Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue: Notes

November 1, 1981

Dear Harry, 

I’m sorry it had to come to this. Now, as I look down on your tiny body, so much smaller than your brother’s, I can’t help but want to keep you safe, to protect you. So, I’m doing that in the best way I know how. It isn’t enough, won’t ever be enough, but I hope, one day, you will understand why I have to do this. 

It’s not that your mother doesn’t love you. She does. I know she does. She carried you in secret for 8 months–longer than the healer thought she would. You were just always so much smaller than Jamie. So frail. From the beginning, we never thought you’d even make it into this world at all. But you did! You surprised us both! But you were still so, so tiny. You may have been twins, but Jamie clearly got the bigger share. The midwife cautioned us against hope. Your mother, she took that to heart. She was so afraid of losing you that she never let herself get close to you, hated when I spent time with you. But I did anyway. For me, better to love you and lose you than to never love you at all. I always thought she’d come around to my way of thinking eventually.

Now, though…after what happened last night…I’m afraid of the way she is looking at you. Jamie was hurt, you know, and she’s not in her right mind, nevermind that the only reason Jamie or her or me–any of us!--is alive is because of what you did. How did you– nevermind. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are safe. All of us. 

Except you aren’t safe. Not from her. Not right now. So, you see, I have no choice. I have to send you away, at least until she gets better. Petunia has a boy of her own, just a bit older than you and Jamie. She should be well-equipped to take care of you. She dotes on that boy, and Lily says he’s a right prick, even for an 18-month-old, so I know you’ll have her wrapped around your charming little fingers in no time. Give her one of your best crooked smiles and she’ll be a goner. 

She’ll keep you out of the scrutiny of the wizarding world, too. People are already talking about what happened here. Dumbledore will be over within the hour, I’ve put him off as long as I could already, and rumors are flying like a flock of mad bludgers. Your name’s been kept out of it so far, since nobody knows about you, and I’d like to keep it that way. Life in the spotlight isn’t the easiest. You’ll be so much happier with your aunt, even if she isn’t exactly my first choice of caregiver for you. Your mother still cares for her, so I’m trusting her instincts on this.

I hope I’ll be able to come back for you soon. I’m sure your mother will be asking after you in no time. She’s just not herself right now, that’s all. Writing this letter feels like an exercise in futility, honestly, since you’ll be back at home with us and I’ll have tossed it into the fire long before you’re even capable of reading it. I’m not even sure why I’m bothering to write it when what I really ought to be doing is getting you ready to go before Dumbledore gets here and starts poking his nose into matters. But doing it feels important, somehow. It feels like it matters, so I’m taking the time. 

Maybe it’s for my benefit, like a catharsis, or something. It does feel good to write it all down. Besides, your mother is asleep with Jamie next to her in the bed and you’re in this little cot in my office and the house is blessedly quiet in the way it hasn’t been since the two of you were born. I could just sit here and watch you breathe. For a moment yesterday I wasn’t sure…

Well.

Know that I love you. I wish I didn’t have to send you away, but I can’t help your mother and keep you safe at the same time. She’s never clung to you like she does to Jamie, but I’ve never worried that she would really hurt you. I wish I could still be sure of that. Your Aunt Petunia and I have never gotten on particularly well, but I trust her to care for you in our absence. And above all, you’ll be safe there. Hidden. Protected. Not even your mother would think to look for you there, if she even bothers to look. And it’ll only be temporary anyway. Just for a little while. 

I love you Harry Evan Potter. I’ll see you soon. 

Love, 

Dad

—----------------------------------------------------------

Petunia,

I haven’t a lot of time, so I won’t mince words. I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, and I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t of utmost urgency. I’ve nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. 

Meet your nephew. I need you to look after him for a bit. Things aren’t safe for him here. I’ll be back to fetch him when the danger has passed. Shouldn’t be more than a few weeks. A month, at most. 

No one will think to look for him with you, so he’ll be safe. You’ll be safe, too. I promise, your family isn’t in any danger. Hardly any of our kind even know you exist. 

Promise I’ll come back for him soon. Take care of him for us, please, Petunia. I’m begging you. I’m trusting you.

Thank you.

James Potter

P.S. His name is Harry. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

May 22, 1985

Petunia, 

Lily isn’t well. I wish I could explain. Daisy needs a mother. I need you to be that for her. Lily…

Lily isn’t well. 

Tell Harry I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for him. I’m sorry I couldn’t. 

Give him all my love. Or all yours. 

At least they’ll be together. At least they’ll have each other. 

I’m sorry. 

James

—---------------------------------------------------------

Daisy,

What does a father say to the daughter he’s always wanted but will never know? I’ve loved you since before you were born. I will love you every day of my life. 

Your mother is a complicated woman. We didn’t plan for you, I’ll admit. Still, I was so happy when she told me. Your mother was happy at first, too. We were both so excited at the beginning. Then, something happened. I think it was something at work, because your mother won’t speak about it (occupational hazard of being married to an Unspeakable). But all of a sudden she was afraid. Of everything. She was paranoid that something was going to happen to one of us, that she was going to lose us or we were going to lose her. She was afraid of what happened last time with your brother, that it would happen again with you. She shut herself away. No one except me even knew she was pregnant and she wouldn’t let me tell. No one except me even knew you were born. Not even your brother. And after…when she wouldn’t look at you…you’ve only been with us for three days, but I’ve seen this before. I knew what it meant.

It was just the same as before. With Harry. When I set up the little cot in my office, like I used to with him, she didn’t even notice.

I’m sorry, Daisy. I’ve learned my lesson. There will be no more Potters. 

I wish I could offer you more hope, promises of a reunified family, a chance at happiness. When I wrote this letter to your brother, I wasn’t even sure why I was doing it. I told him I’d be back soon. I think maybe, somewhere, I knew that it wasn’t true, but I wrote it anyway. 

I will tell you no lies, my daughter. I will make you no promises I cannot keep. Not again. 

I don’t think your mother will get better. I don’t think she will ask after you. I think she will pretend you never existed, erase you from her thoughts, like she erased Harry. But I will never forget you. I will never erase you. You will always be mine. 

From the time I first met her when I was eleven, I loved your mother more than anything on this earth. That love has not wavered once in fifteen years. Though, in my weaker (or maybe my stronger) moments, I wish it had. I never knew what a curse it would be upon me. I cannot turn my back on her. Not even for you. Not even for both of you. There is no forgiveness for me. I do not ask it. 

I gave you a flower name, like your mother and your aunt. Their mother was called Violet, and her mother was Iris, and so on as far as anyone can remember. It was the best gift I could give you. 

Grow well, Daisy Ella Potter. Be happy. Be safe. Be loved.

Dad James Potter

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

When he was younger, he’d assumed that they were dead, his parents. That’s the natural thing to assume, right? After all, if parents were alive, they’d take care of their own kids, right? All the kids Harry heard while Dudley watched kid shows on the telly seemed like they lived with their mums and dads and not their aunts and uncles, so, the only reason that Harry wouldn’t live with his would be if they were dead. 

Besides that, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sort of acted like they were dead. They reminded Harry daily of how no one was coming to get him so he’d better suck it up and stop whinging like a little baby and just get back to work. Nevermind that Dudley cried about six times a day, still, even at school! Harry hadn’t cried in years. He knew better. 

Then, early one morning, when he was five (he remembered only because it was during his first year of proper school and he only had to deal with the Dursleys on weekends and holidays, and Dudley hadn’t yet got big enough to really wallop him), he was hauling the massive watering can out to the front garden to give Aunt Petunia’s new spring plantings a good soaking, as instructed, when he nearly tripped over a basket full of blankets. He set the watering can down as gently as he could, only spilling a little, which he quickly wiped with his already-dirty sleeve, then bent down to inspect the bundle of cloth. 

It moved. 

He jumped backwards so quickly he knocked the watering can over backwards and sent water flooding across the foyer. He screamed in surprise and Aunt Petunia came tearing out of the kitchen, washrag in hand. Her feet splashed into the water and she looked confused for a moment before her eyes landed on Harry. Then, they slid past him and her whole body went rigid. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Not again,” she muttered. 

Harry had recovered from his initial surprise and was bent back over the basket, inspecting it cautiously. There, in the center of a bundle of blankets, tucked in neatly, was the tiniest baby he’d ever seen. To be fair, it was also the only baby he’d ever seen, at least up close. She (Harry assumed it was a girl, as the blankets were all shades of pink) was wiggling gently, as if she was agitated. Perhaps Harry’s scream had woken her up. Suddenly, the tiny face screwed up and the delicate little mouth opened, and the poor thing began to cry. Harry wasn’t sure quite how such a loud sound came from such a small body. 

The crying seemed to have startled Aunt Petunia out of whatever stupor she had fallen into, as she raced forward and grabbed Harry by the elbow, not gently. 

“Inside. Get in the house. Now,” she hissed. 

“What?” Harry protested, trying to wiggle free. Aunt Petunia had a firm grip. “But, there’s a baby! We can’t just–”

“ Hush . We can and we will! You just watch me! I’ll not go through this again.”

Harry tried to ask what she meant by “again,” but she either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. She was muttering madly.

“...should never have gotten herself mixed up with that Potter . Good for nothing, dragging her into trouble, leaving me with not one, but two babies. I’m not an orphanage…”

She’d nearly succeeded in wrangling the still-wriggling Harry inside the door when her words registered in his brain. He may only be in his first year at real school, but he was smart enough to realize that this baby was somehow connected to him. 

“NO!” he screamed, and Aunt Petunia released his arm with a hiss, shaking her hand back and forth as if she’d been stung or burned. Harry rushed back to the basket and threw himself across it. “We can’t leave her out here! She’s so tiny! She’ll die!”

“Good riddance, then!”

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest and something raw tore out of him. The air around him shimmered with a sudden heat. The baby cried louder and Aunt Petunia began shaking. 

“Stop that!” she screeched. “Stop it this instant!”

Harry couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to, as he had no idea what he’d even done, but he sort of thought Aunt Petunia looked a little scared. And when he was scared, he did what the Dursley’s told him to do. So, if Aunt Petunia was somehow scared of him, maybe she’d suddenly decide to do what he said for a change. 

“She’s staying. I’ll take care of her,” he declared with as much authority as his small-for-his-age, 5-year-old self could. 

By some… something (Harry didn’t even dare to think the word magic after what happened last time he accidentally said it) Aunt Petunia relented. She stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes as she bent down and picked up the basket and carried it inside without another word. Harry followed behind and shut the door, bare feet splashing in the spilled water. As soon as Aunt Petunia made it through the door with the basket, she shook her head and scowled down at it, seeming to realize for the first time that she had it. 

She set the basket roughly on the ground, causing the baby to squall again. The noise finally drew the other occupants from their rooms. 

“What is that infernal racket?!” Uncle Vernon boomed from the top of the stairs, futilely attempting to pull his dressing gown closed over his massive belly. 

“Mummy, it woke me up!” Dudley whinged, rubbing his eyes and pouting. Harry had been up for hours already, ever since Aunt Petunia had rapped smartly on his cupboard door and demanded he get to washing the windows before any of the neighbors were awake enough to see him do it, so he had rather little sympathy for Dudley. Besides that, he was already pulling the tiny creature from the blankets and attempting to soothe her by cradling her in his arms. 

He’d never held a baby before, of course, so he had no idea what he was doing. He was alarmed when her little head flopped sideways like a noodle. He knew heads were important, since that’s where the brains are, so he moved his hand behind her neck to hold it still. It was hard to get his hands to do what he wanted them to do, and he was terrified of dropping her, so he sat down on the floor like they do for carpet time at school and laid her in the little boat made by his crossed legs. She was still fussing, but not quite as loudly. Instead, she was peering up at him with wide, deep blue eyes and sort of mewling like a stray cat. Harry had done the best he could do, and at least the wailing had stopped for the moment. 

While Harry was performing the delicate task of arranging a newborn baby on his lap, Uncle Vernon was getting madder by the second. Just as Harry had finally gotten her settled, he thundered down the stairs and stomped towards the pair. 

“What do you think you’re doing!?” he roared at Harry. 

“We’re keeping her,” Harry said, more calmly than he felt. “I think she’s my sister,” he whispered, unsure how exactly he knew, but sure of it nonetheless.

Aunt Petunia made a strange sort of sound somewhere between a cry and a laugh but Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to notice. 

“We are absolutely not keeping her! I don’t care if she’s the sister of the ruddy queen , there will be no more charity cases in my house!” 

Uncle Vernon was approximately the color of a tomato, which Harry knew meant danger, and he gathered his sister close in his arms, careful not to smother her. He curled his body protectively around her and glared up at his uncle with more bravado than he’d yet demonstrated in his short life. 

Vernon tried to come at them, but the air did that strange shimmering again, and he stopped as if he’d run into a wall. This only seemed to make him angrier and he huffed as his face went from red to purple. Harry was preparing himself for the worst when another voice cut in. 

“Mummy, Daddy, there’s three antelopes here.”

The sentence was so nonsensical that everyone simply stopped. All eyes shifted to Dudley who held aloft three yellowish envelopes. Uncle Vernon reached out and snatched all three as Aunt Petunia absentmindedly corrected, “ Envelopes, popkin. Those are envelopes, not antelopes.”

Uncle Vernon popped his finger under the first one, glanced at it, scoffed, and threw it to the ground. The second he read quickly before angrily tossing it next to the other. Upon opening the third, his eyes grew round. He drew out a short note and read it aloud under his breath. He was still standing close enough to Harry that he heard every word clearly. 

“‘ An advance. The monthly deposits will increase accordingly. ’ Well, boy” he continued, clearing his throat and thumbing through the contents of the envelope, “it seems you’ve got yourself a roommate. We won’t be changing any nappies or warming any bottles, you understand? That’s all down to you. And if I hear a peep out of her in the night, you’re both out on the street. Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied promptly, confused at his change of heart, and hardly daring to hope. 

“What?!” said Dudley. “You mean I have to share the house with-with a baby ? Mummy, send it away, please.”

“Vernon, I’m really not sure about all this. The boy has school, after all and-”

“Nonsense, Pet. I think this will be a very… lucrative development for our family. Besides, having a little one in the house will give you something to do with your time. Weren’t you saying last week you were thinking of finding a day job? Well, this puts that nonsense to bed, and all for the better. Weren’t you always on about having a girl anyways? Ah, well, but I suppose she’s like him in any case, so nevermind all that. I’m sure you can put her out of the way until she can make herself useful.”

Aunt Petunia looked offended that Uncle Vernon would even suggest that they think of the baby as their own. She looked like she wanted to protest, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.

“I’ll get the baby box out of the attic and we’ll take the car to the store for the rest. Best get ready quickly. The bank closes early on Saturdays and I’ve some business to attend to. And boy, clean up that water!”

Uncle Vernon slapped the thick envelope against his palm with a giddy smile and walked back up the stairs. Harry would have said he was practically skipping if such a feat weren’t completely impossible. Dudley followed him up, though he was decidedly not skipping or even attempting to. Aunt Petunia stood in the foyer looking confused and a little bit angry. She bent down and picked up the discarded letters, the water making the ink run a bit, and stuffed them into the rubbish bin, unread, then went upstairs herself, still in a sort of daze, leaving Harry and his sister alone in the foyer, tiny baby still clutched tightly and carefully against Harry’s chest. 

He placed her gently back in the basket, then stole quietly into the kitchen and pulled the two soggy letters out of the bin. He folded them up as neatly as he could and tucked them into the corner of his cupboard where they’d be safest, committed to read them once he was old enough to know what all those curves and loops meant. All the letters he’d learned so far had been a combination of circles and straight lines, not swirly and pointy like these were. Then, he moved the makeshift bassinet to the side, out of the puddle, grabbed the mop, and set about cleaning up the mess, as instructed. 

After all, there were two of them now, and getting himself in trouble would likely get her in trouble, too, and that wasn’t a thought Harry wanted to entertain. 

It wouldn’t be until later, nearly a year later, after Uncle Vernon had tried to kick them both out more than once, only to find himself somehow unable, that Harry would realize exactly what having a sister meant . Daisy (for that was her name, he learned) was proof positive that Harry’s parents were in fact, not dead. That they were alive. Furthermore, that one, or maybe both, of them knew where Harry was, had been to his house, within spitting distance, and had left him there. Willingly. 

Harry’s parents weren’t dead. They were very much alive. They just didn’t want him. Didn’t want Daisy either, though the more Harry knew her, the harder that was to believe. Daisy was so precious, so sweet, that even the Dursleys had a harder time being mean to her. That’s not to say they were nice to her, exactly, but though Daisy’s portions were smaller, she was never denied food entirely or locked in the cupboard for days on end, like Harry was. Even if Harry was locked in, Aunt Petunia would open the cupboard at mealtimes to let Daisy come out to eat and use the loo and stretch her legs a bit. Harry was given a bucket, which he emptied himself once a day, a cup of stale water, and two slices of bread with a bit of the deli turkey Aunt Petunia had bought but that Dudley refused to eat.

Something about knowing he wasn’t wanted changed things for Harry. His defiance of the Dursley’s waned. His headstrong stubbornness–already showing itself though he was only six–faded. The righteousness that had fueled him even when he was too little to realize what it was slipped away. It was harder to be angry at the Dursleys when even his own parents didn’t want him. He probably would have fallen into despair and futility entirely if it wasn’t for Daisy. 

Daisy gave him a reason to keep fighting. She was everything to him, and he would let nothing harm her. It became both easier and harder as the “freakish” things that happened seemed to suddenly double. One day, when she was about three and he was eight, she slipped off the stool in the kitchen. Harry reached out to catch her but he knew he was too far away. Then, suddenly, without his quite knowing how, she was in his arms, safe. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew he had been responsible. Then, a week later, when the cup she’d been reaching for on the counter just beyond her grasp slid neatly into the fingers of her outstretched hand, Harry knew. She could do it too. 

Something about the two of them defied the strict rules of normality the Dursleys adhered to. And once Harry was aware of it, he started to learn to control it. It wasn’t easy. The whatever-it-was didn’t like to be controlled. It was also unpredictable, sporadic, though Harry noticed it happened more when something was wrong with Daisy. When Harry was in Year 6 and Daisy was in Year 1 (the only year they were in school together) and Jeremy Pickworth was making fun of Daisy’s red hair on the playground, he suddenly found himself being chased relentlessly by a very persistent blackbird. He’d nearly got away when one of the roots of the big tree seemingly jumped out in front of him, tripping him up. The next day he came to school covered in pink plasters and whinging about how everything in his house was pink because of his three older sisters. He didn’t make fun of Daisy’s hair again after that. 

Of course, Dudley happily relayed the story to his parents, who were quick to notice the strangeness of it all, and promptly doubled Harry’s evening chores, sent him off without supper, and subsequently confined him to the cupboard all weekend. Daisy magnanimously smuggled him some of the leftover table scraps–a practice she’d become quite good at over the years. She also helped with the extra chores. She had her own to do, of course, and Harry protested her help, as usual, but she reminded him that they were family and it was their job to look out for each other. 

Harry had rather a different idea of what family meant, but she believed it so wholeheartedly that he didn’t have it in him to disabuse her of it. And he was in full support and agreement with the sort of catchphrase she’d started using. He rather thought she stole it from a book her teacher had read, as it sounded vaguely familiar, and she was always spouting things she’d heard in books. She was just clever like that. At night, in the dark of the cupboard, she would whisper it to him until it became a part of him. Then, it became almost like a secret handshake, something that only they had. 

“I’ll love you forever-” she’d start.

“I’ll like you for always-” he’d continue. 

“As long as I’m living-”

“My family you’ll be.”

On the morning he turned eleven, he rolled over in his cupboard to see that she was already awake. Her nose a hair's breadth from his own, as it always was in this small space, and her eyes, no longer baby blue, but a magnificent hazel, stared up at him. 

“Happy birthday,” she whispered. 

“Thanks,” he whispered back. 

“Forever,” she said (for their familiar cadence had been severely shortened some time ago)

“Always,” he replied.

“My family you’ll be,” they whispered together. 

They shared a smile, then a wince as they heard the unmistakable thud of Uncle Vernon’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Harry brushed the dust out of Daisy’s hair as a meaty fist thumped against the door and a guttural “Get the kettle on!” was growled at the pair. Daisy cheekily stuck her tongue out at the closed door, and Harry gave her a warning swat as he reached over her head to turn the knob and swing the door open. Daisy wiggled out first and made the usual morning dash to the washroom. Harry would have to hold it until he’d set the water to boiling, then he’d have to hurry and finish before the kettle began to sing. He wasn’t too worried. The routine was old hat by now. Besides, if things got dicey, Daisy had been making tea for at least a year-and-a-half now. Harry preferred to do it himself (he knew from experience how painful a boiling water burn was and was keen that Daisy not know), but still, she could if she had to. 

He was just pulling out the tea bags when Daisy came around the door with the morning post. She gave Harry a strange sort of look, but he couldn’t tell what she meant by it. At six years old, Daisy had already perfected the art of secret looks, but this wasn’t one he was used to seeing. 

“Post’s here, Uncle Vernon,” she declared and placed it neatly in front of his plate. He was already unfolding the paper and merely grunted in response. “Where’s my tea, boy?” he asked gruffly. 

Harry privately wondered if Uncle Vernon somehow expected him to be able to instantaneously boil water, but he wisely kept these thoughts to himself and simply replied, “Coming, Uncle Vernon.” 

Daisy signaled for him to go on to the loo while she minded the kettle, so he dashed off to perform his morning ablutions. The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, except that Daisy kept giving him that strange look. Finally, once Dudley had finished his fifth helping of breakfast, putting his chair in serious danger of collapse, Harry and Daisy were released from the kitchen to begin their usual summertime chores. Before Harry could jam his feet into Dudley’s worn out wellies from three summer’s ago, Daisy dragged him into the cupboard and closed the door. 

They were really getting too big to be sharing this tiny space, but they were practiced enough at it to avoid injury, even with Daisy hauling him in without warning. Twisting herself around carefully and bending her neck to avoid hitting it on the step above the little nook where she’d crammed herself, she pulled a letter out of her waistband and brandished it at Harry. 

“This came for you in the post. I knew Uncle Vernon would chuck it straightaway, so I nicked it for you.”

“Wicked. Thanks! How’d you know it was for me?”

She gave him a look that he could clearly interpret. It was the one she used the most and it always meant “I’m not an idiot, you idiot.”

“I know how to spell your name. H-A-R-R-Y P-O-T-T-E-R. Don’t know what the rest of it says, but I didn’t think it mattered. It looks fancy. Open it!”

Harry regarded the green, shimmery ink on the front, carefully addressing the letter to Harry E. Potter of Number 4 Privet Drive. It even noted that he lived in the cupboard under the stairs. How did anyone know that? He’d never mentioned it to anyone before. Nervously, he slid his finger under the fancy wax seal. 

He pulled out a yellowish, heavy paper, nothing like the kind they used at school. When he unfolded it, he realized it was actually two sheets of paper. At a glance, the second looked to be a supply list, though there were some supplies listed that he had certainly never seen on any lists for the local secondary schools. He went back to the first page. It read:

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry’s eyebrows were somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline as he read and reread the short letter. He had no idea what “we await your owl” meant, nor where or how he would get to this school, if it even existed. Somehow, he thought it might do, though. As far-fetched as it seemed, his being a wizard would sort of explain a few of the stranger things that happened around him. And if he was a wizard, then perhaps Daisy was a witch. 

He flipped to the second page and read it again, with a new understanding. It was a supply list, though where on earth a person was supposed to purchase magical textbooks and cauldrons, not to mention an actual magic wand Harry hadn’t the foggiest. He was just considering all this when the cupboard door was wrenched open unceremoniously. 

“Haven’t you got chores to do? Why aren’t you outside?” Dudley asked. He got some sort of unnatural pleasure from watching Harry sweat under the summer sun while he sat in his room and played video games. His eyes fell on the letter still clutched in Harry’s hand. A look of glee spread across his face. 

“Dad! Harry’s nicked some post!”

“What?!” Uncle Vernon thundered, stomping down the hall and ducking his head to peer in the cupboard. “Give me that!” He snatched the papers, envelope and all, from Harry’s grasp. 

“Hey!” he protested, but Uncle Vernon didn’t care. He was holding the letter out of Dudley’s reach and skimming it quickly. His face drained of all color, then rapidly began turning purple. 

“Give that back!” said Daisy, un-wedging herself from her little nook and putting her hands on her hips in the doorway. “It was addressed to Harry!”

Uncle Vernon looked at the envelope for the first time then his eyes flicked from the cupboard to the envelope several times in quick succession. His face went white again and he scrabbled backwards. 

“PETUNIA!” he roared. “It’s happened! I told you it would!”

“What’s happened?” Aunt Petunia asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel. As soon as she saw the letter she gasped and covered her mouth. 

“So, you knew then?” Harry asked, quickly putting the facts together. “You knew I’m a–”

“SILENCE!” Uncle Vernon shouted. He breathed heavily through his nose. “It doesn't matter. You’re not going.”

“Well of course I’m not!” Harry replied. That apparently hadn’t been the response Uncle Vernon was expecting. He blubbered for a moment, unsure. 

“Well. Yes, then. Well. In any case, gather your things. You’re moving into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“I’m what?” 

“HE’S WHAT?!” Dudley and Harry spoke over each other. 

“I’m not going unless Daisy goes, too,” Harry insisted. He wasn’t at all sure why Uncle Vernon would be moving him into Dudley’s second bedroom, but he’d long ago learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But he certainly wouldn’t be leaving Daisy in this spider-infested cupboard by herself. It’d be more spacious without him there, but if he was getting a proper room, then she was, too. 

“Yes, fine, all right. Both of you, then. Get your things. The rest of you, upstairs. Let’s get that room sorted.”

Dudley pouted all morning as Aunt Petunia and Harry, under the supervision of Uncle Vernon, hauled out bag after bag of broken or rejected toys, some of which were still in their original packaging. These, Uncle Vernon put aside for resale. Then, Harry and Daisy moved their own meager belongings into the room. It was almost comical how empty it still looked when all that was said and done. 

There was one bed in the corner, plus the small mattress from under the stairs which had been placed in the other corner for Daisy. Harry suspected they’d simply continue to share the bed as they had always done. It was bigger than the one in the cupboard, and Harry had quite forgotten how to sleep without Daisy’s knees pressing into his back, in any case. There was also a desk with a badly-mended leg and a wardrobe with a door that wouldn’t quite stay closed. Harry and Daisy’s clothes combined took up less than half the available space. The few trinkets that meant anything to them they lined up on the back edge of the desk. 

As day faded into night, Harry sort of felt like this might have been both the strangest and best birthday he’d ever had. After supper, at which Harry was allowed to join the family at the table and given a regular portion (Dudley, notably, had four), Harry and Daisy curled up in the new bed together, under the threadbare-but-soft blanket. Harry was just drifting off to sleep when Daisy’s voice broke the silence. 

“You never told me what the letter said,” she whispered. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. 

“Of course it does! Don’t lie to me!”

Harry sighed. 

“Go to sleep, Daisy.”

“Not until you tell me what it said.”

“No.”

Daisy was silent for a moment, and Harry thought he might actually have won the argument for once, when she whispered almost silently. 

“I’ll love you forever…”

Harry thought about not responding, but his heart clenched painfully as the silence stretched. 

“I’ll like you for always,” he breathed. 

“As long as I’m living-”

“My family you’ll be.”

“Families don’t keep secrets.”

“That’s bollocks.”

“Fine. We don’t keep secrets.”

Harry was silent again for a long time, but he knew he couldn’t keep it from her. Not really.

“We’re wizards.”

He felt her sit up and her shape was silhouetted by the moonlight shining through the window. 

“What?”

“Well, I guess you’d be a witch and I’d be a wizard, but it’s the same, I think. The letter was from a wizard school. They want me to come there and learn to do magic. I suppose that explains all the… stuff that happens with us.”

“You mean…that’s…” her voice lowered even more, “ magic? ”

“Yeah. I think it is.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the stuff on the list. It’s a boarding school. I can tell. And I’m not about to go off and leave you here while I’m in some fancy school who knows where learning magic. Stonewall High is fine. I’ll still be home in the afternoons and you and I will be together.”

“But magic ! You can’t give up learning that for me! I’ll be all right. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are much nicer to me, anyway. We both know that.” 

“But if I’m not here, that might not be true anymore. There’ll be loads more to do with me gone, all sorts of chores that they’ll make you do. That’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not fair to you either.”

“It doesn’t matter. It is what it is. I’m not going. Besides, they wanted my response by ‘owl,’ whatever that means, by today. So, when they don’t hear from me, I assume they’ll give my spot over to someone else.”

“Oh. But if you could go-”

“I still wouldn’t. Not without you.”

Daisy sighed and he could feel her staring at him, even in the dark. He suspected she might be giving him the “idiot” look again, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. 

“If they send another letter, you should go. I’ll be okay.”

“They won’t, so it doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

She settled back down on the mattress and wiggled forwards until her knees pressed against his. He could feel her breath dancing across his cheek. 

“Forever,” she whispered, even though they’d done this already. 

“Always,” he replied dutifully.

“My family you’ll be.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

1 August dawned largely the same as 31 July had done, except Harry awoke in a real bed in a proper bedroom. The rest of the morning unfolded similarly. Uncle Vernon banged on the door and demanded morning tea. Daisy and Harry performed the usual morning dance. After breakfast, Daisy set about completing her indoor chores while Harry tackled his much longer list of outdoor ones. 

It was because he was working outdoors that he was the first to notice the strange visitor. Strange people were a rare occurrence on Privet Drive in the first place, but there was something particularly strange about this person that Harry couldn’t quite place a finger on. She was kindly looking and a bit round about the middle. Her hair was curly and tied up untidily at the back of her head. Her light green dress was a bit old fashioned, but not terribly so, though Harry rather thought Aunt Petunia would have been scandalized to notice the stains around the hips where Harry knew garden-dirty hands often got wiped. The gardening gloves poking out the top of the little canvas bag she carried completed the picture. Harry noticed all this detail as she got closer and closer to the house and it became clear that Number Four was her target. He dropped his shears and pulled off his gloves, standing as she stopped before the front fence. She greeted him with a smile. 

“Doing a spot of gardening today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m something of a gardener myself. These begonias are lovely, I must say. Your handiwork?”

“They’re my aunt’s.”

“Oh! So, the green thumb runs in the family, then?”

“Something like that. Er, I’m sorry, but can I help you?”

“Of course, of course. I’m looking for Harry Potter. I don’t suppose that’s you, is it?”

“Er, yeah. I’m Harry.”

“I rather thought you might be. You have the look about you,” she said, extending her hand over the fence with a smile. “I’m Professor Sprout. Do you mind if I come in and have a word with you?”

“Er…” he hesitated. 

“I’m afraid it really is rather important. Are your Aunt and Uncle about?”

“Yes, but-”

“Excellent! Shall we?”

Harry, whose hand she hadn’t dropped since she shook it, was practically dragged to the door. She didn’t go so far as to open it herself, but Harry got the distinct impression that if he didn’t get a move on she very well might have. Only once the door was open did she release his hand. 

“Aunt Petunia, we have a visitor,” he called upon entering. 

Aunt Petunia stepped out from her bedroom and plastered on her most polite smile. She stepped down the stairs gracefully and extended her hand. 

“Petunia Dursley,” she introduced. 

“Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts,” the woman responded. 

Aunt Petunia managed to maintain her polite smile, but her eyes grew wide and Harry saw her surreptitiously wipe her hands against the sides of her dress. Professor Sprout either didn’t notice or didn’t care, for she made no comment. 

“Harry, why don’t you escort our guest to the sitting room. I’ll fetch Uncle Vernon. He’ll want to be present for this, I’m sure. Daisy!” she called as she turned away, “Tea for four in the sitting room, please!” Harry knew the “please” was for the visitor’s benefit. The whole thing made him uneasy. 

Harry got the Professor seated in the living room, then made his excuses and disappeared into the kitchen to help Daisy with the tea. 

“What’s going on?” Daisy asked. 

“There’s a Professor here to talk to me. From that school .”

“Oh.”

“Yes. But don’t worry. I’m still not going.”

“Yes, you are!”

“ No, I’m not.”

Harry was saved from Daisy’s response by the whistle of the kettle. He snatched it off the hob and poured the hot water into the decorative pot, dropped the infuser in, arranged the whole thing on Aunt Petunia’s best tea tray, and carried it into the sitting room without another word.

He re-entered the sitting room to find Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sitting stiffly on the couch while Professor Sprout appeared to be attempting to engage Aunt Petunia in a discussion of her magnificent garden. Harry poured out four cups of tea, though only Professor Sprout reached out to take one. 

“Well, to business then,” she said, as she placed the cup and saucer on the spindly table next to the chair. “First, I must ask, Harry, if you’ve received any letters lately. In particular, one from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Harry nodded. 

“Ah! Good, then. That’s one job done. My next question, therefore, is why we did not hear back from you.”

“Er…I wasn’t sure what ‘await your owl’ meant.”

“Oh. Well, owl post, of course, dear. Do you not use owl post?”

“Er…no.”

“I see. Your Aunt and Uncle,” she gestured to the two still attempting to play statue on the couch, “are muggles, yes? And they’ve raised you in the same way, I suppose. That’s to be expected, then. Owls are used to send post between wizards and witches.”

“Oh. And, erm, what are muggles?”

“Non-magical folk,” she answered quickly, distractedly. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she continued sincerely, leaning forward in her seat. “There must have been some sort of mixup. I assumed, well, given your name, but perhaps…well, I was mistaken, in any case. I apologize. Usually, if we send an acceptance letter out to a student living among muggles, we hand-deliver it to avoid just such a confusion. I hadn’t realized–but, then, do you do look so like–well, no matter. I’m here, now, and we’ll get all this sorted.”

She smiled, and it was the sort of open, friendly smile that was meant to put Harry at ease–too bad those things didn’t usually work on him.

“Right. Well, I’m sorry you came all the way out here, then,” Harry said, as politely as he could manage, “but I’m not going to come to school. I’m going to Stonewall High down the road.”

Professor Sprout laughed, falling backwards in her seat again. She answered his statement with a careless wave.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! We’ll take care of transferring your enrollment and all that paperwork.”

“No, there’s nothing to transfer. I’m not going.”

Professor Sprout’s face fell and she leaned forward again. She was like a human yo-yo with all the leaning.

“Well, why not?”

“Er, well…it’s…complicated.”

“I…see,” she said, uncertainly. Harry very much doubted she did. “Well, I’m sure it can all be arranged.”

“But I don’t want to go.”

“You…don’t want to go to Hogwarts? The pre-eminent magical school in all of the UK?”

“No.”

“Did you have somewhere else in mind? There are smaller schools, of course, though–”

“I’m going to Stonewall High.”

“The local muggle school?”

“Yes.”

Professor Sprout sighed, but a new look came across her face, as if she suddenly understood. 

“Harry,” she said, kindly, “I know change can be difficult, and you may not want to leave the friends you’ve had all your life. But Hogwarts is the best place for a wizard of your age. You’re probably not aware of this, and I don’t mean to frighten you, but an adolescent wizard who does not learn to use his power properly can be quite dangerous. Your magic grows as you do, you see, and at age eleven it begins to mature. Mature magic requires a constant release. If it is not released safely and regularly, the buildup of energies within you can be…catastrophic. I’m afraid there’s really no choice but for you to attend a magical school of some kind.”

She hadn’t understood at all, but that hardly mattered at this point. Catastrophic didn’t sound like something he wanted to bring anywhere near Daisy, but he also didn’t want to leave her to the mercies of the Dursleys. He was very unsure of what might happen to her without him there to protect her. If what the professor said was true, though, it sounded like he didn’t have much choice. 

He swallowed hard. He had one last card to play to determine if she was truly serious.

“But what…what about all those supplies? Where am I meant to get any of that stuff?”

“Oh, that can be easily arranged,” she reassured. “There’s a special wizarding district in London called Diagon Alley. I can arrange for an escort to take you shopping whenever is most convenient for you. If your Aunt and Uncle are going to have to make the drive out to Kings Cross on the first, we might as well do it on the thirty-first and you can just stay at the Leaky Cauldron or somewhere in Muggle London and catch the train next day. We do it all the time for our muggle-born students.”

It was at this time that Uncle Vernon decided to speak up. 

“He won’t be needing an escort. He told you, he isn’t going.”

“I assure you, Mr….Dursley, did you say it was? Harry will be quite safe with us at Hogwarts. It’s really what’s best for him.”

“Rubbish. He’s my nephew and I know what’s best for him, and I say he’s not going. And besides, all this sounds…expensive.”

There it was. The out Harry was looking for. There was no way the Dursleys would let him go to Hogwarts if they had to spend money to make it happen. He hadn’t had new school supplies since, well, ever. 

“Oh, well, it can be,’ she said, and Harry’s heart leapt. “but that can be arranged, too,” she continued, and his heart fell again. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you reconsider. It is vital that Harry be allowed to go. He can become dangerous to you, otherwise. I’m sure you wouldn’t want harm to befall your nephew simply because you didn’t want him so far out of your sight! I know it can be difficult when they leave home, but it truly is what is best.”

Professor Sprout had entirely the wrong idea about the Dursleys, just as she’d misunderstood Harry. But Uncle Vernon couldn’t exactly put up much more of a fight without destroying the carefully constructed facade of everything-is-perfectly-normal-here that the Dursleys tried to maintain in public. Right now, Professor Sprout believed that Harry was cherished and well-cared-for. If she believed Harry was being mistreated in any way, he suspected this meeting would become very different very quickly. 

And so, somehow, it was decided that Harry would go to Hogwarts. With Uncle Vernon and Professor Sprout unexpectedly on the same side (Uncle Vernon had come around quickly after the words ‘scholarship fund’ had been uttered), his options had rather run out. It was further arranged that an escort would come meet the Dursleys in London where they would assist Harry with his shopping, then chaperone him at the Leaky Cauldron, whatever that was, overnight, as Aunt Petunia would need to see  Dudley off to Smeltings and Uncle Vernon would be catching a plane from London that night and would be unable to attend. Harry seriously doubted Uncle Vernon would be going anywhere by plane, as he’d never once gone so far as London on business, but the excuse seemed to have fooled the professor, as she asserted, once more, that things could be “arranged.” 

In short order, with a profusion of shaking hands, nodding heads, and polite smiles, Professor Sprout left Number Four with plans to see Harry again at the end of the month. 

It was the shortest month of Harry’s life. 

He considered running away no less than twelve times, and rejected the idea just as many. Running away would still separate him from Daisy, which would accomplish nothing. Then, he considered them both running away, but Daisy wasn’t on board. She, at least, was excited about him attending magic school and flatly refused to do anything which might jeopardize his going. She maintained that she would be fine without him, though she did confess that she would miss him terribly. 

The problem was, he was beginning to wonder if he would be fine without her . 

When 31 August came around without Harry and Daisy having run away, he hugged her tightly and promised to write every single day. They both pretended the other wasn’t crying. They whispered their special words, then Daisy practically pushed him into the car with Aunt Petunia. To keep up pretenses, Aunt Petunia drove him all the way to London by herself, the furthest she’d driven on her own in years. A young fellow who introduced himself as Auror Trainee Wilkins met them in front of a department store. Aunt Petunia gave him a fake little wave as she drove away and Harry followed the Auror into a strange little old-timey pub nestled between two thoroughly modern shops. Strangely, nobody seemed able to see the pub besides the two of them.

“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. This is where we’ll kip tonight. I’ll just go check in with Tom and then we’ll head into the Alley. Sound all right?” Auror Trainee Wilkins asked.

Harry nodded, but the young wizard hadn’t waited around for his response anyway. The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. He flitted in and out of shops that sold things that he’d never even fathomed. He saw bits of magic that made his head spin but that didn’t even make the Auror Trainee blink. He watched as a magical measuring tape twisted itself this way and that around his body. The older gentlemen being measured on the pedestal next to him seemed bored and maybe even a bit annoyed by it, though Harry thought it was simply fascinating. 

And at the end of it all, he got his very own wand. 

And wasn’t that something. The fellow who’d sold it to him had been the oldest man Harry had ever seen. His wrinkles had wrinkles and his hair was snow white and wiry and floated around his head as if he were underwater. He’d said the most peculiar things as he pulled box after box down from the walls. Harry was beginning to wonder if any wand would work for him when at last he produced a beautiful shower of golden sparks. Mr. Ollivander (for that was the very old man’s name) was delighted. 

“I had wondered when this wand would find its wizard! Holly, eleven inches, with a phoenix tail feather core. The wand core and wood were an experimental combination that have only ever worked this once. Curiously, the phoenix that gave the feather gave only two. The other is in a wand that has done many powerful things. Terrible things, but great.” He peered at Harry with bulbous eyeballs that were keen and clear in defiance of his advanced age. Harry disliked it immensely. “Perhaps we can expect great things from you, too, young Harry. Something to keep in mind: while the other is suited for offensive magic and transfiguration, this wand is better suited for defensive spells and charms. If you use it to protect, it will never turn on you. Do you understand?”

Harry decidedly did not understand, but he nodded solemnly anyway, as it seemed the thing to do if he wanted to get out of this strange old man’s shop, which he very much did. He resolved to think on the old man’s words not at all and tried as hard as he could to put them from his mind. Wand finally acquired, he rejoined his auror escort outside and the two ventured back to the Leaky Cauldron for some dinner. That night, Harry packed his things away neatly in his new trunk. He had only the basic supplies, as those on Hogwarts scholarship as he was weren’t free to select the most luxurious of robes or the fanciest of quills. Still, the quality of his things was finer than anything he’d ever had at the start of the school year with the Dursleys. Sometime around Year 3, Dudley started breaking his old pencils on purpose so that Harry would have to start the new school year with tiny nubs. Now, he had his own set of brand new quills and parchment. He didn’t even care that his cauldron was refurbished or that he couldn’t choose a pet. This was more than enough. 

He slept fitfully on the borrowed bed without any knobby knees or elbows to contend with. 

Harry couldn’t have told you what happened the next morning if you’d forced him to at knifepoint. He was tired, lonely, and nervous about boarding a train to parts unknown and being away from Daisy for the better part of a year. This would be the first morning practically since she’d been born that she would wake up without him. Would she burn herself making the tea? Would Aunt Petunia make her walk to school by herself? Would Uncle Vernon rage and roar at her if the dinner wasn’t just so? 

Harry didn’t want to think about it. It made him feel a bit sick. 

Finally, Auror Trainee Wilkins, who’d told Harry his first name about seven times, but Harry simply could not remember, stood Harry in front of a solid brick wall with his trolley and told him to run full tilt towards it. For the first time since all this started happening, he wondered if he was being pranked. 

“No, mate, I’m serious. I’d do it first, but I’m meant to see you through safely and once I’m on the other side it’s not so easy to get back this way. Now, come on. Close your eyes if you’re nervous. I’ll point you in the right direction, you just go for it. Go on!”

Harry decided there was nothing for it and pushed his trolley hard. Just as he was about to collide with the wall, he screwed his eyes shut tightly and clenched his stomach muscles, just in case. 

But nothing happened. 

He opened his eyes and gaped. There were people all around who were clearly magical. Most were wearing robes of various colors. Several of the adults were waving wands and most of the trunks were floating about a foot off the ground. Some were being lifted and thrown on board as if they weighed no more than a feather. 

It was also quite loud and cheery, in stark contrast to Harry’s mood. Friends were greeting each other after a summer spent apart and owls of all colors were winging their way gracefully overhead or cooing at each other from inside cages. 

“Right, see! Told ya!” said Auror Trainee Wilkins with a smile, appearing beside him with a wave as if he’d stepped through a vertical wall of water. “Anyway, now you’ve made it, this is where I leave you. Get your trunk on board and find yourself a compartment. First years are usually somewhere near the back. Ask a porter if you need any help. Good luck!”

And then, he simply disappeared. The only sign of his leaving was a sharp pop, sort of like a large bubble had burst right in front of him. Harry blinked hard, but he didn’t reappear. He must really have gone, then. Harry shook his head and pushed his trolley forward towards the nearest porter. 

Once aboard the train and with his magically lightened trunk stored overhead in the empty compartment he’d found, Harry settled in for the ride. The warning whistle sounded and he was just thinking he might actually get the little compartment to himself when a red headed boy stuck his head through the door. 

“Do you mind? Everywhere else is full,” he said.

Harry gestured towards the empty seat. 

“Cheers,” the boy said. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“Harry,” he replied. 

“Harry what?”

“Oh, er, Harry Potter.”

Ron face brightened and he looked at Harry eagerly.

“Would you happen to be related to James Potter? I heard he was starting Hogwarts this year.”

“Erm, not that I know of. I’ve only got a sister, and she’s six. We live with our aunt and uncle and cousin. None of them is called James.”

Ron’s face turned rueful as he resumed stowing his trunk. He struggled with it for a moment before Harry stood and helped him heft it onto the rack. Ron’s had not been magically lightened as his had been.

“Shame,” Ron said as they took their seats. “I was hoping to meet him. Famous, and all. I bet you’ll get asked about it loads of times.”

“What’s he famous for?”

“You don’t know? When he was a baby he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Who’s that?”

“Blimey, mate, were you raised by muggles or something?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Ron’s ears burned red and his face flamed. He ducked his eyes when he spoke again, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the sudden awkwardness.

“Oh. Sorry. Right, well, he’s this really foul wizard who did a bunch of terrible stuff. Killing muggleborns and such. Mum’s twin brothers were killed in the war trying to defeat him, along with loads of other people. Then, one day, he shows up to kill the Potters–they’d fought against him loads of times and won–and then BOOM! He’s gone. Said he was defeated by their son, James, who was still a baby. So, of course, he’s famous. I’ve always wanted to meet him, but I haven’t had the chance. Mum and Dad do sometimes get invited to their charity galas and such, but they never go.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to say to that, so he simply said nothing. Ron didn’t seem particularly bothered as at that moment the train finally got underway. Slowly, the train pulled away from the platform. Ron leaned out the window, then immediately pulled his head back in, red-faced. Harry watched as a red-headed girl not much younger than them ran alongside the train, waving. 

It reminded him uncomfortably of Daisy. 

Ron slunk down in his seat and muttered. 

“Stupid Ginny. Why do you have to be so embarrassing?”

“Do you know her?” Harry asked. 

“Unfortunately. She’s my kid sister, Ginny. She’ll be coming next year. I’ve got loads of older brothers, but she’s the youngest, and the only girl. This will be her first year home alone. Doesn’t mean she has to be such a baby, though, running with the train like that. What if someone had heard her yelling my name? Ugh.”

Harry privately wished Daisy was here to run along the train and wave to him as he left, and sort of thought Ron ought to be a bit more grateful that his sister wasn’t at home going through the first day of school by herself, like his was, but he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t worth the fight. 

Ron tried to engage Harry in conversation a few times, but Harry was content to watch the scenery pass by out the window and gave only the bare minimum responses. Finally, the other boy got the hint and stopped asking questions. He pulled out a corned beef sandwich, wrinkled his nose at it, then set about systematically destroying it anyway. Harry rather wished he had a bit of a snack, but the scholarship fund didn’t provide for pocket money and his aunt and uncle weren’t about to spare him a single penny, or a knut, or even a particularly shiny paperclip. So, when the snack trolley came around, both boys waved it on ahead with regret. 

Harry was just thinking he might lie back and have a kip when a bushy-haired girl swung into the doorway. 

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy called Neville’s lost one,” she declared imperiously.

“Sorry, can’t say I have,” Harry replied. Ron just shook his head, mouth still full of what Harry thought might be his second or third sandwich. Notably, he hadn’t offered to share, even though Harry was conspicuously without any food. 

“Oh, well, thanks anyway, then. Also, I heard one of the older students saying we’ll be there soon, so you might want to change into your robes. Unless you knew that already. It’s just that you look like first years, like me, so I thought you might not know.”

“Thanks, I didn’t know,” Harry said, kindly.

“Oh, so you are first years, then. Excellent. I’m Hermione Granger. It’s good to me you, er…”

“Harry Potter.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t happen to be related to–”

“No, afraid not.”

“Right, well, it’s just you look a bit like him, so you can understand why I might think so.”

“Have you met him, then?” Ron interjected.

“Met who?” said another voice. A tallish boy with dark hair and hazel eyes appeared over Hermione’s shoulder. “Have you found the toad yet?”

“Met you, actually,” Hermione said to the newcomer before turning back towards the two boys and introducing him. “This is James Potter.”

The tall boy extended his hand to Harry and flashed a charming smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said. 

Harry reached out and shook the boy’s hand. He had a quick, firm handshake that seemed rather well practiced. Ron reached out as soon as Harry let go and James effortlessly shook the other boy’s hand, as well. 

“Ron Weasley. I’m so glad to meet you.”

James simply smiled wider before sliding his gaze disinterestedly past both of them and surveying the floor. 

“I’ve already told Hermione that we haven’t seen it. Sorry,” Harry said, eager to get these newcomers out of the doorway and return to his quiet survey of the scenery.

James sighed. 

“Oh, well. I told him not to bring a toad, but Nev insisted. I swear, that thing’s a bloody escape artist. He’s lost it three times since he got it two weeks ago. Oo! Maybe it’s an animagus! There’s an idea! Anyway, thanks for your help Ron and er, actually, I don’t think I caught your name.” 

He said all this really quickly, turning to Harry at the last moment with an inquiring look on his face. 

“Harry Potter.”

The curious look dropped off James’s face like a brick. His cheerful grin vanished and his hazel eyes–why did they look so familiar?--closed off. 

“What did you say?”

“Harry Potter. I know, it’s just a weird coincidence, apparently. I’m not–”

“So, he wasn’t lying,” James muttered, running his hand through his hair distractedly and making it stand up in all directions. “It’s true.”

“I’m sorry, what’s true?” Hermione asked, curiously.

James looked up at her. He made a shooing motion with his hand and she jerked back, offended. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, though Harry thought he didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Both of you, I need to talk to him for a minute. Alone.”

Hermione, still looking mildly offended, stepped to the side as Ron scurried out of the compartment, eager to please his hero. Once they were clear of the door, James slid it shut and pulled the shade. He turned to Harry with a thunderous look. 

“What are you playing at?”

Harry stepped back, alarmed and not half peeved.

“What are you talking about? I’m not playing at anything!”

“Who put you up to this? Did Dad do it? It seems a bit much, even for him, but Sirius has been known to take a joke too far a time or two. Was it Sirius, then?”

“Who’s serious? I don’t understand.”

“See, this morning, before we left, Dad pulled me aside and told me I might meet someone on the train called Harry Potter and that he was my brother. My twin brother. But that’s bollocks because I don’t have a twin brother. Never have. And when I told him that he just looked all sad and went off on some tangent about mum that made no sense whatsoever, then said, and I quote, ‘I just felt like I should warn you so it won’t be such a shock,’ then shoved me on the train like that explained anything at all. So, now I’m asking you. What the actual hell?”

Harry blinked at him several times to determine if this boy standing in front of him was real or not. When he failed to disappear like Trainee Auror Wilkins, and instead began looking at Harry as if he was touched in the head, Harry supposed he must actually be real. But that didn’t make much sense, because if the boy was real then the words he was spouting were clearly meant to make sense, but they didn’t. 

Except for the parts that did. But Harry was nothing if not stubborn, and he stubbornly refused to believe a word of it. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re Harry Potter, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Born 30 July, 1980?”

“Er, no. 31 July, 1980.”

James Potter relaxed his stance and ran his fingers through his hair again. A relieved smile bloomed on his face.

“Oh. Well, that’s that, then. Twins have to have the same birthday, don’t they?”

“Er, I guess? I mean, unless they were born like, before and after midnight. I’ve no idea what time I was born, so I can’t help you there.”

James scoffed and looked at him incredulously.

“How do you not know what time you were born? Mum tells everyone she knows that I was born at 10:57 p.m.”

Harry was very tired of this boy and his entitled questioning. He rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’ve never met my mum, so I can’t say. I live with my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and they don’t talk about my birth at all, seeing as they weren’t there.”

James’s face had gone white again and his smile was gone. Harry couldn’t have cared less and directed his gaze pointedly out the window in as clear a nonverbal dismissal he could manage. 

“Petunia?” James asked sharply. “Mum’s got a sister named Petunia. I’ve never met her and nobody talks about her much. I think they’re estranged.”

“Bully for you. What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re Harry Potter, yeah? And you’ve never met your mum, what about your dad?”

Harry shook his head no, still looking out the window.

“Never met your mum or dad, then. Birthday less than 24 hours after mine. Raised by an Aunt Petunia. I’ve got an Aunt Petunia. So…it’s true. It wasn’t a prank or a trick. You are my brother. My twin brother.”

Harry whirled around, his face thunderous. His frustration and exasperation had morphed into anger, now, and he really wanted this prick to just leave him alone . Who was he to come thundering in here, claiming to be Harry’s long-lost-twin like on one of Aunt Petunia’s daytime television dramas. Harry was over it.

“Sod off! I haven’t got a twin! I think I’d know, wouldn’t you? And besides that, aren’t you, like, famous, or something? Surely everyone would know if you had a missing twin.” Harry deflated, waving at the door. God, he missed his sister. “Just bugger off and leave me alone. It’s just a weird coincidence.”

“We were in hiding when I was born. And you, I suppose,” James said, sounding half mad himself. Harry didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Yeah. I’m convinced. It’s real. It’s you. I mean, look at you. You’re shorter and skinnier than me, yeah, but the hair, and those are Mum’s eyes, if I’ve ever seen them. So, I guess I’ve just got one thing to say to you, then.”

James plastered the smile back on his face, then lightning quick drew back his arm and swung it at Harry. 

James apparently didn’t have much experience throwing punches and Harry had plenty of experience dodging them, so James’s punch sailed harmlessly over Harry’s left shoulder. As soon as the punch flew, James’s smile dropped and his eyes hardened again. 

“What was that–” Harry started, but James interrupted. 

“I’ve only known about you for about four hours, but I already know you’ve ruined my life. If you’re real, then all that stuff Dad said about Mum was real, too. And once the press hears about this, which they definitely will, it’ll be all anyone talks about. The scandal of the century, for sure. My life was fine until this morning. Now it’s screwed up seven ways from Sunday. Go back to wherever you came from and leave me and my life the hell alone.”

Then, he shook himself off, put the fake smile back on, slid open the door, and sauntered out as if nothing at all had happened. Harry’s chest was still heaving from his anger and dodging the punch, but he turned his back to the door so Ron and Hermione wouldn’t notice. Ron came back in and the two of them put their robes on, Ron chattering all the while about how he knew he and James were going to be best friends and asking Harry to tell him what had happened while he and Hermione were in the corridor. Harry kept his mouth resolutely shut as he stared silently out the window. 

If this was his introduction to life at Hogwarts, then he was right to want to stay home. He’d take the Dursley’s any day over this ridiculousness. He couldn’t quite figure how he’d ruined James’s life, but he could very easily deduce how James’s Mum and Dad had ruined his. If he was James’s twin, then James’s parents were his parents. And his parents had left him and Daisy at the Dursleys to fend for themselves while James was, apparently, swanning around at charity galas and shaking hands with the rich and powerful. So, James’s parents might have a few skeletons in the closet (skeletons named Harry and Daisy, to be precise), but at least they’d deemed James worthy of keeping. 

Harry and Daisy had been thrown aside like rubbish. 

Harry resolved then and there that Daisy would never meet James. Whatever threat he had to make before Daisy came to Hogwarts (because there was no question in Harry’s mind that she would come in a few short years), Harry would ensure that James would never speak to her, never poison her with the words that he’d just thrown carelessly at Harry. Harry knew his parents hadn’t wanted him. He’d known it for the last six years. But Daisy still believed they were dead, and as long as no new babies appeared on the porch, Harry was content to let her believe it. Maybe some day she’d figure it out on her own, but Harry wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, and neither was some entitled prick who thought sharing blood and a birth date made you brothers. 

James wasn’t Harry’s brother, and he never would be. 

Harry shuffled off the train with the rest of the first years, careful to keep an eye on a tallish head of messy black hair lest they accidentally end up together. James was right–he and Harry did share more than a slight resemblance. They were different enough not to be recognized as brothers at first glance, but a close inspection would likely prove damning. He supposed the secret would get out sooner or later, but he preferred to at least make it into the castle before it all went pear-shaped. Luckily, everyone was a little out of sorts, mostly due to excitement, so his aloofness went unnoticed. 

He wished he hadn’t met James on the train. Maybe then he’d have been able to appreciate the view of the castle over the water and the magically enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. As it was, he almost felt like he was watching from somewhere above and slightly to the left of himself. Nothing felt real, and he desperately missed his sister. 

“Potter, Harry” 

The name brought him back to himself with a snap, and instantly he was aware of the sudden cessation of chatter in the hall, of the craning of necks as people leaned sideways to see if this Potter was related to that Potter. Alphabetically, Harry lamented that he hadn’t been named Zachary so that at least his prick of a brother could go through this first. As it was, Harry could feel James’s eyes in particular burning into the back of his head. People were seeing the resemblance. Whispers were circulating. James’s triumphant moment of being sorted into his Hogwarts house was being trumped by Harry’s mysterious appearance. Personally, he’d rather have crawled back into the cupboard under the stairs and pretended like he didn’t exist. 

Instead, he walked slowly but steadily towards the stool with the strange-looking hat. He had a distant sort of recollection of all the people in front of him sitting upon the stool and the hat declaring which house they belonged to. He supposed the houses were significant, but he’d missed that bit. As he approached, the stern-looking professor picked the hat up off the stool and Harry sat upon it. She placed the hat upon his head and it slid down well over his ears. He found himself looking at the inside of the hat, which was rather weird, so he closed his eyes instead. 

He nearly fell off his stool when he heard a voice inside his head. 

“Well, you were not the Potter I was expecting this year. Curious. Yes, I can see that you are, too. And there’s more in here I had not expected. A sister! And I can see how you defend her, protect her. What a strong and loyal defender you are. That strength and bravery could take you far in Gryffindor, but I sense a better home for you, away from your brother and your family legacy. Somewhere that will appreciate the value in putting the needs of others before your own. Yes. You’ll do well in HUFFLEPUFF!”

This last word Harry heard echoing through the hall and the hat was promptly lifted off his head. He stumbled from the stool and walked towards the table hung with yellow and black. The students cheered and smiled for him as he took a seat at the end near the other first years. 

The hall fell into silence again as the professor called out “Potter, James.” 

James was wearing the fake smile again as he practically swaggered towards the stool. Harry was mildly satisfied to see that it fell far over James’s face, as well, making him look equally as ridiculous as Harry thought he must have looked. The hall sat in silence for what felt like ages before the hat finally called out “GRYFFINDOR!” and James sauntered away with a grin–genuine, this time, Harry thought. He breathed a sigh of relief that they’d ended up in different houses. He and James in a dorm together would likely be utterly disastrous.

The light chatter started up again as the professor (Harry really wished he could remember her name–it seemed important) moved on to the next name, and the next. More students were added to each table, each time to a smattering of applause, though the students seemed ready to move on to the next part of the evening, which Harry hoped involved dinner. He was more than a bit hungry. 

Finally, the headmaster, who was called Professor Dumbledore (Harry thought he could probably remember that name at least), stood up and said some nonsense words, then a feast appeared on the table in front of him as if by magic. 

Well, it probably was by magic, actually, Harry supposed. He should also probably get used to thinking, using, and hearing that word without that little spike of fear down his spine, but there were more important things to think about now–like the mountains of food in front of him that looked and smelled amazing. Overwhelmed with the number of choices, he blindly filled his plate with a little bit of everything he could reach. It made for a strange combination of flavors, but, looking around, he saw everyone else’s plate looked about the same, so he didn’t feel too bad. 

He was still getting a smattering of strange looks from around the hall. The stares and whispers made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tried to ignore them and continue eating (he wasn’t sure anything could really ruin this feast), but it was difficult. His table mates were mostly engaged in friendly conversations amongst themselves, but a few of them were looking at him, too. One of the boys next to him suddenly scoffed, then turned towards Harry unexpectedly. He nearly dropped his fork as the boy startled him by tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me,” the boy said, “but I just have to ask–” 

“No, Ernie, leave it–” the other boy urged, but Ernie ignored him. Harry rather suspected he knew what was coming next. 

“Are you related to James Potter, by any chance?”

Harry wanted to just say “no,” since he’d already decided James wasn’t his brother, but deciding something was so didn’t actually make it so, as he’d learned repeatedly throughout his life. Still, he wasn’t up for publicly claiming the prick simply on his word alone. For all Harry knew, he was lying through his teeth on the train. Harry couldn’t quite figure why he would do that, nor did he really believe it (especially given that clumsy, but powerful, punch he’d dodged), but he wasn’t going to go around outright claiming or rejecting any kinship out of hand. So, what was the best thing to do, then? 

Strangely, he sort of thought Daisy might have some idea how to go about this, despite her young age. She was just so much better with people than he was. She was better at most things, honestly. Being five years younger hadn’t slowed her down much. She understood things in a way Harry just couldn’t, and he wished desperately that she was here, now. She could have smoothed this all over with a wide smile and her big hazel eyes. 

Hazel eyes. That’s why James’s eyes looked so familiar. They were exactly the same mix of green and brown as Daisy’s. The shape was a little different, but the color was identical. 

Well, that sealed it then. James and Daisy were clearly related, and Daisy and Harry were certainly family, so that meant James and Harry were related, too. With that thought, the last niggling doubt was erased. It didn’t solve the problem of how he should respond, though, and apparently he’d been waffling on his response for too long, or else Ernie was just really impatient, because he carried on without hearing Harry’s response. 

“It’s just that, well, my family are really well connected, being members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and all, and I’ve been to several of the Potter family functions, for charity of course, and James has never mentioned you. But, well, I’m not sure if anyone’s told you this, but you’re a dead ringer for James Potter, er, Sr., that is. Well, except for the eyes. You’ve got Lily Potter’s eyes. And, well, pardon me for saying so, but you’re a bit scrawny for a Potter.”

“Oh my God , Ernie, you can’t say things like that to people!” the other boy said, shouldering Ernie out of the way. “I’m Justin. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Isn’t all this just fascinating? I was down for Eton until my letter came a few months ago. Dad was a bit put-out I wouldn’t be going to his alma mater–especially considering that the word is Prince William has his name down to start in a few years–but Mum was chuffed I’d be going somewhere truly elite. What about you?”

Now this was a question he could answer. 

“I was just going to attend Stonewall High, the local secondary, when I got my letter.”

“So you were raised by muggles? Me, too.”

“Yeah, my aunt and uncle. I didn’t know anything about magic until a month ago.”

“Were you as shocked as I was, then? I mean, I’d done some unexplainable things, to be sure, but I hadn’t thought they were magic .”

“Same for me. I just thought it was something weird only my sister and I could do.”

Oops. He hadn’t meant to mention Daisy, but it was hard to talk about life at the Dursleys without talking about her. 

“So, you’ve got a sister, then?” Ernie interjected. 

“Hush, Ernie. Give it up. If he was raised with muggles he can’t be related to this James Potter bloke, can he? And he’s got a sister, too. Sounds like it’s just a weird coincidence, to me.”

“But…but it’s the Potters . They’re not Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they’re elite . If I might be related to them, you can bet I’d be looking into the possibility.”

“The magical world might be a bit smaller than the regular one, so maybe you don’t know,” Justin replied, “but it’s actually quite common for people to share a last name and not be related. Especially a name like ‘Potter.’ In fact, now that you mention it, there was a bloke in my primary called William Potter. Should we interrogate him about his familial connections?”

Harry thought that perhaps they maybe should , actually, given the Potter family’s apparent propensity for leaving their children all over the UK, but it sounded like Justin went to school somewhere posh, so they probably really weren’t related. He wanted to believe that if his parents had been given the choice between somewhere posh and upper-class and Surrey that they’d have chosen the former. They seemed rather the sort that valued that sort of thing. 

The two had descended into a debate about the similarities and differences in the upper echelons of wizard and muggle society–a conversation which Harry absolutely could not provide any meaningful contribution to, so he happily left them to it. The question of his family avoided for now, Harry returned to his meal. He was content to let the chatter wash over him as he ate his fill, then ate some more. Feeling unpleasantly full, he stood at the end of the meal and followed his housemates down the stairs and through a series of wide corridors until they stopped in front of a pile of barrels stacked in a shadowy corner. The prefect showed them which barrel to tap and in what pattern and then the barrels bounced to the sides to reveal an earthen passageway. They followed it up a short distance until they emerged into a wide, round room. 

The walls were hung with sconces filled with large, dripping candles, though the wax seemed to vanish the second it fell. There was a large, multi-tiered circular chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling also filled with drippy candles that cast a warm glow over everything. There was not one but three fireplaces set into little alcoves and surrounded by yellow or black plush chairs. Tables made of highly polished warm brown wood were dotted around the place–for studying, Harry supposed. There was a wide, round window directly opposite the door and plants of all shapes and sizes were crammed into every available space. The overall effect was of a cozy underground den of some kind. It made Harry feel immediately comfortable. 

The prefects had split up to take the girls one way and the boys the other, and Harry followed the boys through a door with the number 1 hung on it and into another round room. This room was smaller, and it was obviously where they were meant to sleep. There were three four-poster beds on each side of a small porthole window. The four-poster beds were of the same polished warm wood as the tables and were hung with black curtains with yellow edging which could be pulled closed to provide privacy at each bed. The beds were covered with a quilt in a patchwork of differently patterned yellow fabrics of various shades and stitched with a black thread in an intricate, swirling pattern. In the center of the room was a brazier that was emitting a gentle warmth throughout the room.  

The boys had spread themselves out, looking for the bed assigned to them. Harry’s trunk was on the left side of the window between two boys he hadn’t met yet named Oliver and David. Ernie and Justin were on the other side with another bloke called Thomas, but who asked to be called Tommy. 

The prefect left them with an admonition to get a good night of sleep before their first day and, surprisingly, the room full of energetic eleven-year-old boys didn’t put up a fight. Harry was certainly exhausted. His first taste of Hogwarts had been even more emotionally draining than he’d anticipated. He had figured he’d miss Daisy, which was certainly true, but meeting his estranged twin brother, who was also apparently some sort of celebrity, was decidedly not on his list of possibilities. That emotional bomb had left nothing but exhaustion and the shrapnel that used to be the last of his self-confidence behind. 

He desperately wanted to go home and forget this had ever happened. He knew he shouldn’t have come, but now that he was here, there was no going back. He pulled a piece of special paper, which he now knew was called parchment, out of his trunk, as well as one of the self-inking quills the Auror Trainee had helped him pick out. He’d initially wanted some of the traditional quills and inkwells, since they felt very whimsical and magical to him, but the Auror had convinced him of the practicality of the self-inking ones, especially as he was unaccustomed to using a quill in the first place. Now that he was sitting in his bed trying to wrangle parchment and quill into something legible, he really appreciated the Auror’s advice and wished he’d had some notebook paper and a biro instead.  

When he’d promised to write to Daisy every day, he’d sort of temporarily forgotten that, at age 6, she could only just barely read. So, during the long drive to London, he’d arranged with Aunt Petunia that he could write a single letter each week and she would read it aloud to Daisy until such time as Daisy was capable of reading the letters herself. Knowing that whatever he wrote would certainly not be private immediately dissuaded him from including anything about James Potter, not that he’d had much intention of including him anyway. Beyond that, though, there wasn’t much he felt he could really say. James’s very existence had distracted him sufficiently that he hadn’t noticed much else. 

Still, he persisted, and by the end of his rather short missive he’d managed to make his arrival seem not-at-all traumatic and quite a bit more spectacular than he’d really felt. Daisy would certainly be enthralled, and hopefully she wouldn’t worry about him too much. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d post the letter–Aunt Petunia certainly wouldn’t want owls appearing at the kitchen window every week–but that was a problem for the morning. For now, he needed to get some sleep. 

Exhausted, Harry slipped into his worn pajamas, climbed under the cozy quilt, and pulled the dark hangings shut around him. It was truly dark in his little cocoon, and he felt a bit like he was back under the stairs in Surrey, except the bed was much softer and warmer and his legs had room to stretch all the way out. The absence of Daisy’s breath on his face was palpable, but the soft sounds of the other boys in the room made him feel a little less alone. Though he feared he’d lie awake, his overwhelming exhaustion soon overcame him, and he drifted into a deep sleep. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Harry’s morning was not going well. 

It had started with him accidentally oversleeping. The black curtains around his bed were truly effective at blocking out all the light, and he hadn’t been responsible for waking himself a single day of his life. His aunt or uncle’s fist on the door or their footsteps on the stairs had done the job for him. As a result, he’d woken feeling deeply rested and refreshed, only to throw open the curtains and see bright sun shining in the window and the rest of the boys already gone. 

He took a brief moment to admire the, er, courtesy of his dormmates in letting him sleep in, then smothered his frustration and dressed as quickly as he could. He gave up on his tie after four unsuccessful attempts and shoved it in his pocket to try again later. He rushed out the door as the large clock in the common room ticked perilously close to 9 a.m. 

He managed to find his way to the Great Hall, though he got lost no less than three times. Professor Sprout was waiting for him at the end of the Hufflepuff table with his timetable in hand, but all the food had already vanished. 

“Mr. Potter! There you are! I was just about to summon a prefect to fetch you. Here’s your course schedule. You’ll be starting with Charms today, and it’s a bit of a trek.” She waved to a passing Hufflepuff who obediently trotted over. “Mr. Bodkins, can you please show Mr. Potter to Professor Flitwick’s room? I’ve got to get down to the greenhouses before the flinging vinewhips start throwing dirt clods at the fourth years. You’ve got a free period next, haven’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied. “I’d be happy to.”

“Good, good. Now, Mr. Potter, best hurry. Class will be starting momentarily. Have a great day!”

She hurried away with hardly a backwards glance. The older student made a “follow me” sort of gesture and turned in the opposite direction Professor Sprout had gone. Victor Bodkin, as he’d introduced himself (Harry had ignored his “And you’re Harry Potter, right?”), was a friendly sort of fellow. He chattered so much that Harry was quite unable to feel nervous about all the moving staircases and twisting hallways they were charging through at speed. Finally, after a long, one-sided conversation that Harry remembered none of, Victor deposited Harry in front of the Charms classroom and he scurried inside quickly. 

The Charms professor was the smallest man Harry had ever seen. He was perched atop a precarious-looking pile of books calling names off the roster. Half of the room was dominated by blue and bronze ties, so Harry made his way to an empty seat on the yellow and black side. He dropped his heavy school bag on the floor with a thud (he hadn’t known what books he’d need, so brought them all just to be safe). 

“Glad you made it,” the boy in the bunk next to his (Harry thought his name was David) leaned over and whispered. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not, but the others said you’d wake up on your own.”

Harry was saved from replying by Professor Flitwick calling for their attention and beginning class. They were starting with an introduction to wand movements today. There weren’t any incantations, and they never did any actual magic, but they practiced the different motions they’d use later to do just such things. Harry waved, flicked, swished, jabbed, twirled, and twisted his wand until his arm was well and truly tired. He and David had laughed when, in a bout of over-enthusiastic twisting, both boys had managed to send their wands flying. Harry’s had merely clattered onto the table top in front of him, but David’s had bounced two tables away and landed in front of a pair of girls Harry hadn’t met yet. He gave a sheepish thank you as they passed it back to him, then Harry and David had shared a laugh. 

Besides their brief moment of camaraderie, each was content to simply do his own wand motions and mind his own business. Harry found that suited him just fine. He’d had a chaotic morning and was still getting caught back up. 

When it came time to go to their next class, the Hufflepuffs gathered in a cluster outside the door. A cheerful older girl wearing a badge pinned to her yellow-edged robes gave them a wave and beckoned them to follow. Along the way, David explained that Professor Sprout had arranged for a prefect to escort them to all their classes for the first week, until they got the classroom locations figured out. 

Their next class turned out to be Potions. Harry hadn’t actually had time to look over his class schedule, so he was glad they had an escort. The Ravenclaws were tagging along behind the Hufflepuffs, so this must be another class they had together. 

Even though the clock above the classroom door indicated that class wouldn’t start for about another seven or eight minutes, everyone immediately filed in and found a seat. Harry found a spot near the back and pulled out his cauldron and potions kit. The cauldron had come with a strange storage box that automatically shrunk the cauldron to about the size of a thimble, where it could then nestle neatly into an empty spot in his ingredients case. Harry was privately glad of this as he wasn’t quite sure how else he was meant to carry around a full-size cauldron along with his other books. He removed it from the case and set it atop the bunsen-burner type apparatus in front of him. He also unrolled his knives and laid them in front of the provided chopping board. His ingredients kit he set to the side for later. 

David was doing the same next to him, except he left his cauldron miniaturized in his ingredients case, as there was only one burner for the pair of them. Apparently, they’d be working together on whatever they were doing today. Harry hoped their companionable working relationship from Charms carried over into Potions. Maybe, if they worked together in enough classes, they might even become friends. Or, at least Harry hoped so. He’d never had any friends other than Daisy (Dudley had made sure of that), so he wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. 

Just as he was beginning to wonder where their professor was, the door at the front of the classroom swung open suddenly with a bang. A youngish man with a long, pale face, hooked nose, and sort of greasy-looking dark hair swept into the room in a swirl of robes. He was clad in black from his neck down. The room was dimly lit, and the whole spectacle felt like something out of a movie. This was just the sort of drama he’d expected from a school that billed itself as a home of witches and wizards. He wholeheartedly approved. 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” the professor began quietly. Harry listened with rapt attention. “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, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.” Harry thought about the exhausted wand waving he’d just finished practicing in charms and thought a bit of potion making sounded pretty awesome, actually. The professor continued. “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

It was the sort of thing that was probably meant to be funny, but everyone was too enthralled, or maybe too intimidated, to laugh. Harry had heard some of the others talking about Professor Snape on the way down to the dungeons, and nobody had much to say that was flattering. It seemed that most of the students were sort of scared of him, but Harry hadn’t yet seen anything particularly frightening about the man. Dramatic, yes. Strict, probably. But not scary. 

Of course, maybe the difference was that Harry’s definition of scary might have been a bit different from everyone else’s. Professor Snape wasn’t standing over him, red faced and shouting with spittle flying every which way, nor was he egging on his mates as they chased Harry around the neighborhood for sport, so really, compared to that, Professor Snape was practically tame. 

Professor Snape then proceeded to ask the class a series of questions, none of which Harry had the faintest idea about. He’d flipped through some of his textbooks that night at the Leaky Cauldron, but he hadn’t actually sat down to read any of them, yet. Clearly, some of the Ravenclaws had. What was he expected to know about monkshood and wolfsbane? If it wasn’t a decorative flower in Aunt Petunia’s garden, he probably hadn’t heard of it. And dragon’s blood ? Not only were dragons apparently very real, but there were multiple uses for their blood. Thinking this sort of thing might be important, he withdrew a piece of parchment and a quill and started writing it all down. 

“Potter,” he heard, suddenly, snapping his face back up to the professor’s, his previous note (Asfodel + wormwood = draught of li-) still unfinished. The professor continued, “Tell me, where would I find a bezoar and what is its purpose?”

A what ? Harry had never heard of such a thing and couldn’t even begin to guess at its purpose. Several hands had raised into the air, so he supposed it was a common enough thing, for magical folks, but he hadn’t been raised that way and would probably sound more stupid trying to make a guess than he would just admitting he didn’t know. Besides, admitting he didn’t know was one of the things he’d gotten used to over the years, particularly in classes he shared with Dudley. His cousin hated when Harry looked smart in front of the teachers. 

He calmed himself and responded, “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”

The professor surveyed the class for a second. He pointed at someone behind Harry. 

“Miss…”

“Jones, sir. Megan Jones. It’s a stone from a goat’s stomach that can help if you’ve been poisoned.”

“Correct. The exact antidote is always preferred, but a bezoar can help when the poison is unknown or the particular antidote is not readily available. These are only some of the topics that we will cover in this class this year. Potions can be used to poison as well as cure, restore life or imitate death. Particular care must be taken with all ingredients. Careful attention must be given to all details. Do try to remember this as we begin out first potion. 

Today, we will be brewing a cure for boils. The Boil Cure potion was developed in 1348 during the height of the Black Plague. The creator of the potion is unknown, but it was intended to be a cure for the deadly disease. Unfortunately, the potion was only able to remove the painful sores and many patients still succumbed to the Plague’s other symptoms. In fact, the creator of the potion unknowingly made the Plague worse by removing all outward signs of infection, which allowed those who were sick to mingle freely with those who were still in good health, thus spreading the disease to more people.

The potion is fairly simple. All required ingredients are in your case. You and your brewing partner will submit one potion for grading, so it would behoove you to work together. You have sixty minutes. The instructions are here,” he waved his wand and an angular script appeared on the blackboard at the front of the room. Harry squinted at it. The spiky letters were difficult to read at such a distance. “You may begin,” the professor concluded, and a flurry of motion began. 

David was muttering the instructions under his breath as he read them off the board. Harry squinted hard, but the ingredients list was indecipherable. In any case, he heard David clinking bottles in his ingredients kit and left him to it. He switched to the numbered instructions, which were written just a bit larger. Ah. This he could manage. 

1. Light burner and set flame to medium. 

He picked up the lighting tongs and held them above the burner valve. He clicked them once as he turned the knob and a jet of flame whooshed into being. He peered down at the little dial and set it so the arrow was pointed straight up. The flame steadied and fanned out across the bottom of his cauldron. He set the lighter aside and consulted the board again. 

1. Fill cauldron half full of purified water and bring to a boil. While water is boiling, prepare other ingredients and set aside.

He peered inside the cauldron. Sure enough, there was a series of marks running at intervals along the inside. He noted the one marked ½ and poured water from the container at the end of their table. He stopped as the water just touched the mark. 

“Here, can you help me with these?” David asked, gesturing at the array of glass bottles on his chopping board. 

“Sure.”

David deposited one of the bottles onto Harry’s board and pulled another forward into the center of his own, pushing the rest to the side. 

“Here. You start with the ginger root.”

Harry squinted at the board, but couldn’t figure out which of the listed ingredients was ginger root or how he was supposed to prepare it. He huffed in frustration.

“I know, the professor’s handwriting isn’t the easiest to make out,” David said, hearing his huff. “Half an inch, sliced thin,” he said, and Harry nodded. He looked at his knives and selected one that was wider on the back end and narrowed to a point. He regarded the ginger with a frown.

“Does it say anything about peeling it?” he asked. 

David regarded the board for a moment. “No. Would you usually peel it?”

“If I was cooking it, yeah.”

“Oh. Well…I don’t know. Do whatever you think is best. I’ve never even seen real ginger before. Mum buys the powdered kind.” 

Harry looked around. Nobody else was peeling their ginger, but he really felt like he ought to. Wait, that wasn’t quite right. A Ravenclaw girl at the front of the room with dark skin and a shining black plait down her back had a pile of discarded ginger peel at the side of her chopping board. Well, that settled it then. 

Harry set down his knife and picked up the metal spoon from his roll of tools. With quick, practiced strokes, he divested the ginger of its skin. Then, he returned it to his chopping board, used his knife to mark a line at the half-inch mark, then began slicing it thinly, resting the tip of his knife against the board and rocking the back end up and down, shaving off thin slices. He used the back of his knife to slide the little pile of ginger slices to the end of his board when he finished. 

“Geez, Harry, those slices look great! Here, do this one. Four horned slugs ‘diced small,’ whatever that means.”

Harry knew what a small dice was–bigger than a mince, smaller than a regular dice. What was so difficult about that? He’d never diced a horned slug before, though, so that proved a bit challenging. They were very slimy and slippery, but he managed fairly well. After that, he minced pungeous onions, then crushed dried nettles in a mortar and pestle and mixed it with the pungeous onions and an extremely sticky substance called flobberworm mucus to make a paste. By then, David had completed his set of ingredients as well and they set to the task of combining them properly. 

David seemed to have very limited experience working with sharp edges and hot cookware. After he burned his hand on the edge of the cauldron adding the very first ingredient (shrake spines), he turned the brewing over to Harry while he took responsibility for the reading of the instructions and handling of ingredients. Professor Snape circulated the room, supervising, but rarely offering comment or instruction. Harry supposed he must be establishing a baseline of their skills, like when teachers at school would give a spelling test before they’d even learned the words to see what they knew all on their own. In primary, it had meant that he’d have to keep track of which words he’d intentionally gotten wrong on the first test and which ones he’d gotten right, so that he wouldn’t get them all mixed up on the second test. He hated when he got called to the teacher’s desk to explain why he’d been able to spell “cooperation” on Monday, but had got it wrong on Friday. Without Dudley around, though, and this seeming quite different from a spelling test, there was actually a bit less pressure and he found he was quite enjoying himself.

In the end, their potion looked pretty good, Harry thought. David had said the instructions said it should be pale blue and emit a pink smoke. Theirs was right in both categories. As it cooled and they prepared to bottle it, Harry thought it looked a bit unpleasantly slimy or sticky and wondered if perhaps they should have turned the heat off sooner or stirred it a little more or less, but there was nothing they could do now. They bottled it, stoppered it, and labeled it with their names before setting it at the end of their workstation for grading. As they packed up to leave, Harry was beginning to think that wizard school wasn’t so bad after all. 

It is always just as someone is thinking that something isn’t so bad that it proves itself to be so. The Hufflepuff prefect escort led the group of students out of the dungeons and into the Great Hall for lunch. Harry’s stomach was finally starting to realize it had missed breakfast and he was eager for some food. 

What he wasn’t eager for, though, was the volume level in the Great Hall. It was practically deafening. Harry would soon learn that lunch was the least supervised meal of the day, with many professors electing to take it in their quarters or offices while they prepared for afternoon classes. That’s not to say the hall was entirely devoid of adults–a smattering of professors sat at the high table and a scruffy-looking old man stood in the corner with a mangy cat twisting itself around his ankles.Still, the decrease in professorial overseers encouraged the students to be more boisterous than usual. Harry, hoping to avoid a repeat of last night, kept his head down as he entered the hall amid the pack of Hufflepuff first years. Blessedly, the overall chaos and his small stature worked to his advantage. He seated himself between David and a brown-haired girl he hadn’t met yet. 

The selection of foods was noticeably less fancy than it had been last night. There were several different types of sandwiches, both hot and cold, bowls of salad with an arrangement of dressings, and an assortment of soups. Harry chose an orangish soup which he couldn’t identify, but tasted both sweet and savory, as well as a couple wedges of cheese toastie, which he wasted no time dipping into his soup. He was just thinking that he was going to make it through lunch without encountering James Potter or anything to do with James Potter when a pinch-faced blonde boy approached him from behind. 

“Is it true what they’re saying?” he asked without preamble in a nasally voice that nonetheless carried through the entire hall. “You’re the Potter’s dirty little secret?”

Well, how was Harry meant to respond to that, exactly? The blonde must not have expected him to because as the talking around them diminished, he continued on his own. 

“They must have thought you were a squib.” A what? “Tossed you out to live with muggles because you didn’t have any magic. Well, now you’ve gone and figured out how to light your wand, joke’s on them, eh? Serves them right to have their names pulled through the mud.” He smiled conspiratorially and stuck out his hand. “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

Harry hadn’t, and he wasn’t entirely sure what the boy’s purpose here was. On the one hand, he very much agreed with Malfoy’s assessment of the Potters’ character. On the other hand, he was making quite a public scene about the whole thing, which Harry didn’t particularly appreciate. Once again, he was saved from answering a difficult question by the timely intervention of one of his peers. Was Harry really that lucky, or was he just bad at answering his own questions?

“Malfoy,” Ernie interjected smoothly from across the table. “You’re making quite the spectacle. What would your father say, I wonder?”

Malfoy straightened himself and dropped his hand, shaking his head back and making his longish hair settle away from his face. 

“As you well know, MacMillan,” Malfoy continued in a lower voice. “My father invented spectacle.”

“Yes, well, I’m not certain this is the one he’d want you making. Given your… history , do you really believe it prudent to drag the Potters through the dirt?”

“What an interesting accusation, MacMillan. As it happens, I haven’t dragged anybody anywhere. The Potters have done that quite neatly on their own. I merely wished to inform Harry of my deepest condolences regarding his exile from the family and to extend the hand of friendship to someone I ought to have been acquainted with long before now.”

The girl next to him scoffed and turned to join the conversation. 

“Oh, let it go, Malfoy. Just because James wouldn’t be your friend doesn't mean you have to drag Harry into all your dramatics. If you really wanted to ‘extend the hand of friendship,’ you wouldn’t be making such a public overture in the middle of the Great Hall. Just go sit down . You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Malfoy scowled at the girl before turning to Harry one final time. 

“The offer still stands, Potter. Don’t let these Potter family sympathizers steer you down the wrong path.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched back to the Slytherin table, where he seated himself between a pair of large, stupid-looking boys that reminded Harry of Dudley. 

“What just happened?” David asked, putting voice to Harry’s own thoughts. 

The girl beside Harry sighed. 

“Draco Malfoy happened. Listen, Harry, I’m not a ‘Potter family sympathizer’ or whatever, and I’m not going to tell you who to be friends with, but Draco Malfoy probably isn’t your best option, all things considered. He’s got…history with the Potters.”

“What sort of history?” Harry asked. 

“Well, it’s complicated.”

That seemed an apt descriptor for just about everything about Harry’s life at the moment, so he merely waved for her to go on.

“Okay, so it all goes back to the Potter galas. Every Halloween, the Potters host a benefit gala for St. Mungos. Everyone who’s anyone is invited. There’s a fee to attend, which gets donated, of course, and a live auction and silent auction, as well as dancing and everything else. It’s basically the social event of the year, and it provides enough funding for the hospital that the Potters to have an entire wing named for them. My Aunt once saved Mr. Potter’s life when she was head of his Auror division so she always gets an invite and doesn’t have to pay to go, so I’ve been a few times. 

Anyway, Malfoy’s family usually get invited every year, mostly because they’re members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and have just loads of money, but invitations went out this spring and, notably, the Malfoys didn’t get one . I visit my aunt a lot, and she works for the DMLE, so she reckons it has something to do with a raid the Aurors did on Malfoy Manor right before the invitations. She hasn’t said anything about it to me directly, but I heard her talking to my grandad about it and, apparently, the Malfoys should have gotten into loads of trouble, but didn’t, which isn’t unusual for them, actually, but, apparently it was Mr. Potter who led the raid, and he was so upset about the whole thing he nearly got suspended for throwing a fit in the Head Auror’s office. Well, that’s just a rumor, actually, and Aunt Amelia said I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but that’s stupid because I heard tons of people talking about it, so basically everyone already knows. 

Well, so, after almost getting suspended and all, Mr. Potter snubbed the Malfoys by not inviting them to the gala, and since then they’ve been uninvited from basically everything. I even heard that Minister Fudge refused to meet with him in his office last month. Mr. Malfoy has been one of Minister Fudge’s unofficial advisors since he was appointed, so that’s a big deal. So, I’m not saying Malfoy doesn’t really want to be friends with you, but after the article this morning, I’m saying there’s definitely a chance he’s got some other reason for it.”

That was…a lot to process, and some of it didn’t make a bit of sense to Harry, but one part stood out above the rest. 

“What article?” he asked.

“In the Prophet . Didn’t you see it this morning?”

“Susan, He missed breakfast, remember?” David interjected. 

“Oh, right!” the girl, Susan, said, smacking her hand against her forehead dramatically. “Here,” she said, after rummaging in her bag and producing the paper. “I hadn’t gotten around to actually throwing it away yet.”

Harry took the paper from her hands and read the headline in bold across the front page. A Potter family portrait, likely taken at last year’s gala, was under the headline, the smiling faces in stark contrast to the incriminating words. 

Scandal Rocks Potter Family!

By Investigative Journalist, Rita Skeeter

The Wizarding World was shocked yesterday by the arrival of not one, but two Potter boys at Hogwarts. James Potter, Jr., Defeater of the Dark Lord and son of renowned Auror James Potter and Unspeakable Lily Potter, started his first year at Hogwarts yesterday. James Potter, Jr.’s arrival at the school has been long anticipated and his sorting has garnered more than a few under-the-table bets. But, before the boy could be placed in his parents’ house (Gryffindor), another Potter made a mysterious appearance. 

Harry Potter, a scrawny boy with the characteristic unruly, dark Potter hair and green eyes (reportedly akin to Lily Potter’s) was sorted into Hufflepuff House. Harry Potter’s existence had not previously been known to anyone in the wizarding world, leading this reporter, and everyone else, to wonder where exactly the boy has been these last eleven years? 

While Potter is not an uncommon name, the boy’s resemblance to the high-profile family raises quite a few questions. Is the boy a missing Potter child? If so, where has he been? Why has his existence been kept secret? Have they been hiding him away? Was he abducted and raised by muggles? Has he been in an underground Goblin facility? Will he be the next Dark Lord? These are only some of the questions that demand answers. 

However, the Potter family is suddenly nowhere to be found. A representative of the famous family declined comment, and the couple have not been seen since Potter, Sr. bid farewell to Potter, Jr. on platform 9 ¾ yesterday morning. Known associates have also taken an unexpected leave of absence, such as Potter’s Auror partner and Potter Jr,’s godfather, Sirius Black. 

What is the Potter family hiding? Why have they suddenly disappeared? How far does the rabbit hole go? 

It is this reporter’s sworn duty to find out. 

For more on James Potter Jr.’s defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a history of the Potter family’s rise to fame, see pgs 2, 3, and 7.

“Whoa,” David said, reading over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry quite agreed. Suddenly, his soup and toasties were sitting uncomfortably in his stomach, which felt like it was now somewhere around his ankles. If there was an investigative journalist on the case, it wouldn’t take them long to find out about Daisy, and then what would happen? He folded the paper up and looked at the picture again, which Harry noticed for the first time was moving . He put that out of his head and focused. 

A tall, dark-haired man stood with his arm around a trim, red-headed woman. Her hair and Daisy’s were the exact same shade of warm red. Between them was James, the same magnanimous smile he’d had on the train stretching across his face. Harry had thought he’d have more reaction to seeing a picture of his parents for the first time, but all he really felt was more of the same–disappointment, rejection, loss, and pain. Did it matter if he had his mother’s eyes or his father’s hair if neither of them had wanted him? No. No, it didn’t. 

“Rita Skeeter’s articles are always a little sensational, but she’s a pro at getting the inside story. Nobody even knows how she got all that info about the sorting so fast,” Susan said.

“Why hasn’t anyone said anything to me about this today?” Harry asked. 

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Susan said, “but the way I figure it, it’s Potter family business, no matter how you slice it. My dad is always telling me to mind my own business and not worry so much about everyone else’s, so…” she shrugged. 

“Er, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m usually really bad at it, honestly, but you looked pretty miserable last night, so it just felt wrong to pester you about something that is obviously bothering you. Besides, it’s not like we’ve had a lot of time. If I were you, though, I’d make myself scarce during free period this afternoon.”

“Noted.”

He went to hand the paper back to Susan, but she pushed it back towards him. 

“Keep it. I was just going to throw it away anyway.”

“Why would I want to keep this?”

“I dunno. Start a collection for your inevitable legal battle where you take them for all they’re worth?” she shrugged again. “Just leave it on the table if you don’t want it. I’m not bothered either way.”

Harry once again didn’t know what to do with that sort of statement, so he just slid it into his bag without another comment. As he was putting it away, he saw the letter he’d written to Daisy. 

“Hey, Susan, can I ask you a question, actually?”

“Shoot.”

“How do I go about sending a letter?”

“The school has owls you can borrow, but I don’t know where the owlery is.”

“Is there a way to send it without an owl? My aunt, er, doesn’t like birds,” he lied. 

“You’d have to ask Professor Sprout. I don’t have any muggle family, so I’m not much help, sorry.”

Harry turned to David, who shrugged. 

“I’ve got the opposite problem. All muggles. I’m as lost on this whole owl business as you are. You should have been here at breakfast. It was wild. All these owls came swooping in all of a sudden, carrying packages and letters and newspapers. I’ve literally never seen an owl before today, and definitely not that many or that close!”

Luckily for Harry, their after-lunch class was Herbology. After a fun afternoon of digging in the dirt and repotting some gently-swaying plants with sweet smelling purple flowers that made Harry feel pleasantly relaxed and sleepy, he nearly forgot about his letter. It was hard to forget about Daisy completely while he was surrounded by flowers, though, so he lingered behind after class, waving the group on and promising David he’d ask for help if he got lost. 

“Um, Professor Sprout?” 

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” she said, wiping her hands on the hips of her dress. Harry remembered the stains on the dress she’d worn when she came to visit–remembered the conviction he’d felt about not coming to Hogwarts and how thoroughly Professor Sprout had misunderstood his reasoning. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, actually. You’ve saved me a trip to the common room this evening. I saw this morning’s article. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Er, no, not about that. I don’t–” he hesitated. “I don’t really want to talk about that at all, actually. I don’t know anything, really, anyway.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, my office is at the back of Greenhouse Three. I’m here, if you need me. What was it you wanted to discuss, then?”

“I just wanted to know if there was a way to send my family a letter without using an owl. My aunt’s sort of afraid of birds.”

“Of course! In fact, owls are only used for wizard-to-wizard correspondence. A post owl can only track a mature magical signature. Now that you are no longer residing in your home, and there are no other wizards in residence of at least eleven years of age, there are no magical signatures for the owl to track. For muggle residences, there is a relay system. Just take your letter up to the owlery. One of the school owls will take your letter to the relay office in London, and they’ll post it through the muggle system from there. Does that help you?”

“Yeah, except, er, how do I get to the owlery?”

“Take the central staircase to the fourth floor, then head down the east corridor. About halfway down, there’s a doorway behind a painting of owls in flight. The owlery is at the top of those stairs. Ask an older Hufflepuff to show you, if you can’t find it. The older students have all been instructed to assist first years and not lead you astray.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“No problem at all, Mr. Potter. Now, I have a question, if I may?”

Harry nodded. 

“Where is your tie?”

Harry looked down, quite forgetting that he’d left it off that morning. Sheepishly, he pulled it from his pocket. Professor Sprout took it from his hands and waved her wand at it, removing the wrinkles. 

“I’m fairly lax about dress code in the greenhouses, what with all the dirt, and some of the plants can get a little grabby, besides. But, rules are rules and it’s best to get you fixed up before you get into trouble.”

She looped the tie around his neck and tied it with expert fingers. 

“There. Now, if you need to take it off, don’t untie it, just pull here to loosen it up. Then you can take it on and off without having to do it up every time. If you need a little extra practice, I have it on good authority that Mr. Finch-Fletchley is quite skilled with neckties. I’m sure he’d be happy to help you out.”

Harry thanked her quietly and blushed as he exited the greenhouse in a hurry. He was pleasantly surprised when he was able to locate the owlery after only two tries, but he did have to ask for help finding the common room when he was done after he wandered aimlessly on entirely the wrong floor for nearly half an hour. 

He decided to take Susan’s advice and took his school books to his dorm to work on homework. Professor Snape had asked them to make a list of all the ingredients from their potions book that had multiple names and memorize them for a quiz on Tuesday and Professor Flitwick had asked for six inches on the importance of wand movement in spell-casting. Professor Sprout hadn’t given them any homework, but had given them an instructional overview of caring for the plants in the common room, which they were now expected to assist with. 

Well, at least there wasn’t any spelling or maths, Harry thought, as he sat down to get started. Daisy had been right about one thing: magic school was certainly more interesting than Stonewall High. 

Chapter Text

Interlude I: Letters

September 1, 1991

Dear Daisy, 

You were right, Hogwarts is really cool! There’s magic everywhere! I couldn’t even get on the train (which is an old-fashioned bright red steam engine like from a story book) without running through an invisible wall. There are also boats that drive all by themselves, ghosts (they’re friendly!), a ceiling that shows the sky outside, and even a magical talking hat. 

I got put into Hufflepuff house, which is supposed to mean I’m very loyal and hardworking. My housemates seem nice. I don’t really know them very well, yet, but I’m sure I’ll get to know them more soon. My head of house is also the same lady that came to visit me after my birthday. I have a dorm that I share with 5 other first year boys, and the whole setup is really nice. It sort of feels like I’m living underground, but in a cozy sort of way. 

I hardly know what to tell you because there’s just so many wonderful things! I miss you a lot, of course. There isn’t enough magic in the world to make me stop missing you. I hope your first day of school went well. Who’s your teacher this year? How is it being the only kid in the house? I hope things are going well for you. I’ll write to you again next week. 

Love, 

Harry

P.S. Aunt Petunia, can you please help Daisy write me a letter back, if she wants to? 

__________________________________________________

Dad,

How are you and Mum? What’s the weather like? Any new plans for the gala this year? Has Mum decided on cerulean or robin’s egg for the tablecloths? Will you be using the hurricane vases or the silver candlesticks for centerpieces? 

I don’t care about any of that, obviously. Honestly, I don’t know what you want me to say. You sort of dropped a bombshell on me and then walked away. 

I met him, by the way, before we even made it off the train. He looks nothing like me. People say he looks like you, but I don’t see it. What he looks like the most is a kicked puppy. And he’s a Hufflepuff, of all things. Are you sure we’re related? 

I have a lot more things I want to ask you, but I also sort of want to set this parchment on fire out of spite. I’m really angry about all this. How could you do this to me? 

James

P.S. Hogwarts is great. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it with everything going on. 

P.P.S I got Gryffindor, if anyone cares.

_________________________________________________

Sirius,

Did you know? Tell me you didn’t know. If you knew, you’d have told me, right? 

I’m so mad at Mum and Dad right now. I have a twin brother and nobody bothered to tell me? Seems like the sort of thing I should know, you know?

He’s a specky git, by the way. He’s so short I wondered if he was even old enough to be at Hogwarts, and his glasses are so thick his eyes look like bloody dinner plates. They’re green, like Mum’s, which is how I knew Dad wasn’t lying. Well, he’s got the Potter hair too, but on him it looks ridiculous. 

H comes before J in the alphabet, so he got sorted before me. Everyone was whispering and talking about him like he’s special. He’s a bleeding Hufflepuff. Merlin, it’s so pathetic. Potters have been Gryffindors for centuries, and he goes and gets himself sorted into the lamest house there is. 

I got Gryffindor, by the way, but nobody seemed to care. By the way, when the hat was sorting you, did you have to argue with it? I only ask because it really wanted to put me somewhere else and we went back and forth about it for a while. It finally gave in and put me in Gryffindor. I knew I’d get in. I can’t imagine if I’d had to be in some other house after all the awesome stuff you and Dad told me about the tower. I didn’t get your old dorm, though. I looked on all the beds for the carvings you mentioned, but they weren’t there. 

Hey, speaking of that, thanks for nicking Dad’s cloak for me. I found it in my trunk when I unpacked. He’s gonna be pissed, you know. Hope you’re prepared. 

Hell, Sirius, I wish you were here. I’m sick of this place already. I was really looking forward to it, but, honestly, I’d rather be home. No, that’s not true. I don’t think I could stand to be at home right now. I’d rather be at yours. I’m welcome anytime, still, right? Might take you up on that over the hols. I don’t want to be with Mum and Dad, but I’m definitely not staying here. Here’s my advance warning: get my room ready. 

The people here are too much. All they want to talk about is Harry. Well, Ron Weasley won’t stop following me around and asking stupid questions, but at least he’s not talking about that prick. Thank Merlin for Neville. The house elves had put our stuff in front of our bunks, and they’d put me next to Ron, but I switched with a muggleborn named Dean so I can be next to Neville. He snores to wake the dead, but at least he doesn’t care about Harry or worship me like a hero. My face hurts from fake smiling so much. 

Seriously For real, come and get me. Can you? Nevermind. You can’t. I know. 

I’ll see you at the hols, I guess. At least there’s no gala for me this year. Small mercies, I guess. 

Love, 

Jamie

__________________________________________________________

Mr. And Mrs. Potter, 

I’m running a story on Harry Potter’s appearance at Hogwarts and I’d like to ask you a few questions. The story will be printed in tomorrow’s morning edition, so a swift response would be appreciated. 

Thank you,

Rita Skeeter

Investigative Journalist, The Daily Prophet

__________________________________________________________

Lily, 

I have a matter of some importance that I need to discuss with you. Would you like to meet this weekend at the Three Broomsticks? Saturday around noon works well for me. It’s my turn to buy the chips. 

See you then,

Severus

__________________________________________________________

From the Law Offices of Pemberly, Croughton, and Wise

Ms. Skeeter,

My clients (James and Lily Potter) decline to comment on your story and would like to remind you that libel is a prosecutable offense. I have attached the relevant legal code for your reference. Please do not contact my clients about this matter further. 

Sincerely, 

Wilford Pemberly, Esq.

__________________________________________________________

Padfoot, 

Come over. Bring the Ogdens and the good Scotch. All of it.

Don’t invite Moony. He’ll probably just murder me anyway.

Prongs

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

September 2, 1991

Jamie, 

Don’t talk to any reporters. Don’t read the paper. We’re handling this, I promise. 

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how. I’m sorry about a lot of things, actually. 

Congratulations on getting Gryffindor, by the way. Your mum and I are very proud.

I love you,

Dad

_________________________________________________________

JJ, 

This is the fifth time I’ve started this letter. I had to throw the other four out because I couldn’t stop swearing. You swear too much, too, by the way. You’re only eleven kiddo. Save the profanity for the professionals (that’d be me. I’m the professional.). 

I had no idea about this, I promise. Your dad’s had me over since I got off rotation explaining it all. Sorry I couldn’t see you off on the train, by the way. I tried to get out of stakeout duty, but Shacklebolt woke up puking, so I had to cover his shift. 

Listen, J, there’s no soft way to put this. This situation is (redacted) . Your dad’s pulled some strings at the ministry to get us both off on emergency leave and your mum is taking some of her accrued vacation time. Unfortunately, you’re the one that’s going to bear the brunt of this. Being at Hogwarts keeps you safe from the press (Dumbledore wouldn’t dare let Skeeter onto school grounds, don’t worry), but you’re locked in with a few hundred of Britain’s finest junior gossip mongers, and I don’t envy you a bit. I’m (redacted) pissed at your dad for the way he’s handled this. He should have told you ages ago so you’d have had time to prepare. He could have at least released a statement or something instead of just letting it blow up like this. I honestly have no idea what he’s thinking. 

I won’t start in on what I think of the situation as a whole. From the way I understand it, he was trying to keep Harry safe. I shouldn’t say I understand it, actually, because I don’t. Seems to me he had a lot of other options that would’ve worked just as well, better even, but what’s done is done. Until your mum figures out long-haul time travel (or whatever the hell they work on down in that Merlinforsaken department), there’s nothing to be done about it now. I won’t tell you how to feel about all of it, but if you love your dad, you’re going to have to try and find a way to move past it. I’m working out whether or not I can forgive him. He’s been an absolute bastard, no doubt, but, well, as someone who grew up in a home where his mother didn’t love him, I have a bit of a different view on things. Maybe we’ll duel about it. I’m sure I’ll feel better after I’ve hexed him a few times. 

Hey, you’re always welcome at the hols, and your room is always ready. No advance notice required. As to your question about the hat, well, it’s complicated. You gotta remember, kid–I was in a weird place on my first day. My parents wanted me in Slytherin, but I just didn’t see myself belonging there. I wasn’t clever enough for Ravenclaw and I sure as hell wasn’t a Hufflepuff, which pretty much just left Gryffindor. Back then, I was still trying to be a decent son, but I knew if I went to Gryffindor that’d be the end of that. Mother and Father might never speak to me again, and, well, we all know how that worked out. The hat told me straightaway I belonged in Gryffindor. I asked it if I could maybe get by in Slytherin, and it agreed I probably could, but that I’d be leaving the best parts of me behind. Honestly, I didn’t argue too much. I didn’t really want to be in Slytherin, after all, and I knew, deep down, I was a Gryffindor. Plus, I’d met this arrogant little (redacted) on the train and we’d already decided to be in the same house. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going straight to Gryffindor, so that was the place for me, too. The rest, as they say, is history. 

Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re about as Gryffindor a kid as I’ve ever seen. How could you not be with your parents and me being the way we are? Even Moony’s had an influence on you. Whatever other house it wanted to put you in, the fact is, it didn’t, and that’s what matters. If you didn’t belong in Gryffindor, it wouldn’t have mattered what you said, the hat wouldn’t have put you there. 

Chin up, kiddo. Keep smiling. I know it’s hard. You can’t hide out in the house like your parents and I can. Honestly, right now, you’re more Gryffindor than the lot of us. We’re hiding out, but you’re still out there. Don’t let this ruin Hogwarts for you. It’s such a magical place. If you’re in a real pinch, head down to the hallway just below the Great Hall and turn left. Find the painting of fruit and tickle the pear (I swear, that is not a euphemism). That’ll get you into the kitchens. Flash your smile at the house elves and they’ll get you whatever you want. Use the cloak and keep out of the way of Filch’s cat. 

Let us handle the press. I’m sure this’ll blow over soon. 

Love you, kid,

Sirius

_____________________________________________________

Prongs, 

I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but the fact you and Sirius are hiding out in the house (because where else would he be?) without me isn’t looking good for you. 

What the hell did you do, James? Drop the wards, open the damn floo, and let me in. 

Moony

_____________________________________________________

Snape, 

Lily isn’t well. She sends her regards and says she’ll have to do lunch another time. It’ll still be your turn to buy chips.

Potter

____________________________________________________

From the Law Offices of Pemberly, Croughton, and Wise

Ms. Skeeter, 

Please find enclosed a notice of cease and desist from my clients, James and Lily Potter. Please note the effective date at the top of the notice and end your investigations immediately. If you do not comply with the terms, my clients are prepared to litigate. Please direct any inquiries to my office. 

Sincerely, 

Wilford Pemberly, Esq.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

September 3, 1991

Lily, 

Tell your husband to keep his nose out of your correspondence. It’s been fifteen years since you and I rekindled our friendship, surely he isn’t insecure about you meeting with me. 

You know how to reach me when you’re ready. I think we have much to discuss. 

Severus

________________________________________________________

Potter,

In case you didn’t happen to read my latest letter to your wife, mind your own business. Unless, of course, your business has anything to do with why I currently have twice as many of your spawn in my classes as I anticipated. One of them is remarkably more tolerable than the other. I think it has to do with having not been raised by you.

Nevermind. I’ve decided I don’t want to hear it from you. Have Lily owl me when she’s “feeling better.”

Snape

________________________________________________________

James,

Let me in. 

Remus

________________________________________________________

Dear Harry,

School is good. I have Mrs. Graves this year. She’s new, but she’s really nice. I told her I need to learn to read and write better extra fast so I can read your letters and write to you myself. I didn’t tell her about wizard school.

I miss you a lot. The bedroom feels really empty without you. Things are fine here. It’s quiet. I hope you are having a lot of fun and learning really cool things. I can’t wait to see you at Christmas! 

Love you lots, 

Daisy

P.S. Vernon says you can come home for Christmas if you must. He’s got some projects he needs you to work on, anyway. Don’t expect anything special. -Petunia

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Somehow, Harry made it through the weekend, then the week, then the month. When the calendar on the common room wall flipped over to October, Harry could hardly believe it. The hubbub surrounding him had died down once everyone got busy with classes. No more articles about him appeared in the paper, either. Or, at least the articles weren’t about him directly . Susan read the paper way more religiously than he did, and she told him Rita Skeeter still made veiled comments about him or the Potters, but she never said anything outright. In fact, the only thing he’d seen in the paper that directly mentioned the Potters in any way was an announcement about their gala. It was still carrying on as planned, apparently. Harry hadn’t gotten an invitation. He hadn’t expected to. 

James seemed to have cooled off about him, too. In the two classes they had together (Transfiguration and History of Magic), James simply pretended Harry didn’t exist, which suited him just fine. Professor McGonagall seemed smart enough not to pair the two of them together on any projects and Professor Binns hadn’t yet noticed that there were even two students in his class with the same surname. 

Once Ernie and Justin realized Harry wasn’t going to be their inside line to a greater familiarity with the Potters, they gave him a bit of space. That was fine by Harry, as he honestly had very little in common with the silver-spoon crowd. He spent most of his time with David, who was muggleborn, Susan, who made it her personal mission to educate the boys on everything they needed to know about the wizarding world, and a blonde girl called Hannah, who was just generally nice to everyone, but seemed to gravitate particularly towards misfits, of which Harry and his friends certainly qualified. 

It was a strange experience to have friends at school, but a good one. It was also nice to be able to do his work without having to handicap himself to accommodate for Dudley’s ineptitude. David, Susan, and Hannah were all bright enough, and none of them particularly cared if he did better on an assignment than they did, just as he didn’t care if they scored higher. 

He’d also finally started learning some actual magic. Charms was loads of fun, and so was Herbology. History of Magic was dreadfully boring, but that’s sort of what Harry anticipated when the class was taught by a literal ghost. Transfiguration was tough, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it. Defense could have been more interesting if it didn’t take their professor so long to get a sentence out. Harry felt bad for feeling that way (he assumed the poor man couldn’t help it), but it did make it a bit tricky to actually learn anything. Astronomy was cool simply because he got to stay up late. This was also, incidentally, the only class he had with Slytherin house. Malfoy had not made any further overtures of friendship towards Harry, but nor was he hostile, so it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. Harry had always loved the stars, anyway, even if he didn’t really understand what they had to do with magic.

Far and away, the class he enjoyed the most was Potions. He was just naturally good at it in a way he couldn’t explain. Professor Snape was exactly as strict as he’d thought the man would be, but for whatever reason, Harry wasn’t intimidated. He didn’t seem to pay any particular attention to Harry, though he’d heard rumors that he was positively vicious to James Potter. His friends all told him he was mental for looking forward to Snape’s class, but for Harry, it wasn’t even about Snape. It was the subject itself that intrigued him. It was technically true that Snape had given Harry five points for his “not completely horrible for a first year” knife cuts last week, which Harry figured was about as close to a compliment as Professor Snape was likely to get, but he didn’t read too much into that. He’d had lots of practice using knives, of course. Aunt Petunia had put him to work in the kitchen as soon as he was tall enough to see the counter and had put a knife in his hand shortly after Daisy had moved in. Slice yourself on a paring knife enough times and you learn to hold one properly. 

He continued writing weekly letters to Daisy and by some miracle Aunt Petunia continued assisting her in writing back. The letters were always short and neither of them could say what they really wanted, but it was better than nothing. Harry was also getting better at sleeping in the bed by himself. He was beginning to worry, actually, that he’d have trouble when he went back to the Dursleys. He and Daisy had shared sleeping space for as long as he could remember, really. Knees and elbows and hair and bad breath were just a part of normal sleep for him, or had been until recently. He was getting used to sleeping alone now, and suspected she was, too. Well, if it came to it, he could always sleep on the cot mattress when he was back at home. The bed was hers, now. No need to kick her out of it for the few weeks he’d be in residence. 

As the month continued, Harry watched the days tick towards Halloween with a growing sense of dread. He’d never felt apprehensive about the holiday before, but he just had this feeling that something awful was going to happen. It probably had to do with the Potters’ gala. Given Rita Skeeter’s ongoing veiled insinuations in the press, as well as the rumors that the Potters were still keeping a pretty low profile, publicly, Harry sort of wondered at the wisdom of hosting a major event. But Harry did understand a thing or two about keeping up appearances–the Dursleys had been doing it with Harry his whole life, and the Potters were certainly doing it now. 

What Harry couldn’t have expected, not in a million years, is what actually happened on Halloween. 

He was enjoying the massive feast in the Great Hall, chatting happily with David and pretending like nothing whatsoever was bothering him, when suddenly the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open and Professor Quirrel came stumbling in. 

“Troll– in the dungeons–thought you ought to know,” he stammered, before fainting dead away right there in between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. 

It was instant pandemonium. People began screaming and crying. Harry, who had no experience with trolls whatsoever, didn’t know exactly how to react. Fear seemed appropriate, but he just couldn’t quite manage it. He couldn’t entirely shake the image of the collection of little naked dolls with gemstones on their bellies and funny colored hair Dudley had gotten for his ninth birthday. He’d thrown a massive fit because the orange one was missing, declared that if he couldn’t have all of them then he didn’t want any of them, and chucked them into the bin. Harry had salvaged the purple, yellow, and green ones and saved them in the cupboard for Daisy to play with. As far as he knew, she still had them. They’d lined them up on the desk when they’d moved into the upstairs bedroom, along with his collection of broken army men and the chess set with the missing pieces that Dudley had thrown out when Bobby Smithers had beaten him in the first game Dudley had ever played. 

“Silence!” Professor Dumbledore roared louder than Harry thought was natural. Probably there was spellwork involved somehow. The room immediately fell silent. 

“Prefects will escort all students to their dormitories. Professors, with me.”

The fifth year prefect who had walked them to most of their classes that first week called out, “First years, with me!” and Harry and his friends dutifully fell into line. The other prefects were gathering the other years as quickly and efficiently as possible, which was to say not quickly or efficiently at all. Harry had the incongruous thought that perhaps they should practice this sort of thing, like they did at his primary school in case of a fire. By the time he was in year six, he could line up and exit the building in about twenty seconds. This was taking ages, by comparison. Finally, after much shouting and waving of arms, all the students were suitably arranged and they began the not-so-orderly march to the common room. Several students were still whimpering and crying, while some were looking around nervously, shaking, or jumping at the slightest noise. 

Once they arrived in the common room, the prefects counted them (then counted them again because they came up with the wrong number the first time), then sent them to their dorms with assurances that everything would be just fine. On each of their beds was a little dinner tray with a small serving of a variety of desserts, as they’d left the feast before it was fully over. The sweets seemed to lift the other boys’ spirits and they settled onto their beds to eat. Everybody was thinking about the troll, but nobody knew quite how to bring it up. 

Ernie caved first. 

“Nothing like a bit of Halloween drama, eh, lads?”

A weak chuckle circulated the room. 

“So, trolls are real then?” David asked. Harry was relieved he didn’t have to. 

“Oh, definitely,” said Tommy. “My dad works for the Magical Creatures department at the ministry. He mostly does rare beasts like demiguises and lethifolds and stuff, but there’s a whole division that just does trolls. They’re tracked, you know, so it’s pretty weird that one’s just wandered into Hogwarts in the middle of term. Someone should have noticed one was in the area and sent a team out to take care of it.”

Harry only understood most of what Tommy was saying, but that’s about how most things went for Harry anymore, so he went with it. 

“They’re pretty dangerous then, I take it?” David asked.

“Super dangerous, yeah.” Tommy continued. “They’re stupid as anything, but they’re big and strong and a lot of magic doesn’t work on ‘em. And they get really mad about noises and stuff, so having one in a school full of kids probably isn’t the best thing.”

“How’d it get in, then?” Justin asked. 

Nobody had an answer to that. 

“Well,” Ernie said at last, dropping his fork onto his tray with a clatter. “If I couldn’t be at the Potter gala tonight, at least I’ve still had a bit of excitement.”

“I just hope nobody gets hurt,” Oliver said. The smile fell off Ernie’s face as he realized the seriousness of the situation. 

“Right. Yeah. Me too,” he said. 

They finished their desserts in silence after that. In short order, a prefect knocked on their door, summoning them to the common room. They all scrambled towards the door, eager for information. 

The entire house was crammed into the circular room. The common room was spacious, but everyone was sort of hanging out just outside their doorways so that the edges of the room were packed while the middle remained fairly empty. Professor Sprout stood in the center of the room, near the front so that everyone could see her. The room waited silently for her to begin. 

She smiled, and Harry felt the tension in the room abate. 

“The troll has been dealt with,” she said. “Each of you did wonderfully by following the directions of the Headmaster. Prefects, I am very pleased with your leadership. By doing what you were told, you ensured the safety of yourselves and others. Certain members of…another house did not do as instructed. Now, no need to fear. No one has been irreparably harmed, but those students’ reckless actions put themselves and others at risk needlessly. As a reminder, if you are ever in need of assistance, please come to me or another professor rather than attempting to solve the problem on your own. The students in question were exceedingly lucky today. Had they simply come to a professor, the danger could have been easily avoided. I am certain no one of Hufflepuff house would make the same error.”

Heads shook in the negative around the room as students silently reassured their head of house that they would indeed not be that stupid. Harry wondered who the reckless students had been and what exactly they had done. He had the passing thought that it was probably James Potter, but dismissed it immediately. There were nearly 300 students at Hogwarts. Surely not everything had to be about him.

Or perhaps everything was about him, for he found out at breakfast the next day that it had, in fact, been James Potter, along with Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Hermione Granger. The details were murky and everyone had a different version of the story, but most agreed that they’d fought the troll in a bathroom on the third floor. Neville had unfortunately broken his wand and his leg in the process, but would be released from the hospital wing in time for dinner, and the four had, apparently, become fast friends through the ordeal, though James sort of always appeared to be friends with just about everybody except for Slytherins and anyone in the vicinity of Harry, so he couldn’t really be certain if it was genuine friendship or just more of the same socialite nonsense that Harry knew him to be adept at. 

James’s involvement in the troll incident had reminded everyone about the other strange incident involving James, which had rekindled the looks, stares, and speculation regarding Harry. Of course, that could also have been due to the article that appeared in the paper the morning following the Potter gala. 

Potter Family Snubbed at Charity Gala- Fallout from earlier scandal?

The headline had been enough for Harry, and he’d wordlessly handed the paper back to Susan without reading the article. 

“Just give me the highlights,” he sighed, rubbing his temples to stave off the budding headache he felt. At least it was Friday, which meant Charms and Potions, with Herbology in the afternoon. His favorite classes and, thankfully, none with Gryffindors. 

“Well, apparently, a whole bunch of people that had RSVP’d yes to the gala simply didn’t show up. Nobody said they weren’t coming because of the scandal, but the excuses were pretty lame, honestly, so it’s not hard to make the jump. In addition, one of the people who was invited, one of Mr. Potter’s best friends who gets an invite every year, called Lupin, was seen storming out shortly after he arrived. Mrs. Potter disappeared about half an hour into the event and wasn’t seen again the rest of the night. It’s all just really weird. Skeeter’s blaming it all on the scandal, which is the most direct thing she’s said about you since September, so it’s a big deal.”

She sighed and folded the paper back up, slipping it into her bag. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I know this sucks,” she said. 

Harry shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I expected things would get messy, and they did.”

“Just keep your head down. It’ll pass again, like it did last time. And if you need to talk about it, we’re here to listen.”

David and Hannah nodded their agreement. 

“Thanks,” Harry said. “It’s just frustrating to be dragged through this again. I never asked for any of this, you know?”

They didn’t know, really, because Harry had quietly refused to talk to them about it, and they hadn’t pushed. But, they’d still been there for him and stood by him, even though they didn’t really understand the situation. To be fair, Harry didn’t fully understand the situation, either, but he felt like he had the major points pretty well in hand, and they weren’t worth revisiting. 

Harry sighed and started packing his bag, suddenly quite finished with breakfast.

“I’m gonna head on up to Charms. I’ll see you guys there, yeah?”

“Sure, no problem,” they replied, and Harry left. 

Typically, Harry enjoyed Charms immensely and had very little trouble with the material. Today, however, he simply could not get Incendio to react properly. He could make a flame, but it was either too large or too small to be of any use. At one point, he set the end of Susan’s plait on fire and she had to bat it out quickly. She didn’t blame Harry, but he felt horrible nevertheless. When it came time to leave, he was packed up and out the door ahead of everyone else. 

He hustled down towards the dungeons. If anything could salvage this day, it would be a properly brewed potion. Harry got such an immense feeling of satisfaction from the curt nods he’d receive from Professor Snape when his potion was the right color, consistency, and odor. The nods were given to so few that Harry knew they were a mark of a job well done. 

He was so focused on getting to the Potions classroom that he wasn’t actually paying particular attention to where he was going–or he wasn’t until the precise moment when he collided with someone else. 

Harry fell backwards with a thump, his bag clattering noisily to the floor next to him. The top flap of his bag flew back and his books and parchment slid across the floor. He started apologizing before he even knew who he’d run into. 

“I’m so sorry–” 

“What the hell!?” 

Harry’s head snapped up. He should have known. Of course he would collide with James Potter when he was already having a bad day. To make matters worse, it looked as if James’s ink bottle (because he, naturally, didn’t use the self-inking quills like Harry did) had spilled all over his books and parchment, including what Harry thought might be the particularly difficult Transfiguration essay Professor McGonagall had set. 

“Look what you’ve done!” James shouted, pulling his ruined essay out of the puddle of ink and shaking it disgustedly, flinging droplets everywhere. One landed smack in the middle of Harry’s left eyeglass lens. “I worked on that for hours . Merlin, can you be any more useless ?” James continued. “Is it not enough that you have to ruin my home life, but now you have to make my school life a living hell, as well?”

Harry gave up gathering his books and stood up. James’s shouts had drawn the attention of basically the entire first year. The Gryffindors and Slytherins who were leaving the dungeons had all stopped to watch and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that were on their way down had nowhere else to go. The Potter boys stood toe to toe amidst a sea of their classmates. 

Harry, who was an expert in determining when you’ve been outmatched, but who was also already at the end of his rope after a trying morning, was waffling between sliding back against the wall to avoid the drama and striding forward to meet the confrontation head on. The end result was that he simply stood precisely where he was as James advanced on him. 

“Have you had enough, yet? My family’s been in the press nonstop since the start of term. Are you satisfied? Have you gotten your revenge, or whatever it is you’re doing?”

What was he talking about? Harry’s already tenuous hold on his emotions slipped away.

“I’m not doing anything!” Harry shouted, surprising even himself. “I never have done! I didn’t ask for any of this! They left me on my aunt’s doorstep when I was a baby ! How have you not figured this out, yet? I had nothing to do with it then , and I’ve got nothing to do with it now !”

“SHUT UP!” James yelled. “You’re wrong! You’ve got everything to do with it! None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you! I wish you’d never come to this school you c–”

“ Mister Potter! ”

Both boys turned to face the glowering Potions professor. Harry had never seen him looking quite so displeased. He swallowed hard. Professor Snape looked between the two of them sharply.

“Both of you. My office. Now.”

As Harry quickly began gathering his books off the floor he heard a shuffling in the crowd. 

“Professor Snape, Harry didn’t–” David said at the same moment that Ron said, “Sir, James was just–”

“Silence! The rest of you, get to class. Mr. Zabini, fetch whatever prefect is currently available in the common room and instruct them to supervise the potions classroom until I return.”

A dark-skinned Slytherin boy nodded and set off quickly deeper into the dungeons. Professor Snape didn’t wait for the rest to move, but simply led the two boys through the throng of students, which parted for him without a word. James seemed unwilling to be in Professor Snape’s immediate proximity, so Harry walked between the two. He felt hugely uncomfortable with James’s simmering anger behind him and he flinched at every unexpected sound or movement. By the time they completed the short walk to Professor Snape’s office, Harry was a twitching ball of nerves. 

“Sit,” Professor Snape instructed, gesturing to two chairs in front of his desk. Harry gingerly took his seat, keeping his head towards the floor. An antique-looking green and silver carpet with an unsurprising snake motif covered the flagstones. Harry heard James flop heavily into the seat next to him, and a quick sideways glance through his hair showed Harry that the boy’s arms were crossed and he was glaring menacingly at an unoccupied corner of the room. Harry returned his gaze to the carpet, tracing the lines of a pair of interwoven serpents as he clenched his hands together in his lap. 

Harry couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard Professor Snape fiddling with something near the fireplace, then there was a strange whooshing sound, and suddenly Professor Dumbledore’s voice filled the room. 

“Ah, yes, Professor Snape. I see what you mean. This does appear to be quite the dilemma,” the Headmaster said. Harry lifted his head and looked between the two. When and how did Professor Dumbledore arrive? It sounded like he was continuing a conversation, but Harry hadn’t heard the beginning. Was he losing his mind? And was that fire glowing green ?

“Indeed. I’ll leave you to it, then,” Professor Snape said, then turned towards the door at the end of his office which, Harry presumed, was the same door through which he’d entered dramatically on the first day of class. 

“On the contrary, Severus. As you were the one who witnessed the altercation, I believe you are best suited to address the matter.”

Professor Snape looked like he’d rather consume the contents of one of the strange jars of pickled organs around his office than deal with Harry and James, but all he said was, “I have a class to teach.”

“I shall see to it. I believe it is Herbicide Potion, today, yes? Professor Sprout will be pleased to have some new batches. Why, she was just telling me yesterday that she discovered quite a large patch of biting rhododendrons that are threatening to infiltrate her exotic vegetable garden. Best get to it, then!” Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully, ignoring the murderous looks Professor Snape was spearing him with. 

“Their heads of house, then–”

“I’m afraid Minerva is in the middle of a large-scale transfiguration lesson with NEWT students which absolutely cannot be interrupted, and Pomona is away until lunch delivering cuttings of her endangered polynthus to the Magical Flora Preservation Society in Sheffield. No, no, Severus, you’re the only man for the job. Now, I must be off. Students are waiting!”

Professor Dumbledore disappeared through the classroom door and Professor Snape stared after it as though he’d very much like to make his escape the same way. He muttered something under his breath, then turned towards the two boys still seated at the chairs in front of his desk. 

“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves, then?” he asked. 

Neither boy spoke. 

“Fine then. We will begin with Mister Potter–” Both boys snapped their heads around to Professor Snape. “-- Junior .”

“I don’t have anything to say,” James said defiantly.

“No? Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us, then, Harry?”

Harry started at the use of his first name, but he supposed it only made sense. It’d get confusing if Professor Snape kept calling both of them “Mister Potter.”

“I–I don’t know what to say, sir,” Harry answered, quietly. 

“Tell me, how did this altercation begin?” Professor Snape asked Harry.

“I was on my way to your class when I bumped into James. We both dropped all our stuff, and James’s ink spilled. I’m sorry, Professor, I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Indeed. However, it is my experience that these things tend to happen in crowded hallways. How did the argument begin?”

Harry took a deep breath and glanced sideways at James. He was still staring moodily into the corner. 

“He accused me of ruining his life. On purpose.”

“I see. And have you done so?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, it seems that the situation is resolved. Harry, you may return to class. Mister Potter, for an unprovoked verbal attack on your peer, you will serve detention with me–”

“Detention!?” James exploded. “I didn’t even do anything! Are you seriously not going to ask for my side of the story?”

“I believe I began by asking for your side , and you ‘didn’t have anything to say.’”

“Merlin, are you serious right now? Why do you hate me so much? You’re Mum’s best friend ! Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Well, that was new information. From everything Harry had heard, Professor Snape criticized James more than any other student, which was a weird thing to do to your best friend’s kid.

“My friendship with your mother has no bearing whatsoever on the consequences I assign for actions that you undertake. You chose to verbally accost another student in the corridor within hearing distance of my classroom, and the discipline for such an infraction has, unfortunately for you, fallen into my hands.Therefore, you will serve detention, with me, each Friday evening from now until the end of term.”

“And what about him? What’s his punishment?”

“By my observation, Harry’s only offense was a lack of proper observation while walking in the corridors. For this lapse in attention, I deduct five points from Hufflepuff.”

“Five points!? You took ten from Gryffindor this morning because the bottom of my tie was longer than the top! He’s ruined my life , Snape!”

“It’s Professor Snape, to you, Mr. Potter, and it’ll be a further fifty from Gryffindor for your continued insistence on yelling at a Professor in his own office .”

James’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at Professor Snape with undisguised hatred. The professor was glaring back at James with an almost identical look. Harry suddenly felt very much like he shouldn’t be there.

“I suggest you get out of my office before I find cause to deduct any more. I will see you tonight at 6. I suggest your tie be done properly,” Professor Snape growled. 

Clearly knowing he was dismissed, James turned and strode into the corridor, slamming the door behind him. Harry flinched at the sudden noise.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Professor Snape hissed. Neither teacher nor student moved for several seconds as silence descended like a blanket. As James’s departure registered with the room’s remaining occupants, the tension level lowered enough that Harry felt it physically. His hands unclenched, jaw loosened, and his shoulders dropped. Even Professor Snape seemed less rigid. Still, Harry startled when the professor spoke. 

“Do you require time to compose yourself before returning to class?” he asked. 

“Er, no, sir. I’m fine.”

Professor Snape nodded in acknowledgement, then pierced him with a gaze that seemed to go right through Harry. 

“Tell me, have you, in fact, ruined Mr. Potter’s life on purpose?”

“No, sir.” 

“Have you acted in any way to interfere in Mr. Potter’s life?”

“No, sir,” Harry said, then felt almost compelled to add, “Most of the time, sir, I honestly try to forget he exists. It’s easier that way.”

He thought again of that first train ride, of the clumsy, dodged punch and the shock he felt after. He thought of the tense sorting and the stares and whispers. He thought of that first article, and all the ones that followed, even the one from this morning. The image of James Potter telling him not once, but twice, that he’d ruined his life flashed across his vision, followed by horrible memories from his life at the Dursleys–Aunt Petunia screaming at him about a pan of dropped dinner rolls while he tried to ignore the burning in his hand from forgetting to put on the oven gloves, Uncle Vernon tossing Harry into the cupboard and slamming the door and the awful sound of the lock sliding closed, Dudley cheering on his mates as they cornered Harry on the way home from school during a successful round of Harry Hunting. 

No, he hadn’t done anything to ruin James Potter’s life. But James’s mum and dad had done an awful lot to ruin his. 

Professor Snape finally broke eye contact with Harry and the horrible onslaught of bad memories faded away. As always, when he felt at his worst, he turned his thoughts back to the one good thing about his life at Privet Drive–Daisy. If the Potters hadn’t sent Harry away, would he have been there to protect her when Daisy arrived? Would Daisy have even been born at all? Would they have kept them both instead? Would all five of them have been a family together? Would he and James have gotten along? Would James and Daisy have been close? Would Daisy have liked James more than she liked him? 

These questions didn’t have answers, and if there was one thing Harry had learned about being an unwanted kid it was that there was no point whatsoever in dwelling on the what ifs. The Potters had left Harry and Daisy, and as a result, the two had each other. That’s what mattered. 

Harry gave himself a little shake and took a deep breath. 

“In that case, you’d best get to class, Mister Potter,” Professor Snape said before taking a seat behind his desk. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, then asked hesitantly, “Aren’t you coming, sir?”

Professor Snape gave a small smirk before responding silkily, “I am not. I find I have… other matters I must attend to urgently. I believe the Headmaster has everything well in hand. If you move quickly, you will be able to complete your potion before the end of class.” Professor Snape casually waved his hand towards the classroom connecting door as he withdrew an issue of Potions Monthly from his desk and snapped it open, leaning back casually in his chair and looking to Harry as if he intended to take full advantage of his unexpected free period.

Harry needed no further encouragement to depart and scurried through the indicated door and took his usual seat beside David, who was just getting started preparing ingredients. As Harry assisted with slicing, dicing, mincing, and crushing, he imagined every ingredient was James Potter’s posh, entitled face. By the time class was over, he was feeling just a bit better about himself and hoped that the rest of the day would go more smoothly. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

November brought with it colder temps, more magic, and the introduction of something Harry was very excited about: flying. The first year flying lessons had been scheduled for the last weekend in September, but seemingly unending rain had postponed the lessons for a week. On their second attempt at flying lessons, Madam Hooch unlocked the broom storage shed to find the entire stock of school brooms covered with a lime green slime. The slime was sticky in some areas and in others had hardened to a candy-like coating. Harry later learned that the Weasley twins had been attempting to sabotage the Slytherin changing rooms, but had miscounted the windows and tossed their prank potion into the broom shed instead. Given the experimental nature of the potion they’d used, it took Professor Snape three attempts before he was able to brew a solvent capable of dissolving the green goo without harming the brooms or releasing any toxic fumes. The twins had been in detention with the Potions Professor systematically stripping each broom of all traces of potion for three weeks. 

By the time the brooms had been cleaned, the pre-season activities for the house Quidditch teams had begun. Madam Hooch was quite busy supervising tryouts and practices almost every evening and weekend through the remainder of October and the start of November. So it was that the first Quidditch match of the season–Gryffindor vs. Slytherin–was held before the first years had even mounted their brooms. 

Harry had attended the match more out of curiosity rather than a vested interest in the outcome. Tommy turned out to be a Quidditch enthusiast and happily explained the game to Harry and David. David had immediately begun comparing it to football, but that hadn’t helped Harry much. Coach Henderson, the PE instructor at his primary, had always wanted Harry to try out for the school’s football club, but he’d never been allowed. Harry hadn’t even bothered asking his aunt and uncle. Sports cost money and would have kept Harry away from the house too much. There were chores that needed doing, after all. 

However, if you ignored the seven hundred ways to commit a foul (which Harry thought Tommy might be attempting to list alphabetically by memory), the rules were fairly straightforward. The chasers carried the big red ball (the quaffle) down the field on their brooms and tried to score through one of the three hoops. The keeper guarded the hoops and the beaters used little bats to knock the other two balls (the bludgers) around at the other team. The seeker stayed out of the way and played a weird sort of hide-and-seek with the tiny ball called the snitch. Harry didn’t understand why catching that one ball was worth fifteen times more points than scoring with the quaffle was, but there were a lot of things about the magical world that didn’t make an abundance of sense to him. 

Harry very much enjoyed the game. His housemates mostly cheered for Gryffindor, but Harry honestly didn’t care either way which team won. He just enjoyed watching the fliers maneuver their brooms and pull off amazing plays from high in the air. At one point, one of Gryffindor’s chasers pulled the quaffle against her chest and did a sort of corkscrew maneuver to throw off the Slytherin chaser who was trying to steal the ball. Later, the Slytherin seeker set off at high speed. The Gryffindor seeker immediately swerved to follow and the two wove in and out of the other players, scattering their plays. It turned out to be a feint and allowed the Slytherin chasers to add another ten points to their score. 

In the end, the Slytherin seeker caught the snitch in an almost disappointing conclusion. The snitch had apparently flown right in front of him and he simply reached out and grabbed it, ending the game with a score of 210-90 in Slytherin’s favor. 

The next day, Madam Hooch canceled Slytherin’s scheduled practice on the grounds that they clearly didn’t need it, and gathered every first year student on the Quidditch pitch to finally have their flying lesson. The class was twice the size it was meant to be, so she also asked the heads of house to help supervise. So it was that Harry found himself standing in the second of four rows of students, a clean but clearly worn school broom on the ground beside him, facing Madam Hooch and eagerly awaiting instructions. 

The Slytherins were in front of the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws behind. Harry could hear the excited chatter of his classmates as Madam Hooch took her place atop a short platform Professor McGonagall had transfigured from one of the team benches at the side of the pitch. 

“Welcome, at last, to your first flying lesson,” Madam Hooch said in a magically magnified voice. “This is a larger class than usual, so I’ll need you to be on your best behavior.” She looked sternly around at them, and the lingering chatter ceased. “As you saw yesterday, flying can be an exciting feat of acrobatics and athleticism. However, most witches and wizards use brooms simply for transportation. Today, we will be working on the basic maneuvers needed for this purpose. This is not a flying exhibition or quidditch match. To ensure everyone’s safety, please wait for my instructions before making any moves. Now, everyone, hold your wand hand out over your broom and say ‘up!’”

A chorus of “up!” rang out across the pitch. Harry was inordinately pleased when his broom rose into his hand immediately. Some of the others around him had similar success, but some others, like David and Hannah, were having a bit more trouble. 

“Be sure to speak with authority! The broom will not respond if you are afraid of it.”

David and Hannah managed to get their brooms in hand, but a few voices behind Harry were still commanding their brooms with shaky voices. Professor McGonagall went to assist Hermione Granger, whose broom was merely rolling weakly on the ground, though she was commanding it to rise using her most imperious voice. At last, every student had a broom in hand. 

“Now, mount your brooms, but keep your feet firmly on the ground.” 

Harry swung his leg over his broom and was surprised to feel a sort of cushiony feeling like an invisible seat. The heads of each house moved down the line, checking each student’s grip on their broom. Professor Sprout slid one of Harry’s hands around a quarter turn, then nodded at him with a smile and moved on to his neighbor. Once all this was done, Madam Hooch spoke again. 

“Good, now, on my command, kick off the ground hard and hover for a moment, then lean back slightly to return to the ground. Now!”

Harry kicked off and felt the cool November air ruffle his hair as his broom rose to a height of about five feet. He leaned backwards and set himself back down on the ground, smiling. 

“Excellent. Next we will…”

The rest of the lesson passed without much ado. Even when things went wrong, the abundance of professors soon had the problem sorted. Some of the students clearly had a familiarity with brooms and flying from having used them as children, but there were enough that were novices that Harry didn’t feel too intimidated. Besides, flying seemed to come quite naturally to him. He felt at home on a broom in a way he hadn’t anticipated. There was something freeing about soaring through the air. Harry wasn’t a particularly risky individual (who would look out for Daisy if something bad happened to him, after all?), but he still appreciated the feeling of being held aloft by nothing more than a bit of wood and his own willpower. Well, and magic, of course. He smiled in satisfaction as he soared in laps around the pitch in the last part of their lesson. When he flopped into his bed that night, that flying feeling was still making his head feel light and free, despite the fact that the lesson had ended hours earlier. He fell asleep to dreams of soaring through the clouds with Daisy, the Dursleys and Potters stuck on the ground, unable to reach them. 

___________________________________________________________

“Ok, step five: ‘Stir three times clockwise and one turn anti-clockwise while adding four drops of squid ink.’ I’ll do the ink, you do the stirring?” David asked. 

“Sure,” Harry replied, taking his glass stirring rod out of his kit and wiping it with the cloth to ensure it was free of any contaminants. “Ready?”

Harry and David had gotten into quite the routine with Potions. David had long ago stopped assuming Harry could read the board (he still couldn’t), and had gotten used to dictating the steps to Harry. Harry had long ago learned that David could follow a recipe, but had no instincts whatsoever when it came to brewing. So, David was responsible for ensuring they followed the instructions and Harry was responsible for stirring, heating, and most of the chopping. Between the two of them, they’d become some of the best brewers in the class. Unfortunately, Professor Snape had heavily insinuated that after the holiday break they would be reviewing all the potions they’d previously learned, but they’d be doing them by themselves. Harry was quite unsure how he would manage without being able to see the board, but hoped that his memory and instincts could help him bluff his way through the worst of it. He could move closer to the board, he supposed, but everyone had sort of assigned themselves whatever seats they’d taken on the first day and nobody ever moved, so it’d be unusual for Harry to do so. 

“Step five, no, wait, have we already done step five? I can’t remember,” David muttered, once again consulting the instructions. This was actually their fourth attempt at the Forgetfulness Potion. The first attempt had ended after only 10 minutes when Julia Whimple had mistaken armadillo bile for horklump juice and created a toxic purple haze that necessitated immediate evacuation of the entire lab. Professor Snape dissipated the cloud quickly, but everyone it had touched had to be looked over by Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary as a precaution, Harry and David included. 

The second and third attempts both ended with failed potions for most students, as the trickiest part of the Forgetfulness Potion was the vapors it produced after step three. If done correctly, the vapors acted as a short-term memory inhibitor, making it difficult to keep track of what steps had been completed already. If done incorrectly then there would be no vapors, but you still wouldn’t have a successful end product. 

Professor Snape must have known this would be a tricky one, for he’d given them two whole weeks to produce an acceptable potion. At the end of the two weeks, each pair would choose their best phial and submit it for grading. Wanting to ensure he had something decent to hand in, Harry had come up with a system to help them keep track. He consulted the little scrap of parchment he’d stuck under his chopping board and counted the tally marks–one for each step David had read out. 

“We’re on step six,” Harry said. 

“Right, then, step six,” David said, and Harry made another mark with his quill. “‘Bring mixture to a boil. Once boiling, remove from heat and add ground poppyseeds while stirring seven times clockwise and two times anti-clockwise. Continue stirring in this manner until potion turns dark blue. Cool and decant.’” David sighed. “That’s a lot of steps in one step, but at least we’re nearly finished. Ok, I’ll read it again…”

In the end, Harry wasn’t certain he’d managed to stir precisely seven times clockwise and two anti-clockwise as he’d kept losing count. The potion wasn’t quite as dark as he thought it was supposed to be, but they’d been stirring for ages and it wasn’t getting any darker. They had one more class before they had to submit their final product. Next time, Harry would count his stirs aloud. Still, this wasn’t a bad effort, for being such a tricky brew. He labeled the phial and placed it carefully inside his potions case. They’d keep it as a backup in case they botched the next one. 

As he made his way up to his dorm, he couldn’t help thinking that there was something important he’d forgotten, but then, he’d felt that way nearly every day for the last week and a half. He raised his tie to his nose and sniffed. As he’d expected, it smelled faintly of Forgetfulness Potion. He really ought to put it in the hamper to be washed, but then he’d have to ask Justin to show him how to tie the knot on his spare one, or else ask Professor Sprout to do it up for him again. He’d managed to go almost the whole term without undoing the knot she’d done on the first day. He had meant to ask Justin about it, but the longer it went without him doing so, the more awkward it became. Finally, he’d just decided to give it up and just be careful not to mess up the one he had. It had gotten a few drops of food on it here and there, and was a bit wrinkly, but that sort of thing didn’t bother Harry overmuch. Entering his room, he loosened his tie, pulled it over his head, and tossed it into the top of his trunk, already having forgotten about whatever it was he had forgotten in the first place. 

Two weeks later, a notice went up on the Common Room bulletin board with a sign up sheet for students who intended to stay in the castle for the holidays, along with a reminder that the Hogwarts Express would be departing for London in two weeks. Harry had very mixed feelings about the holidays. On the one hand, he’d miss Hogwarts with its cozy rooms and oversized Christmas trees and general feeling of magical holiday whimsy. On the other hand, he was excited to see Daisy again.

And suddenly, he remembered. He hadn’t heard from Daisy in…a while. Weeks, at least. He’d sent her his weekly letters as usual, but amidst the chaos of flying lessons and Forgetfulness Potions, he’d quite missed the fact that he hadn’t had any in return for quite some time. Daisy’s letters weren’t as regular as Harry’s. Harry always wrote his on Friday evenings and posted them Saturday morning. Sometimes Daisy’s reply came as early as Tuesday or Wednesday, and sometimes it didn’t come until much later in the week or the beginning of the next one. Sometimes it hadn’t come until after Harry had already posted the next one. Still, each week there had been some sort of letter from Daisy, even if it was short. Guiltily he realized that he wasn’t even entirely sure when the last letter had arrived. He pulled open the drawer in the little table beside his bed and withdrew the packet of letters. The one on top was most recent, and the muggle postmark had it dated 6 November. That was exactly a month ago! Surely, he’d gotten a letter since then!

Perhaps he’d simply misplaced it. He rummaged in the drawer to see if it had fallen out of the bundle, but the only loose parchment was a sheet of notes he’d been passing with David and Susan in History of Magic last week. Besides that, Daisy’s notes were always on regular lined paper, not parchment. He searched his trunk, under his bed, and in his school bag, having a momentary thrill at the discovery of a thoroughly crumpled white muggle-style envelope, only to realize that it was empty and had been postmarked 28 October. He smoothed out the envelope, then flipped through his bundle and found the letter from that date and slipped it inside, then tied them up again. 

Perhaps there’d been something in Daisy’s last letter that would explain it. He pulled it out and read over it again. 

Dear Harry,

The Halloween feast sounds exciting! I stayed home, like usual, but at school we made painted pumpkins in art class. Things are still fine here. It’s November now, and that means only one more month until I see you again. Aunt Petunia says it’s probably really cold in Scotland now, so make sure you wear your jacket.  

Mrs. Graves says I’m doing good well at reading, so hopefully I’ll be able to read your letters myself soon. I think Aunt Petunia will still have to help me write back, though.

I love you!

Daisy

Her name she had written herself, obviously. The D took up two lines and the y stretched down to the line below, but the penmanship wasn’t too bad, actually, just large. He really wished Daisy was just a bit older so they wouldn’t have to communicate through Aunt Petunia. It was difficult to say, “I hope Aunt Petunia hasn’t yelled at you about dinner and Uncle Vernon hasn’t locked you in the bedroom too much,” when Aunt Petunia was the one reading the letter. Likewise, Daisy couldn’t exactly say, “My chores have gotten so much harder and Aunt Petunia hit me hard enough with the wooden spoon to leave a bright red mark on the back of my leg,” when it was ultimately Aunt Petunia’s pen making the marks. Harry hoped none of that was happening, of course, but hope hadn’t exactly been a savior for him in the past. 

Daisy’s last letter had been short, and had not given him a single clue as to the sudden cessation of her return letters. Despite all the goings on, he was entirely certain he’d managed to actually send a letter each week, so it wasn’t as if Aunt Petunia was simply being stubborn about not writing to Harry if he hadn’t written first. He had written, so why hadn’t she written back?

Perhaps in his forgetfulness something had gone wrong and the letters had gotten lost in the post. Uncle Vernon was always grumbling about the ineptitude of the postal service, after all. Well, the Forgetfulness Potion was well and truly behind him now and he had a clear mind. He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and sat down on his bed. There was still enough time before dinner for him to write a letter and get it posted before curfew, if he hurried. 

Dear Daisy,

Only two more weeks until the holidays! I’m so excited to see you again! I’m sorry if you haven’t gotten my recent letters. I’m afraid they must have gotten lost in the post. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t heard from you in a while, either. Please write me back so I know you’re okay. 

Things are going well here. Everything’s decorated for the holidays and it’s a bit like a postcard with all the snow outside. Have you had much snow in Surrey? We’ve got half-term exams next week, and the professors have really been piling on the homework, but I’m managing. Remind me to tell you all about Quidditch when I get home. 

Love, 

Harry

He’d wanted to say a lot more, but his hand was shaking with nerves and he knew the best chance of getting Aunt Petunia to read it and help Daisy respond was to keep mentions of magical things to a minimum. He folded his letter into an envelope shape and sealed it with a bit of the sellotape David had let him have. He carefully wrote the address on the back, then dashed up to the owlery to post the letter. It was a long trek up all the stairs and back down again, but he was only a few minutes late to dinner and nobody seemed to notice. He picked at his food, ignored his friend’s concerned glances, and slept fitfully. 

He skipped breakfast the next day, knowing the sight of the owls swooping in to deliver letters would bother him. There was no way Aunt Petunia could have written back so soon. It had been Friday evening when he’d posted his letter, which meant it would get to her on Saturday at the earliest, but probably not until Monday, since Muggle post didn’t run on Sundays. If Daisy wrote back straightaway, the postman would pick it up on Tuesday and it would be delivered on Wednesday. Harry resolved to skip breakfast every day until then, just to save himself the stress. 

Unfortunately, the stress carried into everything else. On Monday, he got so frustrated trying to transfigure a matchstick into a needle (which was meant to be a review ) that he broke all the matches Professor McGonagall had given him and had to ask for more. On Tuesday, he wasn’t paying attention in Herbology and managed to get stung by the stinging nettle they were repotting, which necessitated a trip to the hospital wing to have a special balm applied. By Wednesday morning, he had hardly slept and nearly missed breakfast by accident. He raced in just as the owls were entering, but none came to him. He convinced himself it wasn’t a big deal and that they simply hadn’t written back straightaway. A letter would come tomorrow. Then, he promptly fell asleep in History of Magic and again while working on his Potions essay in the common room, which necessitated him being roughly shaken awake so he wouldn’t miss Astronomy. 

No letter came Thursday morning either, which led to him levitating his quill so vigorously during exam review in Charms that it embedded itself point-first in the ceiling and refused to budge, even after Professor Flitwick summoned it quite forcefully. In the end, he simply vanished it with an apology to Harry for dematerializing his quill. 

By Friday, Harry had taken to carrying all Daisy’s previous letters with him, as a sort of wishful thinking. It hadn’t lifted his spirits at all. When the owls swooped in, Harry watched with fatalistic dread, knowing that none were going to come to him. Then, much to his surprise, a speckled brown owl dropped a plain, white muggle envelope with the address of the postal relay office and his name written neatly on the front in Aunt Petunia’s precise cursive. He tore into the envelope and unfolded the paper. His heart was pounding in his chest and his hands were trembling. 

Harry,

Vernon and I have agreed that you’re not to come home for the holidays. I suppose they won’t let you stay for the summer, so we’ll expect to pick you up in London at the end of the school year. 

Petunia

P.S. Your letters didn’t get lost in the post. Don’t send any more. 

Harry’s heart stopped. His breath caught. His ears rang. His vision blurred. The paper in his shaking hands began smoldering around the edges. Distantly, he thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn’t respond. 

What was happening at Privet Drive? He’d been so stupid to think things would be all right with him gone. It must be something to do with Daisy. Maybe they were worried Harry would notice she’d gotten skinnier? Maybe they were punishing her by keeping Harry away? Maybe they’d locked her in her room forever and she was slowly starving to death?

Oh, god. What if something had happened to her? Maybe she’d gotten hit by a car on the way home from school? Maybe she’d spilled boiling water on herself and was covered in infected blisters. Maybe she’d died ?

Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god. 

He should never have left Privet Drive, should never have left her alone with them. Anything could have happened to her. 

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and flinch, swatting it away instinctively. David put both hands in the air in mock surrender. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”

Harry was only barely aware of the question, panic about Daisy still swirling in his mind, but he managed to nod twitchily. It must have been a marker of how bad his week had been that his friends merely accepted this and moved on. They were concerned about him, he knew, but every time they’d tried to talk to him about it he’d made his excuses and left. In the end, they’d given up asking, though Harry could tell they’d talked about it when he wasn’t around. He was never left alone, not even in the common room or the dorms. Wherever he went, Susan, Hannah, or David went with him. Now, all three of them stood. 

“Time for Charms. You coming?” Susan asked. 

Harry nodded and carefully folded the note, returning it to its envelope and stowing it carefully in his bag. Maybe when he took it out later it would say something different. 

After yesterday’s incident with the quill, Harry thought it best not to attempt any magic at all in class. Every time Professor Flitwick walked by he waved his wand as if he were practicing the movements or ducked his head to look at his textbook as if he were reviewing the theory, but he never actually cast any spells. 

He felt a bit like he was trapped inside a glass cage. He could see what was happening and he could make his body do things, but he didn’t feel anything. All his feelings were locked up. He sort of pictured a little tiny version of himself somewhere deep inside. The Harry inside was alone, banging his fists against the glass walls and screaming until his throat was raw. The Harry outside was walking calmly and quietly down to the potions classroom surrounded by his friends. 

Professor Snape didn’t believe in devoting class time to revision, instead reminding them to utilize their “abundance of free time” to study for his upcoming test. Instead, they were working on a particularly fiddly potion that, when applied to a handwritten note, acted sort of like a muggle mood ring. The parchment would change color indicating the mood of the writer at the time the note was written. Professor Snape had sneered his way through the explanation and made sure to tell them that he believed it to be “utter tripe suitable only for prepubescent girls and those preoccupied with divination,” but that the potion was on the ministry-mandated curriculum and would do a good job of refreshing their skills in careful ingredient preparation and precise management of both temperature and stirring. The potion had been steeping since their lesson on Wednesday, as it required two complete sunrises before the final steps could be undertaken. Harry carefully carried his and David’s cauldron to their workstation while David gathered the ingredients required for this stage. 

It was good that they’d already developed a solid teamwork strategy as Harry couldn’t be bothered to contribute more than a few grunts and monosyllabic responses to any of David’s questions. Somehow, they still managed to complete their potion without any setbacks. Even the sight of the finished potion–perfect in color, consistency, odor, and vapor–wasn’t enough to break through his malaise. He reached for the empty bottle on David’s chopping board at the same moment as David reached for the ladle in front of Harry. Their arms collided in the middle and the cauldron wobbled dangerously on its stand. For a moment Harry thought it might right itself (he was powerless to do anything either way. His body had gone strangely unresponsive at this newest catastrophe), but then David reached out to catch it and inadvertently made the whole thing worse. With a splash, the cauldron expelled its contents directly into Harry’s schoolbag, which sat open on the floor, flap thrown back carelessly from where Harry had earlier removed his potions kit. 

The clatter of the cauldron and David’s shriek and jump away from their station as the potion continued to drip off the table had garnered the attention of the entire class, as well as their exacting professor. 

“Mr. Lewis! Mr. Potter! What is the meaning of this?”

Harry ignored him as he watched his hand reach out and pick up the bundle of letters. The first few were shades of yellow and orange, which Harry remembered meant unhappy or unsettled. As they moved forward in time, the pages got darker and redder, moving towards the colors that Harry knew meant fear and stress. The letter from this morning was bright red, edged in black. Aunt Petunia had been afraid when writing that letter to him. Afraid of what? Afraid of him?

What had happened to Daisy?

The little Harry in the glass cage beat his fists harder and harder until suddenly the cage shattered, sending shards of glass exploding through him. He could practically feel them cutting into his arms and his face, shredding into his robes. Tiny Harry’s scream burst from his own throat and he crumpled to the floor. 

His awareness after that came to him in disjointed flashes. Concerned young faces swimming into and back out of his eyesight. The noise in the room increasing then decreasing. A pair of cold, long-fingered hands picking him up off the floor and setting him in a chair. The smell of cleaning solution. A lit wand tip shining into first one eye, then the other. A woman in an apron and doctor’s cap tipping a potion down his throat. He blinked. 

He was sitting in David’s usual seat in the Potions classroom. His classmates were gone and the door was closed. The only others present were Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey. The potions mess had been cleaned and his things stacked neatly atop the chair next to him. 

“There you are, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said with a small smile. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said serenely. His voice sounded strange to his ears. “Do I sound different?”

“You damaged your throat with that scream.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I feel a little, er…” he cast his eyes around as if the word he was looking for was hanging on the wall. It wasn’t. There was something different about the walls, but Harry couldn’t figure out what it was. Oh, well. 

“Yes, that’s the calming draught you’re feeling. You’ll only be out of sorts for a while yet, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” he said again, absentmindedly reaching to scratch at an itch on his arm. Madam Pomfrey caught his hands before he could. 

“Best not, Mr. Potter. The lacerations are still healing. The itching will pass momentarily.”

“Oh. Was I hurt?” He looked down at his arms to see dozens of tiny little cuts, each of which was sewing itself back together and vanishing even as he watched. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter. In a bout of truly remarkable accidental magic, you managed to shatter every glass object in the room. Professor Snape had to act quickly to prevent some potentially dangerous ingredient interactions. Next time, let’s save the hysterics for somewhere less combustible, shall we?”

“Oh.” So that’s what was different, then. All the glass specimen jars were missing. Yes, that was it. He wondered how mad Professor Snape was. As if summoned by the thought, the Potions Master spoke. 

“Quite the vocabulary, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said from where he stood leaned against his desk, arms crossed across his chest. “It may be challenging in your current state, but would you care to share the reason behind this incident?”

“Aunt Petunia.”

“You’ll have to be a bit more forthcoming, Mr. Potter. I’m not as intimately acquainted with all aspects of your life as I am with your counterpart.”

“Don’t wanna talk about James.”

“I assure you, neither do I. Now, tell me what set you off.”

“Aunt Petunia’s letter.” He pointed at the stack of red and orange letters amidst his pile of things. Professor Snape reached forward to take the stack and pulled out the most recent letter. 

“May I?”

Harry nodded. He didn’t much care what anyone did at the moment. 

“Severus–” Madam Pomfrey started, but he waved her off and unfolded the letter. He read through it rapidly, noting the deep red parchment with a thick line of black running around the outside. Harry saw his brow furrow and his scowl deepen. 

“I see Petunia’s demeanor has not improved in the last fifteen years.”

Part of Harry registered surprise that Professor Snape apparently knew Aunt Petunia, but it was smothered quickly by the part of him that was still floating pleasantly in a sea of calming draught. 

“No, sir,” he responded. 

“So, you are not to go home for Christmas. Is this all? It hardly seems worth exploding my lab for having been deprived the… joy of Petunia’s company at Christmastime,” Professor Snape said, the hint of a derisive sneer at the corners of his mouth. 

“No, sir,” he said again. 

“Care to elaborate, then?”

Harry nodded his head towards the rest of the pile of letters. A part of him very much didn’t want Professor Snape to read them, but another part was tired of trying to manage this whole debacle on his one. Then there was the fact he’d blown up the man’s classroom. He owed him some sort of explanation. Besides, Professor Snape had always been fair to Harry. For that matter, so had everyone else, but Professor Snape’s fairness to Harry was notable because he wasn’t fair to James Potter, whereas everyone else was . Professor Snape and Harry were united by the one thing that very few others in the castle could say--they both hated James Potter. 

Professor Snape started at the beginning of the stack, but immediately stopped to ask Harry, “Who is Daisy?”

“My sister.”

“Petunia’s daughter, you mean?”

Harry scoffed. 

“No. That’d make her my cousin, like Dudley. Aunt Petunia doesn’t have any daughters. Daisy’s my sister.”

“To be totally clear, Mr. Potter, Daisy has the same parents as you?” Madam Pomfrey asked. Harry thought she was looking at him sort of funny, but he had only met her briefly twice before this, so maybe that’s just how she always looked. 

“Yeah.”

“And those parents are James and Lily Potter.” Professor Snape continued. It didn’t sound like a question.

“Severus–” Madam Pomfrey cautioned again, but again he waved her away. 

“Yeah,” Harry said to the not-question.

Professor Snape looked at him in a way that felt sort of heavy, but Harry wasn’t as good at interpreting Professor Snape’s looks as he was at interpreting Daisy’s (and besides that, he felt a bit floaty still), so he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. 

“How old is Daisy?” Professor Snape asked, once again reading through the letters. They were short and he appeared to be a swift reader.

“Six.”

“I take it she did not write these herself then. Ah, yes, I see. Petunia scribed for her. The potion indicates that she was unhappy to do so. Why would that be?”

“Now, Severus, I must insist,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted before Harry could respond. “It’s not appropriate to question him when he’s under the influence of such a high dosage of calming draught. You know this.”

“I’ve waited quite long enough for answers, Pomona. His mother won’t answer my letters.”

“That is hardly Mr. Potter’s fault!”

“Nevertheless, this madness has gone unaddressed long enough. I, for one, am no longer content to wait for the situation to ‘work itself out,’ as Albus advises we do. I suspect a great deal more is going on here than we are aware of and in our negligence we are allowing it to continue. Mr. Potter is clearly experiencing significant emotional distress, are you not?” He added this last bit to Harry himself. 

Well, that was a loaded question. Harry could recognize that, even if he was high as a kite. The questions were certainly getting much more personal and harder to answer, but Harry had come too far to stop now. Professor Snape wasn’t the sort to let a question go unanswered, anyway. Harry supposed if the man really wanted to get to the bottom of the situation, he would, one way or the other. 

In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying goes.

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t like me much, sir. Or Daisy.”

“Because your surname is Potter?”

“Because we’re magic. Aunt Petunia doesn’t like magic.”

“She didn’t when your mother was young, either.”

“She’s not my mother.”

“My apologies, Mr. Potter. Tell me, why has your sudden banishment from holiday festivities caused such alarm? Is it simply that you will miss your sister?”

“No, sir. It’s that I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

“Yes, over a month, I see. You miss her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you worried about her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid she’s hurt.”

“In what way?”

“Burned on the stove. Locked in the bedroom. Not given food. Hit by a car.” Harry delivered each of these pronouncements as if he were making a grocery list. 

“Are these likely occurrences?”

Harry’s unsteady mind didn’t know quite how to answer that question. They weren’t likely, but they also weren’t un likely. 

“Yes and no, sir.”

Professor Snape rubbed his forehead in a way that Harry thought might have indicated a brewing headache or a bit of frustration. 

“Elaborate, please, Mr. Potter.”

“My name’s Harry.”

“I am aware.”

“Mr. Potter reminds me of him .”

“Noted. Now, tell me about how your sister getting burned, imprisoned, starved, or run over is both likely and unlikely.”

“She does most of the cooking, and burns happen at the stove when you’re little. One of Uncle Vernon’s favorite punishments for not getting chores done is locking you in without food, and there’s no way she can do her chores and mine. There’s two big roads to cross on the way home from school, and I’m not there to help her across safely. She looks for cars, but she’s still little.”

Harry was dimly aware of Madam Pomfrey’s small gasp as he casually described life at the Dursleys, but he didn’t care anymore. The calming draught was sort of like the glass cage. He knew what he was saying, but he couldn’t feel the emotions that went with it. It made it easier to lay it out there, plain. Unlike the glass cage, though, Harry didn’t feel trapped by the calming draught. He simply felt as if his worries, fears, and troubles were being washed away by ocean waves. 

He’d been holding all this in his whole life. In a way, it sort of felt… good to get it out there. 

“Have these…punishments been used on your sister before?” Professor Snape asked, voice low and calm.

“Not usually. They like her more than me. But I’m not there anymore to protect her, so anything could happen.”

“I see. Is anyone aware of the dangers your sister faces at the hands of your relatives?”

“No, sir.”

“You’ve told no one of your home life?”

“No one would believe me if I did. The Dursleys told all the neighbors I’m away at St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. They told all my primary teachers that I was a pathological liar and manipulator and that I couldn’t help it because my mum had been on drugs when she had me.”

Professor Snape cleared his throat roughly before asking the next question.

“What have you been told about your parents?”

“By who?”

“Start with your aunt and uncle.”

“Not much. They insulted them a lot, especially my dad. I thought they were dead until Daisy showed up.”

“And after?”

“Figured they didn’t want me. They could’ve taken me when they left her, but they didn’t, did they?”

“Who else have you heard about your parents from?”

“Everyone. They’re famous, you know.”

“I’m well aware.”

“You know them. You’re James’s mum’s best friend.”

“We grew up together, yes. That’s how I know your aunt.”

“Did you know about me? Or Daisy?”

Professor Snape looked at Harry and he sort of thought the professor looked a little sad, but as soon as he saw it, it was gone and his face was blank again. 

“I did not.”

“Even though you’re her best friend?”

“Have you been told the circumstances regarding your…abandonment?”

Harry wrinkled his face. He didn’t like that word. Abandonment . It was one thing to know you weren’t wanted, and even to say so, but some words just felt somehow worse. 

“No, sir.”

“Have either of the Potters reached out to you in any way since you learned of their existence?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you received any correspondence from their legal representatives or anyone connected to them in any fashion?”

“No, sir. I’ve only gotten letters from Daisy.”

“They haven’t reached out to you at all? Neither of them?”

“No, sir.”

Professor Snape suddenly turned and strode back over to his desk, leaning on it heavily with his back towards Harry. His greasy hair fell forward and obscured his face, but Harry thought he could hear him muttering under his breath. It seemed that Professor Snape’s portion of the conversation had come to its conclusion. 

“Well, Mr. Po– Harry ,” Madam Pomfrey corrected as his eyes snapped towards her. “You’ve given us much to think about. I think it best that you spend the night in the hospital wing this evening. I’ve given you quite a large measure of calming draught and I’d like to keep you where I can see you.”

“What about Daisy?”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but my responsibility is to Hogwarts students and staff only. Professor Snape and I will speak to Dumbledore about it, but there’s nothing I can do to help her at this time.”

Harry’s anger bubbled to the surface but was smothered by a wave of calm. He felt off balance all of a sudden. 

“Come, Harry. There’s nothing more to be done down here.”

“But, I–”

He reached for that feeling of injustice, for his protective instinct, but it slipped through his fingers again and again. Someone had to take care of Daisy! Someone had to help him! A wave crashed. It didn’t matter. Everything would be all right. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said at last.

Harry gathered his stack of books and placed them neatly back in his freshly cleaned bag. It smelled faintly of lemongrass. He was about to swing the bag over his shoulder when a stack of folded papers in shades of red, orange, and yellow were thrust before him. He reached out to take the letters, but Professor Snape kept hold of them. Harry looked up into his professor’s eyes to see them shining fiercely.

“I will take care of this, Harry,” Professor Snape assured him. “I give you my word.”

Harry didn’t know one way or the other what exactly Professor Snape’s word was worth. Some people gave their word about everything, but kept none of their promises (like Dudley). He had a sort of suspicion that Professor Snape wasn’t one of those people, though. He seemed the type to only give his word when he really, truly meant it. 

“Thank you, sir.”

At that, Professor Snape at last relinquished his hold on the letters and Harry stowed them in his bag. He followed Madam Pomfrey up towards the hospital wing. Now that nobody was asking him deeply invasive questions, he allowed himself to float freely along the ocean waves in his mind. He wasn’t sure when exactly they arrived in the infirmary, nor how he’d gotten into the bed and under the covers. Harry only knew the gentle rise and fall of the cool water across the furrows of his mind. At some point (he couldn’t be sure when) he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, morning light had filled the room. Madam Pomfrey was just placing a breakfast tray on his bedside table. She turned to him with a smile. 

“Good morning, Harry.”

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Are you feeling more yourself this morning?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Get started on your breakfast. Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with you. I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

She bustled out without waiting for a reply and Harry turned to the tray next to him and selected a blueberry scone, adding a bit of clotted cream. He had just finished his scone and was picking through a bowl of fruit when Madam Pomfrey returned. Professor Dumbledore followed her around the corner, eyes twinkling, though Harry hardly had time to notice, for his eyes were immediately drawn to the third and smallest person who was trailing behind the Headmaster with a look of wonder on her face.  

“Daisy!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

“Daisy!” Harry cried, throwing himself out of the bed and rushing towards her. Daisy met him halfway and they collided in a tangle of knees and elbows and messy hair, each of them laughing and crying at the same time. Harry’s heart unclenched in a way it hadn’t since the morning he’d left her behind at Privet Drive. 

Harry clung to her as she began crying into his shoulder, little sobs wracking her body. 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Harry soothed. He sat on the floor and pulled her down into his lap. He ran his fingers over her head and held her tightly, as much for his own benefit as for hers. “It’s okay. Shhh.”

Harry continued shushing and patting, even rocking his body back and forth slightly as she continued to cry. Tears ran freely down his own face and fell into her hair silently as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. 

She was alive. She was safe. She was here. She was alive. She was safe. She was here. 

Harry had a million questions, possibly more, but at this moment the only thing he was capable of focusing on was his sister. She was skinnier than when he’d left her, though she seemed to have grown taller. Her hair was tied back messily into a crooked ponytail at the back of her neck–probably her own doing. Harry had always done up her ponytails before and he couldn’t imagine Aunt Petunia doing it for her in Harry’s absence. Aunt Petunia had told the same lies about Daisy that she’d told about Harry–a feral child who couldn’t help but lie, cheat, and steal, and having her hair in disarray suited the image Aunt Petunia was painting. Anyone who took the time to get to know Daisy knew that for what it was–a complete lie–but it had always amazed Harry how many people simply saw what they expected to see and then stopped looking. 

Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had retreated beyond the privacy screens surrounding Harry’s bed, but he knew they were still close by, as he could hear the quiet murmur of their voices. Still, even if they weren’t entirely alone, it had been so long since he’d been this close to his sister that he decided he didn’t mind. Finally, Daisy’s sobs turned into sniffles, and he loosened his grip to look down at her. 

She looked back up at him with wide, hazel eyes, slightly reddened, and with heavy, dark bags underneath. She pulled her sleeve across her running nose, and Harry didn’t even chastise her for it. 

“God, Daisy, I’ve missed you so much. How are you here?”

“That really old man with the beard came.”

“Professor Dumbledore? He came to the Dursleys’?” 

“Yeah, last night. Aunt Petunia was really unhappy about having so many ‘freaks’ on her porch. I mean, Professor Bumbledoor was wearing a bright purple dress with shiny silver stars and moons on it, but the other guy was just wearing black.”

“Professor Dumbledore . And what other guy?”

“The man with the long black hair.”

Harry only knew one wizard with long black hair.

“Professor Snape?” he gasped, eyes bulging. “Professor Snape went to the Dursleys?”

“Yeah! That’s the one. Aunt Petunia was really mad to see him. She threw a frying pan at him!”

“ What?! ”

“Yeah, but he just waved his magic wand and it turned into a balloon and flew away making fart noises. It was wicked!”

“Oh my god.” Professor Snape, at the Dursleys’, making Aunt Petunia’s best frying pan shoot away like a balloon. The mental image Daisy’s words evoked just didn’t feel real. Was this real? Was he dreaming? How would he know if he was or wasn’t? Should he pinch himself? Did that really work? 

Oblivious to Harry’s internal meltdown, Daisy continued chattering on.

“Anyway, then Professor Dumbledore said I had to come with him, but I know better than to go with strangers, so I told them I wasn’t leaving, even though I really wanted to because he said he was bringing me to see you, but then Professor Snape showed me the letters I sent you and said he knew I was your sister and that you were really worried about me and that it was safe to come. So, since he had the letters, I thought it was probably okay to go with him. Did I do okay?”

Harry put aside his inner struggle and glanced over at his bag tucked neatly under the bedside table. He frowned. He knew he’d been heavily medicated yesterday, and that this whole thing might be a dream, really, but he clearly remembered Professor Snape returning Daisy’s letters to him before he left the potions lab, didn’t he?

“Yeah, Daisy, you did great. I’m proud of you,” he replied.

Daisy smiled widely and Harry noticed one of her teeth was missing. He hoped it had fallen out on its own. Harry’s first three lost teeth were entirely because of Dudley. It reminded him of his next question, though he dreaded her response. 

“How were you, really?”

Daisy’s smile faltered and she leaned into Harry’s chest. 

“It was all right, at first. I had to do more cooking and cleaning, but it wasn’t too bad. Then, Uncle Vernon lost a big sale at work and his boss told him he wouldn’t get any Christmas bonus. It was awful . He said he was done feeding me for free and that if I wanted to eat I’d have to work for it, but it didn’t matter how much I did, he still would only give me crusts and burnt ends. He locked me in the bedroom on weekends and took the bulb out of the light so I couldn’t waste electricity. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t read me your letters anymore and I didn’t know how to send one by myself. I can spell help–h-e-l-p–but I didn’t know how to send a letter to a magic school. I figured when you came home for Christmas, you could take me back to magic school with you, or else we could run away together like you wanted to do this summer, but then Uncle Vernon started saying how you weren’t coming for Christmas and I started to get sort of worried.”

Harry’s heart felt like it was being crushed, torn, shredded, and pierced all at the same time. He was furious with the Dursleys. Mistreating him had been one thing, but mistreating Daisy was something else. He was trouble–he understood that–but Daisy had never been anything but good and helpful and smart. 

“Well, you’re here now,” Harry said. 

“And we’re never going back,” Daisy said with conviction. Harry sighed. 

“Daisy–”

“No, that’s what Professor Snape said!” She sat up straight and looked at him defiantly. “He did a spell and all our stuff flew around and then got really small and went into a little box that he put in his pocket—it was so cool!—and then he told Aunt Petunia she should be ashamed and she’d never see us again and marched me out the door.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“So…where will we live?”

Daisy shrugged. “Can’t we live here?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” She shrugged again. “Well, I don’t care as long as we’re together. Forever.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. 

“Always.”

“My family you’ll be.”

Harry hugged Daisy tightly, then stood up off the floor. He lifted her up onto the hospital bed (she really weighed absolutely nothing ) and climbed up next to her. They sat sideways across it, legs hanging over the side. 

Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey came back around the screens about the time they got themselves settled. Harry wondered if it was just lucky timing or if there was some magic involved. At the sight of the adults, Harry slipped an arm around the back of Daisy and rested it on the bed beside her, encircling her with his arm. Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he noticed the movement, but he made no comment. 

“I do so love a happy family reunion at the holidays,” he said with a smile. “It really warms the heart. I trust you are fully recovered, Harry? You’ve suffered no lingering effects from yesterday’s event?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir,” That was two questions with different answers. Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. “I mean–I’m fine, sir.”

“Good, good. I’m given to understand that you spoke to Professor Snape at some length about your particular circumstances yesterday. In light of that, I feel I owe you an apology. I have grievously mishandled this situation, and I fear it has caused you undo harm.”

Harry was utterly unused to adults apologizing to him and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. 

“Er…don’t worry about it,” he said. 

“Ah, but I’m afraid I will do so, regardless. What has been done to you is a grave injustice that I have allowed to go unaddressed. It is the folly of old age to believe inerrantly in the healing power of time, forgetting, of course, that pain and suffering care nothing for the ticking of the clock. Alas, I have failed you, and your sister as well.”

Harry really didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for saying nothing at all. Daisy, though, in her usual fashion, knew exactly what to do. 

“You didn’t fail us,” she said. “You brought us back together when we needed each other the most.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled indulgently. 

“Indeed, Miss Potter. And I am glad I was able to do so, though it is not myself you should be thanking, but Professor Snape. It was at his urging that we visited your aunt and uncle.”

Harry still didn’t know quite what to do with that information. Professor Snape had never been mean to him, but he also never would have expected the man to become a champion of his cause, especially given his apparent closeness with James’s mum. Quite how he’d come down on Harry’s side, he still didn’t understand. 

“What happens now, sir?” Harry asked. 

“A great many things, I should think. For the two of you, though, we shall start with immediate needs first. Professor Sprout has agreed to accommodate Daisy in her own quarters for the final week of term, then you will both spend the holidays here. By the time students return, I hope to have made suitable arrangements for more long-term care for you both. Is this agreeable to you?”

“You mean, she won’t have to go back to the Dursleys?”

“Neither of you will be returning to that home. I regret deeply that you were there in the first place.”

“You’re not going to send us to, erm, their house, are you?” Harry looked sidelong at Daisy. He didn’t want to mention the Potters by name in front of her. Not yet. 

Professor Dumbledore regarded Harry shrewdly before he responded in a measured sort of voice. 

“I believe that that which has been discarded once should not be given again. Do you agree?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“What about, erm…well I don’t exactly want certain people to see…”

“Professor Sprout has arranged with one of her daughters to come and keep Daisy company during the day when she is unavailable. I’m sure she will feel inclined to take meals privately in her quarters while her daughter is in residence.”

“I see.”

“I would caution you, Harry, that some secrets simply cannot be kept indefinitely. You, of all people, must be aware of this.”

“I understand, sir.”

Professor Dumbledore nodded at Harry. Harry knew well that the secret of Daisy’s existence would get out sooner rather than later. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep the Potters’ existence from his sister. He just wanted a bit more time to figure out how to talk to her about it, and he desperately wanted to keep her out of the papers at least until after the holidays. If she could just stay hidden until James Potter got on the train, that would be all he could ask for. He sent up a silent prayer to God or Merlin or the universe or whoever or whatever was out there–please, just let them get through this week without any more chaos. 

Madam Pomfrey let Harry and Daisy stay in the hospital wing for most of the day. After Professor Dumbledore left, she produced a pair of comfortable chairs, a small table, and a deck of cards, and the two sat in the little cubicle for hours talking and playing easy card games. They ate the lunch the matron brought in, then tried to make a house out of the deck of cards. After it fell down for the third time, Daisy yawned and Harry suggested they take a break for a while. Perhaps it was the aftereffects of the calming draught, the tension and lack of sleep of the last week, the intense feeling of relief at having Daisy back in his sight, or some combination of the three, but Harry suddenly felt quite tired as well. The two cuddled up together on the small hospital cot–all knees and elbows and wisps of hair–and Harry was inordinately pleased that the shared space felt just as comfortable as it always had. He drifted off to sleep with Daisy’s knee pressed almost painfully into his stomach, but he didn’t mind a bit.

Harry’s friends came by to visit that afternoon, but seeing them would mean explaining Daisy, which he really didn’t want to do just yet, so he asked Madam Pomfrey to let them know he’d be back in the common room that night and then send them away. Madam Pomfrey probably didn’t appreciate being put to use as Harry’s personal messaging service, but she didn’t complain. Harry put it down to Daisy’s influence. It was difficult for anyone with a heart (Harry didn’t include the Dursleys on that list) to resist Daisy’s charms. 

Just before dinner time, Professor Sprout appeared around the edge of the frame with a kind-looking young woman that Harry had never seen before. 

“Good evening, Potters,” Professor Sprout greeted with a smile, then nodded to each of them in turn as she spoke. “Harry, I’m glad to see you feeling better, and Daisy, it is so good to meet you. I’m Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff, which is your brother’s house. This is my daughter, Elizabeth.”

The young woman gave a friendly little wave and a cheery, “Hello!”

“Elizabeth is going to be staying with me while you’re here and spending some time with you during the day. Does that sound all right?”

Daisy nodded. Elizabeth smiled. 

“I’m excited to get to know you,” Elizabeth said, “and I’ve got lots of fun things planned for us to do while your brother’s busy with exams.” She pulled an exaggerated disgusted face and Daisy giggled. “I’ve brought games and books and art stuff. I think we’ll have loads of fun.”

“Have you brought any paints?” Daisy asked quietly.

“I have! Do you like painting?”

“Yeah,” Daisy nodded enthusiastically and continued in a much more confident voice. “I painted a pumpkin at Halloween. My art teacher liked it so much she put it up on the display shelf until it started getting squishy.”

“Did she? It must have been quite special, then. I haven’t got any pumpkins, but I’m sure we can find plenty of other things to paint. Sound all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Well, I’ve got to go down to mum’s room and unpack all my things. Would you like to come down with me and look at the paint supplies?”

Daisy looked uncertainly at Harry, but he smiled at her. He suspected it was all a setup anyway. He’d known they wouldn’t get to stay together forever. 

“Go on, then. I’ll come by and see you tomorrow,” Harry said, then looked uncertainly at his professor. “Er, if that’s okay, Professor.”

“Of course, Harry. I’ll show you the way tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Thanks.”

Professor Sprout nodded with a smile. Harry waved for Daisy to come closer, and he wrapped her in a big hug. It was difficult to send her away, but at least she’d be in the same building and with someone that seemed nice. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, releasing her. “Love you.”

Daisy smiled at him. “Love you too. See you.”

Elizabeth held her hand out and Daisy reached out to take it. 

“The castle’s a bit crowded just now, so we’re going to take a special way to our quarters,” Elizabeth explained, pulling Daisy through the screen and around the corner. Their voices drifted as they made their way to the back of the hospital wing. He thought he heard Elizabeth explaining about something called “floo powder,” before he lost the conversation completely. 

“Madam Pomfrey has asked me to let you know that you’re free to go,” Professor Sprout said, kindly. “It’s just coming time for dinner, so we’d best head down to the Great Hall.”

The idea of eating in the Great Hall made Harry feel sort of queasy. He was certain everyone would have heard about his meltdown in Potions, by now, and he wasn’t looking forward to the whispers and stares. He considered telling Professor Sprout that he wasn’t hungry, but he knew that the more meals he missed, the stranger the story would become. So, instead of running away like he desperately wanted to, he nodded and grabbed his bag from under the bedside table. 

Professor Sprout put her hand gently on his shoulder as they walked towards the double doors in the center of the ward. Just before they opened them, she stopped and gave his shoulder a little squeeze. 

“We’ll take care of her, Harry. I give you my word. She’s safe, here. You don’t need to worry.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. Professor Sprout’s fingers flitted across his shoulder blades comfortingly before she gave him one last squeeze and released him. When she opened the doors, Harry was surprised to see familiar faces waiting on the other side. 

David, Susan, and Hannah smiled when they saw him, and Harry felt a smile stretch across his face, too. Walking into the Great Hall alone had felt like an impossible task. Walking in with his friends at his side felt much better. 

“He’s free!” crowed Susan. She punched the air with a whoop. Hannah simply smiled and rolled her eyes at Susan’s antics. Harry’s smile widened. He’d missed his friends. Even though they’d been around this week, he had felt a million miles away. It was good to feel like he was here with them again. 

“Feeling better?” David asked. 

“Yeah, actually,” Harry answered. “Thanks.”

David wrinkled his nose. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For asking how I was, I guess.”

David shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.”

__________________________________________________

The news of Harry’s outburst had spread like wildfire. He hadn’t expected any less, and was actually not as upset about it as he thought he’d be, probably because the stories were so far from the truth as to be almost funny. Well, some of them were funny, anyway. Some of them speculated that he would be the next You-Know-Who. Those were decidedly not funny.

Also not funny were the people who thought Harry’s outburst was evidence that Professor Snape had been secretly picking on Harry, similar to how he publicly picked on James. Harry very much disliked these theories. It bothered him how much people seemed to enjoy vilifying the man. Professor Snape had been the only adult Harry had ever met that had asked him about his life, believed what he’d said, then done something about it . He didn’t like seeing him talked badly about, but he knew better than to speak up about it too loudly. His friends noticed his feelings, though, and wisely decided not to join in.

In fact, Harry had been trying to find a way to thank Professor Snape for his intervention, but had been foiled at every turn. He’d thought to thank him when he delivered the box of things he’d rescued from the Dursleys, but the box appeared by magic outside Professor Sprout’s door on Sunday morning. He knew better than to try and catch Professor Snape in the Great Hall (there were enough rumors about him already, thank you very much), but he seemed to disappear as soon as he finished his meal. Harry had even tried waiting for him outside the Hall doors on Sunday evening, but he must have gone through the staff door instead. 

Then, on Monday, all thought of ensnaring the professor flew out the window with the arrival of the owl post. Harry, who hadn’t been expecting any post on account of the fact his only correspondent was secretly enjoying her own breakfast two floors below, received a letter–a letter sealed with a large crest with a very prominent letter P in the center. Even without opening it, he knew who it was from. 

He resolved right then and there that he wouldn’t read it. 

What could a family that had mislaid not one, but two, children possibly have to say to him? Were they offering financial restitution? Inviting him over for family Christmas? Naming a wing of St. Mungos after him? Each sounded equally ridiculous, and none of it could make up for having given him away. He pinched it between the finger and thumb of each hand and prepared to tear it down the middle. 

But he couldn’t. Bugger it all, he couldn’t . Much as he wanted to, his hands wouldn’t cooperate, they would not tear the letter. With a huff, he crammed it into his bag. Maybe he’d toss it in one of the common room fires later. For now, he had exams to worry about. 

The week passed both quickly and slowly. He visited Daisy as often as he could, and each time she presented him with some new bit of artwork she’d created. Harry learned that Elizabeth was on holiday from studying for a Herbology Mastery at an institute in Wales, but also had a passion for all things arts and crafts, as well as a love of children. Daisy seemed to be having the time of her life. It was incredible how much more Harry enjoyed his days when he knew Daisy was enjoying hers, too. 

His exams went well, he thought. He knew most of the answers on the written assessments, and the practicals were much easier now that his nerves weren’t so frayed. The professors also seemed to be infected with a Christmas spirit. After their exam in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall taught them how to transfigure a marble into a glass bauble, which they affixed a ribbon to. Then, in Charms, they learned how to make their bauble unbreakable. In Herbology, they learned how to safely harvest evergreen boughs without damaging the tree, then tied them into little bundles and decorated them with ribbon and bits of pine cones or acorns. Professor Binns gave a lecture on the history of Yule celebrations which was actually sort of interesting. In Defense, they had mock duels using only red and green sparks. The only professor who didn’t succumb to holiday cheer was, predictably, Professor Snape, who spent his time after the exam instructing them how to restock their potions kits from the supply cupboard so they’d be ready to start fresh in January. 

Harry had been unable to pin down Professor Snape outside of class, and he didn’t dare attempt to broach a personal subject during class. Furthermore, it seemed as if the professor may have been avoiding him. Perhaps it was just Harry’s particular desire to catch him one-on-one, or give him at the very least an appreciative nod, but it felt like Professor Snape was intentionally keeping his distance. Even when Harry and David prepared the best Herbicide Potion for their exam (without even talking to each other!), Professor Snape didn’t even acknowledge them. Harry assumed his sudden aloofness had to do with what had happened with Daisy. Had Professor Snape seen something at the Dursleys’ that had made him dislike Harry? Had he talked to James’s mum and changed his mind about helping him? Had he decided that Harry wasn’t worth bothering with anymore now that he’d gotten his answers? Harry wasn’t sure, but he knew he didn’t like it. 

Still, he was resolved to say thank you, even if Professor Snape wanted nothing more to do with him. So, on Friday, he intentionally tucked two of the ingredient containers from the store room out of the way, then pretended to discover them just as everyone else was leaving. David offered to stay behind and help him or wait for him, but Harry waved him off with a smile, promising to be right behind him, and ducked into the store room before David could protest. 

Harry emerged from the store room to find the classroom empty of all but Professor Snape. He leaned casually against his desk, clearly waiting for Harry. Harry’s eyes darted to the door to see if David had, in fact, waited for him, suddenly anxious about speaking with Professor Snape alone, but the door was closed. 

“Mr. Lewis was hovering, but I sent him on to lunch. You wished to speak with me?”

“How-how did you know?”

“Your ruse was not nearly so cunning as you believed it to be…and I am head of Slytherin house.”

“Right. Erm, well, I just wanted to say–well, that is, I thought I should–” Harry sighed. “I–Daisy wouldn’t–I mean–”

“Is there a coherent thought in here somewhere that I’m meant to understand?”

Harry took a fortifying breath and tried again. 

“I just wanted to say…thank you, sir. You know, for going to the Dursleys and getting Daisy. You…you didn’t have to do that.”

“I certainly did not do it for your thanks. I merely believed it to be a crime against nature for anyone to be forced to suffer the unpleasant company of Petunia Dursley any more than strictly necessary. I would not wish her upon my greatest enemy, of which an eleven-year-old Hufflepuff and his sister certainly are not.”

“Well, thanks anyway, sir.”

“I trust she is adjusting well.”

“Yes, sir. Professor Sprout’s daughter has been keeping her company. She really wants to get out and explore, though, so I’ll be happy when everyone else is gone.”

“You are aware that the castle will not be wholly deserted over the holidays, are you not? There will still be others who may encounter her. You will not be able to conceal her existence if you allow her to roam freely. I had thought that to be one of your objectives.”

“I know, sir, but I can’t just keep her locked up. Even if it’s a fancy, comfortable cage, it’s still a cage.”

“What will you do when the press inevitably catches wind of her? Have you thought about this? Would not a comfortable cage be preferable to public scrutiny and speculation?”

“Nothing is worse than a cage, sir. Everyone deserves to have the freedom to come and go, even if coming and going means you have to face a bit of difficulty.”

Harry had never voiced such a thought aloud before, but it had come to him with alarming clarity. He stood by it wholeheartedly. The press and the upheaval may have made Harry want to hide away for a moment or two this year, but he knew that he always had the choice to do so or not do so as he pleased. Choices mattered, probably more than anything. The Dursleys had never given Harry and Daisy any choices. Keeping Daisy locked away in Professor Sprout’s guest room didn’t give Daisy any choices, either. Harry wanted her to experience some of the freedom he’d found here at Hogwarts, to choose where to go and when to go there, to see the wonder and magic of the place. If that meant she’d be plastered all over the Daily Prophet , well, then that’s what it meant, he supposed. He desperately wanted to keep Daisy out of this mess, but as time went on he’d begun to realize the futility of it. Nothing stayed secret in the wizarding world forever. Besides, she mattered to him. Keeping quiet about her had been the hardest thing he’d had to do at Hogwarts, and he’d brewed a potion that could cure boils on his first day! 

Professor Snape merely nodded at Harry’s proclamation, and that seemed to be the end of that. A moment later, just as Harry was wondering if he should excuse himself or wait for the professor to excuse him, there was a knock at the door. 

“Come,” Professor Snape called, and the door swung open. Through it, Harry could see David, Susan and Hannah gathered nervously. 

“Excuse us, Professor,” said Susan, “but Professor Sprout wanted to see Harry in the Great Hall.”

A sly smile hid at the corners of Professor Snape’s mouth. Harry was probably the only one close enough to see it. 

“Did she, now? By all means, then, he may go, provided he has finished putting away his materials.”

Harry nodded quickly and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. 

“Bye, Professor. Erm, Happy Christmas,” he said as he joined his friends in the corridor. Professor Snape closed the door with a wave of his wand, but not before Harry saw dark hair fall forward over the professor’s face as he gave Harry a deep nod. 

Harry’s only class after lunch was Herbology, which was also one of the only classes he didn’t share with another house. Professor Sprout spent their final class period reading from a Christmas story book which was clearly magical as the illustrations moved on the pages as she read. It should have felt juvenile and silly to be read to from a picture book, but Harry actually really loved it. On the way back to the castle, he and his friends got into an impromptu snowball fight, which Susan won by yanking David’s collar and shoving an entire handful of snow down the back of his shirt. Harry was not sure he’d ever laughed so hard in his life. As he looked around at the rosy cheeks and broad smiles around him, his heart swelled and warmed. He’d really miss his friends over the break. 

They dripped their way to the common room, giggling as they tried to avoid Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris, who would both surely be irate to find four Hufflepuffs making a track of muddy snow all the way to the common room. They split up to get changed and Harry draped his sodden cloak over the railing surrounding the brazier in the hopes of drying it out as quickly as possible. He changed into warm, dry clothes, then made his way back into the common room. David, Susan, and Hannah were already gathered around one of the fires, sipping on mugs of hot chocolate made from hot water from the tea service and little packets of powder Hannah’s mum had sent her after the first snow. Harry looked longingly towards them, then at the clock. This was usually the time he’d go and visit with Daisy, but his friends would be leaving in the morning, but Daisy would still be there. For the first time in his life, he felt conflicted about who to spend his time with. 

Then, like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds, it came to him. He smiled as he made his way over to his friends. Hannah greeted him by shoving a mug of cocoa into his hands. 

“Here. It’ll warm up your hands. My fingers are freezing .”

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking a sip. The steam rose up to fog his glasses, which made them laugh again, but Harry didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure if it was the laughter or the chocolate warming him from the inside out, but whatever it was, he never wanted it to end. 

“Anyone want a game?” Susan asked, brandishing a deck of Exploding Snap cards that she’d pulled from her back pocket. 

“Actually,” Harry said, glancing around at the mostly-empty common room, “I sort of wanted to talk to you about something.”

Susan immediately lowered the cards and leaned forward. David and Hannah scooted in, too, and the four of them formed a little huddle in front of the fire. Harry appreciated their earnestness, but now that he had their attention, he felt a little lost. They waited for him to speak for a long moment before David broke the silence. 

“Listen, Harry, you don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to. It’s really okay if you’re not ready.”

Susan and Hannah nodded their agreement, and Hannah reached out and patted his knee in a comforting way. Harry wondered what he’d done to earn such steadfast friends, or maybe this was just how all friends were (it wasn’t like he had a lot of experience to fall back on, after all). He considered, briefly, taking them up on their offer, but he knew he’d already put it off long enough. Harry’s hands had started to shake, so he set his hot chocolate on the low table beside him and took a steadying breath. Hannah squeezed her hand against his knee, then released him to clasp her hands in her lap. 

“No, I’m ready. You’ve probably figured out that something happened between me and the Potters. I don’t know much, but from what I’ve figured or guessed, they left me with my aunt and uncle when I was just a baby. James and I are…twins. I don’t know why they left me and kept him, and I don’t–I don’t really care, anymore, honestly.” Harry wasn’t sure his voice sounded particularly convincing as all three of them reached out to touch him. Hannah put her hand back on his knee, Susan gripped one of his hands in hers, and David put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He could feel the heaviness and warmth of each of their hands and it tethered him to this moment. He clung to that feeling as he continued. 

“But, that’s not the part I wanted to say, really. What you don’t know, what nobody here knows–well, except for a few of the teachers, now–is that it wasn’t just me. I–” he inhaled shakily and whispered, “I have a sister.” Susan gasped and covered her mouth with her other hand. David’s hand clenched tighter on his shoulder. All three leaned in even closer than they had been. 

“The Potters left her at my aunt and uncle’s house, with me, when I was five. She was only three days old, then. Her name is Daisy. And, well…she’s here.”

“What?!” Susan asked. “How is she here?”

“Some…stuff happened at my aunt and uncle’s house. That letter I got last week, right before the thing in Potions, it–well, it’s hard to explain, but I knew she wasn’t safe anymore. So, I told Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape and then he and Professor Dumbledore went and got her from my aunt and uncle and brought her here and she’s been staying in Professor Sprout’s guest room with Professor Sprout’s daughter ever since. And, well, since you’re my friends, I thought…you might like to meet her.”

Three sets of eyes blinked back at him wearing expressions of shock, curiosity, and something like sadness that Harry tried very hard to ignore. He didn’t want his friends to pity him, nevermind that his life was sort of pitiable. For a while, he wondered if they would say anything. Perhaps they had finally realized that Harry’s life was too messed up to bother with, that he wasn’t worth the effort, that the drama and fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

Then, they all spoke at once. 

“Of course I want to–”

“Oh, Merlin, are you serious ? I can’t believe–”

“God, Harry, that’s–”

Harry couldn’t follow all the speaking at once, but it seemed like none of them were rejecting him. David seemed flabbergasted at the entire situation, Susan looked sort of angry, and Hannah might be about to cry. One thing was certain, though–they all wanted to meet his sister. Harry quieted them with a wave of his hand, shocked to feel a smile creeping across his face. He stood and beckoned for them to follow. 

“Come on, then.”

They wasted no time scrambling after him. 

“Is this where you’ve been disappearing off to all week?” Susan asked. 

“Yeah. While the other students are here, it’s not smart for her to be seen around the castle, so I’ve been visiting every afternoon.”

“By ‘the other students,’ do you mean James Potter?” Susan asked again. 

“Professor Dumbledore didn’t want to advertise that she’s here to anyone , but, yeah, especially him. Obviously, I don’t really want James knowing about her at the moment. The Prophet will figure it out, eventually, but I’d like to get through the holiday first, at least. Which, erm, reminds me. I haven’t told her about James or the Potters or any of it, yet. She doesn’t know our parents are alive or that they’re famous, or that she’s got another brother who’s my twin, or…anything. So, I’d appreciate if you, er, didn’t mention it.”

“Of course we won’t,” Hannah promised. 

“Scout’s honor,” David pledged with a smile. 

Harry stopped outside the door to Professor Sprout’s quarters. He was struck suddenly by the realization that he hadn’t exactly asked Professor Sprout if he could bring friends along with him, but it was a bit too late to go back now. There was nothing for it. They were already here and the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff that stood sentry outside her door was already smiling at him and inviting them all inside. 

“Harry!” Daisy greeted, running at him as she always did as soon as he walked through the door. He swept her up into a hug, lifting her off the floor, uncaring that his friends stood just behind him observing a very different side of him. He set her back down on the floor, but kept hold of her hands and bent down to look into her face. 

“I’ve brought some people to meet you,” he said, waving his friends forward. “These are my friends, David, Susan, and Hannah.”

Daisy, who had been shy only a handful of times in her life, smiled up at them. 

“Hello!” she said. 

“Hi, Daisy,” Hannah greeted, bending down as David and Susan each gave a little wave. “I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you. Would you like to see my reindeer? Miss Elizabeth helped me make it and she even did a spell to make its nose glow red like in the song.”

Without any hesitation, Daisy dragged an unresisting Hannah over to the area Harry had dubbed the crafting zone. Paint, glitter, paper, scissors, and all manner of bits and bobs had completely overtaken what Harry assumed was once a coffee table. Daisy’s artistic creations were lined up neatly on display on a shelf along the opposite wall. It did something funny to Harry’s heart to see his sister’s work put in pride of place instead of immediately thrown in the bin or hidden away in a nook under the stairs. 

Daisy was cheerily showing off her reindeer–which was a bit more sparkly than Harry suspected a real reindeer would be–when Elizabeth came to stand behind him. 

“If I’d known we’d be having company, I would’ve made some tea,” she chastised gently. 

“Sorry. Is it–is it okay that I brought them? I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, nervously. 

“Of course it is,” she said cheerfully. “I was only teasing. I am going to go put the kettle on, though. Mum will have my hide if I don’t at least make an attempt at offering you and your friends something to drink. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

In typical Daisy fashion, Harry’s friends loved her immediately. They cooed over her artwork and listened to her prattle on about her day (how she had so much to say when she’d been in the same room for the last week, Harry didn’t know, but she seemingly never ran out of things to talk about). They answered her ceaseless questions with magnanimity. Finally, Susan rematerialized the Exploding Snap deck from earlier and they spent the remaining time teaching Daisy to play. Harry was a bit worried about her playing with such a volatile magical object, and the first time the cards had exploded Daisy had jumped back with a squeak. Her surprise had only lasted a moment, though, before she had started laughing and clapping gleefully. Every time since, whenever the cards exploded, Daisy cackled with joy, which made the game more fun for Harry than it had ever been. 

At long last, though, and at the end of what Harry believed was probably the best afternoon of his life, the four had to bid Daisy farewell and head down to the Great Hall for the Holiday Feast. Along the way, Harry wondered if maybe, just maybe, this is what the holidays were supposed to feel like. 

Chapter Text

Interlude II: Conversations

Remus Lupin and James Potter- 31 October, 1991

“Is this really the best time to talk about this?” James hissed, eyes darting around the room, taking in the scattered groups of well-dressed socialites and the trays of food and drinks floating among them. It wasn’t as crowded as it usually was, which was another problem entirely, but it was still far too public for his choosing. 

“Well if you hadn’t warded me out of your house I would have talked to you about it sooner! What the hell, James? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? Did you think you could hide from this forever? Actually, did you think at all?!” Remus asked, shaking off James’s arm as his friend tried to usher him into another room. James plastered on a fake smile and gave a little wave as a nearby guest gave the pair a dubious look. He tried pulling Remus away again, and this time Remus didn’t fight it. 

“I did what I thought was best,” James defended, swinging the door to the study shut behind him and waving his wand over it to cast a privacy charm. 

“Which time? When you locked me out of your floo, took me off your apparatation list, or returned my owls without reading them? Or are you talking about when you left your own son on a stranger’s doorstep in the middle of winter.”

“It wasn’t the middle of winter and Petunia isn’t a stranger!”

“Have you actually ever had a conversation with her?”

“Of course! She’s my wife’s sister!”

“What about her husband?”

“Er, he prefers not to talk to ‘our sort,’” James replied, waving his hand dismissively. The motion was lost on Remus, though, who saw the way James wouldn’t quite meet his eyes and knew it for what it was–denial. 

“Well, if you went to all the trouble of keeping me out, I suppose you know what I’m going to say.”

James had no response except to continue to examine everything in the room except his friend. 

“Tell me you had a reason.”

“Of course I had a reason. Merlin, Moony, do you think I’d give my son over to someone else for nothing ?”

“At this point, I don’t know what I think.”

James sighed and pulled a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, undoing all the work Lily had undoubtedly done. 

“He wasn’t safe,” James finally said. 

“He…wasn’t safe ? At home with his parents and brother?” Remus rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Pull the other one. That’s the most bullshit thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I was around for the incident in ‘76.”

“It’s not bullshit! He wasn’t safe with us!” 

Remus rolled his eyes and started towards the door. James reached out and stopped him with a grip on his arm. 

“He was so small ,” James said quickly, almost pleading with his friend, “and Lily wouldn’t even look at him. I could’ve handled that–I was handling it–but then when we were attacked, she got this look like it had all been Harry’s fault and I…I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t keep him safe from her.”

“You, a fully-qualified Auror, couldn’t keep an infant safe from your own wife?”

“I would never raise my wand to my wife, Moony.”

“Not even for your own son? Besides, I’m not talking about hexing her, I’m talking about getting her some help! Do you have any idea how many mind healers I’ve visited over the years? The Creatures Department has mandated since ‘82 that all werewolves receive at least 1 hour of documented counseling after each transformation. You know this. I’ve told you this . Sure, I complain about it from time to time, but I can’t say it isn’t occasionally beneficial. I mean, some of the ones the ministry picks are shit, but others aren’t half bad. I could have given you some names, at the very least.”

James waved his hand as if he were swatting away Remus’s words like a swarm of flies. 

“She’s fine. She doesn’t need all that.”

“Clearly she does. You both do.”

“What? Me?”

“Yeah, you. It takes a twisted mind to rationalize leaving his own son on someone’s porch , James.”

“Come on, Moony, you know me! I’m not twisted !”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, until recently. And stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what? Moony? Why the hell can’t I call you Moony? That’s your name!”

Remus’s eyes shuttered and he seemed to shiver slightly. 

“Not anymore. Not after this.”

“It was a decade ago!”

“Telling me your son grew up without his parents for a decade really isn’t helping your case. I’ve heard enough. I’m leaving. You clearly didn’t want me here anyway, or you wouldn’t have worked so hard to keep me out. You won’t need to bother anymore. I don’t want to associate with someone who can do what you’ve done. There is no fixing this, James. There is no redemption for what you’ve done, and you’ve made it worse by dragging me through this with you. If you’d just told me , we could have worked it out a decade ago .”

Remus’s lip curled in disgust as he looked at the man who he had thought was his best friend. Even the distance that had grown between them with age and time (and the fact that James and Sirius worked together as Auror partners while Remus couldn’t even keep a job as a bartender for more than a month and was therefore sort of outside their circle these days) hadn’t changed the fact that he was one of the men Remus knew best. The loss of this friendship would leave him bereft and alone, but he simply couldn’t bear to look at the man anymore. Nothing was so vile to Remus as mistreating a child. Two decades of friendship and a camaraderie built on furry problems and animaguses were wiped away by this one stupid choice. 

He was done here. 

He wrenched the door open, but James’s voice stopped him before he could leave. 

“What should I tell Padfoot?”

Remus sighed and the lonely chasm inside him opened wider. 

“Whatever the hell you want. He chose his side.”

And then he left without another word. 

_________________________________________________

James and Lily Potter- 31 October, 1991

“Lily, love, what are you doing in here?”

Lily was standing in the kitchen, surrounded by a sea of floating trays bearing hors d'oeuvres and champagne, staring sightlessly at the wall. She didn’t acknowledge him when he spoke. 

“Lily?” James reached out and grasped her shoulder, running his hand down her arm to entwine his fingers with hers. He gave her hand a squeeze. Belatedly, she squeezed back. 

“It’s 7:43.”

James’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, the point he now realized Lily had been staring at. 

“Yes.”

“I’d thought maybe I’d gotten the times wrong. Hardly anyone has come. It should be bustling out there, but…” she gestured to all the floating trays around her–trays that should have been circulating in the room outside, but were unneeded. Only about a quarter of their respondents had actually shown up to the gala. They had woefully overprepared. That prick Twillcroft of the St. Mungos Benevolence Fund had already tried cornering James three times over the lack of attendees (and therefore lack of donors), but he’d so far managed to head him off. He was still shaken by his earlier conversation with Remus and was in no mood to talk to bureaucratic penny-pinchers. 

“It’s to do with him , isn’t it,” Lily continued. James blinked at her, too shocked to respond. Lily hadn’t referenced Harry even in passing since James had made him disappear. He hadn’t even been sure that she even remembered he existed. He’d been careful not to mention why they had been holed up in the house, nor why the press was attempting to breach their wards, and Lily had not pressed overmuch, which intimated to James that perhaps she knew. Yet, she had not altered her behavior in any way, except that she worked from home instead of going into the ministry every day. 

Lily took his silence as confirmation and her face morphed into a sneer that wouldn’t have been out of place on her Slytherin friend’s face. 

“He ruins everything ,” she hissed, before flinging her free hand out and sending out a powerful wave of wandless magic that sent the trays to the floor with a cacophony of clanging metal and shattering glass. Her other hand was still entwined with James’s but it was shaking hard. 

“Lily–”

“I thought he was gone ! I thought I was done with him! I thought you took care of it!” She whirled to face him, eyes wild and screamed, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE CARE OF IT?!”

“What more would you have had me do?” he pleaded. “He was my son –”

“HE IS NOT MY SON!”

The metal serving trays began to rattle on the floor, a discordant sound that grated in his ears. Lily’s chest was heaving as she pulled in gulps of air, seeming to swallow them more than breathe them. Her green eyes were luminescent, with only the smallest pinprick of black in the center. Her red hair seemed to lift off her shoulders. In her robes of purple-so-dark-they-were-nearly-black, she looked like the mythical Morgan Le Fay, exuding beauty and power. James was intoxicated by her. 

He turned to face her and brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. Her eyes met his and he saw her come back to herself. The black point in the center of her eyes spread into a pool and her hair settled back onto her shoulders. The rattling trays slowed, then stopped. Her chest stopped heaving, but her breath hitched as he rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. He leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, stepping into her and filling all his senses with her. It didn’t matter that it had been nearly fifteen years since the first time, every time he kissed her it felt brand new. Her slender hand wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him in closer. 

Sooner than he’d like, she slid her hand down to his shoulder and lowered her face. Her eyes were hooded and heavy, now, and her arms hung from his shoulders as if they had suddenly grown too heavy for her to bear. He knew she had retreated into herself again. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Tired, love?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I think I’ll go on up to bed. Give everyone my regards, would you?”

“Of course.”

She wandered out of the kitchen as if she was in a daze, stepping over dropped canapes and shattered champagne glasses in sticky pools as if she were simply walking through the garden. He watched as she drifted across the hall and up the main staircase, waving off guests with a detached sort of smile. As she passed through the doors into the private wing, he finally brought his eyes back to the guests, only to see Twillcroft mere steps away with a determined glint in his eye. James expertly stepped to the side and melded into a small group of elderly wizards, who welcomed him into their midst with gruff smiles and slaps on the back. He took a glass of whiskey from a passing tray, and raised it in mock salute to the frustrated Twillcroft, before turning back to the circle of men.

And so the night continued. 

______________________________________________

Severus Snape and Petunia Dursley- 29 November, 1991

He knocked on the door of Number 4 Privet Drive and took half a step back to wait on the stoop. He’d transfigured his outer robe into a suit jacket to match his trousers in deference to the Statute of Secrecy, but such things were apparently below the headmaster, who stood two steps behind him in a violently purple robe emblazoned with golden stars and crescent moons, with the occasional shooting star zipping from hem to hem. 

He heard footsteps within the house, then saw the twitch of the curtain in the front room. The steps got faster and more urgent and the locks clicked in the door. It was pulled open only enough for a pale green gaze and severe jawline to hiss, “Go away!” and push the door shut. 

Or the door would have shut, if Severus hadn’t immediately wedged his boot in the gap and prevented it from doing so. He could simply have reopened it by magic, of course, but sometimes his muggle upbringing displayed itself in ways he couldn’t quite rationalize. 

Despite the fact he was closer to the door, it was Albus who next spoke. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Dursley. My colleague and I are here on official Hogwarts business and I’m afraid I must insist we speak with you. Indoors would be preferable, but we may speak on the porch if you prefer.” He gestured around him to indicate the openness of Privet Drive, the porch of the west-facing house limned in gold by the setting sun. 

Petunia’s nose wrinkled distastefully and she shepherded them inside quickly. 

“What do you want? And what have you got to do with school business?” She looked down her nose haughtily at Severus. 

“As a matter of course, I am a professor at Hogwarts,” he replied stonily. “We’re here about your nephew.”

“What’s the boy done now? Whatever it is, he’ll have to face the consequences himself. We’ll not pay for anything he’s broken. He can work it off.”

“As pleasant as ever, I see, Tuney . How fortunate for him that I will not be requiring monetary compensation for the thirty-four specimen jars he shattered this morning in a fit of accidental magic. He has, however, made us aware of a situation which requires immediate attention. First, tell me, how did Harry come to be under your… care ?”

Petunia’s face reddened and she scowled. Her husband came lumbering out of the sitting room, cheeks ruddy and with an empty bottle in hand. He must have heard the question because he answered before Petunia could. 

“That good-for-nothing father of his dropped him on our doorstep. Said he’d be back soon, so she convinced me to let the boy stay as a favor to her sister, but the bastard never came back for him. Thought maybe they’d both kicked it, except the money–” he cut himself off with a snap.

“What money?” Severus asked.

“That’s none of your business,” he blustered. “And we earned it, anyway, keeping them fed and clothed! You’ll not touch a single pound! He’s given us no end of trouble, and her, too!”

“Vernon,” Petunia cautioned.

“What? If they’re here, they might as well collect her, too, and I say good riddance! But you’ll not touch the allowance! We’re owed , I tell you!”

“I’ve no interest in your money or anyone else’s. Where is she?”

Vernon gestured vaguely up the stairs, but did not attempt the climb himself. Severus wondered if perhaps the effort might do him in, his great girth surely must be taxing on his heart, if in fact he possessed one. Instead, he lumbered into the kitchen and Severus heard the clink of bottles in the refrigerator. 

“Petunia!” he called, “Where’s my supper?” 

Petunia hurried into the kitchen, leaving Severus and Albus to climb the stairs themselves. When they reached the upper floor, there were four doors to choose from, but only one had locks on the outside and a cat flap in the bottom. Severus waved his wand and the latches popped free. It opened to a darkened room, the sun having sunk below the eaves of the neighboring houses and casting the room into darkness. The fixture in the ceiling was missing its bulb. 

He waved his wand and a soft light illuminated the tip, revealing the room’s small occupant. It was the red hair that did him in. Red hair, the exact shade of Lily’s, though duller and matted, framed a too-thin face and a bony frame ensconced in a shirt that surely once belonged to a small whale. The features were both familiar and not, but the whole thing had frozen him completely. Albus slid past him into the room and crouched before the frightened girl. 

“Good evening, Miss Potter.”

“Hello,” she whispered.

“My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I’m the Headmaster of your brother’s school. He was worried about you and sent us to check on you.”

Her wide, hazel eyes flicked up to Severus, still immobile in the doorway. Albus followed her gaze. 

“Ah, yes, that’s Professor Snape, Harry’s favorite teacher.”

Whether that was true or not, Severus couldn’t say, but it was a strange statement nonetheless. Severus wasn’t sure he’d ever been anyone’s favorite teacher before. Albus continued without waiting for any acknowledgement. 

“Tell me, Daisy, are you happy here with your aunt and uncle?”

Daisy hesitated for a long moment, then shook her head no. Tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

“Would you like to come with us to see your brother? I think he was right to worry about you. We can take you to him and you can be safe.”

Severus watched as indecision played across her face plainly. In the end, she seemed to resolve herself and shook her head no. 

“No? You’d rather stay here?”

“Harry says I’m not to go with strangers,” she whispered, forlorn. Something about the look on her face jolted Severus back into action. 

“Daisy,” he said in possibly the gentlest voice he’d ever used, “Harry gave me these to show you, so you’d know you could trust us.”

From his pocket, he pulled the copies of the letters he’d made while Harry was speaking to Poppy in his classroom. He handed them over to Daisy, and she clutched them greedily. Severus wasn’t sure if the girl was capable of reading them or not, but she certainly recognized them for what they were. 

“Harry gave these to you?”

“He did,” Severus lied. “If you come with us, we’ll take you to him.”

Daisy sniffled and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. 

“Okay,” she said. Severus extended his hand to retake the letters, but small, thin fingers wrapped around it instead. His entire body jerked, but he didn’t pull away. He hadn’t been trusted so freely since he’d met Lily in the park as a child–a child that looked eerily similar to the one in front of him. 

Something shifted in him, then, an allegiance that he had thought unshakeable, that had defined his entire existence, suddenly tilted on its axis. Lily had eluded every attempt at communication, and, somehow, when it was just Harry–who seemed remarkably competent and well-adjusted for all that he was supposedly abandoned, or at least he had seemed that way until this morning–Severus was able to ignore it and let Lily have her secrets. She’d certainly let him have his, over the years, and he owed her the chance to explain herself, whenever she decided she was ready. But now, faced with the shocking consequences of the Potters’ actions (for surely Lily wouldn’t have let James abandon their children if she were not, at the very least, complicit), he found himself utterly unable to rationalize any part of this. There was no reason, none whatsoever, that could absolve her of this. 

Whatever had existed between them, the bond that had connected them for over twenty years–the bond that had recovered from blood prejudice and his becoming a Death Eater and her marrying his childhood bully–shattered like glass.

He escorted the fragile child down the stairs, ignoring the weighty look Albus was no doubt trying to send him for holding her by the hand the whole way. He was unmoored, and that little hand was the only thing tethering him to this time and place. 

Albus swept into the kitchen and Severus and Daisy followed. Vernon was sitting in a chair, watching a small television, eating from a bag of crisps, and nursing the bottle he’d pulled from the fridge. Petunia was just pulling a toasted sandwich out of a pan. She stacked the sandwich atop another one and placed the plate in front of her husband. 

“Miss Potter will be coming with us,” Albus said.

“No, she won’t. I’ve changed my mind. She goes, the money goes. She’s staying,” Vernon grunted, shoving more crisps in his mouth. “Get back in your room, girl,” he commanded, never looking away from the screen once. 

Daisy’s hand trembled in Severus’s and he gripped it tighter. 

“I’m afraid it’s not a matter for debate. Severus, if you’d please take her into the hall and gather her things while I speak to the Dursleys,” Albus said. Severus could hear the anger in his voice, but Vernon’s intoxicated mind didn’t yet sense the danger. He pulled Daisy back through the kitchen door and let it swing shut behind him. 

He pulled out his wand with his free hand–his off hand, but he had long ago taught himself to use both when needs must–and conjured a small box. Daisy’s eyes widened as she watched the procedure. For her benefit, more than anything else, he incanted, “Accio Potter’s belongings” and watched as the cupboard door popped open and a collection of small, broken objects tumbled out. As they neared the box, Severus silently shrunk them to fit. A pile of greyish rags that Severus assumed must be clothes, as well as some documents and children’s drawings collected themselves in the box. Most of what he saw appeared to be little more than trash, but he well knew how children who were given little learned to cherish every little scrap. When every last object seemed to have appeared from all corners of the house, he tapped his wand against the box and shrunk it to the size of a matchbox and dropped it into his pocket. 

At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and Petunia thundered out, hot frying pan still in hand. 

“You!” she thundered. “This is all down to you! If you hadn’t met my sister and dragged her into your freakishness , none of us would be in this mess!” Then, she hurled the hot pan at him, uncaring that she was likely to cover her defenseless niece in hot oil. Furious, Severus slashed and twirled his wand, turning the projectile into a balloon that sailed harmlessly past his head with a splutter to fall limply on the floor. The girl beside him gave a shocked little laugh. 

“That was my best pan!” Petunia screeched, which made the girl laugh again, but Severus simply turned on his heel and pulled the girl towards the door. Albus was saying something about goodbyes, but Severus wasn’t stopping. He threw open the front door and marched the girl down the street towards the little copse of trees they’d apparated into. 

“Are we really going to see Harry?” she asked, trotting along beside him, still clutching his hand. 

“Yes.”

“Will…will I have to go back to them after?” she asked. A touch of nervousness crept into her voice. 

“Never again.”

“Really?” 

Severus turned to look at her, then, meeting her eyes for the first time since he saw her in his wandlight. The street lamp overhead shone off her hair and his heart clenched painfully. 

“Really,” he said, and she smiled. 

______________________________________________

Severus Snape and Lily Potter- 30 November, 1991

Severus was tapping agitatedly against his glass when the bell over the door chimed merrily. He flicked his gaze to the door, but it wasn’t who he was waiting for–who he’d been waiting for for over an hour. He consulted his watch again and resumed his frustrated tapping. He resolved to wait fifteen more minutes, the same resolution he’d made twice already, and would likely make at least twice again before finally giving up. 

Forty minutes later, he’d stopped checking every time the door chimed. His basket of chips had long grown cold and he’d finished two beers. A third would be pushing his limits. His head was pleasantly free now, but he was careful not to cross the line into anything more. He knew the man his father had been and had no desire to see himself become the same. 

The sound of someone sliding across a vinyl-covered booth startled him. His companion grinned at him from across the table. He smiled back, then frowned when another person joined her. He had not been invited. 

“Sorry we’re late!” Lily said, snagging a chip from the basket and taking a bite, she wrinkled her nose to find it cold and soggy, and sent James off to order a fresh batch. 

“You brought company, I see,” Severus drawled. 

“We’ve got tickets to the cinema later and I didn’t want to just leave him outside like a stray puppy.”

“An apt descriptor, I’d say.”

“Be nice. Honestly, Sev, I’ve been married to the man for over a decade.”

“Yet he doesn’t trust you to have a simple lunch with me unaccompanied.”

“Oh, stop. You know he does. We have lunch together all the time and he never fusses.”

“Hmmm,” Severus hummed. “We have not dined together much as of late.”

“Oh my god, is there a reason you’re persisting with the aristocratic pureblood persona today? ‘As of late,’ honestly.” She rolled her eyes at him good naturedly. “If it’s for James’s benefit, ignore him. He’ll be at the counter waiting on chips for ages anyway.”

Severus picked up his bottle to take another swig, but forgot that he’d already emptied it. Pity. Perhaps he would need another after all. This conversation was already stretching him to his limits and it had barely been two minutes.

“You’ve been ignoring my letters,” he said more plainly, relaxing his jaw and letting the midlands slip back in at the edges. Lily’s mouth twitched into a small smile to hear it and she waved her hand dismissively as James reappeared with fresh chips and drinks, sliding a bottle in front of each of them. Despite his better judgment, Severus took a deep drink while James settled himself in. 

“We’ve had the house locked up pretty tight, except for the gala,” Lily replied. “Bit of trouble with the press, but it’ll pass, James assures me. Don’t you, love?”

James nodded and slid his hand around the back of the booth to rest on her shoulder. She smiled magnanimously, but something about it felt off to Severus. Something about her felt off. Or maybe it was he who was off. After yesterday, how could he not be? He’d finally caved and sent her a Patronus–something he was loath to do as it served as an uncomfortable reminder to them both of his true feelings, which they generally tried to ignore. He’d been suppressing them for so long now that he half wondered why his Patronus hadn’t changed, anyway, but he supposed she was still the brightest light in his life, even if he had long given up on having her as his own. He’d wondered if the spectral form would even complete the journey, as his doe today was smaller than he’d ever seen it and looked as if it could disappear at any moment, though it seemed to have made it and delivered its message. Her own doe had returned right away, looking as bright and regal as always, confirming that she’d finally be available for lunch, and Severus had set out right away. 

Her presence today hadn’t soothed him as it once did. The smile he wore for her was as fake as any he’d ever worn for his other associates, and it felt foreign on his face. He expected her to call him out for it, but she didn’t. He’d promised himself he’d let her explain, but now that he was faced with it, his feelings from yesterday resurfaced and he wasn’t sure he could. He was done with small talk and wasting time. 

“So, tell me about…Harry,” he said without preamble. He’d nearly said “Daisy” but at the last second had gone for the safer of the two. He could still feel the echoes of her little grip on his hand and he flexed it under the table. He couldn’t talk about her, yet. But Harry, Harry he could manage. 

Lily inhaled sharply, choking on the chip she’d just bitten. She coughed and reached for her beer, downing half of it in one go. James sat up straighter in his seat, but said nothing. 

“Excuse me,” Lily said, waving her hand dismissively in front of her face again. “Don’t know what came over me. I think I misheard you. What was that you said?”

Severus leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. There was something manic in hers that set his hairs on end. 

“Tell me about Harry.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, voice flat. James fidgeted in his seat. 

“You don’t know anyone by the name Harry Evan Potter ? That’s curious, because he’s got your eyes and your face and his, ” he gestured at Potter, “hair and seemingly knows nothing about the wizarding world, but has knife skills and brewing instincts that are uncomfortably familiar. Tell me, Lily, wasn’t your father’s name Henry Evans? Awfully close to Harry Evan, if you ask me.”

Lily seemed to be shaking and James had taken her shoulder in his hand again. 

“I told you. I don’t know anyone by that name. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lily!” Severus slammed his hand on the table. “Tell me the truth, dammit! How long have we known each other? What have we been through together? And you couldn’t even trust me enough to tell me that James has a brother, a twin , if I’m not mistaken?” He leaned forward again and said in a low, feral growl. “As well as a sister.”

“SHUT UP!” she yelled, clapping her hands over her ears and rocking forward in her seat. “STOP IT! JUST STOP!”

Severus knew it had been wise to cast those notice-me-not and silencing charms. Lily’s outburst drew not even the slightest bit of attention. As Lily descended into hysterics, James’s eyes blazed. 

“Stop it! There’s no need for all this! Can’t you see Lily isn’t well. I’ve said it before, Snape, and I’ll say it again. It’s none of your business!”

“It became my business when he blew up my lab yesterday and admitted to a lifetime of abuses at the hands of his relatives. He was afraid they were going to starve her to death while he was away at school, Potter. Did you know what kind of monster you were leaving your children with, or did you just not care enough to check?” The vitriol dripped so heavily from his words he imagined he could see it burning its way through the table.

To his credit (though Severus gave him none), James paled and his bottle shook in his grasp. 

“What?” he croaked.

“Yes, when Albus and I went to fetch your daughter yesterday, she was locked in an upstairs bedroom being given cold tinned soup through a cat flap and looked as if a stiff breeze could blow her over. In the course of removing her from the home, Petunia threw a frying pan at us and her drunk whale of a husband attempted to prevent us from taking her so he wouldn’t lose the payments you’ve been sending. A real utopia you sent your children to, wasn’t it.”

“I didn’t–I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have–I was paying them! ”

“Which is the only thing that kept them from sending them both off to an orphanage, no doubt! They probably would have been better off! You didn’t check on them, not once in ten years? You just left them there and trusted blood and money to be a strong enough bond to ask a selfish woman to open her cold, dead heart to a couple of magical cast-offs? She hates magic.”

“Well, how was I to know that? Lily had kept in touch a bit, I thought it would be fine!”

“You thought it would be fine to abandon two children on a doorstep without so much as a ‘by your leave’?” Severus rolled his eyes and sneered in an almost painful way. “You’re a bastard, Potter.”

“Cheers, Snape. Have you looked in a mirror lately?” 

“I would never do something like this! Once is unforgivable. Twice is…”

James suddenly deflated, defeated. 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. But Lily…she couldn’t, and I couldn’t, well, you can see.” James gestured helplessly at his now catatonic wife. Her hysterics had subsided but had been replaced by a sort of mental absence. Lily Potter was no longer in attendance for this conversation, it seemed.

“Get her some help,” Severus said, pity softening his voice a bit, but not mending the hole in his heart that used to be hers.

“She won’t accept it.”

“ Make her accept it.”

James looked over at her forlornly, brushing her mussed hair back over her shoulders. 

“I can’t.”

“Then we’re done here. I want nothing more to do with either of you, not that I’ve ever wanted anything to do with you to begin with.” Severus rose from the table and tossed down enough pound notes to cover the tab, and then some. He couldn’t be bothered with the change, he just needed to get out. James rose to stop him. 

“She’s going to need you. She’s been your friend longer than she’s been my wife. She’ll need people on her side when the press works it all out.”

“She abandoned her children. Our friendship is over.”

“That’s rich coming from you. It’s fine for her to invite you back into her life after you become a bloody Death Eater , but the second she needs you, you walk away without a second thought! You’re a fucking hypocrite! You hunted defenseless women and children for sport .”

“I have never raised my wand or my hand against a child! And I pay for my other crimes every day of my life. You don’t see me swanning around in a mansion, do you? The youngest Potions Master in England and I’m a teacher at a boarding school. I’ve removed myself from a life of fame and fortune intentionally . I pay my penance every day. Can you say the same? While your son and daughter were being starved, imprisoned, and beaten, you were hosting charity galas and buying your chosen son the most ludicrously expensive racing broom you could get your hands on.”

“I was protecting them!”

“From what? A life of luxury? A caring home? Three meals a day? You disgust me and I find I cannot bear another second of this conversation. When your wife comes around, tell her I never want to see her again.”

“At least tell me where they are!” James begged, calling after Severus as he swept out of the booth.  “Where are my chil–”

The noise cut off with a pop as Severus walked beyond the bubble of the privacy ward and kept going, out the door, down the street, into an alley, and away.

_______________________________________

Director of Wizarding Family Services: Athenia Winterblossom and Albus Dumbledore– 30 December, 1991

“It isn’t as simple as it seems, Headmaster,” Athenia said. “I’ve got a few families that I would trust with such a delicate situation, but with their birth records inaccessible, it is as if the two of them simply do not exist. I can’t file paperwork on someone who isn’t officially real .”

“I assure you, Mrs. Winterblossom, they are quite real.”

“I’m sure they are, but there’s nothing I can do! The records aren’t just obscured, they’re gone . I’ve even had DMLE Director Bones in looking for them, but whatever files there may once have been, they’re not there now, and haven’t been for some time. There was no magical signature for her to trace. I only know of a handful of people with the authorization to enter the room who also possess the skill to hide their tracks, not to mention the advanced foreknowledge to remove the records in the first place, and I don’t think you need me to tell you which celebrity Auror is at the top of my list.”

“Indeed I do not.”

“But it doesn’t matter, because without actionable evidence, there’s nothing anyone can do. He’s lost his spot as the next Deputy Head, but that hardly seems comparable. I’ve read your case notes on their previous…home. It’s awful, what’s been done to them. I wish I could set them up with one of my foster families, but you know the Ministry. Without a paper trail, nothing gets done. I’ve tried and I just keep hitting a wall!”

Albus hummed in acknowledgement. 

“The best I can offer is to send them to a group home, and a muggle one, at that. We can forge whatever documents are required and set them both up nicely. There’s a place in the west country that we’ve had success with before, and does a good job. Unfortunately, Harry, being older and away for most of the year, will probably live there until the age of majority. Daisy stands a good chance of being adopted, though. It’s probably the best option for her. Well, the best would be if their parents would do the right thing, but I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Albus’s mind flashed unpleasantly to another boy with extraordinary power who grew up in an orphanage after being rejected by his family. Would Daisy’s influence be enough to keep Harry from walking down the same path? What would happen if his sister was taken from him, adopted without him?

Albus couldn’t risk it. 

“She will stay at Hogwarts.”

“Are–are you certain? That seems…unprecedented.”

“There have been staff children in residence before, not that long ago, in fact, though her case is indeed unique.”

“I’m still going to need paperwork. I can’t just leave her here . And what will become of them in the summers?”

“I will arrange it all. Let us see…unaccompanied magical children with no identification, ah! Yes. They fall under the jurisdiction of the ICW as displaced persons.”

“Displaced persons? I hardly think–”

“Best not to question it, my dear. As Supreme Mugwump, I will personally oversee their placement, which, for the time being, shall be Hogwarts. I will arrange for a tutor to provide academic enrichment during the day, and Professor Sprout can see to her care in the evenings. She has managed raising daughters in the castle while maintaining her professorial and Head of House duties, and is best suited for the job. We will deal with the summer when it arrives.”

“Headmaster, I’m not certain that’s strictly…legal, no matter your position. And what about the parents? Surely they will have some objection.”

Albus’s eyes hardened. 

“Leave it with me, Mrs. Winterblossom,” he said, moving her towards the floo. “Trust they will be well cared-for, no matter the circumstances of their birth or their parentage.”

“The press, as well–”

“I am no stranger to the menaces of the fourth estate. Now, I’m afraid I have other business to attend to,” he said, and extended an intricately patterned porcelain sugar bowl towards her. She took a small handful of floo powder from within and tossed it into the grate, still with a sort of bewildered, uncertain look on her face. 

“Director Winterblossom’s office, Ministry of Magic,” she called out, and whooshed away with a swirl of green flames. Albus replaced the floo powder on the mantle, and strode out of his office. He had people he must speak with. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Harry’s friends departed on the Express the morning after their meeting Daisy. In fact, the castle became very nearly deserted, which suited Harry just fine. He took advantage of the decreased attendance to show Daisy around the place. He was still very cautious about exposing her to the world at large, so he was careful to go to the more popular locations at times when others would be very unlikely to be around. So far, they’d managed not to bump into anyone except Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, who were both already aware of Daisy’s presence and gushed about meeting her in person. Daisy charmed everyone she met the instant she encountered them, or at least she did when the Dursleys weren’t around to spoil it with their lies. 

Daisy loved everything about the magical castle and Harry loved watching her eyes widen at each new marvel. He was surprised at how quickly he, himself, had become desensitized to it all. The odd staircases, narrow corridors, and moving paintings had quickly become just a part of the background for him, but for Daisy they were a revelation. It even brought back a bit of the castle’s magic for him, too. 

When they weren’t wandering the castle, Harry and Daisy could most often be found with the Sprout family. As it turned out, Professor Sprout had three children, of which Elizabeth was the youngest. Her other daughter, Clara, and her son, John, came to join their mother at the castle shortly after the students departed. Harry had been puzzled when a Mr. Sprout had not also arrived, but he quashed his curiosity with the ease of long practice. 

Harry had thought that Professor Sprout’s cozy quarters would feel quite cramped with three adult children and Daisy all in residence, but he was surprised to see that it had magically enlarged itself to accommodate all the occupants comfortably. The family, plus Harry and Daisy, spent a pleasant few days playing games and assembling gingerbread houses. The use of magic made this task much more enjoyable, or so the Sprout children had said. Harry and Daisy, who had never once been permitted to assemble a gingerbread house even without magic, could only say that it was delightful fun regardless of the method. 

In short order, Harry and Daisy enjoyed the first truly happy Christmas either had ever experienced. All Harry’s friends had sent him gifts, which was surprising all on its own. Even more surprising was that they’d also arranged to send Daisy gifts too. Harry had to excuse himself from the celebrations when he’d seen all those gifts with Daisy’s name on them standing proudly under the tree in Professor Sprout’s sitting room. He dumped his own gifts, which he’d carried over from his dorm, still wrapped, and quickly dashed off to the loo before anyone could see the tears on his cheeks. He rather suspected Professor Sprout had figured him out, though, since there’d been extra whipped topping and chocolate curls on the hot chocolate she handed him when he came back out. 

Harry felt a bit bad about not being able to get any gifts for his friends, and was worried they’d not want to be friends with him anymore, but Professor Sprout must have guessed that, too, because Elizabeth and John started talking rather loudly about Hufflepuffs being the best sorts of friends, which even Clara (who’d been in Gryffindor) agreed was true. Harry came away from it feeling a bit more confident about the whole situation, even though no one had mentioned his circumstances specifically. He still resolved to do something special for them when they all got back together. He wasn’t sure what he’d do , exactly, but he’d think of something eventually. 

Notably, there wasn’t a single package for either of them from a certain prominent wizarding family. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d have done if there was something. Burn it, maybe? Or would he not have been able to go through with that either? 

Honestly, he didn’t know anymore. He put the thought out of his mind as best he could.

Once Professor Sprout’s living room was absolutely covered in discarded wrapping paper, John, who worked at a bakery on Diagon Alley, produced an absolutely massive plate of assorted Christmas biscuits while Professor Sprout levitated over a tea service and several mugs of hot cocoa. Harry ate so much he was certain he was going to be ill, then collapsed on the couch while Elizabeth and Daisy created dozens of paper snowflakes, which Elizabeth then charmed to float lazily above their heads. Harry must have dozed off at some point, because he awoke to the sound of the Sprout family singing some Christmas carols, with Daisy’s little-girl voice joining in for the parts she knew. Wizarding carols were largely the same as Muggle ones, though there were a few he’d never heard. He was sure some of them were just things they hadn’t ever sung at primary, but he thought it pretty likely that “Old White Wizards Whiskers” and “The Christmas Cauldron” were unique to the wizarding world.

Then the family settled down at last for Christmas supper, the smell of which had been tantalizing Harry for hours . Once they were all seated, Professor Sprout lit a candle in the center of the table, as well as one on the mantle which stood amidst an array of frames that Harry had somehow never noticed, but assumed were family photos. The Dursleys would never be caught dead with such a mishmash of frames all clumped together like that, but then, the Dursleys would never be caught dead with most of the things in Professor Sprout’s quarters. Harry rather liked it that way. 

Professor Sprout grasped John’s hand, who reached his other out to Clara, and so on, and Harry quickly realized he’d soon be a part of this circle, as well. He’d held Daisy’s hand plenty of times, but he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d held anyone else’s, much less an adult’s–one of his professors, no less! Sure enough, Daisy’s hand slid familiarly into Harry’s and he held it tightly. He looked up at Professor Sprout, who had her hand held open atop the table, well within his easy grasp, and she smiled encouragingly. He placed his hand atop hers, and her fingers curled around his in a warm, comforting grip. Harry was surprised to feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them back hurriedly. 

Likely sensing his awkwardness, Professor Sprout turned to regard the table ringed with clasped hands and said, “Let us always remember our love for one another in this season of giving. Let us be glad especially for the presence of new friends and the joy of having young ones around our table again. Let us be thankful for all that we have been given, but let us not hold too tightly to it, so that we may be a blessing to others. And, as we do each year, let us remember your Da, who is missing from this table. Though we wish we had more time with him, we are ever grateful for the time we did have, and the sacrifice he made so that we could all be as safe and happy as we are today. We miss you, Roger.” Professor Sprout paused and dipped her head, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment. The Sprout children, too, lowered their eyes to the table and Clara gave a heavy sniffle. Harry could see the sadness on their faces and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t asked about the missing Mr. Sprout after all, though he was now even more curious than ever. When Professor Sprout raised her head again, her eyes were bright, but no less welcoming and joyful. 

“Well, enough of that,” she said, squeezing Harry’s hand gently and smiling. “This roast smells too good to wait a moment longer. Happy Christmas! Let’s eat.”

By the time they’d finished Christmas dinner (and pudding!), Harry was both extremely full and extremely sleepy. Professor Sprout guided him gently into John’s room and waved her wand to transfigure the chair in the corner into a soft bed almost the twin to the one in his dorm. Harry felt he rather should have appreciated this fantastic bit of magic more than he did, but he was simply too tired to care and fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. 

___________________________________________

That awkward time between Christmas and New Years passed comfortably with more exploration, as well as some rounds of the new games Harry had been gifted for Christmas (as well as a few dusty ones John unearthed from some place or other) and some arts and crafts with the multiple art kits Daisy had received. Professor Sprout even let them stay up late on New Year's Eve to celebrate the start of 1992 with some miniature indoor fireworks, a shower of sparkling confetti that changed colors as it drifted slowly through the air, and a fizzy sort of soda that made both him and Daisy hover a bit whenever they burped (which they did with surprising frequency). She’d then insisted he bed down in John’s room again, and, though he protested the hospitality, his arguments fell on deaf ears and he was soon given a set of John’s old pajamas to wear and tucked neatly into bed. 

The next morning, he trekked back to his dorm room to shower and change. He dithered a bit in his empty dorm, relishing the silence. Professor Sprout’s family was wonderful, but a bit loud. After a lifetime of living on the fringes, it was difficult to be surrounded by people who constantly wanted to include him in things. He’d never thought his dorm would be a place of quiet solace, but that’s what it had become these last howevermany days. The place would soon be full of first year Hufflepuffs again, though, so he savored the quiet while it lasted. Feeling refreshed and renewed, he made the now-familiar walk back to Professor Sprout’s quarters. He knocked gently on the worn wooden door even as the Hufflepuff portrait shook her head bemusedly at him. John pulled open the door with a smile, still in his dressing gown over his pajamas, though it had to be nearly noon by now. 

“Harry, lad,” he said, pulling Harry in with an arm around his shoulders, “how many times are we going to have to tell you–you don’t have to knock. You only left here an hour ago!”

“Leave the boy alone,” Clara chided as she blew across the top of a mug filled with such strong coffee Harry could smell it even from here. “He’s got manners, is all. Which is more than I can say for your sorry self.”

“Aye, but it’s part of what makes me charming.”

“Charming. Annoying. To-may-to, to-mah-to.” Clara waved one hand dismissively and took a deep drink of her coffee. 

“Morning, Harry!” Elizabeth said coming out of the room she and Daisy had been sharing. Daisy trotted along behind her with still damp, freshly done-up red pigtail braids swinging behind her. Daisy yawned, but smiled at Harry happily and ran to give him a hug. 

“Morning,” Harry responded, arms still full of a knobby, redheaded six year old. 

“Mum left some breakfast on the table, if you’re hungry. Well, it’s nearly lunch time, isn’t it?” she added, consulting the clock over the door. She shrugged. “ I suppose if you’d rather have sandwiches or something I’m sure we can bang something together.”

“No, breakfast is fine, thanks.”

“Well, the rest of us have all eaten while you were out, so you and Daisy can have whatever you want. I’ve got to pop down to greenhouse five for a bit to help Mum with some preparations for next term, but John and Clara will be about if you need anything.”

Harry nodded and Elizabeth smiled. She pulled the end of one of Daisy’s braids affectionately, then grabbed her heavy cloak and gloves and left out the side door that Harry knew led directly to Professor Sprout’s private greenhouse entrance. 

Breakfast passed peacefully, and afterwards John and Clara finally made good on their Christmas Day promise to take the two flying. John gave Harry a school broom and challenged him to a race, which Harry sort of thought he would have won if his broom hadn’t started vibrating alarmingly every time he really got going. Clara sat Daisy in front of her and the two made lazy laps, cheering whenever Harry or John sped by. The wind was bitterly cold, but John had put a neat sort of charm on Harry and Daisy’s cloaks that kept them pleasantly warm. Still, by the time they went in, Harry’s face was red and sort of tingly from the cold and wind and his hair was messier than ever. But if anyone had looked at him in that moment, all they would have noticed was his wide, giddy smile. 

“Oh, good, you’re back!” Harry heard Professor Sprout’s greeting as he hung up his cloak by the door. “I was about to send Elizabeth out to fetch you. Harry and Daisy, there’s someone here who’d like to speak to you.”

Harry’s giddy smile vanished as a rock fell into the pit of his stomach. His head whipped around to see who could possibly be here, since nearly everyone who cared about him enough to want to speak to him was already present. 

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore greeted with a nod. The sight of their eccentric headmaster did nothing to reassure Harry’s rapidly fraying nerves.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Harry returned, quietly.

“Good afternoon, sir!” Daisy chirped, oblivious to the tension in the room, or perhaps in spite of it. “Happy New Year!”

“Yes, I think it shall be,” Dumbledore returned with a twinkle. The room emptied by some unspoken signal until only Professor Dumbledore, Harry, Daisy, and Professor Sprout remained. “Harry and Daisy, I would like to speak with you regarding your guardianship situation.”

Harry’s mind immediately flashed to the tiny, dark cupboard and Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice waking him up in the mornings. He gave an involuntary shudder. Dumbledore’s eyes softened. 

“To begin with, let me assure you that you will not be returned to the Dursley home, nor will you be sent to the home of any of your blood relations.” He gave Harry a significant look. “Other, more suitable arrangements have been made. Tell me, have you enjoyed your time here with Professor Sprout?”

Harry and Daisy both nodded and Daisy’s face split into a wide grin. 

“Oh, yes,” Daisy said. “It’s been the best!”

“I am truly glad to hear it. Would you be opposed to remaining here with Professor Sprout, at least through the end of the school year?”

“Really?” Daisy enthused.

“Is that allowed, sir?” Harry asked, uncertainly. 

“Well, I am the Headmaster, after all,” Dumbledore replied with a wink. “If I can’t make the rules, then who can?”

“You mean, I really get to stay here? In the castle? With Professor Sprout and Elizabeth and Harry?”

“Elizabeth will have to return to Wales at the end of the week, I’m afraid,” Professor Sprout replied gently. “And Harry and I will both have classes. But you will be able to see me in the evenings and Harry can come visit on weekends.”

“Then, yes, I want to stay!”

“Excellent, Miss Potter! And Harry, Professor Sprout would be acting in a guardianship role for you, as well. Though you will remain in your dorm and continue with classes as usual, Professor Sprout will be available to you if you are in need, even more than she already was as your Head of House. Is this agreeable?”

Harry had sort of lost the ability to speak, so he simply nodded. Professor Dumbledore’s smile widened. 

“Splendid!” he said, clasping his hands together as if that was that. Could it truly be that simple? Could he and Daisy have been rid of the Dursley’s that easily? He’d lived with them for ten years without ever dreaming of another life. Yet, after a mere four months of being a wizard, here they both were, apparently giving them a long-overdue goodbye. Could this really be true?

Well, time would tell, he supposed. In the meantime, he wouldn’t get too comfortable, just in case. 

“Well, I believe this is a most auspicious start to the year,” Professor Dumbledore continued, “and well deserving of a sweet treat. Pomona, you wouldn’t happen to have any of your son’s famous chocolate biscuits about, would you? They always seem to be sold out when I visit the shop.”

Professor Dumbledore led the party into the kitchen where, indeed, there was a plate of chocolate biscuits John had baked just the day before. In short order, after all the biscuits had been devoured (primarily by Professor Dumbledore), the Headmaster saw himself out, leaving Professor Sprout and the two Potters alone in the kitchen. 

Daisy gave Professor Sprout a swift hug, then scampered off to find Elizabeth to share the news. The Professor then turned her attention to Harry and asked him if there was anything he wanted to ask her or talk to her about. He shook his head in the negative. The truth was, there were so very many things running through his head all at once that he seemed wholly incapable of singling one out to verbalize. And there was that little voice at the back of his head that kept telling him it couldn’t really be true anyway. As was usual, Professor Sprout seemed to understand, at least a little, and left the matter alone with her assurance that, should anything arise that he wished to discuss, she would be available. Then, she grabbed her gardening gloves and her cloak and left out the side door to, presumably, do a spot of gardening.

And that, seemingly, was that. 

Pushing the doubts aside for the moment, Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what to think about having a new guardian. On the one hand, Professor Sprout was certain to treat Daisy with kindness. In fact, he’d never once seen her be un kind to anyone. Even when students weren’t paying attention or doing something silly in class, she was merely stern, but never unkind or unfair. And Daisy would, of course, be overjoyed to be staying at Hogwarts. Harry wasn’t entirely sure how the whole thing would work. Surely she wouldn’t simply be walking up and down the hallways with the other students, would she? That seemed a bit dangerous and overwhelming. Not that Daisy couldn’t handle herself (Harry had no doubts whatsoever that she could), it’s simply that he didn’t think it was entirely appropriate given her age and size, not to mention the fact that everyone else around her would be able to wield magic that she couldn’t yet control. He filed this topic away to discuss with Professor Sprout later. 

He figured things wouldn’t change overmuch for him, really. It wasn’t as if he’d be moving in with Professor Sprout. He’d still be in the dorms as he had been all year, save the two nights he’d bunked with John (but those were special occasions, after all). He also wasn’t the sort to go asking adults for help particularly often, so he doubted he’d treat Professor Sprout any differently than he had been already when she was just his Head of House (which is to say, generally going about his life on his own, as he always had). Sure, he’d spent Christmas with her family, which wasn’t something any of his classmates could say, but he didn’t necessarily think that was something to boast about. If he’d had a proper family, he wouldn’t have had need to spend the holidays with his Head of House. So, even though the whole thing had been brilliant, he still felt a bit weird about it. 

And on top of all that, he couldn’t help thinking that, if it hadn’t been for Daisy, Professor Sprout would have gone home with her family instead of having them come to the castle and Harry would have spent the time alone. In fact, he rather supposed his and Daisy’s presence had been a bit of an imposition on the Sprout family. Instead of spending it at home, they’d been forced to stay at Hogwarts to celebrate. Not that they seemed to mind, but still. And even though they’d been welcoming, there were things about their life that he wasn’t a part of (like that business with Mr. Sprout that he still wasn’t entirely clear on). It simply wasn’t the same as having a real family, and there was nothing anyone could say that would make it so. 

The worst part of it was, now that Harry had seen what a real Christmas could be like, he was even more acutely aware of how horrible all his previous ones had been. Harry thought it was strange how something could seem totally normal until you saw what normal was actually like and suddenly realized your version of it was actually rather less than normal. Honestly, the way Dudley carried on about his presents was so revolting that both Harry and Daisy hadn’t been as upset as they perhaps should have been about not receiving any Christmas gifts. By his observations, receiving Christmas gifts simply turned you into a massive, greedy prick. 

However, this year, he and Daisy had each opened quite the stack of presents (nothing to rival Dudley’s veritable mountain, he was sure) and neither of them had become even the slightest bit more greedy or prickish. Professor Sprout’s children all had a fair amount of gifts as well, from family as well as friends, and not a single one of them threw a tantrum about not having more than the others or not getting what they’d asked for. And he rather doubted any of them had spent any of their previous Christmases locked in the cupboard for some imagined offense (usually the crime of simply existing ). 

That’s not to say they were a perfect family. They did squabble at each other nearly constantly, but it was a friendly sort of thing that seemed to come from a lifetime of dealing with each other’s flaws, not the sort of “squabbling” that Dudley was prone to and that often left a nasty bruise. It was this easy, gentle teasing that made Harry feel most like he didn’t belong, actually. Nobody flinched once, even when the teasing had seemed to stray into more sensitive territory once or twice. And above it all, the Sprouts were exceedingly kind to him, and they included him in whatever they were doing. Nevertheless, he was always aware that there was a deeper level that he was missing out on. 

A part of him wondered if he would have had that sort of relationship with James if things had been different. Perhaps he and Daisy would be sitting in the Potters’ living room opening expensive presents and laughing with their true family instead of imposing on someone else’s. But he rather thought it wouldn’t be quite the same. If James was any indication of what a true Potter child was like, perhaps it was better that they hadn’t been there to turn out that way. It was only too easy for Harry to picture James throwing a Dudley-style tantrum, and he had no desire to see Daisy become such a spoiled, entitled brat. If avoiding that fate meant they had to spend some time with the Dursleys, well, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. 

All this thinking about the Potters had put Harry’s mind back on the letter they had sent him at the beginning of the month. He still kept it in the drawer beside his bed. He’d nearly chucked it into one of the fires in the common room about a dozen times, but each time he tried, there was something that held him back. Curiosity, perhaps? Or loyalty? He was a Potter by blood and by name, even if they hadn’t claimed him. Something in him just couldn’t discard that connection, tenuous and unwanted though it may be. 

Almost without his meaning to, he found himself making the short walk back to the Hufflepuff common room. His next thought was of the feeling of fine parchment between his fingers. He blinked down at his hand to find that, somehow, he’d made it to his dorm and retrieved the letter from his drawer without his having any memory whatsoever of doing so. 

The letter was exactly as he knew it to be. The shiny crimson seal with its ornate letter P held the expensive-looking parchment together at the seam. On the other side, in bold strokes, was written: 

Harry Potter

Hufflepuff House

Hogwarts

He turned the letter over and over in his hands as he had done a hundred times by now. He ran his thumb over the wax seal, feeling the ridges and valleys of the signet. Something inside him swelled and his heart started beating faster. Perhaps knowing that he was free of the Dursleys, or that Daisy was finally, finally , safe emboldened him. He slid his thumbnail under the edge of the letter just beside the seal and lifted. The wax split in a straight line and the letter opened with a little pop. His earlier fears forgotten, Harry opened it swiftly, grasped the sides of the parchment, and read hungrily. 

Harry, 

It’s been a while, hasn’t it, son? When I left you my last letter, I promised to be back soon. I guess I didn’t keep that promise. For what it’s worth, I truly thought you’d be happy there. I suppose I should have done a better job checking in on you over the years, but it was just simpler for everyone involved if I didn’t. I comforted myself with the knowledge that you had your sister with you, so, in many ways, you had it better than Jamie, who had to grow up all by himself. Potters have never done well on their own, you know. I was never quite myself until I met Sirius on the Express as a first year. I often wish we’d been born brothers. 

I suppose you don’t even know who Sirius is, do you? There’s a fair few things you don’t know, I imagine. Perhaps I could fill you in some time. I’d like to see you and talk to you, to meet you properly. I’d love for Daisy to be able to come, as well. I got to spend so much more time with you than her. I don’t even know what color her eyes turned out to be. Green like her mother, or hazel like my own? I know she must be beautiful either way.

I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I miss you both. I’d love to have you around to the manor, but I’m afraid that just isn’t possible at the moment. It also wouldn’t be prudent for me to meet with you at Hogwarts. Besides, Daisy can’t exactly join us there, can she? I know it doesn’t give you much time to prepare, but I think the best time to meet would be at the end of this month–sometime between Christmas and the return to school. Perhaps your current guardian could arrange a suitable time for us to meet. 

Who are you staying with at the moment, by the way? Nobody has bothered to tell me, except to say you aren’t with Petunia anymore. Seems like your father should have a say in where you end up, but I suppose there are those who believe otherwise. I can’t imagine where they would have put you. Unfortunately, neither your mother nor myself have any other living relatives. Well, direct relatives, I should say. I’m sure there are any number of distant pureblood relations that would be happy to care for you, though there are very few of them I’d trust to bring you up with the right way of thinking. There’s a lot of twisted ideologies out there, you know. In any case, if you can have them contact me with your updated address, we can work out a time for me to pop by and spend some time with the two of you. 

I’m looking forward to our reunion. 

Dad (James Potter, Sr.)

The letter shook in Harry’s fist as he finished reading. This was the most infuriating letter he’d ever received. Out of the four paragraphs the man had written, two had been a request to meet (not at the family home, notably) and the other two had been filled with references to people and things that he had deliberately been kept separate from and ignorant of. No, he did not know about his distant pureblood relations, nor who this Sirius person was, nor anything about whatever circumstances Potters do or do not do well in. 

Was his father insane? He certainly was if he thought Harry was going to let him anywhere near Daisy. 

A worrisome thought suddenly occurred to him and before it had even fully lodged in his brain he was running. He flew unseeing through the empty common room, narrowly avoiding a potted philodendron, and out the entrance tunnel. His vision had narrowed to a mere pinprick and the only thought in his head was now playing on repeat. His feet carried him without any conscious thought through the empty corridors. He raced blindly around corners and through dark passages, moving more by instinct than any conscious thought. 

This was why he was surprised to find himself knocking frantically not on the warm, worn red oak of Professor Sprout’s rounded door, but the heavy, nearly black oak of his potions classroom. He should have stopped when he realized where he was and the utter uselessness of knocking on the door to a classroom that was sure to be unoccupied with there being nearly a week until most students returned to the castle, but he’d seemingly lost all control of his body and his knuckles kept hammering away. The door remained resolutely, and unsurprisingly, closed. 

At the end of the hall, though, a different dark door (that Harry would have sworn hadn’t been there a moment ago if he’d had a spare thought to give to the matter) swung open and Professor Snape stepped through, scowling down the hall towards the unexpected noise. Harry spared half a thought to the fact that his usually batlike professor looked markedly less intimidating, and decidedly younger, without his heavy overrobe, before his brain returned to its single minded anxious mantra. He set off towards the professor briskly. 

“Mister Potter, as excited as you may be to return to brewing, surely you are aware that classes are not in session for several more–”

“He can’t know she’s here,” Harry interrupted, thrusting the letter he still held towards Professor Snape. The professor took it from Harry’s shaking grasp and began reading it swiftly. Harry’s rapid breathing punctuated the dungeon stillness.

“He can’t find out. She won’t be safe. I won’t let him get to her. He can’t have her. He can’t know she’s here. I have to keep her safe,” Harry continued breathlessly. His chest was heaving and his breaths were coming rather faster than he thought they should be, even if he had just run here. 

Professor Snape finished the letter with a scowl, but his face smoothed out into something completely expressionless a moment later. Or, well, it was nearly expressionless, but Harry sort of fancied that he could still see a bit of the scowl still creeping in at the corners. Notably, Professor Snape didn’t seem to be scowling at Harry, but at the letter he’d received, which didn’t bother Harry even a little bit. Seeing Professor Snape’s dissatisfaction eased a bit of the pressure in his chest and his breathing slowed down ever so slightly.  

Professor Snape gestured at the doorway he was standing in. 

“In,” he said, and Harry was quick to comply. He’d expected to find himself in another of the potions classrooms, or perhaps even Professor Snape’s office, which he’d been in once before after the corridor collision with James. Instead, he appeared to be in Professor Snape’s private quarters. The shock of suddenly being stood in his most austere professor’s living room was enough to jar him from his spiraling thoughts. He cast his eyes around the space rapidly. It was notably smaller than Professor Sprouts, and decidedly less welcoming. 

The space certainly appeared lived-in, but the furniture was darker and somehow more masculine. Professor Sprout’s couch was a well-loved oversized and overstuffed sage green beast covered in pillows in a variety of colors and patterns that somehow managed to be comforting rather than overwhelming, but Professor Snape’s couch was more angular and covered in a soft black leather that was cracked in places and had only one silvery-blue pillow wedged into one of the corners. The matching pillow was squashed against the side of the reading chair which seemed to match the couch. Between these stood a low table littered with what looked like a small stack of some sort of magazine, an empty mug, a quill and an open inkpot, and a second mug that was still steaming with what smelled to Harry like strong tea. Bookshelves filled nearly all the wall space that wasn’t already occupied by furniture, doorways, or the large fireplace that seemed to be standard issue for staff quarters. There was little else in the way of decoration. Where Professor Sprout’s quarters were a riot of color and bric a brac, Professor Snape’s were nearly monotone and quite spartan. In fact, one could be forgiven for mistaking it for a small library rather than a personal sitting room. The book lying open face-down over the arm of the chair, as if Professor Snape had placed it down to quickly mark his page, only contributed to this image.

Harry took all this in within the space of a few blinks as the professor strode in, shutting the door behind him with a snap. 

“Pardon the mess,” he said half sarcastically. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

“Er, sorry to intrude, sir,” Harry said sheepishly. Now that he wasn’t being fueled exclusively by adrenaline and fear, he could recognize that perhaps he had acted a bit rashly. 

Snape waved his wand and the aforementioned mess began to sort itself out. The empty mug flew off through the doorway that Harry assumed led to the kitchen and the magazines arranged themselves neatly on the table. The lid screwed back onto the inkpot and the quill put itself back into its stand. The book lifted neatly off the arm of the chair and a scrap of parchment stuck itself between the pages before the book sailed elegantly into a gap on the bookshelf. When all was said and done, only the steaming tea remained untouched. 

Professor Snape gestured towards the couch and Harry sat himself down stiffly on the edge. Professor Snape sank into the chair in a smooth, well-practiced motion. The letter he still held caught Harry’s eye and he scowled. 

“Tell me, Mr. Potter–”

“I really wish people would stop calling me that,” Harry griped. 

Professor Snape blinked at him and furrowed his brow. “It is simply a matter of courtesy.”

“Well, wouldn’t it be more courteous to call someone what they want to be called instead of sticking with something that might be more polite but makes them uncomfortable?”

“Perhaps,” Snape said with a nod. He reached forward and took a drink of his tea, then sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers and letting the letter dangle between his hands. Harry’s eyes followed its movements as if it were a hypnotist’s talisman. Professor Snape continued, “When we speak privately, I will endeavor to remember your preference for your given name. In my classes, however, I have a strict policy of adherence to surnames. Like or not, Potter is yours.”

“I wish it wasn’t,” Harry huffed. 

“That is neither here nor there. Wishing a thing does not make it so. If it helps at all, comfort yourself with the knowledge that ‘Potter’ is an exceedingly common surname. Perhaps it would help to imagine that the name belongs to some other Potter family.”

“Imagining things isn’t any more helpful than wishing for things, sir.”

Professor Snape dipped his head in acknowledgement for the second time. “Fair enough. As there seems to be no imminent solution to your problem, let’s move on to a different one. Tell me what about this letter has upset you?”

“James Potter is an idiot!” Harry spat. One of Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose. 

“A feeling we share, I assure you. But tell me, in what way is he an idiot in this particular incident?”

“He keeps going on about stuff he thinks I should know. How am I supposed to know any of that? I didn’t know I have a bunch of distant pureblood relations. And who is this Sirius person?”

“Sirius Black even greater idiot than James Potter. They’ve been partners in crime since their first year here, and for some godforsaken reason the Auror department believes it wise to allow the two to work together. As to the other–most purebloods are related in some form or fashion. The desire to keep the blood ‘pure’ creates a smaller-than-usual breeding pool. In fact, you are related to many current Hogwarts students, including several prominent members of Slytherin house. In point of fact, Draco Malfoy is some manner of cousin, I believe.”

“There’s no way I’m related to Malfoy.”

“Actually, if I am recalling correctly–mind you, I care very little for these things, but as head of a highly political house it behooves me to keep abreast of such matters–he is one of two students who are most closely related to you. Incidentally, you all happen to be in the same year.”

“Who’s the other?”

“Ronald Weasley, I believe. You are all third cousins through connections to the Black family tree.”

“Black? Like Sirius Black?”

“Yes. He would be your second cousin. This I know for certain, because neither Potter nor Black would shut up about the overlap in their family trees when we were in school.”

“Wait, you were in school with them, too?”

Professor Snape waved his hand dismissively, the letter fluttering in his grasp. “We’ve entirely lost the point. If the most upsetting thing in this letter is that James Potter is an idiot, I assure you, Harry, that such a thing will not kill you. And yes, I do speak from personal experience.”

Harry’s mind was whirling with all the new knowledge he’d gained in the last two or three minutes. After a decade of being told he was unwanted and had no family, to suddenly discover that he was related to two of his classmates (as well as probably a bunch of other people he didn’t even know), he suddenly felt a little less…adrift. Although, being related to Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley might not actually be all that great. Ron practically worshiped James and Malfoy was one of those entitled, whiny rich kids that nobody really liked. And beyond that, if there was anyone who knew that shared blood meant absolutely nothing in the end, it was certainly Harry. None of these supposed relations had tried to take him in after he’d reappeared in the wizarding world. They didn’t care about him any more than the Dursleys or the Potters did. 

Which brought him back around to his real worry. Harry dropped his head and picked at a bit of loose skin on his thumb. 

“He wants to meet us,” he said after a moment, his voice low and unsteady. 

“And this is what upset you enough that you attempted to beat down the door to the potions classroom with your fists?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t want him anywhere near her.”

“Daisy?”

“Yeah.”

“For what reason?”

“For every reason!” Harry exploded, suddenly angry. “He doesn’t have any right to her! He only knew her for three days before he abandoned her with Aunt Petunia. I’m the one who took care of her! I’m the one who washed all her bottles and mixed up all her baby formula every day! I’m the one who changed all her nappies! I’m the one who cleaned her up when she was sick! I’m the one who toilet trained her! I’m the one who combed her hair! I’m the one who told her stories at night! I’m the one who taught her to tie her shoes! He didn’t do any of that because he didn’t want her because he didn’t love her! He’s probably only interested in her now because he wants to hide her away again before the newspaper finds out she exists. Well I won’t let him! He can’t have her! She’s MINE! ”

Harry suddenly realized he was standing in front of the couch, fists clenched, leaning towards his professor, and screaming at him in his own living room. He leaned back and retook his seat abruptly, face reddening with embarrassment. Professor Snape continued to regard him with that same weirdly blank face. Still, Harry sort of felt like he was being evaluated in some way. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. 

“Your sister is not property to be claimed,” Professor Snape said at last. “Not even by you.” Harry scowled at Professor Snape. The man didn’t understand. Of course Daisy wasn’t property, but she still belonged to him, just like he belonged to her. Harry opened his mouth to tell him so, but the professor continued. “And certainly not by James and Lily Potter.” Harry’s mouth snapped shut. “Rest assured that none who know she is here would ever share that information with them.”

“Not even you? James said you were his mum’s best friend.”

Professor Snape’s mask of indifference cracked as he grimaced. He turned his face away from Harry to stare at the fire in the grate. 

“Consider, Harry, that I have known of Daisy’s existence longer than most. I have had the most opportunity and the greatest access to the Potters to share her location. Have I yet done so?” Snape asked. Though his voice was low and he still faced the fire, Harry heard every word clearly. 

“No, sir.”

“Then you can be assured that I will not.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The fire crackled and popped in the grate. 

“But…” Harry interjected, uncertainly. Professor Snape turned his face back to Harry, inviting him to continue speaking. “Well, I still don’t even know how he knew she wasn’t still with Aunt Petunia.”

“I told him as much the last time I spoke to him.”

“Oh. But I thought you just said–”

“I made no mention whatsoever of where she was removed to , simply that she was removed from your aunt’s… care .”

“Oh. Well didn’t he ask you where she was?”

“Of course he did. Unfortunately for him, I don’t bow to his whims like the rest of the wizarding world.”

“Oh.”

“And we’re back to your favorite word, I see,” Professor Snape said with amusement. 

“Sorry,” Harry said. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up the tiniest bit. Then his brow furrowed again. “But, Professor, why haven’t you said anything? Mrs. Potter is your best friend.”

Professor Snape’s amused look was replaced with a stern scowl. 

“Do not be so foolish as to presume you or little Mr. Potter knows the exact nature of my relationship with Lily Potter,” he scolded. “I am a man of my word. If I have told you she will not hear it from me, then she will not hear it from me .”

“Oh.”

“Yes, Harry. ‘Oh.’”

Silence returned between them for a few moments. 

“I have one remaining question,” Professor Snape said. “Why have you come here with this letter instead of taking it to Professor Sprout? Is she not the one who is to be your guardian? Or has Professor Dumbledore not spoken to you about this yet?”

“No, he told me earlier. It’s just…I don’t know. Professor Sprout is great, but I don’t think she really understands.”

“And you imagine that I do?”

“Well, you’re the only other person besides me who seems to not really like James Potter, so, yeah, I guess so. But honestly, at the time, I wasn’t really thinking about where I was going. I just sort of…ended up here. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Professor Snape seemed to think about this for a moment. “You arrived quite out of breath. Did you run here all the way from your dorm?” Harry nodded. “Though the Hufflepuff dorms are not so far from the dungeons, there was no need for you to make such a trek. Next time you are in need of urgent counsel, you may simply contact me through the floo.”

“The what?” 

“The floo network.” Professor Snape gestured towards the fireplace. “Come, we’ll use it now to return you to Professor Sprout’s quarters, and afterwards she can explain how it works.”

Professor Snape stood and walked to the fireplace. He took a jar off the mantle and grabbed a handful of something from inside it. It sparkled as he tossed it into the fire and the flames turned green. He replaced the jar and gestured for Harry to join him at the hearth. When Harry arrived, Professor Snape placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the flames. Was the man going to shove him into the fire? Harry tried to back away, but the professor’s hand gripped him firmly. Then, Professor Snape put first one foot then the other into the ashes of the hearth, bringing Harry alongside him. He looked down in wonder to see the emerald tongues of fire curling around his legs harmlessly. 

“Deep breath, eyes open, keep still,” Professor Snape said. Harry sucked in a breath just as the professor clearly enunciated, “Professor Sprout’s quarters,” and suddenly they were spinning through a dizzying array of fireplaces around the castle. In mere seconds, they emerged in a familiar-looking room. Professor Snape strode gracefully forward as Harry half-stumbled. Only the professor’s strong grip on his shoulder kept him upright. 

“Harry! Severus! What are you both doing coming through the floo?”

“I apologize for our intrusion, Pomona. I simply wanted to return Harry to you via the most expedient route. Also, I–”

“Professor Snape!” Daisy cried with delight. She came bolting out of the kitchen and threw her arms around Professor Snape’s legs. Harry felt the man stiffen next to him and the hand that still rested on his shoulder suddenly tightened. 

“Daisy, dear, let go of Professor Snape,” Professor Sprout coaxed, bending down quickly to try and pull Daisy away. She merely clung tighter, pressing her face into his side. Professor Sprout smiled apologetically at Professor Snape and crouched down to try and convince Daisy to let go. 

“Hello, Daisy,” Professor Snape said. He placed his free hand atop Daisy’s head and patted it a bit awkwardly. Nevertheless she pulled away and grinned crookedly up at him. Professor Snape’s face went sort of funny, then, as if he was both happy and sad at the same time and his face wasn’t sure which one it wanted to settle on, yet. Before Harry could observe it for too long, though, it smoothed into that same impassive mask that he was most accustomed to. Daisy, her goal of ambushing the professor with affection having presumably been achieved, detached herself from Professor Snape and skipped back into the kitchen, promising to bring out some biscuits as soon as they were ready. Harry was amused to see faint, floury handprints on the professor’s dark robes. 

As soon as Daisy scampered away smiling, Professor Snape thrust his hand into his pocket and released Harry’s shoulder. 

“I’ve given Harry permission to use your floo to speak to me if he has urgent need. If you would be so kind as to instruct him how to use the powder and state the address so that he doesn’t end up someone else’s fireplace…” Snape trailed off expectantly.

“Of course,” Professor Sprout said, eyes wide. She gave herself a little shake and her face returned to its usual pleasant smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care to stay for dinner? We’ve got stew coming off the heat soon, and John and Daisy are finishing up a batch of biscuits. There’s plenty if you’d like to join.”

“No thank you. I’m afraid I must be getting back to my quarters,” he replied, eyes darting again towards the kitchen. Harry wasn’t sure what was so urgent that the man couldn’t stay, given that he appeared to simply be reading alone when Harry had arrived, but he had caused enough trouble for the professor for one day and kept his mouth shut about it. 

“Give my regards to your family,” Professor Snape said with a little nod, then he was back in the floo and gone as quick as a flash. Harry blinked as the flames went back to their normal oranges and reds. He turned to Professor Sprout, bemused. 

She looked back at him with a similar expression, then smiled. “Come on Harry, dear,” she said, grasping his elbow gently and leading him into the kitchen. “Let me tell you about the floo network.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Daisy’s presence in the castle was like a balm for Harry’s soul. He loved getting to see her regularly. And Professor Snape must have agreed with Harry that it would be a bad idea for James Potter to learn that Daisy was at Hogwarts, for Professor Dumbledore came to meet with both Potter children the very next day to discuss what would happen when classes resumed and the castle was full of students again. In short, Daisy would be restricted to Professor Sprout’s quarters nearly all the time. Harry hadn’t loved the idea of keeping his sister caged up in there so much. He still believed what he’d told Professor Snape about the importance of freedom, after all. But the letter from James Potter had truly frightened him about Daisy’s safety and he was willing to do whatever was necessary to protect her. 

Besides that, Professor Dumbledore had apparently instructed the castle to expand Professor Sprout’s quarters to include a small learning space and a private courtyard. They all trooped out to the corridor while the castle made the necessary adjustments, then reentered to find the extra bedrooms for the professor’s visiting children had been transformed into a cheery room with a small desk and an outdoor play space with a smattering of toys and charms to keep the temperature pleasant, which thrilled Daisy endlessly. She was also set up for education with Professor Sprout’s niece, Clarice, who was a squib. Clarice would floo back and forth each morning and evening from a wizarding outpost in Cardiff near where she lived with some of her friends from university to tutor Daisy or watch her when Professor Sprout was busy. She’d even arranged to take her on outings sometimes with the Cardiff home education group. Clarice had finished her teacher training in December and was eager to start working with Daisy.

So, it was all sorted, and Harry couldn’t have been more pleased. As the end of the break had drawn nearer without the resolution of their living situation, Harry had grown more and more worried that Daisy would have to go back to the Dursleys. He’d resolved that he’d quit Hogwarts before he let that happen, and the relief at not having to do so left him feeling light and cheery. 

It was with this cheerful attitude that he welcomed the return of the rest of the students. Harry had been fidgety all day and kept eyeing the clock in Professor Sprout’s quarters as he waited for his friends to return. There was a little niggling doubt that made his stomach flop uncomfortably when he remembered that he hadn’t gotten any of them any Christmas gifts, but Professor Sprout had assured him that true friends wouldn’t be troubled by such a thing and he tried to hold on to that. Still, he patted the pocket where he’d stowed the bracelets he’d braided out of some leather strips from one of Professor Sprout’s old gardening aprons. They weren’t fancy, but Harry thought they looked rather good, actually, and hoped his friends thought so, too. 

After an interminable afternoon, it was finally nearing dinner time. Harry bid Daisy and Clarice goodbye, getting a tight hug from one and a polite wave from the other, and dashed out the door. He ran through the corridors and wheeled around the corner into the entrance hall just in time to see the large oak doors swing open to unleash the flood of returning students. Harry’s eyes scanned over the crowd, but with everyone out of uniform and the first years being so much smaller than everyone else, he was having difficulty spotting any of his friends. 

“Harry!” he heard and whipped his head around looking for the source of the shout. He thought it sounded like Susan, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. 

“Harry!” Susan called again, and suddenly she came into view smiling and with her thick, brown plait swinging behind her. She was dragging David by one hand and Hannah by the other, but she dropped them both to throw her arms around Harry as soon as they met. She pulled back with a beaming smile, and Harry knew he was smiling just as wide. 

“Hey, Harry!” David greeted cheerfully. He had a dimple in his left cheek that Harry had never noticed before, and he hardly had time to notice it now before Hannah was sweeping in with a hug of her own. Harry’s heart swelled and he was embarrassed to realize that his eyes had that itchy, heavy feeling that means tears are on the way. He blinked furiously and was proud to have himself mostly under control by the time Hannah released him. 

God, he loved his friends. 

“I missed you guys!” he said. 

“We missed you, too!” Susan gushed.

“So much,” Hannah added. 

Harry looked at David. David shrugged his shoulders and said, “I mean, I guess I missed you a little.” His serious expression cracked almost instantly and he bumped his elbow into Harry’s. “Kidding, of course! I was so bored! Fancy a game of Snap later?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed with a smile. “How were your holidays?” he asked, looking at Hannah and Susan as they made their way towards their usual seats in the Great Hall.

“Same as always,” Susan said. “We spent a few days around Christmas at my great-granddad’s farm in the Netherlands with all my mum’s family. There’s about a million cousins, and the house isn’t quite big enough for everyone, so we pack in with sleeping bags and such. It’s so chaotic and loud, but I love it. Christmas at home, then the New Year with Dad’s family, which is really just Aunt Amelia and my grandmum, in London for the fireworks. It’s fun, but it’s pretty nonstop. I’m glad to be back at school where it’s a little more calm.”

“I didn’t know you had that many cousins,” Harry said.

“Most people don’t. My mum’s family is sort of scattered all over Europe and most of my cousins go to Beauxbatons, and the ones that live here aren’t old enough for Hogwarts yet. That’s part of why I missed you guys so much! There were two groups of cousins–the Beauxbatons ones and the little ones…and then there was Susan. Ugh!” She threw up her hands dramatically. 

“Still sounds more exciting than what I did. My family is a lot smaller and my cousins are both teenage girls who only want to talk about boys and fashion and stuff,” David said with a shudder. “Thankfully, we only got together with family on Christmas Eve. The rest of the time, it was just me, my parents, and my Sega. They both had to work most of the break, so we couldn’t do much. My friends from primary tried hanging out a few times, but it was hard to not be able to talk about school with them.” David shrugged, then his face brightened. “I got the new Sonic the Hedgehog game for Christmas, though, so that was pretty awesome! But it’s really hard. I spent pretty much my entire break trying to beat it and I didn’t even come close.”

“What’s Sonic the Hedgehog?” Susan asked. 

“It’s a video game. Wizards don’t have video games, do they?” David asked, dubiously. Susan shook her head.

“That stuff doesn’t work well in wizard houses,” Hannah chimed. “The magic interferes with all the…whatever’s inside.”

“Do you have to actually do magic to mess the stuff up?” David asked. “Because I swear there were times when I was about to beat a level and the tv would get out of focus or the game would skip and I’d lose.”

“I don’t think so. My uncle used to get really mad when I’d walk too close to the tv while he was watching a boxing match because it made the picture go all wonky,” Harry volunteered. Talking about the Dursleys didn’t seem quite as difficult as it used to now that he knew they were out of his life. Not that he’d be telling them exactly what happened when his uncle got mad, though. “I guess it was because of my magic.” 

The others all nodded and the conversation dwindled while Professor Dumbledore made a couple welcoming remarks. Then they started filling their plates with the food that had magically appeared. 

“I’ve never watched anything on the television,” Susan said between bites.

“What!?” David exclaimed, dropping his fork. “Never!?”

Susan shook her head. “Nope. Everyone on both sides is magical. Well, my grandmum was muggleborn–my dad’s grandparents were both muggles. But they’ve passed away already, before I was even born. And they wouldn’t have had one anyway, right? I mean, they haven’t been around forever. Anyway, I’ve only seen them up close in shops and pubs and the like in the muggle parts of London. But I’ve never sat down in front of one and watched something on purpose or anything like that.”

“Me neither,” Hannah said. “My family is even more pureblood than Susan’s. Our houses have been coated in magic for generations. There’s no chance it would work.”

“S’pose you’ve never played a video game either, then have you?”

“What is a video game? I don’t think I’ve even seen one.”

David launched into an enthusiastic (and extremely thorough) explanation of Sega, Atari, and Commodore 64, which Harry only really knew a bit about because Dudley was always throwing a fit to have the newest system or the latest game, only to get bored of them or break them almost immediately. Just last year he’d whinged from October to Christmas about the new handheld Nintendo device and how Nate Peterson had one but he didn’t. Naturally, he unwrapped one at Christmas. As soon as Harry saw the size of it in Dudley’s beefy hands, he knew it wasn’t long for this world. Sure enough, three weeks later, he got tired of losing at some sort of block stacking game, declared that his Game Boy was broken, slammed it on the ground, then tossed the broken bits into the spare bedroom, where it remained until Harry and Aunt Petunia threw it into a rubbish bag just a few months ago. 

Hannah suddenly looked a bit like a cornered cat, but David hadn’t seemed to notice as he plowed relentlessly on, Hannah nodding robotically and blindly shoving food into her mouth. Harry chuckled and returned his attention to his own dinner. He’d only gotten a couple bites in, however, when Susan leaned over the table and asked, “How was your Christmas, Harry?”

“The best!” Harry said, truthfully. He grinned widely and Susan grinned back. “Oh!” Harry interjected. He smacked David on the arm to get his attention as he dug into his pocket. He emerged with the handmade leather bracelets. He set them on the table between them and withdrew his hand quickly, suddenly nervous. 

“Are these for us?” Hannah asked. 

“Er, yeah. They’re gifts. Sorry I didn’t send you anything for Christmas. I couldn’t leave the castle to do any shopping, and I don’t know if wizards order from catalogs like muggles do, but anyway I don’t know how to do that. Also, I didn’t have much to work with, but Professor Flitwick helped me put some charms on them. They’re self-sizing, so they’ll always fit, and they don’t have any seams or clasps so they’ll be really comfortable to wear. That bit was the coolest, I thought. Anyway, they’re all a bit different, so I thought you could choose the one you like best. Er, well, unless you all like the same one, I guess. I could probably make some more if you don’t like any of these. Actually–” he stuck his hand out as if to take them back but Susan’s hand got there first. 

“Oh, this one’s mine,” Susan interrupted, reaching into the pile and pulling out the simplest one. It was a sturdy, three strand plait that Harry had stained dark brown with some natural dyes Professor Sprout had let him use. “It’s perfect for me, don’t you think?” she joked, flipping her own dark brown plaited hair to lay on her shoulder. She slid the bracelet on her wrist and gave it a few turns as she inspected it with a smile. 

“I like this one,” David said, choosing a wide, five-strand plait that Harry had left in its natural oiled leather color. 

“This one is really cool,” Hannah added. She picked up the one Harry had made from thin strips that had been carefully knotted around each other to create a decorative pattern. Each strand had been stained a different shade of brown and Harry had rather liked the way it had come together. She held her arm up to admire her new bracelet on her wrist. “Thank you so much! It’s lovely!”

“Yeah, these are so awesome. You should have made one for yourself so we could all match!” David said.

Harry shook back his sleeve and showed them the one he wore on his own wrist. It was undyed, like David’s but was made of the small strips like Hannah’s, though Harry’s was patterned differently and was a bit more subtle since it was all one color. 

“Nice,” David said. “How did you even make these? They’re so cool. And they’re all different!”

“We used to make them all the time at home. Sometimes we’d use long grasses from the park, or we’d cut up old clothes that didn’t fit into thin strips and do it with those. At first it was just plaiting, but I took out a book from the library at school that had a bunch of different knotted patterns and I got really good at them. I was worried I’d forgotten them, but as soon as I started working I remembered again.”

“Was this something you and um…” Hannah looked around furtively and nodded her head towards the doors to the Great Hall. “worked on together?” Harry knew she must be referring to Daisy. 

“She can only do the simple ones so far. The complicated ones are still a bit tricky. But, yeah, I had taught her a bunch this summer. I made all these myself, though.”

“Was she able to stay for the holidays?” Susan asked quietly. 

“Oh, er, yeah,” Harry replied, uncertainly. Professor Dumbledore had told Harry that Daisy’s presence at the castle would be a secret, but Harry really wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep that from his friends. He’d be going to visit her several times a week, though Professor Sprout had encouraged him not to visit every day, as it would interfere with his school work and social life. She’d assured him that Daisy would be taken care of and that it would be good for the two of them to be apart from time to time. Harry wasn’t sure he believed her, but he did acknowledge that it was very difficult to do his homework with Daisy around. Even over the break he’d had to start doing it in his dorm because Daisy was just so full of questions about everything Harry was doing. He spent more time explaining it to her than he did writing his essays. So, if only for that reason, he wouldn’t be able to visit her each day. Still, he would be seeing her fairly frequently, and his friends were sure to notice he was missing.

“I bet you miss her now, though. Did Professor Dumbledore find somewhere for her to stay?” Susan asked. 

“Er, well…” Harry looked at his friends’ faces. Each of them was looking at him with concern and care. Hannah had reached across the table and put her hand on his arm without him noticing and Susan was worrying her lip in the way she sometimes did when she was thinking hard about something. David had leaned into his side so that their shoulders were touching. Harry hadn’t even noticed how he’d begun to lean on his friend. They were all supporting him because they were worried. For him. For his sister. Not because he was an outcast Potter son, but because he was their friend . 

That decided it. He leaned in closer and they joined him until their heads were nearly touching over the center of the table. It would have looked strange if half the Great Hall wasn’t in similar positions with everyone catching up and sharing secrets from their time apart.

“She’s still here, actually. She’s staying with Professor Sprout until the end of the year,” he said in a low voice. 

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Hannah gushed quietly. “Are you allowed to visit?”

Harry nodded, “Not every day, but yeah.”

“Can we come with you sometimes?” Hannah asked. 

“I don’t know. Probably. I’ll ask Professor Sprout next time I visit. She told me to spend tonight catching up with my friends, but maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“But how does it all work? Doesn’t she have to go to school?” David asked.  

“It’s a lot to explain. I can tell you more in the common room later, yeah?”

“Sure,” David agreed. 

“I think it’s brilliant and I’m glad it all worked out,” Susan said, patting his hand. That seemed to be their cue as they all leaned back. Susan looked down towards her plate and grimaced. She pinched her shirt and pulled it away from her, scrutinizing it. Suddenly Harry noticed a big spot of brown right on the front. Hannah rolled her eyes, but dipped a corner of her napkin in her water goblet and passed it over to Susan anyway. 

“Honestly, Su,” she sighed. “How many times have you done that already this year? Three? Four?”

“Only two!” Susan cried, indignant, batting at the stain. “That time with the potatoes doesn’t count because it wouldn’t have happened if that fourth year, Martin ‘Doesn’t Tie His Shoes’ Higgins, hadn’t fallen into me.” She dipped another corner of the napkin in her goblet and scrubbed at it some more. 

“I think she’s conveniently forgetting the maple syrup incident,” David stage whispered conspiratorially to Hannah. 

“Oh, shut it, you!” Susan laughed. She dipped her fingers in her water goblet and flicked them across the table, splattering David with droplets and even landing a few on Harry’s glasses. 

“Hey!” Harry said in mock affront. 

Both boys ducked behind their hands with a smile as she reached to do it again, peppering them with droplets and glaring at them with narrowed eyes. Hannah giggled at the sight of the boys and Susan, which broke the spell, and soon the four of them were laughing heartily together. 

Yes, it was good to have his friends back. 

_____________________________________

Classes resumed with gusto the very next day and Harry quickly learned that the kid gloves had officially come off. In Transfiguration, they moved from transfiguring things of equal size to working on unbalanced transfigurations–turning small things into big ones or big things into small ones. It didn’t seem like a big adjustment, but Harry found it decidedly tricky and kept producing comically large or small versions of whatever it was he was meant to be making. 

In Charms, they began working on locking and unlocking charms. This was another one that Harry had thought would be pretty straightforward, but apparently the difficulty of the spell increased with the complexity of the lock. Harry hadn’t had any trouble at all with the simple hook and eye they’d started with, and he’d gotten the bolt latch fairly easily as well, so he hoped that trend continued as they moved on to keyed locks. 

Herbology lessons had progressed from the care and maintenance of the standard potions ingredients garden, which had been no different at all to muggle gardening, to the introduction of plants that were distinctly magical. Harry imagined Aunt Petunia’s reaction if he planted a few venomous tentacula or devil’s snare plants amid her prized roses and had to suppress a smile. 

In Defense they were meant to be learning about vampires, but Professor Quirrell must have been particularly afraid of these creatures as his stutter increased to the point that it was nearly impossible to understand a word of what he was saying and the garlic smell in his classroom had grown so strong that students could tell who’d recently attended his class simply by passing by them too closely in the corridor. 

Astronomy and History were largely unchanged from how they were before. They were still examining stars and constellations twice a week and observing how the night sky had changed even over the short time they’d been away. In History, Professor Binns had moved on from Emeric the Evil to Uric the Oddball, whose name seemed to indicate that he’d be a fairly interesting bloke, but Harry couldn’t focus on Professor Binns’s droning voice long enough to find out. 

It was Potions where things had changed the most. At the start of the year, they’d brewed everything in pairs. At each table, there had been only one burner set up and students were expected to work cooperatively. Now, each station had two burners and each student was expected to produce their own potion independently. The first couple classes hadn’t been too challenging. They were reviewing potions they’d done earlier in the year, and Harry had a weirdly good memory for recipes. If he could decipher enough of the writing to figure out what ingredient he was meant to be working on, that would usually be enough to remind him of how the ingredient ought to be prepared. The steps were a bit more tricky, and he often found himself squinting particularly at the numbers of stirs required for each step. He’d gotten a bit better at figuring out Professor Snape’s handwriting, but it still wasn’t at all easy. The quality of his potions had diminished slightly and those nods of approval from Professor Snape had all but disappeared. Harry secretly believed that the only reason he wasn’t entirely lost was down to years of following recipes, natural instincts, and dumb luck.  

It was only a matter of time before it all caught up with him. 

“ Mister Potter, what exactly do you think you are doing?!” 

Harry jumped and jerked his hand away from his cauldron. The drop of gurdyroot extract he was about to add to his potion dripped onto the table instead. Professor Snape swooped over to Harry and David’s workstation and picked up the bottle in front of Harry labeled “Extract of Gurdyroot.” The pinkish liquid inside sloshed about. 

“Why have you taken gurdyroot from your kit? When combined with runespoor eggs, gurdyroot produces a noxious gas that can cause asphyxiation in mere moments. You’re meant to be adding essence of dandelion at this stage!”

Harry dropped his pipette onto the table and pulled his hand away as if it were poison. In a way, it nearly was. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Harry stammered. “I…I don’t know how I got them mixed up.” He squinted hard at the board. He supposed that the ingredient he’d thought started with a capital E and a capital G (leading him to take out the Extract of Gurdyroot) was actually a capital E and a capital D (Essence of Dandelion). In Professor Snape’s tight cursive, the D and G were almost identical. 

Professor Snape flicked his eyes towards the blackboard, then back to Harry. He set the gurdyroot bottle back on the table. “Six drops of dandelion, Potter, then seven turns clockwise, turn off the heat and decant immediately. And put that gurdyroot away before you poison yourself.”

“Y–yes sir,” Harry said as Snape swept away again, but not before vanishing the contaminated pipette and snapping at the class to mind their own cauldrons. He quickly stowed his gurdyroot and took out a clean pipette and the dandelion root. He finished his potion just as Professor Snape called time on their brewing and he carried his phial up to the front of the room for grading. He was just packing up his things when Professor Snape called out, “Potter, stay behind.”

David grimaced and offered to wait outside, but Harry waved him on. “You’ve still got six inches to write for Flitwick’s class tomorrow. Go on up to the library. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure? I really don’t mind waiting.”

Harry nodded and opened his mouth to respond when Professor Snape spoke again, “I assure you, I will be returning Mister Potter to you in one piece shortly, Mister Lewis. Move along.”

“Yes, sir,” David responded. He hitched his bag up on his shoulder, and joined Susan and Hannah at the door. They waved goodbye and Harry gave a small wave back before the door closed gently between them. Harry’s smile dropped off his face and he plopped down onto his chair. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them as Professor Snape approached. 

“I’m really sorry, sir,” Harry reiterated in a low voice. “It was an honest mistake.”

“There is little room for mistakes in potions, honest or otherwise,” Professor Snape said. “One wrong ingredient can have deadly effects, as we have discussed multiple times this year. It is why I maintain such vigilance in my classroom at all times and why I have such high standards of performance. It is also why I require students to inform me when they are unable to see the blackboard,” he said with significance. 

Harry picked at a spot of loose skin on his thumb and said nothing. He heard the scrape of wood on stone and looked up to see Professor Snape perching on a student chair beside him. The sight of his austere professor in a student chair was so incongruous that it set Harry’s mind spinning a bit.

“Tell me, how long have you had those glasses?”

“Erm, since year 3, I think? I remember the school nurse did vision checks on all the students who’d moved up to the junior school and she told my aunt I needed glasses. But I can’t recall if I got them that year, or if it wasn’t until the next year. So, maybe year 4?”

“You’ve had them since you were seven or eight and you’re now eleven. Have you ever had your eyes reexamined in that time?”

Harry shook his head in the negative. 

“Why not?”

“Well, it costs a lot of money doesn’t it?”

“No, it does not. The NHS provides free eye exams and glasses for children.” 

“Oh.” Harry was confused. Uncle Vernon had complained endlessly when Harry had needed glasses about how he was such a burden on the family finances, always needing this and that. As a result, Harry’s food portions had been dramatically reduced for about two weeks before Uncle Vernon forgot what he was punishing Harry for in the first place and he was allowed to resume eating his regular miniscule amount. Thus, when Harry had started to notice last year that it was getting difficult to see again, he’d willfully neglected to mention it. He’d been all right at first, but things just kept getting worse and worse. 

“I presume you are similarly unaware that wizarding children often undergo major changes to their vision as their magic matures, which begins around age 11. Those with existing vision problems are particularly susceptible to these adjustments.”

“Oh,” Harry said again.

“Precisely.” Professor Snape stood from his chair and replaced it in its proper place, then began straightening up the classroom as he spoke. “I will speak to Madam Pomfrey about getting your eyes examined and to Professor Sprout about acquiring a catalog for you to choose your new glasses. The process typically takes about a week.”

Harry jumped up. “No, Professor, that’s really all right. It’s not that bad. You don’t need to go to all that trouble. I’ll just sit closer to the board next time. It’s not that important.”

Professor Snape turned towards Harry again. “Harry,” he said, deliberately, and something inside Harry did a happy little flip that he’d remembered Harry’s preference for his given name, “it is that important. It will not be ‘all that trouble’ to rectify this and it will enable you to complete your school work with greater ease. I suspect there are other classes besides mine where you struggle to see and have only made it undetected thus far with the help of your friends, am I correct?”

Harry nodded. 

“New glasses will be ordered. In the meantime, until you receive them, you will move to the front of all your classes. I will inform your professors of this at our staff meeting tonight and they will expect it of you beginning tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Professor Sprout will inform you when your examination is scheduled.” Professor Snape waved his wand to open the door and sat down behind his desk, taking up the first phial and inspecting it closely, turning it this way and that and giving it a little shake. Harry took this as his cue to leave and swung his bag up onto his shoulder. 

“Goodbye, Professor,” he said at the doorway. Professor Snape’s eyes flicked over to him and he nodded in acknowledgement, then returned to his inspection. 

Harry dropped his bag on the floor and flopped into a chair at his friends’ table in the library a few moments later. 

“Have you still got all your fingers and toes?” Susan asked from behind her Charms textbook. Harry shoved his hand in front of her book and wiggled his fingers in answer. “Pity,” Susan said, dryly. Harry knocked her book over onto the table. 

Susan’s cry of indignation was overrun by Hannah asking, “So, what did the professor want?”

“Says I need new glasses,” Harry answered. 

“Wait, I thought you just couldn’t make out his handwriting,” David said, looking up from his essay. “I didn’t know you couldn’t actually see it. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t seem important. Hey, also, I didn’t know wizards used the NHS.”

“What’s the NHS?” Susan said at the same time Hannah responded, “We don’t.”

Harry wrinkled his brow in confusion for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Professor Snape sure seemed to know a lot about it for someone that doesn’t use it.”

“Maybe he grew up with it,” David suggested. 

Susan scoffed. “Doubt it. He’d have had to be raised by muggles in that case. Professor Snape’s a pureblood, isn’t he? I mean, he’d have to be to be head of Slytherin.” She picked her knocked-over book back up off the table and started flipping through the pages.

“Not everyone in Slytherin is a pureblood,” Hannah countered, abandoning her attempts to read her History text. “I mean, a bunch of our year is, but I think there’s some more in the higher years that aren’t.”

“How do you even know that?” David asked. 

Hannah shrugged. “You know how I told you my family was really pureblooded? Well, I mean we’re really pureblooded. The Abbotts are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It’s a list of twenty-eight families that are still truly purebloods–at least five generations. Granddad made me memorize the list when I was a kid. Alphabetically.” She began rattling them off in one long breath. “Abbott, Avery, Black, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Crouch, Fawley, Flint, Gaunt, Greengrass, Lestrange, Longbottom, MacMillan, Malfoy, Nott, Olivander, Parkinson, Prewett, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn, Travers, Weasley, Yaxley.” She gulped in a breath. 

“Whoa,” David said.

“Not Potter?” Harry asked.

“Well, not now. Lily Potter is muggleborn,” Hannah responded. Right. Harry knew that, of course, having been raised by her very muggle sister. “But, before that, yeah, they should probably have been included. The list was made by some blood purists in the thirties and I think the Potters have always been pretty adamantly pro-muggle–unlike my family, which has a more colorful history,” she muttered, “so they probably got left off the list on purpose, and nobody wants to change the list. Which is stupid, because today’s Weasleys are about the most pro-muggle pureblood family I’ve ever seen and the Potters definitely fit into pureblood society better. Anyway, you only have to have no muggles in the direct line of the family tree for three generations to be considered pureblood, so there are others in our year who qualify that aren’t Sacred Twenty-Eight, like Susan’s family, and Crabbe and Goyle, and lots of others.”

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Wait, if you’re a super pureblood, then how come you never attended the Potter galas?” Harry asked. “Or, wait, actually, have you?”

Hannah shrugged. “Nope. My dad is the youngest sibling, by a lot . My uncle is almost twenty-five years older than my dad and I have an aunt that’s even older than that. Some of my cousins are old enough to be my parents. My grandparents were really, really old when my dad was born. So, with the gap, we’re considered more like a branch family, even though Dad’s a direct descendent. We get invited, probably because Mum and Dad are close in age to the Potters, but we never go. Dad leaves all the elbow rubbing to my aunt and uncle. Don’t worry, Harry. I’m not secretly spying on you or anything.” Hannah reassured with a smile.

“Good to know,” Harry said with an answering smile. 

“This is fascinating, really it is,” Susan said looking at them from over the top of her Charms text, “but some of us are actually trying to get some work done.”

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem,” Harry countered. 

Susan balked. “All right then, where’s your essay?”

Harry leaned back in his chair with a Cheshire grin. “Finished it yesterday.”

“What!? When?”

“While you two,” he pointed to David and Susan, “were having a contest to see who could levitate the heaviest thing in the common room.”

“Oh, yeah.” Susan smiled wistfully. “Sofa.”

“Hey! You only lifted it an inch!” David protested. “And only for about two seconds!”

“Still counts,” Susan smirked. She turned to Hannah. “What about you, then?”

“Same as Harry. Finished it yesterday,” Hannah said cheerily. Susan huffed while Hannah carried on. “But I do need to work on my History essay for Friday. I could only find three things that were odd about Uric the Oddball and Binns wants five.” 

Susan flapped her hand dismissively. “He won’t notice.”

“I found four things,” Harry said, ignoring her. “We can compare and maybe between us, we’ve got all five.” 

“Thanks!” Hannah smiled. 

Harry took out his rolled-up, mostly-finished History essay and smoothed it out on the table, anchoring it at the top with Hannah’s inkpot, then the two bent over it and got to work. 

___________________________________________________

Harry had expected the arrival of his new glasses to cause a bit of a stir (as, apparently, everything to do with him did), but aside from his friends (who all said the rectangular frames looked way better than his old round ones) and a few people who complimented him randomly in the corridor, nobody seemed to really notice. Harry was rather hopeful that this meant people had finally gotten over the Potter family drama and moved on with their lives. 

And, for a time, it did. 

In fact, life continued quite pleasantly for Harry for so long that he quite forgot the fact that good things simply aren’t allowed to happen to him. So, he should have known that this lovely time of learning magic, hanging out with his friends, visiting Daisy, and generally enjoying life simply could not last. 

And, as had become usual, James Potter, Jr. was to blame. 

James had apparently grown bored of their mutual, but unspoken, decision to pretend the other simply did not exist, because after the Easter holiday break, strange things started happening to Harry. First, he suddenly couldn’t seem to keep his shoes tied. He’d thought it was his fault at first, but after over a week of retying them several times a day, it was pretty clear that something bigger was at play. Finally, that stopped and Harry could stop staring at his feet everywhere he went. 

Then, a few days later, all his quills started vibrating whenever he held them, which made it absolutely impossible to write anything. David lent him another self-inking one, but then David’s quills all started vibrating, too. Susan and Hannah gave them each a pot of ink and some traditional quills, which mercifully never started vibrating, but were extremely tricky to use. Even with Susan and Hannah giving the boys some pointers, they both struggled immensely. Then, one day, Harry accidentally picked up his self-inking quill and noticed it wasn’t vibrating, so that put an end to that.

What followed was a steady series of oddities, week after week. One day he could only speak in limericks. He resolved to just keep his mouth shut. Another time, every single one of his socks went missing. Harry didn’t dare ask David for any, in case his decided to go missing, too. Then, his socks reappeared, but they were now violently pink. Every now and then, his robes would randomly resize themselves. One day the sleeves suddenly became too short and the hem rode up a full three inches. The next day, he had to roll the sleeves back several times and hold his robes while he walked to avoid tripping over them. Some days they were perfectly fine. 

Then, a full two weeks went by without anything unusual happening, and Harry thought it might finally be over. He let his guard down and started simply enjoying life again. But that must have been what James (for Harry was certain he was behind all this somehow) was waiting for. The very next day, Harry went to put on his tie and the moment he touched it, the knot fell right out. He swallowed his pride and asked Justin to help him redo it, and, mercifully, it stayed…for exactly two hours. When it fell out again, David did it back up for him, slowly, so that Harry could watch. Harry slipped it over his neck experimentally, and once again, the knot stayed…but only for one hour. This continued all throughout the day. Sometimes it would stay tied for an hour, sometimes two, but always for exactly those increments and never in a regular pattern. This constant untying and retying had the unintended consequence of finally getting Harry to practice doing his own tie, which he was now quite the expert at. In the end, he had taken to just leaving it untied until right before he stepped into a classroom, doing it up quickly, then praying that it would stay until the end of the lesson. 

His system mostly worked. There were one or two close calls, but so far he’d only lost points for his tie twice, which wasn’t ideal, but also wasn’t bad enough to worry about. James’s pranks seemed to last for a few days at most, so he was probably nearly through it. If he could make it one, maybe two, more days, it wouldn’t matter anymore. He’d thought he was home free, but his biggest challenge was yet to come: double Potions. 

Unlike his other classes, where Harry could dawdle outside the door until the moment class began, Professor Snape expected students in their seats before the start of the class. When he’d had potions before, the knot had fallen out in the last three minutes of class, after he’d already decanted his potion and put it on the professor’s desk. In fact, it was as he was walking back to his seat, with his back to the professor, that he felt it undo itself. He swiftly, but clumsily retied it, and all was well. But for a double period, Harry would have to pray that this was one of the times it would last two hours. If not, the tie would be undoing itself right in the middle of class. When he’d had double Charms earlier in the week, the knot had held until the moment he walked out the door, and he was hoping to pull off the same thing again. 

No such luck. After precisely one hour, Harry’s tie untied itself right before Professor Snape walked by Harry’s workstation. He glanced at Harry and frowned.

“Mister Potter. Dangling neckties are not permitted in the potions lab. Please tie it and tuck it in as you have been instructed. 3 points from Hufflepuff.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “Sorry, sir.”

Harry did it up again and prayed it would last two hours this time. To further complicate matters, this potion was slow. It took forever to prepare and add the ingredients, then required a full thirteen minutes of simmering before it could be bottled. Harry had exactly thirteen minutes remaining in class. He would be working until the absolute last second. If his tie was going to come undone after an hour, though, it would happen before his thirteen minutes was up. Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely sure what time his tie had come undone the first time so, though he was watching the clock carefully, he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he should be watching for. A large bubble popped on the surface of his potion and Harry leaned forward to check that the temperature wasn’t too high. It was at that moment that his tie came untied again. The end fell into his cauldron with a plop. 

Harry jerked it out immediately, but the damage had been done. Where once his tie was yellow and black, now the bottom part was purple and white. They’d been brewing a color-changing potion, and his was two minutes from full potency, but was clearly already quite strong. He glanced around quickly and saw Professor Snape across the room, peering into Padma Patil’s cauldron. He tied his tie neatly and tucked the tails back in between the buttons of his shirt the way Professor Snape liked, the discolored portion mercifully out of view. At the appointed time, he bottled his potion, took it to the desk, and began packing up. 

He was nearly out the door with his classmates when Professor Snape called, “Potter. A word.”

Harry made a sort of “go on” gesture to his friends and walked to Professor Snape’s desk. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. 

“Yes, sir?”

Professor Snape was marking a stack of papers. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “What’s the matter with your tie?”

Harry had long ago decided that he wouldn’t tell any of the professors what he suspected James was doing. His friends had wanted him to, but he’d flatly refused and made them promise not to tell either. They hadn’t quite understood, but eventually they promised, and he knew they’d keep their word, whether they agreed with him or not. 

They just didn’t know bullies the way he did. He’d dealt with Dudley his whole life, and what James was doing was annoying, but wasn’t actually harmful, which made it far preferable to Dudley’s brand of bullying. And besides that, Harry knew the number one rule of being bullied: tell no one. In his experience, telling someone, especially an adult, only made things worse. Particularly if he didn’t have any proof, which he didn’t. All Dudley had needed to do when they were kids was put a couple tears in his eyes and declare Harry a liar and suddenly the teachers that had been on his side only moments before started looking at him with suspicion. James had money, influence, fame, and powerful parents behind him and Harry had…Harry. He knew which way the pendulum would swing if it came down to it. So, Harry answered Professor Snape in the only way he could. 

“Nothing, sir.”

“No?” Professor Snape looked up and put down his quill. He steepled his fingers. “Hm. Untuck it, please.”

Slowly, Harry pulled the tie from between his buttons and let it hang straight. The purple and white section stood out like a beacon. He kept his eyes firmly trained on Professor Snape’s desk. There was a deep gouge in the wood on the left corner, just peeking out from under the professor’s inkwell. 

“5 points from Hufflepuff for lying to a professor. I’ll ask you again. What is the matter with your tie?”

“It fell into my color-changing potion, sir.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why did it fall into your color-changing potion?”

“It came untied.”

“Tell me, are you capable of tying a proper Windsor knot?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you tie your tie in this way before you entered my class today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And after it came untied the first time, did you tie it correctly or in haste?”

“Correctly, sir.”

“Hm. So, I’m meant to understand that you tied not one but two proper Windsor knots in preparation for or during this class and they simply…came undone? A thing which proper Windsor knots are not known to do?”

Harry said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He kept his eyes fixed on the gouge under the inkwell.

“I am left with two options, then. Either you are, in fact, not capable of tying a proper Windsor knot, or you have been the victim of an untying jinx. Which is it?”

Harry remained mute. 

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting, but he’d take it. Harry turned towards the door immediately and nearly ran out. The moment he grabbed the handle, Professor Snape’s voice stopped him once again. 

“Oh, and Harry,” he paused, still unused to hearing the professor use his given name. “Twenty points to Hufflepuff for a perfectly brewed color-changing potion.”

A smile split Harry’s face and he chanced a look over his shoulder. He expected to see the professor bent over his stack of grading again, but he wasn’t. He was looking right at Harry. He met Harry’s eyes with a powerful look and Harry suddenly realized–he knew. Somehow, Professor Snape knew what Harry was experiencing. He understood why Harry had refused to say anything. And rather than push him, rather than deduct point after point until Harry finally caved, he chose to let Harry walk out with his dignity intact. Harry even suspected Professor Snape knew who was behind it, though, honestly, it wasn’t really a stretch. Suddenly, and not for the first time, he was immensely grateful for his potions professor. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. 

Professor Snape acknowledged him in his usual way, with a nod of his head, and Harry exited the classroom. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Professor Snape must have known that punishing James directly would only make things worse for Harry, but that didn’t stop him from intervening in other ways. It was no secret that Snape and James had gotten on about as well as oil and water all year long. Now, though, it was as if someone had turned up the heat and James’s water was boiling while Snape’s oil was burning and the whole thing was a steaming, flaming, mess. 

James had served detention with Snape twice already that year–once for the near-fight with Harry early in the year, and later for turning Draco Malfoy’s hair blue for something he’d said about James’s parents. Harry couldn’t remember the particulars. In the three weeks since Professor Snape had cornered Harry about his tie, James Potter had served eleven separate detentions. 

The first few were pretty contrived, honestly. Harry wasn’t entirely sure “glaring disrespectfully at a professor,” “laughing too loudly,” or “being insufferable” were punishable offenses, but apparently Snape thought they were. The subsequent detentions were all a result of James’s behavior either during or immediately following one of the previous detentions. Things had gotten so heated that James had reportedly simply stopped attending Potions class, which had resulted in a further series of detentions. 

James must have guessed by now that this was all a result of what he’d been doing to Harry, but he was either too stupid or too proud to say anything about it. Harry didn’t know him well enough to say which it was. Maybe it was a bit of both. While the rest of the school speculated and gossiped about why Professor Snape suddenly seemed to have it out for James, Harry kept his mouth shut and his head down. 

Keeping his head down hadn’t kept him out of the rumor mill though. Any time James became a subject of school gossip, somehow Harry did, too. The mystery of Harry’s parentage and appearance at Hogwarts had never been officially, publicly addressed. Which, naturally, made it a great source of gossip fodder for the Hogwarts rumor mill. It was relatively obvious to all who cared to look that Harry and James bore more than a passing resemblance, and it was well documented that both James Potters had been only children, so there were only so many conclusions one could come to. 

The Prophet had heavily insinuated (rightly) that Harry was a discarded Potter son. However, the reasons for Harry’s exile were hotly debated. Some believed that he’d shown no early signs of magic and had been cast out for being a squib. One theory held that he was the true vanquisher of Voldemort and had been sent away because they were afraid of him. The least popular belief was that Harry had been abducted by an ally of Voldemort after his defeat and was secretly being raised as another dark wizard, but most agreed that his presence in Hufflepuff made this a bit less likely. He’d also heard that the Potters had sold him to pay off a debt to the goblins. Some didn’t believe it at all and thought it was all an elaborate publicity stunt. The mystery of it was what made it so much fun for everyone to talk about. No one knew the truth. 

Not even Harry.

He’d long ago given up trying to puzzle it out. As far as he could tell, he’d been showing signs of magic from the moment he was dropped on Aunt Petunia’s doorstep. He also didn’t recall vanquishing any Dark Lords, nor did he have any idea how he would have accomplished such a feat at such a young age, though his equally infantile brother was credited with having done so, so what did Harry know, really? In any case, he certainly wasn’t someone to be afraid of. All anyone need do was ask Dudley to know that Harry was about as threatening as a wet noodle. And the Dursleys certainly hadn’t paid the Potters for the pleasure of Harry’s company, nor was he leveraging this to gain any amount of fame or notoriety. Harry had no interest whatsoever in any such thing. 

And besides all that, none of these theories explained why they did the same thing to Daisy five years later. Not that his classmates needed to know that, of course. He shuddered at the thought of what they might say if they knew that another Potter castoff was living just down the hall.

But all of this–the bullying and the gossip and everything else–had reminded Harry of what it took to survive in a cruel and unfair world. He’d put aside all his habits from his life at the Dursleys when he’d come to Hogwarts, determined to make friends and start anew in a place where no one had any preconceived ideas about him. He’d held them off through the onslaught of uncertainty and gossip that heralded the start of the school year. He’d pushed them off again after the Christmas holidays when it seemed like his life was finally going somewhere good, for once. But at long last, his determination had met its match. 

Hogwarts was no more a refuge for Harry than Privet Drive had been. 

So, he picked back up where he left off. He stayed off the beaten path. He found narrow corridors and dusty passageways that would let him maneuver around crowded areas instead of through them. He arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast the second the doors opened, ate, and left before James Potter had even roused himself out of bed. He walked with his head down, kept his voice low, made himself small. He stopped answering questions in class, stopped studying on the lawn or strolling in the courtyards, stopped lingering in the corridors after class. He faded into the background, hid away in the common room, made himself scarce, and all but disappeared. 

Except there was a flaw in his plan, something he hadn’t accounted for. His friends. 

David, Susan, and Hannah were steadfast. When Harry ducked around a corner, they followed. When Harry retreated indoors, they went with him. When Harry was trying to disappear, they circled around him like a protective wall. They joined him for early breakfast, followed him through dusty corridors, and forsook the spring sun in favor of visiting Daisy with him. 

They refused to let him feel insignificant. 

They indulged his need to vanish in public without ever letting him feel like he’d disappeared from their lives. When James glared murderously at him from across the Great Hall at dinner, they had him laughing over Exploding Snap before bed. If Ron Weasley shoulder-checked him exiting the Transfiguration classroom on Tuesday, his friends would create an inconspicuous but impenetrable buffer zone between them after class on Friday. 

It was because of their steadfast support that, when someone put eye black on the telescopes belonging to Ron, Hermione, Neville, and James during their last astronomy class before exams–eye black that, somehow, wouldn’t come off–James immediately started pointing fingers at Harry and his friends. He didn’t seem to care that none of them had been to the astronomy tower before, during, or after the prank was pulled, nor that none of them had the slightest idea how to make something everlasting like that. In James’s mind, this, like everything else, was entirely Harry’s fault. 

And he had apparently had enough. 

The weekend before exams, most students could be found relaxing somewhere on the lawn, taking in the last bit of peace before their brains became piles of goo. Susan had finally convinced Harry that there were enough people outside that James wouldn’t dare try anything and the four friends were enjoying the warm afternoon breeze blowing through the courtyard. Harry had balled up his outer robe behind him and was leaning against it with his head resting on the courtyard wall. His eyes were closed as he listened to his friends argue. 

“No, twenty- nine . One sickle is twenty-nine knuts and then seventeen of those is a galleon. I don’t understand what’s so confusing about this,” Susan said, exasperated. 

“Because it’s blooming idiotic!” David rebutted. 

“Idiotic?! Wha–”

“There’s a hundred pence to a pound and that’s all there is to it. Slap, bang, Bob’s your uncle! I don’t want to have to do maths just to know if I’m getting overcharged for an ice lolly.”

“You don’t have to do maths! If an ice lolly is more than three sickles, it’s a rip off, obviously.”

“Well, but how am I meant to know that? How much is a sickle in pounds?”

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know that? Do I look like a goblin to you?”

“Ugh, would you two stop, already?” Hannah groused. Harry heard the sharp sound of the book she’d been reading hitting the ground and cracked an eye open. David and Susan were glaring at each other over their abandoned chess game, but Harry could tell there was no real heat behind it. He let his eye shut again. 

“Stop being stubborn, Su,” Hannah continued. “I grew up with it same as you, and even I can admit that it’s stupid. The muggle system sounds so much easier, honestly. Sometimes wizards just get so stuck in the past.”

Susan huffed, but didn’t protest further. The sound of moving chess pieces and turning pages was all that could be heard for a few moments. 

“Can’t believe in two weeks I’ll be back at home,” David said. Harry opened his eyes and looked at him. “Doesn’t seem real. I’ll have to pinch myself to know it’s not a dream.”

Susan leaned over and pinched his arm hard. 

“Ow! Geez, Su! I didn’t mean now !” David said, rubbing his arm with a wince. Susan smirked and moved one of her pieces. 

“You never told us what Professor Sprout said last night after we left,” Hannah said. “Will she let you come visit sometime?”

Harry sighed and shrugged. “She wouldn’t say. I sort of get the idea that there’s something she’s not telling me. Every time I say something about the summer, she puts it off or changes the subject.”

“You don’t have to go back to the muggles do you?” 

“Professor Snape said I didn’t, but that was a while ago. I hope not.”

“Surely they won’t send you back,” Hannah said. “I mean, if Daisy’s been here all year instead of there, I can’t imagine they’d make you go back for the summer. Seems pointless.”

Harry hoped she was right, but he also knew what happened when he hoped for things. 

“If they do try it, I’m sure Mum and Dad would be happy to have you both instead,” Hannah said. “We’ve definitely got the space. I’ll owl them and ask, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Harry responded. 

“Don’t mention it.” Hannah leaned to the side and bumped her shoulder against Harry’s. He flopped to the side dramatically and they laughed. 

“Well, I know we’re taking a trip at some point, and I’m sure we’ll be visiting Granddad. I’ll owl you once I figure out when we’re doing all that,” Susan said.

“I’m probably just hanging out at home all summer, like always, so whenever should work for me,” David shrugged. “You can call me when you figure everything out.”

“You mean floo call? Is your house on the network?” Susan asked. 

David rolled his eyes. “No, I meant call on the phone. But I suppose neither of you have telephones do you?”

Hannah and Susan shook their heads in the negative. David groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Why does everything wizards do have to be so complicated?” he groaned. He looked at Harry who shrugged his shoulders. 

“Don’t look at me. I might be staying at Hogwarts all summer. Definitely no phones here.”

“Fine,” David grumbled. “I’ll post a letter to the relay office. It’ll take blooming forever, though.”

“Be easier if you had your own owl,” Susan quipped. 

“We looked at them when we were in Diagon Alley last summer, but Mum doesn’t care for birds much.” 

“Muggles are weird.”

“Wizards are weirder.”

Susan stuck out her tongue at David and he stuck his out in return. 

“Oh, don’t get started again!” Hannah said. She pulled out a handful of grass that was growing between the cobbles and threw it at them. 

Susan spluttered and spit. “Ugh! You got it in my mouth!” She grabbed some grass from beside her and lunged for Hannah, pulling back the collar of her shirt and dropping the grass inside. Hannah squealed and tried to grab Susan, but she’d twisted up and danced away. Hannah scrabbled up and chased after her. They ran around the courtyard, dodging around clusters of people. Their laughter carried easily on the breeze.

“Mental, both of them,” David said, shaking his head and smiling fondly. “Girls are weird.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

A shriek heralded the return of the girls, pink-faced and grinning. 

“All right, all right!” Hannah said, breathless. She flopped down on the ground, spread eagle. “You win!”

Susan’s smile widened triumphantly and she pumped her fist. Just then, the bell in the clock tower began to ring out the time. Harry counted out the peals. 

“... Four. Five.” He gathered up his cloak and shook the dust and grasses out of it. “Ready?”

“Finally! I’m starving!” Susan said. 

They started collecting their things and packing them away in Hannah’s rucksack. Harry had discovered that if he ate as soon as they began serving dinner, they could usually get out before it got crowded, which Harry much preferred, so they’d been eating each day as soon as dinner service began at 5. Harry popped his arms into his cloak and let it settle around his shoulders. He smoothed down the front of it and grimaced. 

“Ugh!” 

“What?” David asked, slinging Hannah’s bag over his shoulder. 

Harry twisted around and pulled the cloak around his body, inspecting it. He pulled his hands away from the large damp spot with a frown. His gaze traveled to the ground where he’d been sitting and saw the dark spot along the base of the wall. 

Harry groaned. “My robe was in a puddle. I’ll have to go change it before dinner.” He pulled the offending garment off and balled it back up.

“We’ll come with you,” Hannah said, but at that moment both her and David’s stomachs growled. Hannah looked sheepish and Susan laughed. 

“No, go on. I’ll just be a second. Here give me the bag. I’ll drop it off by the girl’s hall when I go.” Harry took the bag from David and slung it over his own shoulder. He stuffed his damp robe inside temporarily. 

They walked together until they got to the hallway that branched off towards the common room. Harry waved at his friends and then hurried down the little set of stairs and away towards the common room. A few moments later, he wheeled around the corner in his fresh robe and suddenly found himself tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. 

“Argh! Watch where you’re going, you knob!” growled a disturbingly familiar voice, slightly muffled in a tangle of cloaks. 

“Oi, James! It’s him!”

Harry and James finally disentangled themselves and Harry scrambled back out of the way. He cast his eyes furtively around the hallway, but other than James’s gaggle of friends, they were alone. 

“You!” James growled, advancing on Harry. “Merlin, are you allergic to watching where you’re going, or something? Or do you just have it out for me?”

“It was an accident. I’m sorry,” Harry said in a small voice. 

“‘It was an accident,’” James mocked in a sniveling voice that wasn’t anything at all like Harry’s. “I’m not interested in your excuses, you gormless prat! I’m tired of you ruining everything all year!”

“James, let’s just go,” Hermione Granger urged. James looked at her as she spoke. “I think it was an innocent mistake.”

“I don’t care!” James yelled, pulling his wand and whirling back towards Harry. “Nothing about him is ‘innocent’ and I’m sick of it! Don’t think I don’t know you were behind that stupid prank the other day. And you’re the reason I’ve been in detention. Just had to go running to Snape, your pet professor. Merlin, you’re so pathetic!” He advanced on Harry, wand raised. Harry’s eyes flicked to Ron, who was also drawing his wand. Neville and Hermione were standing further back, but they didn’t look like they were going to intervene. 

“Can’t even fight your own battles, can you?” James continued. “Well, I don’t see Snape anywhere around to help you this time. You’re all alone now.” A nasty grin came over James then and Harry did the only thing he knew to do. 

He ran. James and Ron took off after him.

“James, stop it!” Hermione cried, but he didn’t let up. 

Years of dodging Dudley had given Harry some pretty impressive sprinting speed, and weeks of avoiding James had also given him a near encyclopedic knowledge of the lesser-known corridors and back ways around the castle. But James wasn’t Dudley and he was hot on Harry’s heels. Harry gripped the corner of a wall and flung himself around it into a steep upward staircase. He climbed the stairs frantically, but he could hear at least two sets of clattering feet behind him. He risked a glance back over his shoulder to see Ron Weasley only a few steps below him. The lanky redhead was taking the stairs two at a time. Harry put on a burst of speed. He threw aside the tapestry at the top of the stairs and kept running. 

With most of the castle’s inhabitants either outside or in the Great Hall, the corridors were eerily deserted. Even the wide paths that Harry typically avoided these days were devoid of students. Harry hadn’t run this much in months and his lack of physical activity was catching up with him. Also, he hadn’t slept well last night, hence his rest in the courtyard. His tired body was beginning to flag. He knew if he could make it to the end of this corridor there was a concealed passageway that wound around and eventually dumped out next to the Charms classroom. From there, he could take the back stairs down to the lower levels and loop back around to the Hufflepuff Common Room. 

If he could make it that far. 

He ducked into the winding passageway, chest heaving, and raced along its length. It immediately curved around to the right and Harry followed. He could hear his pursuers close behind him, but he had no choice but to slow down to keep from slamming into the wall. The only comfort was that James and Ron and whoever else was back there would have to slow down, too. The path curved to the left and he turned to follow it when he felt a tug on the back of his robes.

He let his shoulders roll around and his robe slide off his shoulders, thankful he hadn’t taken the time to fasten it properly. Ron cursed behind him and Harry knew there was no way he was going to make it to the end of the corridor. Thankfully, this particular pathway was peppered with doors, most of which led to more and more labyrinthine passageways. Some, though, led back out into the main thoroughfare. Harry hadn’t used these as often, since his goal was to avoid the crowds, but now he was desperate to find a more populated area lest he get caught in the depths of the castle all alone. At least the threat of spectators would deter the boys from completely annihilating him. 

He flew through the next door he came to. If he was right, this one should dump him out in the main corridor, near a classroom he thought might be used for Muggle Studies. The door crashed against the wall and a series of sconces flared to life. 

This was most certainly not the main corridor. In fact, Harry was rather certain this was the corridor he’d found two weeks ago that contained nothing more than a collection of strange statues and ended in a locked door. Harry groaned to himself as more sconces ignited and his suspicions were proved true. He charged down the hall towards the locked door, pulling out his wand as he ran. 

“Alohamora!” he roared as he neared it, praying that whatever was on the other side would help him escape. He grabbed the knob and wrenched the door open. 

He’d half expected to find nothing more than a broom cupboard, which would have been bad enough. What he found instead, though, was so very much worse. On the other side of the door wasn’t another corridor, or a stairwell, or even a broom cupboard. No, behind the locked door in the abandoned corridor filled with cobwebbed statues was the largest dog he’d ever seen. 

And it had three heads. For a second he’d thought it was three separate giant dogs curled up together in a pile, but there was only one dog body and each of the heads was connected to the same neck. Harry had never seen such a creature before, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it now. He wondered for a moment why it hadn’t awakened already until he saw the harp standing in the corner, magically strumming out a lullaby. 

The footsteps behind him clattered to a halt. Harry spun to look at them.

“Blimey! What is that?” Ron Weasley huffed. 

“Is–is that a cerberus ?” Hermione Granger panted. Neville was nowhere to be seen.

James didn’t answer them, instead continuing to advance slowly on Harry. James’s eyes flicked to the giant dog and back to Harry. Harry took a step back. 

“Nowhere left to run,” James said. 

“James, I think we should go,” Hermione said, uncertainly.

“Yeah, mate, I’m with Hermione on this one.” Ron added, eyes fluttering nervously over the beast behind the door. 

“No! He’s led us on a chase around the whole bloody castle and now we’ve finally caught him! I told you both, I’ve had enough! My life was perfect before he came along, and now I’m practically a laughingstock.  Everything is ruined. RUINED!” 

He turned back towards Harry and the crazed look in his eyes made Harry take another step back. Dimly, he registered that he’d crossed the threshold into the lair of the cerberus, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He was well and truly cornered. 

That’s when James attacked. 

“Flipendo!” he yelled, and Harry suddenly found himself flying through the air. He crashed into the harp with a discordant clang and scrambled to his feet. James advanced into the room after him. Ron and Hermione hurried to keep up, Ron with his wand brandished, ready to join the fray, and Hermione shouting at him to stop. 

“Rictusempra!” James yelled again, and Harry didn’t have time to be frustrated that James knew spells he’d never even heard of (because of course he would) before he was doubled over in laughter, clutching desperately to his wand. 

He never would have thought that tickling could be weaponized, but here was evidence to the contrary. He was already out of breath and his sides were aching from all the running. Now, though, his ribs were in agony and he was lightheaded from all the laughter. If he didn’t get relief soon, he was going to pass out. He felt tears run down his cheeks, but he was powerless to stop them. His knees crumpled. Since he was still doubled over, he fell crookedly, only narrowly managing to land on his side instead of on his head. After what felt like hours, he was finally released. He drew in deep, gulping breaths and clutched at his sides as his laughter turned into sobs. 

He blinked up and saw Hermione forcing James’s wand hand down. He was still shaking with rage, but his eyes looked more haunted than crazed. Harry slid his eyes over to Ron to see that the other boy had lowered his wand as well. He let his eyes fall shut and drew in another heavy breath. For a moment, the only sound was Harry’s heavy breathing. 

Then, he became aware of something else. A deep, rumbling growl. His eyes flew open. 

The great three-headed dog was awake and six yellow eyes blinked at the four children. Harry scrabbled to his feet awkwardly. 

“R-run!” Ron yelled, and they turned towards the door. 

Hermione screamed as a giant paw came down, blocking their only exit. James, Ron, and Hermione huddled together. Harry took a shuffling step towards them, only to catch his foot on the edge of something. 

A ring was in the floor. No, a ring was on a wooden hatch set into the floor. A trapdoor!

Harry bent down and grasped the ring with both hands and hauled with all his strength. The hinges screamed as the door eased open. Suddenly, another set of hands joined his, and Harry turned to see a dark mop of shaggy brown hair next to him. Together, they heaved the door open. 

“GO!” James yelled, and Ron sat on the edge and flung himself down without a second glance. He landed with a soft “oomph!” moments later. Hermione soon followed with a scream, and before she’d even had time to land, James jumped into the dark hole. Harry hesitated for a moment, eyes darting to the giant paw still blocking the only other escape, weighing his chances of slipping through the narrow gap, but then a massive jaw snapped shut mere inches from his nose and he followed the other three down, down, down into the dark below. 

___________________________________________________

The moment James disappeared through the black flames, Hermione downed the contents of the other phial. 

“I’ll be back with help soon. Just…wait here, I guess,” she said, offering him a weak half smile, and disappeared back through the wall of purple fire. Harry was trapped. 

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the leg of the table. From the moment he crashed into James in the corridor, he hadn’t had a moment to think. From his saving them all from the creeping tendrils of Devil’s Snare by lighting his wand (honestly, how the other three couldn’t even remember how to deal with such a simple plant was beyond him), to Ron besting the living chess set, to James catching just the right key, and Hermione solving the potion’s riddle, it had all been a mad blur of danger and chaos. The other three seemed weirdly energized and excited by the whole thing, but all Harry could think was that this was a mad combination of things to keep in a school full of children. At least they hadn’t had to deal with the troll. Someone else had done that for them.

Wait. If someone else had taken out the troll, then did that mean someone else was down here? Maybe they could help Harry find a way out! He didn’t have much faith in Hermione’s ability to backtrack through all the challenges they’d faced, find a way back up through the trap door, get out of the room with the cerberus, and find her way through the twisting maze of corridors that had led to this godforsaken place to begin with. Still, even if someone was down here, he wasn’t likely to find them stuck in this room. He could hope that James would be able to get through the next room and find an exit on the other side, but he was strongly averse to placing all his hopes on the back of James Potter, Jr. 

But what more could he do? Hermione had solved the riddle. One potion to go forward. One potion to go back. Only enough in each phial for one drink. Nothing for Harry, the odd man out once again. He thumped his head back against the leg of the table angrily and heard the bottles rattle. James’s bottle, sat haphazardly on the corner of the table, teetered forward and rolled off the edge. Harry reached out and caught it automatically. The liquid inside sloshed against the sides of the bottle. He sighed and reached up over his head to place it back on the table when he stilled. He pulled his hand down slowly and scrutinized the bottle. 

There was liquid inside. 

He stood quickly and scanned the bottles on the table. Was this the one James had used? He was certain it was. Somehow, though he’d witnessed James emptying it, it had refilled, as if by magic. Had Hermione’s done the same? Harry scanned the table, but her bottle wasn’t there. She must have carried it through with her. Well, Harry had only two options, then. He could either sit here and wait for James or Hermione to bring help, which might never happen, or he could drink this potion, walk through the black flames like James had, and hopefully find a way out. 

Harry had learned the hard way to never rely on anyone else. He unstoppered the bottle and downed the contents. His veins burned with an icy chill and he exhaled a cloud of vapor as if he were suddenly very cold. He stepped through the black fire and emerged, blinking, into another room. A man was facing him as he walked in. 

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked, partly relieved and partly confused, as he’d never seen his professor without his purple turban before and he had barely recognized him. 

“Run, you idiot!” James shouted, and Harry was confused. James was standing behind the professor, in front of a large, ornate mirror. His face was filled with fear and Harry didn’t know why until he saw the grotesque face in the mirror. The face that was inexplicably on the back of Professor Quirrell’s head. 

“Be silent!” the voice hissed, and Professor Quirrell’s wand shot out towards James. A thick band of silky-looking cloth wrapped itself around James’s mouth. “And do not move.” Thick ropes unspooled from the tip of the outstretched wand and wound around James’s body tightly. He struggled against them fruitlessly.

Professor Quirrell smiled queerly and a sibilant voice hissed, “Ahhhhhh. Another Potter has come to join our party. How fortunate…for me.” Professor Quirrell’s mouth never moved, but instead the face on the back of his head was speaking, meeting Harry’s eyes through the mirror. “Come nearer, Harry Potter, and pray you prove more useful than your brother.”

Harry shook his head frantically back and forth and took a step backwards. The black flames were hot at his back but whatever was going on with Professor Quirrell was worse. 

“It wasn’t a request,” the voice snarled, and suddenly Harry found his feet sliding across the floor towards the giant mirror and James Potter. He scrabbled for purchase, but to no avail. He slid to a stop next to James, and spun to face the mirror. 

It was probably the ugliest mirror Harry had ever seen. It was easily twice his height and surrounded by a thick gold filigree frame. There were letters across the top, but they didn’t make any words Harry recognized, so they were probably in some other language. 

“This is the Mirror of Erised, Harry,” the voice purred. “It is a very special magical artifact. Do you know what it does?”

Harry kept silent. 

“YOU WILL ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!” the face roared, and Professor Quirrell walked backwards unnaturally until the face was just to the side of Harry. 

He gulped. “N-No, sir. I don’t.”

“It shows you what you want most in all the world. Do you know what I see? I see myself, restored to my full glory, you and your pathetic family dead at my feet. Tell me, Harry. What is it you see when you look?”

He stepped to the side and suddenly Harry was alone in the reflection. He regarded himself and jumped as the image of Daisy shimmered into place beside him. The mirror-Daisy took his hand and smiled up at him. A spectral shape materialized behind them both, though it had no defining shape or face. Most important, though, was the way the shape made him feel. Safe. Secure. Protected. Loved. The shape placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on Daisy’s upper arm, pulling the three of them closer together. Then more shapes appeared, some large, some smaller–family and friends. They surrounded Harry and Daisy as a wall of protection, and all the while she held his hand and smiled at him, perfectly trusting her older brother to keep her safe. 

Harry drew in a shaky breath. Quirrell stepped backwards again, closer to Harry.

“What do you see?” the face asked eagerly. 

Harry couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to. He was enraptured with the image before him. He stared and stared and stared, drinking it in hungrily. To have so many people behind him, supporting him, when all his life it had been just him, all alone, making sure that he and Daisy had what they needed to survive, protecting her at all costs. What would it mean to be able to share that burden? To lean into someone else for a change?

Harry was ripped away from the image as an invisible hand spun him around. He suddenly found himself staring into the angry, red eyes of that horrible face, the image in the mirror still burning in his memory. Suddenly he was flung to the ground by that same invisible hand. He landed in an undignified heap a few feet away. 

The face was laughing. 

“Is that what you really want most, Harry Potter? To protect your baby sister?” Quirrell advanced on him in reverse. “You’re no more help than he is.” Quirrell’s head jerked to the side to indicate James, who had finally given up struggling against his bonds and was simply staring helplessly at what was unfolding before him. “Your usefulness has run out, Harry Potter. And once I’ve got my hands on this stone, precious little Daisy Ella Potter hiding just upstairs will be next on my list. Kill them both!” the voice ordered. Quirrell spun around and snapped out his wand towards Harry, a curse on his lips, but all Harry could think about was Daisy, only a few floors away. It didn’t matter that they had Professor Sprout, now, Harry was the one who’d defended her all her life and he wasn’t going to stop now. 

He didn’t know any counter-curses. He didn’t know any shields. He didn’t know much of anything. But he knew he loved his sister. 

“YOU WON’T TOUCH HER!” Harry shouted, throwing up both of his hands as if to block the oncoming curse. Power was ripped from his chest and he let out a primal scream. A shimmering, liquid barrier sprung up in front of him, and the angry purple spell Professor Quirrell had sent his way went flying back towards its caster. It hit Professor Quirrell right in the center and he screamed in agony and fell to his knees. The voice on the back of his head howled in anger and a spectral form detached itself from Quirrell’s body, leaving it lying twitching on the floor. 

The spectre fell to the ground and began to slither towards Harry and his barrier, still howling in anger. Harry didn’t know what it was but he knew that if it reached him, it would kill him or take over his body the way it had done to the professor, then it would kill Daisy. His shield was still holding, but his vision was growing black along the edges. The spectre drew ever closer and Harry once again screamed with the effort of holding up this magic. 

Suddenly, it lunged at him and Harry felt as if he’d been stabbed through the heart. Everything was fire and pain and screaming until he fell to the ground and knew no more.

Chapter Text

Interlude III: Conversations

James Potter and Severus Snape- May 30, 1992

“He’s bullying my son! I demand to speak with him!”

“James, I assure you, Professor Snape will be held accountable for his actions–”

“I know he will, because I’m the one he’s going to answer to! You can’t protect him forever, Albus! I will speak with him! Now!”

“Perhaps it would be best if you came back when you are calmer. In adversity, level heads most often prevail.”

“Spare me the kitschy catch phrases! If you don’t get your pet Death Eater under control, I’ll have him arrested and tried under Veritaserum. I’m sure there’s something I can get him for. Get him up here, now! ”

“I have already sent for him. He will be–” 

Professor Dumbledore’s door opened with a creak and Professor Snape stepped through. 

“You self-righteous, bullying bastard!” James yelled upon seeing him. 

“Finally bought a mirror, have we, Potter?” Severus snarked lowly as a smirk danced across his lips.  

“Oh, shut up. We both know what this is. You can’t take out a fifteen year old grudge on an eleven year-old kid!”

Severus scoffed. “As usual, Potter, you’ve looked at all the facts and come to the exact wrong conclusion. I assure you, I do not punish children without cause. Not even your insufferable spawn.”

“Well, enlighten me, then. What’s my son done to warrant seven detentions in two weeks?”

“Eight. He earned another just this morning for willfully neglecting to attend class in favor of relaxing by the lake and feeding his potion’s book to the giant squid one page at a time. And given his abysmal performance in my class this year, he really can’t afford to be pulling such a stunt.”

“Maybe you’re just a shit teacher. Have you ever considered that?”

“My students have the highest average standardized proficiency scores among all the top schools globally and I’ve had the fewest injuries and deaths of any potions professor in the school’s history. No, Potter, your son is just an imbecile. He spends his time in my class preening like a peacock, relies on his friend to write his essays for him, and has not one drop of his mother’s natural skill. Coincidentally, your other son, the one you carelessly abandoned without a second thought, could brew circles around your hellspawn with his eyes closed. Has done , in fact!”

James had opened his mouth with a rebuttal, but snapped it shut at the mention of Harry. Severus ploughed on. 

“Little James has picked up something from his parents, though. His treatment of Harry comes right out of your playbook. He spent weeks tormenting the poor boy. Untying charms and resizing charms are a couple of your specialties, if I recall.”

“Jamie isn’t a bully! He’s a sweet kid. You’re just projecting your hatred of me onto him. You’re only seeing what you want to see!”

“NO! I’m seeing what everyone else refuses to see! Your son is an arrogant, entitled, selfish little brat who gets pleasure from taking a weak, powerless, lonely boy and making his life a living hell. Sound familiar? And no one would ever have known if I hadn’t witnessed it myself. Even when given an opportunity, Harry refused to name your son or anyone else as his tormenter. That boy has more integrity in his little finger than you and your carbon-copy could ever imagine possessing between the both of you.” 

“You’re a liar, Snape. I don’t believe you. What you’re doing to my son is vindictive and wrong and I won’t stand for it,” James threatened.

“I couldn’t give a rat’s arse what you believe, you brainless twat. And you’ll pardon me if I don’t put much stock in your interpretation of what’s right and wrong. What a world we live in where a Death Eater has a stronger moral compass than a decorated Auror.”

“I won’t stand here and be insulted by the man who tried to sell my family to You-Know-Who!”

“Then, by all means, Potter, leave .” 

James shifted his hateful gaze from Severus to Albus, who sat observing the two men screaming at each other in his office as if such a thing regularly occurred during his morning tea time. 

“I want to speak to my son.”

“Certainly. I believe the first year Gryffindors are currently–”

“No, The other one. H-Harry. I want to talk to Harry.”

Albus’s eyes darkened behind his half-moon spectacles but it was the voice behind him that growled, “Not a chance in hell.”

“Severus,” Albus chided before turning back to James. “I do not believe that would be wise.”

“He’s my son. You can’t keep him from me.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Albus said, sadly, “I can indeed.”

“I’m his parent! Legally, if I request to see him, you have to allow me to do so! I know the law, Albus. Now, let me speak to him!”

“Harry Potter has no parents,” Dumbledore declared. James blinked at him dumbly. 

“ What? That’s absurd, I’m his parent!”

“When Mister Potter was removed from his aunt and uncle’s house, I sought to update his records with the ministry’s department of magical children. I had a former student attempt to locate his birth record.” James blanched and his face paled as Albus spoke. “Curiously, my student was unable to locate any record of Harry Potter anywhere in their archives. Their log book did not show any such files having ever been removed. According to the Ministry, Harry Potter does not officially exist. As such, he has been placed under the temporary care of the ICW’s Displaced Children’s division until the situation can be resolved. As I serve as both Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Mugwump of the ICW, I am well within my authority to deny you access to him,” Albus said curtly. Then, quietly, he added, “I think you’ve done enough harm to the boy already, James. And to his sister, as well.”

James’s face lost all color and his eyes widened. 

“I’m afraid they’re out of your reach, now,” Albus continued. “And I’m also afraid it is my duty as Headmaster to stand behind the actions of my professors. I will not rescind any of Professor Snape’s assigned detentions. I will, however, redirect them. I will personally oversee the remainder of James’s detentions, as well as any further ones he may earn due to his failure to attend his required classes. There will be no more punishment for his past actions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you both to vacate my office. I’m expecting a call from the minister any moment now.” 

He gestured towards the door and the fireplace and Severus and James made their way towards their respective exits. They each stopped to send a glare at the other before departing, and soon his office was empty again. Albus slumped over his desk. He shook his head sadly and drew in a deep breath. Every time it seemed that James and Severus were making steps toward civility, something stood in their way. Albus suspected this would be a hurdle Severus would never be able to overcome. He saw himself in Harry’s circumstances, Albus knew, and he would forever blame James for being the one to set him on that path. But, perhaps not all was yet lost.

He blew out a breath and straightened his shoulders, plastering a half smile on his face as his fire flared green once again. He would deal with lost boys later. For now, it was time to parlay with the minister. He rose to shake the man’s hand, eyes twinkling once again behind his half-moon spectacles. 

__________________________________________________

Pomona Sprout and Albus Dumbledore- June 2, 1992

“Come in,” Albus called following a knock on his door. Pomona Sprout opened the door and sat herself down in one of Albus’s chairs. 

“Good afternoon, Albus,” she greeted. 

“Afternoon, Pomona. I trust you are well.”

“Quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Nothing is ailing me more than is usual for one of my age, so I suppose I have no complaints.”

“The fire orchid I gifted you is blooming beautifully, I see.”

“Yes, it is quite spectacular. I fear Fawkes may be growing envious of its vibrancy. He’s been pruning particularly frequently since it opened.”

“I’ll send up some specialized food that will lengthen the duration of the flowering.”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you. Shall I order us some tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m afraid I’m not here for a social call.”

“What can I do for you today, then, madam?”

“I’ve given thought to your proposal.”

Albus leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Yes?”

Pomona sighed and shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t accept.”

“I see. May I ask why?”

“Oh, a lot of reasons,” she demurred.

“Oblige me.”

“Age, time, other commitments,” she listed. “But my primary concern is simply that I’m not who they need.”

“I’m sure you’d be a more than adequate caretaker.”

“Oh, certainly. I have no doubt that I could provide a loving and caring home for them, but my attention would always be divided. I have three other children. They’re grown, yes, but that doesn’t make me any less their mother. And we have much history between us that the Potters do not share. It makes them uncomfortable. I witnessed as much at the holidays. These young children have been denied a true family and they deserve one they can call their own.”

“I am sure they would adjust adequately to your family situation, given time.”

“Of course they would. Children are so resilient, But, Albus, they shouldn’t have to. They should be placed somewhere where they can be the center of attention, the sole priority. They should be able to create their own traditions, rather than trying to fit themselves in around the edges. They’re welcome with me, always, but I don’t think it’s what’s best for them. And, well…” she hesitated. Albus gestured for her to continue. She cleared her throat and fortified herself. “Well, they need someone stronger than me. Someone who can defend them. I always trusted Roger to keep our family safe, and he did, at the cost of his own life, but it’s never been my forte. Plants, earth, and dirt, that’s where I’m gifted. I can make a good home, but I will never make them feel safe . They need someone who can do that for them, Harry in particular.”

“I understand. I appreciate all you have done for them this year.”

“They’re lovely children, Albus. I do not take this decision lightly. I’ve made this choice for them, rather than for myself. If I were being selfish, I’d keep them forever, you know, but I’d be doing them a grave disservice.”

“I believe they’d be happy with you, but if you feel otherwise, I will trust your judgement. You often see things I do not when it comes to such matters.”

“Thank you.”

Silence reigned for a moment as each sat in their own thoughts. 

“How shall we tell them?” Pomona asked at last. 

“Best not say anything until we have made alternative arrangements. I will begin working on it immediately.”

“And you know I’m always available if you should need me on a temporary basis.”

“I will keep that under advisement. Now, there is another matter I have been meaning to speak to you about. I have been contacted by the International Ecological Conservation Society. One of their research team has contracted Dragon Pox and they were wondering if you would be able to step in during the summer holiday. They are currently studying a rare species of flitterblossom somewhere in Canada, I believe, and would appreciate your expertise. If I am able to make arrangements for Harry and Daisy in time, is this something you may be interested in?”

“Oh, goodness, yes! I’d be delighted!”

“Excellent. I shall send along your acceptance, and I’m sure they’ll be in touch regarding the particulars shortly.”

“Thank you, Albus. Goodness,” Professor Sprout looked off into the distance, wide eyed, thrilled at having been chosen for such a prestigious study, even if she was only filling in for a time. She inhaled and exhaled, then shook herself back into the present. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” she said, rising from her chair. She pushed it in courteously and gave him a little nod and a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon,” she said in farewell. 

“And you as well, my dear. It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she replied. She crossed to the door and pulled it open, turning back at the last second. “It’s not that I don’t want them, you know,” she added, almost desperately, “and you mustn’t let them think that. I do love them. It’s only–”

Albus held up a quelling hand and smiled gently, eyes twinkling. “I quite understand. It’s all right.”

They regarded each other for a long moment, then Pomona gave a bit of a smile and said, “Well, in that case, I do have a suggestion.” 

__________________________________________________

Albus Dumbledore and James Potter, Jr.- June 5, 1992

James flattened the white sheets around him and waited for Madam Pomfrey to return. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, he wasn’t injured. His gaze travelled to the curtained-off bed to his left. He supposed not everyone could say the same about their adventures in the bowels of the castle. He ripped his eyes away and stared down at his folded hands. He growled frustratedly and shoved them under his legs to hide their shaking. 

He was fine. He only had to convince Madam Pomfrey, then he’d get to sleep in his own comfortable bed in the tower tonight next to his friends instead of in one of these horrid hospital beds next to…

Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps sounded down the way and he sat himself up straighter, flipping his head back to get his hair to settle properly. He put a smile on his face and spoke. 

“Is there anything you need from me before I go?” His dad had taught him to always speak with confidence if you didn’t want to be questioned.

“That’s a question for Madam Pomfrey, I expect,” Professor Dumbledore answered, stepping into view from the other side of the curtain. The footsteps stopped as he drew next to James’s bed. 

“Sorry, sir,” James apologized. “I thought you were her.”

“A mistake that has been made many a time before, I assure you. How are you?”

“Fine, sir. Ready to go back to the tower.”

“Yes, I am sure you are. First, though, I would speak with you, if I may.”

“Of course, sir,” James responded. His dad had also taught him to always be polite, especially to those who had power over him. Besides that, he and Professor Dumbledore had developed a bit of a rapport during James’s most recent spate of detentions.

“When I retrieved you and Harry from the final chamber, we did not have time to discuss what had transpired. Would you care to share the tale with me now?”

James gulped and averted his eyes. Honestly, he’d rather forget the whole thing had ever happened, but every time he blinked all he could see in the back of his eyelids was that horrible face. He didn’t think he’d ever forget it as long as he lived. That didn’t mean he was ready to relive it this instant, though. 

“I know I am asking much of you, my dear boy, but I’m afraid it is imperative that I have the story tonight. There is much to be done, and some of it simply cannot wait.”

James swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I understand, sir. I–I’ll do my best.”

“That, James, is all I could ever ask. Now, how did you find yourselves beyond the trap door?”

“We, erm…” Immediately James was stuck. How could he confess to the Headmaster that the reason they’d found the trap door was because they were trying to catch Harry so James could beat the piss out of him? He’d never heard of anyone getting expelled from Hogwarts as a first year, but there was a first time for everything. “We were exploring some of the passageways and we found it accidentally.”

“You, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, and Harry Potter were exploring together?”

“Er…well, no. Harry was…well I don’t know what Harry was doing. But Ron, Hermione, and I were exploring and then Harry was just sort of…” he gestured vaguely, “there.” 

“I see. And where was Mister Longbottom?” 

“Neville…he got tired and went back to the common room.” 

Professor Dumbledore nodded, and James dropped his eyes to his bedsheet.

“Do go on, please.”

“Well, er, we got into the room with the dog, but it was asleep, but then it sort of woke up and blocked the door, and we didn’t want to get eaten, so we had to go down the trapdoor. We fell for ages and landed on a bunch of devil’s snare. It was trying to tangle us up, but we lit up our wands like Professor Sprout taught us and it let go straightaway.” Well, that was mostly true, anyway, if you ignored the fact that Harry was the only one who actually remembered that devil’s snare hated light. James carried on. “But then, we were stuck down at the bottom of this really long drop with no way back up, so we had to just keep going to try and find our way out. So, we went into the next room and there was a door, but it was locked. I figured out that we’d have to catch the right key to open it, so Ron and I got on the brooms, since we’ve had the most flying experience, and we caught handfuls of them until we found the one that fit. 

Once we made it through that, there was a giant chess set. We tried to go around it, but it wouldn’t let us. So, Ron gave us all pieces to play and we played our way across. Ron’s brilliant at chess, you know, but he ended up having to sacrifice his piece so we could go on. We told him we’d find the way out and bring someone back to help him. How is he, by the way?”

“Mister Weasley has a minor concussion and a dislocated shoulder, but will be right as rain by morning.”

“Oh, good. That’s great. I was worried about him.”

“He will be pleased to hear you were concerned, I’m sure. And after the chess match?”

“Right. The next room had a troll in it, but it was already knocked out. I guess that should have been our first clue that someone else was down there, but we thought we’d just stumbled into some sort of forgotten obstacle course, or something, and I think we were sort of relieved that we didn’t have to try and deal with a troll again. It was hard enough the first time. Then, we walked into a room and there were all these potions bottles and a riddle. I thought we were going to be stuck there forever because there were these magic flames blocking both doors, but Hermione worked out which bottles we needed to drink. We agreed that one of us would go forward, and the other would try to go back and see if there was a ladder or something that would go back up the trapdoor that we missed.”

“And where was Harry during all this?”

“Oh, er, he was there. He was just going to wait in the room until one of us made it out and brought back someone to help.”

“Ah, naturally. I’m sure he had great confidence that one or both of you would return for him as swiftly as possible.”

James looked at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, but wisely said nothing on the matter. The truth is, he would have gone back for Harry…eventually. He had entertained the thought of letting him stew down there for an hour or two as payment for what James had been through, but he wouldn’t have just left him there to die . James wasn’t a monster. Surely Harry couldn’t have expected they’d totally abandon him, could he?

“Well, there was only enough in each bottle for one person, so someone had to stay behind and wait. Hermione solved the riddle, so she got to choose what she wanted to do, and she wanted to try and go back. And, erm, Harry was nervous about going forward, and I am a Gryffindor after all, so I said I’d do it. Anyway, I drank the potion and went through the black fire and there was this big empty room. The only thing in it was a big, ugly mirror, except Professor Quirrell was standing in front of it. I was glad to see him at first because I thought he could help us get out of whatever weird place we’d fallen into, but then he got really queer. He said some really strange stuff and wasn’t stuttering at all. He wanted me to look into the mirror, so I did.”

“And what did you see in the Mirror, James Potter?”

Himself, holding a copy of the Prophet with the headline showing him to be the youngest recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class, his parents and Sirius standing proudly behind him, embracing him. 

“Nothing special, sir.”

“Indeed? Well, best carry on with your tale, then.”

“Well, Professor Quirrell suddenly got really mad, so he took off his turban and there was this whole other face on the back of his head. It was really weird, sir. It talked in this really awful voice and it said it was You-Know-Who, but that can’t be possible, because he’s dead, right?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer, but gestured for James to continue. 

“That’s when Harry came through the flames. I don’t know how he did it, but he did. So, I yelled at him to run, but he didn’t listen and Professor Quirrell tied me up with some ropes. Then Professor Quirrell made Harry stand in front of the mirror, too. I don’t know what he wanted us to see, but Harry didn’t see it either. He got really mad then and said we were useless and he was going to kill us and also someone named Daisy that was upstairs, but then…” James hesitated. 

In the end, Harry was the one who’d saved them both. Harry was the one who’d cast that strange shield. But Harry was also the one who’d ruined his life. If James told what Harry had done, nobody would care that James was The Boy Who Lived anymore. Everything would be about Harry again and it would be yet another thing the boy had ruined. 

How could he spin this? When Quirrell had died, James’s bonds had come loose. He’d immediately run to see if Harry was still breathing, and that’s when Professor Dumbledore had come in. If he’d been there any sooner, he’d have seen what happened himself, but he hadn’t. He had only James’s word to go on. 

“...then, I guess Professor Quirrell had gotten distracted, because my ropes weren’t as tight, so I wiggled out of them really quietly and charged at him. I knocked him on the ground and he smacked his face on the floor really hard. It knocked him out, I guess, but You-Know-Who, or whoever it was, became a sort of spirit thing and flew out of the room, right through Harry, which knocked him out, too. I caught him and was checking to make sure he was okay, and that’s when you came in and found us.”

Professor Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. “Quite an interesting tale, Mister Potter,” he said at last. “I should let you rest,” he began to stand, but James stopped him. 

“I had a question, actually, sir, if it’s all right. Well, a couple questions, really.”

Professor Dumbledore settled back in his seat. “Of course.”

“Was…was that thing really You-Know-Who? It’s only, well, I thought he was dead.”

“Yes, I do believe it was. I have long suspected that he was still lingering out there, biding his time, searching for a way to return. I have never wanted to be wrong more than I do now, but, alas, my suspicions have proved correct.”

Well, that was grave news indeed. James knew what sort of trouble he had wrought before. He’d overheard his dad and Sirius and Remus talking about old friends and people they’d lost while the three were polishing off a bottle of Ogden’s in his dad’s office a few times. He didn’t want to think about him being back. 

“But he was just a spirit. He didn’t even have a proper body.”

“And for that, we should be thankful.”

“What was he doing with Professor Quirrell?”

“He was searching for an object that would allow him to restore himself to life.”

“Did he get it?”

“No.”

“Good,” James breathed. 

“Yes, it is. If there is nothing else…”

“There is, actually,” James said, suddenly unsure. But he’d been playing the words over and over since he heard them and he just didn’t understand. Maybe he hadn’t heard correctly, or maybe it wasn’t what he’d thought, but voicing it aloud made it strangely real, and James wasn’t sure he wanted it to be real. But then, he hadn’t wanted Harry to be real, either, and he was, so apparently James’s days of getting what he wanted were well and truly over.

“You-Know-Who…he said something, well, a name, only I’ve never heard it before, and I just wanted to ask you if you knew…if you knew who Daisy Ella Potter was.”

“I do.”

“Who is she?”

“She is your younger sister, Mister Potter.”

“I don’t have a younger sister. Or an older one. I don’t have any sister at all.”

“Not knowing and not having are not the same thing, dear boy.”

“But, well, wait, how old is she? What’s she like? Is she really my sister? No. She can’t be. You’re lying,” he spat, and suddenly James was angry. “I can’t have a little sister I don’t know about. Surely I’d remember Mum having another baby. It’s not like you can hide something like that. And Dad would have told me when he told me about Harry. You’re LYING! You’re just trying to ruin my life again! Everyone in this bloody school is always trying to ruin my life!”

James glared at Dumbledore as his breaths huffed out of him aggressively. The old man met his gaze with a calm expression that just infuriated him more. He refused to believe any more of these lies. If he had a secret sister, then it meant that his dad had lied to him again , that there was one more thing he hadn’t thought was important enough to tell his son. And if it was true, then it meant that his parents had given away two of their children, rather than just the one. And if they’d given away two, would they give him away, too?

No. No, they’d kept James, they’d chosen him to be their son. He was different. He was special. They loved him. They’d raised him in a beautiful home and given him everything he’d ever asked for. He was the one they wanted. They wouldn’t abandon him. 

“I’m finished with my questions,” James growled. 

The old man simply rose to his feet with a nod. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, Mister Potter. Get some rest.”  Then, he swept out of James’s cubicle between one breath and the next. James was steaming, even after the Headmaster left, and he was suddenly desperate to be out of this infernal infirmary incarceration.

“Madam Pomfrey!” he called. She came around his curtain impatiently.

“Yes, Mister Potter?” she clipped.

“May I be released?” he asked sweetly.

“If you’re feeling up to it, then I don’t have any medical reason to keep you. I was just giving Miss Granger her discharge instructions as well. If the two of you leave now, you should make it back to the tower before curfew. Come back immediately if you suddenly develop any nausea or disorientation, and see me in the morning for any new aches and pains, all right?”

“Of course, ma’am,” James said to the bustling matron with a grin. He stood up and immediately joined his bushy-haired friend, who was standing silently by the door. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, the smile dropped off his face. 

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked.  

James looked at her gravely. “I have so much to tell you.”

__________________________________________________

Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore- June 6, 1992

“You’ve lost your mind,” Severus said in a low voice, glaring across his sitting room at Albus, whose eyes were glittering obnoxiously. Whatever scheme was brewing in the back of the old man’s mind, Severus wanted no part of it. 

He especially didn’t want this part of it. And he certainly didn’t want to be discussing it at two o’clock in the bloody morning. He scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“I am out of options, Severus. Given what’s just happened, there’s no one else I can trust with this.”

“Given what’s just happened?! You mean, the very thing I’ve been telling you was happening all year long? It was your foolish idea to bring the stone here and set the trap. And now I’m the one that has to suffer the consequences, as usual!”

“It drew him out into the open, as I knew it would. I could not have known that the children would stumble into the trap, as well.”

“I think that’s the logical conclusion one makes when setting a trap for the Dark Lord inside a bloody school !”

“What’s done is done, Severus. Quirrell is dead, the shade of Voldemort is gone, and all the children will be fine.”

“Harry is not even awake yet. You cannot claim that he will be fine. You have no idea of his condition.” 

“Poppy assures me it is a simple case of magical exhaustion.” 

Severus balked. There was nothing “simple” about a case of magical exhaustion. To use so much magic that the body physically could not cope was a rare feat indeed. 

“What on earth did the boy do to magically exhaust himself?” he asked, incredulous.

“If James Potter is to be believed, nothing whatsoever. According to his account, James defeated Quirrell by knocking him to the ground and the shade of Voldemort passed through Harry as it was leaving, thus incapacitating him.”

“Utter malarkey,” Severus scoffed. 

Albus hummed in agreement. “I will have to wait until Harry wakes to determine the truth of the matter. In the meantime, this situation must be resolved. James is now aware of Daisy’s existence and, I believe, her presence in the castle. It is only a matter of time before his father is knocking at the gates again. I put him off before, but he will be back once word of her gets out, if only to make a show of it.” Albus sighed. “It is clear to me that Pomona was right. They need someone who can protect them. I can think of no one more suited to the task than yourself.”

“Albus, there is a reason I don’t have any children. There is no one less suited to the task than me. Find someone else.”

“There is no one else!” Albus said in an uncharacteristic show of vehemence and frustration, “They cannot reside outside Hogwarts or they lose the sanctuary protection granted to them by the ICW. While they are here, the Potters cannot touch them. Only Heads of House and the Headmaster may take emergency custody of a student. Of those, Filius and Pomona are both traveling abroad, and it would present a terrible conflict of interest for Minerva. It is you or I, and you know why I cannot take them.”

“Minerva will just have to get over her ‘conflict of interest,’ then. I cannot do it. I will not.”

“Certainly. I’ll relay the message to her, then,” Albus said flippantly, and Severus blinked in shock. He’d never changed the old man’s mind so easily. He struggled to believe he had done so, now.

“What, really?”

“If you are so decided, then there is nothing I can do to change your mind.” 

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“Perhaps it’s for the best, anyway,” Albus continued. “She was telling me just the other day how important she thinks it is for Harry and Daisy to reconcile with James and Lily. She has had the utmost difficulty in not telling them where their daughter is, so I’m sure she’ll be relieved to finally be able to share that secret.”

And there was the other shoe.

“I get it,” Severus grumbled.

“Do you?” Albus said, returning to his earlier gravitas. “Harry did something powerful, yesterday. Something so powerful that Voldemort fled his host in fear. He will come after the boy, and he knows about Daisy. He will use her to get to him. At the same time, James will be working to return the children to him, lest he lose face entirely. I fear that they will not be safe, there. They certainly will not be cared for as they ought. They need someone with the skills and knowledge to protect them on all fronts. You are the only one I trust to stand up to both Voldemort and James Potter.”

Severus sighed heavily. His mind was racing with the implications. First, there was the fact that he was a consummate bachelor whose greatest experience with children came from teaching them day in and day out. You need only ask some of his students what sort of teacher he was to know that he was not a particularly nurturing individual, which he rather thought children, particularly young girls like Daisy, needed. He hadn’t even managed to keep any of the infernal plants Pomona insisted on gifting him each Christmas alive for more than a couple months. And that was not even considering that two deeply traumatized children (for there was no denying that they were) required exponentially more care and delicate handling than a houseplant. He hadn’t the slightest idea where to even start on that front.

Second was the issue of time. He’d been working with Lily on an experimental potion that showed promise in reversing the long-term effects of Cruciatus exposure. Now that they were no longer on speaking terms and he had taken over the project in its entirety, the potion would require far more of his time than he was typically able to give it. He was trying to keep to the original schedule that they’d painstakingly negotiated with St. Mungos research department, but it was going to be extremely tight. He would need the summer to work on it, uninterrupted, if he was to have it ready to begin clinical trials on time. If he was unable to meet the deadline, there was a possibility the project would be delayed by a year or more. This was a particularly troublesome time for him to suddenly become the full-time caregiver to two children. When term resumed, he would have his regular teaching duties, Head of House responsibilities, school Potion’s Master obligations (keeping Madam Pomfrey well stocked was no mean feat), as well as this additional research project, plus whatever nonsense Albus had him embroiled in at any given time. There were already times when he barely slept. Adding children to the mix would just be irresponsible.

Third, was the matter of the Dark Lord. Severus had, at Albus’s insistence, carefully maintained his friendships with the relevant members of “the old crowd.” Even his friendship with Lily (what parts of it were public knowledge) were carefully crafted so as to be reasonably believable as his attempt to remain in the good graces of “the good guys” and therefore be useful as a spy to the Dark Lord whenever it became necessary for him to retake that mantle. His falling out with Lily was going to prove enough of a hurdle on its own. If what Albus said was true and Harry was now a target of particular interest, Severus’s guardianship of him would mean that he would either have to turn the boy over at the first opportunity, or else forsake his role as spy altogether. Given that this was his only role of any significance in the last war, he was uncertain what use he would be without it. 

Also, he’d been a bit volatile since his split with the only person in the entire world who knew the truth about all the parts of him and was still interested in having him be part of her life. He had no other true friends to speak of, and nothing to turn to except his work. As much as he desperately hoped Harry and Daisy could find a stable and loving home, he had serious doubts that he could fulfill either of those needs. 

If Albus was aware of any of these concerns, he gave no indication. So, Severus began with the one to which he was most closely connected. 

“You cannot seriously be considering this,” he said. “You finally have your proof that the Dark Lord is not truly vanquished and the first thing you think to do is neutralize your only source of inside information?”

“Some things are more important. Severus, stop pretending. I know you care for the boy. I have watched you look after him all year. Do you think I do not know why you have given James so many detentions? It is in Harry’s defense!”

“Assigning detentions to a bully and caring for the emotional needs of two children who’ve spent their entire lives being told they’re worthless are not even remotely close to the same thing! What indication have I ever given you that I am interested in…in parenting ?”

“None of us know what we are capable of until we try.”

“This isn’t riding a bicycle, it’s raising children! You’re being entirely too flippant about this.”

Albus slammed his hand down on the table and Severus actually jumped. Never had he seen the man behave in this manner. 

“Dammit, Severus, I’m not being flippant! I need you to do this and I believe that you have the capacity to do so, even if you do not see it yourself. Pomona even recommended you, though, in truth, you were the only alternative I was considering. If she believes in you, surely you must have faith in yourself!” Albus took a steadying breath and turned glistening eyes towards Severus. They were not twinkling with mischief, but shining with tears, and a part of him softened. “You are absolved from all other commitments. I release you from any promises you think you’ve made or debts you believe you owe me. You are free of him, and you are free of me. Take the children , Severus. Please.”

Severus hadn’t realized how heavy was the weight of his promise to Albus all those years ago until suddenly it was gone. He gasped as a lightness of spirit filled him and he felt free in a way he hadn’t since he was fifteen, or possibly ever. He could walk out the door, down the lawn, and away from the castle right now. Albus’s absolution hadn’t come with a condition. He could say no to the children, walk away, and never look back. 

And he very nearly did. 

But he knew–somewhere deep in his soul, he knew–if he left, he was condemning Harry to the life he, himself had lived. Severus hadn’t had anyone to look out for him when he was at Hogwarts. Slughorn wasn’t going to stand up for a penniless half-blood against the scion of a noble house. So, when push came to shove, Severus took care of himself in the only way he could–by choosing the side of power. 

No one would stand up for Harry, either. And if that happened, what would become of Harry? Would he make the same choices Severus had made? Would he walk down the wrong path without someone to show him the right one? In his quest to protect his sister, what compromises would he make of himself? 

He hadn’t realized he’d risen to the balls of his feet until he felt them resettle firmly against the flagstones. He would take the children, and he would stay at Hogwarts, but not for Albus Dumbledore. 

For Harry, and Daisy. So that they could have a chance at something better than what Severus had. He might be doomed to fail from the start, but he would try, nevertheless. His whole life had been an exercise in futility, and yet he’d managed to make something of it. Why should this be any different?

He met Albus’s still shining eyes with his own and simply said, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Harry sighed as the countryside flew by outside his compartment window. The sun was dipping low on the horizon and bathing everything in an ethereal golden glow. They’d be in London soon, he supposed, but for now it was still all open fields and gently rolling hills. He watched the trees fly by as they drew ever-nearer to Kings Cross.

They’d been a raucous bunch when the train had first departed and had spent a long time chatting and playing with Susan’s Exploding Snap deck. Hannah and David had bought enough sweets off the trolley to feed approximately twelve people, but somehow the four friends managed to polish most of it off. Eventually, though, the sugar had worn off and they’d moved on to quieter pursuits.

Hannah and Susan had claimed one of the long bench seats. Hannah sat in the corner of the bench, crocheting a series of little squares with yarn that changed periodically from golden yellow to shimmering black and back again. She’d been working on it throughout the journey and had amassed a little stack of the color-shifting squares that she was stowing in a bag by her feet. Susan lay across the bench with her head on Hannah’s lap, reading. From time to time, she reached up and batted Hannah’s hands playfully, but Hannah just smiled and carried on with her work. 

David and Harry had settled on the other side. David had produced a deck of regular playing cards from his bag and had spent some time teaching Harry some of his favorite two-player games, but as Harry’s nervousness had grown, his attentiveness to the games had shrunk, until he at last told David he was done playing games for a while. David had simply shrugged and laid the cards out for Solitaire while Harry leaned his head back against the wall and stared out the window as if it could provide him with some of the answers to the questions running in circles through his head. 

Unsurprisingly, nothing in the passing trees had offered any clue. 

Professor Sprout had informed Harry just two days ago that she would be unable to keep Daisy and Harry through the summer. Harry had experienced a brief moment of panic that they’d be sent back to the Dursleys’, but Professor Sprout quickly quashed it by letting him know that alternate arrangements had been made with another wizarding guardian, who would meet him at Kings Cross when the Hogwarts Express arrived and who would then take him to his house, where Daisy would be waiting. Then, despite all Harry’s questioning, she’d said very little else about it. All Harry knew was that he was supposed to remain on the train after it arrived at the station and a blonde man about Professor Sprout’s age who would be wearing a purple waistcoat would board the train and take him to their destination by portkey. She’d made him promise not to get off the train except with the man she’d described, which he’d done, even though she hadn’t even given him the man’s name. 

Still, even knowing he and Daisy would be at a wizarding home, he was wary of what this new guardian would be like. Professor Sprout had been exceptionally kind to them and had strongly encouraged Daisy’s creativity. The Dursleys had always tried to squash it instead, believing crafting to be a useless and messy passtime, and had simply given Daisy more chores to do. Would this new guardian help Daisy build kaleidoscopes out of loo rolls and sequins or make her scrub the floors by hand with a toothbrush if she dared to drip a single drop of paint? 

Harry didn’t know, and he found that to be more than a bit frightening. 

“If you stare any harder out that window, you’ll bore a hole in the glass.”

Harry flicked his eyes over to Susan, who was regarding him over the top of her book. He blushed and ducked his head sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

She scoffed. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s the window you’re glaring at.”

“Er, right. Sorry, window,” he said moodily. Susan nodded sharply in approval. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist this time?” she asked. 

Harry sighed. “Same thing.”

Susan closed her book with a snap and huffed out through her nose. “Harry, I thought we went over this.”

“I know, I know! I just can’t help it. Daisy’s already there. What if this person is–”

“A nutter,” Susan interrupted. “I know. You’ve said. Look, it’s not that I’m not trying to be supportive, it’s just that I think you’re worrying about it too much. If Professor Sprout didn’t trust them, she wouldn’t have sent you and she really wouldn’t have sent Daisy. Period. End of story.”

“Well it’s easy to say that, but it’s not so easy to believe that. Things…haven’t exactly worked out well for us, historically.” Well, that might be the understatement of the century.

“I think the school year’s been pretty great,” Hannah said, crochet hook still dipping in and out rhythmically.

“Well, if you ignore the last bit,” David added. 

“There is that , yeah,” Hannah conceded. 

Harry suppressed a shudder and put a small smile on his face instead, nodding gently in apparent agreement with his friend. Inside, though, he’d tuned them out. He’d filled them in a bit on what had happened, but by the time he was out of the hospital wing, James had already spread some cockamamie tale that didn’t exactly match up with how Harry remembered things. Susan, Hannah, and David were probably the only students in the whole school who hadn’t immediately bought in hook-line-and-sinker, if the massive crowd of adoring fans that had followed the other boy around the last few days were any indication. Still, it was easier to just go along with most of it than it was to try and explain the whole thing again, so, apart from a few minor corrections, he’d allowed them to believe that James had heroically saved the day. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain what had truly happened, because he didn’t much remember it himself, except that he was nearly positive James hadn’t simply bull-rushed their Defense Professor. Besides that, he’d much prefer to talk about it as little as possible, please and thank you.

Thankfully, it hadn’t changed their opinion of him or James one iota. He did notice that they had stopped letting him go anywhere alone, presumably so James couldn’t catch him out and try to beat him up again. It would have been annoying if it had continued, but, as the term was nearly over anyway, he decided to just let it go. They were good friends.

But even good friends just couldn’t understand why he was so stressed about this guardianship business. See, Harry wasn’t allowed to have too many good things in his life. Every time something good came along, something worse always followed. Professor Sprout had been good to Daisy, so it stood to reason that the next person would be bad. That’s just the way it was. But, for some reason, nobody seemed to get that but him. He’d given up trying to explain. It was just easier to nod and smile. He wasn’t sure how convincing he’d been, but everyone was still sort of out of it from the sugar, so nobody called him out on it. 

The conversation shifted to other things, which he continued to tune out, and before he knew it, the train was pulling into the station. The lights of the platform shone into their cozy compartment and Harry squinted against the sudden brightness. The platform was crowded with parents and siblings, waving happily and smiling. His mates had crowded in at the window with him and were scanning eagerly for familiar faces. 

“Dad!” Susan suddenly exclaimed, as she began waving frantically. Hannah and David rapidly followed suit as they identified their own parents amidst the throng. The engine slowly hissed to a stop and the whistle blew. They’d arrived at King’s Cross at last. 

Hannah, Susan, and David began bustling about the cabin, stowing away last-minute items and hauling their trunks down from the storage racks. Harry could hear them chattering away behind him, but his eyes were still searching the crowd for that purple waistcoat. He’d thought it would be easy to spot such a distinctive item of clothing, but apparently wizard fashion deviated wildly from muggle fashion. No muggle he knew would be caught dead in a purple waistcoat. Uncle Vernon would probably have a choice descriptor for such a person, and Harry was sure it wouldn’t be flattering. Most muggles, particularly the men, preferred more unobtrusive colors. Wizards, however, adorned themselves in every color under the sun–and “the brighter, the better” seemed to be the rule of the day. 

There stood a man dressed head to toe in turquoise andgcold. A woman in robes of fuschia and lavender stood next to a man with an orange sleeveless overrobe open to reveal an indigo shirt and maroon trousers over violently yellow boots. There were also more reserved colors, like burgundy, navy, and deep green, but it truly seemed as if no color or color combination was off the table. Sprinkled throughout were the more traditional colors and styles of muggle clothing. Polo shirts and khaki trousers over worn brown loafers. Denims and trainers with t-shirts and jackets. Crisp business suits and nursing uniforms. 

But no purple waistcoats. He scanned each flash of lavender, indigo, and mauve, but each time it was something else–a robe or a hat or trousers, and once even a little girl’s dress. 

“Do you see him?” David asked, craning his neck around as far as he could in an effort to see even the people at the edges of the platform. It was no good. The platform was too wide and the people far too numerous. 

Harry shook his head in the negative. 

“Ah, probably just too far down the way,” he consoled, with a thump of Harry’s shoulder. 

“Probably,” Harry agreed. He sighed and pulled back from the window. “You three off?”

His friends nodded and suddenly the cheery atmosphere in the room darkened a bit. Hannah’s eyes were suspiciously bright.

“I’m going to miss you all so much!” she said with a sniffle. Susan gave her a lighthearted smack on the arm. 

“Oh, don’t get all weepy. It’s only a couple months,” she said. 

“But it’s just so horribly lonely in the house all summer with just me and my parents. You all must come visit or I’m afraid I’ll go completely mad!”

“I’d rather have the solitude than my collection of cousins,” Susan groused. “It’ll be odd Susan out again, just like at the holidays. I’d love to visit, if I can.”

“Same, here. My muggle friends are brill, but there’s only so much we have in common anymore,” David said with a shrug. They turned to look at Harry. 

“It’ll be up to this new guardian, I suppose,” Harry said, glumly. “But I’ll definitely ask.”

“And you can bring Daisy, if you like! I don’t have any siblings for her to play with, but we’ve got some horses, and maybe Mum can teach her to ride.”

“Cheers, Hannah. She’d love that. Hopefully we’ll be able to work something out.”

Hannah smiled at him and threw her arms around him in a hug. Two more sets of arms joined in, and Harry stood sort-of frozen in the center of the ring. No matter how many times it happened, he still wasn’t used to all this hugging. But with three of them doing it all at once, nobody noticed that he didn’t hug back. And besides that, his arms were pinned from multiple directions, so he couldn’t have anyway.

Their warm hug thawed out some of the icy anxiety that had gripped him as the train had grown closer and closer to London so that, as they pulled away, he was finally able to give them a real, genuine smile. Three faces smiled back. 

“Well, best be off, then,” Susan said, giving a little salute as she gathered her things.

“Later, Harry,” David said. 

“See you, soon,” Hannah added. “And good luck.”

Harry nodded as they filed out of the compartment, hefting their trunks awkwardly. Harry breathed deeply in the silence, then set about wrestling his own trunk down from the overhead rack. He dropped it onto the bench with a heavy thud and returned his gaze to the window. The throng was even thicker, now, as students and trunks crowded in amongst the adults. Suddenly, Harry saw a man in deep red robes with thick, dark hair standing next to a slender woman in elegant navy with long, wavy red hair. The woman was beaming as she hungrily clutched a boy whose hair was just a shade lighter than the man’s. Harry couldn’t see her eyes from here, but he imagined they were emerald green. 

Harry drank in the sight of them. It was like the world had zoomed in on just the little cluster of three– the mother embracing the embarrassed son while the father looked on fondly. The scene seemed almost frozen in time. It was true, what he’d heard people saying. He did look rather like James Potter, Sr. James, Jr.’s hair was a bit lighter than Harry’s, and neater, but his father’s looked as unruly as Harry’s always did–though the older man made it look artful, rather than unkempt–and as dark as pitch. Their faces weren’t quite the same. Harry wasn’t sure how much of that was down to age, but he rather suspected his narrow jaw would never be as square as James’s. His mother’s chin was pointy like his, though, and her angles were softer, like Harry’s. James Jr. had his father’s complexion, but Harry’s skin was lighter, closer to his mother’s tone. 

As Harry watched, James wriggled out of his mother’s embrace and his father reached out to muss his hair with a laugh. James turned back to talk to his mother and his father rested a hand gently on his shoulder. The older man’s eyes roamed the platform casually, sweeping over it once, twice. Susan had told him that the man was an auror, like the trainee who’d accompanied him over the summer, and it seemed as if he’d come straight from work as he was still wearing his uniform. Because of this, Harry at first thought that the man was simply scanning for danger, but as the eyes began to pass over the crowd again, this time more methodically, Harry’s suspicion changed. James’s eyes flicked upwards towards the scarlet train and Harry jerked back from the window. He stepped backwards uncertainly and sank down onto the far end of the empty bench, out of his father’s searching gaze. 

He scowled into the carpet. His fascination with seeing his parents for the first time had made him temporarily forget how much he hated them both. But as his mind went back to that scene on the platform, he remembered. These were the people who had abandoned him. He shouldn’t care which of them had given him his dark hair or his narrow chin. It didn’t matter. They weren’t his parents. Not really. Not in any of the ways that mattered. Parents didn’t leave their children on doorsteps. 

Still, he couldn’t help but see Daisy’s grin in James Potter’s upturned mouth. Couldn’t look at Lily Potter’s red hair without seeing Daisy’s swinging braids. Couldn’t see the family of three together without wondering what they’d look like as a family of five. Would Harry be ducking away from James Potter, Sr.’s attempts to ruffle his hair? Would James be pretending to be embarrassed by Daisy’s enthusiastic hug? Would Lily Potter be smiling as she peppered both boys with questions about their school year? 

He pounded his fists against the bench at his sides and growled. It wasn’t fair that James got to have his parents when Daisy and Harry didn’t. What had they done wrong? What horrible thing had Harry done that they’d given up on him so easily? And Daisy? Harry couldn’t imagine Daisy ever doing anything bad enough to warrant such treatment, particularly after only being with them for three days. It simply wasn’t possible. Had Harry done something so awful that they’d gotten rid of Daisy just in case it happened again? Was all of it his fault?

He swiped his hands angrily over his face. He wasn’t allowed to cry about this. They weren’t worth his tears. Whatever he’d done to them, however he’d failed, Daisy was innocent and they’d still turned their backs on her. He shouldn’t want his father’s gentle teasing or his mother’s affection. But, damn him, he did. Even after all they’d done to him, even with how much he hated them (because he did hate them, even now), he still longed for all they’d taken from him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

He’d learned a long time ago that what he wanted didn’t matter. 

“Harry Potter, I presume,” a deep voice greeted cheerfully. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled to face the open door. A sandy-blonde man in silvery-grey robes stood smiling genially. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties. He was wearing a purple waistcoat. 

“Er, yeah. That’s me,” Harry responded hesitantly. 

“Gordon Wake,” he said, extending his hand. He had a northern lilt to his vowels. Harry shook the smiling man’s hand. “Ready to go?”

Harry looked the man over again. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but somehow it wasn’t this. Gordon Wake was rather ordinary looking. His hair was thin at the top and was shot through with strands of white at the temples, but was definitely still a color Harry would classify as blonde. His robes were actually rather tame, but the waistcoat was certainly purple. The rest of him was decidedly unremarkable. He was neither fit nor fat, neither short nor tall, neither handsome nor ugly, neither young nor old. He didn’t have any distinguishing marks or features, and his eyes were the sort of watery blue Harry had seen dozens of times before. If Harry hadn’t been looking right at him, he doubted he’d have paid him any notice at all in the crowd. 

Well, that explains why Professor Sprout hadn’t described him in any more detail than she had. There wasn’t any other detail to give. 

“Sure,” Harry said at last. 

“Wonderful!” Gordon smiled. Well, really, Harry wasn’t certain he’d ever stopped smiling. Gordon took out his wand and waved it over Harry’s trunk. It shrunk down to the size of a matchbook and Gordon dropped it into his pocket and gave it a little pat. From his other pocket, he pulled a purple checked handkerchief, which he held out to Harry. Harry slung his school bag over his shoulder and regarded the handkerchief dubiously.

“If you’ve got all your things, grab hold of the portkey and we’ll get going.” He shook the handkerchief meaningfully. 

“Sorry, but I’ve never used a portkey before,” Harry said, looking between the handkerchief and the man. 

“Ah, not a problem. Just grab hold of this,” he waved it merrily in the air, then lowered it again, “I’ll say the magic word, and we’ll be transported to our destination. Make sure you hold tight until we land.”

“Land? Is it like flying,” 

“Not particularly. It’s hard to explain. Best to just go with it. Grab on and don’t let go.”

Harry still wasn’t certain about this. It felt very weird to go with this man that he’d just met, even if he did match Professor Sprout’s description. Now that he’d seen wizards’ love for bright colors, how could he be sure this man was the right purple-waistcoated wizard? Sure, he hadn’t seen any others, but he couldn’t see the whole platform from his window. He hadn’t seen this man, either, had he? The man didn’t seem dangerous, but that didn’t mean anything, really.

Gordon must have sensed Harry’s hesitation because he held out the handkerchief further and gave it a friendly sort of wiggle. He continued to smile happily as the silence stretched between them. Harry may have stood there forever in indecision if it wasn’t for the sound of steps on the stairs to their train car. 

“Harry?” a voice called out. Despite never hearing the voice before, Harry knew instantly who it belonged to. He had no desire to come face-to-face with its owner, even if he had been staring at him out the window only minutes before. 

His eyes widened and he reached out to grip the handkerchief desperately. At the same moment, Gordon Wake lunged forward and grasped Harry firmly around the arm and rapidly muttered something in what Harry thought was probably Latin, and the train compartment whirled away dizzyingly, offering only the briefest glimpse of dark hair, hazel eyes, and an outstretched arm before it all disappeared with a sharp yank. 

Harry winced as he fell to his knees on a worn flagstone floor. His head still spun sickeningly, and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He was unable to stop a low groan from crawling up his throat. 

“On your feet, Harry,” came Gordon’s voice from overhead. Harry opened his eyes, still looking at the shiny flagstones as Gordon’s hand stretched down into Harry’s field of view. He took it and the older man hauled him up with surprising strength for his age. 

“Thank you,” Harry murmured, finally shaking off the last of his nausea. He blinked as he took in his surroundings. Then, he blinked again, stupidly. 

Was…was he back at Hogwarts?

The room he was in was unfamiliar and entirely bare, but the wall sconces with their dancing flames were the same as the others throughout the castle. The floor beneath his feet was recognizable, too, and he almost believed the very air had that same familiar cool, musty scent. He spun around quickly, taking in all his surroundings, but the room truly was entirely devoid of any decoration or furnishing. It was a fairly small windowless room with only eight wall sconces and a single door. Nothing about the room identified it as a piece of the ancient castle, but, nevertheless, Harry felt quite certain that it was. 

“Er, Mr. Wake, sir?” Harry began hesitantly, but the man was already waving his question away imperiously. Curiously, his entire visage seemed to have changed. His features were the same, but gone was the persistent grin and the almost haphazard way he’d seemed to carry himself. He seemed somehow more composed and serious as he consulted his watch with an almost bored glance, not even moving his head, but merely flicking his eyes down past the tip of his nose precisely. 

“Two minutes,” he said. “All will be explained.”

Well that answered exactly none of his questions and did nothing to quell his growing sense of unease. Who was Gordon Wake? Why had he brought Harry back to Hogwarts? If he was back at Hogwarts, why had he bothered to ride the train all the way to London just to end up back here? Did Professor Dumbledore organize this? Professor Sprout? Who was Gordon Wake?

And, perhaps, most importantly, where was Daisy?

For it was immensely clear that she was not in this empty, unused, and (Harry suspected) out-of-the-way room. 

“But–”

“Two minutes.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the blonde man. 

“Where–”

“Two. Minutes.”

“No!” Harry shouted. “Tell me where my sister is!”

The blonde man arched an eyebrow imperiously, regarding Harry down the length of his nose. The look struck Harry as somehow familiar, though he couldn’t say exactly in what way. He consulted his watch again. 

“She is safe. One minute.”

“But where–”

“You can either wait patiently for the next minute, or I can stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”

Harry snapped his jaw shut mutinously. His estimation of his new guardian was dropping by the second. 

It was the longest minute of Harry’s life, and, honestly, that was saying something. He kept track of the seconds in his head (a skill he’d cultivated years ago) and when he’d gotten to forty-seven, something strange began to happen. Gordon gave a heavy sigh and his skin began to bubble horrifically. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck back and forth, then shook out his arms as his body began to shift and change. Blonde hair grew longer and turned black. His frame lengthened and thinned. His nose developed a hook and his face became more pointed. As the bubbling stopped, Harry found himself looking not into the face of Gordon Wake, but Professor Snape. 

Professor Snape gave his head one more little shake to send his black locks over his shoulders, waved his wand to turn his silver and purple ensemble back to his usual black, and turned his dark eyes towards Harry. 

“Polyjuice potion. Necessary, but unpleasant. Come.” He turned towards the door, expecting Harry to follow, but he was still rooted to his spot. Professor Snape turned and looked over his shoulder. “ Come ,” he said, more forcefully, then turned back to the door. “And do close your mouth.” 

Once again, Harry snapped his jaw shut. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just witnessed. Was Gordon Wake the same person as Professor Snape? Had his professor somehow become that other person? He’d never heard of anything like this. His whole manner had changed! He had a million questions, but he somehow suspected that Professor Snape wasn’t in the mood for them, so he kept his mouth shut.  

Professor Snape put his hand on the knob and said a string of words Harry didn’t recognize in a strong voice. The door glowed green and Professor Snape led Harry through the door. They emerged into a dungeon corridor, though Harry wasn’t entirely certain which one. The dungeons were a seemingly endless place and he had explored it less than most other areas of the castle. The professor led him on a winding path until at last Harry began to recognize his surroundings. They passed his potions classroom and stopped in front of a seemingly bare patch of wall. Professor Snape placed his palm against the wall and a door wavered into existence. He turned the knob and gestured for Harry to precede him into the room. 

He was back in Professor Snape’s quarters. The place was almost exactly as he remembered it from the last time, with one notable difference: Daisy sat beaming at him from the couch. 

Harry exhaled her name on a heavy breath and felt some of his anxiety finally begin to ease. She jumped off the couch and wrapped him in a tight hug, which he eagerly returned. It had only been about a day since they’d seen each other, but after the stress of the last few hours, Harry was immeasurably relieved to see her safe and unharmed. 

That didn’t particularly explain why she was in Professor Snape’s living room, though. Nor why the man had needed to disguise himself as some blonde northerner to retrieve Harry from a rather pointless train ride. All the questions he’d been suppressing threatened to bubble out at once. He turned to look at Snape and the man must have seen some of Harry’s confusion on his face. He gave him a heavy look and moved off down the hall. Harry somehow knew he was meant to follow. 

Snape led him down a short corridor and opened the third door on the left. He swept into it without stopping. As Harry followed him in, the door swung shut behind him and Harry found them both standing in a cozy bedroom. There was a bed similar in size to the one in his dorm, though without the tall posts and hangings. It was covered with a diamond-patterned quilt in an alternating pattern of blue, red, and grey. There was a single window, though what view it provided was a mystery at this time of night. A large oak wardrobe and desk with a chair were pushed against the wall, and a worn, but soft-looking blue rug covered the floor. Soft candlelight illuminated the room from a series of sconces on the walls. 

When Professor Snape took Harry’s trunk from his pocket and enlarged it in the center of the room, Harry began to put the pieces together. Professor Snape retrieving him from the train, his trunk in the middle of this very boyish room, Daisy sat on the couch as if she belonged there. 

Professor Snape was Harry and Daisy’s new guardian. 

But why and how and…well a whole host of other questions as well. He suspected this had something to do with the Potters and looked nervously at the door as if Daisy would burst in at any moment. Once again, Professor Snape seemed to be able to read Harry’s face, or possibly even his mind. He waved his wand and Harry felt as if a heavy blanket had descended upon the room. 

“Yes, Harry. You and Daisy will be staying with me this summer. I trust the accommodations are suitable.” 

He said it like a statement, but Harry felt like it was maybe actually a question. So, he answered. “Yes, sir. It’s nice. Thank you.”

Professor Snape merely nodded once, sharply. “The room is secure. Ask your questions.”

“Daisy won’t be able to hear?”

“No.”

“Or barge in? She does that sometimes.”

“No. Though, if you don’t get on with it, she is liable to believe we’ve gotten lost.”

“Right.” Harry hesitated. He had a million questions buzzing around in his head, but after a decade of training himself not to ask them, he was sort of hesitant to voice any at this time. And even if he’d been brave enough to ask, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to even begin. Professor Snape just kept staring at him with that mostly-blank expression, which wasn’t exactly helping matters. Harry couldn’t look him in the eye, and instead focused his gaze somewhere just below his chin. Harry just had no idea what was going on inside the man’s head. Was he frustrated? Had Harry done something wrong? Was he tired of having them around already? Was he simply bored? He’d said Harry could ask questions, but he’d never been particularly fond of questions in class, so Harry was doubtful. And he simply felt somehow wrongfooted. He’d based his entire life around reading the moods of the people around him (usually the Dursleys) and altering his behavior accordingly, but he couldn’t read Professor Snape’s emotions at all. So, what was he meant to do?

“Out with it, child,” Snape urged sharply. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Well…it’s just…I, erm–”

“Harry,” Snape snapped. 

“N-nevermind.” Harry dropped his eyes to the floor.

Harry head Professor Snape take a long, slow breath. Harry scuffed the toe of his trainers against the edge of the rug. 

“As you are already aware, “ Snape began in a low, slow voice, “Professor Sprout is unable to continue acting as your guardian this summer due to some professional obligations that are unsuitable for young children. Furthermore, James Potter has increased his efforts to contact you, which makes it unsafe for you to reside in a place where he may easily manipulate his way into gaining access to you or Daisy. Professor Dumbledore felt it best for you both to remain at Hogwarts for the duration of the summer. As I am the only professor remaining in residence this summer, the task fell to me. However, it should not be widely known that I have taken over your guardianship, so, it was decided that you should ride the train as usual and be collected from the train by a third party. I used Polyjuice Potion to temporarily alter my appearance to accomplish this task. While you are under my care and in residence at Hogwarts, the Potters will have no knowledge of your whereabouts and will be unable to contact you in any way. You will both be safe here.”

Professor Snape waved his wand again and the blanket seemed to lift from the room. He strode to the door. “Unpack your trunk, then join us in the living room,” he said, then swept out as quickly as he had swept in.

Harry stood frozen for a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Professor Snape as his guardian for the summer. Well, that would certainly be different from Professor Sprout. He didn’t mind it for himself, honestly. He’d already helped Harry in many ways throughout the school year, and Harry trusted him, even if he didn’t entirely understand him. But he was wholly incongruous with the idea of Daisy. Professor Snape was serious, neat, orderly, and quiet. Daisy was witty, energetic, bubbly, and not half chaotic. Since getting out from under Aunt Petunia’s thumb, and with more than a little encouragement from one or more of the Sprout family, Daisy had become what every six-year-old girl should be: glitter and laughter. 

Harry had the sudden image of Professor Snape’s coffee table spread with Daisy’s arts and crafts and had to shake the discordant image out of his head. Well…this would be interesting indeed. 

He unpacked his trunk quickly, since there wasn’t much to unpack. He hung his school robes in the upper section, then stashed the few other things he had (mostly Dudley’s oversized castoffs, plus his pants and socks) in the drawer below. His meager belongings filled less than a quarter of the large wardrobe. His books he lined up across the back of the desk and placed his parchment and quills and such in the wide drawer beneath. He lined his Christmas gifts up along the windowsill: the little LEGO castle David had bought him that John Sprout had helped him assemble over the Christmas holiday, the collection of wizard folktales Susan had sent, the enchanted magical creatures figurines Hannah had sent him, the string of pearls plant Professor Sprout had gotten him that was just beginning to trail over the edge of its pot, and (in pride of place) the picture Daisy had painted for him and that Professor Sprout had framed. Having arranged all his things as best as he could, he slid his trunk under the foot of his bed and headed back towards the living room. 

Daisy was crouched in front of the coffee table digging beads out of the bin Clara Sprout had given her and stringing them onto a leather cord with great deliberation. Professor Snape was seated in his chair, flipping casually through some sort of periodical. He set it down on the side table when Harry entered. 

“Finished?” he asked. 

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Dinner, then. Come, both of you.”

Daisy placed her beading down carefully so as not to lose any of her progress and then she and Harry followed Professor Snape through one of the side doors and into a small kitchen. Snape’s kitchen was similar to Professor Sprout’s, though it had an air of disuse that hers did not. The table was set for three and when Professor Snape snapped his fingers, the plates filled themselves with portions of roast chicken, vegetables, and rolls. Harry had seen Professor Sprout prepare her own meals in her kitchen, but it seemed Professor Snape preferred to let the magic of Hogwarts do the work. Harry didn’t mind. Hogwarts’ food was delicious. 

Eating with Professor Snape was different from eating with Professor Sprout. The few times he’d had dinner in her quarters this year, she’d been bustling about and chatting with Harry and Daisy about their day, leaving little time for quiet. Professor Snape was much more reserved. He seemed content to eat in silence, and Harry wasn’t sure how he’d feel about having that silence disrupted. Daisy, however, wasn’t as concerned. It was only quiet for a few moments before she was asking Harry about the train ride to London and had him telling her stories about the games he’d played and the sweets he’d eaten. Professor Snape simply observed the conversation without comment. In fact, he didn’t speak at all until they were nearly finished.

“Before we continue our evening, I feel it may be necessary to establish some…expectations for our time together,” he said. Harry and Daisy both put down their forks and gave their new guardian their full attention. 

“To begin with,” he continued, “for the time being, it is important that you both remain inside my quarters. The door at the end of the hall will lead to my private garden, if you require some time outdoors, but I would ask that you stay away from the plants in the fenced areas. These are plants I cultivate for use in potions and some can cause irritation if they come in contact with your skin. Once the remaining staff depart for the summer, you will have more freedom to move about, which we will discuss further at that time. 

“As Daisy already knows, the door between your two bedrooms is your shared washroom. You will be responsible for keeping it, as well as your bedrooms, tidy. Across the hall is a single door which leads to my bedroom, office, and potions lab. If you are in need of me and I am not here or in the living room, you may knock on that door and I will hear you, regardless of which room I am in. You are not to open that door, however, without my express permission, except in cases of dire emergency.” He paused and looked at them significantly. They both nodded and he continued.

“Food is to be consumed in the kitchen, though drinks may be taken into the living room. I keep a small collection of snacks in the pantry and fruit will always be available in the bowl on the counter. Cups are in the cabinet next to the sink. 

“You will be responsible for your own entertainment. I am currently working on an extremely delicate experimental brew that will, at times, require constant supervision. During those times, you may entertain yourselves in these quarters however you see fit. Professor Sprout has provided me with an assortment of board games of all varieties. They are stored in a chest beside the fireplace. Harry, you may also read many of the books on the shelves, though you must inform me which one you would like to read before you begin, as some are not age appropriate. 

“Each of you has summer homework. You must devote a period of time each day to the completion of your summer work. If you require assistance, I will endeavor to provide it. Additionally, Harry, you have been informed that magic is not permitted outside Hogwarts. As you are not outside Hogwarts, magic is still technically permitted for you. However, I am prohibiting you from its use when I am not present. You are only at the beginning of your magical training and require adult supervision when casting spells. If I am in the room, you may use your wand as you see fit. When I am not, you must refrain from all spell-casting. I will know if you have broken this rule, and I will be severely displeased. 

“Bedtime will be enforced nightly, as will attendance at all meals. Breakfast will be served at eight, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. I require you to maintain proper hygiene, which includes bathing, teeth brushing, and hand washing. Laundry should be deposited in the hamper in the washroom. Any trash should be placed in the rubbish bin under the kitchen sink. If you make a mess, you are expected to clean up after yourselves. For minor injuries and scrapes, I keep a tin of plasters in the drawer at the end of the counter. If you require further medical attention, please notify me immediately.”

He paused and looked at them both, then finished with, “Any questions?” 

Harry and Daisy both shook their heads in the negative. Professor Snape nodded sharply. 

“In that case, Daisy, you are excused from the table. Please begin your nighttime preparations. Harry, I have one more item to discuss with you before you are released.”

Daisy scooted her chair back and hurried off, presumably to brush her teeth and put on her pajamas. Harry fidgeted nervously in his seat. What had he done to be in trouble already? When the door swung shut behind Daisy, Professor Snape spoke. 

“Professor Sprout informed me that Daisy had need of additional appropriate clothing, which she purchased for her some time ago. Since the school year has concluded and you will no longer be wearing your uniform daily, she suggested I inquire as to your clothing needs as well. What do you require?”

Harry blinked at him owlishly. He wasn’t in trouble after all. Professor Snape simply wanted to know if he needed to buy Harry any clothes. He thought about his small stack of shapeless shirts and trousers in the top drawer, then thought of stern Professor Snape spending his hard earned money on Harry’s wardrobe, possibly making him resentful or causing him to ask Harry to repay him by doing additional work…and shook his head in the negative. 

“You are sure? Are there any items you have grown out of over the course of the year?”

He shook his head “no” again. 

“Do you have an adequate number of undergarments?”

Harry blushed and nodded. 

“Socks?”

He nodded again. 

“Shoes?”

His trainers were used and scuffed, and there was more than one hole in the sole, but they’d been too big to start with and he was just getting to where they fit pretty well. He nodded again. 

“Very well. Inform me if your situation changes. You are dismissed. When Daisy has finished her nighttime preparations, you may begin yours. In future, you will be permitted to stay up later than your sister, but as it is already quite late, and you have had a taxing day, it is prudent to end your evening sooner, rather than later. I expect you both in bed within the next fifteen minutes. Goodnight.”

Harry’s mind was whirling as he stood. There was so much happening so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully process it all. He reached out to push the door open when a little tickle in the back of his head made him stop. He’d nearly forgotten his manners! And on the first evening, as well. He’d have to do better in the future. Squaring his shoulders, he turned back towards his professor. 

“Sir?” Snape arched his eyebrows in a signal for Harry to continue. “Thank you,” Harry said. Snape merely nodded his head in the way he always did and Harry slipped out the door to prepare for his first night in the dungeons. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

“Mister Snape?” 

“Hmm,” Snape grunted in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off the article he’d been reading. Harry didn’t blame him. If everyone gave Daisy their full attention every time she asked a question, no one would ever get anything done. And Professor Snape was trying his hardest to get things done. Since Harry and Daisy had arrived last week, they’d hardly seen the man outside of mealtimes. More often than not, he was hidden away in his private lab brewing a potion or reading articles to help him with the potion he was brewing. Whatever he was working on must be insanely complicated. Harry had picked up one of the articles once and hadn’t made it through a single sentence before he was buried in latinate jargon he had no chance of understanding.

Harry and Daisy hadn’t minded being left alone. Harry had discovered a surprisingly extensive fiction section on one of the bookshelves, and Daisy seemed to be on a personal mission to brighten up every nook and cranny with an honestly obscene number of drawings. Harry wasn’t usually much of a reader, but he’d also never had opportunity to be. Never in his life had he had quite so much time to fill as he pleased, and propping up on the sofa with a mystery novel might well become one of his new favorite things. He’d pulled his eyes away from the page when Daisy had broken the silence with her question. 

She’d been sitting in front of the coffee table, once again, this time working diligently to cover every inch of the blank page in front of her with a rainbow of colors. Her crayons lay abandoned beside her, now, as she regarded the professor with wide, hazel eyes. 

“Can I help you make a potion?” she asked, earnestly. 

Snape’s eyes flicked up to Daisy instantly. Harry’s own eyes probably resembled dinner plates. His gaze shuffled between the two–Daisy, with her visage open and eager, bouncing a bit in anticipation, and Snape, who was looking at Harry’s sister a bit as if she were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. 

“Can you follow instructions precisely?” Snape asked at last. 

Daisy nodded. 

“Can you measure and count accurately?”

Daisy nodded again, with confidence.

“Can you hold a knife without injuring yourself?”

“Course I can!” Daisy asserted. She almost looked offended that he’d asked. Harry couldn’t blame her. They’d both been using knives since well before they were old enough to do so. In fact, the chopping of ingredients was probably the part of potion-making that made him the least fearful for Daisy’s safety.

For his part, Snape looked…well he was doing that thing where he didn’t look like anything at all. He’d wiped all the feelings off his face quicker than Harry could blink. Snape regarded her for another long moment, and Harry didn’t have a hope of deciphering whatever was happening in the man’s mind. At his scrutiny, Daisy stilled, though Harry could plainly see the anticipation still emblazoned across her face. He continued to watch the scene unfold, eyes flicking from one to the other. 

“Let us see what you are capable of, Miss Potter,” he said at last, and rose from his chair. Daisy excitedly, but calmly followed, somehow sensing that an over-exuberance would end the fun before it had begun. As they neared the door to the lab, Harry dropped his eyes back to his book. He’d scarcely read three words, though, when he heard, “Come along, Harry.”

Snape was standing in the open doorway, beckoning him, Daisy grinning madly behind him. Harry shoved a bit of parchment in the book and hurried to follow. 

Snape’s potions lab wasn’t exactly what Harry had been expecting. He had thought it would look something like a mad scientist's lair from children’s books, all coiled glass tubing and colorfully bubbling flasks and beakers. Instead, it almost reminded Harry of a kitchen. He wasn’t sure exactly why he got that impression, since there was absolutely nothing in the room that could be found in Aunt Petunia’s kitchen, but something about it just felt kitchen-ish. 

It was immaculately clean, for one thing, and extremely organized. There were stirring rods in assorted shapes, sizes, and materials, as well as a long shelf devoted entirely to what Harry suspected was probably every possible permutation of cauldron material and size. A massive, glass cabinet was filled with bottles, boxes, and sachets of ingredients, all labeled in Snape’s spiky handwriting, and Harry imagined the wooden cabinet immediately next to it was likely similarly filled. 

Around the room were a few different brewing stations, all empty except the very first one, where a shiny silver cauldron was suspended over a low fire. Pale orange vapors that looked strangely thick and heavy were slowly rising from the top before falling back into the cauldron soundlessly. Professor Snape snagged a brass cauldron off the corner of the shelf and steered them past the strangely steaming potion and into the station at the far back of the room. Harry noticed that, unlike the other stations, this one sat directly in front of a window. Bright sunlight streamed in as Professor Snape lit the flame with a jab of his wand and hung the cauldron on a hook above it. 

Daisy and Harry arranged themselves at the counter as Professor Snape gathered objects from around the room. He placed a chopping board before each of them, then lined up a series of ingredients in front of each of their boards. He placed two wickedly sharp knives on Harry’s board, then held a third knife up in front of Daisy. He regarded her with what Harry recognized as his most imperious glare.

“I keep my knives exceptionally sharp, and I do not care to explain to Madame Pomfrey how you lost a finger while under my care. Am I understood?” He asked. 

Daisy nodded solemnly, and he placed the knife carefully down on her board, along with a mortar and pestle. Finally, he summoned a book off the shelf and propped it on a little stand in front of him where he stood across the table from the siblings. Harry craned his neck to see over the book, but Professor Snape looked at him with a single raised eyebrow, and Harry settled back down on his feet. Snape’s eyes shifted just to Harry’s right and Harry thought for a moment that he saw the dour man’s lips twitch ever so slightly. He waved his wand again and a small step stool materialized behind Daisy. She made a little sound of delight and pushed the stool closer to the counter, then stepped onto it confidently. She smiled as she stood almost level with Harry and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Shall we begin?” Professor Snape asked, and so they did. 

For the next hour or so they chopped, crushed, simmered, and stirred as Professor Snape read out the instructions from the book. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the professor had given the harder ingredients to Harry and the easier ones to Daisy, nor was he perturbed when he noticed Professor Snape’s dark eyes following Daisy’s every move and monitoring her closely. He was surprised to note that the professor was not doing the same to him. Apparently whatever they were brewing was within whatever range Professor Snape believed Harry’s skills to be. The vote of confidence had Harry’s grin growing wider and wider as they progressed. Daisy was obviously enjoying herself, as well, if her wide eyes and crooked grin were any indication. 

In the end, they were left with a dark, oil-black substance that Harry regarded ruefully. Had they messed up somewhere, even under Professor Snape’s strict supervision? Had he allowed them to make a mistake intentionally? Or was this goo somehow meant to be their final product?

It must be the latter, as Professor Snape began ladleing the concoction into two funnels set inside a couple of large, crystal phials with a roughly cylindrical shape covered with prismatic facets. He pulled the funnels from the narrow bottle necks and stoppered them with cork, followed by a pour of wax. He waved his wand over the wax and it cooled into a solid seal. He handed a bottle to each of them. Harry regarded it with skepticism. Daisy peered at it closely. Professor Snape watched them both, a sly, satisfied smile now obvious on his face.

“Shake it,” he said, and Harry gave the bottle a gentle shake. A rainbow of colors fluoresced within, then faded back to inky black. 

“Whoa!” he said, as his eyes widened. He gave it a more vigorous shake and suddenly the bottle began to glow with a shifting light, cycling liquidly through the colors of the rainbow and casting the workbench in a myriad of hues. Beside him, Daisy issued a delighted little giggle as she shook her own, and the two bottles threw their faces into psychedelic relief. 

“The horrendously named ‘Potion of Many Colors,’” Snape announced. “Completely harmless, easy to brew, and utterly useless, except as a parlor trick.”

“I love it!” Daisy gushed. 

“I rather suspected you would. The bottles are unbreakable, and the potion will last for many months if kept properly sealed. Over time, it will become less vibrant as the potion loses potency, but you have brewed it well, so it should keep admirably.”

“When it goes bad, can we make a new batch?” Daisy asked. 

Harry twitched. Professor Snape had taken them in for the summer, but Harry was pretty sure that’s as far as it went. Professor Dumbledore was still looking for a permanent guardian for them, and the next one may believe potion making to be an unsuitable task for a seven-year-old. Harry jumped in before Professor Snape could break Daisy’s heart with his answer. 

“What’s that potion there?” Harry pointed at the shining silver cauldron at the first brewing station. 

Professor Snape sighed and appeared to almost deflate. “Another failed experiment.”

“Oh,” Harry said, sheepishly, embarrassed to have called out the potion master’s failure. 

“This one appears to have too much dirigible plum essence, as the vapors are not the expected color and the potion carries a distinctly astringent odor. Reducing the essence would balance the acidity, but would not provide enough catalyst for the moonstone powder to bind to the beetle eyes. It appears unsuitable for use in this particular brew, but I am having difficulty determining a replacement. The alchemical calculations, as well as my own instincts, indicate that it must be some sort of plant, but I have eliminated all of the most likely candidates. The next phase will likely be the tedious testing of every variety of flora known to England.”

“That sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“Yes. It is extremely unlikely that I will stumble upon the right one in time for the clinical trials.”

“Oh,” Harry said, lamely. He’d had the unpleasant thought that perhaps Professor Snape would have enough time to work on his experiments if he wasn’t also playing nursemaid to Harry and Daisy, the latter of which had grown bored of the conversation and skipped out of the room with her brightly glowing potion. Even the hour they’d spent brewing together today could have been better spent on this potion. Harry ducked his head and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. 

“I will simply have to owl St. Mungos and ask for an extension. The timeline was too ambitious from the outset, and I have spent far too much time neglecting my responsibilities as your guardian.”

“You don’t have to push back your project because of us,” Harry protested. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Professor Snape regarded him with a look that Harry couldn’t entirely interpret, but thought was probably something a bit chastising. 

“I’m aware of your self-sufficiency, but that does not excuse my negligence. You are eleven. She is six. You should not be fending for yourselves and cooped up inside interminably.”

“Daisy’s seven, actually.”

“While that’s still not a point in your favor, I feel the need to ask: when did she turn seven? I’m unaware of any birthday celebrations having taken place this year.”

It was weird that Professor Snape knew they hadn’t celebrated Daisy’s birthday, but Harry decided to worry about that later. Instead, he shrugged. 

“It was 19 May. We don’t really do big birthdays like with cake and presents and parties and stuff. Besides, Professor Sprout had a lesson on night-blooming plants scheduled with the upper years that evening and I didn’t want her to feel bad about missing it, so we didn’t mention it. It was actually pretty great because I brought up some pudding from the Great Hall and got to sing Happy Birthday.” Harry shrugged again and looked away from Professor Snape’s dark eyes. 

“I see. And you will be twelve on 30 July, yes?”

“Er, no, the 31st,” Harry corrected. Snape looked at him quizzically, so Harry added, “When I met him on the train, James said he was born really late at night on the 30th, so I guess I was probably born the next morning? I don’t really know. Aunt Petunia said it was the 31st, and that’s what my teachers in primary always put on the birthdays chart, so…” He shrugged once again. His shoulder slipped out of the stretched-out collar of his shirt with the motion. He straightened the collar with a practiced motion, then dropped his eyes to the ground again. Professor Snape was looking at him with that same unsolved-puzzle look that he was giving Daisy earlier and it was making him unsettled. 

Professor Snape spoke again, suddenly, “I must bottle this potion for analysis. Return to the living room. I will be finished soon, and we can have dinner.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated for a moment, then blurted, “You don’t have to stop your potion for us. We can help you with it, if you want.”

“While I appreciate the offer, it would be the height of irresponsibility to allow children to assist with an experimental brew. Rest assured, I have other avenues to continue my research that do not require me to sequester myself in this lab at all hours of the day.”

Harry tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d really enjoyed their hour of potion brewing this afternoon and was genuinely offering to lend his assistance, even if he would be in slightly (or probably more than slightly) over his head. But he supposed Professor Snape was right that it probably wasn’t the best idea to have a first year and a not-even-a-first-year-yet working on something that had perplexed even his professor. What hope did he have of being useful in any way? It was foolish to even consider it.

“Perhaps…” Snape began, shaking Harry out of his melancholy thoughts. “You and Daisy could assist me in gathering the next plants to try in the potion. If you would like,” he hedged, seeming a little uncertain all of a sudden. 

Harry smiled and responded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Professor Snape nodded in acknowledgement and Harry turned to leave. He thought he sort of saw Professor Snape smile too. 

_____________________________________

True to his word, Snape stopped sequestering himself in his lab all day long. He still disappeared into his private rooms from time to time, but never for quite such an extended period as before. Instead, he piddled about the quarters with Harry and Daisy, reading, writing letters, or working on a large puzzle he’d spread over the coffee table. He’d encouraged Daisy and Harry to assist with the puzzle if they wanted, but the pieces were tiny and the puzzle must have been made for wizards because the image kept moving around, which made finding the proper pieces more than a bit tricky. Daisy had moved her relentless coloring to the rug in front of the hearth and Harry stuck with his mystery novels more often than not.

Professor Snape also materialized the box of board games they’d played sometimes with Professor Sprout. Sometimes Harry and Daisy played alone, but Professor Snape had surprised them with his participation a few times. Harry found him surprisingly familiar with (and unbeatable at) at both Clue and Chinese Checkers, though he’d taken one look at Twister and banished it to parts unknown. He hadn’t yet gotten the courage to challenge the man to a game of Scrabble. Professor Snape usually sounded a bit like he’d memorized the whole dictionary, so Harry didn’t fancy his chances.

Still, it was obvious the three of them were beginning to go a little stir crazy. Books, board games, letters, and coloring books could only go so far. Harry was getting fidgety and Daisy was about to drive them all spare with her incessant questions. Professor Snape had put about the story to the other professors that he was working on a difficult potion and was not to be disturbed, so even though he’d set the potion aside for now, he still wasn’t free to wander. And, unlike Professor Sprout’s quarters, Professor Snape’s didn’t have a private atrium or backdoor access to the greenhouses, so there was no way for the children to get outside at all without being seen. Daisy didn’t understand the need for all the secrecy, which made her irritable and whiny. Until the few straggling professors left, they had little option but to remain cooped up together. 

Finally, after almost two weeks, the last professor (which Professor Snape wasn’t particularly fond of, if his commentary on “that incence-addled birdbrain’s inability to divine the secrets of something so mundane as a calendar” was anything to go by) departed for her vacation and they were free to roam once more. The bright sun was almost jarring after so many days spent indoors. The window in Harry’s room was charmed to show a view of the lake, but there was something distinctly artificial about the light that came through, and it brought none of the warmth. When Harry placed his hand against the glass, it felt cold, even in the middle of the day. Now, under the balmy June sky, Harry was pleasantly warm and content. 

Daisy took off at a run through the courtyard, zipping around topiaries and benches at breakneck speed. Harry followed her with his eyes for a while, worried she’d trip and fall, but soon she slowed to a more manageable skip and he allowed his eyes to return to their perusal of the clouds above. Even Professor Snape seemed rejuvenated by the outdoors. He had likely acclimated to the dungeons after so many years, but Harry could tell that he was enjoying the change of scenery. He watched Daisy as she climbed up to balance along the top of the low wall surrounding the topiaries and waved his wand in her direction, though Harry couldn’t tell what he’d done. He nodded a satisfied nod to himself and set off towards the little plot of garden with the wooden case he’d carried out to gather plant samples. After a moment, Harry followed. 

He watched from a few paces away as Professor Snape bent down and used a pair of shears to cut off a long stem near the ground. He cut two more like it, then bundled them in a sheet of waxy brown paper and tied it with a bit of twine. He took out an empty phial and placed a few of the and leaves inside before stoppering it with a cork. Then he labeled the bundle and phial with what looked to Harry like a muggle-style felt tipped pen and placed the samples in the case, then moved on to the next plant. He was on his fourth sample when he spoke. 

“Are you content to hover like an apparition behind me, or would you care to assist?”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, but managed to contain his reaction to a nervous fidget. “Sorry, sir,” he said. 

“Apologies are unnecessary,” he replied, and blindly handed Harry the shears while he reached for another square of wax paper. “Cut three stems of marjoram, at least six inches in length.”

Harry did so, then placed the cuttings on the paper. Professor Snape handed him a length of twine to bind them together and Harry handed the whole thing over to be labeled and stored. Professor Snape then gave him a phial to collect some of the leaves in, and had him repeat the process with sage, rosemary, and dill. 

“Your familiarity with plant species is greater than I had anticipated,” Professor Snape said. It almost sounded like a compliment. 

“Oh, er, thanks. These are just cooking herbs, though, you know? Aunt Petunia had a whole section of the back garden for stuff like this. She said the dried stuff from the store was overpriced and tasteless and hated paying so much for fresh when she could grow it just as well at home. She had others, too, like those.” Harry pointed out the basil and thyme, the leaves of the bay plant, chives and coriander, and the others he saw. When he’d identified all he could see, he shrugged. “I did a lot of the gardening.”

“Are you as well versed in other species of plants?”

“Well, I can definitely tell the difference between roses and chrysanthemums and irises, and I know a lot of the plants in the common room, but there’s hundreds of different types of plants, right? I don’t know them all .”

“I had not expected you to have committed each of the thousands of plant species to memory. However, I imagine your peers would be hard pressed to identify that this garden plot contains anything even remotely edible. I suppose you earn high marks in Herbology, then?” 

“Well, a lot of those plants are magical, but…yeah. Gardening is gardening, I guess. It’s just dirt and sun and water, all in the right combination. It’s just, well, magical gardening sometimes requires a bit more protective gear. Geraniums don’t fight back.”

Professor Snape’s mouth twitched. “Indeed.” He tucked the shears into his case and fastened it closed, then straightened. “I shall test your knowledge on common household plants on our next outing, then.”

Harry smiled. “Sure thing, sir.”

They began strolling back towards the section of courtyard where Daisy was now etching patterns onto the large pathway stones with some chalk Professor Snape had liberated from a teacher supply cupboard on their way outside. Harry surprised himself when he broke the silence to ask, “Do you think any of these herbs will fix your potion?”

Professor Snape sighed. “I do not hold much hope for them, no. It is only that herbs already cultivated for consumption are easiest to test, as they are generally less reactive. I can easily eliminate these before moving on to more challenging candidates.”

“Will you have to brew a whole new potion every time you need to test a new plant?” Harry asked, wide-eyed. 

“Thankfully not. There is a stage at which the concoction is quite stable, as much as it is also utterly useless. I can brew a large batch and portion it into small phials for testing. If the additive creates any reaction whatsoever, then it bears further study. If not, I can simply dispose of it.”

“Oh. Well, we gathered a lot for just a bit of testing.”

Professor Snape regarded him out of the corner of his eye, with his characteristic one raised eyebrow. 

“I was recently informed that these herbs are also useful for cooking. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“I thought the food came from the kitchens.”

“Hogwarts is a magical castle, but even it cannot conjure its own food. It is made by the Hogwarts house-elves.”

“What are house-elves?”

“They are magical creatures who assist wizards with domestic work in exchange for room and board in perpetuity. Highly efficient creatures. They are responsible for all the laundry, cooking, and cleaning throughout the year.”

“Oh. I thought Mr. Filch did that stuff.”

Professor Snape scoffed. “You believed that an elderly man who is unable to do magic single-handedly cooked all the meals, did all the laundry, and kept the entire castle clean?”

“Er, well, no, I guess not,” Harry said, feeling suddenly stupid. “I guess I just figured, you know,” he shrugged, “magical castle, and all that.” 

“Mr. Filch’s primary responsibility is the mundane care and maintenance of the castle and its infrastructure so that the professors are able to focus on their instructional tasks. The terror he and his nefarious cat inflict upon students is a service he provides free of charge. The veritable squadron of elves take care of the bulk of the domestic needs.”

“How come I’ve never seen one?”

“Because they are exceptionally good at their job. They are not meant to be seen.”

“Okay, but still. Don’t they cook all our meals, then? I mean, the ones we’ve eaten this summer. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“While the elves have thus far provided all our meals, I am not completely inept in the kitchen. Over the summer months, when I have a greater quantity of available time, I often enjoy preparing some of my own meals. I have not been able to thus far, as I have been in need of several key ingredients.” He patted the case meaningfully. “I do not mind asking the elves to provide the other necessary components, but my attitude towards fresh herbs may be the only arena in which Petunia Dursley and I find ourselves in agreement.” He looked as if the admission pained him, so he changed the subject. “Gather your sister. The sun is high. The giant squid is sure to be about. I am certain she would find it amusing.”

He stashed his case by the castle wall as Harry hollered for Daisy, and the three began the trek towards the calm lake, lazy clouds and bright blue sky reflected on the glassy surface until one long tentacle emerged and sent them rippling away.  

____________________________________________

Snape turned out to be a fairly decent cook. He took over the majority of dinner preparations, but left breakfast and lunch primarily to the house-elves, about whom Harry was immensely curious. He had tried lurking about the kitchen just before the time food typically appeared, but they must have some type of magic that allowed them to bring the food directly to the table without actually appearing in the room. He’d also kept a close eye on his laundry bin, but there’d been no sign of any elf anywhere. His clothes just vanished from the bin and reappeared neatly folded in his wardrobe some time later. He even remained in his room an entire day to try and catch one coming in to tidy up or make his bed. He hadn’t seen one then, either, even though they’d somehow managed to get the place looking spotless again in the few minutes he’d stepped out to eat dinner. Professor Snape must have noticed his curiosity because he pulled a book on magical creatures off his bookshelf and Harry at least had an idea of what they might look like. It actually turned out to be an extremely fascinating book and he spent a couple quiet afternoons reading about the many strange species and sharing the more interesting (and less violent) ones with Daisy. 

They continued their daily outings, and Professor Snape kept true to his word about quizzing Harry about the plants they found. To his surprise, Harry knew more of them than he’d thought he would. In addition to the decorative flowering varieties he was familiar with from Aunt Petunia’s obsession with having the most neatly cultivated and diverse garden in all of England, there were several varieties of non-flowering plants he could identify as well. Most of these Aunt Petunia considered weeds, and Harry didn’t always know the proper names for them, but he could usually at least recognize them when he saw them. 

A torrential summer rainstorm kept them indoors for two whole days, but the following one they eagerly ventured back out. The sun was blazing brightly in defiance of the dreariness of the days before, but the ground was still muddy and soft. Professor Snape needed to collect some mosses and scrub grasses and led them around to a rocky area. Daisy clambered over the rocks with the unicorn toy she’d insisted on bringing outside and proceeded to play some sort of make believe game while Harry and Snape began gathering the necessary samples. Harry had at first been surprised to find that Professor Snape, for all his overly formal dress, had no qualms whatsoever about getting into dirty or hard-to-access places. He’d discarded his over robe and voluminous cloak that he preferred during the school year, which left him in a shirt, vest, and trousers over a pair of black boots that Harry suspected he owned multiple pairs of. As they had begun their outdoor adventures, he’d also discarded the vest in deference to the relentless sun, but kept the black shirt and trousers, which left him looking a bit like a sort of priest, minus the white collar. Despite the heat, he never even rolled his sleeves, much less put on a pair of shorts. Harry doubted he even owned any. 

Even in this severe ensemble, Professor Snape had knelt on muddy ground, dug up plants by the root, laid on the ground to gather a rare sample from under a hedge, and once even waded into the shallows of the black lake. A simple wave of the wand had him put back to rights in seconds every time. Therefore, it came as no surprise anymore when Professor Snape started climbing over boulders and digging into crevasses in search of whatever flora he could find. Harry gathered a small specimen jar from the case Snape had set between them, as well as a pair of tweezers which would be helpful with removing the moss from the rocks, and set about assisting.

He’d spied a patch of something up above that was different from anything they’d collected before and was making his way up to it when his foot slipped on a bit of mossy rock that was still wet and slippery from the rain before. He winced as he lost his footing and slid down the face of the rock to land in a puddle, soaking his backside and smearing the front of his clothes with mud. 

“Harry!” Daisy cried upon seeing him fall. She rushed toward him, but Professor Snape, being closer and having longer legs, arrived first.

“Are you injured?” he asked, already waving his wand over Harry in a complicated pattern. 

“Not really. Just a scrape,” Harry replied. Daisy slid to a stop next to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I’m all right,” he reassured his sister. Professor Snape must have been satisfied with whatever his spell had shown him, as he didn’t press Harry on it any further, merely extended his hand to help lever Harry back to his feet. 

Harry stared at the hand for what felt like an eternity, his mind spinning and body frozen, not sure exactly what he was seeing. Yet, the hand remained, and at last Harry reached up and took it. 

Professor Snape’s hands were dirty. Bits of damp moss still clung to the side of his finger and gritty, rocky dirt embedded itself between their palms. His fingers were knobby and so long they wrapped all the way around Harry’s. His grip was firm without being too tight, and though his hands were damp with a coating of cool water, the skin beneath was warm. When he tugged Harry upright, he pulled with an unexpected strength. 

Daisy adjusted her grip on her brother as he rose to his feet. Once he was standing, Professor Snape released his grip and Harry pulled Daisy into a hug. 

“Daisy, really, I’m fine. I just slipped. I didn’t even fall that far. No harm done,” he soothed. 

“You’re sure?”

“ Yes , I’m sure. I’m fine.” He gave her a tight hug, then released her. “Go play while we finish up.” 

“I can help if you want.”

“If you really want to, I’m sure Professor Snape would let you, but you don’t have to.”

Daisy peered at the crate of phials and beakers and specimen jars and the stack of wax paper squares next to the bundle of twine, then looked back at the shimmering unicorn that had fallen on its side where she’d abandoned it to check on her brother. Harry knew she’d never been as fond of gardening as Harry had. Daisy wasn’t particularly “girly” about most things, but she had some sort of special disgust related to the feeling of dirt under her fingernails. On the days she’d had chores to do in the garden, Harry had spent the evening carefully cleaning her nails before she could go to bed. Neither of them had ever been able to explain it. It was simply the way she was.

“Erm…” she hedged, and Harry nudged her in the direction of the fallen unicorn. 

“Go play,” he said firmly, but kindly. Daisy gave him a crooked half smile and hugged him again, then made her way back towards her unicorn and the arrangement of small stones she’d lined up into a sort of rectangle that was probably meant to represent the unicorn’s living area. Then, he carefully gathered his dropped specimen jar (he’d learned on the second day of foraging that Professor Snape habitually charmed all his glassware to be unbreakable) and tweezers and deliberately made his way back up the sample he’d been after. When he climbed back down the short outcropping, sample acquired, Professor Snape was waiting for him. 

“Show me,” he said without preamble and Harry extended the jar towards him. Snape waved him off impatiently. “Your knee,” he clarified. 

“Oh!” Harry said, and brought the jar down to his side. “No, it’s fine, really.”

“I can see it bleeding through your trousers.”

Harry looked down in surprise. Sure enough, a small splotch of blood had appeared next to a tear in the fabric over his left knee. He pulled the torn fabric to the side to reveal an impressive-looking scrape. It was shallow, but was bleeding freely. Despite its grizzly appearance, it didn’t actually hurt overmuch, but Professor Snape was using that tone that really shouldn’t be ignored, so Harry extended his leg towards the stern-faced man without another word of protest. Professor Snape crouched down and inspected the wound, then cast what must have been a healing spell, because the skin began to knit back together. Once it had fully closed up, he cast a cleaning spell and the mud, blood, and muck vanished off Harry’s clothes. 

“Er, thank you, sir,” Harry said. Professor Snape’s only acknowledgment was to summon an empty specimen jar from the case and point towards a patch of tall, wispy grasses, which Harry dashed off to collect. The rest of the day passed in much the way Harry was becoming accustomed to. It wasn’t until after Daisy went to bed that there was any deviation from the norm. 

Harry was reclined on the sofa, reading through the last pages of the magical creatures book and Snape had pulled his chair up to the coffee table opposite Harry and was perched at the end of it, leaning over the moving picture puzzle and quietly inserting pieces. Despite the sun outside, the dungeon remained a bit chilly, so Snape had lit a fire, which was now providing a cheerful, crackling backdrop to the evening. Trekking all the way to the outcropping, then climbing up and down over so many rocks had worn Harry out and he was beginning to wonder exactly how Professor Snape would react if he just fell asleep here on the couch. His eyelids drifted closed in the comfortable warmth.

“There is a topic I wish to discuss with you,” Professor Snape said. Harry’s eyes popped open. Snape placed the piece he held in the puzzle and then looked up at Harry. He was wearing the blank face again, so Harry put his book down and sat up. Professor Snape must have something serious to say, and Harry had the strange feeling that he wasn’t going to like it.

“I have attempted to give you time to come to me on your own, but it is apparent that you have no intention of doing so. Therefore, it is my responsibility to revisit the issue of your clothing. Is there a particular reason you have worn the same four oversized shirts and three pairs of trousers every day this summer?”

Harry felt himself stiffen on the couch. He had been hoping Professor Snape wouldn’t notice his meager wardrobe. After nearly three weeks without comment, he was beginning to think that perhaps he had gotten away with it. He really didn’t want to owe Snape any money for new clothes, especially when all he was doing was sitting around his quarters and traipsing around the castle grounds. Who cared what he wore for that? And with the house elves apparently taking care of all the chores, Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he could do to repay the professor for whatever he bought. 

“I expect a verbal response when I ask you a question. Understood?” Professor Snape warned in a stern voice and Harry realized he’d been lost in his thoughts too long.

“Yes, sir. Er, no, sir. I– I mean, yes, I understand I need to answer, but no, there’s no reason I’ve worn the same clothes over and over. They’re just the clothes I have.”

“Four vastly oversized grey t-shirts and three pairs of what appear to be tracksuit bottoms, also grey, and all with holes. This is the entirety of your wardrobe?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“Well, my school stuff, of course, and David’s old jumper he gave me, but it’s too hot for jumpers right now.”

“To be clear, in addition to the aforementioned items, you also have your school uniform and a single hand-me-down jumper.”

“And pants and socks.”

Professor Snape sighed. “That is not an adequate amount of clothing, Harry.”

Harry looked down at his feet. “It’s been fine so far.”

“Surely you’d prefer to have things that actually fit you. Where did you even get such enormous garments?”

“They were my cousin Dudley’s. He’s a lot bigger than me.”

“Were you not given clothing of your own?”

Harry stared at the carpet and said nothing.

“Why are they grey?” Professor Snape asked after a moment. 

“Aunt Petunia dyed them when she thought I was going to Stonewall High. Their dress guidelines only allow grey or green clothes, because those are the school colors. Grey was easier, I guess.”

“I see.” Silence stretched between them for a long moment, and Harry began to fidget uncomfortably. “Why did you not mention your limited wardrobe when we spoke about this before?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I disagree. You should not be forced to wear something which is clearly intended to demean you.”

Harry scoffed and looked up. His eyes flashed angrily. “It’s not like that!” he asserted, forcefully. “They’re just stupid clothes! I don’t care about fashion, or whatever.”

“You do not need to care about fashion to wear properly fitting clothes. It is not a matter of following the trends, but of wearing clothes that make you feel confident. Do you feel confident in your cousin’s rags?”

Harry’s silence was answer in itself. His lips were pressed tightly together in anger. 

“Which returns us to the previous question: why have you not asked for new clothes?”

Harry clenched his fists and said nothing. Professor Snape let the silence linger for a moment. 

“Well, we can remedy the situation tomorrow. I’m sure Marks and Spencer has–”

“No!” Harry exploded. “I don’t need any new clothes!”

“Yes, you do!” Snape rebutted firmly. “It’s not up for discussion, and, frankly, I don’t understand why you’re so resistant to this!”

“Because I can’t afford new clothes so you’d have to buy them and there aren’t any chores here for me to do to repay you for them!”

Professor Snape looked at him calculatingly. “Of course I’ll be buying them. That’s my responsibility as your guardian. And there will be no talk of paying me back. I assure you, my financial situation is not so dire as to require repayment from a child.”

“But muggle clothes are expensive! I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Purchasing clothing, muggle or wizard, for a child under my care is not a burden, it is a duty. It would reflect poorly upon me if I were not to fulfill it.”

“I won’t tell anyone. No one’s supposed to know you’re my guardian anyway, right? So no one would know if I don’t tell them, and I won’t, I promise.”

“I would know! I am not the sort of man to neglect the needs of a child, whether in public or in private.”

“Stop calling me a child!”

“You are a child!”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You shouldn’t have to!”

“Well I always have. It’s what I deserve for being such a freak that my own parents didn’t even want me!”

“Your parents are the worst sort of humans I’ve ever encountered in my life and they deserve to be thrown in the darkest cell in Azkaban for what they’ve done to you!” Professor Snape roared furiously. His face, for once, was entirely open and Harry could see the naked anger there, but it didn’t make him feel that cold shock of fear like Uncle Vernon’s anger always had. In fact, it did the opposite. It made him feel a little spark of warmth deep inside. 

“What you deserve is far more than the basic human decency of having someone purchase clothing specifically for you in an appropriate size. You deserve a life where you don’t have to hide in a castle’s dungeon with an irritable bachelor who can provide you with no greater entertainment than scraping moss off a rock. You deserve far more than this, Harry, but this is all I have to offer. ”

The little spark of warmth bloomed until it had warmed even the very tips of his fingers and toes, though he couldn’t say exactly where it came from. Perhaps it was from the look on Professor Snape’s face–something apologetic and deeply caring–or from the words he’d spoken, but whatever it was, it smothered his anger and drained the fight out of him completely. 

“This has been the best ,” Harry whispered. In the ringing silence, it sounded like a shout.

“You have appalling low standards,” Professor Snape returned, his face once again vanishing behind a facade of sarcasm and stone. 

Harry shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of fun already this summer, eaten a lot of really good food, and haven’t had to do any chores. Some people probably think that sounds boring, but I don’t. Daisy doesn’t either. And she has just so many toys now, and gets to ask as many questions as she wants. And she got to help brew a potion that makes a glowing rainbow when you shake it. This is like her version of heaven, probably.”

Professor Snape’s scoff sounded a little like a laugh. He blew out sharply through his nose. “I daresay that’s the first time the Hogwarts dungeons have ever been considered anything remotely celestial.” He shook his head bemusedly, before huffing out a breath again and tapping his fingers sharply against the edge of the coffee table, over which he was still perched from his earlier puzzle-working. “Returning to the matter at hand,” he said, almost cautiously, “I will be purchasing you new clothes. I can do so with your input, or I can make my own selections without you. Be advised: you’ve seen my sartorial preferences,” he gestured to his all black outfit–the same as always except for the boots resting next to the door. His feet were covered only in his usual black socks. “If you desire a more colorful wardrobe, it would be wise to make your own choices.”

After everything else, the clothes thing sort of felt like small potatoes now. Harry nodded. 

“We are agreed, then?”

Harry nodded again. 

“Verbally, if you please.”

‘Yes, I’ll help you pick me out some new clothes.”

“And you will not bring up the matter of payment again?”

“I mean, don’t you have some cauldrons I could clean, or something?”

“No.”

Harry sighed. “Fine.”

“Try again.”

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I won’t bring up the payment thing again.”

“Good. Then I suggest you retire to bed. You were nearly asleep on the couch before.”

So, he had noticed, after all. Of course he had. Harry was beginning to think there wasn’t a single thing Professor Snape didn’t notice.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and rose to return the creatures book to its proper place on the shelf. He yawned. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Professor Snape replied, and if it sounded a little more tender than usual, well, Harry didn’t mention it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Harry grew more and more confused by Professor Snape by the day. If he’d had any time to think about it (which he hadn’t), he probably would have assumed that a summer spent in his potions professor’s dungeon quarters would have been dark, damp, dreary, and filled primarily with tasks relating to the “subtle science of potion-making,” or whatever it was he’d said at the start of the school year. 

He would not, for example, have expected the man to traipse about the Scottish countryside in all weather wearing trousers and a black oxford shirt. Nor would he have expected him to make the best tikka masala Harry had ever eaten (not that he had much to compare it to, honestly, but it was really good). He hadn’t imagined he’d play board games with a couple of kids at the low coffee table. He would never have dreamed the man would tolerate having hand-drawn pictures of rainbows and dubiously-shaped horses hung around his quarters. 

And he certainly wouldn’t have predicted that he would seem perfectly at ease wandering around this rather large M&S in whatever town it was he’d apparated them to, but here they were. 

Harry and Daisy trailed behind Professor Snape obediently. Clarice had taken Daisy round to the shops a few times when they’d been on homeschool outings with the group in Cardiff, so she was skipping along merrily and chattering incessantly to Professor Snape, who was giving more attention to the conversation than Harry had anticipated (another very un-Snape-like thing). Harry, who hadn’t been invited along with Aunt Petunia for so much as a Tesco run since Daisy arrived on their doorstep, was trying very hard to look at everything without being terribly obvious about the fact that he was looking at everything.

Given the amused quirked lip Professor Snape was sporting and the looks he was giving him, Harry was fairly certain he wasn’t succeeding in his subterfuge.

Professor Snape himself was quite different on this trip–even more different than usual. For starters, he’d done something to his hair (“Temporary, I assure you.”) to make it shorter and a little lighter. Then, he’d somehow changed the way he spoke. He still used plenty of words Harry had never heard before, but the poshness had sort of leached out and in its place was something a little wider and coarser. And, the most astonishing of all, he had put on a grey oxford and a pair of khaki trousers. 

He was still fairly colorless, but he looked more like a muggle businessman than a vampiric priest. 

He’d transfigured Harry’s best set of ragged clothing into something more presentable (“Why can’t you just do this to all my clothes instead of buying me new?” “Transfigurations of this nature are temporary , Harry. And I believe you had given your word not to mention the matter again.”), apparated the three of them halfway across the country (“Where are we?” “Out.”), and led them directly to the boy’s section of Marks and Spencer (“A charity shop would really be–” “ Harry .”). 

Thus, Harry found himself flipping through a rack of t-shirts, most emblazoned with band names he’d never heard of or television shows he’d only ever listened to from beneath the living room window. He left that rack and tried another. Professor Snape was being weirdly annoying about the clothes thing. First of all, he’d held a shirt up against Harry’s back to determine the proper size. That was weird. It was weirder when he did the same thing with trousers, particularly since that seemed to take a few more tries than the shirts had. He’d muttered something about shortening charms and showed Harry which size he’d decided was best, then just sort of followed along while Harry made his selections. 

It was nerve wracking having someone standing behind you while you picked out clothes for yourself. Sure, Daisy was continuing to talk a mile a minute (“And, anyway, Julia does her fives backwards, so I don’t think it’s nice of her to make fun of Allen for getting his b’s and d’s confused, but her mum never makes her apologize. Well, except for one time when...”), but Harry could feel Professor Snape watching him, even though every time Harry looked back at him he seemed to be looking at something else. Then there was the way he seemed to not care about how much things cost, which Harry very much did care about, promise or no promise. Harry had found a couple shirts he’d actually really liked, but when he’d checked the tags his eyes had gone wide and he’d quickly hung them up again. Snape had come along behind him and plucked them back off the rack and handed them to a jolly Daisy, who threw them into a shopping trolley. He’d also tried only picking out one or two shirts, but when he’d tried to move on to the next section, Professor Snape had grabbed his upper arm and steered him back around to the shirts with the admonishment to choose at least a week’s worth (“Last I checked, a week had seven days.” “Seven?!” “Better make it eight, just to be safe.” “Ugh! Fine.”). 

Eight casual shirts, three white oxfords (“You’ll need them for school and they’re no different than the ones at Gladrags or Madam Malkins.”), three pairs of jeans, four pairs of trousers (“You can use the black ones for school as well, stop pouting.”), five sets of pajamas, a bathrobe, two packets each of socks and pants, two belts, a pair of trainers, a pair of boots, a pair of slippers (which was really hugely unnecessary, but the dungeon floors were cold, even in the summer), a jumper, a raincoat, a hat, and an entire set of new toiletries saw Harry’s shopping adventure finally completed. For now. Professor Snape had heavily hinted that he’d need at least one more jumper and some cold-weather clothing come winter, but as they were out of season and not in stock at the moment, he was off the hook for the time being. Given that Harry was likely to be with another guardian by the time they came back in stock, he was fairly certain he was off the hook forever.

They stopped by the men’s section to purchase a new black belt and pack of socks (also black) for Professor Snape, then detoured to the girl’s department where Daisy happily picked out a new set of hair accessories, a bottle of bright purple nail varnish, and two new sun dresses. Professor Snape sent Harry off to escort Daisy to the restroom, which was on the opposite side of the store, while it was all being rung up and by the time he returned everything had been paid for and bagged up and he had no idea how much money the man had spent on it all. He rather thought that had been the point.

Sneaky Slytherins were so insufferable sometimes. 

Still, as much as he hated that guilty feeling that simply would not stop crawling up his spine, he did rather selfishly enjoy the sight of his dresser. Dudley’s castoffs had been shoved haphazardly into the bottom drawer to be used as work clothes or perhaps cleaning rags, or maybe even kindling, and his new clothes placed neatly in the upper drawers or hung in the long, open section where his school robes were. There was still plenty of room for more things, but what was in there now was more than Harry could have imagined calling his own a year ago. And everything fit and nothing had holes! Even though he was sure it had been ungodly expensive, he couldn’t make himself wish he didn’t have the new things. 

He went to bed in his new pajamas, comfortable and happy.

He woke up screaming a few hours later. 

His door flew open with a bang and Professor Snape charged into his room. His wand tip cast his face into harsh relief and Harry gave a fearful squeak. Snape waved his wand and the candles around the room ignited dimly. Another wand wave created a shining blue curtain of light that encircled the room before flashing white and disappearing into the walls. Only after this signal did Professor Snape extinguish his wand and drop his arm to his side. Harry shrunk down into the coverlet and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he squeaked. “It won’t happen again.”

Harry couldn’t see him, but he could hear Snape breathing deeply for a few moments. Why wouldn’t the man leave? Harry must have made him very upset. He shivered and tightened his grip on the blanket.

“You can go back to bed now. I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, voice quivering. “I’ll do better next time.”

“You will, will you?” Snape questioned sarcastically. “Tell me, how do you intend to prevent yourself from having a nightmare?”

“I–I don’t know, sir. But I will. I promise.”

“It has been my experience that nightmares are an unfortunate, and inescapable, side effect of traumatic events. Events such as the one you experienced at the end of term.”

Harry’s body shook involuntarily, but he said nothing. A swish of fabric caught his ears, followed by the sound of sloshing liquid. Harry opened his eyes at the heavy sound of glass phial being set on his desk. His recently shaken Potion of Many Colors was bathing the room in rainbow lights. Harry’s eyes shifted to his professor, who had leaned back against the desk and crossed his ankles. His bare feet peeked out from the bottoms of a pair of green striped pajama pants with a worn dark grey t-shirt bearing a too-faded-to-read band logo overtop. Snape’s hair was sleep mussed, but his eyes regarded Harry with full clarity and not a hint of the judgment and anger he’d expected. Instead, they looked almost knowing . Harry ran his hand over the quilt awkwardly as the rainbow lights continued to shift slowly from hue to hue. The colors soothed him and he felt his tense muscles begin to relax. 

“Was it related to what happened last term?” Snape questioned softly. Harry nodded. “Do you wish to discuss it?”

Discuss his dream? Was that a thing people did? Nobody had ever asked him if he’d wanted to talk about his nightmares before. Not that he’d had loads of nightmares, but they did happen from time to time. There was one with a strange green light that was eerie, more than anything, especially in the way he kept dreaming of it periodically. Most of his other nightmares were more straightforward imaginings of Daisy getting hurt or the Dursleys being particularly foul. This one was different in that it was an almost exact recreation of what had actually happened, except that Daisy was somehow there, too, and the two-faced Quirrell was about to kill her. That was the moment Harry had screamed in his dream, and apparently in real life, too. Even thinking about it now made his heart pound and his hands sweat. 

He shook his head back and forth in a jerky motion. Snape dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“Very well, then. If you change your mind, you need only knock on my door.” He waved his wand and a moment later a small phial of light purple potion, no larger than the man’s pinky, came drifting into his hand. He handed it immediately to Harry. “This is a calming draught. It is not guaranteed to prevent your dreams from returning, but should help return you to a state more conducive to sleep. This is merely a half dose. If you awaken with another nightmare, see me and I can give you another.”

Harry looked at the little glass tube in his hand. He’d never been given so much as a drink of water for his nightmares before. In fact, he was sort of resigned to just not sleeping for the rest of the night, which was how things usually went in these circumstances. This was…bewildering. 

“Thank you, sir,” he breathed. 

“Of course,” Snape replied. “Do you require anything else? A glass of water?”

Harry shook his head, still looking at the pearlescent purple potion in his hand. “You don’t need to bother with that, sir.”

“It’s not a bother, Harry,” Snape huffed. A moment later a glass of water was pushed under his nose. He accepted it and drank mechanically. When he was finished, it was plucked from his hand and placed on his desk, still half full. Professor Snape picked up the Potion of Many Colors and gave it another good shake, brightening the colors which Harry hadn’t even noticed fading out. He replaced it next to the glass of water. 

“Take the potion and get some sleep,” he said, sounding weary. Harry supposed he probably was. It was, presumably, the middle of the night. “If you require my assistance again tonight, do not hesitate to knock on my door.” He paused. “Harry.” he said, heavily. Harry’s eyes jerked up to meet his professor’s. They seemed to be boring into him. “It’s not a bother. Knock if you need me.”

Harry nodded, even as he knew he would never be doing that. Snape may have given him water and a calming draught, but Harry knew compassion had limits. Care had capacities. Professor Snape’s limits and capacities were apparently greater than Aunt Petunia’s or Uncle Vernon’s, but he’d likely exhausted whatever measure of nurturing the man had set aside for Harry. He’d be pushing it if he disturbed his slumber twice in one night. He hoped that any further nightmares he may have would at least torture him quietly, so he wouldn’t wake Professor Snape again. 

Snape regarded him with another of his trademark unreadable expressions, then swept out of the room almost as swiftly as he had entered. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. A moment later, all the candles extinguished, leaving him with only the dancing light of the glowing potion. He looked down again at the tiny purple phial in his hand and gently pulled the stopper from the top. It released a faint lavender aroma. He brought it carefully to his lips and drank it down in a single gulp. 

Within moments, his heart and breathing slowed and his eyes grew heavy as he blinked once, twice, three times, and sank into slumber.

________________________________________________________

June passed into July hardly without Harry’s noticing. He imagined that if he were at the Dursleys he’d be marking the days on a calendar, eager to return to a world of magic (though, perhaps not so eager to abandon his sister again), but as he was currently still residing within a magical castle, he had little need to worry himself with mundanities such as the date. In fact, it was a rare occasion that Harry even knew what day of the week it was. The three of them all being on holiday concurrently meant that there was nothing significantly different from one day to the next. Tuesday was functionally the same as Saturday, so what did it really matter?

Now that they were free to go outside, time also seemed to move much more swiftly. Harry hadn’t quite realized how slowly those first two weeks had passed until the next two had gone by in half the time. And, well, it was difficult for Harry to admit it, but he was actually really, really enjoying living with Professor Snape. He tried to avoid thinking about it too much, though. He knew what happened to things he enjoyed. 

It was hard to avoid it, though, especially when he was doing something fun, which he nearly always seemed to be doing, these days. Between reading, foraging, playing outside, playing inside, and the magical puzzle he’d finally gotten sucked into, it was nearly impossible not to think about how wonderful his life had become. At Daisy’s urging, Professor Snape had even helped them brew another potion, which had been a blast. The everlasting bubbles they created were loads of fun, too. Harry and Daisy had been competing every day since to see who could blow the largest one.

Then, Daisy came to him a few days later, gleeful, and dragged him to her room. She’d been shut in there all morning, likely working on her latest art project. She’d been creating a series of beaded animal charms from a book she’d been given for Christmas and had just now gotten around to exploring. Harry expected to finally see the menagerie of little two-dimensional beaded critters. Instead, her room was absolutely filled with bubbles of all sizes. Nearly every surface was covered, as well as the floor. She must have used the entire remainder of her jar of bubble potion. It looked like a bubble bomb had gone off. Daisy ran through the room, sending bubbles scattering in all directions, smiling widely and giggling. Harry, though, was not smiling or giggling. He was panicking. He grabbed a colored pencil off the corner of her desk and frantically began trying to pop them, which Daisy did not like at all . 

“Stop!” she cried, hurrying back across the room and sending more bubbles tumbling about. “Stop it! What are you doing!?”

“We have to get rid of them before Professor Snape sees!” Harry hissed, jamming the dull pencil into a large bubble. It shot out like a rocket, still intact. He threw down that pencil and rifled through the scattered supplies for something sharper. He emerged with a sparkly blue pen and returned to his task. “Give me a hand, would you?” he urged. 

“No!” Daisy screeched. “Stop! You’re ruining it!” Tears began to flow as she batted at Harry’s arm. “You’re ruining it! Stop!”

“No! Daisy, get off! We have to clean this mess up before Professor Snape gets out of the lab–”

“No! I don’t want to! No! Harry, stop!” Daisy continued to yell. 

“...be in so much trouble. We have to get rid of–” Harry’s increasingly loud explanation overlapped Daisy’s crying shouts as they continued to wrestle over the popping bubbles. The crying and shouting and wrestling and popping drowned out the sound of booted footsteps coming swiftly down the hallway. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” 

Harry and Daisy whirled towards Professor Snape. He stood framed in the doorway, glaring down at them with his most intimidating stare. The children stood frozen as the everlasting bubbles bounced gaily around them in mockery.

“Well? Speak!”

“I just wanted to make some pretty bubbles, but Harry–” 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll clean it up immediately. She didn’t–”

Professor Snape raised a hand and they silenced immediately. 

“One at a time. Daisy first.”

Daisy’s face was red and tear stained and her voice warbled as she began. “Harry was popping all the bubbles I made and they were so pretty. I d–” her voice hitched, “I didn’t want him to pop them! I just wanted to show him how lovely they were and how much fun it was to play in them.”

“I see. Harry?”

The words burst out of him in a rush. “I’m so sorry, sir. I should have stopped her. It isn’t her fault. It’s mine, for not keeping a closer eye on her. I’m sorry. I tried cleaning them up, but there’s too many. I’ll get it done though, sir. I’m sure it won’t take long with something proper sharp. I’ll clean up the mess right away. I just need to get a knife from the kitchen and–”

“That’s quite enough.”

Harry’s mouth closed with a snap and he clasped his hands in front of him, wringing them nervously. Professor Snape continued to examine them silently. Harry was sure they were in for it now. That’s what he got for daring to let his guard down and relax. He knew better. He knew he wasn’t allowed to have nice things. Now it was ruined. Professor Snape was going to kick them out for sure. Maybe Harry could convince him to let Daisy stay. He’d miss his sister, of course, but Professor Snape was kind to her, and at least he’d be able to see her during the school year. That wouldn’t be so bad. Or maybe, since it was their first time getting in trouble, Harry could persuade Snape to let Harry do a punishment instead of being sent away. His mouth snapped open again. 

“Please, sir. I’m really sorry. Please don’t send us away. I’ll clean everything up and I won’t let it happen again. We can keep to our rooms and be very quiet. You won’t even know we’re here, honest. Please, just, don’t send us away, sir.” 

“Don’t be absurd, Harry.”

“Of course, sir, I understand. I’ll go get my things ready–” 

A long-fingered hand landed on his shoulder and dark hair swung into his vision. Eyes so brown they were nearly indistinguishable from his black pupils swam inches from his own. 

“I’m not sending you away.”

“You–you’re not?”

“No.”

“Right, then. I’ll get started on–” 

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Harry hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “Well, what do you want me to do, then?”

“Begin by apologizing to your sister for upsetting her. I understand your intention, but the way you went about it was foolish and unwarranted and hurtful.” 

Harry shifted his gaze to Daisy. The sight of the tear tracks on her splotchy, red face twisted painfully in his heart. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He was just so desperate to not upset Professor Snape that nothing else had mattered. But Daisy did matter, and he felt truly awful for making her cry. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. Daisy’s lip quivered and another tear escaped. Harry wrapped her in his arms and she let out a little sob against his chest. “God, Daisy, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Promise. I was just trying to protect you.”

Daisy sniffled and mumbled, “S’okay. I forgive you.” Harry hugged her tighter. She sniffled again, then whispered, “Forever.” 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. They hadn’t done this in…a while. He couldn’t remember the last time. He leaned his cheek against her head and whispered back, “Always.” He continued, “As long as I’m living…”

She finished, “...my family you’ll be.”

“Love you, Daisy.”

“Love you, too, Harry.”

Daisy pulled back and swiped the back of her hand across her dripping nose. Harry wrinkled his nose at her. “Gross, Daisy. Get a–”

A box of tissues materialized on the desk beside them. They both blinked at it for a moment before a hand plucked one out and extended it towards Daisy. She took it and blew her nose. 

“Thanks, Mister Snape,” she said when she was finished.

“Go to the washroom and clean yourself up. When you are finished, we will discuss the best way to remove these bubbles,” Professor Snape replied almost gently. Daisy’s face fell. “They cannot stay. Your room is uninhabitable.”

“Can I keep a few?”

“We will discuss it when you return. Go on.”

Daisy moped out of the room and into the shared loo, closing the door behind her. Harry heard the tap turn on before he was led to his own room by a guiding hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait here. I will return in a moment,” Professor Snape instructed, then departed. Harry listened as Professor Snape explained the problem of having a room full of everlasting bubbles to a contrite Daisy before he vanished all but one. Then, they had a quiet conversation that he couldn’t hear, as much as he strained his ears. He nearly went out to check on them both when the sound of boots on cobbles sent him scrambling back to his bed. He sat down as if he’d been there all along. Professor Snape’s scrutinizing look as he came in told Harry he hadn’t been fooled for a second. 

Professor Snape shut the door gently before pulling the desk chair over to Harry’s bedside and sitting in it. He somehow made the entire motion look effortless and seamless. It did nothing to detract from Harry’s sudden nervousness.

“Daisy is not being punished for her actions beyond the confiscation of the scant remainder of her bubble potion and the vanishing of the bubbles,” Professor Snape began without preamble. “She is understandably disheartened by this, but that is the nature of discipline. It is not meant to be enjoyable.” He turned his heavy gaze towards Harry. 

“ However ,” he continued, “the consequence will always be proportional to the offense. Am I understood?”

Harry nodded, even though he didn’t entirely understand. 

“No. None of that,” Snape said. “No mindless agreement. You are not trying to appease me. It is clear you do not understand. Let me rephrase: Minor misbehavior will result in minor consequences. Major misbehavior will result in serious consequences. Under no circumstances will those consequences involve physical harm or abandonment. No. Circumstances,” he emphasized. “I will not hurt you and I will not throw you out. Understood?”

Harry began to nod, but Professor Snape raised a hand. “In your own words, repeat what I have just told you.”

Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. “If we do something bad, we will get punished, but you won’t hit us or kick us out.”

“Close enough. Tell me, what do you think is an appropriate punishment for having an untidy room?”

“Erm,” Harry hesitated. His room was never untidy. He made sure of it. But his dorm mates were almost always untidy. He thought about David’s chaotic section of the room. “Having to tidy it up?”

“Naturally. And if you fail to do so?”

“Why wouldn’t I tidy it up? If you told me I had to do it, I’d do it.”

“But what if you didn’t? What if I told you to and you didn’t.”

“But I wouldn’t do that.”

“All right, then. What if you couldn’t tidy it?”

“Erm, then I suppose I shouldn’t be allowed out until I got it done.”

“But I just said you couldn’t get it done.”

“I’ll just have to figure it out, I guess.”

“No, Harry. That isn’t the way it works.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Not here, it isn’t. If there is a task you cannot do, such as, for example, popping an entire room full of everlasting bubbles with only a muggle ink pen, then there is no punishment for failing. If you have been given a task you are capable of and have willfully neglected to complete it, then there will be a punishment. If you are asked to tidy your room and do not, you may have to spend a portion of your free time assisting me with preparing ingredients in my lab. If you deliberately cause harm to another person or intentionally damage their property, then you will have to issue a formal apology and attempt to rectify the situation, as well as spending some time in quiet contemplation of your actions, likely alone in your room. You will not remain in your room indefinitely and you will not be deprived of meals, but may, upon occasion, have to take them in solitude. 

“The version of punishment you are accustomed to from the Dursleys will not be continued here. I do not expect you to fully understand or accept my word on this, but I hope that, over time, you will see the truth of it. I will not hurt you, Harry . I will not lock you up. You will not go hungry. The consequences you face will be directly related to the actions you take and will not exceed any disciplinary action which you could be faced with in detention at school. Daisy’s consequences will not even be that stringent, as she is younger than you are. Have I made myself clear? A verbal response, if you please.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. Snape had been clear, but Harry still didn’t entirely understand. 

He must have seen something of this on Harry’s face as he added, “That is well enough for now. It will become easier as we go along.” Harry nodded and Snape continued. “As to your staying here,” he began. Harry’s heart clenched. He knew Snape had said he wouldn’t kick them out, but he could easily send Harry back to the Hufflepuff dorms. That wouldn’t technically be kicking him out, as he’d still be in Hogwarts, but he wouldn’t be underfoot to cause any more problems. Harry loved his dorm, but not so much when it was empty, as it was right now. 

“--it should be unquestioned,” Snape finished. 

What? But that didn’t make sense. Harry had messed up. Harry was a bother. He’d woken the man up with a nightmare and hadn’t gotten Daisy’s mess cleaned up and caused Snape to have to postpone his important potions research project. Surely he was misunderstanding. 

“When I agreed to take you in, it was not a conditional arrangement,” Professor Snape explained calmly. “Nor was it intended as a stopgap measure. I believe you are operating under the assumption that this is a temporary placement until someone more suitable can be found. I wish to disabuse you of this notion. I am, apparently, the ‘more suitable’ option. The decision to take on you and your sister as my wards was not made lightly, I assure you, and it was not made with the intention to pass you off to the next highest bidder. No one is waiting in the wings to relieve me of you whenever I grow bored or frustrated. You are under my guardianship indefinitely, regardless of any infractions you may commit. You will not be leaving my care–not so far as I have any say in the matter.”

He looked at Harry fiercely, before abruptly standing and leaving the room, not even bothering to put away his chair. He pulled the door closed and left Harry to his own thoughts. 

Harry’s own thoughts were a right mess. 

Professor Snape had chosen to take in Harry and Daisy? Harry had assumed he had been forced to or something. He could envision Professor Sprout welcoming them into her home voluntarily, but he had a much harder time picturing Professor Snape being so free and open. True, he had invited Harry into his quarters before, when he had opened James Potter’s letter at Christmas, but Harry had been accosting him in the hallway and he probably just didn’t want to cause a scene. 

Nobody had ever willingly chosen to take care of Harry before. Even Professor Sprout’s guardianship was a bit of a farce. Apart from Christmas, she hadn’t taken much of an active role in Harry’s life. Harry still thought of her primarily as his herbology instructor and Head of House, rather than as his caregiver. She’d done much more to care for Daisy, but that was to be expected. Daisy was younger and needed more care. Besides that, it was impossible not to care for Daisy. She wormed her way into everyone’s heart one way or another. 

Perhaps that was it, then. Perhaps Professor Snape had done it all for Daisy. They hadn’t interacted much before, but it didn’t take much where Daisy was concerned. He probably agreed to take Daisy in and Professor Dumbledore told him he had to take them both and he grudgingly did it on account of the fact that Harry wasn’t completely unbearable. 

Harry wasn’t stupid. He’d heard people talking about how Professor Snape seemed to favor him. He didn’t see it, himself. He thought Professor Snape just had a bit of an overblown reputation. It was far more likely that it only looked like Professor Snape was favoring him in contrast to the way he certainly did not favor Harry’s brother. It was perfectly clear to the entire castle that Professor Snape despised James Potter, and since the entire castle also knew (or suspected) that Harry and James were brothers, but Professor Snape didn’t seem to hate Harry, they’d come to the conclusion that Professor Snape favored Harry. Which simply wasn’t true. 

Probably if it hadn’t been for Daisy, Professor Snape wouldn’t have taken Harry in at all. Maybe without Daisy, he’d have been sent back to the Dursleys. If it was just him, Professor Dumbledore would know that Harry could handle them. It was really Daisy who needed protecting. Not that he was complaining about not being at the Dursleys, or anything. He definitely wasn’t. 

He was just so confused. 

Harry wasn’t wanted. It was just a part of who he was. He was born that way or something. Sure, he’d made some friends this year, and they were brilliant, but friends weren’t the same as grown ups. Grown ups never wanted anything to do with Harry. The Dursleys hadn’t. Even before Daisy, they’d hated him and the burden he put on their family. His teachers in primary were only kind to him until Aunt Petunia managed to convince them that he was some sort of manipulative delinquent. Professor Sprout hadn’t wanted him. Sure, she’d said some stuff about scheduling and being too old, or whatever it was she’d told him, but Harry figured that was just excuses. After all, if a kid’s own parents didn’t want him, why would anyone else? Uncle Vernon had probably told Harry a hundred times that he was a useless waste of space. 

Professor Snape didn’t seem to think so, though. He’d given Harry his own room. Sure, the castle had made it for him, but he could have turned it into a playroom for Daisy and made Harry live in his dorm. Or he could have put him in a broom cupboard or something if he had to keep him nearby. He’d also bought Harry clothes. With his own money! And he hadn’t made Harry do any chores or extra work to pay him back. Even if he’d only taken in Harry because of Daisy, he’d still done more for him than anyone else ever had. And he’d always listened when Harry had come to him with issues during the year. That was decent of him. 

Professor Snape was a really decent guy. He couldn’t understand why nobody else seemed to get that.

He still didn’t fully believe all the things he said, though. Oh, he believed that Professor Snape believed them, but a handful of really great weeks didn’t erase a lifetime of atrocity. If he’d thought it once, he’d thought it a million times: Harry wasn’t allowed to have good things. Professor Snape might mean what he said right now , but eventually he’d realize he’d made a mistake, and then it would all be over. 

That was fine. Well, it wasn’t, really, but it would have to be. Harry would make it fine. In the meantime, he’d just have to keep being the best he could be so he could make this last as long as possible. Once it was over, he’d like to have as many good memories to look back on as he could get. There weren’t any chores here, but he knew what Professor Snape liked. Maybe if he did enough of those things, Snape would keep him around longer. 

He dragged the chair back over to the desk and scrabbled through the drawers to find a self-inking quill and a scrap of parchment. He tore off the bottom of what was likely supposed to be history of magic notes, if the little sketch of a goblin was anything to go by, and flipped it over onto the back. He thought for a moment, then wrote out across the top:

How To Make Professor Snape Happy So He Will Let Me Stay With Him As Long As Possible

He made a line of numbers down the side, then came back to the top and began to write. 

Chapter Text

Interlude IV: Discoveries

Harry’s Discovery: July 31, 1992

It was raining again. It seemed like the last week had brought more rainy weather than the last month combined. Professor Snape had retreated to his lab to test some of the samples they’d gathered over the last few weeks and said he’d probably be in there most of the day, Daisy was simultaneously working on at least three separate art projects, and Harry was…bored. He’d finished the book he was reading yesterday and hadn’t decided which one he wanted to read next. Professor Snape had finished the puzzle he’d been working on a few days ago and hadn’t gotten a new one out yet. Harry could have chosen a new one. He knew where they were. But he didn’t want to upset Professor Snape by touching his personal property without permission. 

Technically , Professor Snape had told him he could do a puzzle whenever he wanted, but Harry assumed that meant whenever he wanted when Professor Snape was around. So, he didn’t want to risk it. Besides, the smallest puzzle on the shelf had 2000 pieces, and that wasn’t something Harry was going to be able to work through on his own in one morning, or perhaps ever. Puzzles were out for today.

So, no puzzles, no books, he wasn’t much of an artist and didn’t care for crafts. Well, he still had a Transfiguration essay that needed finishing and a History one that he hadn’t even started yet. He supposed he could get to work on those. 

He trudged back into his room and sat down at his desk. He pulled the scroll containing his Transfiguration essay to the front and weighted down the corners with some shiny green paperweights Professor Snape had lent him. He scanned back over what he’d read. He’d covered the parts about how having objects of similar size, color, shape, and material were easier to transfigure into one another, but he was confused about the part where he was supposed to explain why it was easier to make an inanimate object appear to be alive than it was to make a living object into an inanimate one. Harry wasn’t good at any sort of transfiguration involving animate objects, so he was totally stumped. 

Maybe his book could offer some insight. He pulled it out of his trunk, then sat down at the desk to work. He’d only been at it a few minutes, though, when he was interrupted. 

“How many assignments do you have remaining?” Professor Snape asked from Harry’s doorway. 

“Just this one and History of Magic.”

“You have been working diligently this summer. I am impressed with your dedication to your schoolwork.”

Harry blushed. “Thank you, sir,” he said. 

“While I appreciate your hard work, there is something with which I require your assistance. Come.”

Harry put down his quill and stood up. Whatever it was, it was certain to be way better than Transfiguration. He followed his professor obediently through his private door. Instead of going into the lab, though, which is where Harry assumed they were headed, Professor Snape turned down the small corridor and opened his office door. He stood to the side and Harry gaped disbelievingly at what was on the other side. 

“Harry!” Hannah cried, rushing to give him a hug. 

“‘Bout time,” Susan groused good naturedly and with a wide smile. “Thought you’d never get here. Been waiting for ages!”

“Good to see you, Harry,” David grinned. 

“Y-yeah, good to see all of you, too!” Harry returned in shock. “What are you doing here?”

Susan threw her head back and barked out a laugh while Hannah shook her head with a fond smile. 

“What do you mean, what are we doing here?” David said. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Happy birthday!”

“Oh! I guess I lost track of the date,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, but unable to put away his smile. 

“Typical,” Susan replied with a roll of her eyes. “Without us for six weeks and already you’re falling apart.” She flung her arm around his shoulders. “Whatever would you do without us?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Harry joked. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re all here. How’d you get here?”

Hannah gestured to a heavyset blonde woman in the corner in lavender robes standing beside a tall man with curly brown hair. “Mum and Dad are our chaperones for the day. Professor Snape invited the three of us out to surprise you on your birthday, and they agreed to bring all of us along together.”

“Professor Snape invited you?” Harry asked, shocked. 

“Yeah, came around personally,” Susan replied. 

“What? Personally?” Harry asked again. 

“Yeah. At first I thought I was in trouble somehow, because, I mean, it was Professor Snape at the door, but he explained about how you were living with him now and he wanted to make sure you had a proper birthday with your friends, but that you couldn’t really come visit us because it wasn’t safe. He didn’t say anything about them in particular, but Aunt Amelia keeps us pretty well informed, and apparently J.P. Sr.’s gotten in trouble recently for unsanctioned use of department resources, so Dad figured Professor Snape didn’t want to send any letters in case they were intercepted. Didn’t want to have anything in writing, you know–which I guess is why you also haven’t mentioned living with Professor Snape or in the castle in any of your letters, either, which we will talk about later, by the way. Even after everything, though, Mum and Dad were a bit skeptical about sending me alone, since Professor Snape’s got a bit of a reputation, you know? So it was great when Hannah’s parents said they could come along.”

Hannah nodded along with Susan’s story and David added, “Same with me, except my parents don’t know anything about any reputation, they just wouldn’t have any idea how to get me here. Professor Snape does still seem a bit intimidating though, even outside of school and dressed like a muggle.”

“He was dressed like a muggle?” Susan asked. 

“Well, he’d have to be to visit my house, wouldn’t he?”

“What was he wearing? I can’t even picture it!”

“Black trousers and a black shirt. Honestly, Susan, it wasn’t that different from what he wears at school, except no cloak.”

“But the cloak is what makes it –”

“But–” Harry interrupted, “but he hasn’t left the castle in weeks. When did he do all this?”

“Came round to my place Monday afternoon,” David shrugged. 

“Tuesday morning for me,” Hannah said. 

He looked at Susan, who shrugged and said, “Don’t look at me. I know the date, but days of the week don’t exist in the summer. Could have been Monday or Tuesday, or maybe it was Sunday, since Mum and Dad were both home.” She phrased the last bit like a question, then shrugged again. “I don’t know. Who cares?”

It was true that Professor Snape had spent a lot of time in his lab this week. Harry had thought it was just because of the rainy weather, but perhaps he’d been secretly leaving the castle without Harry and Daisy knowing. Harry would never have suspected. What else had Professor Snape done that they hadn’t noticed?

“Anyway, what does it matter how we got here. We’re here!” Hannah said, bringing him back to the moment.

“And we brought presents ,” Susan added. 

“And games!” David chimed, holding up a bag of assorted board games. 

Harry smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. “What should we do first?”

_____________________________________________________

Snape’s Discovery: August 12, 1992

Severus Snape was, first and foremost, an observer. It was the sort of skill one cultivated when operating on the outskirts of nearly every group he’d ever been a part of. It was also the skill which made him most valuable to people like Albus Dumbledore. His powers of observation were second to none. 

So, of course he had noticed. 

It started with the small things. 

Aside from the first week of summer, when Severus made the ill-advised choice to sequester himself in his lab in a fruitless attempt to perfect the memory potion as quickly as possible, he’d spent a lot of time getting to know his new wards. He’d been worried, initially, that having children underfoot would interrupt his solitude and quiet time, but Harry and Daisy were surprisingly content children, and there was always his private suite of rooms to retreat to if it all became too much. Strangely, he spent less time hiding out there than he’d expected to. Harry was perhaps the quietest, easiest child he’d ever met, and Daisy wasn’t much bother either. Oh, she could talk a person’s ear off once she got started, sure, but there were also times when she was perfectly happy to quietly create a seemingly endless number of drawings of all manner of creatures. 

He wasn’t a particular fan of rainbows and unicorns and sparkly butterflies, but he hadn’t missed the joyous expression on her face every time he allowed her to hang one on the wall, and there was something about that look that made it absolutely impossible to say no. Daisy was the spit of Lily, except for the eyes, and her doe-eyed expression was such a perfect match for his childhood friend’s (somehow without reminding him of the Lily of today, whom he was still irrationally angry with) that he was utterly powerless against it. 

It was definitely going to become a problem, someday. 

Daisy was easy to observe. She was a very open sort of child. She adjusted quickly to the new lifestyle and to Severus himself. Such was the resiliency (and naivety) of the very young. Her increased comfort around him had resulted in a natural decrease in perfect behavior. She got up to little mischiefs from time to time, and seemed to be as comfortable with him as she’d been with Pomona. Severus couldn’t explain it, but he’d given up trying to rationalize Daisy Potter on something like the third week of living with her. She was adjusting well, behaving authentically, and acting appropriately for her age and circumstances (as far as Severus could tell). 

She also had no difficulty in sharing her opinions, of which she had very many. When Daisy didn’t like something, she politely made it known. Severus was well aware of her aversion to asparagus because she’d boldly declared it some weeks ago. He also knew that she wouldn’t eat grapes if they were squishy, preferred her oatmeal heavily sweetened with brown sugar, liked bacon to be slightly chewy instead of extra crispy (the way Severus preferred), wasn’t particularly fond of spicy foods, and didn’t care much for eggs in any form, but could be persuaded to eat them if they were absolutely smothered in cheese. 

Observing Daisy was as simple as breathing. 

That wasn’t to say she was an entirely open book. She had plenty of worrying habits disguised as childish whimsy, chief among them being her ability to twist any and all situations to her advantage. Not maliciously, usually, but she had seemingly already learned how to use information to her advantage, picking and choosing what she revealed and when and with what expression. She wielded smiles like a weapon. She regularly played Harry like a fiddle and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

Severus noticed. He hadn’t yet decided if he cared or not.

Harry, however, was a different story entirely. 

It wasn’t completely his fault. He had nearly twice as many years of trauma to wade through as Daisy did, not to mention the matter of attending school with his prattish twin brother who had turned out to be just as much of a mindless bully as his father was. In any case, he’d expected Harry to move more slowly. He was older, too, and adjusting was harder for him. Severus understood that this would be a longer process. 

Severus may or may not have read a book about it. Or tried to, until he reached a section that touched a little too close to home. He was in his thirties now. It was too late to unpack all his baggage. The book was ludicrous for even suggesting that he ought to. What a moronic waste of time that would be. Anyway, it was a pile of ashes now, and Severus wasn’t sorry about it in the least. 

But, there was a memorable section towards the beginning (which he’d read before the book met its not-so-unfortunate end) about the way children respond to trauma that urged him to watch out for certain types of behaviors, particularly those which were on one extreme end or the other. Harry wasn’t lashing out in anger or rebellion. In fact, he was being quite well behaved. 

Unnaturally so.

While this might seem, on the surface, like a blessing, Severus suspected it was not so innocent as it may seem. Of course he should want Harry to want to behave appropriately, but he also knew that no twelve year old should be able to do so infallibly, or choose to do so at the expense of other, age appropriate activities. 

Harry was practically bending over backwards to appease Severus at every turn. 

Blessedly, Harry and Daisy were not the sort of siblings given to mindless squabbling over every little thing. Severus had noticed that from the start, though he could hardly be credited with it. It would be obvious to anyone with eyes (and many without) that they adored each other. At times, of course, they got under each other’s skin, but they almost never rowed about it, typically because Harry seemed to avoid conflict as if it were a pox and was apparently allergic to causing his sister emotional distress of any kind. 

Things were progressing normally until the everlasting bubble incident. Up until that time, both Harry and Daisy had been slowly letting down their guard around Severus. Afterwards, Daisy seemed to accept him even more and settle into more age-appropriate behaviors (and misbehaviors). Harry, though, had gone the opposite direction. 

Outwardly, he gave no overt sign of any change, but Severus was trained to look beyond the overt, and the covert signs were legion. 

Despite the fact that Severus had told Harry repeatedly that there were house elves to take care of the tidying, he’d caught Harry straightening up the living room throughout the day on more than one occasion. The boy never touched one of Severus’s possessions without explicit permission, and never took it out of Severus’s sight. Harry was becoming quite the bookworm, and while Severus was pleased that Harry was enjoying the mystery novels (especially since he hadn’t touched them in years), he hadn’t failed to notice that he always read them in the living room and put them back on the shelf each day instead of leaving it out on the table, as Severus did with the books he was reading. He also never took a book to his room to read. 

Speaking of his room, it was unnervingly clean. Severus doubted the house elves even had anything to do in there each day. He’d never once walked by and seen so much as a sock outside Harry’s hamper. His bed was made each morning before he came to breakfast. He worked diligently on his homework without being asked, but always put his essays neatly away when he was done working for the day. Severus appreciated Harry’s scholarly attitude, but he’d met Ravenclaws whose academic work ethic was but a shadow of Harry’s. Even if Harry loved school more than anything else (and Severus was quite certain that wasn’t the case), he’d yet to meet a twelve-year-old who needed less prompting to get his summer homework done. 

Meals were strange, too. He never asked for seconds, even if Daisy and Severus both took extra helpings. He also never complained about the food and always ate whatever he was given, even if Severus could tell he didn’t like it. Harry probably didn’t know, but he held his face more tightly when he was eating something he disliked. Severus had noted those times and quietly requested that the house elves provide alternatives to those menu items. Harry seemed to have a particular aversion to fish, with the exception of salmon. He also didn’t seem to care much for pears. 

But Harry hadn’t told Severus any of that. In fact, he’d become so quiet that it seemed as if he was trying to disappear into the very air. Even on their foraging expeditions, he’d stopped asking questions and had become a sort of silent helper, always ready with whatever Severus needed, but hardly desirable company. 

Of course he’d noticed. And Severus didn’t like it. 

He knew enough to be certain that any attempt to blindly talk to Harry about the change would result in a complete and total shutdown, which wouldn’t be productive for anyone. He needed a greater understanding of why the change had occurred. Where was this all coming from? But he couldn’t ask Harry, obviously, so, he’d employed one of his other finely tuned skills–snooping. 

The children were at the kitchen table playing a new board game Severus had “discovered” in a closet in the staff room, and believed Severus to be holed up in his office working on plans for the upcoming school year. Instead, he was standing in Harry’s room, taking in every detail. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but sometimes that was the best way to go into things like this. 

He already knew Harry had a fondness for plants (an often unavoidable side effect of being in Hufflepuff), so the little pot plant on his windowsill didn’t come as much of a surprise. Severus recognized some of the other objects lined up there as gifts Harry had received for his birthday and assumed the others must have been Christmas gifts. They were a motley collection of items, some of which seemed to align with Harry’s personality more than others. Severus suspected that they had earned pride of place simply by virtue of being gifts, rather than their particular relevance to him. He was quietly pleased to see his gift (an illustrated tome of England’s native plants) among the collection. 

The wardrobe ceded no psychological conclusions that Severus hadn’t already drawn through other observances. It was absurdly neat, except for the drawer containing what had passed for clothing at the Dursleys. Those rags were shoved inside without a hint of care. Severus didn’t need to think too hard to figure out what that meant. 

He rifled through Harry’s trunk, careful to leave everything exactly as it had been, but it seemed to serve merely as a repository for his school books. Severus had seen them lined up on Harry’s desk before, but he must have moved them when he started his summer work so as to have more room to work. There was nothing to be gleaned from his trunk. 

The only remaining item was the desk. On the top, lay Harry’s History of Magic essay, which was still held open, presumably to allow the ink to dry. Severus gave it a cursory glance. It seemed good enough for Binns, who wasn’t likely to grade it anyway. He opened the drawer. Harry’s essays were each rolled up neatly and tied with a bit of yarn that likely came from one of Daisy’s myriad craft boxes. There were six scrolls, one each for Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defense, and Astronomy, with the seventh essay (History) still on the table. Seven essays for the seven classes. 

Hang on. There should only have been six essays this year. With the Defense teacher dying before the end of the school year, nobody had set any summer homework for that class. So, why were there seven scrolls?

With the practiced air of one who has graded many essays, he picked up each scroll and tested its weight. The fifth one was definitely smaller. He tapped it with his wand and the yarn untied itself. Silently, he unfurled the scroll and read:

How To Make Professor Snape Happy So He Will Let Me Stay With Him As Long As Possible

1. Don’t do anything to make him angry 
2. Keep everything tidy
3. Help with gathering plants for his potion
4. Keep Daisy out of trouble
5. Stay quiet
6. Don’t complain 
7. Don’t ask for things
8. Don’t touch anything
9. Don’t get upset about things
10. Don’t be a bother
11. Don’t do anything freakish
12. Do everything I’m told
13. Be as helpful as I can
14. Don’t be annoying

Severus frowned at the list and the drawer. This was the fifth scroll. Assuming he’d placed them in the drawer as he completed them, this would have been made fairly recently, certainly after he’d talked with Harry about not being sent away. Yet, the creation of this list and the change in Harry’s behavior would seem to have happened around the same time. 

Clearly, Harry still didn’t understand. Well, at least he had his context.

Severus rolled the scroll back up and tapped it against his hand as he thought. It was clear that he’d have to talk to Harry. This sort of behavior wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t sustainable, either. Eventually, Harry would fail, and then what would happen? What would he do when he couldn’t live up to this impossible standard? Would he panic and run away? Would he turn to anger and violence? Would he take out his failure on himself? Severus well knew that the road to self-flagellation was paved with intentions of perfection. But how could he keep Harry from walking that path if the boy was seemingly incapable of believing that he had value? Value that wasn’t attached to his sister. Value in his own right. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have lit that book on fire.

He tied the yarn in a knot that matched the others, then placed the scroll back where it had come from. He slid the drawer shut silently, slipped out of the room and walked soundlessly back to his office to think.

_____________________________________________________

Daisy’s Discovery: August 20, 1992

Daisy’s head popped out from beneath the bed with a handful of mismatched beads and a frown. She tossed the beads lazily onto her desk. 

Not what she was looking for. 

Pencils and crayons rattled around as she pulled out the shallow desk drawer. She shuffled aside a tube of glittery glue and a collection of flower shaped erasers. 

Not there either. 

She huffed and put her hands on her hips. Where else could it be? 

“Ooo!” she said as she dashed out of the room and into the living room. She flopped down on the floor and reached a hand blindly under the low shelf of the coffee table. Yes! Her fingers closed and she pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper…that had already been used. Frustrated, she flung it down and groaned. 

Harry’s eyes appeared over the top of his book. “Are you looking for something?” he asked from the couch.

“I’m out of paper,” Daisy whined.

“I probably have some parchment in my trunk you can use.”

She pouted. “No thank you. I don’t like parchment.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the wrong color. All my pictures turn out wrong.”

“Oh. Yeah, it can be a bit yellowish, I guess. But we don’t use plain paper at Hogwarts like muggles do, so I don’t have anything else to offer. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, feeling very much like it was not okay. 

“Where’ve you been getting paper, anyway?”

“Miss Clarice gave me a bunch at the end of the school term. She said it would last all summer, but she was wrong.”

“Well you have been coloring a lot.”

“I like coloring.”

“Maybe you could do something else, instead. Like…erm…well don’t you have some beads or something?”

“But I don’t want to make beads right now.”

“I know you’ve got lots of other art kits.”

“But I want to draw a picture!”

Harry blew out a hard breath. “It’s not like I can make paper out of thin air or anything. Though, hang on, maybe Professor Snape can make some.”

Daisy was still figuring out all this magic stuff, but she knew Mister Snape was really good at lots of magic things. He did magic every day. Daisy wasn’t good at magic yet, even though she could make her toy unicorn fly around her room. Harry had said that was silly because unicorns don’t actually have wings, so they can’t fly, but Daisy didn’t care because unicorns absolutely should be able to fly, even if they didn’t have wings. Harry was probably pretty good at magic, too, but she didn’t really know because he wasn’t allowed to do any except when he was in class, and she couldn’t go to magic classes yet. 

But, Mister Snape was working in his potions lab this morning. He didn’t do that very much, but Daisy knew that when he was in there it was because he was working on a super important project. Aunt Petunia really didn’t like it when Daisy interrupted her when she was working on something important, so she didn’t want to interrupt Mister Snape, either. He was a lot nicer than Aunt Petunia, so he probably wouldn’t mind, but it was still best to let him work. Also, he’d told her that potions could be dangerous if she wasn’t careful. Daisy thought maybe they’d turn her into a frog or a mouse like in some of the stories her teachers had read in kindergarten. She didn’t really want to be a frog or a mouse, though maybe if there was a potion to make her into a unicorn or a butterfly she wouldn’t mind so much. Anyways, she supposed she’d better find some paper on her own. There must be some around here somewhere . 

She’d had a bit of paper hidden away in her room at Aunt Petunia’s house. She hadn’t gotten to use it because Uncle Vernon had taken her light bulb away and it was too dark by the time she’d finished her chores, but hadn’t Mister Snape put all that stuff in a box? Mrs. Sprout had given her the box a long time ago, but the things inside made her sad, so she hadn’t really done anything with it. But maybe she wouldn’t mind seeing all the little broken toys and crayons if it meant she could get a bit more paper. Where had that box gotten off to?

She dashed back into her room, ignoring Harry when he yelled out, “Well, bye then,” and started rummaging around in her room. She’d already looked under the bed, but she looked there again anyway. She looked under her desk, in her wardrobe, on her windowsill, and under the clothes that hadn’t quite made it into her hamper. It wasn’t in her room anywhere. She ran back out to the living room but it was just bookshelves everywhere. There was a little cupboard near the door where Professor Snape kept extra cloaks and foraging buckets and such. She threw the door open and looked inside. There it was! She shoved aside a pair of boots and a bucket with a spade inside and hauled the box out. 

She tossed out the collection of ragged troll dolls and army men and pulled out all the paper she could find. There were some dusty pictures she and Harry had made and stuck up inside the cupboard under the stairs. She found some torn coloring sheets Harry had rescued from the rubbish bin after Dudley had decided he didn’t like coloring. She took this stuff out and put it aside. 

And then, she found it. Beneath those crusty old pictures and crumpled coloring pages were a few sheets of bright white paper. She frowned at the creases and tears around the edges. She hadn’t remembered the paper being so torn up. Oh well. At least it was the right color. She could make it work. She pulled out the few sheets and looked back into the box to make sure she’d gotten it all. 

That was weird. 

In the bottom of the box of things from Aunt Petunia’s there were two pieces of parchment all folded up and sealed like a wizard letter. Why were there wizard letters at Aunt Petunia’s house? She took them out and looked at the folded up pages. They were really crinkly like the old drawings were. Maybe they’d been there a long time. Maybe some wizards lived in that house before the Dursleys. Maybe a fairy had left them. Maybe it was a treasure map like in a pirate story. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t supposed to be in Aunt Petunia’s house. 

She unfolded one of them hoping to find something magical, but was disappointed to see boring squiggly writing all over the page. Cursive. She couldn’t read much cursive. Miss Clarice had shown her the letters and they’d started working on them, but they all sort of looked the same to her. Just lots of loops and curls. Disappointed, she unfolded the other paper. It was covered in the cursive, too. 

But, there was one word she recognized. Her name. Miss Clarice had made sure Daisy could read her own name in cursive, and there it was, right there at the top of the page. She looked at the other paper more closely. That looked like it probably had Harry’s name at the top. That was definitely an H, and it looked like a y at the end. They were signed at the bottom, too, but not by the same person, even though the letters looked pretty much exactly the same. How odd. But anyway, these were wizard letters, and they were for Harry and Daisy. Daisy cocked her head to the side and peered closely at the bottom of Harry’s. 

Well, that was weird. Maybe she hadn’t read it right. Maybe she needed someone else who could read it better. 

“Harry, look what I found!” she chirped as she launched onto the couch. “Wizard letters!”

“You shouldn’t be going through Professor Snape’s post, Daisy. Put them back,” Harry said in a grumpy voice. He nudged her hard with his foot to get her moving. She scowled at him. 

“I haven’t nicked any of Mister Snape’s letters!” she defended. Harry really was stupid sometimes. She shoved him with her own feet just because. “They’re our letters.”

Harry finally looked up from his book quickly. “Ours? Like yours and mine? Not just letters for me?”

Daisy nodded. Harry looked a little scared or something. Who would be scared of wizard letters? Was there something she didn’t know? 

“Who sent you a letter? How’d they know to send it here?” Harry asked. 

“They didn’t send it here. I found both of these in a box of things from when Mister Snape came and got me from the Dursleys. I was looking for paper, which I found, but then I also found these! They look really old. Maybe they’re from a secret wizard fairy telling us that we’re actually super rich and inviting us to go live in a castle! But anyway I don’t know because I can’t read them. They’re in cursive.”

“Daisy, we already live in a castle. And there’s no such thing as wizard fairies. Er…at least I don’t think so. Let me see those.” 

Daisy stretched the letters out to him and he took them. She watched as his eyes went over one of them quickly back and forth and back and forth. Harry’s big green eyes got bigger and bigger, then he pulled out the second letter and read through it, too. When he was finished, he folded them back up and shoved them in the back of his book. 

“What do they say?” Daisy asked.

“Nothing. They’re not important,” Harry snapped. 

“Yes they are! I can tell.”

“No, they’re not. They’re not even for us.”

“Yes they are! One’s got my name on!”

“It’s a different Daisy.”

“A different Daisy who gets wizard letters on parchment at Privet Drive? And another letter written to a different Harry? Yeah, right. I’m seven, not stupid.” Daisy looked at him with her most grown-up glare.

Harry sighed. “Whatever. They’re not important, even if they are for us.”

“Well who are they from?”

“Nobody.”

“Harry!”

“Daisy!” he mocked. She hated when he did that. She crossed her arms and glared at him again. She was really angry now. 

“You’re lying! Stop treating me like a baby! I can read a bit, you know. Your letter says ‘Dad’ at the bottom! How can our dad write you a letter if he’s dead?”

Harry looked like he’d seen a ghost, and not the friendly sort like the Fat Friar. His face was really white and his eyes were so big they looked like they were about to pop out of his head. He licked his lips and ducked his head. Then, he took a big, shaky breath and Daisy thought he might be crying. Suddenly she wasn’t so angry anymore. She crawled across the couch and flung her arms around her brother and squeezed. He pulled his arms around and hugged her back. 

“Harry?” she said after a few minutes. “What’s so bad about the letters?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered. 

“But…I think it must be important. Why didn’t I know about these letters before?”

“Because I hid them. Well, I hid one of them. I don’t know where the other one came from. Aunt Petunia must have kept it somewhere. But I hid the other one the day you came to live with us so I could read it later, only I forgot all about it. I don’t know how they got in with your things.”

“Mister Snape made all our stuff come from all over the house and go into that box.”

“Well, I guess these came, too.”

“But what are they, Harry?”

Harry took a big, deep breath, then pulled out of their hug. He looked her right in the eyes when he answered. 

“They’re letters. From James Potter.”

“Our dad? What, both of them? But, I don’t understand.” James Potter was dead. He’d been dead for a long time, since Daisy was born. That’s why she’d had to live with the Dursleys. But, well, now that she thought about it, why was Harry already there at the Dursleys when she got there? She knew he’d been there since he was a baby, too, but she’d never actually thought about why . Suddenly she started to feel very strange inside, sort of cold and empty. Something was really, really wrong. She almost didn’t want to know what Harry was going to tell her. She could tell by the look on his face and the feeling in her belly that it wasn’t going to be good, but it was too late to go back now. 

Harry reached out and gripped both of her hands tightly in his.

“Daisy, there’s something I need to tell you about our parents.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Harry winced at the sound of a slamming door. He threw himself forward onto the couch and buried his face in the cushion. She hated him. She had to. That look on her face. 

He couldn’t blame her really. He’d kept it from her for her whole life. She’d been living in the castle with Harry’s twin for half a year and he still hadn’t told her. He’d have hated him too. 

“What’s going on out here?” Professor Snape asked. Harry raised his head to look at him and straightened himself up on the couch. Bollocks. Daisy was slamming doors. That was number 4 on his list. And he was visibly upset. Number 9. He shook himself a bit and tried to put a smile on his face. He wasn’t quite sure he managed it.

“Nothing, sir,” he said. 

“Did I or did I not hear the sound of a door being slammed?”

Harry looked down at the floor. “You did, sir.”

“Well, seeing as you’re still sitting here, I assume you’re not to blame.” He moved as if to go down the hallway to Daisy’s room. She’d been getting in trouble a lot lately. Not a lot of trouble, but enough that Harry was worried Professor Snape might decide she wasn’t worth the effort if she kept it up. And besides, slamming doors was probably the best reaction Harry could have hoped for, given the circumstances.

“No, I am. It’s my fault, sir.”

Professor Snape stopped in his tracks and turned to face Harry fully. 

“Explain. In what way are you responsible?” he asked, crossing his arms across his chest and regarding Harry with a calculating look. Harry hesitated for a long moment. 

“I told her about the Potters,” he sighed at last.

Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose minutely before his face smoothed out as if he were made of some sort of stone. Harry really wished he knew how to do that. 

“I see. I take it she was displeased.”

“Seems like it, sir.” Harry replied. 

“How did this come about?” Professor Snape asked, moving into the living room and taking his usual seat. 

Harry pulled the letters out from the back of his book. He held them out to Professor Snape. “She found these in a box of stuff from the Dursleys’. She couldn’t read the whole thing, but she figured out enough. I had to tell her the truth.”

Professor Snape took them from Harry, scanning the first one rapidly. He stopped after barely a second. “Harry, these are quite personal. Are you certain you wish to share them with me?”

Harry shrugged and Professor Snape looked at him for another long moment before turning again to the letters. He made short work of them. 

“What do you make of these?” he said when he had finished. 

Harry sighed. “I don’t know what to think, sir,” he said, honestly. He leaned his head back over the edge of the couch cushion, staring at the stone ceiling. Professor Snape let them sit in silence for a long time. Harry’s thoughts spun madly in his head. Now that he wasn’t dealing with the immediate issue of telling Daisy about their messed-up family, he could think about the letters. The one James Potter had written to him sounded hopeful, like he really believed he’d be back soon. But if that was true, why did he leave Harry in the middle of the night like he was something to be ashamed of? Why didn’t he ask one of his friends to take care of Harry? Why didn’t he let Professor Dumbledore help? 

The hope was a lie. He knew he’d never be back for Harry. And he’d walked away anyway. 

At least he had the courtesy to be honest in Daisy’s letter. Did that make it better or worse, that he’d left her even knowing he’d never be back for her? Why didn’t he stick around, just for a day or two, to see how things were with Aunt Petunia? He would’ve seen Uncle Vernon trying to throw them both out. He would’ve seen little Harry trying to take care of his baby sister. Would it have mattered? Would he have done anything different?

Suddenly, Harry hoped that he really hadn’t stuck around to see how things really were. That would have made the whole thing even worse. Still, Harry just couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

“How–how could he just leave a baby on someone’s doorstep and hope for the best?” Harry asked. His voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes followed a pattern of dark stones above his head.

“There is no satisfactory answer to that question,” Professor Snape said quietly. 

“How could he do it twice ?”

“I have long suspected James Potter to be bereft of any sort of moral compass. It is less satisfying than I had hoped to be proven correct.”

“He thought Aunt Petunia would be a good guardian, but she wasn’t. She hated me. Said I was a freak. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s why everyone leaves. Can’t stand to be around such a freaky person doing freaky things that–that hurt people or scare them or can’t be explained. Nobody can love a freak.”

“Harry, look at me,” Professor Snape said. Harry kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, though he no longer saw it. He didn’t want to be here for this conversation any more, so he wasn’t. “Look at me,” Professor Snape insisted. Harry blinked at the stonework. “ Harry .”

He finally dragged his eyes away from the ceiling. He rolled his head on the cushion until he could see his professor. He blinked at him stupidly. 

“You are not a freak,” Professor Snape said. 

“Course I am,” Harry replied, numbly. “It’s all right, Professor. You don’t have to pretend. I know I’m no good. Everyone thinks so. Everyone gets tired of me eventually. You’ve lasted longer than most. It’s been nice being with you this summer. I tried really hard to be my best, but I guess it wasn’t enough.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, in fact. I–”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand. Even Daisy finally got tired of me. My fault for not being a better brother. It’ll be best if I go somewhere else. I’ll go pack my things.” Harry rose from the couch to go to his room but was stopped by Professor Snape, who had surged to his feet and placed his hands firmly on Harry’s shoulders. He flinched a bit, and Professor Snape’s hands flexed and slid around to the tops of his arms, but he didn’t let go. 

“Stop this,” he insisted, firmly. “Harry, look at me .” Harry slid his vacant eyes towards his professor’s. Their gazes met and held and Harry began to feel as if he were falling, as if Professor Snape’s eyes were bottomless pools and he was sinking slowly into them. The blackness of his eyes wrapped around and through Harry, blocking out everything else. He came back to himself slowly, the world around him coming into focus. When had it gone out? He wasn’t sure where he’d been. Well, he’d been here , he supposed, but also not here, because here was a place of fear and pain and sadness and he’d felt none of that because he hadn’t wanted to. Now that he’d come back, he could feel those emotions reaching for him, but it was as if he was covered in oil and they couldn’t quite grasp him. But unlike a moment ago, Harry was still here . He wasn’t merely drifting along. He could feel things, sense the edges of those painful thoughts, even if they couldn’t get a firm hold. It was manageable. Professor Snape still gripped his arms, and Harry suddenly realized that it was a sort of desperate grip, as if he’d been afraid Harry would drift away if he wasn’t anchored to the earth. 

Perhaps he would have. 

Harry’s breathing leveled out. He hadn’t even noticed his breaths had gotten short and quick until they were long and slow again. His heart slowed its frantic beating. The ringing in his ears faded. He blinked. Professor Snape’s eyes dropped shut and his head drooped, dark hair swinging over his face. It lasted only a moment, then he raised his head again. His eyes were back to normal. They were still dark and deep, but Harry no longer felt their pull. Professor Snape gently guided Harry back down onto the couch, then released his grip. Harry’s arms felt cold where his hands had been, and he rubbed at them. Professor Snape pulled his chair around and perched on the end, leaning forward so they were facing each other. 

“Harry, I’m not sending you away.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I believed this to have already been established, weeks ago.”

“I just figured, you know, you’d change your mind.”

“I am not well known for doing so.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s okay if you do. I’ll mess up eventually and you’ll be done with me. I understand.”

“No, you do not.” Professor Snape flicked his wand, but nothing happened. Harry frowned for a moment, before a scroll came zooming down the hall. Professor Snape plucked it from the air and unrolled it. Harry recognized the string and the size of the parchment. 

Oh .

“I found this some time ago,” Professor Snape said, “and had intended to discuss it with you. The opportunity had not presented itself, but I see now that I should have made greater effort to find the time. This,” he waved the parchment, “is entirely unnecessary. Furthermore, it is impossible. You are a twelve-year-old boy. You are inherently incapable of forethought and sound judgement. I was aware of this when I chose to take you in. I am not, nor have I ever been, operating under the delusion that your behavior and cleanliness would be impeccable at every moment. And yet, I decided to take guardianship of you anyway. I was not forced to do this. In fact, I was given the opportunity to walk away entirely, to do whatever I wished, wherever I wished to do it. Instead, I chose to remain here with you and your sister.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped. Daisy. Of course. Well, who wouldn’t choose Daisy? She was–

Professor Snape gripped Harry’s forearm in a firm–but gentle–grasp, interrupting his thoughts. 

“No, Harry,” he said. “I didn’t choose you because of your sister. You were not an afterthought or a two-for-one special. I chose you because of you . Because I saw myself in you. Because I wished someone had cared enough about me when I was younger to help me, despite the fact that I never would have accepted that help or felt like I deserved it. This list,” he waved it again, “is not why I chose you and it is not what gives you value. You cannot, and should not have to , earn the right to be cared for. Do you understand?”

Harry pulled his arms around his middle, dislodging Professor Snape’s hand, and doubled over them, squeezing himself tightly. He could barely breathe. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but he knew he was crying. His cheeks were wet and tears dripped onto his trousers, making a cluster of tiny dark circles. There was a strange sort of whine that he thought might have been coming from him, though it wasn’t any sound he’d ever made before, and he couldn’t seem to make it stop. He rocked his body forward and back and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Did he understand? 

No. 

He did not.

No one had ever , in his entire life (at least as far as he could remember), said anything like that to him. And it didn’t make sense. How could someone choose you and want to care for you if you hadn’t done anything to make them feel that way? His friends wanted to spend time with him because–well, he wasn’t sure why, exactly, but maybe it was because he was good at Potions and none of the rest of them really understood it the way he did. There had to be a reason, right? People didn’t want anything to do with Harry unless there was a reason . 

Did they?

Aunt Petunia had never found a reason to like Harry, even though he’d done everything she’d ever asked him to do. Uncle Vernon was the same. Dudley didn’t like Harry because Harry took some of the attention off him, which nobody had asked for, least of all Dudley, and he’d never done anything cool enough for Dudley to overlook that. That made sense. 

Didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

A sob broke out of Harry and he slapped a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t cry. Crying wasn’t allowed. He hadn’t cried in…in years, probably. A thin hand landed on his shoulder almost tentatively. It ripped another sob from Harry, and he bit his bottom lip to try and keep it inside. The hand gave a gentle squeeze, and Harry lost the battle with his tears. His head dropped forward to land on his knees and he cried in earnest. Professor Snape’s hand slid around to the back of Harry’s neck and stayed there, the gentlest touch Harry had ever felt. 

Eventually, he slumped sideways, still folded in half, his crying subsided into sniffles and hiccups, the energy drained from his body. Professor Snape’s hand moved to rest on his upper arm. Harry’s eyes felt like sandpaper and his eyelids felt like lead weights. He scrubbed at them weakly with the heel of his hand, but didn’t open them. His arm felt like a wet noodle, if a wet noodle weighed twenty pounds. It dropped heavily back onto the couch next to him. Professor Snape kept his hand on Harry’s arm, but said not a single word as Harry’s breath puffed out of him in little gasps until at last he took a deep breath, exhaled heavily, and fell asleep. 

He awoke later that evening to the smell of onions and garlic on the stove. He extricated himself from beneath a worn navy blue blanket that he thought maybe smelled a bit like cloves and padded into the kitchen on socked feet. Professor Snape was standing over the hob, stirring a pan filled with tiny red tomatoes and translucent slices of onion swimming in some sort of herbed oil. A nest of fresh, uncooked pasta sat on the counter next to a boiling pot of water. 

“Boil those noodles while I fetch your sister for dinner,” Snape instructed. He must have a sixth sense for who was entering the kitchen, as he hadn’t even turned to look at Harry. “They need only two minutes, so watch them closely.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said as Professor Snape swept out of the kitchen. He’d expected a comment about their earlier discussion, but it appeared the man was ready to move on. That suited Harry just fine as he’d much prefer to not talk about his utterly embarrassing total breakdown earlier. With the ease of long practice, he dropped the noodles into the water, giving them a stir to ensure they didn’t stick together. Professor Snape and Daisy returned to the kitchen just as Harry was transferring the noodles from the pot to the bowl. Daisy walked quietly to the table and sat down, refusing to speak to Harry or even look in his direction. He’d hoped she’d cooled down some since that morning, but clearly she hadn’t. His mood deflated at her surliness.

Professor Snape waved Harry towards the table as he took over final preparations of the meal, topping the pasta with the herby sauce and a healthy measure of parmesan cheese before tossing it all together. He deposited it onto the table beside a loaf of crusty bread that Harry assumed the house elves had provided. Professor Snape tended to allow them to take care of any baked goods. As usual, Harry sat patiently, waiting for Professor Snape and Daisy to take their share first. 

He was foiled, however, when Professor Snape picked up Harry’s plate and heaped a pile of pasta onto it, as well as a good-sized chunk of the bread. It was far more than Harry would have taken for himself. He placed the plate back in front of Harry, then did the same for Daisy, but in a slightly smaller portion. Only after serving both children did he serve himself. 

“There is no sense in waiting for me,” he chastised. “Eat your dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, picking up his fork. Professor Snape did not start eating until he’d watched Harry take his first bite. 

“New house rules,” Professor Snape said after they’d been eating for a few minutes. Harry watched as he flicked his wand and a parchment appeared on the table in front of him. “First, dinner is mandatory,” he directed this rule at Daisy, “regardless of any hurt feelings. We will eat dinner each night together .” He turned his gaze to Harry. “Upon the resumption of classes, I will require you to eat here on Thursdays, and optionally also on Sundays. I cannot absent myself from the Great Hall more than two nights a week, and you will doubtless want to spend time with your friends. However, until we establish a more stable relationship, I believe it is imperative that we eat together as often as possible. 

“Second, each of you will have individual time with me doing an activity of your choosing, pending my approval. We will do this at least two hours each week for each of you. It need not be educational, and should be an activity that you enjoy, not necessarily one you believe I will enjoy. I would like you both to present your proposals to me tomorrow.

“Third–” Here he paused and took a breath as he looked at them both. Daisy still hadn’t said a single word since she’d come out of her room. “As we are all now aware of the true state of things, the time for hiding in the shadows has ended.”

_________________________________

In seemingly no time at all, it was time for a new term at Hogwarts. Professor Snape had given Harry the option of riding the train or greeting his friends at Hogwarts, and Harry had chosen the train. He remembered the confusing ride the year before, as well as the stressful one a few months ago, but was hopeful that the third time would be the charm. He had friends he could ride with this time, and he didn’t have a new guardian to worry about. 

So, Professor Snape had apparated Harry directly to Platform 9 ¾ at 10:55, giving him just enough time to board the train and find his friends without having to worry about any awkward interactions with certain members of his biological family. As he had no trunk to wrangle (Professor Snape had already deposited it at the foot of his bed in his dorm), the process went smoothly. Moments after Harry climbed aboard, the whistle blew and the volume increased as excitement grew. Last minute goodbyes were exchanged on the platform while excited reunions began on the train and soon enough they were underway. 

It didn’t take Harry long to locate his friends in a compartment near the front. They grinned as he slid open the door. He smiled widely back. 

“Harry!” they greeted, enthusiastically. 

“Hey, guys!” he returned. “It’s good to see you!”

“Wasn’t sure we’d see you on the train since, you know…”

“You kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. How’d the rest of your summers go?”

“Boring,” Susan said, flopping back against her seat. 

“Same,” said David, though with less drama. 

Hannah gave a dismissive little wave. “Nothing worth sharing, really. You?”

Harry thought about the last month with all its difficult conversations and stressful moments and emotional upheaval. He shrugged. “It was fine.”

“How’s Daisy?” Hannah asked. 

Harry huffed. “She’s not really speaking to me at the moment, but other than that, she’s fine.”

“What?!” Susan said, rocketing upright. “Why not?”

Harry shrugged again. “She found out about the Potters last week. She’s not happy that everyone knew except her.”

“Well, but she’s still little!” Susan said. 

“Don’t tell her that.”

“Can’t she see you were just trying to protect her?”

“Not really. Professor Snape smoothed things over a little, I think, because at least she’ll be in the same room as me now, but she only really talks to me if she has to. It’s fine. She’ll get over it eventually.” 

He hoped. 

“Of course she will,” Hannah said. “It’s only been a week or so, right? It’ll get better.”

“Yeah, me and my cousins fight all the time. We always make up eventually. Even Audrey, and she can hold a grudge the worst of all. She once didn’t speak to Lucas for almost a month after he put Aunt Cynthia’s hair dying potion in her shampoo bottle and somehow turned her hair purple. It took Uncle Florian three days to find a charm to put it back to blonde,” Susan said.

“Matt–my best friend from primary–he stopped talking to me once,” David added. “I accidentally set his favorite football poster on fire. He thought I’d done it on purpose, obviously, because muggles can’t accidentally set things on fire like that, but I bought him a new one and apologized about a million times, and eventually he got over it. We were still mates until I left for Hogwarts. We hung out a bit this summer, actually, but it wasn’t the same. Missed you guys a ton. Hard to complain about your professors with muggle friends. I mean, how can I explain that History of Magic is boring because it’s taught by an actual ghost? ‘My history teacher is really old and dull’ isn’t quite the same, you know?”

“Anyway, I’m sure she’ll come around,” Hannah reassured. “How was Professor Snape?”

“Fine. He’s helping me start a hydroponics garden for potions ingredients.”

“What’s hydroponics?” Hannah enunciated the word carefully.

“Growing plants in water instead of soil. It’s something muggles do to help them grow plants all year or in places where the soil is thin and rocky or whatever. I read about it in one of Aunt Petunia’s gardening magazines once, and wanted to try it, but she wouldn’t go for it. Said it was an eyesore. Anyway, Professor Snape let me use one of the benches in his lab to start a few things before we commit to anything major. He did all the sunlight charms and we made the bins and brewed up a nutrient solution together. It’s still early, but I hope to have some things growing soon.”

“That’s really neat,” Hannah said. “I bet Professor Sprout would love it. You should show it to her.”

Harry shrugged. “We’ll see if it works, first. Professor Snape told me there’s charms wizards can use to do the same things as the hydroponics bins, so it’s probably not actually that impressive.”

“I think it sounds really cool!” Susan said. “Gardening charms can be tricky, anyway. Mum never can manage them properly. Every year she tries to grow this massive garden with herbs and vegetables and such. By the end of the season, she’s got maybe one or two things still living. I’m not much better, honestly. My tomato plant only grew four tomatoes this year. Four! That’s horrible.”

“What do you even do all day in the dungeons?” David asked. “Other than water-gardening, I mean.”

“Well, there’s loads of books to read. And puzzles and games to play. Professor Snape is teaching me to play chess. Daisy does a lot of art projects. I mean, a lot . It’s unbelievable, honestly. Sometimes we brew potions.”

“Ugh! Living with a professor all summer! I bet you had to do loads of schoolwork,” Susan groaned. “I can’t imagine it!”

“No, the potions were fun. One is a sort of color-changing potion that glows when you shake it. And we made some everlasting bubble solution. And I got to help with restocking the Pepper-Up potion for the hospital wing.”

“But that’s not even a first year potion!”

Harry smiled. “I know. It was fun!”

“Only you would think making potions on your summer holiday is fun ,” David said. “But I sure am glad you’re my partner in class!”

“No way!” Susan protested. “He was your partner last year! I’m working with Harry this year!”

David shook his head, beaming. “Not a chance, Su!”

“Aw, come on, David! Didn’t your mum ever teach you to share? You can have Hannah. She’s not that bad.”

“Thanks?” Hannah said, uncertainly. 

“No, thanks. You can keep her,” David replied with a smile. 

“I’m not sure how to feel about this,” Hannah muttered as David and Susan continued to bicker. “Am I being insulted or are you two just idiots?”

“Oi! I’m not an idiot!” Susan defended.

“So, I am being insulted.”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant. I–” 

Hannah broke out laughing at Susan’s flustered face and Susan flushed as she realized she’d been set up. She bumped her shoulder into Hannah’s just as they crossed an uneven set of tracks, and both girls toppled into the floor with a surprised shout. David and Harry reached down to help them up, only to be tugged down instead, landing in a heap. 

They must have looked ridiculous, piled up on the floor, laughing uproariously, but Harry couldn’t have cared less. He was just so happy to have his friends back. 

______________________________________________

The boats across the lake they’d taken last year were only for the first years. Harry smiled as he heard Hagrid’s booming voice herding the new students towards him. The firsties looked so small weaving through the crowd towards the enormous groundskeeper. Surely he hadn’t been that tiny, had he?

Second years and above took a different route to the castle. Harry followed the crowd towards a long line of horseless carriages. It had begun to drizzle, slightly, and the small raindrops pattered soothingly on the canvas roof overhead as they bumped and rolled their way along a winding path. The castle glowed invitingly ahead of them. Despite the fact that he’d left there only that morning, he was suddenly eager to be back. He’d missed the Great Hall and the Hufflepuff common room and his cozy, half-underground dorm. 

At long last, the carriage pulled up to the outer courtyard, and Professor Snape directed all the students inside, once again in his billowing teaching robe, his wand held aloft to create an invisible umbrella above him. Harry wished he knew such a charm. The weather report in the Prophet that morning hadn’t said anything about rain, so he’d left his cloak in his trunk. He smiled nervously at the professor as he passed, and received a warm nod in return, along with a quiet, “Move along, Harry,” that probably would have sounded rude to anyone else, except that Harry knew it wasn’t. 

Harry shook the water from the ends of his hair as he stepped across the threshold, then joined the queue to enter the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick stood at the doors, rapidly casting drying charms on each student as they passed by. Once dry, Harry found his usual seat at the Hufflepuff table and sat down.

The ordinary place settings had been replaced by the fancier, gold-edged plates with the shiny Hogwarts crest in the center atop matching gold chargers. Long runners in house colors adorned each table, though Harry knew they would soon be almost entirely obscured by ungodly amounts of food. The ceiling dripped enchanted raindrops from enchanted clouds high above the floating candles that gave the room its golden warmth. The low hum of conversation grew to a dull roar as more and more students filled the space. Soon, the professors began filling their seats at the top table. The large doors swung closed after the last of the students and Professor Flitwick took his seat. Beside him sat a foppish blonde man with perfectly coiffed hair who was smiling exuberantly at the assembled students and waving haughtily, paying particular attention to the side of the room with the Gryffindor table. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he immediately disliked him. 

Harry’s attention was drawn to the staff door as Professor Snape strode out, followed by a young girl with dazzling red hair plaited neatly on both sides of her head. Snape and Daisy strode to the dais and took the two remaining seats on the end nearest the Slytherin table. Voices quieted and Harry heard the whispers as people in the hall began to notice their stern professor accompanied by a child. Daisy’s eyes darted around the room nervously. When they found Harry’s, she smiled a little, and he smiled back. 

“What’s she doing here?” Susan hissed. 

“After Daisy found out about the Potters, Professor Snape didn’t want to keep her locked up in the dungeon all the time.”

“But isn’t it dangerous?”

“Not any more than it is for me. Apparently Hogwarts is some sort of designated sanctuary space and we can’t be messed with as long as we’re living here.”

“But he’ll find out!” she whispered urgently. 

Harry shrugged. “He would have found out eventually anyway. He’s really well connected. Professor Snape told the other professors this morning that she’s living here. Some of them are friends with the Potters. Dumbledore swore them all to secrecy last year, but Professor Snape figures we can’t hide forever, so he didn’t bother with it this time. They’re not going to make any big announcement about her or anything, but it won’t take long for people to figure it out. Oh, also, I should mention, I won’t be eating dinner with you on Thursdays and sometimes on Sundays. I have to have dinner with Professor Snape and Daisy on those days.”

“He’s forcing you to eat with him?” David asked, skeptically.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not like that. Honestly, I’m excited about it. I’ll get to see Daisy, and Professor Snape is actually a really good cook.”

“He cooks?” Susan said, dumbfounded. 

“He’s a potions master. Following recipes is sort of his thing ,” Harry replied. “His tikka masala is really good, and his Sunday roast is better than the one the house elves make.”

“What are house elves?” David asked. Harry began to reply, but Susan started before he could. He left her to it. 

“Daisy seemed happy to see you,” Hannah observed. 

“Yeah. She’s probably just overwhelmed. It’s just been the three of us all summer and the Great Hall for the first time is…a lot.”

“Whatever you say, Harry,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes. He didn’t get an opportunity to reply as Professor Dumbledore swept into the hall at that moment and strode to his seat. He held up hands for silence, though the voices had already been dying down before he did so. When the room was quiet, he sank down into his seat and waved a hand at the large doors. They swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall and a swarm of nervous-looking first years. 

“ Merlin , they look terrified,” Susan whispered. “I’m sure we didn’t look like that.”

David scoffed. “Maybe you didn’t, but I know I did!”

“Me, too,” Harry admitted. 

“I didn’t know exactly what to expect from a private, magical boarding school, but I had envisioned something a little more Phillips Exeter and a little less King Arthur ,” David elaborated. “I mean, some of the old boarding schools are basically in castles, anyway, but Hogwarts is…”

“Different,” finished Harry.

“Right,” agreed David, as if that one word could summarize all that was magical about Hogwarts, when Harry knew perfectly well that it absolutely could not. 

The sorting proceeded much as it had the previous year, from what Harry could remember of it, which admittedly wasn’t much. The only notable events were an exuberant new Gryffindor called Colin Creevey tripping over the stool and nearly knocking himself out on the stone floor after being sorted into the same house as James Potter (Harry and his friends rolled their eyes) and the final (according to Susan) Weasley, the only girl, joining her brothers in Gryffindor, though perhaps that wasn’t all that notable afterall. Their house, like all the others, gained a handful of new students who sat in the empty section of the table looking around nervously. Harry idly wondered if there had ever been a year when the Sorting Hat had sent far fewer students to one of the houses. Surely it must have happened at some point, if the sorting was truly based on personality, as the hat claimed. He’d ask Professor Snape. If he didn’t know, he’d at least be able to point Harry in the right direction to figure it out for himself. 

Finally, Professor Dumbledore stood and welcomed them, and the feast began. 

_____________________________________

Harry had elected to ignore all the whispered speculation regarding Professor Snape’s mystery child, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hear it. All the previous night, the Great Hall, common room, and even the dorm was full of theories that seemed to get wilder and wilder with each passing moment. Justin, Ernie, Oliver, and Tommy had tried to get Harry and David to talk about it, but both pretended to be tired and went to bed early. 

He knew better than to hope the fervor would die down by morning, but still, it was beginning to grate on his nerves having to listen to people talk about Daisy all the time, especially when the most common beliefs were either that she was Professor Snape’s secret love child or that he’d kidnapped her. Harry thought the last one was particularly stupid because she was sitting there in full view, not being hidden away in the dungeon. What sort of kidnapper would parade their victim around like that? They’d be caught immediately. People really could be quite stupid when they wanted to be. The only positive was that Daisy wouldn’t be present that morning to hear all the whispering and see all the curious looks. She’d be with her tutor most of the time, only eating in the Great Hall for dinner.

Somehow, though, Daisy’s absence that morning made the speculation worse. It stopped for a moment when Professor Snape walked down the Slytherin table to hand out timetables, but picked right back up again when he was safely out of earshot. By the time Professor Sprout got down to Harry’s part of the table with schedules, he was buzzing with anger. She handed him the parchment and his mood soured even more. His first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts with that new professor, introduced last night as Gilderoy Lockhart. Apparently he’d set all seven of his own books as required reading for the course. Professor Snape had owl-ordered all Harry’s materials this year and Harry had stuck them in his trunk without really even looking at them, but he’d checked last night and there they all were. How was he supposed to know which one to bring to class? Was he meant to carry all seven every day? In addition to his new Standard Book of Spells, and the five books from last year that were carrying over into this year? He hoped they were learning the Featherweight Charm this year, or he’d be in real trouble.

For today, he settled on bringing none of the books and hoping for the best. None of his teachers last year had started on coursework on the first day. Most of them had spent the time talking about what they’d learn that year and establishing classroom rules. Given the way most students had reverted to behavior that reminded Harry of his year two field trip to the zoo (which Aunt Petunia had grudgingly let him attend after the teacher phoned her the morning of the trip to inquire as to the location of Harry’s permission slip. She’d claimed he lost it, but that of course she’d given him permission to go), he expected the professors would be reviewing expectations once again.

Sadly, his potions lessons would be on Tuesdays and Fridays this year, which meant he’d see Professor Snape tomorrow evening at dinner before he’d see him in the classroom. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. On the one hand, he really liked Potions and was eager to start learning new material. On the other hand, he sort of missed the quiet summer in the dungeon and thought a dinner with just the three of them before diving back into the classroom environment sounded really nice, even with the awkward situation with Daisy. What he really wished was that he had Potions first thing today, but it wasn’t to be. 

“Oo! Professor Lockhart first thing!” Hannah gushed. Harry looked at her askance. “What? You don’t like him?”

“I don’t know anything about him, but he seems sort of…I don’t know. Fancy?”

“That’s just for looks,” she said, dismissively. “He’s done some really amazing things!” Hannah said. “All that stuff in his books. He’s fought banshees and trolls and ghouls and all sorts of creatures. I’m sure we can learn a lot from him.”

Harry glanced askance at the top table. Lockhart had done those things? He just looked so…decorative. But it was possible he only dressed that way because he was so famous. Maybe Hannah was right and it was just to keep up appearances. He probably wanted to look nice in case someone took a picture. He was always waving and smiling at people, so at least he seemed friendly, even if he wasn’t particularly intimidating or tough-looking. Maybe he wouldn’t be as bad as Harry thought he would. His eyes slid down the table to where Professor Snape was sitting. He was glaring down the table at the blonde, not even bothering to hide his distaste behind his morning coffee.

Harry thought that probably didn’t bode well.  

His unease grew when he walked into the classroom and saw all the educational posters were artistic renderings of what Harry assumed had to be scenes from his books. In each of them, Lockhart was impeccably dressed as he shot some spell or other out of his wand and the creature fell down, defeated. Then, he turned and smiled a bright white grin. The scenes played over and over, all around the room. It was dizzying. 

And to make the whole thing worse, the first class of the year was shared with Gryffindor. Harry had thus far avoided even looking at James Potter, Jr. since returning to Hogwarts. As annoyed as he was with the gossip about Daisy, it had the unintended effect of drowning out any mention of James and his exploits. But there he stood, surrounded by his posse of sycophants and admirers and various hangers-on. He seemed to be as determined to pretend Harry didn’t exist as Harry was to pretend James didn’t exist. Ron Weasley appeared to have no such intentions, however, as the moment he noticed Harry he glared at him with undisguised hostility.

Perfect.

Harry and Susan slid into a bench together behind David and Hannah (and on the opposite side of the room from James, Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom) and waited for class to begin. The bell announcing the start of the period clanged, but their professor did not appear. Harry looked around nervously. People began to fidget and whisper. 

Suddenly, the door to the professor’s office burst open and Lockhart (in a fuschia and navy ensemble, golden blonde hair and wide smile perfectly in place) stepped out onto the upper landing. 

“Good morning!” he spoke from on high, waving his arms out to the side in an over-the-top gesture of welcome. “I’m so glad you came!” Harry rather thought they hadn’t had much choice, but he didn’t voice the thought aloud. 

Lockhart gestured to a large, painted portrait in a gilded frame beside his office. The portrait winked at them. 

“Me,” he said, winking also. “Gilderoy Lockhart. Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly ’s Most-Charming-Smile Award–but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waited for them to laugh, but nobody did. His award-winning smile dropped a little, but he brought it back in full force. 

“I see you all bought a complete set of my books,” he said as he descended the stairs. Harry hadn’t thought the booklist had been optional, either. “Well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about–just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in…”

Harry began to feel a little nervous. He hadn’t read any of them–hadn’t even spared them more than a passing glance last night. How was a person meant to read seven entire books in one summer? Harry’d spent a good portion of his summer reading, just for fun, and he’d only finished five books. Had he honestly expected them to read seven ? The letters hadn’t even gone around until the end of July! A quick glance around the room told Harry he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t adequately prepared. 

“Did you–” Harry whispered to Susan. She answered before he’d even finished asking. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. I have heard a couple of them before, though. The WWN has done a series of dramatic readings over the last few years.”

“Ah, ah! No chatting Miss…er…” he looked expectantly at Susan, but she just smiled at him. “Ah. Well. Perhaps before we begin, I should call the roll, just to ensure we’re all in the correct place. Yes. Let’s see…Hannah Abbott?”

He made his way down the list, absolutely butchering the pronunciation of both Finch-Fletchley and Parvati Patil. Harry knew he was next. 

“Harry Potter,” he called, but before he could reply, Lockhart continued. “Ah, and James Potter, as well! What a lovely reunification of brothers right here in my classroom!” he gushed. 

Harry would never be quite sure what made him say it, as he’d rarely been so bold in his life, but he blurted out, “He’s not my brother,” which would have been embarrassing enough, but somehow James (he wanted to call him Potter, but that was his name, too, so it felt sort of weird, even in his head) also called out the exact same thing at the exact same time. James glared at him from across the room as if it were somehow Harry’s fault entirely. 

“Now, now, boys,” Lockhart sing-songed. “Let’s not be too brash. Anger isn’t a very flattering look, gentlemen.” He smiled at them indulgently. Harry thought he might throw something, or maybe just throw up. Finally, Lockhart’s eyes returned to the list. “Thomas Stillwell?” He moved on to the next name. When the list was finished at last, he distributed the tests. Harry didn’t care about it anymore. So what if he did poorly on his first assignment of the year? He had bigger problems. 

On Professor Lockhart’s cue, he untied the scroll, scanning the questions. 

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went until the scroll touched the ground with the last question: 

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

By Harry’s estimation, not a single question had anything to do with, well, anything , except, of course Professor Lockhart himself. This was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. Lockhart collected their papers half an hour later, and spent more than a few minutes flicking through them and tutting over all the things they’d missed. Unsurprisingly, Granger (who seemed to have the ability to perfectly recall anything she’d ever read) had correctly answered several questions that the rest of them had not. 

Harry had hoped that miserable experience would be the end of it, but with mere minutes remaining in class, Lockhart decided it would be the perfect opportunity to teach them about cornish pixies. The little blue creatures didn’t look particularly frightening in their golden cage, and Seamus Finnegan had even laughed a bit when they’d been dramatically revealed, but when Lockhart opened the cage and they’d come screaming out, it became immediately clear that they were perfectly capable of causing all manner of trouble. 

Harry also strongly suspected the spell Professor Lockhart had given them to fight off the pixies was entirely made up. It certainly sounded nothing like what Professor Snape had uttered when he’d found a few lurking in a bush while they were collecting ingredients this summer. That spell had banished them swiftly. This spell was doing nothing whatsoever. And to make matters worse, Lockhart had abandoned them to the chaos. Granger was trying to teach her friends a spell to handle them properly, but James and Weasley had simply resorted to chucking things at them, with limited success. When a few began hefting Longbottom by the ears in retaliation, Harry and his friends wisely decided they’d be better off simply leaving the professor to his mess, and they scurried out of the room, bags held over their heads to avoid being pelted by whatever it was the pixies were raining down on them. 

“Well,” huffed Susan, “that was a disaster!”

“It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting,” agreed Hannah, uncertainly. “Mum and Dad deal with cornish pixies all the time. They’re forever getting into the study and tossing all Dad’s books about. I’d have thought someone with Lockhart’s skills would have been able to handle something like pixies.”

David chimed in. “I don’t know much about pixies in particular, but I know better than to cage a bunch of creatures together in a little cage and then set them loose all at once. Especially creatures that have a temper!”

“Maybe you were right, Harry,” said Hannah. “Maybe Professor Lockhart isn’t as impressive as I’d hoped.”

Harry hadn’t particularly wanted to be right, in this case, but it did feel a little bit good to know that he wasn’t entirely mistaken about the man. 

“What have we got next?” Susan asked. 

“Transfiguration,” David answered. 

Susan smiled. “Oh, Professor McGonagall is going to love hearing about this!”

Sure enough, Professor McGonagall did not look best pleased when her Hufflepuff students informed her of why they all looked so disheveled. Some were also missing their school bags, having left them behind in the pandemonium. The Ravenclaws who shared their class were beginning to look rather alarmed. They’d have their first Defense lesson the next day, and suddenly they weren’t particularly looking forward to it. 

By lunchtime, the entire castle knew about the second year Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Defense class and Professor Lockhart was desperately trying to save face. The fourth year Slytherin and Gryffindor class, which was supposed to be after Harry’s class that morning, had needed to be relocated as the regular classroom was still infiltrated by pixies. They, apparently, had done the exact same lesson Harry’s class had, except for the pixies. Nevertheless, Lockhart appeared perfectly composed when Harry saw him in the Great Hall at lunch. He shook his head at the man’s theatrics and went back to his lunch. As they were standing up to leave, he swung his bag over his shoulder and caught the strap on the carafe of pumpkin juice. It flung off the table, showering sticky juice all over Harry.

“Bugger!” Harry exclaimed quietly, looking down at his shirt and trousers, which were soaked through already. “How much time have we got until Charms?”

David consulted his watch. “About fifteen minutes, but it’s all the way up on the sixth floor.”

“That’s all right. I’ll make it. I can’t go like this in any case. I’ll just go change quickly. You guys go on. I’ll catch you up.”

“We’ll save you a seat!” Hannah called as they parted ways on the grand staircase, his three friends going up and Harry going down to the common room. In all the commotion, none of them had noticed Professor Lockhart following them out of the hall. He caught up with Harry just as he was swinging around to go down the next set of steps. 

“Harry, my boy! What’s the hurry?” Professor Lockhart called. Harry stopped in his tracks. 

“Er, pumpkin juice accident at lunch. I need to change before Charms.”

“Yes, can’t be going about the place looking like a wet rat, now can we. I’ll need but a moment. I wanted to talk with you about what happened during class today.”

“What, with the pixies?”

“No, not as such. I meant earlier, with you and your brother.”

“He’s not my brother.”

Professor Lockhart laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He tried to shrug out of the grip, but Lockhart held him tightly. His eyes darted around, but there was nowhere to go. He was starting to feel a bit like those pixies this morning–trapped. His breath hitched and began coming in short little pants. 

“Tsk, tsk, Harry. It’s just us, here. Come, now. That publicity stunt has really run its course, dear boy. You’ve got to keep it fresh! The press isn’t interested in your sob story anymore, they want to get to the heart of it. Reconciliation! Brothers reunited! That’s where–”

“Is there a problem here?” a deep voice drawled. Harry’s eyes flicked over Lockhart’s shoulder and he practically sagged in relief. Lockhart whipped his head around and smiled. 

“Severus! No, of course not. I was just giving young Harry here some pointers–”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Professor Snape growled. “Remove your hand from the boy before I remove it from your body, Gilderoy .”

Lockhart released him as if he had been burned. Harry took a step back and rolled his shoulder, reaching up to massage it with his opposite hand. He took in a big gulp of air.

“Of course, of course. Not a problem,” Lockhart said. He still wore his smile, but it seemed different, somehow. Like he had to work harder at it. “As I was saying, I was just counseling Harry about the fickle nature of the fourth estate–”

“While I’m sure this is an area in which you are particularly gifted ,” the words were complimentary, but Harry was entirely certain Professor Snape did not mean them as a compliment. “I do not think Harry will be requiring your counsel at this time, as he is merely a student. A student who has a class to be getting to, if I am not mistaken.” He turned an inquiring gaze towards Harry, who nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Indeed. Gilderoy, do you not also have a class to teach at this time?”

“Oh, yes, yes, that’s right. I’d best be going. Well, Harry, I’m sure Severus–”

“Good bye , Lockhart,” Professor Snape snapped sharply. Professor Lockhart’s jaw shut so quickly his teeth clicked together. He turned and went back up the stairs without another word. Professor Snape turned to Harry, arriving at his side with only a single, long-legged step.

“Breathe, Harry,” he instructed. Harry took a deep breath, then another. Upon his exhale, he finally felt the panic ease.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said. “Thanks for that.”

“I would have been here sooner, but I was delayed. I apologize.”

“No, don’t worry about it, it’s really fine. Except that I’m definitely going to be late for Charms. Professor Flitwick is not going to be happy. And I still have to change my clothes.” Harry groaned. 

“I believe I can be of assistance with both these matters.” Snape waved his wand and Harry’s clothes were suddenly quite clean and dry. 

“Thanks!”

“Come. I will escort you to class.” Professor Snape turned and began walking back up the way Harry had come. Harry rushed to keep up with the man’s longer stride. 

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” Harry asked.

“This is my free period.”

“Oh. I didn’t know teachers got free periods.”

“They allow us to have office hours, as well as complete grading and planning tasks,” Snape rattled off dismissively. “How has your day been thus far?”

“Fine.”

“Harry.”

“Well, okay, it hasn’t been the greatest.”

“Elaborate.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Lockhart’s class already.”

“Indeed. It is deeply unfortunate that you were present for such a profound act of idiocy. What else has made your day unpleasant.”

“James Potter is in that class, too.”

“I suppose he has been causing trouble already.”

“Actually, no, he’s mostly ignoring me, which is about the best I could ask for, I just hate sharing classes with him. Also, Lockhart made a big deal about us both being in there, like it was some sort of family reunion. It was gross.”

Professor Snape stopped in his tracks. “That is deeply unprofessional behavior. I will have words with him. It will not happen again. I assume this is what he was attempting to speak to you about moments ago?” He started moving again, taking a narrow staircase up to the fifth floor.

“Yeah. I think he thinks this thing with the Potters is something I’m doing for publicity, or something. But why? Why would anyone do that? I don’t get it.”

“The mind of Gilderoy Lockhart is not worth your attention. Is anything else bothering you? You have seemed out of sorts since you first entered the Great Hall this morning.”

“What? Were you watching me or something?”

“Yes. It is my duty as your guardian to ensure your emotional well being. The start of the school year is a very tumultuous time, even for students who have not suffered great–and very public–upheaval. I have been keeping an eye on you as much as possible throughout the day.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to think about that, so he decided not to think about it at all. 

“Oh. Well, thanks, I guess. This morning it was all the gossiping about Daisy that was the problem. Then it was Defense and James. Then I had Transfiguration, which was fine, but the stuff Professor McGonagall said we’d be doing this year sounded really difficult. I don’t know why transfigurations are so hard for me. Then, I spilled pumpkin juice everywhere at lunch and got ambushed by Professor Lockhart, which was awful, as you saw, and now I’m late for Charms. So, yeah, it’s been a really fantastic day,” he snarked.

Harry was puffing a bit by the end. He didn’t really know why he’d unloaded like that onto Professor Snape, except that he’d asked and seemed like he really wanted to know. It did sort of help to get it all out there, but it also made him want to cry, a bit, which was really stupid. Why was he always wanting to cry so much these days? He hated it. 

He breathed in a deep, shaky breath and held it for a moment, then let it all out again in one big puff. Professor Snape laid a gentle hand on Harry’s upper arm, almost mirroring Professor Lockhart’s actions from moments ago, but somehow making him feel steadier and stronger instead of panicky and cornered. 

“Do not fret about the gossip. We have discussed this, remember? You were aware that it would likely get worse before it gets better. What did I instruct you to do if it began to feel unmanageable?”

“Come tell you.”

“Is there a reason you did not do so?”

“It wasn’t unmanageable. I was handling it.”

“Your definition of ‘unmanageable’ needs reevaluating. For now, let me amend my statement. If the gossip makes you feel angry or panicked, you are to tell me immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Professor Snape hummed in contemplation, but didn’t say anything else about it. 

“As to the rest,” he said, “I do not think you are a stranger to bad days. We are all plagued with them from time to time. There is nothing to be done about what has already happened except to move on from it. Simply because you had an unpleasant morning does not mean you are fated to have an unpleasant afternoon. However, if things do not improve and you have need of me, you know where to find me.”

Harry nodded. He did know where to find Professor Snape, but it would take something really awful before he’d interrupt the man’s extremely busy first day back to work with something as minor as a bad day. He’d just deal with it. It would be fine.

“Are you prepared to go in, now?” Professor Snape asked, gesturing to the door of the Charms classroom. When had they arrived? The door was already closed, which wasn’t actually unexpected given that the bell to signal the start of class had rung some time ago. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Wait!” Harry stretched out his hand as Snape was about to grab the knob. “Is Gryffindor in there?”

“I am not certain. If it reassures you, though, I will mention that your potions class is the same as last year: Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”

“Well, at least that’s something. Okay, I guess I’m ready.” Harry squared his shoulders as Professor Snape pulled open the heavy oak door. Professor Flitwick was standing on his usual pile of textbooks and boxes, modeling for the class which charms they would be learning that year. As Harry entered, Professor Snape nodded at Professor Flitwick, who nodded back without ever pausing his teaching. Harry took his seat and a course syllabus floated over to land on his desk. 

“What kept you?” hissed David.

“Long story. I’ll tell you after,” Harry whispered back. He glanced around the room at all the blue ties. Ravenclaw. Perfect. He smiled as Professor Flitwick demonstrated the Featherweight Charm on a pile of heavy rocks, then lifting them as if they were mere pebbles. 

The Featherweight Charm. Well, at least that’s one thing that wasn’t bad about today. Maybe Professor Snape was right, and it would finally start getting better. 

Harry could hope, anyway.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

The overwhelming nature of being a part, even tangentially, of the Hogwarts student body pushed Daisy past her frustrations with Harry and she was finally talking to him again within a week. He was extremely relieved for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that it made his biweekly dinners far more pleasant. 

There had been some brief hypothesizing among the students that the girl Snape had in tow (whom he clearly cared for, as he was often seen assisting her with her meal or, on weekends, escorting her about the castle and grounds) had softened him up. The Weasley twins had put this to the test during a Potions lesson in the first full week of school, only to discover that Professor Snape, Bat of the Dungeon, was as tough as ever. The resulting two weeks of detention they’d earned swiftly put those hypotheses to bed. 

As Professor Snape had predicted, the novelty of seeing Daisy at dinnertime soon wore off, and the student gossip wheel turned to other things, namely Quidditch. First, James Potter had won the open slot on the Gryffindor team. Harry wasn’t sure why anybody particularly cared, since, by his understanding, nearly everyone to try out was either a second or third year, so it wasn’t like he’d beat out a bunch of sixth and seventh years. He’d joined the team as a Chaser, which Harry thought was the most basic Quidditch position, anyway. 

Then there was the incident with Draco Malfoy. Apparently, he’d tried to buy his way onto the Slytherin team by having his father “donate” a team set of the new Nimbus 2001 racing brooms, conditional on Malfoy being appointed Seeker for the team. The team captain was willing to go for it and Malfoy spent a day strutting about like a peacock. Except Professor Snape hadn’t allowed it to happen. 

He hadn’t told Harry and Daisy precisely why he didn’t want Malfoy on the quidditch team, but he did tell them at their dinner that week that he’d managed to find an obscure rule in the school’s bylaws that required members of house teams to furnish their own brooms. The rule had been made in response to an incident in 1832 whereby all the school brooms had been accidentally set on fire while the Ravenclaw team was attempting to bewitch them to buck off any riders from other houses, thereby forcing the entire season to be played on the cheapest brooms the school could rapidly acquire–a century old model that had never sold well due to its failure to outpace a horse at a slow trot. Those matches were reportedly the slowest in school history. 

The rule was unnecessary now that brooms came with protective spells built in, but it had never been rescinded, so it was still in effect. Malfoy had fumed about it for a while, but it quickly became clear that the other students viewed the whole thing as more of an embarrassment than an injustice and he wisely shut up about it. 

The Ravenclaw team had gained two new players, including a new Seeker, which Harry thought was probably the most important position in the whole game, but with all the other stuff going on, nobody was talking about that. The Hufflepuff team hadn’t changed at all, as none of the players had graduated the year before. 

Harry’s entire knowledge of Quidditch was derived from the six games he watched last year, plus the sideline commentary Susan had offered and the crash course he and David had gotten from Tommy last year. It was interesting to watch, and Harry had often wondered what it would be like to actually play. Other than that first flying lesson, Hogwarts didn’t have formal flying classes, so Harry didn’t know if he’d be any good at playing Quidditch, as he’d never gotten a chance to give it a go. He had really enjoyed flying, though, and wished he could do it again. It was a shame he didn’t have a broom. School broom use was highly restricted, but if he had one of his own he could go out on his free period, even though he wasn’t on a team. That would have been fun.

As it was, he spent his free periods mostly either hanging out with his friends outside or in the common room, working on homework, or working on his hydroponics garden. The beauty of magic was that it could facilitate the garden to mostly run itself, but at least once a week, usually twice, Harry tried to make it down to the dungeon to check on it. He was pleased to see that his seedlings were showing measurable growth. 

When he’d proposed the idea to Professor Snape as something he wanted to do with their time together, he was certain he’d say no. Gardening, particularly indoor gardening in a castle dungeon, could be really difficult, and Professor Snape didn’t appear to have any other plants that he regularly cared for. Despite the professor’s knowledge of plants and their use in potions, he seemed rather averse to the idea of growing them himself. So, Harry had assumed the venture was doomed and had almost not even bothered to present it. He’d managed to keep his nerve long enough to ask, though, and Professor Snape had agreed right away. He was glad he’d asked. It was really cool to be able to grow something for himself for a change. 

So, as is the way of things, time passed. September became October much more quickly than Harry could have ever imagined. Things had fallen into a routine, and a rather good one, at that. He saw Daisy and Professor Snape regularly. His classes were interesting, even if Transfiguration was still tricky and Defense Against the Dark Arts was basically a joke. He spent time with his friends. He grew his garden. 

Eventually, Halloween rolled around, which the students were all looking forward to. Harry had sort of a weird relationship with Halloween, having never been allowed to participate in any festivities as a child. Then, there was the aborted feast of last year, when they’d been escorted back to their dormitories early because of the troll. And, as he’d learned this summer, something had happened on Halloween in 1981 that caused James Potter to feel the need to abandon him on the Dursleys’ doorstep in the dead of night. 

So, perhaps he didn’t have the best track record with Halloween. Still, Professor Snape was constantly telling him that a history of bad things didn’t have to lead to a future of bad things, so he was trying to be a little more optimistic this time. 

So far, it was working. 

Halloween was a Saturday this year, which meant he wouldn’t have to contend with any classes, most notably Transfiguration and Defense, which had become an exercise in pointlessness. It also meant he’d probably see very little of James Potter. Since joining the quidditch team, he’d been particularly easy to avoid. He was rarely around in the evenings, due to practices, and on weekends he was either (presumably) catching up on homework or hanging out with his friends in the common room. From time to time Harry would see him in the courtyards or corridors, but they’d sort of arrived at an unspoken arrangement whereby Potter’s Posse (as his friends had taken to calling them) could hang out in the Transfiguration Courtyard and Harry and his friends would spend time in the Viaduct Courtyard, thereby reducing accidental encounters. Anywhere else was fair game to either group. 

Something had changed with James Potter over the summer. He was still certainly unfriendly towards Harry, but his methods had shifted from pranks and bullying to simply pretending as if Harry did not exist. This was a tactic Harry was well used to from the Dursleys, so it didn’t bother him as much. He had also noticed that James was not contributing to any of the gossip surrounding Snape’s young friend. Harry had a very strong suspicion that he knew exactly who the girl was. Harry wasn’t sure why James hadn’t let on that he knew or told anyone her true identity, but he wasn’t complaining about it. If forfeiting the use of the Transfiguration Courtyard bought James’s continued silence about Daisy, it was a price he’d gladly pay. 

By the time the feast rolled around, Harry was having a positively decent day. Sure, there was that little voice in the back of his head telling him that things had been too good for too long, but he was doing a pretty good job of ignoring it. The food certainly helped. Feast days were special at Hogwarts. Usually, dinner fare was more plain. There was a rotating menu, of course, and several options each day, but it was meant to appeal to the tastes of a multitude of teenagers, so it wasn’t typically all that exciting.

Feast days, though, were something else. There would be whole roasted turkeys and hams, as well as cornish hens and an assortment of fish prepared in a variety of ways. There would be vegetables of all types, dripping with butter and herbs. There would be several kinds of bread and an assortment of spreads. There would be salads and soups and casseroles and whatever else you could imagine. And then, at the end, there would be dessert. Puddings the likes of which Harry had never seen before coming to Hogwarts would appear up and down the table. There would be cakes, biscuits, trifles, tarts, pies, pavlovas, and several pastries that Harry didn’t even know the names of. It was wonderful. 

Daisy seemed to be enjoying it, too. The seating arrangement had changed a bit. Professor Snape no longer sat at the end of the table. Instead, he sat closer to the middle, between Professor Sprout and Professor Sinestra. Hannah had chuckled that perhaps they’d started sitting alphabetically, but Harry knew that it was really because Daisy had grown bored at the end all by herself. Now, Professor Sprout sat on her other side, and Daisy had two adults whom she could engage in conversation. Truly, she was living her best life. Her plate was piled with more food than she could possibly eat and Professor Sprout had transfigured her plain headband into a pair of lifelike ginger cat ears that perfectly matched her hair. She had a smile from ear to ear. 

When Harry at last pushed away his dessert plate, lest he make himself sick, he reflected that it had not only certainly been the best Halloween he’d ever had, but possibly also one of the best days, period .

It was with a light heart, then, that when Professor Dumbledore announced the conclusion of the feast, he stood and followed the rest of the students out of the Great Hall and towards the main staircase to return to the dorms. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws went up and Hufflepuffs and Slytherins headed down. They’d only made it to the first landing, though, when there was a commotion at the front of the line. Several people began to scream. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor faces appeared around the bannister as they came to investigate the disturbance. 

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know. In fact, he was almost positive that he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want anything to ruin this perfect day. But fate was not on his side. As the curious students pressed in from behind, Harry was jostled forward until he saw it. 

Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat companion, was hung by her tail from a sconce. She was unnaturally still. A chill went down Harry’s back as he read the words painted in bright red capital letters on the stone wall below her. 

“THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE.”

The letters were still running wetly down the walls. Was this someone’s idea of a Halloween prank? It seemed too cruel for that, and nobody was taking credit for it. 

“‘Enemies of the heir beware’?” The whiny voice of Draco Malfoy pierced through the whispering students. “Better watch out, Mudbloods. That’ll be you, next!”

“Silence, Mister Malfoy,” Professor Snape said sharply, appearing suddenly over the blonde boy’s shoulder as he made his way swiftly through the throng. Malfoy scowled but obeyed. 

The students in front of him parted as he strode through, getting nearer and nearer to where Harry stood. His eyes roved back and forth across the students until they met Harry’s. A bit of the urgency seemed to leave him, then, though as he passed by Harry saw that he had pressed his lips together so tightly they’d begun to lose their color. For a man who was usually so composed to show any sort of reaction, Harry knew he must be extremely angry. He swallowed nervously.

Suddenly, a small hand slipped into his. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

“What’s going on?” Daisy asked in her sweet, little voice. She spoke quietly, but still several heads in Harry’s area turned towards the sound. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry whispered urgently. This was no place for a little girl. 

“Severus had to leave in a hurry. There was no time to take me home first. I think maybe he forgot I was with him. Tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But it’s nothing good. You really shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.”

Harry craned his neck to see. More professors had arrived, including the Headmaster, and they were conferencing quietly in front of the stony Mrs. Norris. Filch was crying inconsolably into Hagrids shaggy coat a few steps away. Professor Snape’s head suddenly flew up and he whipped around, looking behind and around him, then began scanning the crowd wildly. His eyes met Harry’s and Harry gave a little wave, and pointed downward at Daisy’s head, too short to be seen even from Professor Snape’s height. Professor Snape peeled away from the group and cut back through the students, directly towards Harry and Daisy. A hundred sets of eyes followed his path. 

“It is time to return,” Professor Snape said when he arrived, looking at Daisy.

“No,” Daisy replied. “I want to stay with Harry.”

“You cannot remain here. This is no place for a child.”

“But it’s dangerous! Harry said so!”

Professor Snape’s eyes flicked over to Harry, then back to Daisy. “Harry is a student here. He has prefects and teachers to ensure he is kept safe. The responsibility for your safety falls entirely to me, and it is not one I take lightly. We are leaving, Daisy. Come.”

“No!” Daisy insisted. “Not without Harry!” Nearly all the eyes were on their little huddle, now. A ring of observers had formed around them, and Harry thought even some of the professors were watching, though he didn’t turn to check. Harry fidgeted nervously. Professor Snape seemed aware of the increased attention, as well. His jaw twitched and Harry knew he was nearing the end of his patience. 

“How about I walk back with you?” Harry suggested. He looked questioningly up at Professor Snape, suddenly nervous that he’d overstepped. “If…if that’s all right?”

Professor Snape gave a sharp nod, then turned to leave without another word. Daisy must have been more scared than she’d let on, though, because her hand whipped out and wrapped around Professor Snape’s. He stilled for the briefest moment as his eyes flicked down to his hand and then to Daisy’s face. Then, he curled his long fingers around hers, and strode forward, pulling Daisy and Harry along behind him like a train. Curious eyes darted away as they made their way through the crowd and down the stairs, pretending not to have been looking all along. 

Once they were free of the crowd, the halls became eerily silent. The only sounds Harry heard on the way to their dungeon quarters was the sound of their shoes on the floor, Professor Snape’s boots clicking loudly, Harry’s trainers thudding gently, and Daisy’s mary janes tapping rapidly as her shorter legs worked to keep up with Professor Snape’s stride. A few moments later, the door to Professor Snape’s quarters clicked shut behind them. 

“Sit,” Professor Snape instructed sternly. Harry wasn’t sure if he meant himself or Daisy, but they both moved to comply. They sat side-by-side on the couch while Professor Snape stood next to his chair, one hand gripping the top of it tightly.

“New House Rule. Number Four: When I give an instruction, particularly in public or in situations of danger, I expect compliance before questions. Am I understood?”

“What does ‘compliance’ mean?” Daisy asked. 

Professor Snape sighed. “When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it immediately. You may ask questions later.”

“But why?”

“It may be shocking to learn that adults often know more of a situation than children do. You must trust that I have your best interests in mind.”

“But if you had my best interests in mind, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave Harry behind.”

“I believe I explained my reasoning already.”

“But you should care about him as much as you care about me.”

Professor Snape sighed, again. 

“Of course I do. You are being irrational. Go to your room. We will discuss this when you are in your right mind.”

Daisy groaned and stomped off to her room and Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He muttered something Harry couldn’t hear, then raised his head back up and dropped his hand. He came around his chair and sank into it heavily, letting his eyes drop closed and his head rest against the back of the chair. He looked immensely tired.  

“I’m sorry,” Harry said into the quiet. 

Professor Snape’s head lifted up and his eyes opened to look at Harry with a creased brow. “Were you responsible for the petrification of Mr. Filch’s cat?”

“Er, no. She was petrified?”

“Did you vandalize the corridor wall with threatening graffiti?”

“No.”

“Then I fail to see what you have to apologize for.”

“For being difficult.”

“You are not being difficult.”

“For Daisy being difficult, then.”

Professor Snape sighed again. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. “Daisy is not being difficult, either, she is being a child. And even if she were difficult, that is not your responsibility and you carry no fault for it.”

“But we caused a scene. And made you frustrated.”

“I cannot fault the students for their curiosity, irksome as it is. And my frustration is not with you.”

“You’re angry with me, though. I could tell. I saw how you looked when you walked by. I’m sorry I was…you know, there .”

“Are you apologizing for being with the entirety of the rest of your house on the stairwell leading to your dormitory in time to witness a disturbing act of violence that was also witnessed by the sum total population of Hogwarts castle?”

“Er, yes? I guess so. Yes.”

Professor Snape leaned forward and pinched his nose again. “You are also being irrational and I am sorely tempted to send you to your room as well. As it is a weekend, I will not hesitate to do so if you do not cease the self-recrimination. It would be ridiculous to blame you for something so circumstantial. To my knowledge, you do not possess the gift of Sight and could not have known what you were approaching. In truth, my predominant emotion at that time was fear for your safety. Once I determined you to be in good health, yes, I did become angry. My anger and frustration has little to do with you or your sister, though. My anger is regarding two things and two things only: the perpetrator of this crime–such as it is–and the fact that you continue to be at the forefront of situations which you should have no part of whatsoever. I would prefer to make it through an entire semester without having you embroiled in all manner of troublesome events.”

“I’m sor–”

“If you apologize, you will see nothing but the four walls of your bedroom until breakfast.”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut. 

“Now, if you are quite finished blaming yourself for all and sundry, I am prepared to escort you back to your common room. There is much still to be done this evening.”

“It’s okay, sir. You don’t have to trouble yourself. I can make it on my own. It’s not that far.”

“Forgive me if I do not presently trust that some evil will not befall you between here and there. Therefore, I certainly will trouble myself to escort you. It is not a matter for discussion. Tilly!”

Harry didn’t even have time to ask what a Tilly was before a small creature with bulbous eyes and long, floppy ears appeared in front of the fireplace with a little pop. It was no larger than Daisy and wore a sort of dress fashioned from what looked like a tea towel emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. This must be a house elf. 

“What does Professor Snape Sir require of Tilly?” the elf asked in a high pitched voice. 

“Keep an eye on Daisy while I am away. I will be escorting Harry to Hufflepuff, then visiting the Slytherin common room briefly. Ensure she remains in her room for the duration of my absence. She may also use the restroom if necessary. You know how to send for me if my presence is required. If she asks after me, assure her I will return shortly.”

“Yes, Professor Snape Sir. Tilly will be watching Little Miss Daisy while Professor Snape Sir is away. Professor Snape Sir has nothing to worry about.”

“Very good. Come, Harry.” He stood from his seat and strode towards the door with his usual purpose-filled steps. Harry scrambled off the couch. 

“Erm, bye,” he said to the house elf. 

“Goodbye, Mister Harry Potter,” Tilly chirped back with a miniature bow. What an interesting little creature. Professor Snape stood in the doorway, waiting for Harry to catch up. At Harry’s approach, he strode out into the corridor.

The Hufflepuff common room was two floors up and several hallways over. As Harry had said, it wasn’t too far away, but it would still take several minutes to walk there. He had assumed Professor Snape would shove him through the floo or something, since he wouldn’t want to make Daisy traipse all over and couldn’t leave her alone. He hadn’t even considered a house elf could mind her. Was that something house elves often did? Was it safe to leave her alone like that?

Harry voiced the thought to Professor Snape. 

“It is quite safe. Tilly has watched Daisy upon occasion before, when I have needed to make late-night rounds, supervise detentions, or handle emergent matters as part of my role as Head of Slytherin. Daisy is familiar with Tilly and will not be alarmed to be left alone with her. House elves are often used by affluent families as childminders or nursemaids, particularly while children are very young and require constant supervision. Tilly has fulfilled this function for staff members in the past and is well-suited to the task. Daisy is still too young to be left entirely alone, even briefly, so if I must be away from my quarters, I summon Tilly to assist.”

“I didn’t know you could just call for them like that.”

“As a professor of Hogwarts, the school house elves are at my disposal. Given that you reside here year-round, it is possible they would answer your summons as well, though they have been instructed not to answer to students except in emergencies. Some students, particularly purebloods, become too reliant on house elves otherwise.”

“Well that would have saved me some headache over the summer.”

Professor Snape looked at him curiously as they walked. “Explain.”

“After you told me about them, I wanted to see one, so I kept trying to spy on them when they took my laundry, but I never could catch them.”

“They need not appear in your room to retrieve your laundry.”

“Then how do they get it?”

Professor Snape stopped, turned, and looked at Harry with an arched eyebrow. “Magic.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. 

Professor Snape took pity on Harry and mercifully changed the subject as they walked on. “Tell me about your day.”

“It was good. The weather today was perfect, so I spent some time outside with my friends. The feast was really good, too.”

“Was your favorite food made available?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone’s favorite food was available. And, actually, I don’t know that I have a favorite food. I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Were there any dishes you were particularly excited to see?”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “Was your favorite food available?”

“One of them, yes.”

“You have more than one favorite food?”

“I believe most people do.”

“Oh. Well, which one was it?”

“I have a particular liking for a well-seasoned, roasted cornish hen, which is often served at the Halloween feast.”

“Yeah, I had one of those. I liked it.”

“Other than the feast and the weather, was your day satisfactory?”

“Sure. Well, I mean, I could have done without the last bit.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Will Mrs. Norris be okay?”

“I do not yet know. I elected to leave before the conversation had reached its conclusion.”

“How did it happen?”

“It is, as yet, a mystery. She will be examined by Professor Kettleburn, which will hopefully yield some answers.”

“Who could have done it?”

“Surprisingly, I was unable to deduce the culprit in the three minutes I spent examining the scene,” he responded drolly.

“Right. Sorry.” Professor Snape shot him a look. “Sorry! Oh!” he clapped his hand over his mouth before he could apologize again. Professor Snape shook his head. 

“I am not bothered by your questions, provided you do not expect me to present you with answers I do not have. However, I will endeavor to elucidate on what knowledge I do possess, so long as I deem it appropriate to share with a twelve-year-old boy. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

Harry had only understood about half of that, but it didn’t matter because he suddenly realized that there was something he wanted to know about. 

“What’s the Chamber of Secrets?” he asked. 

“A mere legend,” Professor Snape said, dismissively.

“So, it’s not real?”

“If it is real, it has eluded several centuries of determined investigators and troublemaking students.”

“But what’s it supposed to be, though?”

“A chamber beneath the bowels of the school created by Salazar Slytherin to house some sort of monster that does whatever he bids it.”

“Sounds ominous,” Harry said.

“Sounds ludicrous,” Snape rebutted. “There exists no such creature with such unwavering loyalty to a single individual, and particularly not one that can live long enough to be useful to both a founder of Hogwarts and a current student.”

“What if it’s the great-great-great-great-great-great grandchild of the creature?”

Professor Snape looked at him askance. “We are nearly there. Do you have any less ridiculous questions before we arrive?”

“Well…”

“Need I remind you that you will not be punished for asking questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Then speak, or I will not have time to answer.”

“It’s just that I’m not sure it’s a very nice question. It didn’t seem very nice when Malfoy said it, anyway.”

“Ah. I see. Mister Malfoy used a derogatory term for a witch or wizard born to muggle parents. They are more politely referred to as ‘muggleborns’.” He turned to face Harry fully, coming to a stop in the middle of the corridor and forcing Harry to stop short so as not to run into him. Professor Snape’s eyes bore into him. “It is unacceptable language for respectable wizards and witches and is not tolerated at Hogwarts, nor will I tolerate its use by you in any circumstance. Am I understood?”

“I would never say something like that, sir!”

“Good. It is a foul term used only by the most despicable sort of folk”

“One of my friends is muggleborn. I’d never call him a… that .”

“I’m sure Mister Lewis appreciates that deeply, else he would likely not be your friend. We are arriving. Are you certain there is nothing else you need of me?”

“No, I think I’m good.”

“If the events you witnessed today cause you stress or difficulty, do not hesitate to seek me out.”

“I think I’ll be okay, but thanks.”

Professor Snape scrutinized him deeply, as if he were attempting to perform an x-ray with only his eyes. Harry squirmed under his gaze, but not as much as he would have done a few months ago. He’d gotten a bit used to Professor Snape’s intensity. 

“Very well, then,” he said at last. “Get inside. I must still ensure all Slytherins arrived back safely and meet with my Prefects before I can return to speak with your sister about tonight’s events.”

“No problem, sir. See you later. Oh! And good luck with Daisy.”