Chapter Text
Stares and whispers follow Harry’s first week. It’s rather disconcerting, but he manages to ignore most of them - even when they take on a crueller approach, saying things like “I heard he was raised by centaurs - yeah, in a forest - he looks rather wild, doesn’t he?”
Harry doesn’t really understand how that is meant to be cruel. He doesn’t even know it’s cruel before Ron, steadfast by his side with his green-and-silver tie, tells them to sod off. He also tells Harry - begs Harry - to leave Sash behind in the dungeons, telling him that “she’s a boomslang, Harry, those are venomous, you’ll get in trouble!”
The castle is fascinating. Harry does get lost, once or twice, but he’s quick to learn who he can ask for help - the portraits and ghosts - and who he cannot - Peeves and Filch. Not to mention, the older Slytherins are quick to swarm the first years and accompany them from class to class during the first week.
Classes, meanwhile, are interesting. Some of them, at least - Harry takes to Astronomy with great interest and becomes the Professor’s favourite when he can accurately name all the stars they were meant to learn their first lesson. History of Magic would have been interesting, if only Professor Binns knew he was a ghost and took advantage of it.
Professor Quirrell’s class is…
“Something is wrong with that man,” Harry mutters to Ron. “His magic is tainted.”
Ron frowns, glancing over his shoulder, then back to Harry. “Are you sure?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Alright,” says Ron, and draws closer to him. “We’ll just have to be careful, then.”
Friday morning, Harry receives a note from Hagrid.
Dear Harry,
I didn’t know ye were Harry! But I’d recognize that face anywhere. Would ya like ta come on down fer tea this afternoon? Bring yer friends if ye wanna, too.
Hagrid.
“Hagrid,” says Ron, surprised, as he reads over Harry’s shoulder. “How’d you know him?”
Harry chews on a slice of apple. “I’ve received lessons in his hut twice a week ever since I was six,” he says. “Not from him, but his hut provided neutral ground for a tutor and I to meet. He is…” He tilts his head, hesitating. “...not quite a friend, or ally, or companion, but…”
“Acquaintance,” suggests Vincent, from down the table.
“Yes,” says Harry, nodding his thanks. He wasn’t aware Vincent was paying attention.
“Hagrid, that oaf?” says Draco, who apparently is also following along. “You’ll give Slytherin a bad name if you associate with him, Potter.”
Harry eyes him. It’s his unnerving gaze again - one that Harry knows freaks humans out, but only amuses centaurs.
Ron only snorts. “With all due respect, Malfoy, Slytherin already has a bad name. I don’t think Harry’s gonna be making it worse by hanging out with Hagrid.”
“If anything,” says Harry, “I might endear us to some of the… Lighter professors. What do you think, Vincent, Gregory?”
Neither Vincent nor Gregory get a chance to respond, though Harry can tell they’re thinking about it, for Daphne Greengrass interrupts to sweetly say, “I think the idea has merit, Potter.”
“Say,” says Blaise Zabini - and honestly, is half their year secretly involved in their conversations? “Is it true you were raised by centaurs?”
“Yes,” says Harry, and stands. Ron hurries to stand as well. “Pardon me, we must go to Potions. You ought not to tarry.”
*
“Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry immediately starts working through what knowledge he has on herbs and plants. He must have been quiet for too long, though, for Snape calls, “today, preferably, Potter.”
“Apologies, sir,” says Harry, “I was merely thinking. I know not the precise name of the answer you seek, but I believe you would receive a result that would possibly be quite dangerous to consume - in mild doses, perhaps it could be used as a sleeping aid.”
Snape’s eyes narrow into thin slits. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
“The ingredients closet, sir. Though, if a goat were nearby and it was an emergency, I would cut open its stomach.”
“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Harry thinks on it for a moment, then says, “only the name by which you call it.”
Snape stares at him for a long time before he nods, curtly, and says, “one point to Slytherin for adequate guesses. For the rest of you dunderheads’ information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”
Ron pats Harry on the back. The rest of their house gives superior, sneering looks to the Gryffindors.
*
“Greg’ry! Or, well, I s’pose I oughta call ye Harry, now…”
Harry smiles, relieved to be in familiar territory after the damp dungeons. “You may call me whatever you like, Hagrid. This is my ally, Ron, and my companion, Neville.”
He hadn’t been able to find Hermione in time to invite her along, but Neville had been delighted to follow him to Hagrid’s hut. Now both he and Ron sit around Hagrid’s heavy table, smiling anxiously.
Hagrid beams in return. “Aye, the Slytherin Weasley - an’ Neville, I remember yer parents, good kids, good…” He clears his throat. “Bet Mrs. Longbottom is plenty pleased with yer sorting, eh? An’ you, Ron, was it? How’d Molly and Arthur take yer colours, eh?”
Ron scratches his head a bit awkwardly. “Er, I think mum’s planning to make me a green and silver sweater for Christmas… she sounded right tearful in her letter, but I think it was from joy.”
“Yeah, yeah! I reckon we’ll be seein’ great things from ye, Ron. An’ you, Neville! And Greg’ry, o’ course - er, Harry. Sorry.”
*
Harry watches the ragged school-broom with intrigue. He has never flown before, but he has excellent balance - he’s not very concerned with playing Quidditch, but there must be many interesting ways to utilise a broom during a hunt. Perhaps not amidst trees, but across open fields…
“Up,” he states. The broomhandle smacks into his hand. It buzzes with energy - a sort of muted personality he often feels from his wand – as he tells it, “thank you.”
He looks around. Draco’s broom has answered in kind. Ron’s is a bit stubborn, but comes with a second command… Neville looks dead on his feet.
“Neville,” Harry calls, walking over to his companion to take a closer look. “It knows you’re afraid. As long as you honour that fear, it will avoid you. You need not fear the broom, it is only a tool. Let it know you are allies in this. You will conquer the skies together, not despite one another.”
Taking a deep breath, Neville nods. “Up?”
“Once more,” says Harry, patting his shoulder encouragingly. “You must mean it, Neville.”
Neville frowns and closes his eyes. A long moment passes.
“Up!”
The broom lifts into his hand.
“Excellent,” says Harry. “Now thank it.”
“Er,” says Neville, eyeing the broom. “Er… thank you.”
Flying is only a question of balance and control, Harry learns. He circles around Neville as he steadily finds his footing off-ground, and the class passes without incident.
*
The second weekend of the year, Sash tells Harry about the three-headed dog.
“You are telling me there is a Cerberus in the school?” asks Harry, incredulous even as she curls around him. They are in the Slytherin common room, Ron grumbling over Potions homework to Harry’s left, Daphne reading a book to his right. This corner of the room is meant for the first years, Harry has realised, but it’s really only Harry, Ron and Daphne who use it - as well as Draco, Vincent and Gregory, but Draco tends to leave in a huff whenever Harry is around.
At Harry’s hissing, though, several heads lift in shock. Everyone in Slytherin knows Harry has a companion snake, of course, though no one but Ron has heard him speak to it yet.
“If a Cerberus is a canine with three heads,” says Sash, uncaring for all the eyes on them, “then yes. What will you do about it, Harry-speaker?”
Harry frowns, thinking on it for a moment. He ignores all the eyes, too. “Nothing, I suppose. Whyever would they place a Cerberus here?”
“I know not,” says Sash.
“Potter,” says Daphne lightly, “are you speaking to your snake?”
Harry glances up at her. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”
Ron looks up from his homework to give the entire common room a wicked grin. “What’s that about ‘not a true Slytherin’, huh?”
*
“You’re a Parselmouth?” Hermione asks, intrigued and fascinated when they meet for their weekly study group. “I’ve read a little about them in the Ravenclaw library. Can you do Parselmagic?”
Neville leans forward. “Do you think - there’s some types of plants that respond well to Parseltongue, could we…?”
“We can,” says Harry to Neville. To Hermione, he says, “yes, I think so, but I have not used it much.”
Which, of course, leads to a demonstration.
*
A month into the school year, Harry receives a note from Hagrid. Except, it’s not from Hagrid - it’s from the herd, and it reads: darkness hides in shadows. Life-Giver beneath stone. Unicorn called by the stars.
Harry hands the note to Ron.
“Mate,” says Ron, “I’ve got no idea what this means.”
“The Dark Lord is on the move,” Harry translates mutedly “The Philosopher’s Stone is hidden somewhere. A unicorn has been killed.”
Ron has gone pale. He looks at the note again. “It’s all related,” he says, “isn’t it?”
“Most certainly,” says Harry. Then, rather meekly, “Ron? I’m not ready. I am not ready to face him yet.”
“Well, obviously,” says Ron. “We’re eleven. It’s not our job.”
Harry closes his eyes. “It is mine.”
*
Hermione and Neville read the note, as well.
“It’s gotta be the Cerberus,” says Hermione thoughtfully. When Harry gives her an impressed look - he hasn’t told anyone about the Cerberus - she scoffs. “What? I’m a Ravenclaw.”
“So the Cerberus is guarding the Philosopher’s Stone,” says Neville, who has flourished with Seamus and Dean’s friendship. “And You-Know-Who is after it, somewhere nearby, feeding on unicorns? But surely… I mean, the Professors know. Right?”
The silence is tense.
“I will speak as little with the Headmaster as necessary,” says Harry, after a while. “He has attempted to get me on my own several times. I do not trust him.”
“I will do it,” says Hermione. “I will tell the Headmaster.”
The next day Hermione marches over to the Slytherin table in the middle of lunch, plopping down on the bench beside Harry. “The Headmaster,” she tersely says, “is a fool.”
“Hear, hear,” says Blaise, and lifts his goblet in a toast. Daphne, sat opposite of Harry and calmly eating her toast, simply nods.
Hermione leans close to Harry and Ron to whisper, “he says everything is under control and that I shouldn’t worry about it. The rest of the time he only wanted to talk about you! And that it was so good I’m friends with you, and do I know anything about your parents, and do you have any friends in Slytherin?” She shakes her head. “Ron is right there.”
“S’pose I’m not a ‘real’ Slytherin,” says Ron, and shrugs. “Buncha bollocks, ‘course. What’d you tell him?”
Hermione tosses her hair out of her face, straightens her Ravenclaw tie, and says, “I politely told him to sod off.”
*
When Professor Quirrell announces the arrival of a troll on Halloween, Harry knows at once where the Dark Lord is hiding.
Dumbledore tells everyone to return to their dorms. Both Slytherin and Hufflepuff remain stubbornly seated, however - Snape, when he rushes past them to join the teachers in finding the troll, snaps to Prefect Farley, “defence lines, Farley!”
The older years at once slide to form a defensive barrier between the first years and the hall entrance. The Hufflepuffs seem to be doing something similar over at their table; the Fat Friar floats above the younger years trying to cheer them up.
“Ridiculous,” mutters a second year. “Expecting us to return to the dungeons! What the hell is wrong with him?”
They wait tensely for two whole hours, half-expecting a troll to burst through the doors at any second, before Professor Sprout and Professor Snape return to the Hall to escort their students. “The troll has been handled,” says Snape, and doesn’t elaborate.
*
Time is spent doing homework. Harry works hard to understand and excel, and with Hermione’s help with the theory, Neville’s help with herbology, Ron’s assistance with strategy and Daphne’s help with Charms, their group skyrockets to be top of their year. Daphne joins their study group. Two weeks later, early December, Blaise joins them, too.
In their free time, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville read about Dark and Light magic. Harry pens a letter to Remus Lupin, who he hasn’t heard from since their last lesson, where he asks for more information on the topic as well as politely apologising for keeping his identity hidden.
He sends a letter to Charlie, as well, where he informs him - as he is his longest-standing friend and also his magical guardian - about the Dark Lord, and the unicorns, and the Philosopher’s Stone.
Charlie’s returning letter is a long warning, request for more information, and attached with all he knows about Nicholas Flammel. It’s nothing Hermione hasn’t already found in their libraries, but they appreciate the gesture, nonetheless.
*
Christmas comes with thick sheets of snow. Harry convinces Ron to join him in the Forbidden Forest, though he makes sure to never leave school grounds even as he tells Ron all about the different flora they pass. He feels the eyes of the herd on him and says nothing of their weight to Ron.
Harry leaves two loaves of bread behind, wrapped in a finely-woven cloth, all of which he’d gotten from the House Elves in the kitchens. “An offering to the new life,” he says to Ron. In Kentauroi, he says, “a gift to amí.”
Breads are a rare delicacy, when grains are tough to come by. Amí will appreciate the extra carbohydrates.
*
Harry and Ron receive matching sweaters from Mrs. Weasley. Hagrid has whittled Harry a flute; Hermione gifts him books, and Ron sweets. From Daphne he receives a fancy-looking quill, and a small box from Blaise contains a silver brooch in the form of a snake. One mystery parcel contains an Invisibility Cloak, with only the note: “This belonged to your father. Use it wisely.”
Surprisingly, there are parcels from several others in their year, too: Theodore, Pansy, Millicent, Vincent and Gregory have all gifted him some variation of wixen candy. Harry once again thanks Ron for the advice of getting all his year-mates something small.
“Probably their parents,” Ron tells him, as they curl up before the fireplace to eat their new candy. Sash is curled in Harry’s lap, peacefully asleep as she basks in the warmth. “There’s no way they didn’t tell them you’re a Parselmouth.”
*
In the week between Christmas and New Year, Harry and Ron explore the castle’s darkest corners in the cover of the Invisibility Cloak. They find many passages accessible only through Parseltongue, and in turn spend many hours with Harry teaching Ron various phrases, such as ‘open’, ‘close’, ‘light’, and ‘dark’.
They will have to teach the rest of their group once they return from their respective holidays. For the time being, they find great joy in pulling pranks on Ron’s brothers, Fred and George, who only sometimes know it’s them.
*
Harry rests his forehead against the cool windows, watching silver moonlight dance against the water surface far above. His heart aches for warm, furred flanks and cool wind in his hair, gnarly bark beneath his feet and a bow in his hands.
The Great Lake speaks of patience and faith. He closes his eyes and tries, tries, tries to listen.
*
He starts to read about environmental charms and transfigurations.
*
He receives another note from the herd just as term starts again. This one reads simply, ten drops spilled.
“He’s killed half the unicorn population,” Harry says, so angry he nearly tears the note in half. “If it were not for the watchful eye of the professors, I would put an arrow through his eye!” Saying so, he fingers the hilt of Mighty.
Ron and Hermione look grim; Neville has turned a rather fetching shade of green, making Blaise give him a worried look. Daphne, however, eyes Harry with interest. “You use a bow and arrow?”
“You should see him practice,” says Ron, nudging her in the side. With a long look at Harry, then Neville, he quietly mutters, “Harry, you ought to tell them. It’s starting to get real dangerous out here.”
Harry considers it, then inclines his head. To Daphne and Blaise, he says, “we have reason to believe the Dark Lord is looking for the Philosopher’s Stone, which is most likely hidden in the Third Floor corridor. Professor Quirrell is involved; he is likely possessed.”
“Well,” says Blaise, after a long silence. “That’s…”
“How do you know?” says Daphne.
Harry tilts his head in challenge. “The heavens do not lie.”
*
By the end of February, Blaise and Daphne announce – not to the Slytherins, but to Harry – that they are allies, now, and he cannot change that. “Better you than Malfoy,” Blaise tells him, in a quiet mutter while they study. “I’m not cut out to be a leader, and our year needs one.”
“You believe I am cut out to be a leader?”
Blaise looks out over their study-group, consisting now of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Daphne, himself, Vincent, Gregory, Hannah and Susan from Hufflepuff and Terry from Ravenclaw, and gives Harry an unimpressed look. “You’ve amassed a quarter of our year.”
“This is merely a study group, Blaise. We are only first years.”
Blaise looks over at the gathered group again, looking at heads bent over books, quills scratching on paper, Gryffindors helping Slytherins and vice versa. “Potter,” he says, “you’re blind.”
*
Harry and Ron find out about Hagrid’s dragon egg entirely on accident… although it’s not exactly something that’s easy to hide, when he burns through firewood as though it’s the middle of winter. “This is bad,” says Harry. “We have to get that dragon away.”
Ron nods solemnly. “Maybe Charlie will take it? After it hatches, I mean?”
“Brilliant idea,” says Harry. “I shall owl him straight away.”
*
Charlie agrees to take the dragon, of course. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville – because of course those two had to get themselves involved – send the hatchling off with some friends of his, who are just as delighted to receive the dragon as Harry and his friends are to get rid of it.
And then, because history has a way of repeating itself across time and space, they get caught by Filch.
*
Detention in the Forbidden Forest is quite possibly the best punishment Harry has ever received. He’s practically skipping as Filch leads them toward the treeline.
“Now, don’t ye worry,” says Hagrid, seeing Neville and Hermione’s pale faces. “There ain’t nothin’ livin’ in the forest that’ll hurt ye, as long as yer with me or Fang.” With gleaming eyes he grins at Harry. “Or Greg’ry, I reckon!”
“What will we be doing tonight, Hagrid?” asks Harry.
Hagrid’s smile falls. “C’mere. See this?”
Harry’s smile falls, then, too. “Unicorn blood.”
Hermione gasps shrilly. “But that’s - ”
“‘Nar impossible ter kill a unicorn,” says Hagrid somberly. “An’ whatever hurt this one hurt it real bad. We’ll try ter find it, ye hear? We might have to put it out of its misery.”
They split into two groups. Ron and Neville go with Fang; Hermione and Harry go with Hagrid, and then they’re off.
Hermione asks Hagrid all sorts of questions while they walk, her voice hushed with secrecy. “What could kill a unicorn? What would kill a unicorn? What was that noise? Are you sure we’re safe?”
A noise ahead makes Hagrid fling his arm out to stop them both. “Who’s there?” he bellows. “I’m armed!”
But Harry knows who it is even before he steps forward, and relaxes at once.
“Oh, it’s you, Ronan,” says Hagrid, even as Hermione tenses beside Harry. “How are yeh?”
“Good evening to you, Hagrid,” says Rónán, inclining his head politely. Harry fights the urge to run over and fling his arms around his waist in greeting; he is not a foal anymore, no matter how much he has missed his herd and family. “Were you going to shoot me?”
“Can’t be too careful, Ronan,” says Hagrid. “There’s summat bad loose in this Forest. This is - well, yeh know who Harry is - that’s Hermione Granger, a student up at the school. An’ this is Ronan, Hermione. He’s a centaur.”
“I’d noticed,” says Hermione meekly.
Rónán looks to her first, as is polite. “Good evening. You are a student?”
“And my ally,” says Harry, which he knows will mean far more to Rónán than any explanation of Hermione’s classes will.
Rónán zeroes in on Harry, eyes warm and smile fond. “Harry,” he says, as though only noticing him now. “Why are you here?”
“Got detention,” says Hagrid simply.
Now Rónán looks amused. In Kentauroi, he asks, “what did you get caught doing?”
Harry shuffles his feet. “...we smuggled a dragon Hagrid had out of school - it was after curfew, however, and we were caught.”
There is a silence for a long while, as Rónán tilts his head and Hermione stares in open interest. “You will do better next time.”
“I will,” Harry agrees.
A long moment passes where Rónán and Harry watch each other. Then Rónán looks skyward, exhales softly, and says, “Mars is bright tonight.”
Harry’s blood runs cold. He looks skyward, too. “So it is,” he utters.
“Listen, Ronan,” says Hagrid, and both Harry and Rónán turn to him, surprised at the interruption. “I’m glad we’ve run inter yeh, ’cause there’s a unicorn bin hurt – you seen anythin’?”
A pained look flits over Rónán’s face. “Always the innocent are the first victims,” he says; it’s a quote from the legend of Centauros, and Harry’s heart tightens. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”
“Right,” says Hagrid, “but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anythin’ unusual?”
Rónán’s eyes harden. Hagrid is far more impatient and human than usual, but he’s also very, very frightened. It must be his fear that makes Rónán lenient, repeating the warning from earlier: “Mars is bright tonight. Unusually bright.”
A rustling of leaves announces Bane’s arrival.
“Hullo, Bane,” says Hagrid, just as Harry bows his head in respect. “All right?”
Bane tilts his head toward Harry in return. “Good evening, Hagrid. I hope you are well?
“Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen anythin’ odd in here lately? Only there’s a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin’ about it?”
Bane eyes Hagrid warily. He glances at Rónán, then Harry, then Hagrid again... and says, tensely, that: “Mars is bright tonight.”
That Bane would warn them, too, makes Harry worry. The look Bane gives him after, telling him to translate for the humans, lights the worry on fire. It must truly be serious, then, for even Bane to want them to know.
“We’ve heard,” says Hagrid, clearly not pleased with the answer. “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.”
Harry and Hermione follow him from the clearing, though Harry pauses to offer another nod to both Rónán and Bane before he leaves entirely.
Hermione tucks close to Harry’s side. “Harry - what did they mean, about Mars?”
Hagrid looks interested, too.
Harry looks skyward, spotting the bright spot that is Mars almost at once. “Mars is bright,” he tells them. “They were warning you.”
“Of what?” asks Hermione.
“Grave danger,” says Harry - just as red sparks rise toward the sky, far down the path Ron and Neville took.
*
It is, thankfully, a false alarm: Neville tripped and it startled Ron so bad he cast sparks. They agree to switch up the teams; Ron and Harry spend more time together anyway, and will have a more calming effect, and Hagrid will be able to keep an eye on Neville.
Harry tells him about the encounter with Rónán and Bane as they travel deeper within the forest. “Hagrid is kind enough,” Harry says, “but he does not understand as much as he thinks he does.”
*
“Ron,” says Harry, watching the hooded figure bent above the dead unicorn. “Get help.”
Ron flees. Fang chases after him, and then there’s Harry, and his horror, and Voldemort lifting his head from the unicorn’s flank to glare at him with ember eyes and blood on his mouth.
Harry fumbles for his wand. Is this it? Is this the moment? It’s far too soon - he’s not at all ready.
Pain like no other sears through him - is his head splitting apart - what is this? He staggers backward, has to get away, has to -
Firenze splits the night with a whinny, charging straight at Voldemort’s hooded form. Harry collapses in relief and doesn’t question how Firenze knew, only heaves for air, watching as the figure flees from Firenze’s hooves.
His hair has come undone from his braid. He whips around, breathing hard and fast, eyes wide and wild as he zeroes in on Harry to gasp, “are you alright?”
Harry bursts into tears.
“Fris,” he sobs, reaching for his childhood friend. He grabs onto Firenze’s hand and lets him pull him upright before collapsing against his torso. “I can’t do this, I can’t, I’m not strong enough, I - I’m not - ”
Firenze shushes him. “Breathe, my friend. You were brave tonight. No foal - no tenling - can be expected to face such darkness. Come, I will return you to your human companions. As long as darkness roams these shadows, the forest is not safe for you.”
Harry tries to wipe his tears, but they keep coming. “The forest is my home.”
“Please, Harry. Can you stand on your own?” He can, but Firenze gives him a sceptical look. “You will not be fast enough. I will bear you on my back.”
Harry rears back. “You cannot - ”
“But I will,” says Firenze fiercely, and lowers himself onto the ground. “Come, now. Hold onto me.”
The knife hefted from the antler that nearly skewered Firenze years prior weighs heavy in Harry’s belt.
He clambers onto Firenze’s back and wraps his arms around his chest.
*
The forest seems calmer now, the trees rustling with relief and the wind whistling from afar. Voldemort has left.
“Have you found out where the stone is hidden?” asks Firenze, after he has slowed his pace and Harry no longer clings to him with dread.
“Yes,” says Harry. “It is guarded by a Cerberus in the third floor corridor.”
“And the Dark Lord?”
“Possessing Quirrell,” says Harry. There is no question of it now; the magic of the hooded figure is the same as clings to Quirrell. “I know not what to do about it.”
They walk in silence for a while. Harry shifts with each step Firenze takes. “Harry. Why do you think we have sent you the signs we read?”
Harry thinks on it. He hasn’t actually considered why they might want to do so before now. “I… assume you want me to do something about it…?”
Firenze shakes his head. “No, my friend. They have been information - warnings. You must do what you think is right.”
Harry bends his head to rest his forehead against Firenze’s back. “How do I know what is right?”
“By listening,” says Firenze, “and listening well.”
“I will,” Harry promises. He hesitates, gnawing on his lip. “Will you be here?”
Firenze turns his head to look over his shoulder, giving Harry a small, warm smile. “I promise you I will, Hasnávid.”
*
Harry does as promised. He returns to his friends and allies, telling them in hushed voices who - and what - he faced.
And then he returns to school, and he listens to all that he can listen to.
“C’mon, Harry, exams are coming up,” Hermione tells him, and Harry listens.
“Oy, Harry, just another round of chess?” says Ron, and Harry listens.
“You’re getting really good in herbology,” says Neville, and Harry listens.
“Thank you for allowing us into your circle; I hope to become a fine ally for you,” says Daphne, and Harry listens.
“You can call me ally as much as you want, Harry, but if anyone asks, you’re my friend,” says Blaise, and Harry listens.
“Patience, strength, faith,” says the Great Lake, and Harry listens.
And before he knows it, the year has ended and Quirrell is gone. Mars’ bright glow dims; a note from the herd reads simply, the darkness slumbers.
After another House Cup for Slytherin, an emotional farewell with his friends and one last escape from Dumbledore’s prying eyes, Harry returns to the forest. The herd awaits him there, by the treeline, and there are hugs and greetings and smiles all around, and Harry feels, at last, as though he can breathe.