned, the boy and Severus were already gone.

This was fortunate, as Voldemort had an armful of ingredients that he had just stolen from Severus’ cupboards.

It would have been… awkward, to say the very least, had he been caught.

Now, he had everything he needed for the Ritual right down to the necessary moon phase: a new moon, to be exact. How lucky that he’d found the book exactly today (well, had it handed to him by Miss Granger, but who cared about the details). Had it been even a day later, he’d have had to wait almost a month for the next opportunity, and it would no longer fall oh-so-conveniently on a weekend.

Just one lunar month for the bodies (or, well, personalities?) to merge, and voila: he’d be ready before that Christmas Party that Dumbledore always insisted on having. Ugh.

He was quite certain that the Ritual was going to work like a - pardon the pun - charm. Contrary to what Molly Weasley may have believed, it had been created not for merging typical sets of twins, but rather for those in a situation more similar to his own: conjoined twins.

It had been considered a mercy back when blood magic was still legal. How destroying two non-consenting human beings in favour of creating a new one was a “mercy,” he did not understand.

Still, it was extremely useful for his little problem and entirely illegal regardless, so there was little point in complaining.

His hands shook as he prepared the necessary potions. The hold he had on the body was becoming strained - usually, he would have ceded control back to Quirrell by now.

But alas, Voldemort couldn’t afford to do that, not at the current stage. His unfortunate neighbour wouldn’t hesitate in destroying his progress, too scared to lose his body. And, regardless, he may not have been able to manage switching back in time for the optimal potion ingestion point.

No, it was better to spend a few more hours struggling to hold on than to lose the opportunity.

He’d survived worse.

Chapter Text

Professor McGonagall’s detention was… well, suffice to say, they had all survived it.

The teacher may have spent quite a long time lecturing them about the irresponsibility of what they had done, but it hadn’t been the worst.

Still, by the twentieth time she had broken into a spontaneous rant, even Hermione had looked annoyed. Mostly because it had been distracting her from writing the essay, which she had already been outlining.

Harry had decided to spend the time finishing his actual homework, but then again, Hermione had probably already finished it all on the very same day it had been set.

Detention with Professor McGonagall was nerve-wracking, but they knew what to expect. Many others had had a session or two and did not hesitate to complain about it.

But detention with Professor Quirrell?

The man barely gave points in class - or deducted them, for that matter - let alone gave out detentions!

They had been offered a full minute of silence when they’d broken the news to their House.

That… had not given them much confidence.

They entered the classroom on Monday afternoon with their hearts in their throats.

Somehow, their anxiety made the room feel far more oppressive than it usually did, even though nothing about it had changed.

Professor Quirrell was already in the room, once again grading essays. These ones were written on standard parchment rather than the neon ones they’d seen last time. Personally, Harry thought he would have preferred the colorful ones. It would’ve been less repetitive, that was for sure.

It must’ve been boring to read twenty essays on the same thing, right?

“Good, I’m glad you managed to get here without any trouble,” Professor Quirrell said, looking up at them from the papers. “It would have been unfortunate if you had gotten lost again.”

Harry had a feeling that they wouldn’t be hearing the end of that anytime soon. Not with how amused Professor Quirrell seemed at Ron’s red face, Hermione’s puffed up cheeks, and Draco’s fidgeting. Only Harry and Neville had had no reaction to the jibe.

Harry knew why he hadn’t reacted - doing so in front of the Dursleys would have had terrible consequences, if not an outright death sentence - but that Neville hadn’t either was slightly worrying.

“Please, sit down.” Professor Quirrell motioned. “As this is your first detention with me, I would like to go over the rules first. It seems they have changed since I was a boy.”

“Did you get many detentions when you were our age, sir?” Ron forgot about being embarrassed long enough to ask.

Professor Quirrell stopped to look at him, baffled.

“...No, not really.”

Harry thought he looked like how Hermione would have, if they hadn’t involved her and she also managed to avoid detentions throughout her entire school career.

Like he was offended that anyone would even consider that he could have gotten a detention.

“In any case...” Professor Quirrell shook his head, standing up once they were all seated. “The rules.”

Hermione scrambled for a piece of parchment and her quill, eager to write them down. Harry didn’t blame her - it wasn’t like you could find them in any book.

Professor Quirrell moved to stand in front of his desk, leaning on it slightly, his arms folded.

“Most importantly, you are not here to perform menial tasks,” he said. “I don’t know who started that or why, and frankly, I don’t care. You are here to be supervised as you write your essays. I expect you to take the time to really think through everything that could have gone wrong with your little adventure. After all, you have a full three weeks to finish it.”

Harry wasn’t really looking forward to writing that essay, but at least he knew what to put in it. The plant could’ve suffocated them, the chess pieces would have trampled them to dust if they’d lost, they could have fallen off the brooms, the dog could have bitten them…

But it’s not like they’d known about most of those things when they’d gone through the trapdoor!

Which, admittedly, wasn’t that much of an excuse. They’d jumped straight in without considering that there could’ve been anything after the three-headed dog.

Harry suddenly felt really grateful for not having been allowed to literally jump through the trapdoor.

“You are allowed to do your other homework as well, considering that this cuts into your study time,” Professor Quirrell added, receiving solemnly grateful nods from Hermione and Draco. “You may practice spells, if that is something you were assigned, but at any other time, I’ll ask you to keep your wands at any empty table.”

Professor Quirrell paused, looking at them expectantly.

Ah. He meant to drop the wands off now.

As they scrambled to follow the instruction, Harry mumbled out the Muffliato Charm. It’d still work like that, right?

Once they’d all returned to their chosen seats, Professor Quirrell nodded to himself.

“You may talk amongst yourselves as long as the work is being done,” he said, returning to his seat behind the desk. “I’d just ask for you to keep your voices down.”

And with that as his final note, he returned his full attention to the essays in front of him.

Or at least he pretended to do so, but taking into account how thick of a stack it was, Harry was rather certain that it wasn’t a ruse.

“Hey, guys-” Harry whispered.

“Shh!” Hermione and Draco said in tandem, already working on their essays.

Neville was also engrossed in what seemed to be their Potions homework. Harry exchanged a baffled glance with Ron, but the red-head just shrugged, turning to his Transfiguration textbook.

Ah, well. He could always tell them tomorrow. Or any other afternoon of the three weeks that they would spend there.

November 24th, 1991 - Tuesday

“Do you remember our first Potions lesson-”

“The recipe is on page sixteen,” Hermione offered, scribbling furiously, already well onto her third foot of the essay.

November 25th, 1991 - Wednesday

“You know how I disappeared on that first Friday of the year?”

“Yeah, you said Snape sent you to the infirmary for a scrawniness test,” Ron said absently, flipping through the Herbology textbook. “Were we supposed to write on growing or harvesting wild bluebells?”

“Honestly, Weasley, it’s in the name, you don’t grow them, you have to find them in the wild-”

November 26th, 1991 - Thursday

“Did you notice that I was gone that entire first Saturday?”

“I saw you enter Binns’ classroom,” Draco said, scribbling date after date down on his parchment. “Did he tell you anything useful? I’d go to him too, but honestly, if he’s just going to drone some more about the Goblin Wars I’d rather skip that, I have enough troubles remembering the dates as it is.”

“The key is to make up mnemonics,” Neville offered. “Like here, 1-6-24, goblins try for wands and more, and the ‘six’ there reminds you that it was the sixth big riot-”

November 27th, 1991 - Friday

“On the second Friday of the year, after Potions-”

“Professor Snape sent you for another check up, right?” Hermione said. Her essay was at least six feet long by now and likely only that much because she had to work on the new homework assignments, too. “I saw you in the infirmary when I was passing by to go to the library. Did you know that nutrient potions were first created in China in 2737 BC? That’s what the tea was originally for-”

November 28th, 1991 - Saturday

“As Quirinus has so helpfully pointed out, having you perform menial tasks is hardly going to be beneficial for you,” Professor Snape said as soon as they entered his classroom. “Therefore, I have prepared something to help you solidify and build upon the skills you are currently learning in my class. The recipe is on the blackboard; please focus, and do not gossip.”

November 29th, 1991 - Sunday

“-And frankly, the Marauders were very unruly and some of their pranks ended up with their classmates in the infirmary, but they never really endangered their own lives-”

In Harry’s opinion, watching Hermione’s twitching eyes as she restrained herself from asking Professor McGonagall to stop talking was the most entertaining part of their detentions.

But that might have been because he was already an expert at tuning people out.

November 30th, 1991 - Monday

Another Monday, another detention with Professor Quirrell, another chance at finally letting his friends in on all the secrets Harry had been keeping.

Now, how to start this time?

“Do you wanna know why Professor Snape was helping me during the Quidditch match?”

Hermione grimaced slightly, but it did manage to capture her full attention, making her turn away from the eight-foot-long monstrosity.

“But are you really sure he was helping, because-”

“Yes! I’m sure!” Harry yelled a little bit too loudly, his temper, already fraying at the edges from the past week, finally snapping.

Well, at least he had everyone’s attention. Including Professor Quirrell’s, who had been sitting at the front of the class with an umbrella. Harry suspected that the cloud raining glitter on him was another one of the Weasley Twins’ inventions.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

Professor Quirrell turned back to his essays. Harry’s friends, thankfully, didn’t.

“I’ve been trying to tell you guys this since last week,” Harry whispered, more cautiously. “It’s really important.”

Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Draco all looked at him expectantly.

Okay, having their full undivided attention was kind of nerve-wracking, and to be honest, he hadn’t quite thought through how to start yet. None of the previous attempts had worked!

“Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Professor Flitwick are working with the Gringotts goblins to make sure that I never go to the Dursleys’ again,” Harry settled on saying.

The other four stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Is that… good or bad?” Draco hedged. “It sounds bad, but you seem happy about it?”

“It’s good,” Neville said, not turning away from Harry. With a soft smile, he added, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Harry beamed.

“Is that all you wanted to tell us?” Hermione asked, eyeing her essay longingly.

“I also got my eyes fixed and saw my parents’ wills and their portraits, but I wasn’t allowed to wake them up. Oh! And I met my godfathers. Also, did you know that Professor Snape was friends with my mum?”

Judging by their flabbergasted looks, maybe he shouldn’t have thrown all that at them at once…

“But you’re still wearing your glasses!”

“Is that why you thought my Remembrall meant that my gran had passed away?”

“YOU MET SIRIUS BLACK?!”

“Godfather knew your mother?!”

“Children,” Professor Quirrell chided gently, not even looking up from his grading.

That Muffliato spell must be really good if he hadn’t reacted to any of that other than the raised volume.

“Yes to all of those,” Harry said and passed his glasses to Hermione for a demonstration.

Hermione put them on slowly, looking around curiously.

“But… why?” she asked, passing them back.

“The professors don’t want Dumbledore to know.” Harry shrugged. “He wasn’t really happy when Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape went to him on that first Friday. Said it was ‘important’ for me to stay with the Dursleys.”

“This is terrible and all,” Ron said, “but Sirius Black? The betrayer? The mass-murderer?!”

“I would also like an explanation,” Draco added, Neville nodding alongside him.

“What mass-murderer?”

“He killed a dozen Muggles and his friend, Peter Pettigrew,” Hermione offered. At his surprised look, she added, “It was in the books about You-Know-Who’s fall.”

“Yeah, and they only managed to find a single finger of poor Peter!” Ron seemed a little too excited about that.

“Sent it to his mother with an Order of Merlin medal.” Draco, too.

“Well, it’s not true.” Harry shrugged. “Mum said in her will that he was a decoy and that it was Peter who was the Secret Keeper. And she said that he could turn into a rat, so no one could believe that he was really dead if they didn’t have the whole body.”

“A rat? That’s funny.” Ron’s expression turned into the one he usually wore when he was doing homework or taking a test. He was thinking hard, and, oh no, Harry had forgotten- “The first Friday, you said? Wasn’t that right around the time that Professor McGonagall took Scabbers for a health check? I wonder what’s taking so long…”

“Oh,” Hermione gasped, connecting the dots.

“Oh no,” Neville added, perfectly aware that Scabbers was missing a finger.

Draco might not have known that, but he was smart enough to extrapolate from their reactions. He settled for a grimace as they sat there and witnessed Ron’s face slowly turning white.

Then green.

Ron bolted for the door, throwing it open without a care, one hand clasped over his mouth.

“Mister Weasley!” Professor Quirrell called after him, startled and sputtering as the sudden draft blew the glitter into his face.

“Sorry, sir,” Neville said. “I think he really needed to go puke.”

“Maybe he ate some of the sweets that his brothers make,” Draco suggested.

Professor Quirrell just shook his head, although that might have been to get rid of the glitter, and once more turned back to the essays. He must’ve been really determined to finish them as soon as possible.

Harry couldn’t blame him - he wouldn’t want to be constantly covered in glitter either.

“So you're going to be staying with Black now?” Draco asked. “But isn’t he in Azkaban?”

“From what I know, Gringotts sued him for something to get him out of the prison, and he’s staying with a man named Lupin now. I’m not gonna be staying with him though, he’s still recovering.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he’s still alive to recover,” Neville said, doodling absently on his essay. “Can’t imagine what a decade in that place could do to a person’s mind…”

Right, weren’t his parents in a hospital for a similar reason? If they were his parents and not cousins or an aunt and uncle…

“Are your parents’ names Alice and Frank?” he asked before he could forget.

Neville nodded, looking up at him. “Why?”

“They were in the will too.”

“Oh.”

“You mean you could’ve stayed with Neville that entire time?” Hermione asked.

“No.” Neville shook his head, eyes now firmly on the parchment. “There was… an attack, around the same time that the Potters got attacked. My parents have stayed in St Mungo’s ever since. My gran raised me.”

Neville’s shoulders could barely fit the three of their hands, offered in a silent show of support. No one really knew what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Draco and Hermione said at the same time.

“It’s fine.” Neville shrugged awkwardly, careful to not disturb their hands. “So who are you going to stay with, Harry?”

“Oh, I think it’s going to be Professor Snape,” Harry said. “Mum said that it’s supposed to be joint custody of my Head of House for the school terms and him for all the other times. Can you imagine if I actually had been sorted into Slytherin? He’d be my guardian all the time.”

Hermione grimaced. “I know you said that he’s helping you, but it’s still hard to imagine him being nice.”

“I don’t think you could really call him nice,” Draco mused. “Trust me, he’s my godfather. Vaguely non-rude constructive criticism is the closest he gets.”

“Still, he’s the first one who tried to help me and is actively following through.” Harry shrugged. “That’s nice enough for me.”

Ron chose that moment to come back looking way worse for wear, but he was no longer green, at least.

“Sorry for running off like that,” he offered in Professor Quirrell’s vague direction before plopping down in his seat.

He must’ve looked pathetic enough for the teacher to let it slide.

“Hang on,” Neville said, grabbing his wand from the stack. “I know a spell. Gran uses it whenever she feels bad in the morning. Latheirt leigheas!”

Professor Quirrell coughed a little - must’ve been all that glitter - but Harry ignored that in favour of observing Ron. He did look slightly better now.

“Thanks, that helped,” he said, smiling thinly. “Now I just have to avoid thinking about… it for the rest of my life.”

“Think about homework!” Hermione offered cheerfully.

“Or about dinner!” Draco countered quickly.

“That, that I can get behind.” Ron pointed his finger at Draco. “Hey, isn’t it nearly dinnertime anyway?”

Harry turned to look at the clock, and everyone else did so as well. It was almost dinnertime.

Professor Quirrell, as if feeling their attention, looked up. Then, turning to look at the clock right behind him, he snorted.

“Alright,” he said once the second hand completed its final turn, “you may go.”

Ron was off in a flash, in such a rush that he forgot to even grab his wand. Draco left with Neville after him, and Hermione had grabbed her wand on her way to Professor Quirrell, so Harry supposed that it fell to him to safeguard Ron’s.

“Here you go, sir,” Hermione said, dropping off her eight-foot-long essay.

Seems like Neville had won their bet. He’d guessed that it would’ve been below ten feet - Harry had been rooting for twelve, personally.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Quirrell said, holding the scroll in his outstretched hand and letting it unfurl all the way to the floor and then some. “I am rather certain this isn’t two feet long.”

“I wanted to be thorough.” Hermione smiled sweetly. “You look a bit different today. Have you done something with your, uh, turban?”

Professor Quirrell closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

“Don’t try and distract me now, Miss Granger. I’ll allow it this once,” he said, looking at her again. “But in the future, please keep to the requested length. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to deduct points for every inch you go over.”

“Yes, sir,” she said sourly. Harry suspected that the other teachers might want to adopt that policy too, as soon as they heard about it. He had never seen Hermione turn in something that wasn’t at least twice as long as it was supposed to be.

With nothing more left to say, they left for the Great Hall.

***

Now that his friends were all caught up on the news and he no longer had to try and start the discussion, the rest of the detentions passed by quickly.

Once they all turned in their punishment-essays - which were then graded! For the Defence! That was so not mentioned before! The only good thing about that was that Harry got an Exceeding Expectations, which he took to mean that he’d exceeded Professor Quirrell's expectation of him having no sense of danger or self-preservation instinct.

In any case, after that, the weekday detentions basically became a study group in whatever subject that they were struggling with on that specific day.

Professor Quirrell even helped out sometimes, if they mangled some explanations badly enough.

Professor Snape’s Saturday detentions were basically extra potion practicals at that point. Only Professor McGonagall kept to her standard activities, occasionally interspersed with bits of the tirade they had all but memorized at that point.

Still, they couldn’t wait for the winter holidays to start.

And with the holidays came the Hogwarts Express to go back to London. Ron was already planning to stay at Hogwarts, just like his three other brothers did. But Hermione, Neville, and Draco all went back home, promising to keep in touch the entire time.

“We’re going to bury you in letters,” Neville vowed.

Draco, apparently recalling the conversation about Harry’s lack of mail, nodded at that. “We’ll make up for all the lost mail over the years!”

“My parents promised to get a home owl for Christmas,” Hermione added. “It’s going to need some trial runs!”

After those reassurances, he didn’t think he’d mind their absences quite as much.

The train left on Monday just after breakfast. Harry, perhaps channeling his inner impression of Hermione, convinced Ron to spend the day finishing up their homework.

“If we finish it now, we’ll have all of the break to relax!” he argued as they were walking up from the Great Hall.

“Or we could wait for Hermione to come back and do it all with her,” Ron said, seemingly not understanding that they wouldn’t be able to do all of it within a single weekend.

Not to mention, Hermione would have already finished hers. If they had nothing to show for the three weeks she’d been gone, she likely wouldn’t even agree to look over what they would manage to cobble together in those two days, let alone help them write it.

“I do not recommend stalling on your Potions homework, Mister Weasley,” Professor Snape’s voice drifted in from behind them. “Not if you wish to obtain a passing mark, that is.”

Ron gulped audibly. “Yes, sir!”

“Mister Potter.” The teacher turned to look at Harry, his expression softening minutely from its perpetual scowl. “The excursion I have promised you. Come down to my office at three on Wednesday.”

With that said, he left swiftly, distracted by a couple of older years trying to sneak around the corner.

Excursion?

“What excursion?” Ron asked. “That sounds terrifying, honestly. A trip with Snape. Where’s he taking you?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “He said he’d show me the house where my mum used to live, back when he was telling me about her.”

“Right, cuz they knew each other when they were little, yeah?”

Harry nodded.

Continuing their walk back to the Common Room, they lapsed into comfortable silence. Well, really, Harry just didn’t want to restart the argument again, in the case of Ron’s state of mortification wearing off.

And, to be honest, he was a little distracted, too. The house clearly wasn’t abandoned, Professor Snape had said so himself. He’d also said that whoever was living there now wouldn’t mind his visit.

It couldn’t have been his grandparents… right?

Well, he would find out soon enough. Grateful for the distraction, Harry burrowed himself in the pile of homework, doing his best to ignore Ron’s constant wistful sighs.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday Harry left lunch early, eager to prepare properly for the trip.

Ron wished him a fun trip - or at least Harry thought he did, it was rather hard to understand when his mouth was full of food - but he stayed at the table. It’d probably take nothing short of an apocalypse to drag Ron Weasley away from the lunch spread early.

And so the decision on what he’d wear was Harry’s alone to bear.

He knew one thing for certain: he could not wear anything from the Dursleys. There was a small chance that he’d meet his grandparents, and he really wanted to make a better impression than to seem like a slob.

Not to mention, Professor Snape would never allow him to leave the Castle dressed like that.

It would just have to be his school uniform, then. The dress shirt and pants were Muggle enough. He’d just skip the tie - he barely knew how to tie it anyway - and wear his winter cloak instead of the outer robes.

Professor Snape could always help him transfigure it if it looked too magical, he figured.

Next, he spent nearly a quarter of an hour debating on whether or not to take his wand.

On one hand, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving it behind. On another, he’d be with Professor Snape the entire time, and they were going out into the Muggle world. But then again, he could be meeting his family, and if his mum had been a witch, they’d expect him to have a wand too, right? He could always just keep it hidden in his pocket.

Harry left the Gryffindor Tower at three, figuring that he’d rather be too early than too late. And it was a good thing that he did, too; Peeves apparently decided it’d be great fun to mess with the bathroom on the second floor.

Another ghost seemed to take an offence to that - some Ravenclaw with glasses and long pigtails - retaliating with a lot of water that did absolutely nothing to stop Peeves and only resulted in flooding the entire section of the corridor.

Filch was there, cursing both of the ghosts out, and he apparently had asked Professor Quirrell for help as he was there too, staring at the other ghost weirdly. He kept calling out the word “warren,” too, but what did a rabbit’s home even have to do with this whole mess?

To avoid it, Harry had to backtrack all the way to the fourth floor and take two secret passages, making it down to the dungeons just barely on time.

“Good, you are on time,” Professor Snape said once he spotted Harry, snapping his pocket watch shut. “Any questions before we go?”

“Do I take my wand?”

Professor Snape looked at him for a moment, considering.

“Keeping your wand on your person is a habit worth cultivating,” he said eventually. Then, after a slight hesitation: “Show me how you are storing it?”

Harry fumbled with the wand in his pocket, wanting to take it out quickly and only managing to accomplish the opposite.

Professor Snape had that pinched look on his face again.

“Here, hold it out in your right hand,” he said, demonstrating. Harry followed quickly. “Now say, ‘Brachio inhaero,’ and flip it inside your sleeve.”

Harry did as instructed, of course, but - “Won’t it fall out?”

“Try it.”

Dropping his arm, Harry was ready to catch the falling wand… but it didn’t fall. He shook his hand, going as far as to flap his whole arm wildly. His wand was still stuck in his sleeve.

“How do I get it out, then?”

“You simply...” Professor Snape flicked his wrist, his wand materializing instantly.

Harry copied the movement, happy to see his wand appear. With another flick, it was once again nestled snugly in his sleeve.

They left the Castle promptly, crossing the grounds to get to the gate. It was getting dark outside, almost sunset already. That was when Harry realized something.

“Are we going to take the train?” he asked. That’d take hours though! They wouldn’t make it back to London - or wherever it was they were going - until the middle of the night, and then there would still be part of the journey left…

“No,” Professor Snape said. “We’re going to Apparate as soon as we leave Hogwarts’s Anti-Apparition wards.”

Now, Harry could figure out that the wards were what prevented Apparition, but what Apparition was in the first place-

Professor Snape looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You may know it as teleportation.”

Ah. Wait, hang on, they were going to do WHAT-

“Hold on to my arm,” Professor Snape said as soon as they passed the front gate, and then Harry was being squeezed through a straw and then he wasn’t anymore.

Instead, Harry wanted very much to puke.

“I have a potion-” Professor Snape said, slight concern in his voice, but Harry waved it all off.

“I got it,” he said, because he’d pestered Neville until he’d taught him the spell that he’d used on Ron. Flipping his wrist, he raised his wand up to his stomach. “Latheirt leigheas!”

He instantly felt better. Oh, and his head felt lighter, too! Harry had had no idea that that would happen.

Professor Snape looked as if someone had stuffed him full of lemons when Harry wasn’t looking. Was he feeling nauseous, too?

“Where,” he wheezed out. “Where did you learn that spell?”

“Neville taught me,” Harry shared happily. “He said his gran uses it when she’s feeling under the weather in the mornings.”

Somehow, Professor Snape managed to smile violently. He looked kind of like a shark.

“Let us go,” he said, seemingly fighting to wipe that smile off. “We wouldn’t want to be late.”

Finally, Harry thought to take in his surroundings. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected - something more akin to Privet Drive, perhaps? - but this was definitely not it.

The houses, for one, were slightly bigger than the ones back in Surrey. Or at the very least, they seemed bigger, with all the balconies and window seats and other additions that would’ve made Aunt Petunia screech in frustration at their “imperfectness.”

The gardens seemed well-tended, if a little wild, even when covered with a thin layer of snow. Many of the houses had pergolas or wooden swings right there in their front yards.

Professor Snape did not pause to double check the houses. One moment, they were walking down the street and another they were already past the fence and strolling down the snow-covered path. Judging by the tracks, they hadn’t been the first ones to make that trek since it had snowed.

Harry was not anxious. He wasn’t! He was just standing on the doorstep of his mum’s childhood house. He was not dawdling or, or procrastinating, he was just gathering his thoughts-

But he was not the one who was supposed to ring the bell, regardless. And Professor Snape never did like tardiness.

The delicate chime sounded from inside of the house for a moment, there were then footsteps, and the door finally opened.

A man stood before them, dressed in casual old people clothes, his hair with just a hint of the same red that Harry had seen on his mum’s portrait.

“Ah, Severus!” he said with a smile. “It’s been a while! Please, come in!”

Professor Snape entered the house, briefly touching a small box fastened to the doorframe. Harry followed behind, not certain if he should touch it as well. Erring on the side of caution, he didn’t.

They removed their coats and shoes before continuing on their way further in.

The man - who may or may not have been Harry’s grandpa, he still wasn’t sure - led them towards the living room.

“Heather!” he called out. “We’ve got guests!”

Well, that confirmed it. An older woman - a perfect picture of a grandmother, if anyone were to ask Harry - emerged from what had to be the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Severus, how you’ve grown!” she called, throwing the towel over her shoulder. She then trapped Professor Snape in a hug, which he seemed almost content to reciprocate.

“Why haven’t you come over for a visit sooner, my boy?” The man - who had to have been Henry, there were no doubts now - sunk into an armchair, gesturing for them to take the sofa. “It’s been, what, well over a decade now!”

“I’ll get some tea,” Heather said - could Harry call her grandmother? - before disappearing into the kitchen once more.

“There had been some… unfortunate circumstances,” Professor Snape hedged carefully.

Did he mean the night Harry’s parents died? But why would that have prevented him from visiting?

Mrs Heather came back with a tray with more than just four teacups and a plate stacked high with fried round things. Putting it down on the table, she set the cups and plates before Professor Snape and Harry before turning to face them fully.

“Do try the sufganiyot, I filled them with strawberry jelly,” she said, noticing his straying gaze. Then, pinching Harry’s cheeks, she added, “And what might your name be, darling?”

It was a pretty nice sensation. Harry had no idea why Dudley hated it so much. Maybe Aunt Marge was simply very bad at grandmotherly cheek pinching?

“I’m Harry,” Harry offered, his words slightly muffled. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am, sir.”

“And so polite, too!” Mr Henry nodded appreciatively. “Now, where did he come from?”

“He’s Lily’s son,” Professor Snape said.

Harry’s maybe-grandparents responded with polite confusion.

“That name does sound familiar, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to refresh our memories,” Mrs Heather said, sounding rather apologetic. “A classmate of yours or Petunia’s?”

Professor Snape stared at her with open shock on his face, barely managing to get his teacup on the table before he could drop it.

Comprehension slowly replaced the shock.

“Oh, Lily,” he said, hiding his face in his hands. “What have you done?”

“My mum died when I was really small,” Harry said, seeing that Professor Snape wouldn’t. “My dad, too. Professor Snape is a teacher at my school.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Mrs Heather said, clasping Harry’s hands in hers. “May their memory be a blessing.”

Professor Snape laughed with a slightly hysterical tint to the sound.

Mrs Heather and Mr Henry looked at him with confusion, but before he could explain - and Harry would’ve liked an explanation, too - the doorbell rang again.

“That would be the rest of our guests!” Mr Henry said before making his way out of the room.

With Professor Snape rather indisposed at the moment, Harry turned to Mrs Heather.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked. “We wouldn’t want to impose…”

“It’s no trouble at all, dear!” Mrs Heather said, setting the three previously unused teacups in front of the other sofa. “It’s just our daughter, her wife, and our lovely granddaughter!”

“Oh,” Harry managed. He’d had no idea that he had another aunt - two, even! - and another cousin. Hopefully, they would be nicer than Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

But that information seemed to give Professor Snape a pause as well, snapping him out of his hiding.

He stood up and raised his head just as the three newcomers entered the room. Immediately, both on his face and the face of the tallest of the new guests, matching scowls appeared.

“Petunia,” Professor Snape said, and, wait, what? That wasn’t Aunt Petunia!

“Severus,” the… second Aunt Petunia said, matching the tone. Stuffing her hand into a pocket of her jacket, she took out an intact envelope, throwing it towards Professor Snape. “Finally! I’ve been trying to find you for years now!”

Professor Snape had to give up the scowl to make space for a look of utter bafflement as he stared at his name written on the top of the envelope.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use your… powers to make me deliver your mail and then not even have the decency to make yourself available!”

Harry was very confused.

“But… this is Lily’s handwriting.” Professor Snape, it seemed, was too.

“Hi, I’m Daisy,” Harry’s possible cousin said. She looked almost as big as Dudley, if only her hair being slightly longer. And, from the first impression alone, she was far nicer than Dudley ever bothered to be.

“I’m Harry,” he said, taking the offered hand. Professor Snape now turned his confused expression towards them both. For his benefit, Harry added, “And this isn’t my Aunt Petunia.”

Professor Snape blinked. Then, he tore open the envelope, scanning it quickly.

Then, he read it again, slower. Dropping the hand holding the letter, he used the other to cover his face once more, his shoulders shaking.

Harry used the opportunity to sneak a look at the letter. It was from his mum, he could be justified in being curious, couldn’t he?

But there were no words, just an empty sheet of paper.

Professor Snape noticed the look.

“It’s spelled to appear empty to everyone who isn't me,” he explained. “It’s a precaution that Lily was rather fond of.”

“Well, then?” Possibly-Aunt-Petunia asked, moving to go sit on the sofa, her wife and daughter following. “What was so important to have to make the letter materialize in every pocket of every garment I ever wore, despite my best efforts to lose it?”

Looking at Maybe-Aunt-Petunia consideringly, Professor Snape folded the letter, putting it back inside the envelope. Flicking his wand out, he vanished the letter.

“You know I am a wizard,” he began. “Lily was a witch. About a decade ago, a war began within the magical world. He Who Shall Not Be Named targeted Lily and her family among others, but her he pursued with extreme ferocity, due to an unfortunate prophecy. To keep her family safe, Lily used blood magic to alter the memories of all her blood-relatives.”

Well, that was a lot to unpack. What prophecy? And wasn’t blood magic illegal?

Professor Snape took a deep breath.

“That is why none of you recall that Lily was your sister, Petunia,” he said. Then, turning to face Mrs Heather and Mr Henry, he added, “She was your daughter.”

In the following silence, none of them seemed to suddenly gain any memories that would support that statement.

“Well, that is a prank in incredibly poor taste,” Maybe-Aunt-Petunia said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Petunia, we hated each other,” Professor Snape said. That explained a little bit. “We still do. Why would I ever be invited to your home if you were an only child?”

She didn’t look convinced. To be fair, if someone was to tell Harry that he had a secret sister that he didn’t remember because of magic, he wasn’t sure he would believe that either.

Turning to address Mrs Heather and Mr Henry, Professor Snape’s tone turned slightly pleading. “How many bedrooms do you have upstairs?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mr Henry asked, startled.

“Three,” Mrs Heather said softly. Harry thought she sounded as if she really wanted to believe what he was saying. “Ours, Petunia’s, and a guest bedroom.”

“And if we go up there right now, and I show you a fourth?” Professor Snape moved to the end of the table, standing to face them all. “If I show you a door with a hand-painted lily, a door that has always been there, merely charmed to evade your notice? A door leading to a bedroom left untouched for over a decade now, with pink curtains and green carpet, a bed covered in stuffed animals and a heart-shaped mirror?”

Mr Henry stood up.

“Show us, then,” he said.

With a nod, Professor Snape turned around, his robes billowing. He led the small procession up the stairs; Mrs Heather, Mr Henry, and Maybe-Aunt-Petunia immediately after him. Her wife Veronica brought up the rear, their daughter Daisy and Harry trailing along.

They made their way up to the first floor landing, and even knowing that Professor Snape had to be right, Harry had a moment of doubt upon seeing only three doors.

But Professor Snape did not hesitate. With his eyes closed, he moved blindly towards the left side of the wall. Passing by a door with petunias painted on it, his hand outstretched, he grasped at something that wasn’t there.

But instead of falling through, his hand pressed down on an invisible handle, and the wall opened like a door, revealing what was clearly a teenager’s room behind it.

Only then did Professor Snape open his eyes, just in time to see golden ripples breaking the last of the spell.

“Mister Stripes!” Maybe-Aunt-Petunia exclaimed, running into the room to grab a stuffed tiger off the bed. Clutching it tightly, tears appeared in her eyes. “I thought I’d lost him…”

Mr Henry looked around the room, a dubious expression still firm on his face.

“So either this is the longest prank ever, or you’re actually telling the truth.”

“There is a way to find out,” Severus offered. “Lily enclosed instructions for breaking the memory spell. That’s what the letter was for.”

Making up her mind, Mrs Heather nodded. “Whatever it is, I want you to do it.”

“Then it’s best that we move back to the living room.”

Once they were all seated, Professor Snape kneeled in front of Mrs Heather’s armchair.

“I will need to draw blood,” he warned her.

She just nodded.

Murmuring a spell, Professor Snape seemed to create a small cut at the tip of Mrs Heather’s finger. Harry was guessing that it was the same spell the teachers had used when confirming their identities back at Gringotts.

Then, Professor Snape muttered some more. It sounded more like a chant, really, or a really slow song.

Starting from the droplet of blood, golden sparks spread across Mrs Heather’s skin. She blinked a few times while Professor Snape quickly healed the scratch.

Mrs Heather stood up, moving to smother Harry into a hug.

“Oh, Ari,” she said, sounding at the brink of tears. “Our darling little lion!”

Bewildered, Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How do you know I’m a Gryffindor?”

“Lily was a Gryffindor too, wasn’t she?” Mrs Heather now held him at arms’ length, her smile a little wobbly as she took him all in. “Our brave little girl.”

“Ari was the name that Lily had always wanted to give her child,” Maybe-Aunt-Petunia offered, a wistful smile on her face. Professor Snape was now kneeling before Mr Henry - he sure worked fast! “And it means ‘lion’ in Hebrew.”

“Spelled A-R-I,” Professor Snape said, standing up and drawing his own blood. “Now that I think about it… Both she and Potter used that name for you in their wills. I wonder when it changed.”

Harry blinked. His name was… not what he’d thought it was?

Well, that would be fun to explain to everyone.

“You do not need to change your name.” Finished, Professor Snape flicked away his wand. “You did spend your entire life certain that you were named Harry.”

“No, I spent half of it convinced that my name was Boy or Freak.” The correction escaped Harry’s mouth before he could stop it. Ah, well. It was out now. At least Maybe (Definitely) Aunt Petunia looked rather horrified at the notion. “Ari’s the name my mum picked for me. I want to use it.”

“It is common to only use our Hebrew names for special occasions while having another for everyday use,” Mrs Heather said. “Would you like to do that?”

“Yes!”

“Very well.” Professor Snape nodded. “You may tell your friends, and we’ll explore the official options at a later date. I would ask you to keep the existence of the… Original Petunia to yourself for now.”

Harry nodded his agreement, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why it had to be kept a secret.

“Ah! Would you look at the time!” Mrs Heather said, looking at the enormous grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s nearly sunset already! You are staying for the Hanukkah dinner, yes?”

“I-” Professor Snape started, only to be interrupted by Mr Henry throwing his hands on the teacher’s shoulders.

“Of course they will!” he said. “Otherwise, what would’ve been the point of bringing our family together just to whisk our son and grandson away at the last moment?”

Harry could have sworn that Professor Snape had tears in his eyes. But that was impossible… It must’ve been just a trick of the light, right?”

“Come, Daisy, let’s show Ari how to light the menorah candles!” Mrs Heather said, beckoning them towards the table in front of the window.

“I can show you how to play dreidel later, too!” Daisy offered, finishing her sufganiyot before she made her way over. “It’s really fun!”

Harry - Ari - could definitely get used to having a new family if this was his family.

Chanukah, as Harry soon learned, lasted for eight nights. It was a holiday created in remembrance of the Maccabees taking back their Temple from the Greeks, and using a single-day supply of oil to keep their candles burning for eight days in a row.

During those days, Harry’s schedule was rather different from the usual.

In the mornings, just after breakfast, Harry would try (and usually succeeded!) to convince the food-piled Ron to do some of their homework.

After that, they had a few hours to relax. If Ron needed cheering up, Harry would let him trounce him at chess once or twice, but usually, they used that time to go outside.

Aunt Petunia- or, well, whoever she was, he wasn’t quite sure, and Professor Snape hadn’t said a word on the topic yet… Well, the Fake Aunt Petunia would have never let Harry build a snowman or play with snowballs beyond being Dudley’s target, even if he’d had any inclination to stay outside in his threadbare clothes at all.

Now though, with a proper winter cloak, gloves, and warming charms, he was fully intent on taking advantage of the thick layer of snow.

Others seemed to have very much the same idea. On Friday, for example, Fred and George charmed a small pile of snow to follow Professor Quirrell around. The pile constantly formed new snowballs which then hit Professor Quirrell’s turban hard enough to fall apart, the singular snowflakes returning back to the loose pile. This created, in theory, an infinite cycle.

In practice, Professor Quirrell tolerated about half a dozen hits before storming over and hexing the twins with their own personal storm clouds which followed them everywhere and rained multi-coloured snow, vanishing from the ground as soon as they were no longer near it.

Harry was almost certain that it was revenge for the cloud of glitter he’d witnessed during the detentions last month.

Judging by the teachers’ reactions when Fred and George entered the Great Hall for lunch that day, Harry guessed that Professor Quirrell wasn’t the only one to receive essays charmed in such a way.

After lunch, which Harry usually finished early, he would have a couple hours before Professor Snape would expect him at the entrance to the Castle. They’d make their way past the wards and teleport over to Cokeworth to spend the evening at the Evanses’ house.

He’d eat a lot of fried food, like the sufganiyot or latkes (which were small potato pancakes you had with applesauce or sour cream), because Chanukah. Ever since Daisy had taught him how to play with the dreidels (which they then painted themselves on the second day) they’d spend most of the time before dinner on the game.

Usually they’d use the chocolate coins that Bubbie and Zayde - as Mrs Heather and Mr Henry had insisted that he called them - gave them to bet with, but if they ran out, they weren’t above bartering for the use of whichever cookies they’d helped make most recently.

Daisy had argued hard for setting the exchange rate to two coins for a rugelach (a crescent-shaped pastry usually containing a filling of raisins or walnuts, for example), which Harry was entirely unopposed to, considering that he’d stuffed half a dozen of those in his pockets when nobody was looking.

His pockets were a bit sticky afterwards, but he still thought it was worth it.

They’d also watched the Hanukkah episode of Rugrats - three times now, at Daisy’s insistence. Harry did not mind at all.

Usually, they would return to the Castle shortly after dinner ended, to avoid as much notice from Dumbledore as they could, but today…

It was the last day of Hanukkah already. Harry knew he could visit even without the excuse of a holiday… but he was still loath to leave.

So when Professor Snape set his empty teacup on the table and stood up, Harry pointedly started on another cupcake.

But Professor Snape didn’t seem to want to leave either. Instead, with a quick look at Harry's grandparents, who just nodded motivatingly, he took something out of his pocket.

With a swish of a wand and some quick words, things flew to the wall, growing rapidly, and, oh-

The portraits.

Still asleep, but those were undeniably his mother and father.

“Professor Flitwick found the proper charms for neutralizing the magical backlash,” Professor Snape said. “You can wake them up safely now.”

Harry raised his hand slowly, surprised to see that it was shaking.

This would be the first chance he’d have to speak to his parents. What if they found him disappointing?

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Aunt Petunia nodded at him, a silent encouragement. Behind her, Harry’s grandparents, cousin, and other aunt watched him patiently.

That’s all he needed.

He touched his mother’s portrait first.

The magic glowed within the frame, creating elaborate patterns. It grew warmer under his touch, but he refused to let it go.

Aunt Petunia’s hand joined his on the other side of the portrait.

His mother’s peaceful expression disappeared, her brows scrunching.

Stretching, her eyes still closed, she yawned. The magic condensated, creating a low hum.

With a tiny explosion, contained by Professor Flitwick’s protective spellwork, the glow died down.

Lily Evans Potter opened her eyes.

“Hello,” she said, looking between Harry and the real Aunt Petunia.

Then, taking in the rest of the people in the room, her eyes widened.

"Oh, no." She sighed. "It's no longer 1981, is it?"

"It's 1991," Aunt Petunia offered, looking rather sad, but also a bit angry. "And until about a week ago, I didn't remember that I had a sister."

Lily - his mum, and how unbelievable that still was - dragged a hand down her face.

"It was an extra security measure I had been planning, but I hadn't expected that the situation would get bad enough to require it," Lily said, sounding rather tired. "This portrait was painted in March - I don't actually know anything that happened afterwards."

Harry's family seemed to have just realized that none of them knew when Lily had died. As they hadn’t known that she’d existed, they weren't notified, and they hadn't attended the funeral…

Everyone turned to look at Professor Snape, but it was Harry who spoke.

"You-Know-Who attacked on Halloween that year," he said. "You and Dad died, and I was sent off to live with a fake Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley."

"Vernon?" Aunt Veronica repeated, sounding amused. "Wonder where that came from - I've changed my name a fair bit, but that's one I've never used."

"’Fake Aunt Petunia?’" Harry's mum focused on, shocked. "Oh- of course. Dumbledore."

"That was my suspicion as well," Professor Snape said. "But why do you believe so?"

"Severus?" Lily craned her neck to the side. Professor Snape, obligingly, stepped into her field of vision. "Oh, I'm glad to see you've survived! I was so worried when Dumbledore said you've been spying for him."

Professor Snape swallowed audibly, opening his mouth.

"I believe it was Dumbledore, because he had been asking me for Petunia's whereabouts for quite a while." Lily interrupted before he could make a single sound. “I never told him, but it was one of the reasons why I researched the blood-bound memory spell.”

“So you thought it’d be better for us to forget you ever existed?” Bubbie asked, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Mummy.” Lily sighed. “But if it was something that was necessary to keep you safe? I’d have done it without hesitation.”

“I suspect,” Professor Snape said, looking lost in thought, “when you suddenly forgot about the existence of your sister, it made you susceptible to memory charms, making Dumbledore’s deception even simpler.”

“I wouldn’t have forgotten.” She shook her head, her auburn hair flying. “The ritual-”

“Your letter said it had been a joint charmwork and potion, and you had to ingest it for it to affect everyone whom you shared blood with,” Professor Snape said. “It tried to affect me, too, but the blood oath wasn’t enough for the full effect. You would have been affected.”

“Oh.” Lily blinked.

“So you’re saying that that Dumbledore fellow made Lily think that that other Petunia was her sister?” Aunt Petunia asked, still staring at Harry’s mum as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “But where did he get her from? And her family?”

Harry looked over at Professor Snape, also interested in the answer.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Actors? Charmed Muggles? Animated dolls? It could be anything. But if they behaved back then the same way they do now, and Lily tried to keep in contact... that could explain the caveat in her will.”

“Well, whoever they are, Ari’s not going back there,” Zayde declared. “Not ever.”

“Ari?” Lily said, looking at Harry carefully. “Oh- I’m so sorry, baby, you’ve grown up so much… It’s so nice to see you, darling!”

“Hi, Mum.” Harry smiled sadly. “It’s nice to see you, too. I never thought I’d get to meet you… Or Dad.”

“Well, now you’ll always be able to talk to us.” Lily beamed at him. “Speaking of James, where is he? I can’t access his portrait.”

Harry pointed to her right, but being a portrait, she couldn’t see that wall.

“We didn’t wake him yet,” Harry said.

“Let’s do it!” His mum clasped her hands together. “I’m sure he’d love to speak with you, too!”

Obligingly, Harry stepped to the side, pressing his hand to the other frame.

It lit up just as the first one had, glowing sigils appearing on the wood. It grew warmer and warmer, but his father refused to wake.

“It needs two people,” Lily said. “Severus-”

Professor Snape flinched. He clenched his fists, still for a moment. In the end, he walked over to the portrait, barely touching its other side with his fingertips.

The figure - looking almost exactly as Harry would in the future - stirred. The magic intensified, before dispersing with a loud pop.

James Potter stretched his arms, yawning loudly.

“Finally,” he said, opening his eyes. Then, his gaze landing on Harry, he added, “Hello there, son. You’re quite a bit older than I expected.”

“It’s been a decade now since your death, thanks to your atrocious choice of a Secret Keeper,” Professor Snape sneered, and Harry was rather blown away by the venom in his voice.

James sighed, turning to look at him. “Sni- Snape. I suppose I deserved that, if we ended up dead. To be fair though, between the two of them, Peter had the better track record for keeping secrets.”

Harry could just see his mum rolling her eyes and hiding her face in her hands.

“Lupin!” Professor Snape exploded. “There was Lupin, you imbecile! He’s kept a secret for literal decades, and werewolves are naturally impervious to Legilimency!”

Harry’s dad looked rather taken aback.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said.

Lily appeared in James’s frame, throwing her hands around his shoulders.

“Ten years is a long time, Jamie,” she said.

“Especially for those who spend them in Azkaban.” Professor Snape snorted.

Harry’s parents turned their heads in unison, staring at the man in mute horror.

“Not me!” Professor Snape raised his hands. “I was only there for two weeks or so. Black, however, was locked up until just a few months ago.”

James took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt absently. Lily raised a hand up to her mouth, choking back tears.

“Please,” Harry’s dad said, placing the glasses back on his face. “Bring us up to speed.”

Chapter Text

The days between the last day of Hanukkah and Christmas Day passed quietly, and soon it was the Thursday before Christmas: Christmas Eve. Harry didn’t mind; he had a lot to think about. With his afternoon free - even if he did miss his newfound family - and his mind seeking distraction, Harry managed to finish all of his remaining homework, for the most part, at least.

The next morning, there was a pile of gifts waiting at the foot of his bed.

“It’s Christmas!” Ron exclaimed happily, jumping at his own pile. Then, finding the box of Celebrations sweets that Harry had given him, he added, “Thanks mate! Open the big one first, that’s from us!”

Harry was happy to oblige, removing the wrapping to reveal an emerald green sweater and a box of fudge. Looking back at Ron, the boy was already wearing his, even if he didn’t look too happy about the maroon colour.

“It clashes with my hair,” Ron mumbled before turning his full attention to his other presents.

With just the two of them in the dorms, Harry was fine with staying in his pyjamas and the sweater for now. Settling down, he looked through the rest of his pile curiously.

The fake Dursleys had sent him something, which was a surprise. Right until Harry realized that it was a fifty-pence coin and a letter full of insults. That felt much more in-character. He used the spell he had been practicing for Charms, Incendio, to get rid of the letter. The coin went into his purse.

From Hagrid, he’d received a wooden flute. Harry, thanks to Professor Snape bringing him to a Muggle mall during one of the days of Chanukah, had gifted Hagrid with an encyclopedia of (non-magical) animals. He hoped the man enjoyed it.

To Draco and Neville, Harry had sent out boxes of Celebrations as well. To Hermione, who was Muggle-born, he had given an assortment of magical sweets.

In return, Draco had sent him a fancy quill, from Neville a seedling of something that looked like the Devil’s Snare - but Neville’s letter assured that it was merely a camouflaging technique - while Hermione had given him some Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavour Beans.

There were two more packages left once he was done with the others - one big and lumpy, the other small and flat - which made Harry rather nervous. He hadn’t given anything to anyone else!

The bigger package felt soft. If Harry was to guess, he’d say it was a cloth of some sort...

Ripping the paper open, something soft slid between his fingers, landing on his lap. Only now, he couldn’t see part of his legs.

“Oh!” Ron said, suddenly paying attention. “It’s an invisibility cloak! Those are rare!”

Looking between Ron and the cloak, Harry frowned. He was perfectly fine with accepting its existence - he was living in a magical castle, after all - but who could have possibly given him such a gift?

Rummaging around the wrapping paper, he searched for any notes. There was only a single scrap of parchment, hidden in a nook of it.

“Your father left this in my possession,” it said. “It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.”

Ron was still chattering about the cloak, but Harry wasn’t listening, too engrossed in the mystery.

The doors to their dorm swung open, allowing the Weasley Twins through them. Harry, reversing to his base instincts in panic, pushed the cloak and the remaining gift under his pillow.

“Happy Christmas!” they yelled at the tops of their lungs. “Oh, look, Harry’s got a sweater too!”

“Only yours doesn’t have a letter on it,” George commented, bouncing closer. “Lovely-jobely, Ronniekins, you’re already wearing yours!”

“Yeah, mum probably thinks that Harry can remember his name.” Fred stayed by the open doors, positioning himself just behind them, invisible to whoever would enter next. “We’re not stupid, we know our names are Gred and Forge.”

Another ginger head appeared in the doorway, a sweater hanging off his arm.

“What’s all this noise?” Percy asked, tensing the second he spotted George, but it was already too late.

Fred pounced at him from behind, grabbing his arms. George, moving over in a flash, stuffed the jumper over Percy’s head, knocking his glasses askew.

It did explain why Ron had voluntarily put on his.

The twins then took over their day, cramming in truly incredible amounts of family bonding. Harry joined in because Ron was the only one of his friends who had stayed behind, but he started to get the feeling that he might have been turning into an honorary Weasley.

At least, the jumper strongly suggested it.

By the time it was time for the Christmas dinner, Harry was positively ravenous. And what a feast it was! It seemed like whoever was in charge of the cooking really wanted to make an impression.

There must have been at least a hundred turkeys, along with various salads and other side dishes. Harry honestly had no idea what to start with, everything looked so delicious.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the sweets! There were even magical Christmas crackers, stuffed with objects which logically shouldn’t have been able to fit inside them.

Harry got extra toys from those: his very own magical chess set, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, a pirate hat, and some glowing balloons. He was rather happy with those. It was a nice feeling to have toys.

Others seemed to enjoy the crackers as well. The Twins made use of their Face-Painting-Crayons almost immediately, drawing on their own faces first. Then, once they ran out of space, they moved on to the closest students.

Percy was their first victim, to his dismay.

Even the teachers had fun - Professor Dumbledore, for example, exchanged his pointy hat for a flowery bonnet immediately. He kept looking at Harry too, but he had no idea why. Maybe it was some sort of Cracker-Hat Solidarity attempt.

Without a doubt, it had been Harry’s best Christmas. Not that there was much competition - every other Christmas he had spent locked inside his cupboard, trying to ignore the smells wafting in from the kitchen.

Still, as spectacular as it was, it still couldn’t beat the Hanukkah he’d experienced, if only because that holiday had brought him his entire family.

After dinner, Harry broke in his chess set by getting thoroughly trounced by Ron - he was going to win one day, even if he was sixty by that time. That, coupled with the delightful dinner, was enough to make Ron fall asleep within moments.

Harry, however much he wanted to, couldn’t follow that example.

Lying in bed, his eyes wide open, he let his thoughts wander. There was something nagging at him, something he was forgetting…

A lump under his pillow nudged his memory in the correct direction - the invisibility cloak!

The note said it had belonged to his father; he hadn’t talked to his dad’s portrait long enough to break into stories, but he would be sure to ask the next time he saw them.

Holding onto the fabric, Harry felt very tempted to put it on. The whole castle would be at his fingertips, and no one would ever know!

There wasn’t anything he terribly wanted to do, nowhere he really needed to go… but he still wanted to use the cloak.

He needed to use the cloak.

Slipping out of bed, he trudged towards the doors, turning giddy as he noticed his lack of reflection in the mirror.

The portrait of the Fat Lady startled a little when she couldn’t see who’d opened the entrance, but Harry didn’t worry about that.

Wandering the halls, he let his thoughts wander. He barely remembered which corridors he took, but he knew he had to keep going.

His feet slapping the cold stone with a soft flap-flap-flap, he regretted not putting on his socks.

Passing the library, Harry was curious to see a door hanging ajar; usually, no one seemed to use the classrooms in that area. Why would this one be open?

Pushing the door open wider, he entered the classroom.

There were no tables inside, nor any chairs. What had to be the teacher’s desk was covered in a white sheet, and the floor, while not dusty, did not look to be walked on often.

One thing did not fit: a giant mirror, with an engraved stone frame. “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” it said.

Harry had no clue what it could mean.

Stepping closer, he stopped right in front of the mirror, startling badly enough to yelp. There were people...!

Turning around quickly, he saw no one. But he could see himself too, and he was invisible - maybe the others were wearing cloaks also?

He turned back to the mirror to try and find the closest person to grab. But with a closer look, he could recognize the closest pair. After talking to their portraits, there was no doubt - those were his parents.

Was this mirror showing him ghosts? But then why was it showing himself, too? His Bubbie and Zayde, his aunt, her wife and Daisy… And to the other side, there was Ron, Hermione, Draco, Neville, the rest of the Weasleys, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick… All of them looked rather happy to be there.

They couldn’t have all died in the past few hours!

The door hinges squeaked, and Harry flinched, happy he hadn’t removed his cloak.

With a light at the end of his wand, Professor Quirrell entered the room. Maybe it was the darkness, or the flickering shadows, but if it wasn’t for the turban, Harry wouldn’t have been able to recognize him.

Sweeping the room with a disinterested look, Professor Quirrell dropped his wand.

Harry didn’t dare breathe any easier. In fact, he was trying his utmost best to not breathe at all.

“I know you’re in here,” Professor Quirrell said, sounding almost bored.

A guilty expression on his face, Harry moved the cloak off his head.

“Mister Potter. Why am I not surprised.”

Wincing, Harry hunched his shoulders.

“At least this time you didn’t bring your entire motley crew with you.”

“Hermione, Neville, and Draco went home for the winter holidays,” Harry informed the teacher, before realizing that that wasn’t helping him.

Professor Quirrell didn’t even have to say anything, he just raised an eyebrow.

The teacher’s attention shifted to the rest of his body - or rather, the lack of it. Tilting his head, he squinted.

“You must be careful with this,” he said eventually. “Many would stop at nothing to gain such an artifact. It is best to keep its existence secret.”

Harry nodded dutifully, trying his best not to look as if he’d thought that one could get a cloak like that from a shop on Diagon Alley. Ron had said that they were rare, but Harry had figured he had meant that wizards preferred to use a charm, not that there was a scarcity of the cloaks themselves.

“Now,” Professor Quirrell said, moving over to the desk and removing the sheet off of it. “In the last month or so, you have managed to stumble upon the two most dangerous rooms currently within the castle, which is as impressive as it is worrying.”

He was now dragging the sheet over to the mirror, his intent clear. Something in Harry didn’t want to let him do that.

“Why is this dangerous?” he asked, looking at the mirror again. “It’s just a funny mirror.”

“This, Mister Potter, is the Mirror of Erised.” Professor Quirrell stilled, now in his Teacher Mode. “Read the inscription, as if you would read it reflected in a mirror.”

“‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire,’” Harry read slowly. “Oh.”

“Can you see why it’s dangerous?”

Harry could guess. Especially since he’d had a hard time looking away from it already. “If it shows you exactly what you want, you’d never want to stop looking.”

“Correct.” Professor Quirrell nodded. “It’d drag you in and convince you that there was nothing more important until you were too weak to escape.”

Harry pushed his head down, looking at his feet. “What do you see, sir?”

Professor Quirrell paused, the sheet halfway up. He took a single glance at the surface of the mirror - only then did Harry notice how carefully he had been avoiding doing so before.

He dropped the sheet in shock.

“I see myself,” he said, in a weird tone of voice. “Right here, right now.”

“So the desires it shows can come true?” Harry asked. That was very good news.

Professor Quirrell shook his head, grabbing the sheet again and throwing it over the mirror. He slashed his wand at it and then flicked it over the corners. The sheet stuck as if glued.

Grabbing Harry by the shoulder - well, arm, but it was close enough for trying to grab something that was invisible - the teacher led him out of the classroom, casting some more spells on the doors for good measure.

“I shall be having a talk with Professor Dumbledore about removing the mirror,” he said, focused far more on the classroom than on Harry. “I’m willing to overlook your presence here tonight, if you promise never to seek it out again.”

“I promise!”

A second passed.

Professor Quirrell finally turned his head, giving Harry a pointed look.

With a start, Harry slipped the cloak back over his head, flap-flap-flapping away. With a murmur from Professor Quirrell, his feet, now pleasantly warm, weren’t making any more noise.

***

Harry took Professor Quirrell’s advice to heart - the next morning, he brought the cloak to show to Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick, all gathered at his request.

Professor Snape had a peculiar, pained expression on his face when Harry revealed the invisibility cloak. Professor Flitwick seemed very interested in the spellwork that had created it. Professor McGonagall took one look at it, then at Professor Snape’s face, and started cackling.

Chapter Text

Ever since his third year - and consequent expulsion - Hagrid preferred to spend New Year’s Eve at the Hog’s Head.

Even when he hadn’t been allowed to drink, it had always been a good place to contemplate how his life had gone wrong, while somehow ending up exactly right.

He’d never finished his education - the education he wouldn’t have gotten had his father not lied, and what food for thought that was - and yet he’d ended up a groundskeeper at Hogwarts.

The most prestigious school in Britain - on the account of it being the only one - with some of the most exquisite magical creatures in the entire world. They had the only remaining herds of Unicorns and Thestrals in Europe, the Asian Acromantulas he raised himself could only be found in three other countries, and their Giant Squid was truly one of a kind.

Hagrid couldn’t have found a more ideal place to dwell if he’d tried.

It meant he did owe Dumbledore, but still. He’d paid off most of that debt in the First Wizarding War, anyway, as far as he was concerned.

Dumbledore hadn’t wasted any time in having him talk with the other giants who rather disliked him for the opposite reason that the wizarding world did, as they were the ones who had been courted by Riddle, to be exact; and what a prick that one had grown up to be.

Not that he hadn’t been a prick from the start - he had been two years older than Hagrid himself, technically a prefect, but god forbid he actually helped anyone. He had been good at looking perfect for the teachers and other important students, but that was about all he’d excelled at.

Except for schoolwork, of course, the arse wouldn’t get less than an O grade on anything. Hagrid, along with half the school, had suspected that he’d been cheating, at least in some subjects, but no one had ever managed to prove it.

And now he was dead, and had been for a decade already. Only, Dumbledore never acted like he was. And now, with poor Harry in his first year, Dumbledore was starting to play dangerous games, and Hagrid didn't like that one bit.

The kids hadn't gotten hurt by Fluffy - he would've been ordered to do something unpleasant with the Cerberus otherwise. Last he’d heard they’d been given a few weeks of detentions, so they couldn't have messed up too badly.

Still, the fact that the Cerberus - and the Devil's Snare, and the Troll, and whatever else Dumbledore had come up with - was inside the school in the first place was worrying.

It wasn't a healthy habitat! Well, and children could get hurt, of course, but the doors were meant to be locked.

Why they hadn't been when Harry and his merry bunch had stumbled through was a mystery with "A.P.W.B.D." etched onto it.

Hagrid raised his mug of mead, taking a long sip. He was instantly glad of it too, as the table then wobbled violently, knocked into by a clearly already-drunk stranger.

Their hood was up and they had extra-deep shadows that had been applied with magic on their face, to make certain that no one could recognize them. There was no surer way to spot a semi-competent newbie to the less sightly activities.

"Wanna play cards?" the stranger slurred, taking a big gulp of whatever was in their cup.

With how they panted afterwards, Hagrid was willing to bet that it was Firewhiskey.

"Sure." He shrugged. This person would likely fall over any minute now, no reason not to indulge them.

Taking a tarot deck out of their robes, the stranger managed to spill half of them on the floor. They bent over to gather them up, spilling half of their drink all over themself, but it didn't seem to matter.

Somehow, they managed to shuffle the cards without dropping any, and dealt them out, although Hagrid wasn't sure what they were meant to be playing with half a deck each.

The stranger slapped a card down. Hagrid, following suit, did so as well.

"Ugh," the stranger groaned, pushing the cards towards Hagrid. "A Queen of Wands to a Fool? Cruel."

They played for a while, way longer than Hagrid had expected the bizarre person to last. Hagrid's stack was growing quickly - he suspected that the stranger had messed up the shuffling rather badly. Still, he wasn't complaining. It was quite enjoyable to witness the constant grumbling.

The stranger also kept drinking, their cup somehow never emptying. Clever bit of charmwork, that; Hagrid wondered if Aberforth knew about it.

Probably not. If he did, the stranger would already be out in the mud, likely acting as a chew-toy for the goats.

The game ended by natural means when the stranger ran out of cards. For some unconceivable reason, it made them cry.

Well, first it made them sniff, and by the time Hagrid straightened the stack, because one does not keep a tarot deck messy, and handed it to them - which was not a long time at all! - they were actively bawling.

"I'm so sorry," they cried out, yet barely audible over the yells of everyone else in the pub. "I'm so terribly sorry you got expelled!"

Hagrid paused, cautious. It wasn't exactly a secret, but having happened half a century ago, there weren't many people who knew about it.

Had he been drunk enough to start muttering under his breath and hadn't even noticed?

"It's not yer fault," he settled on saying.

"But it waaaaas!"

It couldn't be.

Could it? Hagrid might have had his doubts, but he was supposed to be dead…

The stranger threw off their hood, revealing a familiar turban.

Quirrell's turban. That was… unexpected?

"I didn't mean to have the Basilisk kill anyone!" Quirrell moaned. But Quirinus Quirrell was too young, he hadn't been in school at that time… He likely hadn’t even been born back then! "Myrtle Warren just came in at the wrong time, and I was trying to help! My journal, I was looking for help, but it didn't work... Years of research lost with that spell..."

The man raised his head, staring Hagrid straight in the eye. His eyes - his entire face, really - were red and puffy, and the turban covered up all of his hair, but Hagrid had no doubts: it was the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"And then they were going to close the school!" Riddle continued, as if he hadn't just given Hagrid the worst surprise of his life, even including the news of his expulsion. "I was planning to tell them about Aragog, it was time to move him outside anyway, but someone-! Some dumb bloody-"

Hagrid could just stare as Riddle broke off into angry muttering.

He already knew that Riddle had ignored the presence of his Acromantulas - a prime example of his non-prefecting. Since Hagrid had been raising them in an abandoned classroom, out of reach from most of the other students, Riddle had decided that he didn't care about them - but there was another problem.

"I got expelled for raising werewolf cubs under my bed," he informed the supposed Riddle.

"I know!" Riddle exploded. "The dumbest, most unimaginative… There are no werewolf cubs! The wizarding world is so prejudiced against them, you could tell them anything and they would swallow it, be afraid, and write three books on the topic! It was so easy to manipulate them!"

There was one thing that he and Riddle could agree on, then. He’d graciously ignore the blatant admission to propaganda - it wasn’t like that was news, anyway.

Well, there was also the fact that Hagrid was a half-blood. If, for example, a pureblood had fancied to do the same, he'd have gotten detention at most. But because Hagrid was who he was, they hadn’t even investigated before snapping his wand. Just patted each other on the back for a job well done.

“That’s a lot more emotional than you usually presented yerself, Riddle,” Hagrid said, side-eyeing the man. But if he had noticed the use of his name, he didn’t react to it.

“Ever since I merged with Quirrell I’ve kept feeling things! These pesky, pesky-”

“Feelings?”

“Yes!”

Well, this was likely more than Riddle would have revealed had he not been off-his-shit drunk.

The somewhat comforting bit was that Quirrell was the one whom Dumbledore had hired. It would have been rather frustrating to learn that the man had been duped by Riddle once again.

The way less comforting bit was the realization that Quirrell was no longer present. Riddle lacked a body. Quirrell lacked a personality. Hagrid could guess what that merging had meant.

And the most informative revelation: Riddle was now capable of feeling emotions. Wonder how that was working out for him.

Well, judging by the way he was now sobbing with his face flat on the table… But then again, it might have been being exacerbated by the alcohol. Maybe the Riddle from the 1940s would have acted the same way while inebriated.

“If it weren’t ya who snitched,” Hagrid started, “then what did they give ya a plaque for?”

Riddle raised his head, his eyes squinted so hard his entire forehead wrinkled.

“They gave me a what?”

“A golden plaque. For special services to the school. Made a bunch of purebloods super jealous, it did.”

Riddle blinked, before breaking into a fit of angry hissing.

Hagrid sipped at his mead.

It always had been entertaining, needling Riddle until his aristocratic pretense fell off. Not many could do that without later retaliation - in fact, Hagrid had been about the only one. Considering how infuriating Riddle had been on a daily basis, Hagrid had always made a pretty penny on that.

Only now, Riddle seemed to be far more prone to crying, and that wasn’t as much fun.

“Five years of research!” he was moaning. “So much spellwork has gone into that notebook, and then one accident, and poof! It was all gone! If only Myrtle Warren hadn’t died that day, it would have all been different-”

With a hiccup, he gasped heavily, clutching at his heart.

“Ya gettin’ a heart attack or sumthin’, Riddle?”

“I feel-” Riddle broke off to spill a pearl of a giggle. “I feel like someone trampled on my grave!”

“Ya didn’t get a grave,” Hagrid pointed out. “The world collectively decided ya didn’t deserve one.”

“I didn’t!” Aaaand he was crying again. “I don’t! I’ve done so many awful things, and for what? I’ve never even gotten close to what I wanted! But I can still make it!”

Hagrid lowered his cup in alarm as Riddle started rummaging around in his pockets.

“Here,” he said once he straightened up, pushing an egg into Hagrid’s hands. “Here! I can start with you! You’ve always wanted one of these, haven’t you?”

“Wow.” Hagrid was at a loss for words. Nestling the egg carefully in his hands, he tried not to crush it. Even a dragon’s egg wouldn’t survive that. “Great.”

And it was a dragon’s egg. A Norwegian Ridgeback, if he recognized the pattern correctly.

A Five-X creature deemed illegal to own. If he was caught with the egg, or, god forbid, let it hatch, he could be sent to Azkaban in an instant.

“You don’t like it?” Riddle asked, his face looking like a child’s who had been told there was no puppy waiting for them.

Hagrid honestly had no idea how to proceed.

Thankfully, he was saved from doing so by the Firewhiskey finally catching up to Riddle, dropping him unconscious to the table.

Had he only done that an hour ago, saving Hagrid all that trouble.

Putting away the egg in the one pocket of his coat that he had specially reinforced to carry delicates, he finished his mead, stood from the table-

And sighed.

Riddle or no Riddle, that man was currently the DADA Professor. Unconscious, he’d be an easy target to anyone looking for a fun way to start their year.

And with Hogwarts’s current reputation in the matter of Defence teachers, there wouldn’t be anyone willing to take over for just a single semester. Especially not if the previous teacher had disappeared in even more mysterious circumstances than was the norm.

Besides, Riddle had already gotten through half the year without raising any red flags. Even if he managed to finish the second term, the curse was sure to take him out.

Not to mention, if Hagrid went to Dumbledore with that bit of info, the Headmaster would doubtlessly incorporate it into whatever game he was playing with Harry.

Better to just let the curse do its work.

Throwing Riddle over his shoulder with another sigh, Hagrid made his way out of the pub.

He’d just Floo the man’s quarters and toss him through, whatever.

This might just be the worst start of a year he’d had yet.

But… If Hagrid was right about what had happened, it may still turn out for the best, in the way most of his life did.

Now, he might have been expelled at thirteen, but he was still a Slytherin. He knew how to plot when it was necessary.

Chapter Text

Harry, as promised, was buried in letters by the end of the Winter Break. Most of them were just simple notes, telling him of what his friends were up to.

Hermione’s letters included summaries of the new book she’d read, and, when Harry asked nicely, explanations for the bits of their homework he’d had trouble understanding. She seemed happy that he’d had it practically finished already.

Neville got some new plants for the holidays, one of which was a Devil’s Snare copycat. He’d be taking a couple back to the dorms, eager to share them with Professor Sprout.

Draco’s longest letter was full of complaining about his father not buying him a Nimbus 2000. Harry wrote him back, saying that if they had such different brooms, how would they know which one of them was objectively better at being a Seeker?

Somehow, that had worked, and the rest of his letters contained no more complaints.

The train returned on January 2nd, allowing the students the rest of that Saturday and the entire Sunday to acclimate again, before being thrown straight back into schoolwork.

Harry didn’t mind - it gave them all the time to catch up properly. And with most everyone out on the grounds and playing in the snow, they could invite Draco into their common room again.

It was warmer than in the library, not to mention that the armchairs were far more comfortable.

Also, Draco had gotten a whole new set of Exploding Snap cards, and Madam Pince didn’t take kindly to anyone playing that game anywhere near her books.

Those cards left multicoloured marks every time they exploded, and soon they all looked like how the Weasley Twins had when they were still being followed by those snow clouds.

That was how Professor McGonagall found them when she entered the nearly-empty room to hang something up on the noticeboard.

“How lovely to see you all together,” she commented, passing them by. “I hope you’ve finished all your homework?”

“Yes, Professor,” they chorused.

“Mister Weasley, Mister Longbottom - I didn't have the chance to tell you before the break.” Professor McGonagall paused, turning slightly to face them, causing both Ron and Neville to tense. “I was very impressed with your wandwork before the holidays, and Professor Flitwick said he saw the improvement as well. Well done!”

The two boys breathed with relief. Getting a scolding from Professor McGonagall was far more likely than a praising, especially for them.

“Oh!” Hermione said, throwing herself over the armrest of the sofa to get to her bag. “Would you mind terribly, Professor, if I turned this in early-”

Handing in a scroll even thicker than her usual ones, Hermione beamed at the teacher.

Professor McGonagall stared at the roll impassively, letting it unroll all the way to the floor… And then some.

“Miss Granger,” she said.

Hermione’s face fell.

“I know, I know, fifteen inches,” she muttered, grabbing another, way smaller scroll out of her bag. “Here you go.”

Professor McGonagall accepted the shorter scroll, pocketing both of them.

“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” she said in answer to Hermione’s questioning look. “But in the future, I’ve heard that Quirinus has had the most wonderful idea…”

“Yes, he already told us,” Harry said. “When Hermione tried to hand in an eight-feet-long essay.”

Hermione scowled, folding her arms across her chest.

“Quantity, Miss Granger, does not equal quality,” Professor McGonagall chided gently before leaving.

“Have you written every essay twice?” Draco asked, a forgotten card smoking gently within his hand.

“I suspected they might not accept my full ones anymore,” Hermione grumbled.

“So you wrote even more?” Ron tilted his head, trying to understand. As a person whose handwriting contained the biggest letters he could get away with, Harry suspected that it was rather hard to believe.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Neville shrugged. “This way, you get the need to write long out of the way, and already have your thoughts in order for the final version.”

“That’s what drafts are for!”

The further discussion was averted by the portrait door swinging open, letting in the Weasley Twins. Seeing the way that they were giggling and huddled close together, it had everyone tense.

Harry could just about make out something about “testing fireworks,” “detention,” and “Quirrell flipping his shit” before the Twins noticed that they weren’t alone.

They zeroed in on the group immediately, identical smiles splitting their faces.

“Would you look at that, Gred,” one of them said. “A little snake got lost.”

“Nonsense,” Draco said primly, drawing himself up. Harry could see him thinking on his feet. “It’s you who are lost.”

Fred and George blinked, just slightly out of sync. It was surprisingly scary.

“Pardon?”

“This is, after all, the Slytherin Common Room,” Draco plowed on.

Now everyone was staring at him.

“Yeah.” Neville was first to react. “We’ve exchanged for the day. Why do you think there’s nobody in here?”

Harry could see out of the corner of his eye Hermione reaching for her wand, and when the Twins exchanged a glance, all of their ties had turned silver and green.

“Everyone’s down in the dungeons,” Harry added “No Slytherins wanted to come up except for Draco, so we’re honorary Slytherins for the duration.”

Ron’s lack of denial spoke for him.

The Twins started cackling. Shrugging, they turned back towards the door.

“You may yet grow to hold up our legacy!” they offered, before disappearing.

“Do you think they’re gonna notice that their ties turned green and silver too?” Draco asked.

“If they do, they’re gonna roll with it.” Ron shrugged. “Pretend they were always Slytherins, or that they’re participating in an exchange program or something.”

Hermione turned pensive.

“We don’t actually have a secret bookcase full of forbidden knowledge,” Draco warned, out of the blue. “I know the rumours say we do, but we really don’t.”

“That’s what you would say if you had a bunch of books you wanted to keep secret.”

Draco sighed, recognizing that this was a battle he wasn’t going to win. His gaze straying to the bunch of Slytherin ties, Harry could almost see a light bulb go off above his head.

“What if I showed you?” he offered. “There’s probably no one in there right now, and the password will change tomorrow, anyway.”

Wouldn’t that be a lovely way to spend their Sunday?

Rushing to pack up the cards - never a good idea with Exploding Snap, as it turned out - they made their way downstairs in record time.

And then lost all that advantage by meandering all over the dungeons.

“Are you sure you know where your common room is?” Ron asked after ten minutes had passed.

“I’m just making sure none of you will remember the route,” Draco mumbled. “I wouldn’t be a proper Slytherin if I hadn’t made at least a token effort. Just because I’m showing you the inside of the common room doesn’t mean I’m gonna show you where it is.”

Finally, they reached an unremarkable stretch of empty stone wall. At Draco’s request, they waited a good ten feet away as he whispered the password straight into the bricks.

“What was that about the password changing tomorrow?” Neville teased.

Draco didn’t dignify that with a response, but he did turn rather red.

The wall slid open, a softly moving green light spilling out. The room was empty; just like the Gryffindors’, most students had chosen to use their last day of freedom to the fullest extent.

“You have a window straight out to the Black Lake?” Hermione said excitedly, plastering herself against the glass. Neville joined her, equally as excited, murmuring something about the plants being invisible from the shore.

“It’s very… green,” Ron offered, looking around with his hands in his pockets.

“And yours rather red,” Draco countered. “And if you take a look around, Granger, you’ll see that there are no secret bookshelves around anywhere.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have secret bookshelves right out in the open,” Hermione said, turning around. “And why do you still call me Granger? I thought we were friends by now.”

Draco blinked, utterly baffled.

“It’s a pureblood custom,” Neville explained. “And, while we’re at it, you have my permission to call my by my first name.”

“Huh.” Hermione scrunched her nose, clearly stopping herself from commenting on that tradition. “Well, you have my permission now, too.”

“Very well.” Draco nodded very seriously. “Neville, Hermione. I reciprocate the sentiment.”

“You already know you have my permission too, right?” Harry asked just to be sure. He’d been calling the other boy by his first name for a while now, was that rude?

“...Harry. You have mine, as well.”

“Don’t look at me!” Ron said, causing everyone to look at him. “I’m not ready for that.”

“To be honest, neither am I,” Draco admitted, seemingly slightly more at ease. “Even if you gave me permission, I’d still call you Weasley.”

“Likewise, Malfoy.”

The wall slid open again, admitting Professor Quirrell inside. Ignoring the bunch of children - or perhaps not noticing them at all - he made his way towards a shadowed alcove.

“Reveal itself,” he said at the wall behind a plush bench, and it opened, revealing a tightly packed bookcase.

Tracing the spines with his fingertips, he selected two of them, and asked the wall to hide the shelf once more.

Turning around, he almost made it to the door before spotting them.

“I was under the impression that you were Gryffindors,” he commented. Harry tried to see what books they were, but he was just at the wrong angle.

“And I thought you were a Ravenclaw, sir,” Draco shot back.

“Touché.” Professor Quirrell gave a brief nod of his head in acknowledgement, and left.

They looked at each other in silence.

“Did he just hiss at that wall?” Ron asked.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “He asked it to reveal itself, and then to hide.”

He endured their stares for half a minute before breaking under their weight. “What?”

“You could understand that?” Draco stared at him like he was a Nimbus 2000. “You’re a Parselmouth! You can talk to snakes!”

Harry tilted his head. “Is that unusual? I thought everyone could do that.”

Draco made a weird noise. Clutching at his hair, he turned to face the wall. Considering that no one else reacted half as dramatically - in fact, they were all staring at Draco - Harry suspected that it might have been a Slytherin thing. Maybe he should tell Professor Snape about this Parselmouthing thing. That might be funny.

“More importantly,” Hermione said. “You do have secret books in your common room!”

Draco refused to turn around. “I swear I didn’t know about it.”

“Did any of you see the titles?” Harry asked. To see a professor get books out of a secret stash… well. That was rather suspicious.

“One said something like Oblivion,” Neville said. “I could just about make out the first half.”

“That’s all I saw, too.” Hermione frowned. “I don’t think I could find out what it is, especially since they’re probably not in the library.”

Draco “hmmed.” The mystery seemed to be enough to make him include himself back in the conversation.

“They could be,” he said. “If they’re in the Restricted Section, he could be trying to avoid notice.”

“How would we even get into the Restricted Section?” Ron moaned immediately, assuming correctly that they were going to try and find copies of those books. “It’s restricted for a reason!”

“It is just a rope and a warning,” Hermione mused.

That was an interesting suggestion coming from her. Were they really going to risk breaking the rules again, so soon after their last detention?

Yes. Yes, they were.

“When did we all become so comfortable with rule-breaking?” Neville wondered out loud, having come to the same conclusion.

“Probably when we went along with that midnight duel idea.” Harry shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

Sighing, Draco went over to the seamless bit of the wall, opening the entrance to the room again.

“How often does someone in a rush forget where the entry is and crash into the wall?” Neville asked as they filed out into the corridor.

“Vince and Greg do that practically every morning,” Draco said, making sure that the wall was closed properly. He then led them back the way they’d come. Or, at least Harry assumed it was the same route. It’s not like he’d memorized it. “They just kind of bump into the wall until someone opens it.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Ron mumbled.

“Frankly, I think they just don’t bother memorizing the passwords.” Draco shrugged. “Usually, they’re always around someone who can let them in.”

“You need the password to exit, too?” Hermione asked, bouncing on her toes.

“Yeah, they’re two different ones. They change every other day.”

Neville grimaced. “I can barely remember a single password every two weeks. That? That’s just torture.”

“You could ask Percy to set passwords that you’d have an easier time memorizing,” Ron offered. “He’s a prefect, they’re responsible for coming up with them.”

“I didn’t know that. I’ll be sure to ask him!” Neville said cheerfully, but in such a way that Harry was certain he would not actually be doing anytime soon.

They managed to leave the dungeons in one piece. It also seemed to take less time than the way in. Either Draco didn’t think further subterfuge was necessary, or he was just too eager to go antagonize the librarian.

Speaking of which…

“What are we going to do about Madam Pince?” Harry asked.

“I’ll run distraction,” Hermione offered. “Madam is already used to me asking all sorts of questions.”

“Me too,” Neville said. “You know how clumsy I am; sneaking around isn’t really my strength.”

Harry did not disagree. Neville’s potted plants were about the only thing that the boy had never dropped, and Harry suspected that there may have been sticking charms involved.

They diverted shortly after entering the library - Hermione and Neville went to occupy Madam Pince while Harry, Ron, and Draco went over to the Restricted Section, doing their best to not look like they were going over there.

It was easy to enter - just like Hermione had said, it was merely a rope separating it from the rest of the library. If they didn’t want students reading those books, they should have put them somewhere that they couldn’t be found so easily.

Harry moved towards the left shelf, motioning at Ron and Draco to take over the right one. Not wasting any time to check if they did, he scanned the spines, searching for any matching the ones that Professor Quirrell had had. Considering how furiously the other boys were whispering to each other, Harry suspected that he would have to check the other side himself, anyway.

It wasn’t a foolproof method - different editions could have had different covers, for example - but it was their best shot.

He didn’t manage to spot the Oblivion book just yet, but there was an untitled one with the same blood-red cover and golden embroidery that matched the second book Professor Quirrell had taken.

Taking it off the shelf, he flicked through the pages - a very small number of them. It seemed as if somebody had gone on a rampage, tearing most of the paper out. No wonder Professor Quirrell had had to take a copy from the Slytherins’ secret bookcase.

To be honest, Harry didn’t entirely blame whoever had torn the pages out, either. The book seemed to be covering a rather gruesome subject. Who would ever want to read about that?

In retrospect, the sudden silence should have clued him in.

“Uh oh,” Ron said.

Harry turned around quickly, but it was too late.

There were no teachers nearby, and thank Merlin for that.

Instead, Draco’s Exploding Snap set was now spilled all over the floor.

Sighing, Harry stuffed the book behind himself blindly, already thinking on how to gather the cards without making them explode. Madam Pince would ban them for the rest of their lives if they damaged any of the books, and that wasn’t even considering their other rule-breaking.

“Harry, the book-” Draco started, looking behind him.

A book - not the one he had just been looking at, but a navy blue one - had fallen off the shelf, landing next to his foot.

At least Madam Pince hadn’t witnessed this disrespect, and it would be easy to fix. Bending over, Harry reached for the book-

And jumped away at the last second when it tried to bite his hand.

The book, now awakened, started clamping its mouth randomly, moving around. A protective charm had to have been attached to it, releasing a loud, shrill noise.

Clamping their hands over their ears, the boys had lost their only chance to prevent the next catastrophe from happening.

The book started eating the exploding cards.

“Run!” Harry whisper-yelled, making a beeline towards the rope.

Ducking under it, he was just about to say it again - why weren’t Draco and Ron moving? - when he crashed into something.

Or rather… into someone.

Looking up slowly, he was now staring into the very unimpressed face of Professor Snape.

Harry gulped.

Taking the mess in, Professor Snape waved his wand. The book froze, floating up into the air and reshelving itself. The cards gathered themselves up, now bundled up within a piece of cloth. The noise died down abruptly.

Magic made everything seem so simple. Harry couldn’t wait to also be able to do all that.

Ron and Draco trod back out of the Restricted Section, guilty expressions firmly in place.

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor Snape asked silkily.

No one spoke. Maybe… Maybe Harry could get them out of this mess without a detention.

“Ron and Draco were messing around a bit, sir,” Harry said, ignoring their hurt looks. He was helping them! “We didn’t mean to enter the Restricted Section, but the cards spilled all over there, and we had to pick them up…”

Finally, they understood.

“And the book?”

“I knocked it over with my elbow,” Ron offered. “It must’ve been sticking out a bit, and it got caught…”

Professor Snape didn’t look like he believed them, but he had no proof that they were lying, either.

It was a very good lie, one of Harry’s best, even if he didn’t feel all that good about using it.

“Very well,” Professor Snape said, stepping aside.

The road to freedom was open.

They did not question it and just went down it as fast as they could without looking like they were running away.

“Mister Potter?” Professor Snape called out the second they passed him.

Harry turned around. “Yes?”

“Your godfather requested I ask whether you had received his gift.”

Harry blinked. A gift? What gift?

“Oh,” he said. The flat package! The one he’d stuffed under his pillow along with the cloak and forgotten all about! “I kind of… got distracted before I could open it, and then I forgot about it?”

Staring at him, Professor Snape sighed heavily.

“Please do open it at your earliest convenience,” he said eventually. “I’d rather not have the dog constantly owling me. At least my fireplace is warded against intruders…”

“Yes, sir!” Harry offered before rejoining Ron and Draco.

Professor Snape, apparently deciding to maximize their anxiety, followed closely behind.

Hermione and Neville were waiting by one of the tables, whispering furiously. They must’ve run out of topics to ask Madam Pince about.

Spotting Harry, Neville opened his mouth. Spotting Professor Snape closely behind, he snapped it shut, paling significantly. Visibly steeling himself, he nodded in greeting.

“Mister Longbottom, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape said and returned the nod, ignoring them in favour of the nearby potions section.

“What happened?” Hermione whispered as soon as he was out of earshot.

“I found the red book, it’s missing half its pages and is all about torture,” Harry said quickly. “But then Ron and Draco made a mess with the Exploding Snap cards, and a different book ate half of them, so we better scram-”

A moderately loud explosion sounded from the direction of the Restricted Section.

Not wasting another second, the five of them rushed towards the exit. If they weren’t in sight when Madam Pince and Professor Snape turned their attention away from the explosion, they wouldn’t get in trouble, right?

Who was he kidding. They weren’t going to be allowed anywhere near the library for the next month.

***

Back in the dormitory that evening, Harry searched for his last gift. No wonder he hadn’t noticed that he’d forgotten about it - it got pushed so far back below the pillow, it had fallen in the gap between the headboard and the mattress.

Unwrapping the plain brown paper, Harry was surprised to see a simple rectangular mirror. Why would it be so important?

A short note was scribbled on the wrapping paper: “Call my name and tap on the glass!”

Below that, in slightly neater handwriting, someone had added, “Happy Holidays <3”

Harry could guess who had written which message.

“Sirius Black,” he whispered, tapping on the glass.

Turning opaque, it looked as if it had been filled with fog. After a moment, it crystalized again, revealing the very crisp image of a snow-white ceiling and just the edge of an elaborate-looking light fixture.

“Harry!” someone called off-screen. The image shifted, now revealing Sirius, grinning at him wildly. “Remus! Harry’s on the mirror!”

Remus couldn’t have been too far, appearing in the frame almost immediately.

“Hi,” Harry offered awkwardly. “Thank you so much, this is amazing, and I’m so, so sorry I’m late-”

“Nah, don’t worry too much.” Sirius waved him off. “I shouldn’t have sent the owl all the way from France, it must’ve gotten confused somewhere.”

“No, I got it on Christmas,” Harry felt the need to explain. “I just got distracted by the invisibility cloak, and then it fell behind the bed- Hang on, did you say France?”

“James’ cloak?” Remus said. “Wasn’t it back at the cottage? Who would have gotten it out?”

Cottage? They had lived in a cottage? Harry would need to ask his parents about that the next time they spoke.

“No, they didn’t have it, Jami complained that Dumbledore kept forgetting to bring it back-”

“Why did Dumbledore even have it in the first place?”

“How should I know? Jami only said that he borrowed it and never gave it back.”

“So I guess it was the Headmaster who gave it to me,” Harry mused. “The note didn’t have a signature. Now, you said France?”

The two men exchanged a glance, but they allowed the change of topic.

“Lugnar - he’s the goblin responsible for overseeing my case - he recommended this sanatorium in the Alps,” Sirius said. “We’ve been here for over a month now, and, I gotta say, it’s really made a difference!”

“Whether that’s because of the fresh air or because he’s paying for it with the fortune that his family really didn’t want him to inherit remains to be seen,” Remus added dryly.

Sirius just rolled his eyes in response.

“I’m glad you’re getting better.” Harry beamed.

Straightening up, Sirius smiled wildly in return. He seemed excited but then again, why shouldn’t he be? Leaving behind the last traces of Azkaban must’ve felt rather good. Knowing that he wouldn’t be going back there was probably even better.

“The doctors say I’m going to be good to go soon!”

“We’ll likely be back in England by your spring break,” Remus said. “Maybe a little earlier, if everything goes well.”

That was really good! Maybe they could meet up in person, too. But should Harry be the one to mention it? That’d be so awkward…

“I’m so excited to see you again, pup!” Sirius said as if he could read his mind, bouncing lightly on his feet.

Oh. He didn’t have to mention it, after all. “Me too!”

“We’d love to talk to you again soon,” Remus said, and Harry had a feeling he knew what was going to follow. He always did seem like the more responsible of the pair. “But it is getting rather late. You should go to bed.”

There it was.

“I am in bed,” Harry pointed out with a pout. Then, remembering that they hadn’t seen each other since before Hanukkah, he came up with the perfect method of stalling. “Look, Aunt Petunia and Aunt Veronica gave me a toy lion!”

The following confused silence was surprisingly loud.

“Your… Aunt Veronica?” Remus asked carefully, and, oh-

“Professor Snape didn’t tell you yet?” He blinked. “I thought he would’ve. The ‘Aunt Petunia’ and ‘Uncle Vernon’ I’ve been living with turned out to be fakes! I met my real aunts and my grandparents over the holidays!”

Sirius looked rather serious, his brows furrowed. “Hadn’t they died in the war? I thought Lily said-”

“No, she just lied.” Remus waved his hand around. “Lily had some protection in place, she just needed everyone to think that they were dead.”

“They were memory charmed,” Harry confirmed.

Remus lasted about ten seconds of Sirius staring at him before he broke. “What?”

“How do you know that?”

Harry would very much like to know that, too.

“Lily needed someone to bounce ideas off of, and she wanted to make sure that it went nowhere further, so really, her options were rather limited.”

Sirius looked rather firmly betrayed at that, clutching at his shirt like one would clutch at a pearl necklace.

“Honestly, Sirius.” Remus rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t keep a secret even if someone’s life depended on it, James basically shared a brain with you, and Peter was going to hold the Fidelius Charm. I’m not even going to mention Dumbledore.”

“...Fair point…” Sirius said quietly.

“Harry.” Remus returned his full attention to the mirror.

“Goodnight,” Harry mumbled, clutching at his stuffed lion.

The sight made Sirius melt. “We’ll talk again soon, pup,” he promised.

They wished him goodnight and cut the connection. The mirror went opaque for a moment before becoming a standard mirror once more.

Well, that was sure to come in handy at some point later.

Chapter Text

Hagrid had been visiting the library for several weeks in a row now - it was the simplest way to clue the kids in on him having a dragon, allowing them to connect the dots, and take his egg to send it off to Ron’s brother Charlie at the dragon reserve.

He may have loved animals - the more dangerous the better - but even he wasn’t stupid enough to raise a dragon at Hogwarts. He didn’t have nearly enough space for that.

And he couldn’t do it himself - owning an egg in the first place was illegal. The kids could have claimed ignorance - at eleven, it’d still work for them. For him? Not so much.

Sadly, the kids, for some reason, were almost religiously avoiding the library.

He was slowly running out of time. It was the end of February already - the egg wouldn’t keep in stasis for much longer.

It had to be ‘stolen’ on the next full moon, when he would ‘conveniently’ be out in the forest tending to the unicorns. Waiting another month could make it hatch. A live dragon was not something a bunch of children should be handling, even Hagrid knew that.

With only a week left, it could be a challenge to make the timing work.

Thankfully, on Wednesday Hagrid got lucky.

The kids were finally gathered around one of the tables in the back of the library. They might have been plotting something - they seemed rather nervous, spooking at every sound. If that was the case, then really, Hagrid was doing them a favour.

Taking care to appear just as nervous, as if he was trying to hide something too, he passed by the kids.

“Hi Hagrid!” Harry called out, just like Hagrid had hoped he would.

Turning around, he made a show of fumbling with the three books he’d collected, stuffing them behind his back.

“Oh, hullo there, Harry,” Hagrid said, shifting from foot to foot and diligently avoiding eye contact.

“What are you reading?” Hermione asked eagerly.

Hook.

“Oh, uh.” Reluctantly, Hagrid brought the books back into view. “Just… a little fun about dragons…”

“How To Raise a Dragon?” Neville read the title out loud.

“Have you got a dragon egg?” Draco asked excitedly, at the same time as Ron said, “You’ve a dragon? Wicked!”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Hermione said primly. “You’re not allowed to own a dragon!”

Hagrid pointedly didn’t respond.

Line.

“Hagrid?” Harry asked, his expression turning to a worried frown.

“I, uh, I gotta go!” Hagrid said before making his escape.

“Hagrid!” they called after him, but he ignored it.

Sinker.

Well, that was bound to get them curious enough to investigate.

Now, for the other part of his plan.

He dropped the books in the returns cart by the entrance of the library, ignoring the way that Madam Pince glared at him - he had done it several days in a row now, he couldn’t really blame her - and made his way over to the DADA office.

A muffled “Enter,” answered his knock.

Walking inside the room, he made sure to close the door behind himself. Best to minimize the chances of eavesdropping, accidental or not.

“Hagrid,” Riddle said, putting his quill aside with a tilt to his head. His entirely Quirrell-looking head. Interesting, that. Glamour or potion? “It is… surprising to see you here.”

Hagrid took him in; his barely concealed discomfort and anxiety, and above it all, the overwhelming confusion.

“Ya don’t remember that night in the pub, do ya?”

Riddle went stiff. Bingo. This could go either very well, or very, very badly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ya gave me a dragon egg.” Hagrid put on his most innocent smile, the tone of his voice saccharine. “Mightily nice of you, that was!”

Riddle’s cheek twitched. Standing up, he made his way around the desk. Interesting tactical choice.

“You must have me confused for someone else,” he said, his trademark smile firmly placed upon his face. It looked a little off with Quirrell’s features. It didn’t seem that Riddle was planning on keeping that look for much longer, or he would have taken the time to practice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why, I wouldn’t forget a housemate!” Hagrid boomed, his smile turning dangerous in an instant. And, since he didn’t remember- “Especially not one who got me expelled, Riddle.”

Riddle’s wand was out and against his chest before he could blink. Entirely unperturbed, Hagrid looked around leisurely, spotting the stack of books on the desk. Memory Charms? Interesting.

“Ah, have ya been reading up?” Hagrid asked earnestly, the mask of the fool sticking to his face after years of not taking it off. People tended to ignore his superhuman strength if they believed him to be an idiot. “Then sure ya know how many repetitions it takes for a spell to stick to a half-giant like me, don’t ya?”

Riddle raised his chin higher, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, saying nothing.

“Look, nobody needs to know,” Hagrid said, trying to placate him. As entertaining as it was, he wasn’t there for a fight. “Do me a favour and there’ll be no need for an Obliviate.”

“My god.” Riddle put on a different smile - the mocking one that he employed when he felt threatened. Good. “Rubeus Hagrid, finally acting like a proper Slytherin? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Haven’t you gone an’ made yerself immortal?”

“My point precisely.”

Well, at least he was engaging. Hagrid could work with that.

“Ya wanna know the favour or not?”

The wand disappeared. “I’m listening.”

“Yer Animagus.” Hagrid didn’t bother beating around the bush. “Ya bring her along on Wednesday afternoon, help me with Glistering in the Moonlight, and yer’re Quirinus Quirrell, nothing more, nothing less.”

Riddle stared at him with a weird expression - Hagrid struggled to put it in place, but eventually it clicked. Riddle had no idea what he was talking about.

“I believe Muggle glitter would be sufficient to make you ‘glister in the moonlight,’” he said with a sneer. “Although the quantity might bring some trouble. I refuse to act as a carrying-mule.”

And again, interesting. Riddle seemed to have quite a lot of memory problems nowadays. No wonder he had all those books out.

“She’d be devastated to hear ya don’t remember her,” Hagrid said with a shake of his head. “Next Wednesday, after dinner, by my hut. Fail to show and ya know what’ll happen.”

Of course, he wouldn’t tell Dumbledore, that’d end in disaster. But Riddle, seeming to only know his public, very pro-Dumbledore face, wouldn’t realize that.

Hagrid left without waiting for a response. It was better to leave Riddle without the last word in. At least that would guarantee that he’d appear, if just to offer his last quip.

***

“So we’re going to deal with Hagrid’s dragon now, aren’t we,” Neville said, already resigned to the answer.

“It’s not like we can let him keep it,” Harry argued.

Draco pouted, rolling up his essay. Good idea; Harry suspected that he wasn’t going to get anything more written now, either. “Can’t we?”

“Draco,” Hermione said slowly. “His hut is made of wood. Dragons breathe fire. Baby dragons can’t control themselves. It’s a recipe for disaster!”

“What are we even going to do with it?” Neville said, pointedly not packing up his textbooks or putting away his quill.

“I could write to Charlie,” Ron offered. “He’s my brother, he works in a dragon reserve. I’m sure they would be happy to get another dragon.”

“Didn’t you say he’s in Romania?” At least Harry thought that it was Romania. Could’ve been Rome, but that was still far. “That’s quite a distance.”

“On a proper broom, you could cover it in a couple of hours.” Draco shrugged.

Harry groaned. Draco and his bloody Nimbus. “Don’t even start!”

“I’m just saying-”

“I’ll write to Charlie.” Ron decided, scratching out what he had written for their Herbology essay, which was just the title. “Here, ‘Can you come pick up a dragon-‘”

Hermione spluttered, her quill jerking sharply. Half of her essay now had a line cutting through it, but Harry was almost certain that it was just a draft, anyway.

“You can’t just write that!” she protested.

“Why not?”

“Well, firstly, Weasley, it’s not even proper letter etiquette.”

Ron looked at Draco as if he had suggested that scrambled eggs were a salad.

“I’m writing to my brother!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t start with a ‘Hello!’”

Hermione disappeared somewhere. Harry suspected that she might be off fetching a book on how to write letters.

Sharing a commiserating glance with Neville, Harry took his textbooks back out. Might as well finish his essay, lest he get dragged into the impromptu etiquette lesson, too.

***

Ron, helped along by Draco and Hermione, managed to finish the letter within an hour. Harry got to see it before Ron sent it off that afternoon.

It was on a different type of parchment - thick and creamy, clearly very high quality. Draco had loaned it to Ron and insisted he used it.

“It’s an important matter!” he insisted. “It requires an important sort of stationery!”

Ron drew a line on using a different quill, though. Harry supposed that was fair.

The letter, itself, said:

Dear brother,

How are you? I hope you are well. My studies are progressing nicely, and I appreciated the gift you sent.

(Draco had had a minor breakdown when Ron had revealed that he had not sent a thank-you note after the holidays.)

I am writing to you because there is a baby dragon on the school grounds in need of relocation. Could you come and take it to your reserve?

Yours,

Ron

The reply arrived the next morning during breakfast. It was written on a scrap that had been clearly ripped off the sheet that Ron had sent off.

Egg or hatched? LMK when you can bring it to the Astronomy Tower, we’ll be there.

Did the twins hex you or something? You sound weird.

“Well,” Draco said, staring at the letter, just barely holding it with his fingertips. “At least now we know it’s just how Weasleys write letters.”

Hermione said nothing, too busy screaming soundlessly into the table.

“So we need to visit Hagrid.” Neville didn’t appear too disgruntled by that idea. “To find out if it hatched yet, and to see if we can find a good moment to steal it.”

“Tea on Sunday?” Harry proposed. “I’ll ask him if we can come by.”

Draco snorted, giving the letter back to Ron, who stuffed it inside his pocket.

“You think he’s gonna let us come in when he’s hiding a dragon?”

Harry shrugged. “If he doesn’t, we’ll just come by anyway, or sneak in, but isn’t it better to try and do it the nice way first?”

***

Harry sent Hagrid a note with Hedwig on Friday, saying that they’d be coming over on Sunday, and would that be alright?

Hagrid’s response was not a “yes,” but it wasn’t a “no” either, so Harry decided to take it as a permission. The fact that the parchment was slightly singed at one corner was rather worrying.

With a unanimous vote, they decided to move the tea to Saturday. They may have also forgotten to warn Hagrid about that fact.

Harry spent the entire morning at Quidditch practice. Oliver Wood seemed to think that just because they didn’t train over the winter holidays, all their skills had deteriorated and were on the brink of being gone. According to Draco, Flint was very much the same.

He grabbed a quick lunch, an even quicker shower, and joined the rest of his merry bunch in the Great Hall.

Hagrid seemed extremely surprised to see them on his doorstep, his expression mixed slightly with horror.

Taking advantage of his shock, they made their way inside, chatting amiably the entire way. Before Hagrid knew it, they were all seated comfortably around the table - except for Ron and Draco, who sat on the bench with Fang instead.

Hagrid sighed, closing the door, and passing over to his kitchen. He seemed to lag a little when passing the fireplace. Once he was done, there was a suspiciously egg-shaped bulge underneath a ratty blanket.

They waited until the tea was ready to start the conversation.

“So, you’ve got a dragon egg,” Hermione said, nodding towards the lump.

“What?” Hagrid flinched, sloshing the tea in his mug. “No!”

“Hagrid…” Neville said, eyes firmly on the blanket. Why was he so interested in… Oh.

“I don’t have no dragon in here!” Hagrid continued. “Do you have any idea how hard that would be to get?”

“Hagrid,” Harry said. Ron and Draco couldn’t see it yet, not from the bench, but Hermione also caught sight of it.

“Besides, what would I feed it with? Do ya know how hard it is to get proper quality meat? Norwegian Ridgebacks like big water mammals, and those are very hard to come by in the Scottish Highlands…”

“Hagrid, the blanket’s on fire!” Harry, Hermione, and Neville yelled together.

Hagrid startled, looking behind himself to the covered egg and its heavily smoking cover.

Rushing over, he opened the closest window, throwing the blanket out in the snow. That had the sad side effect of revealing the dragon egg in its full glory.

“So it’s a Norwegian Ridgeback,” Harry said, attempting to restart the conversation.

Hagrid’s shoulders slumped, and he trudged back to the table, sitting down in his chair heavily.

“Yep,” he admitted. “It’s a Ridgeback, alright.”

“They grow up large, don’t they?” Neville hedged.

Harry doubted he knew anything specific about Norwegian Ridgebacks, but it was a fair assumption.

“Eeeh.” Hagrid wiggled his hand. “Not too big.”

“You said they eat big fish though,” Ron pointed out, furtively trying to get Fang away from his pockets. He must’ve sneaked some snacks from lunch.

Harry sneaked food to keep it as a reserve in case he couldn’t get any for a time. Ron sneaked food because he thought the school meals were too far apart and he needed snacks to get by.

“Mammals, he said,” Draco pointed out, also trying to get Fang away from Ron’s pockets, but probably for a different reason. “There’s a difference.”

“You can’t keep it in your hut, though,” Hermione said. “There’s hardly enough space in here!”

“There’s plenty of space in the forest!”

“I don’t think the animals already living inside the forest would appreciate that very much,” Harry pointed out.

Hagrid snorted.

“Aragog won’t mind,” he said. “And the centaurs will keep away - Ridgebacks can blow fire farther than they can shoot their arrows.”

And wasn’t that an interesting idea. Harry, for one, would love to see a dragon fight a group of centaurs. On that note, centaurs were real?

“But they can’t breathe fire immediately, can they?” Neville asked, taking a sip of his tea. Judging by his grimace, he hadn’t let it set properly.

“Oh, I can keep it inside for a month or three.” Hagrid seemed entirely unconcerned.

Harry exchanged a horrified glance with the others. That seemed like a rather early point for that stage of development. Then again, foals got up and ran minutes after birth.

“But… wouldn’t it be too little to protect itself?” Draco asked. He looked rather smug with Fang on his lap.

Hagrid shook his head. “It’s venomous from the moment it hatches.”

Hermione and Neville were blanching further and further with every time Hagrid spoke. Harry suspected that his face was much the same.

“I’m only really worried about next Wednesday,” Hagrid confessed, seemingly focused entirely on his tea. “It’s so close to hatching, and I’ll be off with the unicorns the entire evening… What if I miss it?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hermione assured quietly, doing her best to keep a smile off her face. “It’s just a single night, what are the chances…”

“Yer’re right,” he said, cheering up considerably. “It’ll keep for a night, and I really need to stay with the unicorns… One of ‘em is having her first foal, and it’ll be a difficult birth, I can tell - the egg shell is very delicate, I worry it’ll break…”

“That sounds really bad,” Ron said.

“Isn’t there anything that could help?” Hermione asked. “Some nutrient supplements?”

“Not at this stage.” Hagrid turned serious once more. “If I’d noticed it earlier, maybe…”

“It’s not your fault.” Neville patted him on the arm. “I’m sure it’ll turn out alright.”

“Thank ya,” Hagrid said, finishing off his tea in a single gulp. “But it’s time to go. I’m sure ya’ve got homework to do, and I have to go check up on her...”

Harry was rather glad for that - they had a lot of plotting to do with all that new information.

They left swiftly, crossing the grounds as quickly as they could, the warmth of the castle tempting against the freezing temperature outside.

Professor Snape appeared out of nowhere when they were wiping the snow off their shoes - no one really fancied getting yelled at by an incensed Filch.

“Mister Potter,” he said, eyeing the rest of the group varily. “There is a possibility of another excursion, similar to the ones over the winter break, if you’d wish to partake.”

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed excitedly. “Of course!”

“Very well.” The teacher nodded, already turning away. “Be ready on Wednesday, shortly before dinner. I shall meet you down in the Entrance Hall.”

“Oh-”

But Professor Snape was already gone before Harry could argue.

Well. It looked like he wouldn’t be participating in the heist.

Chapter Text

Two children were sneaking out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

“You remember the plan, Neville?”

Well, if one applied the given definition of “sneaking out,” at least.

“Honestly, Harry, I was there when we came up with it.”

Were they trying to avoid everyone’s notice? Yes.

“Yeah, but you do keep forgetting the passwords, so I figured I better make sure…”

Did they have to do it? No.

“That’s because I’m not the one coming up with the passwords.”

Was their subterfuge completely unnecessary considering it would be hours till curfew still? Also yes.

“If you finally squared up and went to see Ron’s brother, you could-”

But the two enjoyed the aspect of sneakiness and were focused on it so much that they did not notice Professor Snape’s approach until they literally bumped into him.

It was a testament to Neville’s growth that he did not react beyond a quick apology.

“Ah, Mister Longbottom,” Professor Snape said. “How fortunate. I was hoping I’d find you with Ha- Mister Potter.”

“Why, sir?” Harry and Neville asked at the same time.

Professor Snape contemplated the question for a minute.

“Your grandmother requested your presence. And since I am already taking Mister Potter for an outing, Minerva asked if I could deliver you as well.”

Harry blinked, exchanging a glance with the other boy. But Neville was supposed to take the cloak! How was he going to do that if he was going to leave as well?

“Uh,” Neville said. “But… why?”

“I believe it has to do with your parents.” Professor Snape, apparently out of his newfound patience, started leading them by their shoulders towards the staircase. “I am glad to see you already dressed for the weather, although, why-”

“We were going for a short walk,” Harry interjected quickly, before Professor Snape could jump to conclusions and decide that they were up to no good.

They were, but there was no reason for him to know it. Draco, Hermione, and Ron could deal with the dragon egg even if they didn’t have the cloak. But they most definitely couldn’t do it if they were being stalked by a teacher or held up in detention.

Harry could see the three of them right around the corner, hiding in the corridor leading down to the dungeons. But Professor Snape’s pace was far too fast, and stopping to talk would put unnecessary attention on them, so all that was left for him was miming.

Sadly, no one really needed to say “our plan has gone totally awry before it even started, you’re on your own now, sorry,” often enough for it to have entered the cache of commonly understood gestures.

Harry settled for a small cutting motion over his neck along with pointing at Professor Snape with his thumb and hoped for the best.

***

“Snape is going to kill them?!” Ron whispered just a little too loudly. It earned him two elbows to the ribs, but all that was for nothing - the doors had already swung shut behind Harry, Neville, and Professor Snape.

“Obviously not.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Although I do wonder why Neville was going along with them…”

Draco, in the meantime, went ahead and cracked the doors open, sticking his head out.

Hermione and Ron didn’t take long to join him.

“What do you think he meant?” Draco asked, but nobody could answer him.

They watched in silence as the other trio left through the main gate, disappearing on the spot.

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded from behind them, startling them badly enough to make them fall over like they were pins in a game of Wizard Skittles.

Professor Quirrell seemed to be trying really hard not to laugh at them.

“It is really… nice of you, to see your friend off,” he said. “But I believe you should be heading towards the Great Hall. The dinner hour will start soon.”

Stepping carefully over their scattered limbs, he made his way down the short stairs.

“Are you helping with the unicorns, sir?” Hermione asked, scrambling up.

Professor Quirrell paused. “I believe I am.”

“Good luck, then,” Ron said, dusting his robes off after clambering to his feet. “Hagrid said that the eggshell is really weak, and that’ll probably take some serious charmwork to deal with.”

Blinking away the look of pure bafflement, Professor Quirrell nodded slightly.

“The… eggshell. Yes. I shall… keep an eye out for that.”

He left swiftly, not even turning around to check if they left for the Great Hall as he had instructed.

“Do you think-” Draco said, looking intently over a banister. “Do you think this is what Harry was pointing to?”

Ron and Hermione joined him on the stairs. Down below, in a small nook between the Castle’s outer wall and the edge of the steps, laid a giant pile of still well-preserved Christmas trees.

They were no longer covered in ornaments, obviously, but the fake snow still clung to the needles, and the needles themselves were still mostly attached to the branches.

“Why would he point to that?” Ron asked, confused, before Hermione pushed both him and Draco back down behind the banister.

“So that the teachers won’t notice us!” Draco hissed.

Hermione shushed them, peeking carefully just above the handrail.

Professor Quirrell seemed to be in a hurry. He hammered on the door of the hut, walking away to wait by the pumpkin patch before it even opened.

Hagrid didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. He motioned at the professor to enter, but didn’t bother to even close the door.

Whatever it was he’d wanted from Professor Quirrell, it only took a moment, and soon enough they disappeared between the trees.

“Okay, they left,” Hermione said. “They won’t see us, and most of everyone will be at dinner, but we can never be sure that there’ll be no one looking out a window at the worst possible moment.”

“So we’re gonna dress up as a tree?” Ron groaned.

“Do you have a better idea, Weasley?”

Ron, unfortunately for himself, did not have any alternatives, and so dressing up as a tree they would do.

***

From the merger with Quirrell, Riddle had gained a lot. Some of it was good; mostly, the body. Some of it - ahem, the pesky emotions - was… not so good.

And some parts were just purely baffling. Like the sudden inability to call himself “Lord Voldemort” with a straight face.

Somehow, the name he had come up with at fifteen, the name he had used for decades, the name he had crafted with only himself in mind… Somehow, that name no longer fit.

Was that Quirrell’s genuine opinion, or was it just a byproduct of the ritual? Riddle, frankly, didn’t quite care. He defaulted to his detested surname for the time being, frantically trying to find something that would be neither a memento of his absentee Muggle father nor teenage pretentiousness.

Quirinus Quirrell was right up there on the “ABSOLUTELY NOT” list, taking up spot number four. “Albus (Assorted Nonsense) Dumbledore” was first, while “Harry Potter” was fifth.

He could fit a hundred more names on that list - his followers, his opponents, his current students - but those were the most important ones.

On second thought, “Rubeus Hagrid” was up there at the top, too.

Riddle was planning on going along with the nonsense glitter unicorn-egg excursion purely because… Well, it was Hagrid’s first blackmail plot, as far as he was aware.

The oaf might have been a late bloomer, but still, you didn’t mess with a Slytherin’s first coercion scheme, that was just not done. Merlin forbid you discouraged them off of plotting entirely, and what kind of Slytherin would they be then?

That didn’t mean he had any inclination to enter that hut of Hagrid’s… But unfortunately the half-giant had other ideas.

At least he’d left the door open, thank god for small mercies.

“What do you want?” Riddle spat out, careful not to touch anything inside the hut.

“Just a small charm,” Hagrid said, bustling around a suspiciously large egg. Must’ve been that dragon egg of his, which Riddle had apparently given him. Where had he gotten it from, though?

Probably Quirrell. Best to just blame it on Quirrell.

“What charm?”

“Surface cooling. The inside of the egg needs to stay hot, and I’m not precise enough for that.”

A number of dots connected rapidly.

“...You’re having the children get rid of the egg for you?”

“Would ya rather they went searching for other trouble?”

Riddle cast the cooling charm wordlessly - it was best to work with intent alone when you were doing a complicated modification to an otherwise simple charm, it was multicasting that got tricky - and stalked out of the hut.

Hagrid, thankfully, joined him not a moment later. Riddle didn’t really know where they were going, and it would have been embarrassing to have to backtrack.

They spent about thirty seconds in comfortable silence before Hagrid felt the need to break it.

“I’m really worried about Glistering in the Moonlight,” he said.

From all the context he now had, Riddle assumed that that was the name of either the unicorn giving birth or the unicorn who was being birthed. Hagrid was definitely the type to not only count but also name all his chicks before they hatched, but did it have to be such a ridiculous name?

Speaking of hatching…

“The children said… the eggshell is weak?” he offered.

Hagrid nodded to that, as if there was nothing wrong with that statement. “Not enough calcium in her diet, I’m thinking. She didn’t have her parent around to advise her, and I hate that I didn’t catch it sooner.”

Alright, so apparently unicorns did lay eggs. Fun, that. “And no other unicorns were around to advise her?”

Riddle hated the look that Hagrid sent him at that, a mixture of surprise and slight disgust at whatever it was he was missing.

The half-giant shook his head slightly. “Pregnant mares nest alone. Sometimes the sire brings them food, but that’s mostly the parent’s job.”

“Whatever happened to hers, then?” Riddle was, against all odds, getting rather invested. “Dead? Merely useless?”

Hagrid eyed him with a frankly infuriating smirk. “Something like that.”

Eventually, they reached a small clearing. It was surrounded by thick bushes with the single exception of a narrow, winding path. How could a horse even go through something like that?

A mare laid on a nest of blankets, panting softly, her stomach swelled. She neighed at the sight of him, although Riddle couldn’t say why.

He simply observed, his face impassive, trying to ignore the intense look that Hagrid was giving him.

“I think it’s time ya turned to yer Animagus form,” Hagrid advised.

It was probably a little too late to mention that Riddle was not aware that he had an Animagus form.

Would it have even transferred along when he merged with Quirrell? Did Quirrell have an Animagus form? Would they combine into a peculiar hybrid?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Riddle closed his eyes, focused. Animagus, Animagus, Animagus, he kept thinking… but nothing was happening.

He felt rather silly.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost that particular skill,” he hedged, opening his eyes.

He was no longer inside the clearing. His panic flared briefly, but there was no way that Hagrid could have done anything without him noticing.

It could have been an illusion… but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like nothing.

He was surrounded by nothingness covered in mist. There were dark, immobile shapes in the distance, which he had to assume were trees. The smaller, moving shadows he preferred to ignore.

It resembled nothing he had ever seen before, and yet… it felt familiar.

Perhaps his Animagus form had gotten lost in there somewhere. Perhaps he would have to find it before he could use it.

Well, it wasn’t like he had any other ideas for getting back.

***

There was an Apparition point right in the Leaky Cauldron’s backyard.

It was, for some reason, covered in trash and puddles of questionable substances, as if there weren't a million wizards with working wands passing by every single day.

Sometimes, Harry honestly could not understand the wizarding world in the slightest. It was as if they’d had to make space for the magic, so they got rid of all the logic in its place.

An older woman stood primly in a small, cleared-out space. She wore a robe that wouldn’t have been out of place in the 17th century and a hat which any taxidermy collection worth its borax would have loved to claim.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said the second they appeared, grabbing Neville by his arm. “Come along, Neville, we’ve an appointment to keep. You wouldn’t want to make us late, would you? St Mungo’s doesn’t take kindly to that.”

They disappeared within seconds, the brick wall folding away without anyone knocking out the password. Even inanimate objects seemed afraid of Neville’s grandma.

Suddenly, a lot of things about Neville made sense.

“What’s St Mungo’s?” Harry asked to fill the silence. He remembered it had come up before, at the reading of the wills, but he hadn't thought to ask about it back then.

“The main wizarding hospital,” Professor Snape explained.

Did something happen to Neville’s parents? Harry thought. Have they gotten hurt?

But before he could voice that thought, they Disapparated again.

***

Somehow, no one had noticed a bush traversing the grounds at leisure.

Or perhaps, considering that they were living in a magical castle with moving staircases, portraits, and suits of armour, whoever saw a single mobile bush didn’t think it necessary to raise an alarm over it.

In any case, Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy managed to make their way down to the hut, recover the egg, and come back up to the Castle before the dinner hour was over.

Hence, their next trouble.

The corridors would soon become filled with students rushing to their dormitories to make it before curfew. How could they possibly get to the top of the Astronomy Tower with a dragon egg without getting caught?

“I mean,” Ron said, scratching his nose, “it’s not like we can’t just, you know, walk there.”

“I’m sure no one would comment on the giant egg we’re carrying,” Malfoy sneered.

“I’m sure there’s a solution,” Hermione said, massaging her temples. “We just have to find it…”

“Good-” Ron sneezed, cutting himself off once, twice, thrice. “Good luck with that!”

He straightened up from the bent position the sneezes had forced him into, coming face to face with two sharp grins.

“You look a bit red in the face,” Malfoy pointed out.

“Uh-huh, the fake snow always gives me a rash.”

Hermione grabbed the egg from the nest of branches - safely wrapped in the slightly singed blanket they’d found still lying outside of the hut - and pushed it into Ron’s hands.

“Quick, put it under your robes,” she said.

“People are gonna notice!”

“People are gonna think it’s your stomach.” Malfoy looked far too happy about that. “If anyone tries to question us, we’ll just yell Infirmary! and run away.”

Ron pushed the egg under his robes, holding onto it carefully. It stuck out weirdly, making it clear to anyone who’d give it more than just a cursory glance that it wasn’t his stomach.

“I don’t think-” he tried to protest, but Malfoy wouldn’t have it.

“Good, don’t,” he said, pushing him through the door, making him stumble into the Great Hall.

A couple of Hufflepuffs stared at him weirdly, clearly having been in the middle of a conversation.

“Infirmary!” Hermione yelled, pulling Ron by his elbow, Malfoy at his other side. “We need Madam Pomfrey!”

Somehow, that worked, pulling the Hufflepuffs’ attention back to whatever they had been talking about.

They weren’t stopped once on their way to the Astronomy Tower.

***

There was no mistaking it when he came back.

His vision was different, his hearing, the feel of the ground under his limbs…

The memories, the feelings, everything associated with his Animagus form started coming back.

Well. Now he could understand why it was his help that Hagrid needed.

***

The door of his grandparents’ house opened before they had even fully reached it.

“Ari!” Daisy yelled, wasting absolutely no time; before Harry had even realized what was going on, he was being dragged up the stairs.

He was trying his best to parse through the rapid stream of information Daisy was throwing his way, but it was rather difficult to focus on so many things at once.

Once they were safely sequestered away in his mum’s old room, Harry took one look at the various bits of fabrics and costumes strewn around and decided to tackle the most important question first.

“What’s up with the costume?” he asked, motioning both at Daisy’s fancy dress and all the other pieces in the room.

“Did Uncle Sev not tell you?” Daisy bounced around, assembling something excitedly. Professor Snape’s face when she’d first referred to him like that, at Lily’s insistence, had been rather priceless. “This is what you do for Purim!”

“Why?”

Daisy blinked.

“Tradition.” She shrugged, pushing the gathered clothes into his arms. “I’m guessing it’s so the actors don’t feel weird about being the only ones in costume after they finish the play.”

Actors? Play? This was going to be exciting!

“Is this, then-” Harry said, raising up the bundle in his arms.

“For you!” Daisy bounced towards the door, closing it behind herself. “Come down when you’re ready!”

Harry had no idea who he was getting dressed as, but he figured he’d find out soon. Leaving his invisibility cloak and wand behind, along with the clothes he’d previously had on, he then made his way back downstairs.

Sometimes, Harry looked at Daisy and couldn't help but see Dudley.

They could easily pass as twins! That was, until they spoke - Daisy was undeniably nicer than Dudley, lacking his mile-wide cruel streak.

It helped to see Aunt Veronica standing behind her - dressed up, inexplicably, as a pineapple? - and Aunt Petunia right beside them, in a lovely floral gown.

And next to them-

"Remus! Sirius!" Harry said, crashing into them.

"Hey, pup." Sirius chuckled, for some reason dressed in maroon robes more akin to a dress, a hood thrown halfway up.

Remus was dressed far more tamely, the only unusual element being a headband with obnoxiously fake wolf ears on his head, strangely complementing the black formal robes he had on.

Harry took a moment to go hug everyone else - with the exception of Professor Snape, who seemed to be occupied at Lily's portrait. Even his mother's portrait was decorated with a garland of lilies - and where was the other portrait, anyway?

Harry did a double take at the sight of a flower crown on Professor Snape's head, looking as if someone had dropped a bramble branch in full bloom onto him, but he could always ask about it later.

For now, there were a bunch of gift baskets in the kitchen, along with a truly enormous number of triangular cookies that Harry hadn’t seen before and a giant pot full of some deliciously smelling juice.

His grandparents were also dressed up - his Bubbie in a flowery gown just like Aunt Petunia's, except she had heathers on hers, and Zayde was dressed rather like a wizard would, even if his robes had an unusual cut and material.

“Ah, Ari, there you are!” Zayde said, putting a cardboard box full of small glass bottles on the table. “And where has Daisy disappeared off to? We’re going to need both of you if we want to be done with this by the time we need to leave!”

This as Harry soon learned while partitioning the sweets, was mishloach manot - a Purim gift basket. It was a mitzvah - a commandment, something people were meant to do.

Bubbie said it started off as a way of ensuring that everyone would have enough food for the later feast, and that it did wonders for neighbourly relationships, too.

The cookies, hamantaschen, were supposed to mock the hat of a man who lived about 2,500 years ago. Harry had no idea what he’d did, but he was sure it had to have been something truly terrible.

And in the pot was grape juice, for which Harry’s Zayde was apparently famous for in the entire county. After they ran out of bottles and everyone had had a cup, Harry was more than willing to agree with that opinion.

***

Charlie and two of his friends came shortly after curfew, just as agreed.

Ron, frankly, felt a bit like he was looking into a mirror of who he, Hermione, and Malfoy would end up being in a decade.

Charlie, obviously, had the same freckles and red hair as Ron, if considerably more scars littering his skin.

Farah, as he introduced her, had skin just as dark as Hermione, and her hair - if she let them out of the tight braids - would have probably been just as bushy, too.

Andis, the last dragon wrangler that had come along, was the tallest of the bunch, his hair almost as pale as Malfoy’s, although his expression was considerably more open.

They cooed over the egg as if it were a baby, praising its shell and internal temperature of all things as they secured it in the container they’d brought along.

Ron gave up about two minutes in, deciding to at least spend the time productively. Taking his wand out, he started vanishing every bit of fake snow that he could find. He’d rather stop sneezing, thank you very much.

“Oh!” Charlie said almost immediately, his eyes zeroing in on Ron’s wand. It had, after all, used to be his… “You finally managed to convince Mum to get you a new wand? Congrats! It was obvious my old one didn’t suit you at all-”

Ron blinked.

He took a closer look at the wand, but no. It was still the exact same one he’d always had - dark wood, scratched varnish, clearly older than him.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. “Ron said this was yours.”

“Yeah!” Ron nodded. “Mum thought it was good enough.”

Charlie came closer, grabbing the wand from Ron’s hand, examining it closely.

“No, see,” he said, pointing to the tip. “Mine was chipped. This one isn’t.”

Ron turned to exchange a look with both Hermione and Malfoy.

“Oh,” Malfoy said. “Remember how Quirrell had us drop our wands in a pile? Maybe you grabbed the wrong one at our last detention?”

“Then… who has my old one?”

Malfoy scrambled to check his own wand, relieved to find it still in his own pocket.

“Honestly.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron’s clearly not holding your wand!”

“I still could have had somebody else’s!” Malfoy protested.

“None of us have a wand that light, that’s a rather noticeable difference.”

Ron stared at the wand as if it was going to tell him who it belonged to if he pressured it enough.

“And you’re sure it’s not yours, Hermione?”

“No, I check mine for scratches every evening.”

Finally, the egg was secured. Charlie, Farah, and Andis boarded their brooms and rose into the air, disappearing within moments.

Now, all that was left to do was to get back to their dormitories.

Of course, back when they’d been planning that particular bit, they were still expecting to have the invisibility cloak to help them.

But what were the chances they’d come across a teacher? Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell were still out.

Of course, as was usual when one tempted the fates, their luck did not hold.

The second they stumbled out of the narrow staircase, they spotted Professor McGonagall, waiting for them with folded arms and a stern expression. She was rather hard to miss with her new, bright-red dress.

***

The egg, just as Hagrid had feared, broke while still inside Glistering-In-Moonlight.

Riddle had to abandon his newfound Animagus form in favour of having hands. He guided the foal out, encasing it within a cocoon of protective spells as soon as it emerged.

The job was nowhere near done - the egg shards had to be removed. Hesitant to use magic, for fear of missing and vanishing something more important, Riddle was rather glad he wasn’t afraid of a little blood.

He just barely noticed Hagrid cursing quietly and slipping away at one point - it would have been hard not to, even with all his attention focused on Glistering-In-Moonlight.

But by the time the half-giant returned, Riddle was already done. The shards were all gathered, all of Glistering-In-Moonlight’s wounds were healed, and the foal was as healthy as it could be expected to be.

Riddle turned around, a question waiting at the tip of his tongue, only to be interrupted by three loud shrieks.

“Shh!” he said instinctively, before even taking in the situation at hand.

Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, and Mister Weasley. Of course.

The three stood by the entrance of the clearing with varying expressions of shock, Mister Weasley going as far as to stuff a hand against his mouth to keep from further screaming.

Why would they be so terrified? Riddle braced his hands on his knees, standing up slowly, his joints popping loudly.

Only now did he notice the silvery fluid covering his robes, clearly identifiable as unicorn blood. Oh. That would explain what had spooked them.

“She’s fine,” he offered. “The egg broke, but both Glistering-In-Moonlight and the foal are okay.”

With the explanation made, Miss Granger lost her terrified expression almost immediately, trading it away for a curious one.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” Mister Malfoy asked eagerly, taking a step closer to the unicorns.

Glistering-In-Moonlight neighed loudly, stopping him in his tracks. Riddle squatted down, petting her mane to comfort her.

“All unicorns are both,” he said. “Usually we use female pronouns for them, but each unicorn is capable of both siring and bearing a child.”

“They’re hermaphrodites?” Miss Granger questioned. Brilliant, brilliant girl.

“What’s her name?” Mister Weasley’s face slowly started turning a healthier color than the pale white it had been before.

“She doesn’t have one yet,” Hagrid boomed, finally squeezing himself back into the clearing once the kids had stopped blocking the only path in. “She’ll be given one by next month.”

“Why?”

“It’s a custom.” Riddle turned to face the girl, his hand still tangled in Glistering-In-Moonlight’s mane. And to think he had forgotten all about her… “The names reflect whatever made the unicorn unique. Glistering-In-Moonlight has the most iridescent hide out of our entire herd, hence her name.”

“The sire’s name is Running-Into-Branches,” Hagrid shared like it was a secret. Riddle blinked his outrage away. This was not the time- “And her parent’s called Stab-A-Lot.”

The children giggled, clearly entertained. Riddle hadn’t remembered that either.

“Why?” Mister Weasley asked. “What did she stab? And with what?”

“The horn, of course,” Riddle said absently. He knew that much. Looking over to Hagrid, he silently asked for assistance.

“Within the first week, Stab-A-Lot stabbed two centaurs, seven Acromantulas, and a fellow unicorn,” Hagrid obliged. “Now, part of it might have been because they hadn’t figured out yet that there was that stabby thing on top of their forehead, but I myself was stabbed at least twice on purpose.”

So many entertaining things he had forgotten…

***

The local synagogue was rather small, and by the time the show was over, it was also rather crowded.

The show itself - well, Harry had never seen anything like that before, but he sure was looking forward to seeing it again next year!

His favourite part was definitely the grogger - a noisemaker he had the explicit permission to use every time Haman’s name was mentioned.

Knowing that the man had tried to have all the Jewish people in Persia killed certainly explained why he was so infamous. Had it not been for Queen Esther’s quick thinking and Mordechai’s warning, it could have ended terribly!

It also made Harry realize who he was dressed as - Mordechai and Queen Esther had been cousins, just like Harry and Daisy were!

They got home rather late (even if it seemed like they were some of the first ones to leave), and Harry had almost forgotten to change due to his excitement.

Sadly, Professor Snape did not forget, neither about Harry’s costume nor about the flower crown on top of his head.

Once the goodbyes were exchanged, and several small hamantaschen bundles for Harry’s friends were safely tucked away in his pocket, there was nothing left to do but Disapparate.

Neville and his grandmother were waiting in the same alley they had left from.

The old woman didn’t look much different, but Neville seemed more tired. There were clear tear tracks on his face, and Harry was determined not to ask about it.

At least not before they were all gathered together. If his parents had died, Harry wasn’t going to force him to relive it twice.

Maybe, at the very least, they’d had their portraits done, too.

“Professor Snape,” Grandmother Longbottom said as soon as they appeared. “If you could assist my grandson in locating his wand, I’d be much obliged.”

Harry’s gaze zeroed in on the wand clutched in Neville’s hand, and he was sure Professor Snape noticed it too.

“He seems to have accidentally swapped it with someone and didn’t notice,” the grandmother scoffed. “It was my son’s wand - I’d like it to be returned to the proper hands.”

Neville made his way over to Harry, his shoulders hunched.

“But isn’t it working better for you than your old one?” he asked, pointing to the wand still clenched tightly in his hand.

“Tell that to my gran,” Neville snorted.

“Okay. Madame Grandmother Longbottom!” Harry called, grabbing Madame Longbottom’s attention away from her conversation with Professor Snape. “The new wand is working way better for Neville, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick said so!”

Grandmother Longbottom stared at him for a long moment.

“...If it’s suited to whoever has it now, I won’t be opposed to the swap remaining permanent,” she offered.

Neville blinked. “Really?!”

“Ash is ever so tricky to pass down,” Grandmother Longbottom mused. “I’d still prefer to know who holds my son’s wand.”

She turned on her heel without another word, Disapparating away.

Professor Snape outstretched his hands, waiting for the boys to grab them before Disapparating as well.

They appeared before Hogwarts’s front gates. The cloudless, starry sky and the barely lit silhouette of the castle made for a beautiful sight.

Walking through the grounds, the thin layer of snow crunched beneath their shoes. Harry rather enjoyed the calm.

The front doors were unlocked - Harry wasn’t sure if they always were, or if it was just because they’d been out.

Or perhaps it was magic recognizing that they were supposed to go in. Letting them in like the world’s most sophisticated security system.

As both he and Neville focused on wiping their feet, they missed the approaching footsteps until they stopped in front of them.

“Professor,” Mister Filch said, an ugly smile on his face. “You said you wanted to be told, if your Slytherins got a detention.”

Professor Snape froze ever so slightly.

“Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom,” he said. “I trust you can make your way over to the dormitory in one piece?”

“But-” Harry started, but Neville grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the stairs.

“Goodnight, sir!” Neville called, and Harry just barely managed to call out too before they disappeared.

The second they were out of sight, he pressed them both against the wall.

“You still have your cloak, right?”

Harry did not have to be asked twice.

They were hidden beneath the invisibility cloak within seconds, creeping carefully back towards the entrance door.

“In the Forbidden Forest?” Professor Snape was saying. “Who authorized that?”

“Professor McGonagall.” Mister Filch cackled. “Finally returning to the proper, tougher punishments. Highest time, I say! Especially with those troublemakers-”

Professor Snape did not wait for Mister Filch to finish, throwing the doors open and leaving in a flurry of movement.

Mister Filch strolled away, still cackling, not bothering to close the doors.

Harry wasn’t going to complain, it’d make it easier for them. He did take a moment to close the doors behind them, though.

They hurried down the grounds, their path ever so slightly different from the one they’d taken barely minutes ago.

Professor Snape had already been by Hagrid’s hut, disappearing between the trees before they were halfway down.

Following down the clear path, they did not spare a thought for how they were going to find the professor, Hagrid, or their friends.

About ten minutes later, they realized that mistake.

“Harry,” Neville said, tugging at his sleeve as they passed a large boulder for the third time. Either there were many similar-looking boulders inside the forest, or they were going in circles. “Are we lost?”

Something skittered in the bushes before Harry could answer. Still under the cloak, they retreated a little, pressing their backs to the boulder.

The biggest spider Harry had ever seen emerged from beyond the cluster of branches, tittering slightly as it zeroed in on them.

Neville’s wand poked out from underneath the cloak as he shot a quiet spell at the spider, but all that seemed to do was push it back by a foot or two. The spider immediately made up that distance, charging at them angrily.

An arrow embedded itself in the spider’s body near its eyes, and it jumped back. With a loud screech, it disappeared behind the bushes again.

From behind the boulder, a centaur trotted out, bow and quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulder.

“Mars is bright tonight,” he said, scanning the ground in front of the boulder.

Exchanging a glance with Neville, Harry threw off the hood of the cloak.

“Hello, young ones,” the centaur said, focusing on them. “You shouldn’t be here. This forest is dangerous.”

“Our friends were sent here,” Neville offered. “We wanted to help them.”

The centaur looked at him appreciatively.

“That is a noble purpose.” He glanced up at the sky. “Venus is close today.”

“Do you know where they are?” Harry asked. “They should be with Hagrid.”

“I know where he is.”

“Can you show us the way?”

The centaur nodded, turning around. Harry and Neville jogged to catch up with him.

“I’m Harry,” he offered as they walked among the trees.

“Neville.” Neville followed his lead.

The centaur glanced back at them. “Firenze. You should be happy, Children of the Prophecy - it will no longer bind you.”

Hang on, what? What prophecy?

It didn’t take long for them to reach a tall wall of shrubs circling around a clearing.

Near the only, narrow opening, Professor Snape stood, along with Hagrid, Draco, Hermione, and Ron.

“Mars is in retrograde tonight,” Firenze offered in lieu of a greeting.

Professor Snape startled at the sound of his voice, but he looked more disappointed than surprised to see Harry and Neville along with the centaur.

“Firenze.” Hagrid nodded in greeting. “Thanks.”

“The past is set in stone.” Firenze tilted his head, looking towards the clearing. Raising his voice slightly, he continued, “But the present melts it. The future is full of possibilities, and the old predictions no longer fit it.”

And with those cryptic words, he merilly trotted away.

Professor Snape turned his attention back to Hagrid.

“You were saying...?” he prompted.

“Got a note from Dumbledore to take the kids out in the forest,” Hagrid said. “Not signed, but I know his handwriting.”

“And you just went along with it?!”

Hagrid shrugged, glancing back towards the clearing. “The unicorn needed me. Besides, they’d have been safest with me. Good thing the unicorn birth was the only exciting thing happening tonight, really.”

Shaking his head, Professor Snape motioned at the kids to gather around.

“I will deal with this tomorrow. The Forbidden Forest is no place for students, and especially not at midnight.”

***

Professor Snape insisted on keeping the five of them in front of himself on the entire way up to the castle. Frankly, Draco couldn’t blame him, with their record.

They kept silent, hoping to avoid reminding Professor Snape that they probably still needed a detention. Harry and Neville for sneaking out of the castle and Draco, Weasley, and Hermione for getting caught in the corridors after curfew.

Once they reached the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry took a moment to pass everyone small bundles, which Professor Snape enlarged to their full size immediately.

Knowing Harry had just returned from a trip to his grandparents, Draco would bet that they were cookies.

“I better not see any of you out again until breakfast,” Professor Snape warned as they climbed in through the portrait hole.

The portrait swung shut, leaving just Draco and the teacher out in the corridor.

Professor Snape stalked down the corridor, Draco hurrying to match his pace.

It wasn’t for long - just a couple of turns later, Professor Snape stopped abruptly, knocking on a random door.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Professor McGonagall opened the door. Weird, she was dressed in the same robes that she’d worn in class today. Why would she change into that red dress just to change back later?

“I take it you haven’t been patrolling today,” Professor Snape said without a preamble.

“No, I’ve been here with Septima.” Professor McGonagall shook her head. “Why?”

“Tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Professor Snape didn’t wait for her to respond to that, he just started walking away. Draco mumbled a goodbye before running after him.

What was that all about?

***

Riddle had managed to turn into his Animagus form just before Severus had entered the clearing, and hopefully, he had avoided the children’s notice, too.

He did not want the Potions professor to gain that particular bit of information, making sure he was far, far away before morphing back.

“I enjoyed the part where you threw Dumbledore under the Knight Bus with no proof whatsoever,” he told Hagrid, dusting off his robes as he emerged from the clearing just to make a point.

“Ya know as well as I do that Minerva would’ve never,” Hagrid grumbled. “It must’ve been him.”

Riddle shrugged, starting to walk away. “Glistering-In-Moonlight can take this from here for now. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to catch some sleep before I have to be functional for the day.”

Hagrid snorted, following close behind.

After a few minutes, Riddle couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Running-Into-Branches?!” he exploded. “You let my daughter get it on with Running-Into-Branches of all unicorns?

Hagrid shrugged. “Was hardly my choice. She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

“But!” Riddle managed before deflating, running out of anger. “Still, Running-Into-Branches? She could’ve done so much better! Truffle Finder! Swift as Wind! Berry Hunter! Spiders Fear Her!”

Hagrid hummed in vague agreement as they reached his hut. Riddle was rather distracted by his little rant, barely noticing that he entered Hagrid’s home.

“Alright, perhaps not Spiders Fear Her. Glistering in the Moonlight is great, but even I can admit that Spiders Fear Her might be a little out of her league.”

“Well, it’s not like ya were here to advise her,” Hagrid pointed out, poking at exactly the one hurtful bit that Riddle was trying to avoid thinking about. “And speaking of things ya missed, she actually sired a foal with Spiders Fear Her a couple years back.”

Riddle turned his head, staring at Hagrid in shock. He plopped down at the table, head in his hands.

“She did?”

“Yep.” Hagrid nodded, offering him tea while Riddle was distracted enough to accept it. “Loving the River, they named the foal.”

“Loving the River,” Riddle repeated with a soft smile.

“Then there’s Sky-Gazer, Tree Climber, Friend to Centaurs-”

Riddle’s smile morphed into an expression of terror.

“How many grandchildren of mine have I missed?”

“About eight if I count right,” Hagrid said. “At least you made it for the ninth. The first one that Glistering in the Moonlight bore herself.”

A moment passed, filled only with the soft clinking of porcelain on wood.

“Do you think it’s because she knew I was here?”

Hagrid didn’t answer, letting Riddle have his little crisis in peace.

“I can’t believe I forgot my own daughter,” he said eventually. “I don’t even remember when I forgot her… I don’t even remember her birth year!”

“The summer of 1944,” Hagrid supplied easily. “And you visited her right up until the Spring Break of 1945.”

“When I dealt with my father and his parents,” Riddle muttered. “Oh, how I wish I hadn’t done that… If only to have remembered Glistering in the Moonlight...”

He broke off with a gasp, doubling down, clutching at his heart.

“Ya alright?” Hagrid said with a small note of concern.

“I feel… whole,” Riddle said, a little breathless. “More whole than I’ve felt in a long time… I felt like that after New Year’s, too.”

Hagrid didn’t respond, just looking at him.

“Oh,” Riddle said, soft, before rushing up and to the fireplace. “I have someplace to be. Thank you for the tea.”

“Don’t forget to visit Glistering in the Moonlight!” Hagrid yelled as Riddle disappeared within the green flames. He smiled as he caught the answering growl moments before the flames went out.

Better than he had hoped, indeed.

Chapter Text

Hermione and Ron seemed rather twitchy around Professor McGonagall during their next Transfiguration class.

Harry had no idea why. Neville didn’t seem to have a clue either.

Draco, however, did.

He caught up to them after class, pushing them to hide in one of the blind corridors.

“That wasn’t Professor McGonagall,” he gasped out.

“What do you mean?” Neville asked. “Was that an impostor just now-”

“No, not now, when we got caught at the Astronomy Tower!”

Hermione went rigid, expression frozen. “What?”

“Professor Snape went to visit her when he was taking me back to the dormitory; she was still in her teaching robes and said she hadn’t been patrolling that night at all! She even had a witness!”

“Then…” Ron blanched, his face almost as translucent as a ghost. “Then who caught us?”

The kids exchanged uncomfortable glances, unable to answer.

Without another word, they left the corridor - Herbology wouldn’t wait for them.

***

For a visit to Lucius, Riddle had invested in some rather interesting charms - he had to make certain that nothing could connect him to Quirrell, after all - even with the Polyjuice safely out of his body.

He trusted Lucius as far as he could throw- no, that’d be rather far, if magic was involved.

Let’s just say he didn’t trust the man at all. And for him to have been in charge of his Diary, all these years… Shows how badly his thinking had been inhibited.

The man obviously groveled rather intensely. Riddle didn’t even have to use his Legilimency to know that the man had been planning on getting rid of the book, and rather soon, too.

For Merlin’s sake, he’d been storing it out in the open on a random shelf in his study!

Yes, Lucius was rather useless. Narcissa, however…

“Madam.” He nodded slightly as he encountered her in the corridor.

“My Lord,” she responded, although… It was clear she did not mean it.

He did not try to look into her mind - Narcissa, just as all members of the Black family, had impeccable shielding. But he didn’t have to do that to know that she was worried.

“I do apologize for any discomfort my past actions have caused you,” he hedged awkwardly, talking around the large gaps in his memory which stretched out from the moment he dealt with his father. “I had not been… of a clear mind, back then.”

“And you are now?” Narcissa asked, bitterly. Then, as if an afterthought, “My Lord.”

Riddle grimaced. “You may stop calling me that, please. It is not a title I have earned.”

That, more than anything else, seemed to break through the famous Black stubbornness.

“If I may ask…?”

“Please.”

“What happened to my cousin Regulus Black?”

Riddle blinked. He remembered him, of course he did, the brilliant man. But-

“I’m sorry, is he missing?”

Narcissa’s expression hardened.

“He has been missing since you requested to borrow his house-elf. In 1979.”

Now, Riddle knew rather well what he had been doing with the elf back then. But why would that have affected Regulus?

“I shall look into it,” Riddle said with a frown. “I’ll bring you an answer, Madam.”

He left too quickly to notice the shocked expression on Narcissa’s face.

***

The teachers seemed even busier now than they had been back when the whole “let’s help Harry!” thing had first started.

He tried asking them - all three of them, one at a time - about what was going to happen. Would the existence of the Real Aunt Petunia, her wife, and her daughter change anything?

Professor Flitwick didn’t even let him finish the question, assuring him that it would all turn out for the best, but that it’d be better to avoid talking about it where someone could overhear, at least for now.

Harry wasn’t even entirely certain if Professor Flitwick knew about the Dursleys being Fake, but he clearly knew about something that ought to remain a secret.

Professor McGonagall didn’t provide him with any more information, claiming that it was being taken care of. She, too, hadn’t let him speak beyond “Is Aunt Petunia-”, but judging by the slightly glassy look in her eyes, Harry was certain that she knew.

Professor Snape didn’t even let him open his mouth. He just looked at Harry when he tried to stay after class. Harry promptly turned on his heel and left.

***

He didn’t remember the curse he’d set on the ring, or what the official counter was, but he could figure it out rather easily. Snakes offered no challenge whatsoever, and the compulsion charm-

Easy enough to unravel.

The black stone seemed rather unassuming. The power hidden within it, however… Even without his soul inside, it was clear that the stone was a powerful magical artifact.

What it did, Riddle had no idea. Still, it was a part of his heritage, and he would treat it as such.

Once he was allowed to be himself, in any case.

He took it to show Glistering-In-Moonlight right away, though. She was, as always, absolutely stunning.

Riddle still couldn’t quite believe that she was his daughter. And even less so, that she had been willing to forgive him for his decades-long absence.

“This was the cost of my memories of you,” he said, showing off the ring while his head was buried in her mane. “An old ring and a lack of any other family to speak of.”

Glistering-In-Moonlight neighed quietly, but Riddle couldn’t understand the words when not in his Animagus form.

He could understand the meaning behind them pretty well though.

Even with the difficult birth, Silver-Lining was growing fast and healthy. The past mattered little now, with nothing that could be done to change it. All he could do was try and make up for it in any way possible.

***

Harry managed to gather his entire bunch, sans Neville, for a quick announcement.

“I think Neville’s parents died,” he said without a preamble. “They’d been in the hospital for a long time; his grandmother took him there on Purim, and when he came back, he had clearly been crying.”

“So… we shouldn’t ask?” Draco said.

“We can just wait until he’s ready to talk!” Hermione beamed. “And support him quietly in the meantime.”

“Do you think he’d like a pie?” Ron offered.

***

Riddle had never been more thankful for the goblins’ autonomy and utter disinterest in all things wizard.

Otherwise, petitioning for the release of an item from Bella’s vault would have been much harder than just walking in and claiming that it contained a part of his soul.

And, of course, with Bella currently residing in Azkaban, there were a number of liberties not available for most other vaults.

Not to mention that goblin magic recognized the vassal relationship created by the Dark Mark.

In any case, retrieving the Cup took barely a couple of hours.

Dredging up enough regret of Hepzibah Smith’s death - Riddle supposed that she was just an innocent collector, possibly rather enjoyable for an old woman, thanks to her interest in antiques (he couldn’t remember much of his visits, to be honest) - took another couple of hours.

Washing out the nasty aftertaste, when he remembered exactly what kind of a human she was, took twice as long as the other two parts of the process.

He’d been happier when he couldn’t remember it.

***

For some inexplicable reason, every teacher had decided that they absolutely had to get back on track and finish the lessons they were meant to finish before the Spring Holidays.

And that meant that neither Harry nor anyone else in his merry bunch had even a second of time, or a joule of brainpower, to spare during those oh-so-long two weeks.

But eventually, the break came, and other than the great big Surprise! of half a dozen assignments, they were free.

On the first free Saturday they had, even Hermione did not feel inclined to get started on their newest assignments. Slumping on the vaguely comfortable chairs in the library, all five of them were happy to do nothing at all.

Draco straightened up abruptly, slamming his hands on the table unexpectedly.

“The bookcase!” he carefully not-yelled. “We can finally try and check out the bookcase again!”

Looking around the table, he was met with four blank stares.

Hermione, as usual, was the first to get it.

“The secret bookcase,” she said, a glint in her eye.

Neville groaned, thumping his head on the table.

“Can’t we do literally anything else?” he mumbled.

“Why?” Harry asked. “It’s just a secret bookcase in the Slytherin Common Room, openable only via Parselmouthing, full of mysterious books that may or may not be about torture…”

Raising his head, Neville shot him a look. Well, when it was put that way, it did sound rather bad.

“Oh!” Ron flailed around as if he’d been shot with the Fire Ants Hex. “I know what we should talk about!”

Rummaging inside his bag, he took out his wand, slamming it on the table.

Neville stared at the wand laying inches away from his face, his eyes slowly turning more and more round.

“Oh,” he said, taking his own wand and placing it right next to Ron’s. “So that’s where my dad’s wand went.”

When the two were placed together, it was easy to see why they hadn’t noticed the switch for so long: they were both made of ash wood with dark varnish, were more-or-less the same length, and clearly secondhand.

The only real difference was the small chip at the end of Neville’s - Ron’s? - wand.

“Are you…” Hermione started, looking between the wands. “Are you going to switch them back?”

Neville sat up, grabbing his old wand with a thoughtful expression.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” He cast at his quill.

The quill trembled before setting itself on fire.

Ron then took his old wand, trying to cast Aguamenti with it. Instead, he only managed to splash a cupful of water into his own face.

Wordlessly, they exchanged the wands back while Draco vanished the burning feather.

“No, I don’t think we’re gonna do that,” Neville said.

***

The Cave - now with his early memories returned to him via the Diary - brought up an interesting combination of emotions.

He knew what security measures he’d implemented. He could also guess what fate had met Regulus, if that elf he borrowed had not died as he’d expected him to.

That elf, what was it again, such a peculiar name-

“Kreacher!” he said with a snap of his fingers, amazed at the rather smooth recall. It seemed the Locket hadn’t taken that particular bit of knowledge - not surprising, considering how close together he had created both it and the Cup.

With a slight pop, the oldest elf he had ever seen popped into existence.

He seemed rather surprised to be there, half-asleep. His eyes widened rather comically at the sight of Riddle.

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence only broken by the waves breaking upon the stones.

“Right,” Riddle said eventually. “So that happened.”

Kreacher scowled at him, still wordlessly.

Riddle couldn’t really blame him.

“Should I assume the Locket is no longer in the basin, then?”

“There is a locket in the basin,” the elf said immediately.

“But not the same one I left in there.”

Kreacher didn’t bother answering that.

Riddle squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated with the slight complication. If the elf was here, he had probably told Regulus about the Horcrux. Regulus went through the trouble of stealing it - probably sacrificing himself, rather than the elf, fond as they had been of each other - which meant that now, there was an ancient house-elf with a grudge.

“I’ll be deactivating all the traps inside,” he said eventually. “I’m sure Regulus trusted you with the original - would you be interested in an exchange?”

The elf’s jaw fell open, displaying more shock than he likely knew how to handle.

“Master Regulus’ locket for the defiled Slytherin’s locket?”

Riddle winced at the description, but it was, he had to admit, rather accurate. He nodded tightly.

“Kreacher accepts.”

That was good, considering that otherwise, Riddle likely would have never gotten it back.

Slashing his hand open with a spell, he pressed it to the rocks. Why did he have to have been so dramatic back then?

He crossed the threshold of the cave once the entrance opened, Riddle noticing the elf following him.

“This might not be safe,” he warned.

“Kreacher knows.” The elf glared at him. “Kreacher was here before.”

Ah. Right. So he was.

The boat ride wasn’t long; there was no point in preventing people from reaching the tiny island. Riddle - or perhaps Voldemort, considering when it had happened - had been more concerned with preventing people from leaving.

As for the basin - there was a trick to it. Of course there was, Riddle hadn’t been dumb enough to make the only access point be through drinking despair-inducing potion.

Kneeling on the ground, he pressed his still-bloody hand to the base of the basin, opening up the dozens of tiny drains hidden inside.

It was a last resort kind of thing, because the only way to remove the potion was to dispose of it, and he’d have to have the replacement ready at hand… But he wasn’t planning on refilling it.

There was no point to it anymore.

Straightening up, he took the locket out - it was clearly different from his mother’s locket, but through the slightly murky liquid of the potion, they looked similar enough to be mistaken for one another.

Sensing no curses, he opened it, reading the note curiously.

“To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hopes that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. - R.A.B.”

Oh, what a smart man Regulus had been.

“And to think,” Riddle said, staring at the locket, “if I had only not created the Horcruxes, or just this Horcrux in particular… He could still be alive, dazzling the world with his brilliance... Such a deplorable loss…”

The by-now familiar pain shot through his chest, making him press the locket close reflexively. They were getting weaker each time, bringing back less memories.

How much of his soul had he given away?

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the elf moving, tugging frantically at a chain below his towel.

“It is no longer defiled!” he exclaimed in amazement.

Riddle snapped the fake locket closed, passing it over to Kreacher, who seemed happy enough to get rid of the real one, even if it was no longer cursed.

Frankly, he didn’t mind in the slightest. Riddle spared a second to trace the engraved serpent before tucking it safely away.

There was one more thing he had to retrieve.

“You better Disapparate now,” he told the elf. “Although you may wish to visit Narcissa Black later on.”

Kreacher shot him a suspicious look, but he disappeared with a pop soon after.

Roused by the sudden flash of the exact type of magic they were meant to prevent, the Inferi rose from the water.

***

Harry used the invisibility cloak to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room with Draco later that night. No bookcases opened for them.

***

When Riddle entered the Malfoy Manor soaking wet and with a dead body in his arms, it was rather obvious that nobody had expected him.

Still, a table was cleared off quickly, and with his hands free, cleaning and drying spells were cast in a matter of seconds.

Kreacher appeared with some of the other elves, staring at the body in shock. Narcissa was similarly stunned, her hand pressed against her mouth.

Lucius was, thankfully, absent.

“When you said you’d bring me an answer,” she choked out eventually, “I hadn’t expected you to bring back my cousin’s body.”

“It was my fault that he died.” Riddle shook his head. “It’s quite literally the least I could do, to retrieve his body for a proper burial.”

“How… How did he die?”

“He found out I created a Horcrux, successfully stole it, and perished due to the traps I had left behind.”

The sound of a gloved hand hitting flesh rang through the room. Riddle took a second to wonder why he was suddenly looking slightly to the right, before realizing that he had just been slapped.

“I deserved that,” Riddle admitted freely. “That Horcrux no longer exists, if that is of any comfort to you.”

Narcissa nodded, straightening up with purpose. “Sirius has to know. Dobby!”

A much younger-looking elf materialized into the room.

“If you would notify Sirius Black that I have news about his brother?”

The elf disappeared just as fast.

“I better go,” Riddle said, not waiting for an answer.

***

Professor Snape took Harry to his grandparents again when it was time for Passover. So far it seemed that every Jewish holiday was some sort of “they tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” affair.

Harry spent a lot of time talking to his parents’ portraits during that time.

They talked about the cottage they used to live in (sadly uninhabitable now, according to Sirius), where the second portrait had gone (Sirius’ house - Harry hadn’t been there yet, but he was already promised a visit over the summer), what sort of prophecy Firenze could have meant (his parents exchanged a heavy glance at that, immediately and very loudly changing the topic to a lecture on why it was a bad idea to enter the Forbidden Forest at night), and how Harry was handling the preparation for his exams (in his opinion, he was somewhere in the healthy middle between Hermione’s obsession and Ron’s lack thereof).

He also tried to ask them about whatever the professors were doing about the Dursleys, but the portraits knew even less than he did; apparently, having been painted nearly a year before the wills were made, they would not be allowed to testify at the trial.

That was about the only new thing Harry had learned: there was going to be a proper trial.

And he even tried to ask Sirius about it! Sadly, Remus somehow always managed to be close enough, digging his elbow into Sirius’ gut every time his godfather was close to spilling some beans.

Harry, while annoyed, couldn’t help but wonder if that would improve Sirius’ secret-keeping skills in general.

He seemed to be getting better already - something was clearly weighing him down, but for some reason, he refused to talk about whatever it was.

***

The Room of Requirement looked almost the same as it did when he had last seen it.

It was fifty years already, after all. Someone surely had to have entered it in the meantime.

Riddle just hoped that no one had touched the Diadem. With the curses he had left behind, any contact could very well have been lethal.

Although, to be fair, with how cluttered the room was, chances were there were more cursed objects in there.

Now the only problem left to solve was to actually find the damn thing.

In his defence, he had been rather distraught when he’d hid it. (Not to mention being in possession of only a fraction of his soul and his memory resembling swiss cheese).

Of course, the size of the room also played a part. Were he to guess - it was really hard to estimate the size of it when you couldn’t really see the other wall - he’d say it was the size of the Great Hall, if not bigger.

Which was a good explanation - or perhaps an excuse - for why, exactly, he did not notice the Weasley Twins until they literally crashed into him.

Riddle took a moment to be extremely grateful that he had not let his Polyjuice lapse.

“Hiiiiiya, Professor,” Fred said, slowly hiding the box that he was holding behind his back.

While Riddle saw that it was filled only with quills, he knew the Twin Terrors better than to fall for that innocent disguise.

Folding his arms, he waited pointedly.

“What brings you to our humble abode?” George motioned to the piles of rubbish exuberantly.

“My Weasley Sense was tingling,” Riddle said dryly. “What are you two miscreants up to?”

The Twins exchanged a glance and with a sigh, they gave up on the deception.

"Nothing bad, promise," George said, while Fred moved the box back to his front. Now that they were in plain view, Riddle saw just how old and battered the quills looked. “Only a bit of spell-checking spellwork."

"But the spell just refuses to work on these," Fred added with a frown, gesturing with the box.

"You did remember to strip their old charms first, yes?"

"You did that, right?" the Twins said to each other simultaneously, before groaning in realization.

"Right, we'll be doing that, then," George said, moving past Riddle.

"Thanks, Professor!" Fred added, passing him on the other side.

Well, at least now Riddle was free to continue his search.

Although...

"You spend a lot of time here, don't you?" he asked the retreating Weasley Twins.

George paused, turning around.

"Ye-es?"

"Would you happen to have seen a diadem anywhere around here?"

George took a second to think about it before shaking his head.

"Oh, I know where it is!" Fred called out from somewhere out of sight. "Just go in the direction we came from and turn left at the second giant wardrobe, can't miss it. The Grey Lady sometimes comes over just to stare at it and cry!"

"What he said." George randomly pointed a thumb behind himself. Swirling around, he soon disappeared just as his brother did.

"Thank you!" Riddle called out, turning to follow the instructions.

***

The last Quidditch match of the year was, once again, a battle between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

It lasted for hours. Starting shortly after lunch, it dragged on until the sun started setting. It could have gone on longer, too - what with Draco and Harry constantly blocking each other whenever one of them saw the Snitch - but the students started chanting at them to finish already.

Apparently, dinner was more important than the game.

Gryffindor, with 720 points to Slytherin’s 550, was declared the winner.

Draco sulked throughout the entire dinner, but he still came to the party in the common room, along with the entire Slytherin team and others who felt brave enough to fit in with the brilliantly red decor.

***

Of course, the one day he felt ready for the inevitable confrontation, he just had to come across the entire Merry Bunch in the corridors.

And three of them knew exactly what it was that he was holding.

“The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw?” Malfoy, Granger, and Longbottom exclaimed at the same time.

Both Weasley and Potter, predictably, had no idea what was going on.

“Ravenclaw?” Potter repeated, recognition kicking in.

“Yes,” Riddle said, seeing no reason to lie. He stopped by the children. “It’s Rowena’s most well-known creation.”

The children all gaped at him, amazed.

“But… where did you get it from?” Malfoy asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be lost?” Longbottom added.

Granger delicately poked the intricately crafted metal. “How can you be certain it’s real?”

Potter moved closer, too. “What are you going to do with it?”

Riddle smiled - smart questions.

“It was lost, but I found it.” Starting to walk again, he motioned at the children to follow him. “In the Room Where Everything Is Hidden. I’m bringing it back to where it belongs.”

The five students followed him like little ducklings, all the way up to the Ravenclaw Tower. They climbed the stairs in silence, staring at the bronze eagle knocker in awe.

The eagle eyed them for a moment, sliding from Riddle’s face to the Diadem he held.

“What is something one must keep after giving it to someone else,” the knocker said eventually in its melodic voice.

Riddle felt his smile become bitter.

“Oh! I know!” Granger skipped excitedly. “A promise!”

The eagle glanced at her, but it allowed them entrance. The door didn’t close after they piled through, the knocker keeping an eye on them.

The students currently inside the common room stared at them curiously. Apparently the presence of a professor - Quirrell had been a Ravenclaw, hadn’t he? - stopped anyone from raising too much protest.

Soft gasps sounded across the room as they started noticing the Diadem.

Losing the Gryffindors and Slytherin by the entrance, Riddle made his way across the room. He tried his best to pretend that it wasn’t his first time inside, but it was rather difficult.

The room was enormous, and the model of the starry sky painted on the ceiling made it seem even bigger. It was interspersed with low-set sofas and small bookcases, with a giant circular alcove filled with books opposite to the door.

Right in front of it stood the one thing that Riddle needed right then: the statue of Rowena, almost as old as Hogwarts itself was.

The girl standing right next to it, however, looked far too young to be even a first year.

She wasn’t even wearing a uniform - instead, she wore a bright pink poncho and worn-out dungarees. Her long, almost-white hair was bound by a scrunchie with radishes attached to it.

Riddle may not have known much about having long hair, but he could bet that that would be a pain to get out.

“Quirinus!” someone called out from the side.

Slowing down, Riddle turned to look over. Behind a table nearly buried under a mass of scrolls and books sat a man, who could not have more clearly been the girl’s father. Their identical hair, not to mention the eccentric wardrobe, left no doubts about that.

Riddle doubted the man was supposed to be in there, either. It seemed like everyone had picked that random Wednesday to raid the Ravenclaw Common Room.

But then again, Lovegood - oh, he had attended Hogwarts at nearly the same time as Quirrell had, he was just a few years older, the memories finally dredged themselves up - always did what he wanted to do.

“Xenophilius.” Riddle nodded his head, taking his cue from the man using his - Quirrell’s - first name.

Seeing how the man lit up like a Christmas tree, that might have been a mistake. Although-

“Are you supposed to be glowing?” Riddle couldn’t help but ask.

The students around the table - and, oh, how did Riddle not notice them until just then? - examined the multicoloured glow excitedly, sprinkling diagnostic charms over him like they were candy.

“I’m just helping out with some fascinating bit of charmwork.” The man beamed, in the most literal meaning of the word. “I pop in to see what the kids come up with every few months or so. The creativity of Ravenclaws is simply unparalleled!”

Riddle spared a moment to wonder if Flitwick had been informed about this. Probably? Although, seeing the fire burning in the fireplace, despite the warm weather making it completely unnecessary, Riddle would guess that the answer was no.

“I know, I’ve been grading their essays the entire year,” he offered, shifting a little more in Xenophilius’ direction.

The man’s jaw dropped. He tried to stand up, but being in too much of a hurry, he only managed to slip to the floor, pulling a number of scrolls on top of himself.

He popped back up soon enough, not bothering to shake off the pieces of parchment still clinging to his fuzzy, neon-green robes.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, pointing straight at Riddle.

Riddle blinked, waiting for the memories to float back to the surface.

Ah. Recreating Rowena’s Diadem seemed to have been one of the man’s oldest projects.

Smirking slightly, Riddle crossed the few steps left between himself and the statue.

“Would you mind holding on to this for a second, Miss Lovegood?” he asked, passing the Diadem over to the girl.

With his hands free, he stood on his toes - Quirrell was several inches shorter than Riddle used to be, and it became especially obvious at the most inconvenient moments - taking what was meant to be a temporary replacement of the Diadem off the statue’s head.

Placing the replacement diadem gently on the girl’s head, he took back the original Diadem.

The Grey Lady phased through the wall, stopping on the other side of the statue.

She stared at the Diadem in his hands for a moment. When she squinted at him, Riddle felt a bit as if she was trying to stare straight into his soul.

“Helena,” he greeted her quietly.

Helena did not reciprocate - considering his currently disguised form, this was somewhat of a kindness.

“You brought it back,” she said instead. “And it’s not poisoned anymore.”

“I apologize for the delay.”

The Bloody Baron materialized next to the Grey Lady, providing her with a shoulder to cry on. A fabulous day for invading the Tower, indeed.

Taking that as a permission, Riddle put the Diadem on top of the statue. Having Helena floating right next to it, it became obvious that it was never meant to be a depiction of her mother.

The Grey Lady shivered, her tears coming to a close.

Straightening up, she smiled, her eyes shining. Her legs were already fading.

“Thank you,” Helena whispered, pressing a kiss to Riddle’s forehead.

Then she turned to face the Bloody Baron, holding his hands in hers. If she said anything to him, it was too quiet to hear.

They both faded from existence at the same time.

Riddle wondered how long it would take for everyone to realize that the Ravenclaw and Slytherin ghosts were missing.

***

As their exams approached, Hermione grew more and more nervous. She ended up preparing study guides not only for herself, but also for Harry, Ron, Neville, and Draco.

Harry appreciated the gesture alone slightly more than the planners themselves. He would have dealt with the studying on his own, but the idea that Hermione had put so much effort into a gift for him warmed his heart.

Ron lost his planner almost immediately - Harry would guess it was either under his bed or in the giant pile of compressed stuff Ron called his trunk. He would probably start looking for it the week before the exams, expecting it to contain everything he needed to know, rather than a schedule of revisions he was supposed to do on his own.

Neville made a point of having the planner with him at all times, even when he wasn’t actually studying. It definitely seemed to make Hermione happy.

Draco decided to take it a step further, presenting Hermione with a giant basket of Honeydukes treats the very next day after she gifted them the schedules. Hermione burst into tears at that, but she also hugged him tightly, so Harry supposed those were happy tears.

***

At least giving the Cup back would not involve dissolving the Huflepuffs’ ghost.

There was surprisingly little notice regarding the missing two - though, to be fair, they had led rather hermit-like afterlives, only coming out of the woodwork for Welcoming Feasts.

Riddle expected that Dumbledore, at the very least, would meddle. It was a perfect opportunity - if he was to assign his own candidates for the House ghosts, it’d give him another angle to manipulate the students with.

Ah, well. It wasn’t like Riddle was going to point that out.

He caught Pomona when she was on her way to the Hufflepuff Common Room after dinner.

Breaking in himself was, sadly, not an option. And while the students, having already lived through several months of Quirrell stinking of garlic, did not bat an eye when he’d showed up to class smelling of vinegar, Riddle would rather not repeat that experience.

“Here,” he said, pushing the Cup straight into Pomona’s hands. “A friend asked me to pass this to you. I believe it’s genuine.”

Pomona took a second to properly understand that A: Quirrell had stopped her in the corridor to B: hand her something that most likely was C: the long-lost Cup of Helga Hufflepuff.

Riddle was gone long before she could find her words.

***

Sirius was finally allowed to share something shortly after the exams ended.

It wasn’t anything important though.

“Keep the mirror close on the ride back,” he instructed, his eyes firmly fixed on whichever direction Remus was most likely to come from. “I think you have the right to know what’s being said, and, well… That’s the second best way to do it, short of having you actually there.”

The talk turned back to discussing how Harry felt about his tests soon after, and that was what Remus returned to.

Harry, however, couldn’t stop thinking about it.

In a way, he thought, this would be better than being in the court himself. At least this way, he could watch it with all his friends.

***

Severus remained a problem for a while.

While he stopped being outright suspicious of Quirrell - partially because Riddle was now the one behind the wheel, and partially because he was far too busy trying to wrangle Potter and his band - he would never believe that “a friend” just sent him the Locket of Salazar Slytherin.

Eventually though, Riddle couldn’t ignore it any longer. The time for action came, and Riddle decided that action would be making Quirrell disappear and have his “friend” pop in to question people at Hogwarts in person.

(The fact that he was all out of hair for the Polyjuice was also a factor.)

There were no classes for the last few weeks of school, and he had stopped attending dinners a few days ago - the pretense had to be solid.

The evening before the End-Of-Term Feast found Riddle in the Slytherin Head Teacher’s office, staring into the fire as he sat, half-laying, in the armchair.

It didn’t take long for Severus to join him - his wards were, as always, impeccable. Not impossible for Riddle to breach, but perfectly capable of announcing such an invasion.

Riddle stood up the second Severus swirled inside the room, turning to face him with an unimpressed expression.

Save for the still-billowing cloak, Severus froze.

While it was entertaining to see him struggle between choosing to continue the farce of a loyal follower and cursing Riddle’s ass blue, he had things to do.

“Severus,” he said. “Do close the door. There are things you must know.”

The traitor swung the doors shut, clearly coming to a decision. It seemed to fall somewhere in between the two extremes he had been contemplating before.

He continued to stand in front of the door, his wand still clutched in his grasp.

Riddle leaned against the back of the armchair, arms crossed to show he’d not be reaching for his own wand.

Severus was not fooled by that - he knew well enough that Riddle didn’t need it if he wished to attack - but it was the gesture that mattered.

“Do you wish to have the Mark removed?” Riddle asked, the idea only now popping into his head.

That seemed to stump Severus enough to give him pause.

“Why are you here?”

“I am retiring from being the Dark Lord.”

Apparently, that was shocking enough to send Severus into a coughing fit. Riddle couldn’t really blame him.

“Why are you telling me this?” Severus asked once he finally got his lungs under control.

“There’s… more than one reason.” Riddle turned, making his way over to the low coffee table. Taking the Locket out of his pocket, he placed it upon the wooden surface. “Salazar Slytherin’s Locket. While it was an heirloom of my mother’s family, I believe it’s time it was returned to its proper place.”

Severus just kept staring at him, suspicious.

Riddle sighed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, it was just… tedious.

“You defected to the Light Side,” he said, tilting his head. “How have they ever forgiven you?”

For a moment, all that could be heard was the cracking of the wood within the fireplace.

“Dumbledore vouched for me,” Severus said eventually. “He claimed I joined you on his orders, intending to spy from the very beginning.”

“That’s all it took? Dumbledore’s word? Dumbledore’s lie?!”

Severus stared at him, clearly confused.

“Most of them still do not trust me,” he offered. “But I never seemed particularly trustworthy to their bunch.”

Riddle sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I shall have to work with that,” he said, strolling closer. “Now, I have two questions for you.”

Visibly steeling himself, Severus nodded stiffly.

“Do you wish for me to remove the Mark?”

Blinking in shock, Severus seemed to be thinking this through.

“The lack of it could… bring forward some questions,” he said eventually. “I do not believe I could afford those, if they arose during- during the trial.”

“But if I were really dead, the Mark would have disappeared, wouldn’t it?”

Severus rolled up his sleeve, staring at the faded Mark.

“Yes, that’s-” He cleared his throat. “That’s true. I never- I thought it’d be permanent.”

Riddle covered the Mark with his own hand, cringing at the wince Severus had almost managed to suppress.

It seemed that there was far more work left to be done than Riddle had expected.

Tugging at the threads, Riddle untangled his own magic from Severus’. It didn’t even take a minute, and when he removed his hand, the skin was pristine.

“And the second question?” Severus prompted when Riddle failed to speak again.

“Right, of course.” He shook his head. Focus now. “Have you seen Quirinus Quirrell recently?”

***

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Slytherin took the House Cup that year.

Even with the points they’d gained for the Quidditch Cup, they hadn’t earned quite enough to make up for all the points that Harry and his friends had lost in their various escapades. Not to mention the points that the Weasley Twins had lost, being, impressively, almost as many as the Merry Bunch’s total loss.

Although Dumbledore seemed to place most of the blame on Harry alone, judging by how the headmaster was staring at him with sad eyes throughout the entire End-of-Term Feast.

Frankly, Harry didn’t care much about that. The lack of Professor Quirrell was far more interesting, with several suggestions as to how the curse on his position had manifested that year circulating around the tables.

Ron seemed absolutely certain that it was the vampires.