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Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall was quite ready to dismiss the Headmaster’s plans and be done with it, she’d decided. As “carefully-considered” and “crucial” as Albus insisted they were, she simply couldn’t stand around while the boy was neglected. Or worse, as she suspected with some regret.

The blinds were rarely down in number four Privet Drive, and likewise the living room curtains weren’t drawn during the day, but Minerva only sometimes saw the toddler who ought to be there. Ignoring the odd glimpse when he was moved out of the cupboard for food or the occasional clean - and the few times he had been dragged out by the Dursleys’ older son - any passerby could easily be convinced that the only child in the home was Dudley himself.

Albus had been dismissive of her concerns over the past two years, much to her dismay. She had always viewed Dumbledore as an arrogant, if wise man, not to mention a close friend, but this could only be wilful ignorance. It seemed a waste of the boy’s wards if he was so maimed by his upbringing that he couldn't fit into the world he belonged in, but Albus staunchly refused to admit the danger Harry's relatives posed him. McGonagall only hoped that he'd see sense once he saw the condition the boy was in. She certainly had.

She wondered just what might be going through little Harry's mind inside of that cupboard - one of Minerva’s few muggle friends was a child psychologist, and she knew Claire would be twice as dismayed as herself if she heard of the young boy’s plight. No doubt she'd be able to diagnose a dozen problems stemming from his mistreatment that Minerva would never even consider - muggles often seemed to excel in mundane areas of study that wizarding folk floundered in, and she made a mental note to speak with the woman as soon as Harry was safe.

It was dusk when McGonagall appeared outside of the Dursley residence, a sharp crack heralding her arrival. Not optimal conditions for rescuing a traumatised toddler, but it couldn’t be helped - she’d have to hope he hadn’t gained a fear of the dark.

Striding forwards, the deputy-headmistress rang the doorbell with a slender finger and anxiously awaited a response - she wasn’t going to blast down any doors unless it was entirely necessary, but she was very much willing to change her definition of the word.

A disgruntled-looking Vernon Dursley unhinged the door, unknowingly saving it from being rendered unusable - “Who the ruddy hell are you?” He grunted, squinting at her robes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Dursley.” She said in return, masking her contempt. “Could I come in?” 

“And why would I let you do that?” He scoffed, moving to slam the door, only to find it held open by Minerva’s firm grip.

“My apologies - I shouldn’t have posed that as a request.” She said icily, forcing it back open. “I will be coming in, Mr Dursley.”

Statute of secrecy be damned, she thought, igniting the tip of her wand with a quiet incantation - "Lumos Mollis" - and surveying the dim rooms of the house. She could see just as well without the spell, but she felt the warm light might help comfort the child if her visit caused him any distress.

"I'm taking the boy - you're beyond unfit to care for him." She said aloud to Vernon as he stood behind her, breathing deeply in his anger and confusion.

"The only boy here is Dudley, and we're more than 'fit to care for him'! I demand that you leave immediat-"

Minerva cut him off in an instant - "We both know who I'm referring to, and he certainly isn't your son." She said firmly, gently opening up the cupboard door.

Wincing a little at the vile conditions Harry was resting in, she lifted the grimy toddler out and into her arms. He was breathing, but otherwise entirely silent despite his obvious fear. Minerva briefly looked to see if there were any belongings worth bringing, but was rewarded only with soiled clothes and a ragged blanket - a new wardrobe was in order, then.

Vernon rambled, faltering a few times as he rapidly backpedaled and blocked her path to the door - "We keep him in his- his room most of the time, he's always been a real menace around the house and for all the discipline he-"

"Mr Dursley, Harry is a three-year-old, and his room is the storage space underneath your stairs." McGonagall said sharply, staring him down. "Now, I insist that you move out of our way."

The boy's uncle flared with rage again as he went right up into her face - "He lives in my home, I have every right to treat him however I ruddy well li-"

His words died in his throat as Minerva flicked her wand, shattering the family portrait behind him with a great noise. She regretted it somewhat as Harry shuddered at the loud sound, but it did its job.

"Wh-Who.. who are you?" Vernon stammered eventually, his bravado crumbling.

"A concerned neighbour." The deputy headmistress said curtly, surging past him with Harry held tight in her arms.

Chapter Text

Trustworthy. Trustworthy, and nice. That was how he'd describe Minerva. It was on that scale that he judged most people, really - and for the most part, few fell into the same category as his adoptive mother.

It wasn't quite that Harry didn't like any of his peers, he was just very wary of people he wasn't completely sure of. He'd talk to them, but he wouldn't trust them too fast. Harry didn't see how that was wrong, but the other children at school didn't completely have the patience to put up with his distrust.

"Harry, it's time to wake up - Claire's here." Minerva said with a slight yawn as she poked in through the bedroom door, signing out the words as she spoke them.

She'd always made a point of using sign language herself, ever since it had come apparent that he was mute - they were near fluent in both the British and the American version, as his mother insisted that he keep his range of options as wide as possible. It made enough sense to him, though it had been difficult to get a grip on essentially three different languages in five years.

Not that he minded - Minerva was an English teacher at a school a mile or two away, and her enthusiasm for learning had definitely bled into him; he shot through about every book she bought him, and his primary school teacher always praised him for his focus in lessons. Harry liked learning about animals the most, especially bugs - he remembered lots of spiders in the dark place, and they'd always been there to comfort him; even if they did get cobwebs everywhere.

He didn't know much else of that time, but it did make him shake when he thought too much about it - there had been lots of pain, that he knew for certain. He always felt it whenever he had bad dreams.

Harry remembered when his voice disappeared, too, though he wasn't sure how it happened - he'd been very frightened, so scared that he couldn't stop crying. But he knew crying would just them angry, it always did. He pushed himself even harder to stop, and all of a sudden, he did - and after that he could never make any real sounds again.

The doctor said it must've been developmental when Minerva had taken Harry to see him - apparently he didn't have vocal cords at all - but Harry knew better than to accept that he'd just been born without them. He used to make lots of noises, and they weren't all breathy like they were now.

Struggling out of his bed, he opened his wardrobe, putting together some clothes that he thought matched colour-wise - he had a bit of an eye for that, although his mother seemed to favor rather dull palettes. Harry had always liked the green dress she often wore to work though - it was a pretty shade of emerald, and the silky material felt delightfully soft against his hands.

"Hi!" He signed politely to Claire as he entered the living room - she went into the same category as Minerva when it came to trustworthiness, in his opinion. While he found the visits boring sometimes, he knew she was helping. And she liked bugs.

The psychologist returned his greeting with a smile, gesturing for him to sit down opposite her - "Are you looking forward to your seventh birthday, Harry?" She asked, while signing the same words as per his mother's instructions.

He paused before giggling in a sort of staggered exhale - Claire was definitely a little less fluent than he or Minerva. She'd just asked whether he was excited for his seventh birth. 

The appointment went about as it usually did outside of that little language slip-up, and it did turn out to be a bit of a boring one despite the lollipop he was rewarded with at the end of it.

His mother dropped him off at his primary school after breakfast, before swiftly driving off to work. Given all of her strictness and academic values, not being punctual didn't quite match Minerva's personality - but Harry was certain she couldn't be on time most days. The school she taught at began lessons at 8:30 apparently, but that would leave her with no time at all to get there unless it was directly around the corner. Maybe she took an aeroplane, he mused.

"Mufflesqueak!" A voice called out as he entered the building, followed by a chorus of laughter. "Muffles!"

Harry internally groaned, soldiering on - he'd tried to stop them from saying things a few times, and it never worked. They just tore up any notes he handed them, so he'd more recently adopted a policy of ignoring anything they said. He still didn't like the things they called him though, and sometimes he thought about telling Minerva. That might worry her though, and he liked the idea of that even less.

The classroom was safer - he trusted Mrs Erickson well enough, and she seemed nice. The elderly woman didn't know too much sign, but always read whatever he wrote down in his book, and she never left him out. The other children were alright too, better than Ben and the rest of the bullies - he wasn't exactly friends with anyone, but they didn't insult or exclude him either. They were about midway on the trustworthiness scale.

After an interesting lesson about the water cycle, and a slightly uncomfortable hour of art thanks to the paint he got all over his hands, they were herded over to the cafeteria.

He broke away though, heading for the library - his mother always packed him nice sandwiches and biscuits, so he liked to take them there and read a book while he ate. It wasn't a very big collection, so he was making his way through them all quite steadily, going from the left side to the right.

He picked out the next book under "M" - another one by Roald Dahl - and nibbled on a biscuit while he sank into one of the colourful beanbags by the back wall. 

His peace was interrupted by a few familiar voices - no, no, not now..

"It's Muffles!" Ben said, a gaggle of friends in tow. "Hey, what d'you think he's doing here? It's not like he can actually read, he's stupid!"

Going red in the face, Harry hastily took out his little notebook - Please leave me alone, he scribbled, showing it to the bully leering overhead.

"Look, it's trying to speak!" He exclaimed as he yanked it from his hands, eliciting a wave of mirth from his lackeys. "Do you think we actually care?"

Harry desperately scrambled to get the book back, pages ripping as he tugged on it - and then he was falling backwards, winded as one of the other boys shoved him over into the corner of the library.

He was in the dark room again, and the walls were too close to him. Uncle was angry, and he had to be quiet or he'd come back. He couldn't make a noise, but he couldn't stop crying and he heard the footsteps get louder and louder and-

The library erupted with noise as a dozen bookshelves came crashing down around him.

Chapter Text

Harry was ten today, and he was doing extraordinarily well - he had been for a while, actually. The 'library incident' as he furtively thought of it had been a blessing in a very good disguise - it completely threw off his progress through the books, but it also threw off most of his bullies. They didn't seem to know what happened exactly, but they avoided him.

He thought that was a little silly - it wasn't like he'd knocked them down himself - but still, he had to thank whoever had assembled the bookshelves. They'd clearly done a terrible job, and now he wasn't called Mumbles.

After fishing out some clothes from his now much more colourful wardrobe, he brushed his teeth probably a little less thoroughly than he should've, and shot downstairs.

Minerva was cooking - she was a bit of a dab hand in the kitchen, and she always seemed to put food together incredibly quickly. If there was a recipe with a dozen steps that was meant to take three hours to prepare, she'd somehow have it done in one, and it'd be even more delicious than the cookbook had played it up to be.

It was an English breakfast this morning, as it turned out - Harry's favourite. He dug into the wealth of bacon and egg almost immediately, only briefly pausing to sign his gratefulness to Minerva. She rolled her eyes a little at his table manners, but smiled - "Eat too fast, and your stomach's liable to rupture. Do try to slow down, dear."

He decided to ignore that advice entirely - there were presents to be opened after all, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what a number of them were as his mother laid them out before him.

Latching onto a neatly-wrapped, angular gift, he was rewarded with exactly the trilogy he hoped for as he peeled away the paper. He'd moved on from Roald Dahl a while ago, and to satisfy his hunger for something longer, about a year ago Minerva had given him a copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. He'd been drawn in from about the first page, though he did feel bad for the scrawny little creature in chapter five, Gollum - it couldn't be nice living in a cave with only a ring for company. He hoped he'd be given a happier ending in The Lord of the Rings.

The next gift he opened was filled with neatly folded winter clothes - including a particularly snug coat with a woolen interior. He'd always been scrawny despite Minerva's efforts, so he often spent the second half of every year shivering. No more of that, hopefully.

Harry gradually worked his way through each of the remaining presents, including a fresh notebook bound in leather and some nice pens. A few of the gifts were from relatives, though he'd never met any of them - one sent him sweets on every birthday without fail, though they tended to either be rock-solid or prone to sticking to his teeth. This year it was a huge block of fudge, the package wrapped rather messily in what looked like a few taped-together sheets of construction paper.

The last gift was tiny compared to the others, and Minerva presented it to him directly. Opening the little silky box, he lifted out a glinting silver chain.

"I hope it isn't too feminine, dear - I wanted something you could keep, and boys' jewelry tends to be rather undec-" Her words were cut off by Harry hugging her, the little spider-shaped pendant already dangling from his neck.

"I love it." He signed up at her, smiling.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and soon he was lounging in one of the comfy armchairs in the living room, about four chapters into The Fellowship of the Ring while his mother popped out to go to the shops - "Just for a few odds and ends."

Harry adjusted, a little uncomfortable - there was something angular on the seat that was poking into his back. He rummaged around, feeling along the pillows before retrieving the box that had  held his necklace - it must have slipped out of the pocket of his hoodie while he'd been reading. Really, he didn't need to keep the little container - it wasn't like he was ever going to take the pendant off, and he couldn't see how putting a small, easily lost object into a slightly larger, equally as easily lost box helped matters.

Slotting a bookmark into his novel, he decided to pop it on the table in Minerva's room - she'd be able to reuse it for something, she had all sorts of jewelry.

He hastily walked back towards the door, not eager to intrude on her privacy, but stopped abruptly. That was odd - the fireplace in this room was lit too, but Harry could've sworn-

..He also could've sworn it hadn't had a head inside of it last time he checked, but the bearded man looking out at him from the coals begged to differ. There was a head in the fireplace.

Chapter Text

"Hello, Harry."

The head in the fireplace was talking to him. There was a sentient head sitting in the hearth. It took Harry a moment or two to push through his shock, but he quickly remembered his manners.

"Hello there. It's nice to meet you." He signed with shaky fingers. "Are you.. quite alright?"

"Splendid." The man confirmed, his eyes twinkling. "Though I must admit, the sensation of one's head being distended from their body - not to mention their beard being filled with ash - is quite uncomfortable."

"I can imagine." Harry gestured weakly.

The head in the fire chuckled, before peering through the doorway - "Ah, Minerva! I was just having a pleasant chat with Harry! Will you join us!"

"Albus Dumbledore!" Harry's mother cried exasperatedly, dropping down her shopping bag and rushing over. "We agreed he'd be raised a muggle, at least until he received his letter!"

The man, Albus Dumbledore, seemed amused. 

"It seems Harry had other plans." 

"Well, regardless, I will be the one who eases him into it - as much as I value your cryptic way of relaying information, Albus, I feel he might prefer a more straightforward approach." She said firmly, before softening. "I look forward to seeing you when term starts."

The head disappeared from the fireplace, and she shook her head with a huff, before looking down at an entirely bewildered Harry.

"Very well." Minerva said to herself, before going to straight into an swift explanation. "Well, Harry - magic is very much real, it is simply hidden from the wider world. I am a witch, you are a wizard, and the man who just spoke to you was Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I anticipate a few questions, so you may ask whatever you please."

He didn't quite know where to begin.

"Do you fly around on a broomstick?" Harry signed eventually, his hands still a little shaky from the revelation. He felt betrayed by the fact that something this massive had been kept from him by her of all people, but he pushed past the feeling.

Minerva laughed - "Well, my Quidditch days are long behind me, but I believe I have a memento or two somewhere." She replied, withdrawing a slender stick which Harry assumed was a magic wand. "Accio Cleansweep."

There was a chorus of clattering sounds and thuds somewhere upstairs, as well as the noise of shattering pottery, but soon enough a broomstick shot into her hand. Closely followed by a visible cloud of dust.

She coughed - "As I said, long behind me." - before straddling it for a brief flight.

Harry watched in wonder, though she only rose about a half metre before touching back down - "Can I try it?" He asked hopefully, gazing at the well-crafted broom.

His mother seemed a little awkward - "Ah.. well, I'm rather unsure. To ride a broom, a witch or wizard has to form a connection before they're able to ride - traditionally this is done by holding one's hand out over the broom and saying 'up'. I can't pretend to be an expert in broomsticks, but obviously the traditional method won't quite fit given your muteness."

He deflated a bit.

"That's not to say it's impossible! Far from it." Minerva said quickly. "I'll have to ask a friend of mine - he knows rather a lot more than I do, and I'm sure you'll be crashing through windows in no time at all."

Harry brightened up significantly, before deciding to ask another question - "You mentioned Hogwarts? Is that where you teach English?" He queried, spelling out the unusual school name.

"I teach transfiguration - the practice of turning one thing into another - but yes dear, I am a teacher at Hogwarts." She said, smiling. "English is something of a passion for me though, I didn't lie to you about that. I used to run a small book club for the students until I decided to adopt you, not that many ever attended."

His mother's question-and-answer approach did turn out helpful - after about an hour, he'd gotten about enough knowledge to start a small wizarding encyclopedia. And his excitement had built massively.

"I suppose I ought to buy you another magical gift, if the cat's out of the bag so to speak." Minerva mused, dusting off her dress - she'd been an actual cat a moment ago.

"Another?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, yes, of course. I haven't shown you." She realised, retrieving her wand and tapping it against the pendant of his necklace. The little silver spider jolted to life, unhooking the latch and weaving the chain into a tight ball before returning to inanimacy. "It'll untangle itself, too."

Harry marvelled at the enchanted piece of jewellery, turning it over in his hands before Minerva restored it to its usual state. 

His mother thought for a few moments as he fastened the necklace back around his neck - "Sit tight, Harry." She smiled. "I think I have an idea for your late present."

With a slight wave of her wand, she vanished with a loud crack, leaving him to silently ponder the new world he'd crash-landed into.

His wait was mercifully short - Minerva soon returned, and presented him with something slender and about twice as long as he was. It was very neatly wrapped of course.

"Thank you!" He signed with one hand, already tearing off the paper with the other.

Harry audibly gasped as he lifted out the contents - a new, well-polished flying broomstick, the name 'Cleansweep 6' engraved into the wood.

"It's not quite up to the standards of modern racing brooms, but I thought spending several hundred galleons on your first broomstick would be unwise. I hope it doesn't turn out too slow, Cleansweep's been have been lagging behind other manufacturers for decades n-"

"I love it." He interrupted for the second time that day, hugging her tightly.

Chapter Text

The wizarding world was fascinating, Harry'd decided - if a little staggering.

While he did diligently continue to read through The Lord of The Rings, his progress was slowed by the sudden wealth of magical books that he'd gained access to. There were a whole two bookshelves in Minerva's study that he'd somehow never noticed, and he devoured their contents in the months following his birthday.

Some of it was admittedly a bit too complex for him - he couldn't grasp a thing from Dargobou's Theoretics of Spell Design, but it was interesting all the same, and the idea of someone just making new magic from nothing seemed impossible to him.

His favourite of the books had to be Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them by Newt Scamander. He thought acromantulas sounded incredible, although he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn't be quite as friendly as the spiders he was used to - the ones in the dark place hadn't been cannibalistic or fond of human flesh.

Harry had also been trying hard to connect with his broom - he felt obligated to considering Minerva had bought it for him on a whim, and, even more than that, he wanted to prove he deserved to be a wizard. Mute or not.

Annoyingly, the broomstick had been entirely unresponsive despite Harry's efforts. He'd strained his throat for nights on end in an attempt to command it, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference - not that he was going to give up any time soon.

After another afternoon of waving his hands over it and feeling silly, he propped his broom up against his bedroom wall and headed downstairs. He had to do the laundry on Saturday, which he was a little miffed by now that he knew Minerva could probably do it all with a flick of a wand - there was probably a self-cleaning charm that would do everything itself.

Grumbling silently to himself, Harry scooped up the basket and brought it downstairs, tossing the contents into the washing machine a few at a time. 

He paused on his mother's emerald dress - the silky material was as soft as ever, and it was about the most colourful thing she owned. It was pretty.

Harry tentatively held it up to himself, looking at his reflection of the window. The dress was definitely far too big for him, the hem of the skirt was trailing all over the floor - but it caught the light beautifully, shimmering like a slow current in a lake. If it hadn't been for girls, he'd have worn it.

Shaking his head, he stuffed the shining garment into the washing machine with the rest of it and shut the door with a click. Silly.

"Harry?" Minerva called, as she walked into the utility room. "Have you put the- oh, yes, you have. Would you like to come with me to Diagon? I just thought we might pop out for some of your school supplies in advance."

He nodded vigorously, his eyes lighting up - he'd read about the hidden London alley, and he was eager to see the wizarding world in person for the first time.

"Right. Well, put your coat on, dear - it's quite chilly out." She warned.

It definitely was chilly, Harry thought as they entered the Leaky Cauldron - it was early November, and he could see his breath condensing in the cold air like the flames of a dragon. At least he'd been given a good chance to try out his new winter coat.

"Good afternoon, Tom." Minerva called to a hunch-backed man, who bowed as the pair walked through the somewhat decrepit pub.

"Why did they pick the Leaky Cauldron? As the way in, I mean." Harry signed curiously as they exited through the back of the shabby building. It was odd to Harry that somewhere so grimy was so important to the wizarding world.

"The Minister at the time needed to pick an entrance to Diagon after the Statutes of Secrecy were implemented, and while he was thinking it over they gave him his drinks free of charge. That about did it." She replied, tapping on a brick wall at the back with her wand.

The wall opened up like a flower, bricks unfurling and twisting to form a rounded archway to Diagon Alley.

Diagon Alley was probably the most colourful place Harry had ever seen, and this was just his first glimpse of it - enchanted signs hung from every wall, shop-fronts touted all manner of potions and spellbooks, and a wild menagerie of people swept by in thick winter cloaks and robes. He stepped out with renewed wonder, almost immediately knocking over someone he assumed to be a goblin. 

After a probably miscommunicated apology to the angered goblin, he followed along after Minerva, keeping to the path she was carving out through the crowds.

"Where are we going first?" He gestured to her.

"Malkin's, dear - school robes go like a shot the moment the letters are sent, so we ought to get those early." His mother replied, pushing her way through to a shop doorway.

The bell rang as they entered, and a smartly-dressed woman at the counter - Madam Malkin, Harry presumed - looked up to face them.

"Oh! McGonagall, splendid. Now, I haven't quite finished tailoring your fl-"  She began, before swiftly being interrupted by Minerva clearing her throat awkwardly.

"We're here for Harry's robes, actually - we thought we'd purchase them before the back-to-school buzz starts." She said, gesturing to him.

"Oh, I see! Well, I'll measure him up then - I hadn't realised you'd had a child." The woman replied, leaving the counter and ushering Harry onto a stool.

Minerva didn't comment on that, instead preoccupying herself with looking through the displays while Madam Malkin attacked Harry with a dozen different measuring instruments. He'd been uncomfortable with the idea of everyone knowing his name, so they'd agreed his old identity would be something of a secret - he was Harry McGonagall, and if anyone lifted up his fringe they'd be greeted by a spotless forehead. Ignoring all of the spots.

After about half an hour, Malkin finished her measurements and adjusted a set of school clothes to fit him. His mother exchanged them for a few little silver coins, before folding the garments up into a bag and leaving the store.

"Right, next on the agenda." Minerva said briskly, "A wand."

Harry's eyes practically bulged out of his head - he hadn't expected to get one today, but he couldn't be more eager.

She smiled slightly at his expression, before explaining - "I thought it would be prudent for you to start practicing as early as possible. I won't lie, you're at quite the disadvantage as a mute wizard - wordless magic is a NEWT-level skill, and you'll have no option but to start learning with it immediately. A few months of practice will give you a decent head-start, however - and you'll need a wand for that."

The wand store - Ollivander's - was completely silent, in contrast to the bustling street outside. 

"Ah, Merlin." Minerva murmured, looking at her watch. "I'll be right back, I need to pick up a few things. Ollivander'll sort you out the right wand."

Harry nodded and took the handful of golden coins that she offered him. He was buzzing with excitement as he rang the bell on the counter. 

As if in response, he heard the sound of something grinding faintly against metal, and poked his head out to see a grey-haired on a sliding ladder, parsing through the shelves.

"Hello there." The man replied, not turning to face him. "I take it you're here for your first wand, yes?"

Harry nodded, signing to him - "Yes, if that's okay."

Ollivander paused, looking curious - "Ah, no voice? No matter, no matter at all - I often find that people have too much to say and too little to communicate. It's quite refreshing to see the inverse, though I must admit I can't understand your hand-speak."

He pulled a thin box from one of the shelves, dismounting the ladder and presenting it to Harry.

"Unicorn hair and redwood, 10 inches long. An uncommon combination, but one that favours the passionate witch or wizard." 

Harry excitedly took the wand from its box, waving it.

A nearby potted plant erupted into flames with a great 'whumph', and Ollivander quickly extinguished it before vanishing the ashes.

"Alas." He murmured, before pulling another from the shelf next to him. "Demiguise hair and willow, 8 inches. One of my few deviations from the supreme wand cores."

This one produced a pressurised spout of boiling water, destroying what remained of the poor houseplant he'd incinerated earlier.

The next few wands went about the same way, and Ollivander seemed increasingly stressed with the state of his wandstore.

"You're quite the tricky customer." He lamented after the fifteenth attempt, grabbing a particularly dusty box from one of the back shelves. "I doubt this is yours either, but I must concede that I'm rather desperate. Holly and phoenix feather."

Harry very tentatively took the wand, making sure he pointed the tip away from his face. The moment it reached his fingertips however, he felt a soaring feeling in his chest - his hair stood on end as if he was about to be struck by lightning, and the wand handle felt pleasantly warm against his palm, like something living.

Ollivander tilted his head, inspecting him - "Hm, there's something of a surprise. I had expected.. well, the wand chooses the wizard, I suppose."

He moved to the till, and Harry gave him the handful of coins he'd been given Minerva, before pausing and pulling out his notebook.

Why were you surprised, he wrote, before passed the book to Ollivander.

The grey-haired wandseller read the question, before speaking in response - "Well, I was simply observing matters in terms of wandlore, child. I remember the creation of every wand I've ever sold - yours is no exception. What you hold in your hands now was not singular in its creation, nor is it the only one I've sold of its heritage. No - it had a brother, a wand with a core from the same bird. Phoenix feather, yew, 13½ inches long."

He paused, for what Harry suspected was dramatic effect.

"Your wand's brother belonged to a man that all fear the very name of. A dark lord whose exploits were as vile as they were great. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as most prefer to call him."

Harry's eyes widened, and he turned the notebook around, writing another message - Voldemort?

Harry had read and heard about him from McGonagall, and he was fully aware of his past with the dark wizard, but oddly he felt disconnected from it. Obviously he'd rather his birthparents hadn't been murdered, but it was hard to mourn people he'd never known.

Ollivander seemed to avert his eyes from the word on the page, nodding - "..Correct, young one. I must say, I rather expected this particular wand to be taken by the Potters' boy - wandlore is often rather poetic in its logic, and to give the Dark Lord's wand-brother to his vanquisher.."

The wandseller paused once again, his eyes flicking up to Harry's scarless forehead - "May I ask your name?"

Harry floundered for a moment, before being saved by Minerva returning with a bag of something.

"My apologies for taking so long, dear." His mother said, seeming a bit out of breath. "I hope you haven't been waiting long?"

"Far from it, Minerva - he was quite the difficult customer." Ollivander said with a slightly quirk of his lips. "I take it you're taking good care of your own wand? Fir wood with a dragon heartstring, 9½ inches, yes?"

She nodded, holding out her heavily polished wand. He inspected it closely, before frowning deeply.

"You haven't been using Thorntwistles' polish, have you?" Ollivander said, narrowing his eyes. "Of course you have, it's all that's on shelves as of late. Those thieves deserve every hex sent their way - that gunk of theirs causes the worst corrosion I've ever seen, it's atrocious. Why, the number of wands I've seen snapped in two after they came onto market - it's despicable.."

Minerva managed to eventually pull away from discussing the scolding criticism of Thorntwistles, and she and Harry walked out onto the street - it had gone dark now, and the crowds had begun to wind down and head home.

"Mum?" Harry signed suddenly as they strolled back towards the Leaky Cauldron together.

"Yes, Harry?" She said, tilting her head as she lit the tip of her wand with a quiet spell.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to do magic? What if I'm not good enough?" He asked, his hands twitching slightly as he did. "What if I never learn how?"

Minerva paused, before scooping his small frame into a warm hug.

"I have no doubt that you'll excel in magic - you're a smart boy, and determined as anything." She smiled. "Mute or not."

"You're going to be a great wizard, Harry."

Chapter Text

It felt a lot like he was living a double life now, Harry had realised - and he knew exactly which of his two he preferred. 

Muggle school was about the same as ever, though some of the new bullies that had replaced his old ones had discovered much worse insults than 'mumblesqueak'. He'd kept up his policy of not acknowledging anyone who harassed him though, and now he could sort of switch off his brain to any slurs or abuse that was hurled his way. Drifting through the day like he'd been zombified was preferable to listening to them, so he spent most of his school days zoned out.

Harry had actually tried to be a bit more friendly with the new ones at first - he'd been distrustful of Ben when the boy had first spoken to him, and part of him thought that might've been what made the bully zero in on Harry himself.

Unfortunately being nice to them was about as effective as soaking up a pool with a dish-rag, but at least he'd tried.

Not that any of it mattered, really. He had another life to look forward to back home - and in a few months he'd be living it full-time. He was almost certain there'd be a few equally vile people when he got to Hogwarts, but at least he'd be able to fight back. Part of what was motivating him to practice so intensely with his new wand was the thought of covering his bullies' faces with immovable warts.

Today had been alright - he still enjoyed his lessons at school, although his interest had been tempered by his new, much larger fixation on magic - fiery serpents were much more interesting than fiery buildings when you compared the two.

The muggle history of the Great Fire of London also missed out the role that unchecked ashwinder eggs played in starting the fire, so he wasn't sure how much of it he could believe anyway. They were missing key parts of the world, and magic could give him them.

"Hi, Harry!" A voice said as he sat eating his lunch in the dinner hall. 

He looked up to see his friend, Elliot - they'd met eachother when they'd been moved up to the same class, and had soon stuck together. They had a lot in common.

The same boys who now pestered Harry also frequently picked on him, although in Elliot's case it was because he was a little girly. He seemed to follow a similar strategy of ignoring them, but Harry could tell it upset the other boy more than he let on - having rumours about him being gay flying around the school didn't exactly do wonders for his social life. It didn't help that he was a bit of a nerd.

"Hi - how are you?" Harry signed. 

The other boy gesturing proudly in response as he sat down - "I'm fine, thanks." 

Elliot was quite proud of the pieces of sign language he'd learnt. Harry just felt honoured that he had a friend who cared enough to try to communicate with his properly, even if he wasn't completely fluent. He felt honoured to have a friend at all, honestly.

Elliot switched back to speaking out loud, his eyes practically shining.

"So, d'you know how I got that reprogrammable cartridge for my Genesis? I actually managed to -- well, first I had to get past the anti-piracy, but that's besides the point -- and I managed to make a working rom hack after a little messing around with it and.."  

Harry did politely try to grasp the rest of his friend's words, but unfortunately he wasn't fluent at all in videogame and computer speak. 

"..and then everything crashed so I took it out." Elliot finished cheerfully after a few more minutes of rambling. 

"Cool." He signed tentatively, unsure what the correct reaction was.

Elliot giggled at Harry's response, before being interrupted by his stomach grumbling angrily. 

"Sorry, I'll be right back. I'm hungry." He apologised.

The other boy went off to grab some food while Harry returned to his own, taking a bite out of an egg-and-cress sandwich. He'd have to keep Elliot as a pen pal once he started at Hogwarts - he was nice. Trustworthy.

Harry's head jerked up a few minutes later  as he heard a thud along with a bark of cruel laughter.

"Whoops! Sorry, Ellie, didn't see you there!" Chris jeered, his leg still outstretched behind Elliot's crumpled form. The boy's food tray strewn out across the floor from where it had leapt from his hands.

Chris was a different kind of bully to the ones Harry had first dealt with - he was popular, and for whatever reason that only seemed to make him worse. He was utterly repulsive.

Harry rushed over, shoving his way through and helping his friend up to his feet. The front of Elliot's jumper was covered in food and looked like he was on the verge of crying. Harry's stomach clenched in anger.

"Oh, would you look at that - Ellie, your boyfriend's come to save you!" Chris mocked, snorting.

After shooting him a withering glare, Harry helped Elliot push back through the crowds towards the bathroom, the other boy still calling out to them from behind.

"I guess it makes sense when you think about it - I mean, it's not like anyone else likes freaks like you, is it? You're perfect for eachother, the fairy and the retar-"

Harry's eyes widened as Elliot forced his way out of his grip, storming towards Chris with tears in his eyes - "Leave us alone!" He yelled, shoving the stronger boy.

Elliot was immediately sent sprawling backwards, blood dripping through his fingers as he clutched his face where Chris had punched him.

All of a sudden, Harry was in the dark place again, and the world was harsh around him. But he wasn't trapped - no, he was on the other side of the door. Chris was in his place. He was pathetic. He deserved to suffer.

He heard screams as the light fixtures above shattered, plunging the room into the dark. He felt like he was exploding, too. Chris was nothing. He deserved this.

There was a visceral crack, and he knew it was because of him. He wasn't sure if the boy was dead. Every fibre of him hoped he was. His heart beat with hate and it burnt through his veins.

Chris was groaning. Not dead. He shouldn't be making noises. He should be silent. Harry was shaking. He was going to kill him. His blood felt like poison.

Another sharp crack rang out through the dark place, but this one wasn't him. Her. Light.

Harry felt his stomach flip inside of him as a hand grabbed his shoulder, and suddenly he wasn't in the dark place anymore. He was outside, and the air was cool.

"Harry." Minerva said, speechless.

He stared back, his heart still pounding.

His mother stayed silent for a few seconds, before letting out a long breath - "I'll .. I'll have to just drop you off with Claire, she'll help. This whole -- incident -- needs covering up. And I'll need permission from the ministry to obliviate any witnesses. Merlin." She murmured, before holding his shoulder and apparating the pair of them again.

Harry was shaking as they reappeared outside of Claire's home. Why had he done that? Why was he so angry?

Minerva rushed forwards, ringing the doorbell and explaining the situation to Claire as soon as it opened. Leaving out the magic, obviously.

"Hello." Harry signed, his hands trembling as he did. Minerva had shot off the moment he was through the door, and he felt completely alone. Did she hate him now?

"Hi, Harry. Sit, the sofa's comfy." Claire returned kindly, leading him to the living room. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, juice?"

He sat down on wobbly legs, before nodding - "Juice, please."

After a minute or two the psychologist returned, a glass of juice in one hand and a steaming mug of something in the other. Harry felt sick.

"Alright, sweetheart - you don't have to say anything at all if you don't want to, but it would help a ton if you answered a few questions for me. Okay?"

He nodded again.

She pursed her lips for a moment, before speaking - "Did he do something to hurt or upset you before it happened?"

"He hurt a friend. My friend." Harry replied eventually. "He was saying horrible things to us, and then he punched my friend in the face."

"So you were fighting back. How did you feel when you attacked him? Upset? Angry?" Claire asked, tilting her head.

"Angry. I wanted to-" He stopped, not finishing his sentence.

Claire seemed understanding - "Right. Have you ever felt like that before?"

Harry shook his head - "No. Not like that." 

She sipped her tea, peering at him over the rim - "Well," She began, placing the mug back down. "It's pretty common to have the occasional burst of anger when you've had a childhood of abuse. That kind of environment shapes your brain, especially when you're young. It's nothing to be ashamed of, just something to work on - and given how lovely you are the rest of the time, I bet you'll nip it in the bud in no time. Drink your juice, sweet, it's not as nice room temp."

He gulped down some of the juice, the cold making his teeth ache a little. It was tropical flavour.

"I was like-" He hesitated. "I was like my uncle. The one my mum saved me from. What if I'm like him?"

Claire's face softened - "Harry.. you're nothing like your uncle, if what I've heard of him is accurate. You're kind - besides, would he get angry protecting one of his friends?"

He wasn't sure what the answer to that was.

His stay with the psychologist lasted another few hours, and she continued to try to keep him entertained and calm. He felt about as awful as he did when he walked in, but the anger had left his veins. He hoped Elliot was alright. And Chris. He hated him, but he didn't deserve to be dead. Nobody did.

There was a knock on the door eventually, and Claire got up to open it - presumably Minerva.

He caught a few snippets of their discussion in the hallway, though he felt a bit too drained to get up and listen properly.

"--these kinds of issues can go unnoticed sometimes. He was only with his relatives for two years or so, so it's understandable that they'd be a bit less prominent--"

"--but why would Harry of all people--"

"--says we was provoked by the other boy - insulted and attacked one of his friends, so he fought back--"

"--that bastard--"

"--and he'll be quite alright? He won't go into another- another rage? What if he gets hurt himself?"

"--a few sessions and maybe a couple of tactics just in case--"

He turned his ears off to it eventually. Minerva knew he was a monster. She was just going to be kind and act like he wasn't.

Claire returned to the room with his mother in tow, and he averted his gaze to the ground in shame - only to be suddenly wrapped up in heaps of black silk. 

He froze as she embraced him, before melting like ice. 

She didn't care that he was a monster, he realised as tears started streaming down his face - she loved him, monster or not.

She loved him.

The house felt a little alien to Harry as he walked through the door - it was like he'd been gone for years. 

"I'd best get cooking." Minerva said awkwardly after a glance at her watch, floating her case off to her room. "Go get changed, dear - you'll be far more cosy that way."

Harry nodded, heading upstairs and pulling a pair of pyjamas from his chest of drawers. They had little stars on them, and the material was nice and soft - a lot nicer than the tear-sodden school clothes he'd been wearing a moment ago. Satisfied, he closed his pyjama drawer and moved back towards his bedroom door.

He paused though, glancing at his broom. He knew what magic felt like - he'd done it again today, even if it was for something terrible. He could do magic.

Laying the broomstick flat against the carpet, he took a deep breath and held his pale hand out, trying to reach out with whatever he had earlier.

He wasn't a monster, and he was good enough, he thought.

He was loved. He wasn't his uncle. He was going to be a great wizard.

Up.

The broom shot into his hand, as light as air.

Chapter Text

Harry felt quite a lot better than he had a couple of months ago, partly because he'd managed to control his broom - zooming around and periodically crashing into trees tended to take his mind off of what had happened. He was actually quite good at flying when he wasn't hurtling through tree branches.

He wasn't really over it, though. He'd lost a bit of confidence in controlling himself, and it had been disconcerting to walk into school the day after only to see that nobody else remembered any of it - Elliot had even gone on the same tangent about his Sega Genesis as he had the day before, and Harry had to awkwardly steer him away from getting lunch for fear of Chris attacking Elliot again.

With the tactics Claire had given him though, he was certain he'd be able to hold back his anger if it reared its head again. He was in control, regardless of how frightened he was that he wasn't. His brain wasn't going to run away from him now that he understood it better. Harry wasn't his uncle.

Knock, knock, knock. He looked up from his book in confusion. Was that the front door? No - there was an owl at his window. It had an envelope clutched in its beak.

Shooting up from his seat, Harry opened up the window and let the bird in, along with a nice breeze.

He snatched the letter, gasping in excitement as he saw what was emblazoned on the wax seal - Hogwar-

The owl pecked his hand, staring at him in annoyance. Harry stared back blankly for a moment, before spotting the little coin-purse on its side. A little embarrassed by his rudeness, he nodded and headed downstairs - Minerva would have a sickle or two somewhere.

Hogwarts. He knew that mum had been hiding something before she'd left - she must've know that the letters were being sent.

Harry swiftly scooped up a few coins from one of the drawers in the storage room, as well as an owl-treat from the murky little jar on the kitchen counter - they smelled rancid, but he knew owls liked them. It was in the name.

After sending the disgruntled bird on its way, he tore open the envelope and read through the contents at about a million miles an hour.

Well, he thought as he reached the last line - it looked like another trip to Diagon was in order.


It was funny how quickly he'd adapted to the wizarding world - taking the floo was about as mundane as catching a muggle bus, and flying around on his broom had become standard routine alongside doing his homework. The only restriction on that was Minerva forbidding him from doing both at the same time after he tore through the kitchen window while doing long division.

Even the brick you had to tap for opening the Leaky Cauldron's wall was familiar to him now - 3 up, 2 across, 3 taps with a wand. His mother always let him do it whenever she brought him along.

"Right, textbooks.." She mused, leading him towards a shop with an equipment list in hand.

A veritable mountain of a man emerged from another door as the pair walked past it, and his eyes widened in recognition as he spotted them.

"Evening Professor! And.. blimey, you must be Harry. You've.. grown." He said, glancing embarrassingly far down at Harry.

"Good evening, Rubeus - and yes, he has. We're just fetching some last minute school supplies." Minerva said, before looking quizzically at the large jar of black blobs the enormous man was carrying. "Are those slugs?"

"Flesh-eating slugs -  damned bugs have been destroying all of my veg, thought these might sort 'em." He replied with a huff.

"..Do slugs not eat vegetables too?" Harry's mother queried, raising an eyebrow.

Hagrid blinked - "Eh? No, 'course not, not these ones - it's in the name."


"Who was that?" Harry signed to Minerva after she'd ended the quick chat.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper at Hogwarts. He's the one who sends you fudge on your birthdays."

He rather wished he'd thanked him now that he knew that, but the groundskeeper had already strode off into the crowds of shoppers.

Minerva looked slightly nervous all of a sudden - "Perhaps I should.. no, it'll be quite alright."

"What will?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, I can't mention specifics - it's a rather sensitive matter - but the headmaster has tasked the staff with an important duty. I just worry that Hagrid, as kind a soul as he is, isn't fit for the role he's been given. He has Albus' trust though, so I suppose I mustn't underestimate him." She replied, a little ashamed.

That peaked Harry's curiosity. And he usually never let go of things he didn't understand until he'd gotten to the bottom of them.

His mother caught the look in his eyes, and gave him a stern one in return - "This isn't something you can meddle with, dear. It's important."

Harry was going to do his absolute best to meddle with it, but he kept that fact to himself as they headed into Flourish and Blotts for his school textbooks.


Minerva still seemed quite nervous on the way out of the store. Eventually - after a long stare in the direction of Gringotts bank - she broke her silence.

"..Harry, would you be happy waiting here for a few minutes while I deal with something?" She asked reluctantly. "Just don't wander off anywhere, don't talk to anyone you don't know, and if anybody approaches you, go into Flourish and Blotts."

He agreed, eager to have more freedom - "Got it."

"And I'd rather you didn't buy anything while I'm gone. There's not much worth spending your birthday allowance on in these shops anyway."

"I won't." Harry promised.

Minerva still seemed conflicted about leaving him on his own, but she nodded slightly to herself, hugged him, and rushed off down the street.

He wasn't quite sure what to do other than windowshopping, so that's what he did - while Minerva had said none of it was worth his money, it did all interest him. There were spheres of solid gold spinning between bands of silver, plants that were tethered to their pots to stop them from floating around the room, and elaborate ballgowns in a shop window bewitched to ripple with flames or shift with hypnotic patterns and colours.

The dresses were what caught his eye the most, uncomfortably. He knew that wasn't normal - boys weren't meant to like dresses, it wasn't right. Maybe he could just put it down to the enchantments on them, they were very flashy.

Harry pulled his eyes away, before sending a nervous man in a lilac turban stumbling backwards as he tried to cross the street.

Scrambling to apologize, Harry tapped his throat and made a little 'X' with his index fingers, before taking out his notebook and scribbling - 'Sorry!! Are you okay?'

The man laughed anxiously as he read the message - "Y-yes, very much alright! J-j-just a mistake!"

He paused, seeing Harry's bag full of textbooks - "I t-take it you're a Hogwarts student?"

Harry nodded with enthusiasm.

"W-well, I'll look forward t-t-to -- to seeing you at Hogwarts! I'm P-Professor Quirrell, I'll be t-t-teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts." Quirrell replied, sounding faint at the thought. "Excuse me."

Keeping his eyes keenly trained on his back, Harry watched as the professor sped away down the street. Professor Quirrel was perfectly friendly, but Harry knew something for certain.

He was faking a stutter.


"-I'd rather not give them the chance, Albus. If you truly believe this could be -- him, we're dealing with, would it be likely to do more than stall him?"

Harry was eavesdropping - it wasn't like he could avoid it given how close his bedroom was to Minerva's study. He assumed the Headmaster was speaking to her through the floo, going off of the faint crackling of the fire.

"I assure you that what's been put in place will be more than enough to stop him. Or any dark wizard, for that matter."

"Albus."

He heard Dumbledore let out a slight sigh.

"If you absolutely must, you have my permission to strengthen the protections. But not in any way that could cause more harm than good - we mustn't forget that this is a school above all else. A barbed suit of armour has an unsavoury habit of turning upon its owner."

"I suppose we'll have to hope that our armour remains loyal, then."

Chapter Text

"Now, just run straight through the barrier. And try to avoid stumbling into the sides - that tends to end with students fused to their trolleys. It's entirely safe, though."

Harry was skeptical of Minerva's words  - as much as he trusted the magic behind it, somehow hurling himself at a brick wall wasn't very appealing. He had to wonder why there couldn't just be a floo line directly onto the platform.

Taking a deep breath, Harry readied himself - before gripping the handle of his luggage trolley and charging at the barrier.

Colour erupted around him as he emerged on the other side - the waves of cloaked witches and wizards were dazzling compared to the beige and brown of the rest of the station, and there was no shortage of magical oddities for his eyes to feast on.

Minerva appeared beside Harry, moving him away from the barrier for fear of someone crashing into him from behind.

"Merlin, we're a tad late - hurry now, Harry. Make sure you get on the right train, too." She urged.

"Is it the big red one with 'Hogwarts Express' on the side?" He signed wryly, the wheels of his trolley clacking noisily across the cobbles.

Minerva snorted - "I'm glad I've raised you to be so observant." She said, before pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm like Sherlock. In my mind palace." Harry gestured, much to her amusement.

His mother sighed after a moment, kissing him on the forehead.

"You're going to be an excellent wizard, Harry. Just remember that you don't have to do it all on your own - alright? You'll find it more than tricky enough without pushing away everyone's help, and you seem to do a lot of that. There's logic in being wary of strangers, but not of people who love you. And I love you."

She squeezed him tighter, before ushering him off.


The train was surprisingly cosy on the inside - he'd travelled on a few with his mum in the past, but they'd all been full of plastic and grimy fabric seats. Harry pushed his luggage trolley along, narrowly avoiding squishing a toad with the wheels as he searched for an empty compartment. Must've been a potion ingredient, or maybe..

Harry scooped up the terrified amphibian, a little bothered himself by the slimy texture - he'd seen toads on the list of authorized pets in his Hogwarts letter though, so he assumed it belonged to someone. He'd just hand it in once they arrived.

He eventually realised there weren't any empty compartments left, so he decided to settle for one with just a pair of people in it - one boy and a girl.

"-not a real spell, is it?" The bushy-haired girl said skeptically, mid-conversation with a ginger boy holding a squealing rat. "It doesn't follow any of the European spell naming conventions."

"Fred and George said-" The boy argued, before spotting Harry awkwardly hovering near the door. "Oh. Hullo there."

Harry waved, gesturing to one of the empty seats questioningly.

The ginger boy nodded - "Yeah, sure. Nobody else has taken it."

He'd come to expect that most people - especially wizards - couldn't understand sign language, but Harry always gave it a shot when he met a new person.

"Can you understand this?" He tried, immediately receiving a confused look.

The girl next to Harry gasped loudly - "You're mute! Oh, that's fascinating!" She remarked, accompanied by a slight ohh from the boy.

She immediately looked sheepish at her outburst, "Sorry. I've just never met anyone who couldn't speak."

The compartment went into an awkward silence for a moment, before the ginger boy broke it by introducing himself - he was called Ron apparently, and the girl with the bushy hair and the bags under her eyes was Hermione.

'Harry McGonagall.' He scribbled in his notebook, to the surprise of Ron.

"Not like, Professor McGonagall?" He asked warily.

Harry nodded.

"Blimey. Fred and George have her for transfiguration. Sounds bloody scary." Ron said.

He huffed in amusement, before writing down another message - 'She's not scary, just strict - she was nice enough to take me in.' He paused, his pen hovering over the paper, 'Who are Fred and George?'

"My brothers - well, two of them." Ron grumbled. "Five brothers, one sister. It's a nightmare."

Harry gave him a sympathetic look, although he didn't really understand. Having siblings sounded nice.

Hermione glanced back up at Harry's earlier scribble, a curious look on her pale face.

"You say she took you in - are you adopted, then? What happened to your birth parents?" Hermione asked, tilting her head at Harry.

It was definitely a bit of a rude question, but he didn't fancy being confrontational. He rarely did.

Harry suddenly became conscious of the concealed scar on his forehead, and decidedly to miss out a little of his childhood - he wanted to keep up his new identity, and he didn't remember the Potters very well anyway.

'They treated me horribly, so I was taken away from them and then my Mum took me in." He wrote after a moment of contemplation.

"Oh. Right."


The mood went down again, only to be abruptly rescued by a slightly hunchbacked woman with a snack-laden trolley opening the compartment door - "Anything from the trolley, dears?" She asked with a wrinkled smile.

Harry immediately zeroed in on his favourites - fizzing whizzbees and a packet of mint manticores.

He caught Ron looking rather longingly at the trolley as it passed, and parted ways with a handful of chocolates. He didn't want to be unfriendly - they both seemed nice.

"Wait, that's not-" Hermione realised in the middle of chewing a manticore, spotting the toad Harry was struggling to hold onto. "Is that yours?"

Harry shook his head, gesturing to the door. It really was repulsive to hold, he was realising.

"Hang on then, it's probably Neville's toad." She said, heading out of the compartment - presumably to fetch whoever Neville was.

Harry sat with Ron, unsure what to do in the meantime.

"Do you like Quidditch?" Ron asked abruptly, bringing an end to the once-again returning silence.

Relieved, Harry broke out into a grin - 'I do!' He scribbled, 'I got my first broom last year.'

The redheaded boy scoffed - "Really? That late? I've been riding since I was a toddler. I mean, we've only got a few Shooting Stars, and everyone always hogs them, but I can fly pretty well." He said proudly. "Have you been to any games?"

Harry sheepishly shook his head - 'I've read the rulebook a lot.' He scrawled.

"Merlin. You're almost as bad as her." Ron lamented, gesturing in the direction the girl had gone.

Right on cue, Hermione walked back through the doorway with a visibly stressed round-faced boy in tow. Upon seeing the warty toad squirming in Harry's hands, he let out a joyful "Trevor!" and held his hands out for the amphibian.

Trevor leapt from Harry's palms, completely missing his owner's open arms and landing on the floor with a wet SLAP. Neville hastily scooped the toad up, placing him in a pocket on his cloak.

"Thanks.." Neville began, before looking at Harry expectantly.

"Harry." Hermione finished for him.

Neville stood there awkwardly, his pocket writhing from the anxious creature moving around inside of it.

"Do you mind if I sit with you three?" He asked hopefully. "There was only one other compartment free, and it wasn't really for me."

Ron snorted at his accidental rhyming, and patting the seat next to him - "Sure, the more the merrier - maybe Scabbers and your frog will get along." He said, the rodent peeking from his hoodie pocket. "Stupid thing's so old it'll probably think Trevor's another rat anyway."

Scabbers didn't look stupid at all to Harry - it had inquisitive eyes.

"Trevor's so paranoid he'd probably hop out of the window at the sight of him." Neville replied, petting the toad.


The atmosphere in the compartment was easier with four of them - there was still a stilted pause when the others stopped to read his messages, but the most of the silence was gone. It'd still be much easier with sign, though.

He wondered if there was some sort of wizard sign language - all of the non-muggle words were a nightmare to fingerspell.

"I think we're nearly there, that's Dufftown." Hermione said, glancing out of the window at the rugged Scottish terrain. "We should get changed into our uniforms - we'll be scrambling while everyone's getting off otherwise."

That sounded like a good plan to Harry - and he loved how flowy the cloaks were.


The train ground to a halt, and there was a flurry of movement as the students hurried down the corridor and out through the door.

"Damn it, we're here already?" Ron groaned, standing up and tugging his hoodie up over his head. "I haven't even got changed yet!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, adjusting her pointed hat - "And who's fault is that?" She asked pointedly.

"The train's?" He suggested irritably, pulling Scabbers out of his pocket.

Harry snorted in amusement, making sure he had everything on him - wand, check. Clothes, check. Necklace, check. Broom... no, he'd had to leave that at home. 
He'd tried to convince Minerva to let him bring it, but she wasn't willing to stretch the rules that much for him - I'm your mother and your professor, Harry, I can't have you flying laps around around the Astronomy Tower. Madam Hooch would have my head.

"Firs' years! Firs' years!" Came a booming voice outside of the train. "Firs' years this way!"

That was unmistakably Hagrid - Harry finally had a chance to thank him for all of the birthday sweets over the years.

"Hurry up, we'll get left behind!" Hermione said, tugging the robes Ron was struggling into down over his head.

"Ow! Watch it!" The boy exclaimed, following along after her despite seeming deeply affronted.

Harry gave Neville a little wave as they stepped out of the compartment. The other boy had been acting a bit awkwardly around Harry for the whole journey, like he didn't know exactly how to treat him.

It wasn't anything new - he was far from the first person to start acting nervous in his presence, but he wanted to show that he was just a normal person. It was better than being treated like he was a baby, either way.

Neville waved back, though he was still a bit apprehensive. That seemed like progress.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

Harry stepped off the bus, and his eyes lit up - quite literally. He'd seen photos of course, but Hogwarts felt like it couldn't possibly fit inside of a photograph. It was just too vast. The castle sprawled across the cliffside, spires and towers reaching up to the night sky like the stalks of some wild growing plant. A thousand pinpricks of light gazed back at him in the distance, and a thousand more rippled across the water of the lake. He could've sworn he saw something vast drifting beneath the currents, but it was too dark to tell. Too deep and black with the night sky - it was the same colour as the ink his mother wrote with.

He was faintly glad Minerva had never let him come and see it before - that might've made it feel less special.

"Right, is everyone here?" Hagrid boomed, glancing over the gathering crowd of students. "Eh.. we oughta give it a minute or two before we set off, but you might as well get yerselves in the boats now."

Harry didn't like boats.

He didn't like water at all, really.

Why couldn't they just floo over to the castle? Or take the carriages with the older students?

The boat bobbed as he clambered into it, ripples lapping at its hull. It wanted to swallow him whole, he realised. It was trying to reach him.

"You alright?" Ron asked, noticing his stiff posture.

Harry nodded vaguely, keeping his gaze locked on his shoes.


Lanterns flicker to life soon. Moving. He doesn't look up.

Splashing echoes through his brain - his throat is constricted, so tight it feels like it's going to cave in.

He's flailing but he cannot move.

Brother is hurting him. His own fault - he made him angry.

Harry. Harry.


"Harry." Ron repeating, tapping Harry on shoulder as he stood up and started to get off of the boat. "C'mon, we're here."

He clambered off with the other boy's, feeling a bit groggy. Relieved, though. His heart kept on pounding, but the water was behind him - he was safe. It couldn't reach him here. It couldn't.

He breathed, continuing along the path with the other students.

Hogwarts was even bigger up close, and Harry was tiny.

Chapter Text

"..Thank you very much, Rubeus. Now - welcome, students, to your first year at Hogwarts. The School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." McGonagall said briskly.

Harry found it entertaining how differently Minerva acted while she was being Professor McGonagall - it was like she straightened up and became sharper. Angular.

"In a moment we'll be moving to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony, where you will be placed into your houses. It is in one of these four groups that you will remain until you take your NEWTs and - for most of you - leave this school forever." She said, to a small chorus of whispers and chatter in the crowd. 

"In that time, I expect you to be respectful - not just to those in your house, but to all of your fellow students at Hogwarts. Any mistreatment of your peers will be punished accordingly, with sanctions and point deductions from your house."

Ron leaned over to mumble to Harry - "Fred says they lock you in the dungeons over night. They chain you to the ceiling."

Harry highly doubted that, but admittedly he suspected the castle did have a network of nasty dungeons. He just hoped they weren't for students.

"Likewise, any good deeds will reward you in kind - if your actions are deemed particularly exceptional..."

He didn't really need the introduction, to be honest. He'd torn through Hogwarts: A History in about three weeks after Minerva had told him about it - the only thing he wasn't certain on was the Grand Staircase. It seemed like it had.. some sort of routine to it, but the stairs apparently moved depending on everything from the moon cycle to the number of people in the Astronomy Tower.

He supposed he'd just have to figure it out.

"..Right. We ought to prepare for the ceremony. This way please, students." McGonagall said shortly after finishing her speech, turning and heading in the direction of the castle. The students hurried along after her, most of them taken off-guard by her abrupt exit - Harry was quite used to her mannerisms, though.

A boy was loudly complaining a few steps ahead of Harry, kicking at the grass as he went.

"..wasn't even planning on sending us to this pigsty, and now we have to live with all of these muggles and lowlifes. We were supposed to go to Durmstr-" 

The boy stumbled as Ron - accidentally - stomped on the back of his shoe.

"Hey! Watch it, idiot! Why don't you look where you're putting your.." He paused, scanning over Ron before breaking into a smirk. 

"Oh, nevermind. Red hair, secondhand clothes? You must be a Weasley." He said smugly. "Surprised you've even got the brains to walk, to be honest."

"Malfoy." Ron realised, narrowing his eyes. "Why don't you-"

"And form words, no less." The boy named Malfoy added, glancing over the other three. He didn't seem particularly interested in them.

"I'd suggest you stay out of my way - if you can manage that, Weasley - I doubt your family will be afford the bill at St Mungo's otherwise." He said, before turning away and catching up with the blonde girl he had been talking to earlier.

"I bet I could beat him in a duel." Ron growled, mostly to himself.

Harry was a bit dumbfounded - he knew there were rivalries between the old pureblood families, but that seemed like it came out of nowhere. And he didn't even realise..

'You're part of the Weasley family?' Harry wrote after rummaging around in his cloak for his notebook.

Ron nodded - "Oh - yeah. Thought I'd already said that." He paused. "We're not like the Malfoys, we don't care about all of that purity stuff. My dad thinks it's stupid to avoid muggles, says we'd all die out if we did."

Harry nodded reassuringly - he'd read that the Weasley family was a bit less fanatical than some of the other twenty-eight. Cantankerus Nott had seemed unsure whether to count them as truly pure in the Pureblood Directory - which was a nasty book overall, to be honest. Anything Nott disliked was something Harry thought should be placed on a pedestal.

'I didn't think you cared about purity anyway.' He added below his earlier sentence, before putting his book back in his cloak pocket - he couldn't quite write on the move.

At some point Harry had to wonder whether people in Slytherin did have a genuine affinity for dark magic and evil. Harry didn't want to have a preference for what house he'd be sorted into - they all had their own merits and skills, of course - but he couldn't really help it.

Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. He wouldn't be disappointed with Hufflepuff either, but the prior two would be his top picks. It wasn't like every single Slytherin was a horrible person - or that the other three were all noble and kind - but there certainly seemed to be a small correlation, at least. Either way he didn't want to be in the same house as the Malfoys.

They entered a side entrance to the castle, stopping in a small, slightly dusty chamber. Harry could swear there were faces periodically peeking through the walls to catch glances at them - ghosts, he theorised.

"If you would do the honours, Rubeus?" Minerva asked, gesturing to the large, heavy door at the end of the room.

"Ah - 'course, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid replied, pushing the door open promptly.

The noise and chatter of hundreds of students burst through into chamber in an instant, the moment the door was crack open. The Great Hall was bright, and bustling. Four tables stretched across the length of the room, illuminated by the clouds of enchanted candles hovering above them. The walls seemed to reach up into the night sky, like the roof had been plucked straight off by some colossal titan - although Harry faintly remembered reading that it was actually bewitched to look like the sky. He'd have to go through Hogwarts: A History again, just to make sure.

The chatter reached a fever pitch as the older students spotted the first-years entering - Harry felt like he was being picked apart, though he knew nobody was aware of who he was. 

The loud tap of a silver spoon against a goblet rang out, quickly silencing them down to a hush.

"Welcome one and all, to yet another new year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore exclaimed, smiling as he observed the hall. "Worry not everyone - in fear of inciting a small riot, I'll be leaving the announcements until after the Sorting Ceremony. In advance of that, however, I'd like to give you a short word that I feel may be relevant to a number of students."

He cleared his throat as though he was about to read from a script, though it seemed to all be straight from his head.

"Many of you in this room have never know anything but the families you were born into - those you are linked to by blood, by the names you were given upon birth." He began, gazing over them.

"But we don't have just one family in our short lives - we have many. Those you make with friends and peers - in each of your four houses - and in those who you love, and who love you in return. Your true family will always find you, in whichever form that may be. And with that, love will always follow." The Headmaster finished, glancing at Harry from across the hall.

"I believe I may have hit a record for my shortest monologue." He chuckled, before sitting back down in his grand chair. "Now, shall we welcome our newest students? Mr Filch, if you wouldn't mind?"

A slightly hunchbacked, gray-haired man nodded and said a few silent words to Dumbledore - who must've dispelled his voice amplifying charm, given the other man's proximity to him. Filch hobbled off to a side room next to the staff table, returning with a ragged hat and a wooden stool.

The sorting hat was clearly ancient - the brim was ragged and sagging, and the whole thing was severely moth-eaten. Harry was surprised it hadn't fallen apart, though from a distance he wasn't entirely sure it even was in one complete piece.

McGonagall, who had reached the front of the room in a matter of seconds, unfurled a long parchment list of names and picked up the old hat. She tapped her throat with her wand, increasing the volume of her voice with the same spell as the Headmaster had.

"Abbott, Hannah." She called. A girl stumbled through the crowd of first-years - she looked entirely unsurprised to be first, though. The curse of having a surname that begins with "A". 

After Hannah took a nervous seat on the stool, McGonagall straightened out the hat and placed it on top of the girl's head. It practically swallowed her whole.

With an audible ripping sound, the brim of the hat tore open and it began to speak - no, sing. McGonagall frowned, realising she'd been too hasty to call Abbott up. She had skipped a lot of sortings since Harry, and she'd forgotten the hat's.. habits.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The four tables applauded as the Sorting Hat concluded its song - though Hannah Abbott looked less than pleased about being used as a platform to sing off of.

A slight look of surprise soon crossed her face though, and she glanced up at the hat. She stared for a while, before giving it a satisfied smile.

The brim of the hat opened once again, calling out a triumphant "HUFFLEPUFF!", much to the cheers of the table decked in yellow.

She quickly went down to the Hufflepuff table after handing the hat back, taking a seat amongst other students. 

"Bones, Susan." McGonagall continued. Another girl went up, being equally engulfed by the hat.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" It soon erupted again.

The next few students went similarly - a boy was sorted into Ravenclaw, then a girl into Gryffindor. Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Slytherin, Hufflepuff.

Harry was starting to get a bit anxious. It was a mix of things - mostly stage fright, partly his steadily brewing worries about which house he was going to be placed in. The experience also felt uncomfortably similar to waiting to be being picked for a team in PE, minus the impending risk of getting a football punted at his head.

"Granger, Hermione."

It spent quite a while contemplating on top of her head, but eventually - and to some surprise, judging by her expression - let out a booming "GRYFFINDOR!"
Hermione quickly scurried down to the Gryffindor table, her bushy hair bouncing as she went.

Neville went shortly after - another Gryffindor, which he looked far more shocked than Hermione about.

Then the Malfoy boy - Slytherin. No shock there, just a smirk at the girl he'd been chatting with earlier.

"Malfoy, Valeria." HUFFLEPUFF.

"Martinez, Julia." RAVENCLAW.

"Mason, Eric." HUFFLEPUFF.

"McCullough, Lucy." GRYFFINDOR.

Harry would've audibly groaned if he could - how were there multiple "M" names before McGonagall in an alphabetical list?

"McGonagall, Harry." 

He froze up a bit, caught by surprise somehow. After a moment to steel himself, he walked out of the shrinking crowd of first-years on a pair of deeply wobbly legs.

The walk felt like a lifetime knowing how many eyes were on him - every step was a mile.

He sat down on the stool, and Minerva gently placed the hat on his head.

"Interesting - very interesting.." A slightly raspy voice said.

'Said' wasn't exactly the right word for it. It felt more like a thought inside of his brain, though one that clearly wasn't his own.

"Every student is a mixed bag, really - aspects of each house live in each and every one of you, but you're especially tricky, young McGonagall."  The hat mused, digging through his psyche. "You're certainly well-read - a trait befitting of any wise Ravenclaw, though perhaps you lack a handful of the necessary common sense."

Harry felt a bit offended at that observation, but he wasn't about to prove the hat right by arguing about it.

"A good choice, that's not an argument you'd win."  The hat laughed, hearing his irritated thoughts. "Now, how about Hufflepuff - you embody the loyalty, I suppose, but.. no, that's not quite it."

He was starting to get anxious again - the hat had already eliminated two of the four options. What if it chose..?

"Amusing - perhaps I will. You fear being sorted as a Slytherin though, do you? But why? You could achieve greatness with them. You could be as sly and sharp as a Ravenclaw, more loyal to yourself than a Hufflepuff could ever be to another.. cunning, ambitious.."

No. Not Slytherin.

"No? Not Slytherin, mm? Very well, then - better be..."  The Sorting Hat hummed, before he felt the fabric shift open above him.

"GRYFFINDOR!" It called triumphantly, the voice reverberating in Harry’s skull.

Chapter Text

Harry let out a sigh of relief, handing the hat back to Minerva and stumbling towards the cheering Gryffindor table. 

He landed heavily next to Hermione - he hadn't realised quite how stressed he'd been until his house had been called, but it now was like a massive crushing weight had been taken off his chest.

Gryffindor. That meant he was brave, then? He didn't feel like he was particularly brave.

The sorting continued, though. They went through the rest of the "M" names, then N, O, P..

"Isn't Harry Potter meant to be starting this year?" A boy across the table asked, as similar murmurs started on the other tables. But McGonagall had already moved onto the Q names - which consisted of a singular 'Quinn, Sara', it turned out.

Rumours were clearly about to take flight, and Harry sunk slightly into his seat - he should've expected this.

"Maybe he decided to go to Ilvermorny." Hermione suggested. "It would probably be quieter for him over there instead of Hogwarts - he's quite a bit less famous outside of England, isn't he?"

"What if he's in disguise?" A boy called Seamus wondered. "That'd keep him protected from dark wizards."

Oh no.

"Maybe he's-"

McGonagall loudly cleared her throat, silencing the tables.

"Thank you." She said curtly, before continuing down the list, undeterred. "Rasul, Ameen?"

After a dozen more students were sorted, a visibly pale, sweaty Ron was called up to the front, the Sorting Hat completely engulfing his red locks.

The hat barely needed a moment to consider him, immediately opening its mouth - "GRYFFINDOR!"  - before being swiftly removed from his head by McGonagall. Like a well-oiled machine.

He shakily sat down next to Harry and Hermione amidst the cheers of the Gryffindors - the pair of twin boys across from them were being particularly loud.

"Aww, ickle-Ronniekins!" One of them teased, Ron's cheeks going pink at the babyish nickname. "Another year and we'll all be here - you'll never be able to escape us again."

"Yeah, you better watch your back, Ron - you're not safe outside the summer holidays anymore." The other added, a near-identical look on his face. "Congrats on not being a Hufflepuff, though."

Ron punched him in the arm, rolling his eyes. He caught Harry's bemused look, and quickly introduced them.

"..Oh, right. These are my annoying brothers - that's Fred, and that's George."

"You wound us, dear Ronald."

Harry held out his hand to shake, but both of the twins held out their hands at once. He ended up awkwardly grabbing both of them with his arms crossed over.

"Shut up, George. Fred, George, meet Harry."

Fred, the first one who had spoken, raised his eyebrow at his younger brother's words - "Mm, Harry, you say? Could this be the Harry we've all been searching for - could this be the boy-who-lived?" He said.

There was a pause.

"You're not, right?" The lanky ginger boy added, a little more uncertain now. Harry shook his head vigorously.

"Ah, shame. Would've been great if You-Know-Who had been defeated by a 4'5 midget."

Admittedly it was quite funny now that Harry thought about it, but it wasn't like he could tell him the truth.

Harry took out his notebook - 'Yeah, I could've got him in the ankles. He would have never seen it coming.' He wrote with a snort, passing it to the twins. 

They grinned in amusement at the message, seemingly unbothered by his muteness. That felt nice, even if they had called him a midget.

The intermission soon came to an end, and Dumbledore stood up and loudly clapped his hands twice from the front of the hall.

All of a sudden the tables were lined with plates and cutlery - followed by rich platters laden with more food than Harry thought could exist in one room.

Bowls of peas and carrots sat next to plates of crispy, golden roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings, all centred around vast gravy boats full of deep, viscous gravy.
Just about every meat he knew sat before him - slices of roast beef, plump roast chickens, links of sausages, generous cuts of bacon, massive steaks - along with a few that he couldn't quite identify. A particularly large roasted bird was twinkling under the candlelight as though it had been dropped straight into a bucket of glitter - diricawl, possibly?
There were also piles of little black-and-white mint humbugs scattered about for some strange reason. He wasn't quite sure what they were for, but he did like mint.

While admittedly it was all extremely English, everywhere he looked he saw something delicious. Minus the offal dishes and the pumpkin juice. He'd never understood the appeal of either of those.

The chatter sparked back to life, and the hall was filled with the clatter of cutlery as the students grabbed what they wanted.

Harry was a bit of bottomless pit when it came to food - he'd devour whatever was put in front of him, and he would keep going until it hurt and he physically had to stop. His scrawniness was a paradox.

It wasn't exactly the most peaceful meal once he'd loaded his plate up, but the food and the room itself filled him with energy - it was alight with laughter and chatter, and people drifted between the tables like they weren't even there. The ghosts were drifting through the tables, which was a bit disconcerting on first glance, but he quickly grew used to it.

Ron was digging into a stew. Harry found Hermione's plate surprising for whatever reason - she'd raided the meat platters for just about everything they were worth, and was already slicing into a medium-rare steak with her knife and fork. He'd honestly imagined as more of a vegetarian, but that clearly wasn't a very accurate reading.

Harry glanced up to the front of the hall, examining the different professors with a mouth full of potato - he didn't recognise most of them. There was Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid obviously, and the one Harry had bumped into in Diagon Alley - Quirrell, was it? He still looked as timid as he did then, mumbling something to the thin, dark-robed man next to him. The other man turned to glance at Harry with a sallow face.

A pain shot through Harry's head like he was being electrocuted.

Hermione looked baffled as Harry clutched his forehead, splattering gravy all over the table as he dropped his cutlery. She placed down her own fork, unsure what to do with yourself.

"Are.. are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, bouncing her leg.

He nodded slightly - the pain was already fading.

Harry picked up his notebook, scribbling down a response - 'I'm fine, I think it's a headache." He paused, 'Who is that on the left side of the teacher's table? With the black hair?'

"Oh - Professor Snape. Ron's brother was talking about him. A bit rudely." She replied, glancing at Fred. "I think he's the Potions Master."

He wondered why his scar had hurt, then.

Towards the end of the feast, the early theories on Harry Potter's whereabouts had thankfully only gotten wilder and further from the truth - Fred and George had both separately claimed to be him in disguise, and were now spreading the rumour that Harry Potter was secretly a boggart who 'spooked' the Dark Lord to death, and was being kept at home to avoid doing the same to the students. 

The meal soon slowed down to halt - Harry was stuffed by the end of it, and he got the sense everyone else was, too. Ron had to unbuckle his belt, at any rate.

The Headmaster stood up after exchanging some silent words with Mr Filch. He smiled widely, gazing out at the hall with twinkling eyes.

"..Ah, splendid - I hope you all enjoyed your meals. And a warm welcome to all of our new students!" Dumbledore said as the dirtied plates and goblets vanished into thin air. "Now, just before you retreat to your dormitories, Filch has requested I inform you that the third floor corridor on the right-hand side will be entirely off-limits for the foreseeable future, provided you wish to avoid a most excrutiating death."

That seemed more than a little ominous.

"In addition, the girls' bathrooms on the second floor is out of order for its 48th consecutive year, and attempting to use them will likely be an unpleasant and deeply unhygienic experience. Madam Hooch will also be hosting Quidditch tryouts in the second week of term - if you wish to play for your houses, you must speak to her before they begin. Note of course that first-year students are unlikely to be selected, although you are very much allowed to take a crack at it, as they say."

"And.. I believe that concludes the notices. However, I believe it would be best if I leave you with a few parting words - and they are as follows." He said, clearing his throat.

"NITWIT."

"BLUBBER."

"ODDMENT."

"TWEAK."

"..Thank you for your time, students - and I hope you all have a restful night." The Headmaster finished. "Ideally without any nocturnal wanderings through the halls, though I very much doubt that will do much to stop. Regardless - sweet dreams."

Harry blinked at the bizarre speech, before shrugging it off and putting his notebook into his cloak-pocket.

There was a clattering and the sound of a thousand chairs scraping as the students got up, much to Hermione's visible dismay - "God, that sound is horrid." She groaned under her breath, retrieving her little bag from under the table.

Harry scooped up his things, before spotting Minerva signing to him from across the room - though his vision was bit too blurry to make any of it out.

"Ah, getting in trouble on the first day..." Fred said wistfully, Harry jumping slightly as the older boy popped up out of nowhere. "Almost makes one reminiscent."

"He's not in trouble, that's his mum." Ron said, wiping broth off of his face with a napkin.

"..And those are two mutually exclusive things, are they?" George asked, amused. "News to us."

Harry followed Minerva as she gestured him over to the side room they'd first entered through.

She sighed, sitting on a small bench and offering up the spot next to her.

"I sense there's been some rumours flying around?" McGonagall asked, still in professor mode.

Harry nodded - 'Lots. I don't think they've figured it out, though.' He signed back, taking a seat.

"I should have warned you beforehand, if I'm to be honest - people were bound to be anticipating your arrival. You're a household name, after all - or, well, your birthname is."

That made Harry's head spin a bit, even though he was already loosely aware of his fame. He survived Voldemort as a baby and had barely a memory of it - why did people act like he was some sort of dark wizard slayer?

'Does anyone besides you and Dumbledore know?' He gestured nervously.

"A few of the teachers have been informed, I'm afraid." She admitted. "We felt it was necessary - although I believe Professors Quirrell, Flitwick, and Snape are the only ones, and I assure you that they'll keep it entirely confidential."

Harry considered mentioned the pain he'd felt in his scar, but he was becoming increasingly uncertain whether or not it was that. Perhaps he'd gotten it right with his message to Hermione - just a headache.

'Alright then. I trust them.' Harry signed. He paused, considering hugging her, before waving awkwardly and hurrying off to the dormitories.
'Thanks Mum.'

He didn't want to get left behind.

"First-years this way!" Rang a stern voice - Percy, Harry thought his name was. Another one of Ron's brothers, but he was in his fifth year of Hogwarts; and a prefect. "Hurry it up, please! We haven't got all night, people!"

"There you are." Ron said as Harry caught up with him, trailing Hermione and Neville up the stairs. "What was McGon- your mum after?"

Harry shook his head slightly, shrugging. That was one benefit of being mute - he really didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to.

Ron nodded, unsure what else to say - "Right. C'mon then, the list says us and Neville are in the same dorm."

They continued being herded up the stairs, spiralling up to the higher floors - this must be the Grand Staircase, Harry realised, staring at it with a bit of trepidation. It seemed like it wasn't time for it to move, but he swore he could see the steps jittering with energy. What if they flipped around and tipped them all off or something? That wouldn't be a great start to the year. One hundred students tragically splattered all over the floor.

He managed to pull his eyes away from the treacherous stairway, admiring the paintings on the wall - they were enchanted, obviously, their figures flitting between the frames and pointing down at the students as they passed. They must've been collecting them since the castle was built.

Harry found wizard portraits fascinating ever since he'd seen one. Minerva had taken him to a magical art gallery last year, and it was incredible - the self-portraits were his favourites. One of canvas-bound artists had bragged to him for about twenty minutes about the accuracy of his works, until Harry awkwardly pointed out that he'd forgotten to paint his own eyebrows on and he instantly stormed off to another painting in a huff.

There hadn't been quite this many in the gallery, though.

"We're here." Percy announced. "Form an orderly line, please!"

Harry tilted his head - they'd stopped in front of a painting. Unless..

A portly woman in the portrait turned her head to face them, fanning herself. She was dressed in colorful silks, a silver tiara perched on top of her hair.

"Passwo-"

"Caput Draconis." Percy replied briskly, cutting over her.

"In a hurry, are you?" The woman in the painting huffed. "Very well then.."

The painting unhinged off of the wall, revealing a hole in the stone - and a cosy, circular room lined with plush sofas and mahogany tables behind it. A vast, crackling fireplace stood at the back of the common-room, with a crimson-carpeted staircase on either side that reached up into the ceiling.

"Boys on the left, girls on the right." Percy pointed, and Harry awkwardly walked back down the stairs to the girls' dormitory - he was already halfway up it by the time he caught the prefect's words.

Percy gave Harry a slightly odd look as he passed, before turning and walking off to his own dorm.

His face still pink, Harry scaled the staircase on the left, following after Ron and the others. 

The others in question seemed to pass out the moment they hit their beds, but Harry wasn't too bothered - he was a bit exhausted himself.

After brushing his teeth - hygiene took no breaks, according to Minerva - he got changed and tucked himself into a four-poster bed, the covers embracing him like a hug.

"Harry?" Ron called sleepily from the bed next to his.

Harry turned, making sure to rustle the sheets audibly so Ron would know he'd heard him.

"How'd you do that?"

He tilted his head in confusion, mouthing a 'what'.

"Go up the girls' stairs. Boys aren't meant to be able to do that, it turns into a slope." Ron explained, yawning. "Unless Fred 'n George were lying - might've been."

Harry paused. Maybe the stairs had just malfunctioned, or he'd moved fast enough to avoid triggering it. Or maybe Ron's brothers were just pulling his leg.

He shrugged, before rolling back over and getting to sleep.

They probably just malfunctioned.

Chapter Text

"Very good, McGonagall!" Flitwick said approvingly as Harry signed the answer to a question. "Someone's clearly preread their textbooks - five points to Gryffindor."

"So clever." Malfoy murmured sarcastically behind him. "I can wave my hands around like an idiot too, but I don't get praised for it."

Harry deflated slightly - he'd gotten the sense Draco would be like this with how he treated Ron before the Sorting, but he'd been hoping to avoid his attention. There were nasty people everywhere, it seemed.

"Leave him alone, Malfoy." Hermione said, her voice wavering slightly.

"I don't think I will, m-"

Flitwick cleared his throat - "May I continue on with the lesson?" He asked sharply. "..Thank you."

The rest of the lesson was quite fun - it would've been more fun if Harry could cast any kind of spell whatsoever, though. His wand just refused to do anything, no matter how hard he thought - much to Draco's amusement. He was trying to make a feather float with the levitating charm, to very little success.

Wingardium leviosa.

Wingardium leviosa.

Wingardium leviosa.

To be fair, he wasn't the only one struggling - Ron was practically hitting the feather on his desk with his wand, and his pronunciation was only getting worse as he became more frustrated.

"Wingadium Levisa! Whengadia Levioser! Win-"

"Ron, you'll take someone's eye if you keep doing that!" Hermione exclaimed, stopping him. "It's Wingardium Leviosa - and the gesture's a swish and flick, not.. that."

"Wingardium Leviosah!" He tried again with a slightly better flick of the wrist.

"Your pronunciation's still off, that won't work - it's LeviOsa, not LeviosA."

Ron looked deeply irritated, putting his wand down with a clatter.

"Why don't you do it then, if you're such an expert?" He suggested, crossing his arms.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She picked her wand up off the table confidently, holding it out - "Wingardium Leviosa." She said clearly, twirling her wand in a circle before flicking it in the direction of the feather.

It lifted up off of the desk as if it had been picked up by a breeze, but it was clearly moving at Hermione's will. She guided it up through the air and over their heads, before dropping it into her hand.

"Oh - well done Miss Granger! Very well done indeed!" Professor Flitwick praised as he observed her perfect spellwork, "Another ten points to Gryffindor! Excellent work."

Ron huffed, rolling his eyes as he continued trying unsuccessfully to make his own feather fly.

Harry was finding it equally difficult - he thought he saw the feather lift up a little bit every so often, but he was beginning to suspect it was just being blown about by the swishing of his wand.

Magic. Focus on feeling the magic - just like with his broom, and.. 

No, it was useless. He put down his wand in frustration, retreating back into The Standard Book of Spells. 

The lesson soon came to an end, and the students quickly packed up their belongings from under the desks before filtering out of the classroom.

"I won't demand any homework from you for your first week, but I expect you to practice Wingardium Leviosa!" Flitwick called, accidentally lifting a Gryffindor girl up into the air as he waved his wand enthusiastically. "Apologies dear - this wand has quite the mind of its own."

After placing the girl down carefully, he stopped Harry at the door.

"Could I ask for a moment of your time, McGonagall?" Flitwick asked kindly. 

'Of course.' Harry signed, tilting his head. 'What is it, professor?'

The Charms professor ushered him back into the classroom, sitting at his desk - "Well - I couldn't help but notice you were having some trouble during the lesson. Ah, no, don't worry. You're not in any kind of trouble, my dear."

'Sorry.' 

"Nonsense, nonsense - it's hardly your fault. You're trying to perform sixth year magic in your first year, without any sort of training." Flitwick said, shaking his head. "You'd normally use purely verbal magic until your fourth year, but you don't have that luxury."

Harry paused, blinking.

'Is it possible, then?' He gestured tentatively.

Professor Flitwick nodded - "Oh, definitely - it'll need a great deal of practice and effort on your part, and you'll be a tad behind until you've gotten to grips with non-verbal magic - but there's nothing stopping you from being just as skilled as any other wizard."

'That's a relief.' Harry signed, perking up a bit. 'When can I start learning?'

"Immediately, if you feel like you can tackle it. Here, I'll just.." Flitwick replied, tracing through the books lining the shelf behind him. He scooped a few up, clambering onto a step stool to pick one from the top. "These should help you get started - I'll see whether I can organise some weekly lessons, if you'd find that helpful?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, dumping the heavy textbooks into his bag as he was handed them. They were like bricks, but he was grateful for the help. 'Thank you.'

"No problem at all, Harry.. right then - you'd best head off to your History of Magic lesson. Wouldn't want to miss a well-deserved rest at the hands of Professor Binns!" Flitwick said cheekily, ushering him off.

Harry exhaled in amusement - the ghostly history teacher was remarkably boring, as knowledgable as he was. Half the students in his class were slumped onto their desks by the end of the last lesson with him.

Harry waved goodbye, hurrying into the hall.

No wonder he was struggling if wordless magic really was that advanced. Not to mention he was coming at it without any skills in vocal incantations - that couldn't be very helpfu-

He collided with a blonde girl in the hallway as she walked around the corner, stumbling to the ground.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, would you?" She snapped, deep bags under her eyes.

The girl was missing her tie, but there was a lump in her cloak pocket that Harry suspected might have something to do with that. 
Harry quickly gestured his apology as best as he could while rummaging around for his notebook.

She paused, her sharp features softening slightly - "Sorry." - before rushing off.

Harry watched her go, dropping his arms back down - that was Draco's sister, he realised, not that he could remember her name from the sorting. Veronica, maybe? Valerie?

She must be having a terrible time, regardless. Harry doubted the Malfoys were particularly fond of Hufflepuffs. Not that anyone seemed to be, really - it was like they were a joke.

On Friday he had his very first Potions lesson, and he was actually rather excited about it. He knew there was a couple of potion recipes that required wandwork, but for the most part it seemed like it was just mashing up leaves and pouring powders into cauldrons - wizard cooking, basically. He could definitely do that. The only downside was that it was another lesson with the Slytherins, meaning he'd have to put up with Malfoy.

He strolled down to the dungeons - he knew Hogwarts would have some - with Neville, who was extremely nervous. Even more so than usual.

Harry tilted his head, signing - 'Are you okay?' 

Neville glanced at Harry's hands only briefly, as if afraid of staring. He was trying to learn sign language, but he hadn't gotten too far yet. He guessed the meaning correctly, though.

"..well - Professor Snape's supposed to be a bit of a nightmare." He said. "And I'm terrible with potions. I blew up my gran's kitchen when I was ten trying to brew a solidifying solution for her."

Harry guiltily stifled a laugh - it was a bit ironic, to be fair.

He took out his notebook, deciding to write - 'He's probably not that nasty - people say my mum's really strict, but she's not. Probably the same with him." He wrote.

Neville nodded uncertainly, and they entered Snape's classroom together.

The professor's eyes flicked to Harry's scarless forehead as they walked in and sat down - "You're both late by two minutes - I'll be lenient as it's your first lesson, but I assure you I'll make no such exceptions again." He said coldly.

Maybe not.

"Now that we're finally all here, I will begin." Snape said, leaving his desk. "This will not be like any of the other classes you have taken this week - there will be no mindless wand-waving inside of this room, nor any babbling of incantations. Potioncraft holds a power that no other brand of magic does, that no other can match - I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, to even put a stopper on Death.."

Harry promptly knocked a flask off of his desk as he was hauling his bag off his back. He sheepishly pushed the shards under his desk with his shoe.

"Unfortunately, it seems that intelligence can't be produced through any of the processes we'll be performing in here." The professor said, reassembling the beaker with a flick of his wand. "Ten points from Gryffindor for damaging school property, Mr McGonagall."

Definitely not.

The lesson continued in about the same way, with Snape being unnecessarily abrasive and Harry fumbling his way through the potion-making process. Maybe he wasn't as good at that as he thought he'd be, either - the noxious fumes emerging from his cauldron seemed to agree with that sentiment.

'Where's Hermione?' Harry scribbled covertly on a scrap of paper from his pocket.

Neville squinted to read it, before shrugging - "Not sure." Neville whispered, glancing over at Snape warily. "I think one of the girls said she was sick?"

Harry nodded, quickly looking back down into his ruined cauldron again as Snape passed by their shared table.

By the end, though, he'd somehow managed to turn around his work and create a half-decent boil-curing potion, judging by the appearance of it - though he couldn't say the same for the greenish sludge sitting at the bottom of Neville's cauldron. He offered to share his with him, but Snape came around too quickly for him to get the chance.

The Professor paused, observing their respective potions.

"A." He said shortly, unceremoniously clearing up Harry's cauldron before moving onto Neville's.

"A D-grade, at most. See me after class, Mr Longbottom."

Neville practically crumpled. Harry gave him a sympathetic look, but that was about all he could offer.

"Ugh, felt like I was suffocating in there." Ron groaned as they left the dungeon for break. "He was breathing down my neck all lesson." 

"Harry! Ron!" Neville called from behind them, catching up. He looked relieved. "He got an owl from someone, so he just let me go."

"Merlin, that's lucky. Bet detention with him is a nightmare." Ron said, shaking his head. "How does he not tire himself out by spending his whole day being a total cu.."

He trailed off as the Professor left the dungeon, marching past them with a dark look on his face.

"..nt?" Ron finished, once Snape had left. "What d'you think was up with him? He looked like he was chewing on a lemon."

Harry paused, taking his pen out - 'Do you want to find out?' He wrote.

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Sure, I guess. I haven't got any plans." He said, shrugging. "He's probably just off to yell at someone though."

"I.. shouldn't, honestly." Neville mumbled. "Not really worth it. I'll see you two later, though?"

That seemed fair enough to Harry - Neville did just escape Snape's wrath, and he probably wasn't keen to get straight back into it.

They followed him down the hallways, weaving through the students on the way to the hall - Snape was definitely going somewhere judging by the way he was walking, and he didn't seem very happy about it.

Snape rounded a corner, stepping onto a section of the Grand Staircase. He checked his watch impatiently, before gripping onto the banister as the staircase rose into the air, stopping on the fourth floor.

Damn it. Harry racked his brain, trying to pry out the formula for the staircase times - why couldn't it just have a regular schedule?

The moon was a waxing gibbous, the month was September, the astronomy tower should be empty because it was break and before sunset...

Harry stepped onto what he deduced was the right staircase, gesturing Ron onto it.

The stairs rocketed up with force - before stopping on the third floor. 

Fabulous.

He stepped off with wobbly legs, gaining a newfound dislike for the stairs - he must've gotten the formula wrong somehow.

"Damn it. There goes that." Ron said, staring up at the floor above. "..We should probably just go down to the hall - I barely ate any breakfast."

Harry glanced at the grand staircase, before shaking his head - 'Can we avoid the staircase??' He wrote.

Ron snorted, still a bit wobbly himself - "Fair enough. We'll find another way down. Here?"

Harry peered down the corridor, shrugging - he didn't have any lessons on this floor, so he didn't know the layout. Might as well have a look.

They wandered in, stepping on floors coated with dust.

It didn't seem.. right, immediately. The hallway was dark, and quiet. The light from the windows was muted by the grime clinging to the panes, and the voices of the students on the floors below echoed like ghosts through the walls. Hogwarts was quite literally haunted to be fair, but this section seemed eerier than that. Foreboding.

"I think we went the wrong way." Ron mumbled, opening one of the doors to find a second, reinforced door behind it.

Hang on, this couldn't be the-

"Harry." Ron murmured in a high voice, freezing in the second doorway.

Something was lurking in the shadows of the dingy room - something large. It growled lowly, tail flicking in the patchy light.

The head of a lion emerged from the dark, looking out blindly with scarred eyesockets. 

'Chimaera.' Harry mouthed to Ron, his heart in his throat as he saw the creature's forked tongue flick out to taste the air.

Ron nodded slowly, his eyes wide.

It paced closer, the crimson chain attached to its neck clinking against the stone floor. The hooves on its hind legs made a soft clopping sound; the front paws were completely silent.

Harry had read about these. Only one had ever been slain by a wizard, and he died afterwards. Most wizards never even lived to tell the tale, to the point that they hadn't been described properly until the 1700s.

It couldn't see a thing - they'd be dead if it could - but the chimaera was clearly aware it wasn't alone, ragged ears turning at every tiny sound. It was hunting. Hunting them.

They carefully stepped out of the room, closing the door with shaking hands.

Ron let out a sharp breath.

"..I think we found the reason we're meant to stay away from the third floor corridor." Ron hissed, trembling. "What the hell are they doing keeping a thing like that here?"

Harry scribbled a hasty response in his notebook, his handwriting even worse than usual - 'It was on a trapdoor. It must be like a guard dog.'

Ron shook his head at the message - "What's so bloody valuable it needs a chimaera to guard it?" He exclaimed as they speedwalked back down the corridor.

Harry didn't have any theories for that. It must be something really bloody valuable to be worth putting behind something that dangerous.

It seemed like Minerva had definitely strengthened the protections, though - like she'd discussed with Dumbledore. Now he just had to figure out what for, granted the chimaera budged over to let him take a look. Easier said than done, maybe.