In the House of the Serpent - Ossian715

Chapter 1: The Letter

Chapter Text

In the House of the Serpent

Chapter 1

Another letter. This was no accident, something was going on.

Harry stomped up the stairs, entered his room, and his heart stopped.

"Ssssurprise, amigo…"

Thankfully, his yelp of fear strangled itself in his throat. There on Dudley's old bed, coiled in vast spiraling lengths, was the snake from the zoo.

"You- what're you doing here?!" He whispered in a panicked voice, praying the Dursley's hadn't overheard him.

"Brazil is a waaayyyysss away," hissed the snake.

"So?!"

"Followed your sssccent… couldn't think where else to go…"

There was a hint of sadness in the snake's voice. It took Harry aback, though his heart was still hammering.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He didn't know how to comfort a snake.

"Sss'alright…Maybe some day."

"Err, right."

Harry shuffled his feet, unable to imagine how a monstrously-sized reptile might coexist with life at Number 4.

"If the Dursley's find you they'll call the zoo, and there's probably not much to eat around here."

"No worriesss. I'm plenty sneaky…"

Harry wondered how a ten-foot boa constructor could be sneaky. Then again, he'd gotten into the house without raising alarm.

"There's plenty of ratssss… they come in, because… the fat one hoardsss food."

Harry giggled, in spite of the situation.

"Well…just be careful, alright?"

The snake flicked its tail to its head in an unmistakable salute. From downstairs Uncle Vernon bellowed Harry's name so he made for a quick retreat, but not before asking:

"Um… how is it I can understand you?"

The snake co*cked its head.

"Jussst have a good ear, I suppossse."

As if to compensate for the generosity of allowing Harry an actual room, Vernon had set Harry to work washing his car, then weeding the flower beds, then scrubbing the driveway. By the end of the day Harry's knees ached, his neck was red from the summer sun and his eyes were swollen from getting suds in them so many times. It hadn't helped that Dudley flung a sopping sponge at his face several times. After supper (a meager affair for Harry, who ate stale bread while the family wolfed down meatloaf) was over and he'd bathed, he lay in his new bed with a groan. The dinner table was subdued in the aftermath of The Letter. Dark looks were the preferred way of communicating.

Harry stared at the ceiling, wishing more than anything that he hadn't been stupid enough to let the Dursley's see that initial letter.

"Troubles in paradissse?"

The snake was back, seemingly out of nowhere. He slithered soundlessly across the floor, his smooth bulk glinting in the moonlight from the window. This time Harry wasn't scared.

"Yeah." he said glumly.

Harry turned over to face the snake, who slithered up towards the bed.

"I got a letter today. Someone sent ME a letter. ME! I never get letters but Uncle Vernon took it. He got really angry and talked about… stamping something out of me."

The snake's head was level with his own. He listened silently, tongue flicking every so often.

"Interesssting…maybe your friendsss… will send you another…"

"I haven't got any friends," Harry said bitterly. "Well, not besides you," he added hastily. "But that's what's so weird. Who would want to write me? I haven't got any family besides the Dursley's. I wish I'd just opened it."

"I can check to seee… for more lettersss…least I can do…"

"Really?"

"Nooo problemoooo…"

With that the snake withdrew to the window. Harry opened it and the snake slithered out. Feeling a bit better, Harry sank back down into the bed. His whole life at Number 4 had been tedium punctuated by disaster. Whether it was chores, hungry nights, beatings from Dudley, insults, there was always something waiting to smack him in the face. And the worst part was there was no end to it. He rolled over.

But today was different. That letter contained something special, he knew it. And the snake wanted to be friends with him! That was what 'amigo' meant, right? Harry had never had a friend before. It felt good.

With that comforting thought, he fell asleep.

He awoke to something falling on his face.

"Ssssspecial delivery…"

Arising swiftly, Harry nearly collided with the snake's head bent over his own. Several heavy envelopes fell to the side.

"Sorry," He said hurriedly before seizing a lumpy packet. "You managed to get it!?"

"Eassssy peasssyy… the hairy one was sleeping by the door…took it from hisss lap."

Uncle Vernon must have been on a stakeout! He was trying to prevent Harry from receiving his letters.

"Thank you so much!" Harry gushed, hugging the snake on impulse.

"Let's sseee what's inssside," The snake said after being released.

"Yeah!"

Harry tore open one of the envelopes and unfolded its contents, hands shaking a bit. The snake twined around his body and leaned over his shoulder to read with him:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

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

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

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

By the end of the short letter, Harry's breath was short. He felt almost faint. The paper in his hand seemed very far away then shot to the foreground again. He read it once more, then tore open the others to see if there was anything different in them, but they were all the same.

Then he read again, trying to make it sink in.

"A school where you learn magic?"

Harry had seen magicians on TV. They did stuff like pulling rabbits out of hats, or making balls vanish under soup bowls. But from the list of required items which included spell books and potions equipment, this sounded different. This sounded like the real deal, not just sleight of hand tricks.

"I wonder why me, though? They're definitely watching me, I mean-"he flourished the envelope with the address on it,

"They know what bloody room I'm in! But why?"

"Meansss they know you can do… interesssting things."

Harry felt like smacking himself in the head.

"Like talking to you! Of course, that must be it! Has anyone else ever talked to you before?"

The snake shook its head.

"And the way my hair grew back that time Petunia cut it, and how I can be somewhere without meaning to be and-"

He paused. His mind was galloping a million miles a minute.

"D'you think my parents were wizards too?" he breathed. "Is that what Vernon meant? Stamping it out of me?"

"Dunno…" The snake hissed softly, "My father wasss a snake… my mother was a snake…. Makes ssssense I would be a sssnake toooo…"

Harry thought hard. Of all the themes the Dursley's didn't like questions about, it was his parents. Uncle Vernon's face never got so red, and Aunt Petunia never swung harder with a frying pan than when Harry inquired after his parentage.

When he was smaller, he'd once pressed the issue too much, and they locked him in his cupboard for an entire day. They didn't open it even to give him food, though the Sunday Roast smelled so good it almost hurt. With no break for toilet he finally wet himself. He hadn't wanted to. He'd even piled his mattress against the wall so it didn't get soaked. The light blinded him when they finally opened the door, revealing their disgusted faces as Harry stood cringing and sobbing in a puddle at his feet.

'I didn't mean to', he had cried, 'it was an accident.'

The memory made his face burn hot and the tears came again. He was gripping the letter so hard it almost tore.

"What'ssss going on, inside that fuzzy head?"

The snake's tongue flicked by his ear. Harry turned to look at him.

"I'm going to this Hogwarts school. No matter what."

It was easier said than done. The Dursley's were satisfied they'd thwarted the magical world by confiscating Harry's letter, but they were still watchful. Uncle Vernon jumped every time the phone rang, and gazed with trepidation at the letter box, as if it might sprout teeth and spring at him. Aunt Petunia stalked about the house like a jail guard. Harry tried to put together a plan for procuring his things and getting to Hogwarts, but from the confines of Privet Drive, it seemed as impossible a journey as walking to the moon.

To make things worse, the letter had no return address, and not the slightest indication of where he was supposed to buy these exotic school supplies.

"First things first, I need to let them know I'm coming." He stated, walking to and fro in his room like a general planning an attack.

He frowned at the paper, rereading for the tenth time.

"'We await your owl'. Does that mean my response?"

There had been lots of unusual owl sightings according to the news. Maybe they were some kind of postal system.

"I could sssnatch one for us…they're delicate thingsss…"

"It might not fly so well once you've chomped it," Harry pointed out.

There was no feasible way of catching an owl, so Harry abandoned the idea. What he needed was money.

"Oh yessss… those little bits of metal… the ssstringy one keeps them in her pouch."

"Do you think you could get some?"

"Yesss."

Harry frowned, and nodded.

"That's a start. While you work on that, I'll see about a way to contact Hogwarts."

He took a walk outside to clear his head. It was a hot summer day, but Harry didn't mind the heat. His mind was fixed on solving his immediate problem. Heedless of where his feet were taking him he strolled all along the neighborhood with his head bowed to peruse the letter, though he'd pretty much memorized its contents. More than once it occurred to him it was all some elaborate prank, but the Dursleys didn't believe in quirky humor, and weren't creative enough for a scheme like this.

"Watch out, boy!"

Mrs. Figg was tending to her flower beds. Harry hadn't noticed he was passing her house, but he wasn't within spitting distance of her ugly smelly flowers.

"Sorry, Mrs. Figg."

But she didn't respond. She was staring wide-eyed at the letter in his hand. He quickly hid it behind his back.

"You-"

"it's nothing! Don't tell the Dursley's please, they…"

But the way she was looking at him gave him pause. It wasn't just simple astonishment that Harry had a letter. It was a look of recognition.

"Mrs. Figg. Do you know about this?"

Her eyes flicked to his face. She seemed to snap back to reality.

"Know what? Off with you now! I have chores to do."

She half-turned away but Harry stepped forward.

"Mrs. Figg, I got this letter from a place called Hogwarts. They're expecting me to respond but I don't have an owl, and I don't know where to go for my school supplies. I don't have money for them and I need someone to tell me-"

Harry's tone was pleading but forceful. Ordinarily he'd never speak to any adult like this, never beg, never show this kind of weakness, but desperation drove him on. As he spoke Mrs. Figg shook her head in abrupt little motions. Her face was screwed up like she had a lemon in her mouth.

"-otherwise I'll never be able to get there and it'll all be ruined. It's my chance to get away from them-"

"Nonono, I'm not supposed to-"

"-only a bit of advice-"

"-supposed to be watching you, strict instruction-"

"-even if you don't HAVE an owl, point me to-"

"ALRIGHT!"

She was breathing hard as if she'd run several miles, and clutched the lumpy crotched garment she wore tighter.

"Alright. Just get inside," She breathed, then stalked quickly across the garden. Harry followed.

"Close the door!"

He did so. The familiar stuffy air of the Figg house engulfed him, but he didn't notice. Mrs. Figg was pouring tea with hands shaking so badly, the silver kettle was in danger of smashing her china to pieces.

"Yes, I'm familiar with Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore, and magic and everything else you might have a question about."

She thrust a teacup filled with cold water at him, and grabbed up a pen and paper from the kitchen counter.

"So are you a-"

"Don't ask questions!" She snapped, sounding remarkably like Aunt Petunia, "This isn't my… I mean, no one told me I was…"

She sputtered before going back to scribbling madly on the piece of paper. Several awkward minutes passed. Harry sat in stone silence, hardly daring to believe his luck, hardly daring even to move. Mrs. Figg! Mrs. Figg of all people knew and was helping him! She cursed at one point when her pen went dry, and slapped the paper on its backside to continue her violent scribbling when she ran out of room on the front.

"There!" she exclaimed finally, thrusting the sheet into his chest, "That's everything to be getting on with, now OUT."

She shooed him towards the door, shushing him as he muttered repeated thank-yous.

"Put it in your pocket, you fool, don't wave it about! And don't come back with any more questions!"

She slammed the door in his face, an ornamental bell jingling with finality.

Back at Number 4, Harry eagerly unfurled the crumpled bit of notebook paper on his bed after fending off a Dudley assault and blocking the door with his new desk. His snake friend wasn't there. Harry really had no worries about him being discovered; if it happened, the Dursleys would shriek loud enough to wake the dead, flee in the car and be halfway to Dover before their panic subsided.

The paper said that yes Mrs. Figg had an owl but he wasn't to use it. EVER. She would send a response confirming that he was attending, and ask for the key to his family vault in 'Gringotts'.

"Vault?" Harry said aloud.

A family vault? With money? Obviously it had nothing to do with the Dursleys.

She would leave the key under the geranium pot by the door, and he should check there by Friday. He was NOT to knock on her door. All his supplies could be bought in London in place called Diagon Alley, which could be found via a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. Harry's excitement grew with every word. It all seemed more and more real. On the back of the note, she gave the address for this pub.

He gazed out the window in jubilation. He wasn't going to be a prisoner forever. Great things were about to happen.

Sometime later, Harry eagerly shared the new information from Mrs. Figg when his friend returned. It turned out he'd also been successful.

"Tassstes horrible!"

The snake disgorged the contents of Petunia's purse onto the rug. Harry scooped it up and scattered it on the desk.

"Perfect! I really owe you one."

"You got me out of captivity….ssseems only fair."

"By the way," Harry asked while counting out the coins and the slightly moist bills, "How do you get around here without them seeing?"

He had already been in the room when Harry entered.

"Plenty of gaps in the wallssss….some pipessss big enough."

Harry wished he was that flexible.

The next day the house had relaxed a little and conversation resumed, though it didn't include Harry of course. Dudley had Piers over so Harry was content to stay in his room and go over strategy with his friend. He still needed to find a way out of the house, without being observed, and without being reeled back in by the Dursleys or the authorities.

It may not have been the best environment for concentration: the summer sun beamed in through the window warm and soporific, and the snake lay basking on the floor. Harry lay on the rug too, resting his head on a thick coil.

"I could suggest a little vacation… then duck out once we're gone."

It was a laughable idea. Even if it got them all out of the house, it still posed the same problem. The Dursley's would notice he was gone and…

And what?

It suddenly occurred to him. He'd been overthinking this whole thing. They didn't care if he disappeared. They would call nobody. They would be glad he was gone. As long as they didn't know it involved magic, they'd pretend not to even notice their nephew had vanished.

Harry gave an involuntary laugh.

"What'sss funny?" The snake murmured sleepily.

"I think I'll take a very long walk on Friday."

The next morning Harry sprang out of bed, bolted down his breakfast and told Vernon he was going out. Vernon grunted. Pocketing the stolen money (grateful Petunia hadn't noticed it was missing) Harry set out for Mrs. Figg's. Sure enough, the key was under the pot, along with a train ticket which showed a departure date of 1/9/1991, at King's Cross Station, Platform 9 & ¾. This must be how he'd get to Hogwarts. Saying a silent prayer of eternal thanks for Mrs. Figg, he stuffed both items into his jeans and set out for the Bus Station.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he reached it.

"One for London, please." He said chirpily, standing with fingers crossed and hoping no one would ask why he was alone. But the old man at the ticket box didn't spare him a glance.

On the bus itself Harry was practically bouncing in his seat from excitement. He was traveling! Alone! He felt like the biggest, most grown up person to ever exist, and if not for residual fear about getting caught and turned over to Prison Dursley, he would have struck up a conversation about stock exchanges with the gentleman reading the Financial Times next to him, despite knowing nothing about it. He searched his pockets to make sure it was all there: key, supplies list, Mrs. Figg's note, money.

London was an extraordinary place. Harry had never seen so many people. He dearly wished to go visit the Royal Palace and the National Gallery and the Tower, but he hadn't the time. He needed to find his way to the Leaky Cauldron pub. A map he bought from a newsstand didn't enlighten him in the slightest. He had no idea London was so big and spread out, it was more like a patchwork of villages than an actual city, and the Underground wasn't a help if he couldn't match the address to anywhere on the map.

Walking down a random street, he noticed a fleet on parked black cabs. He approached one where the driver was reading a magazine.

"Excuse me?"

The driver looked at him over his glasses.

"Alright, my son?"

"Umm, do you think you could find this address here?"

He held up Mrs. Figgs note. The man peered through his spectacles.

"In a twinkling. You'd like a lift, young sir?"

"Yes, please!"

He jumped into the cab with alacrity and they set off. The man was very nice, though when he asked Harry's name, he instinctively lied and said Dudley. It was best not to leave a trail if he could help it. They chatted about cricket mostly.

"And here we are, young sir. Very pleasant to meet you."

"You as well," Harry said, handing up the money for the trip.

The cab trundled away as Harry took stock of his surroundings. There were ordinary rows of shops on either end of the street, and for a moment a cold stab of fear entered his heart. Was this the wrong place?

But then his eye fell on it.

Squashed between two well-maintained and popular-looking shops was a dingy, grubby-looking place that looked as if the surrounding buildings were trying to squeeze it out. Passerby's eyes flicked between the adjoining shops without noticing the ugly locale between.

Harry crossed the street and caught sight of himself in a shop window. A disheveled boy wearing jeans and a t-shirt too large for him, broken glasses, and long unkempt hair looked back at him. In all the recent tumultuousness, Aunt Petunia had forgotten to give him his usual hack job haircut. It had scattered down well below his ears and hung over his forehead covering his scar. He felt a bit embarrassed about his appearance, but the recent events had given him self-confidence. He could do this. Taking a breath, he entered the pub.

He knew immediately this was the right place. Strangely garbed people populated the equally dingy interior, wearing all manner of robes in an array of colors. Harry had seen such people before, and they'd all been very friendly. Maybe they had known he was a magical person like them. Even now, several of them eyed Harry with interest. An older man behind the counter addressed him.

"How are you, my boy?"

Harry'd never experienced two people in a row speak nicely to him. It almost made him uneasy.

"Ahm, I'm looking for the entrance to Dye-Agon Alley."

The man smiled, in a very kindly way.

"Dia-GONE Alley, lad," He corrected mildly, "All by your lonesome, then?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, my name's Tom, I'm the landlord of this establishment. The entrance is out back, I'll show you. Come round now."

He led them to a literal alley in back of pub. It was tiny and dirty with a blank slate of brick wall at the end. Certainly no room for even a newsstand, much less an actual shop.

"This may be a shock t'ya so be ready," Tom said.

Harry steeled himself.

Tom tapped a brick on the wall, and the whole edifice melted like butter under an open flame. Harry's eyes were the size of dinner plates. Once again he felt that rushing, spinning sensation like when he first read the letter, a feeling of hyper-awareness but unreality at the same time. It was real.

IT WAS REAL.

He followed Tom through the freshly-made entrance into Diagon Alley. It was a cobble-stone street absolutely jam-packed with people, bustling between shops brimming with strange and incredible merchandise. Cauldrons were for sale, broomsticks, extraordinary ingredients for potions… his mind was reeling from it all.

"Got your school list?"

"What?" Harry asked, dazed.

"Your list of things for school? I take it that's why you're here."

"OH! Right," harry said, fishing out the paper. Tom nodded.

"Any questions at all, you just come ask me. Tap the brick three up from the rubbish bin and two across to get back and forth."

"Okay, thank you very much sir."

"Anytime."

They shook hands, and Tom went back through the entrance, which instantly became a solid wall again.

Harry was left alone in the magic and the mayhem of the Alley, which stretched as far as he could see. It couldn't be part of London, could it? There was no way it was in the same space. Was magic this powerful that it could hide whole city blocks in an alley behind a pub? A slightly hysterical laugh escaped Harry's lips. It was all so overwhelming. To give his mind a break from contemplating the big picture, he started exploring the minutiae of the surrounding shops.

"Ten galleons more for a self-stirring cauldron, only ten galleons more, guaranteed consistency in ALL your potions!"

A shopkeeper was eagerly hawking his wares to a surrounding gaggle of women, who were whispering energetically to each other.

"Good day sir, good day, just starting school I bet, eh? What do you say, ten galleons more for our patented cauldron, you'll be star of the class!"

He'd caught sight of Harry.

"Umm, no thanks, I haven't got any- I mean, not yet I haven't-"

The shopkeeper instantly turned away. It reminded Harry that he must visit the place called Gringotts. According to Mrs. Figg it contained a vault with money in it just for him, so it must be a kind of bank. He asked after it from a jovial-looking man in a magenta robe, who pointed him in the direction.

Gringotts proved the most imposing building Harry had yet seen. It towered over a courtyard like a white marble colossus, leaning forward slightly, as if to inspect everyone who passed beneath its shadow. Harry was so transfixed at its size that he didn't notice the rather smaller, but every bit as shocking, shape standing at the buildings' entrance. It looked like a man, but couldn't have been. Perhaps a meter tall, with a long pointed nose and immensely long hands and feet, it stood watching keenly from Gringotts front door, its deep set but clever-looking eyes roving over the crowd. Clearly, he was some form of magical creature, and maybe a formidable kind.

Harry approached with caution. The creature upon seeing his intent pulled the great door open.

"Thank you," Harry said with a slightly higher voice than normal. The creature bowed.

Inside was a long marble hallway, with a roof that extended to the building's full height. On either side, high oak desks stretched in one unbroken wall to the opposite end of the chamber. More of the clever-looking creatures attended the desk rows, weighing piles of gold dust on intricate scales, or examining massive gemstones through brass microscopes. They seemed so busy Harry just kept walking, too intimidated to ask any for help. Eventually, as he neared the end, he had no choice.

"…Hello?"

The creature he addressed had long but thin white hair. He looked older than the others. He peered down his miles of nose at Harry.

"Yes?"

"I'm…I'm starting school soon and need money. Mrs. Fi- I mean, someone told me my family has a vault… and I- that is am I allowed to…have it?"

The creature blinked.

"Do you have your key?"

"Yes! Yes, here it is."

He produced the little gold key as quickly as he could, standing on tiptoe to hand it over the desk. The creature examined it in his long, dexterous fingers.

"Very good."

He handed it back.

"There was a disturbance in one of our vaults yesterday. Our employees are very busy. Please wait a few minutes and one of our number will escort you down."

"Oh. I hope everything's all right."

The creature pursed his lips.

"Nothing was taken."

In a short while another creature, this one with shiny black hair, appeared and led Harry through a door to what astonishingly resembled a miner's shaft. A cart came rushing up the tracks upon a whistle, and the two got inside.

"Hands within the cart at all times," The creature announced, and with that, the cart shot off like a rocket. It plunged down, sideways, up and down again, through a subterranean world of caverns and caves. It was the most thrilling ride Harry had ever had. He'd gone to the fair with the Dursley's once and watched enviously as Dudley and Morgan and Piers went on the fun rides while he, Harry, lingered on the sidelines because he was too small. Or maybe Petunia just said he was too small to deny him a bit of pleasure. Now he had to contain his desire to put his hands up and yell the way people did on the rollercoasters, but nothing could stymie the grin spreading from ear to ear.

Eventually the cart halted where the track adjoined a rocky outcropping. A short distance up a massive round vault door was set into the solid stone.

"Your key, please."

The creature inserted it into the tiny lock, and the door swung open. When the odd green smoke cleared, Harry's jaw fell open for maybe the tenth time that day.

The vault was filled with heaps of gold, silver and bronze coins. Piles of them. Harry could have gone swimming in it!

"This… this was my parent's money?"

"The Potter family fortune, yes, accrued over generations."

"How much is it?"

"The vault contains 50,265 galleons, 10,946 sickles, and 23,812 knuts," The creature answered immediately.

Harry stepped into the vault, looking around him. Coins clinked underfoot.

"I'm very sorry, but I don't know how much that is."

The creature raised an eyebrow.

"It's just… I'm new to all this. No one's told me anything. About this world."

The creature gazed at him with an inscrutable expression. Then it stepped into the vault as well. Bending over, it scooped up a handful of coins.

"This," he said showing a small bronze coin between thumb and forefinger, "Is a Knut. The smallest denomination. Twenty nine of them equal," He flashed a silver coin, "one Sickle. And seventeen sickles come to," He produced the gold coin, by far the largest, "one Galleon."

Harry burned those figures into his memory.

"And- I'm sorry for all these questions- how much do you think I need?"

The creature sighed, then beckoned with his hand.

"Your school list, please."

He perused it for a moment before declaring:

"Twenty Galleons, thirteen Sickles, and five Knuts should suffice."

Harry gathered that amount in a small bag he was given.

"A price index will be provided before you leave, along with details of fund renewal and accrued interest to your account."

"Thank you," Harry said uncertainly. He should learn the specifics of his money situation, if he could understand it all. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Does anyone else have access to this vault?"

"You are the sole surviving beneficiary."

Until the cart arrived back, and Harry was handed his financial documents before stepping back into the sunlight, he was very quiet.

The sole survivor.

He'd only asked because the Dursley's had come to mind, and he didn't want their greasy hands anywhere near his lifeline to independence. That's what this money was after all; freedom. It was a bit of freedom kept in secret for him by his parents.

What had happened to them? Why were they gone?

Harry's eyes squinted in the sunlight as he walked down the marble steps. He would get answers. He would know the truth.

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: The Return

Chapter Text

After the Gringotts expedition, Harry was hungry and bought a sausage roll from a curbside vendor. He sat on the plinth of a statue and swung his legs from the edge while he ate his lunch, watching the pedestrians. If London had a variety of people, Diagon Alley boasted a rainbow spectrum of unpredictability. There were men in robes little more than rags, others with gold trimming that trailed the ground three feet behind them, and one man wore a toga that flashed every conceivable color as he walked. Harry saw children too. Judging by their parents' harried looks and continued checking off items on paper, they were preparing for school as well, perhaps Hogwarts.

Had his parents gone to Hogwarts? Did they know lots of magic? Who were they, really? The Potter fortune was amassed over generations and was big, so were they some kind of nobility?

He'd find out, but today he had to take care of his school list.

A bright and cheerful bookshop called Flourish & Blotts sold the required books, stacks of them piled to the ceiling in anticipation of needy students. Once arrayed on the counter, Harry realized he had nothing to store them in.

"Can you keep these here for now?"

The counter man nodded, less than pleased. His workspace was cramped as it was.

Looking for a store that might sell him a trunk, Harry happened upon the apothecary and revisited the cauldron-shop with the excitable salesman, repeating the process there ("Can you hold all this for me?"). Finally, he found a large store with an equally large owner, who showed him an array of bags, safes, and trunks. He chose one bewitched similarly to Diagon Alley: it had seven locks for seven compartments, all larger than the outside indicated. The final lock revealed an entire room which a grown man could lie down in! The keys were bound to the owner, so if anyone but Harry used them, the trunk showed only emptiness.

"Perfect if you've got a little summat to keep secret," The owner whispered with a wink.

Harry slipped the keys over his neck for safekeeping.

With its interior-enlarging enchantments, treated wood (unbreakable for a lifetime, supposedly) and fine brass-shod edges it was an expensive choice, but Harry didn't mind. It solved a problem that occurred to him while in the apothecary: how to get his snake friend to Hogwarts. The letter specified students could have an owl OR a rat OR a toad. It said nothing about massive boa constrictors, so a smuggling operation was likely in order.

Harry was tempted by a gorgeous snowy owl in Eeylops Owl Emporium when he peeked in. Remembering how keenly his friend spoke of owls, and considering this bird might become a snack, he decided against it. Instead, he bought a cage of fat white mice as a present.

Then it was on to get his robes. Madame Malkin fitted him up in a trice and, appraising his duct-tape lined trainers, passed him off to an associate who offered some shoes that were incomparably better.

"Muggle-wear's not our specialty, but perhaps some nicer trousers and tops…?"

Harry didn't know what she meant by the word 'Muggle' but agreed that he didn't like his clothes very much, and walked out with several pairs of dark trousers and bottle-green shirts ("Oh they'll accentuate your eyes fabulously, my sweet!") They were plainly designed but made from fine fabric and fit better than anything he'd ever worn. He pitched the Dudley hand-me-downs into the nearest rubbish bin, which spat them back out with an indignant cough.

Finally there was his wand.

According to Madame Malkin, there was no other place than Ollivander's. Since the sign outside the door said 382 B.C., Harry saw she wasn't kidding. Did that mean Mr. Ollivander was over 2,000 years old? It seemed improbable.

The shop had a quiet, timeless stillness about it. No one else was there. Even the noise from the street was unnaturally silenced.

"Yes?"

Harry jumped. A voice from the shadows, amongst the narrow shelves from behind the counter, then the owner's luminescent pale eyes emerged. Mr. Ollivander was a slight, staring man with grey hair and a waistcoat. He stepped forward and raised the hinged counter door without taking his eyes off Harry.

"I'm here to buy a wand."

There was little else to buy here, he thought.

"Indeed. Let's get started then."

He produced a tape measure, and began assessing every length imaginable of Harry's body, while he described the properties of a wizard's wand:

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry craned his neck back, allowing the distance from his chin and forehead to be measured, and his hair slid down. Mr. Ollivander stopped dead.

"Yes," he breathed, "That scar…Harry Potter."

Harry looked at him.

"How do you know my name?"

Mr. Ollivander's pale eyes were larger and mistier than before.

"My boy, every witch and wizard on this island knows your name."

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a step back.

"Why?"

Mr. Ollivander stared at him for a second, then sighed deeply and sank onto a stool like all his strength had ebbed away.

'Sir?" Harry said uncertainly. The man's head was lowered, his face downcast. When he raised it he looked much older.

"Oh my boy," He shook his head sorrowfully, "Oh my boy… it grieves me your ignorance must end…and I lament that I must be responsible for it."

Slowly, he raised himself to his feet.

"Have you ever wondered of that scar and its origin?"

Not really. It was from the car accident which killed his parents, according to Aunt Petunia.

"It was no accident that killed them. Your parents were murdered."

Harry's breath was expelled in one burst.

"By who? WHY?"

Mr. Ollivander's voice remained calm, but every word seemed to cost him.

"By a wizard of great power and limitless ambition. A man who, twelve years ago, gathered followers to conquer our wizarding world. Some joined him willingly, some through fear, others through coercion. His lust for power lead him to commit unspeakable acts. Those in the Ministry of Magic who dared oppose him were eliminated. Those suspected of siding with Albus Dumbledore were likewise killed. In the latter group, your parents were counted."

Harry stood rigid as a block of stone. Mr. Ollivander placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Twelve years ago, he arrived at your parent's home on Halloween night. They fought back, of that I'm sure, oh what talented ones they were!" he exclaimed suddenly. "But they were no match for him. Then he turned his wand upon you…"

Mr. Ollivander brushed Harry's hair aside and touched his scar.

"…and left that mark. The Killing Curse. The incantation to summon death itself."

Harry's breath rattled in his chest. His whole body quivered. But he willed his voice to stay steady.

"Why… why didn't I die too?"

The man's lamp-like eyes closed, and he shook his head slowly.

"I do not know. It is a question that's since bedeviled many minds. Theories have been proposed and expounded upon. A damaged wand, an improperly cast curse, some magical artifact destroyed in the process… Perhaps, it was the power of your parent's devotion that protected you. One final desperate spell cast, carrying with it one of the mightiest powers in creation; a father and a mother's love."

It was too much. Harry's face screwed up and tears came trickling out. Mr. Ollivander patted his arm saying "There, there, poor child… there, there," while his tears made little plops on the wood floor, and his shoulders shook. For a little while, those were the only sounds audible in the quiet, dusty shop.

Eventually harry regained his control. He wiped his glasses on his shirt.

"So what happened to this… this wizard?" he asked with a slight hiccup.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named disappeared. It is rumored he still lives, but as a shadow of his former self."

Seeing Harry's look, he continued,

"His assumed title was…Lord Voldemort."

He paused.

"Apologies. It became customary during his reign of terror to never speak that name aloud. Terrible things might befall those who did. But I knew him by another name. All those many years ago when he walked into my shop as the young Tom Riddle."

He gave a far-away smile.

"Such promise. Such potential. Yew, thirteen and a half inches with a phoenix tailfeather. He fulfilled that promise, in a way."

He looked at Harry intensely.

"All three of them partook in greatness. Always remember that. Lily Potter, James Potter, and Tom Riddle. That their lives intertwined so tragically…but who of we mortals can predict how the Fates will weave their tapestry?"

They both stared at each other for a moment. There was so much more Harry needed to say, and to ask, but all he could think of was:

"What did my parents look like?"

"When you walked through my door, I thought you were your father come again," he said seriously, "except for your eyes. They are your mothers. Her hair was red like autumn leaves. Spirited and bright like your father… small wonder they found each other."

"I hope I really am like them. I want to be as good at magic as they were."

"The first step in finding out," The man said, "Is to see about your wand."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly numb but recovering some of his energy for the matter at hand.

Several candidates were tested, yet no sooner had Harry grasped them, Mr. Ollivander snatched them away again. Harry was perplexed. The wands felt perfectly fine to him when he whisked them through the air. Then finally, with a muttered:

"Of course…of course…"

The pale-eyed wizard lifted from the very back of a distant shelf a box, and walked slowly forward, cradling it carefully.

"Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches."

And when Harry clasped the wand, he knew it was the one. A strange warmth spread up his arm, and upon Mr. Ollivander's bidding, he waved it through the air sending a shower of green, red and silver sparks over his head.

"Wow!"

He whooped in spontaneous glee. The brief lightshow dissipated quickly, leaving only the falling dust and a faint glow behind.

"Wonderful!" The man clapped, "When the wand chooses its wizard, oh!"

He wiped a tear from his face.

"Wonderful, every time. How curiously the Fates work, how curious indeed."

As he boxed up Harry's wand, he again repeated the phrase.

"Curious, indeed, are the Fates."

Harry asked what he meant. Mr. Ollivander gave him a mysterious look.

"This wand, Mr. Potter, shares a phoenix feather with another. Just one other. Its brother belonged to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The wand used to kill his parents. The wand that put the scar on his head.

"When you leave here, you will have many more questions. I cannot answer them. I am merely a tradesman, burdened with foolish ideas that grow upon an old man. However…"

He gripped Harry's shoulder one last time.

"…I know you will do great things, Mr. Potter. And I believe you will weave your own destiny."

Harry paid seven pounds for his wand, and exited the shop.

After completing his errands Harry so drained, shuffling along with his trunk, he could scarcely remember how to get back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Had quite the day, eh?" Tom asked, after Harry finally got the sequence of bricks right and stumbled into the pub nearly tripping over his luggage.

"Yes sir," Harry replied.

"Would Sir like a room? He looks a little worn out."

"No, I have to get back…catch a bus…"

Tom eyed him with sympathy.

"I believe a room is in order. Come now, there's plenty available."

Harry tried to object but found himself being led upstairs, down a hallway with afternoon sunlight coming through the windows, and into a room with a big four-post bed.

"Here we are. Lay that trunk down and rest."

"I…ok…"

Harry sank on the bed, and sleep claimed him.

He dreamed of a flashing green light, a scream, and a world dissolving into incoherency. He dreamed of endless seas of undulating snakes, of carts hurtling through stygian darkness, of streets that stretched to the horizon, and of a woman's smiling face.

He awoke slowly. For a moment he didn't know where he was. A fire flickered shadows across a low room, and the old-fashioned floral comforter beneath him was so very soft. He arose, rubbing his neck. His room in the Leaky Cauldron was very cozy. Two leather armchairs plus a tea table were by the fire. On the mantelpiece there was a clock that ticked steadily, and the window to the outside looked pitch black through its wooden lattice. Checking his watch, he saw it was nearly 1:00 AM. He'd slept for eight hours. It was madness to think he could accomplish it all within an afternoon, but the fever of discovery had urged him on.

Collapsing back into a pillow, he thought about the previous day. So far he'd learned his parents were murdered by a powerful wizard called Lord Voldemort, previously known as Tom Riddle, who also tried to kill Harry and failed. Now Voldemort had vanished and Harry was famous for breaking his power. Apparently Albus Dumbledore the Hogwarts Headmaster had opposed Voldemort, not that it stopped Harry's family from being destroyed.

And his parents weren't worthless drunks like Aunt Petunia described them. They were talented people full of life, possibly even scions of nobility, and they had died heroically defending him from a murderer.

Harry balled his fists.

The Dursley's were liars. If not for his friend, and to ask if he'd accompany him to Hogwarts (which he fervently hoped he'd accept), Harry wouldn't go back to Privet Drive for all the money in his Gringotts vault.

Unable to sleep longer, he kicked out of bed and dived into his textbooks. It was clear from the complex charts and intricate illustrations there was more to magic than saying Abra Kadabra and waving a wand. He got his own wand out and experimented with basic charms after reading for a couple hours. It was hard. Magic was simultaneously conceptual and practical, it was a bit like working through a word problem while playing a game of jacks, but by 6:00 AM, he'd finally managed to make his teacup waltz across the table where it fell and shattered. He scooped up the still merrily jigging pieces and planned a profuse apology to Tom, though he'd never felt so proud of himself: he had actually done magic!

When the sun was up, he ate his breakfast of eggs, beans and toast downstairs in the pub. Tom finally saw his scar and recognized him, shaking his hand all over again as if they hadn't met, and insisted Harry pay for nothing. This newfound fame was a bit odd, but he was nevertheless grateful and thanked Tom sincerely as he left, gazing wistfully back at the pub's decrepit countenance as he stepped back into the ordinary world.

He took another cab back to the bus station (more difficult now due to his trunk) and used his pilfered English pounds to purchase a ticket back to Surrey. He gazed for a while at hedges and sun-drenched fields, then closed his eyes, imagining his parents like Mr. Ollivander described them. He tried to picture them all together, but the picture wouldn't stay.

Harry would learn magic. He'd become strong, strong enough to protect himself, and make their sacrifice not be in vain.

"Next stop, Little Whinging," came the automated speaker.

Disembarking, he began the hot hike back again. As confident as he'd been of the Dursley's unconcern when he set out, he wasn't so sure now. If he walked in the door after vanishing for a whole day, wearing strange clothes and carrying new luggage, all hell may break loose. He wasn't wrong. Their voices carried outside:

"Gone! Thirteen pounds just vanished! When I get my hands on him-"

"Oh I'll give him a bloody good hiding! And then call the police! This has gone far enough. The boy needs to be institutionalized!"

Harry girded himself. Their fury was nothing compared to his own. He touched his wand in his pocket and opened the front door.

"You!"

"Hello."

Uncle Vernon was standing in the foyer with the phone in his hand, Aunt Petunia was clutching her purse with a white-knuckled grip, and Dudley was looking between them and Harry with an expression of both shock and anticipation. Evidently the aforementioned 'hiding' was Christmas-come-early to precious Duddykins. Harry would enjoy his disappointment.

"You… little thief…rotten to the CORE…just like…"

Spit flew from his mustache in little bursts as he choked on his rage. He stood frozen for a moment then lurched towards Harry. But in a flash he drew his wand.

"Don't make me curse you!"

Vernon jerked back like he'd been struck on the nose. Petunia screamed and dropped her purse, clutching against the wall like she was about to faint. Dudley yelled and fell over the back of the couch. Harry firmly gripped the wand. He didn't know a single spell, but would cast one by sheer willpower if he had to.

"Don't you touch me. This whole time…this whole time you've lied about my mum and dad, but I know the truth now. THIS-"

he rummaged in his pocket with his free hand, ripping out the Hogwarts letter, "-helped a bit!"

Petunia's face mingled anger with fear.

"That school!" She hissed. Harry's eyes darted to her. "That awful place! My sister got a letter just like that and went off to become a WITCH!"

She spat the word with utter disgust, and a vehemence like she'd been yearning to say it for years.

"But did my parents care, oh no! They were proud of her, chuffed to bits their daughter could turn teacups into rats. Driven mental by one of those revolting potions she was always brewing, is MY bet!"

It was the longest Petunia had ever spoken to him in one go.

"Then she met your father at school, and you came along, and of course you'd be no different. At least I was well shut of it, oh I thought I was rid of the whole sorry bunch of them, but look what happened! She got blown to bits with that arrogant git, and you landed on our doorstep."

She paused for a second, her chest heaving.

"We took you in and swore we'd stamp that nonsense out, but look at you," her lip curled, "ungrateful, thieving little brat, you'll go the way of your no-good mother-"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!"

There was a sound like a clap of thunder, sparks flew once more out of Harry's wand, and the overheard light shattered into pieces.

Aunt Petunia's monologue had paralyzed him with its pure vindictiveness, but now his anger surged forth so hard it nearly blinded him. When the spots faded from his vision the Dursley's were collectively cowering in the far end of the sitting room.

"I'm going," he said with a shaking voice, keeping his wand trained at them and stepping over the broken glass towards the stairs. "Don't you dare try to stop me."

He bounded up to his room.

"Quite the commotion," The snake remarked as he entered.

"I got all my things," Harry panted, "I'm getting out of here and going to Hogwarts. Do you want to come? Please?"

The snake flicked his tail excitedly.

"New placesss to explore…it'll be an adventure… let'sss go!"

The Dursley's were muttering to each other, casting hateful glances at Harry when he reemerged. But when the snake came slithering down the stairs, they all screamed like their hair was on fire. Ignoring them, Harry showed off the trunk's unusual properties.

"Sorry it's so dark, it's the best I could do. There's some mice in there in case you get hungry."

"Ohhh, this is perfect," The snake said, leaning over the trunk's edge to inspect the 7th compartment, "and what nice sssspecimens you brought."

"Mum," Dudley said in a tremulous voice, his double chins wobbling, "He's talking to it… he's talking to that thing!"

"He speaks better than you do," Harry retorted as the snake disappeared into the trunk, "Goodbye."

And with that, he slammed the door behind him.

Tom was surprised to see him back so soon and welcomed him enthusiastically. Again, he insisted on no payment, but Harry prevailed upon him to accept fair price for his room. Once the door was closed, he released his friend who immediately surveyed every square inch of his surroundings.

"Should be easssy to move around."

Chapter 3: Acquaintances & Arrival

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Harry hid the ill-gotten book in his trunk. After the hubbub subsided crept downstairs where Ludwig was having dinner. They ate together in the snug and discussed the course of the day's events. Ludwig, along with the Aurors, had helped subdue the crowd. Harry gathered the Aurors were a kind of police force.

"Is that your job?"

"Für a few Jahre it was, ja. But now I work as a researcher für a small Firma."

"So you got trained to fight? Can you teach me?"

"You are too jüng."

"No I'm not."

"You are. It would be better to konzentriert on the basics."

"But if there's bullies at Hogwarts, I need to defend myself. It won't be fair. They'll all have grown up knowing magic, and I just found out I'm a wizard a few days ago."

Harry pleaded his case, trying not to sound like a whiny little boy. Ludwig considered, chewing his food thoughtfully.

"Very well. But only die Grundlagen, nothing advanced. Und it will not supersede your normal lessons."

"Thanks," Harry said, trying not to bounce in his seat with excitement.

"It is an interessant point you make," The man continued, "after all, du bist sehr bekannt. People will pay lots of attention to you at die Schule."

He gestured towards the pub denizens as an illustration. A group of young witches were indeed stealing glances at them, tittering beneath their broadbrim hats and smoothing their hair.

"I don't think it's me they're watching," Harry smirked, "maybe you should write them an autograph."

Ludwig reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Such cheek you have, Spitze."

He'd taken to calling Harry that name, on account of his unruly hair. No matter how long it got, or how vigorously it was combed, it stuck up in the back like a tree seeking sunlight.

"We begin after Abendessen tonight."

Harry was still getting used to Ludwig's suddenness and his blunt speaking, as he demonstrated later when they stood in a darkening courtyard down the road.

"I do not expect you to master this, or even become competent. We will begin with the Schuld charm. The incantation isProtego. Say it."

"Protego," Harry declared in a strong voice.

For the next two hours Ludwig lectured in minute detail on the conceptual aspects of the charm, the degree and point of focus, and correct grip of the wand. The slightest mistake earned Harry a quick rebuke. It was also embarrassing being hit by the pebbles Ludwig lobbed at him to test the integrity of his shield. Right now, the shield was nonexistent.

"Nein! Your timing is off, you konzentriert on a Punkt too far ahead. Picture the object's arrest of momentum in your mind. Do not anticipate before it is even thrown. Noch einmal!"

By bedtime, there was a small pile of unblocked pebbles at his feet.

"Do not be discouraged."

Ludwig patted Harry's back as they reentered the Leaky Cauldron.

"As I said, it is a diffikalt charm for many grown Zauberer. We will continue tomorrow, but only after transfiguration."

Harry's unsuccess made him feel guilty. He didn't want to be a burden on this stranger who had his own business to attend to.

"I hope I'm not taking up your time. You don't HAVE to teach me so much."

But the tall man only smiled.

"Perhaps I like teaching. Gute Nacht."

"Good Night Sir."

Ludwig took his position as Harry's instructor seriously. Every day over the next two weeks, Ludwig attended to whatever business with Gringotts he had, but before and afterwards he expected Harry to be on hand for their lessons. The rigor increased alarmingly. Ludwig's demeanor lacked all its usual warmth during their work, and mistakes were paid for with sharp raps to the knuckles, or worse.

Harry wondered if this was how students in Durmstrang were taught.

"Still better than the Dursley's. At least I'm learning something when I'm getting twatted by him," he thought to himself.

HisProtegolessons were positively grueling. He'd been giddy at his first block of a tossed pebble but the stakes increased immediately.

"Gut! But the size and speed of an object matter. We will increase both."

Lobbed pebbles were one thing, large rocks hurled by a strong man were another. Ludwig rolled his sleeves up to reveal his long muscular arms.

"Nein!" Ludwig barked as a hunk of masonry sailed over Harry's anxiously bobbing head, "You will not master this by flinching."

He pointed his wand, and Harry felt like his spine was suddenly made of steel. He couldn't duck if he tried. He watched in terror as Ludwig wound up and let fly.

"Protego! OWW!"

The rock struck his chest painfully. He gripped the spot tightly as his eyes watered. Outraged, he looked up at Ludwig who stood scowling.

"That really hurt!"

"An enemy's spell will hurt more. Are you angry?"

"YES! This isn't fair, you can't-"

"Will you tell an enemy what they can and cannot do? There is no appeal in a fight! Be angry if you must. But you WILL concentrate, or more pain shall come."

And come it did. Harry was battered and bruised when he shuffled up to his room. Ludwig had bid him goodnight, and Harry hadn't responded. It was churlish but he couldn't bring himself to be civil to the person who'd hurt him.

"You're quite the worssse for wear…what happened?"

Harry explained it to his friend while he undressed, wincing as he removed his shirt.

"Ssshall I bite him?"

"No, no, "Harry sighed as he sank into the bed, "It's not him I'm mad at, it's myself."

"I don't underssstand."

"Well…he's hurting me, but also teaching me. If I can't handle this then I can't handle a real fight. It's just practice."

The snake listened carefully.

"I ssseee… so he is not in your way…he preparesss the way before you…"

He wallowed comfortably on the rug, adjusting his long belly towards the fire.

"Perhapsss humans do know some thingsss…."

The next day offered more of the same. Harry was so angry and frustrated several times he yearned to tell Ludwig to piss off, to leave him alone and never talk to him again. But his face burned with shame when he thought that way. He hadn't lied to his snake friend: he really was angry with himself, and no matter how much he resented Ludwig for his relentlessness, Harry, absurdly, didn't like the thought of upsetting or disappointing him. Here he was, an eleven-year-old boy being pelted with rocks and shouted at, and he was worried about hurting the feelings of a grown man!

"It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic." He thought.

Maybe he held on because after lessons were over, Ludwig was gentle and kind. It was a little confusing. They ate together every night and he listened to what Harry said. If Harry was very upset about the lesson, he patted his shoulder and encouraged him to keep trying. No one had ever told Harry he could get good at anything, but Ludwig did.

On the third day, it happened. Whether he'd actually become better at the charm or he'd resigned himself to getting struck with a stone and stopped fearing it altogether, Ludwig's rock went ricocheting off his perfectly cast shield.

"Wunderbar!"

"Did you see that?! It just went flying off!"

"Natürlich I saw it," The man said as he arose from ducking his own rock. He was beaming. "Now we must try deflecting spells."

And just like that, Harry was back at square one. Ludwig knew every hex and jinx conceivable and each one behaved differently. He could swear some moved faster than others, and some seemed to partially penetrate his shield even when he cast it flawlessly.

"Oh ja.Protegois not the most powerful Schuld, nor is it comprehensive. But you must practice on a wide variety of spells, Junge."

At least Ludwig had the courtesy of removing a jinx when Harry was incapacitated. It was hard to hold a wand when your hand suddenly went boneless. But gradually, his reaction time improved and he started recognizing certain spells and responding to them better.

"When you are older, you must deal with nonverbal spells."

"What? You mean they're cast without saying anything?"

The man nodded, amused by the look of horror on Harry's face.

"Do not worry, that is a long time off. You will simply need to be quick and prepared."

To facilitate this state of readiness Ludwig began trying to catch him unawares. He jinxed Harry on the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron when they were going up to bed one night, and nearly got himself banned by chucking a Beer Stein at Harry from across the bar. He owed Tom a lengthy explanation for that one. Harry tried not to look smug at Ludwig's sheepish grimace as he carried their full butterbeers to the table.

"That was dumm of me," he muttered after going back to clean up the broken glass. Harry's shield had sent the mug smashing into a million pieces against a pillar. "But you did very well. Hier!"

He raised his glass and they toasted.

"School must start soon, ja?"

"In a week," Harry said, and a sudden flutter of nerves filled his belly.

"Until then we will continue with charms and transfiguration, und trainieren deine Schuld as well."

"Any more fighting spells you can show me?"

"But I have shown you many, have I not?"

It was true. Ludwig allowed Harry to try the boneless spell on him the next day.

"Exos!"

His arm flopped like it was made of pure rubber.

"Toll!" Ludwig picked up his wand with his other hand and restored his arm to normal. "It is a good alternative to the übliche disarming spell. Viele Leute do not look for it. Now, again!"

One night Harry's friend returned from his explorations. He'd been gone for a while and wanted to read with Harry a bit, so they dived in. Wizarding history was the priority given their ignorance of the world they'd entered, and the snake was unable to practice magic, so the spell books weren't quite as interesting for him.

"Says here Hogwarts is a castle over 1000 years old," Harry said, peering atHogwarts: A Historyover the rim of his teacup, "and it has an enchanted forest as part of its grounds!"

They both exulted at this discovery, and talked excitedly of what awaited them. A boa's true habitat was a jungle, which this forest may approximate, and Harry couldn't think of anything more amazing than living in a real life castle.

"There were four founders of the school: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin".

"Ssssalazzzarrrr," the snake said slowly, as if he were savoring the word, "I like that name."

"Shall I call you Salazar, then?" Harry asked, grinning.

The snake considered, twirling his tail thoughtfully.

"Yesss," he said finally, "My kind don't use namesss… but when they're that good…"

"It says Slytherin wanted to keep Muggle-Born students out… that word again, what's it mean…oh, it's 'wizards and witches born to non-magical parents'. Well that seems kind of stupid, why not let in anyone who can do magic?"

He read further, frowning when he came to the next paragraph.

"Apparently, he was deemed to be a Dark Wizard… does that mean evil? And-"

He looked at Salazar in surprise.

"-it was because he could talk to snakes."

"Isss that right?"

Harry set his cup down and hunched over the book, flipping the pages back and forth from the index and reading with his finger pressed hard to the page.

"It's called being a Parselmouth. It doesn't say much else except it's a really rare ability, and it's a sign of a dark wizard."

Neither spoke for a second. Only the crackling fire and the pub guests murmuring downstairs could be heard.

"Does that meanI'mevil?"

Salazar considered for a while, tongue flicking the air intermittently.

"I don't like the use of these words."

"You mean like 'evil'?"

He nodded.

"Humansss use them too much…everything they dissslike…everything they fear…making their fellowsss fearful too. Fear is good…keeps us alive…but you who walk upright jump at shadows."

He crawled closer.

"Your human captors thought magic was evil…othersss think onlysomemagic is evil…perhapssss they're all wrong."

Harry listened intently. Maybe the Dursley's weren't so unique. Maybe there was a Dursley attitude among some wizards as well.

"Ssssilly to worry over these words…we two know what matters…our freedom."

He nudged him with his snout playfully.

"You seem alright to me, anywaysss."

Harry nodded and smiled, feeling better.

They perused the book late into the night until Harry's chin drooped onto his chest, the fire burned to embers, and the snake (wound around both him and the chair) slumped to the floor.

Harry used what little free time he had to delve deeper into his past and frequented Flourish & Blotts for research. Mr. Ollivander hadn't been wrong. There was lots of speculation in books likeDark Times & Their End: The Rise and Fall of Evilabout why Harry had lived and Voldemort had disappeared. They all seemed confident Voldemort wasn't coming back, and none of them knew exactly what became of Harry after that Halloween night. The dominant theory was, he got hidden by Albus Dumbledore to prevent remnants of Voldemort's supporters from enacting revenge.

Was that possible? Number 4 Privet Drive wasn't exactly Outer Mongolia in terms of remoteness.

Certainly Voldemort's supporters were to be feared. A book calledHigh Crimesconfirmed it. The notorious Sirius Black killed thirteen innocents with a single curse and Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her victims for fun. These criminals were locked away for life in a place called Azkaban, and there hadn't been any other incidents for ten years.

Harry spent the most time trying to learn about his parents, but it was hard. A lot of the books about Voldemort mentioned that the Potters were an old pureblood family who gained wealth in the potions trade. They had a family crest and everything! Harry wondered if it would be acceptable to have the crest sewn onto his robes. Unfortunately, none of these authors included pictures of James & Lilly Potter. His mother was hardly mentioned. Harry felt pride in his Potter heritage but resented that his mother (by all accounts a highly skilled witch) should be so unrecognized.

Life in Diagon Alley became so natural-feeling, that Harry was loath to leave it and be thrown into uncertainty again. He'd miss his cozy room, and Tom's kind face, and the friendly locals who crowded the bar each night. And he'd really, really miss Ludwig. Perhaps the man sensed it, because on the final night before Harry was to leave, he bought them both ice cream after their lesson.

"Are you going back home soon?"

"To Deutschland, ja, I depart next week. Meine Freundin has written me already, wishing my return."

"Who's your friend?"

Ludwig chuckled and ran his hand through his hair.

"Mygirlfriend, I should say."

"You have a girlfriend? What's she like?" Harry asked turning directly to face him on the bench they sat on.

"She is… well, nice. Schön, that means pretty….and clever."

Ludwig shrugged his shoulders and grinned somewhat bashfully. It was a novel expression for his face. "I am not good at describing people."

Harry chuckled. Then another question occurred to him.

"Do people know about me where you're from?"

"Ja, your name is known. The spread of Du-Weißt-Von-Wem also affected us and his downfall was a great relief. His doctrine forced many to pick a side, who might have been neutral."

"What doctrine?"

"The doctrine of violence. I was merely a boy, but I remember the sensation of fear. Trust declined und alte Freunde became strangers."

The street was empty and the gas lamps turned on. Harry shuffled his feet as Ludwig spoke, and watched a shop shutter its windows for the evening.

"From what I've been reading, he didn't like Muggle-Born wizards."

Ludwig gave a deep sigh.

"Die Frage…that is, the question von Blood Purity is ewig; eternal. It will be a controversy long after you and I die. But Du-Weißt-Von-Wem brought it to a knife's edge."

He turned to face Harry directly.

"Meine Familie is from Das Alte Blut, as we say, and we do believe in the inherent value of that blood. But we never desired laws against Muggelgeborene. Such foolishness would spell the death of wizard kind."

"So you don't think I'm lesser, or anything? Because I'm half-blood?"

Ludwig ruffled his hair again.

"Never, Spitze."

"Good. So what's Germany like?"

Ludwig laughed.

"I am not good at describing places either, Junge. You would have to see for yourself. Now," he engulfed the last of the ice cream cone and tossed away the napkin, "Show me your Schuld once more."

They practiced until late, and after trudging up the stairs for the final time and undressing in front of the mirror, Harry thought it funny he should be preemptively nostalgic for a set of bruises.

Harry woke up early while Salazar still snoozed under the bed. He'd asked him stick close by so as not to complicate their 9:30 departure. Harry anxiously inquired around the pub about getting to King's Cross Station via Muggle transport, and how much time it required. He couldn't think of anything worse than missing his train. All his things were packed, he had triple-checked his train ticket and money, dived back into his trunk at least half a dozen times to ensure everything was there, and sat fiddling with the keys around his neck too nervous to eat breakfast.

"You really should relaxxxx… it's all in order…"

"I know," Harry moaned, "but it's hard."

Salazar slithered over his lap. His presence was comforting. With his friend by his side, it didn't seem so overwhelming. Finally the time came and Salazer, being the last storable item, made his place within the trunk which was hauled downstairs. To Harry's happiness, Ludwig was there to see him off. He'd been too shy the previous night to ask if he'd see him before he left.

"Gringotts can wait," he stretched his lean form on a bench, "I wanted to wish you well."

He got up and looked Harry seriously in the eye.

"Study hard this year. Drill hard. I will be severe with you, if you have not shown improvement. Verstehst du?"

"Ja- I mean, yes sir."

He paused.

"So does that mean I can visit you next summer?"

He cringed internally at his own rudeness, but thankfully Ludwig's smile blossomed.

"We can arrange something. Ich denke, you would enjoy my homeland. Now, time to say farewell."

"Fare-oof!"

To his shock, Ludwig pulled him into a strong embrace. He tensed up with his arms at his side, but after that split second he hugged the big man as hard as he could. Then they released each other.

"Bye then," Harry said, wiping his eyes.

"Goodbye, Spitze."

The cab ride was quick and Harry got a trolly at the station for his trunk. He'd been instructed by a red-faced and very tipsy wizard that he should run at the brick wall separating platforms Nine and Ten, in order to reach platform Nine & Three Quarters. Hesitant to make himself look foolish, he parked his trolly a distance from the barrier and waited. Sure enough, a family dressed in a motley of ordinary clothing made surreptitious glances around them, then ran straight into the wall, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Emboldened, Harry copied them and emerged facing the gleaming, freshly painted steam engine that was bound for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

His nerves evaporated. The train with its brisk whistle and billows of white smoke held nothing but promise.

The platform was swarming with families exchanging goodbyes, last-minute bags of sandwiches for the journey, and kisses on the cheek which the boys received with reluctance. Harry felt out of place and looked around for a place to embark.

Suddenly Harry was almost knocked over. An older red-headed boy had collided with him.

"Oops! Sorry!"

He didn't stop to hear Harry's response.

"No problem," Harry said resentfully.

The older boy joined up with a large and boisterous family, one of whom appeared to be his twin. They all had red hair and freckles. The identical twins were causing an uproar, a little girl was crying, and the mother, a plump but formidable-looking woman, was brandishing a handkerchief at a boy's dirty nose in a threatening manner. For a second, Harry thought being alone wasn't so bad.

He embarked and found an empty compartment in a rear carriage. With some difficulty he stored his trunk in the overhead rack and took out his Knockturn Alley book.

As the train started, he looked out the window and saw the station vanishing behind him, feeling the same thrill of travel he'd had on the bus to London. Their speed increased and the houses became a blur that made him queasy to look at, so he returned to the book. The text was definitely advanced but very thorough in its explanations so he gradually made headway.

"A curse is similar to a jinx or hex, in that it is cast with the intent to degrade, reduce, vex, confuse, subtract from, weaken, or disfigure the object. It is distinguished from other deleterious magic by complexity, severity, or endurance in time; essentially, all these characteristics are greater or more intense in this category. A curse expresses the pure Will of the individual to dominate and subdue another. As a technical piece of magic, they can be among the most complex and subtle yet also the simplest. Our world is one of increasingly layered magic and intentional sedimentation, where spell-work has been directed towards regulation, restraint, and the categorization of existing knowledge. In this environment, a curse can act as a blade splitting through the cobwebs, or a battering ram, smashing the ossified layers of superfluous fiat."

Harry became aware of eyes on him: someone was peering in through the small pane of glass on the compartment door. He looked up. Realizing they'd been seen, the person quickly vanished, but a second later the compartment door slid tentatively open.

"Excuse me, d'you mind if I sit in here? Everywhere else is full."

"Yeah," Harry lent a hand with the boy's trunk.

"Thanks," the boy said. His eyes flitted to the book. "What's that you're reading?"

"Oh nothing, it's about-"

"Curses!" The boy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Cool."

"Do you want to look at it too?"

"Sure."

They sat side by side and continued where Harry had left off.

"As with any spell, the most important aspects of a standard curse are conceptual formulation, intent, focus, articulation, and casting. However, I must add an addendum in the form of a word spoken these days too often as a qualifier or a pejorative; power. A curse relies on the native magical power of the caster, more than any other kind of magic. From whence this power comes, and where it is in the individual, is not the purpose of this text to explain. Correlative studies on cognitive ability, genealogical explanations of blood purity, astronomical calculation; none wholly suffice in this author's mind. It is enough to know that individuals are invested with that raw power and in varying amounts. A curse relies upon summoning up that power, focusing it, and directing it, creating the greatest weapon a wizard can wield in his struggle with the world."

"My father has books like this in his study," The boy said quietly, "But mother made him promise that until I'd had a year at Hogwarts, I shan't read them."

"I shouldn't even have this one strictly speaking."

"Did your mum forbid it too?"

"Not exactly-"

Just then they heard a knock. A woman had come around with a cart full of treats, and Harry gladly filled himself up: he'd been too nervous to eat breakfast. After the boy thirstily guzzled down a bottle of pumpkin juice he said,

"I'm going to find a toilet, be right back."

Harry made sure he was gone then swiftly pulled out his keys and stood on his seat to reach his trunk, opening up the seventh lock.

"All right in there?"

"Peachy," The snake replied, "It's been a resssstful journey."

"Great," Harry gave a thumbs up, "I think we'll be there before too long."

He closed the lid and relocked it just as the boy returned.

"I'm Nott, by the way, Theodore Nott," he said extending his hand.

Harry got a good look at him. He was tall and willowy, with dark hair and dark eyes.

"I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

There was nothing for it; it was not going to be a secret forever. Nott's eyes went very wide.

"Oh! Wow, I knew you'd be starting my year, but…wow."

He realized he was still shaking Harry's hand and released it hurriedly. There was an awkward silence. Nott leaned back down over the book with a detached and scholarly expression, but his eyes were buzzing with more questions.

"So…did you come alone? I saw you when you arrived."

"Yeah, I didn't tell my Aunt & Uncle I was coming. They probably assume I came. I don't really care."

"You don't get on with them then?"

Harry snorted.

"No. They didn't even tell me I was a wizard. I only found out from my Hogwarts letter."

Nott's jaw fell open but he quickly retracted it.

"Wait so they must be… you mean you live withMuggles?"

His expression was one of disbelief and disgust. Harry pursed his lips and nodded.

"Not anymore though. They were horrible."

Nott let out a low whistle.

"I bet. So you probably don't know anything? About the wizarding world?"

"That's not true," Harry replied defensively, "I've read all I can and practiced magic all I could! I know about myself and my parents and…that night."

They both averted each other's gazes. Nott stared at the compartment door while Harry looked out the window.

"My family's pureblood so obviously I knew I was a wizard," Nott finally said when the silence became too unbearable, "we don't fraternize with non-purebloods much, I guess you're the first."

"Cheers," Harry said sarcastically.

"No offense meant or anything, we just don't meet many people who didn't come up in our world."

Harry nodded, a bit skeptically.

"So what do your parents do?"

He was keen to know what average wizarding jobs were like. You didn't get that from bestselling books.

"My dad manages our estate, that's all really. He has some partnership in a wand-makers guild overseas as well, and some business with cauldron-manufacturers. He's nearly always writing letters."

"My uncle sells drills. Not as exciting I guess."

"Do you know much about your father?" Nott asked tentatively.

Harry weighed his words.

"Not enough. All my Aunt & Uncle would say is he was a drunk who died in a car crash."

"That's a filthy lie!" Nott said with surprising vehemence. "Your father came from an ancient line of purebloods and he was Head Boy at Hogwarts!"

"Really?"

"I heard it once when my parents were talking about…well,thatnight."

"So my dad must have been a good student."

"The best. You have to be in order to be Head Boy, they're in charge of the prefects."

"I hope I get that good. I don't even know what House I'll be in."

"No one knows until they get there," Nott reassured him, "They put an enchanted hat on your head that sort of reads your mind, and it decides where you go. All my family are Slytherins. They'd probably be disappointed if I wasn't one."

The thought looked like it'd just occurred to him because a flash of nerves shot across his face. Then his eyes darted to Harry's.

"I suppose you'll want to be Gryffindor."

"Not necessarily. I mean, I don't see what's so bad about Slytherin."

Nott tried to hide his incredulity. Clearly this wasn't an answer he expected.

"I really just want to learn magic," Harry insisted, "All kinds of magic. I didn't know it existed until last month and I've got to catch up. That's why I got this book."

Harry had been on the verge of saying, he'd be fine with Slytherin since he was also a Parselmouth, but he held back. The boy's expression had lost some of its intensity. He looked thoughtful.

"Want to keep reading, then?"

They continued with the book and hit some very complex theoretical bits. They fished out some parchment and began taking notes, trying to diagram out the mind-bending logical theorems the author expounded upon.

"So let's make this bubble Intent, and that bubble Articulation, and the flow of power from one to the other-"

"No, no, from the way he says it, it's not all going one direction. It's a kind of mutually reinforcing…thing."

As they worked, the houses became fields and the sun went from high in the sky to lower and dimmer. The temperature seemed to drop too. Harry put his hand to the window and it felt cold. They must be going north.

"Do you know exactly where Hogwarts is?" he asked Nott, as he tore open a spare Pumpkin Pasty.

"No, my dad says it's unplottable. That means it can't be put on a map."

"Oh, right, I thinkHogwarts: A Historymentioned that. Should've remembered."

"You actually tried reading that boring book?" Nott asked with a wry grin.

"Well yeah, I didn't have many other choices for learning about it."

Nott blew out his cheeks and shook his head.

"Right. I can't believe you were allowed to live with-"

The train gave a lurch. It was slowing down. Out in the corridor they saw students emerging with their robes on.

"I guess we should get changed."

Harry felt self-conscious at first, he'd never taken his clothes off in front of another boy. He'd undressed in front of Ludwig, who helped tend to some nastier injuries, but that was different somehow.

"How'd you get those?" Nott sucked in his breath.

Harry looked down at his torso where bruises still adorned his chest and belly.

"Oh, I made a friend in Diagon Alley and we were practicing dueling. He got a bit carried away."

"I'd like to learn to duel sometime. Anything you can show me? I know some good spells I can teach you in exchange."

"Deal."

The train came to a halt, and everyone started filing out into the corridor. None had their luggage with them.

"Do we leave our stuff here?" Harry nervously asked an older boy. He belonged to the red-headed family from the platform and wore a badge with the letter 'P' on it.

"Yes. Take your wand but leave everything else in your trunk. Don't worry," he added seeing the expression on Harry's face, "It'll be brought up to the castle for you."

That would normally put Harry at ease, but as he transported a stolen book and a big snake, it didn't. Still, he and Nott joined the throng jostling off the train and he clutched his wand tightly in his pocket for comfort.

"Firs' year over here, firs' years to me!"

A lantern came swinging out of the darkness connected to the biggest hand Harry had ever seen. His eyes travelled upward. The hand's owner was a giant. There was no other word for it. A black beard and a mane of black hair streamed down over a coat large enough to tent a family of six. He held the lantern high and waved with an arm thicker than a young oak tree.

"Firs' years, come on through! Make way!"

"Is that man a giant?" Harry whispered.

"That's the rumor," Nott muttered back, "His name's Hagrid. Got kicked out of Hogwarts years ago, now he serves as gamekeeper. My father reckons Dumbledore's mental for keeping him on."

Without taking his eyes off the enormous man, Harry and the others followed like lemmings. The giant led them to a fleet of small boats. Realizing the train platform was right on the edge of a body of water, Harry and Nott slid together over the wet rocks to clamber inside one of the vessels. It was freezing. The boats launched off into the inky blackness of night, propelled by magic and guided by nothing more than Hagrid's lantern ahead of them. Stars above and stygian dark below with no sound but the frightened murmurings of the other first years, Harry felt more trepidation than on his first day of school, when the first sight greeting him was Dudley's gang in the play yard. A hard-faced boy with dirty blonde hair sat across from him and Nott. They caught his eye.

"I'm Jack."

"Harry."

"Theodore."

"Theodore…Nott?"

He nodded.

"I'm Rosier."

Some look of mutual understanding passed between them. Harry supposed they had a family connection.

"And you?"

"Potter. Harry Potter."

Rosier looked like someone had doused him with ice water. Thankfully Nott broke the silence.

"Didn't an ancestor of yours cut a giant's head off with its own axe?"

Rosier still looked absent but then recovered.

"Uhh, yeah…that's my great-great-great-great grandfather, at least I think that's the right number of 'greats'."

He laughed, displaying his white but crooked teeth. He and Nott talked like long-lost friends while Harry gazed overhead at the rocky cavern they'd entered. This must be typical with purebloods. They knew so much about each other's families, they knew each other before they'd even met. Could Harry learn enough to be so familiar? Would he be accepted in their world? He, the one raised by muggles in a suburban muggle neighborhood? Should he even care?

"I suppose potions will come naturally to you, eh Potter?"

"What?"

Rosier's voice called him back to reality.

"Potions. Your grandparents were big names in the subject after all?"

Rosier looked at him oddly, like Harry was mentally slow or something.

"Potter only found out he's a wizard this summer," Noot interjected, "he was raised with Muggles."

"Really?!"

His face had the mingled look of fascination and revulsion that Nott's had had. Harry was sick of seeing it, but he explained to Rosier what he'd told to Nott.

"So, the famous Harry Potter is basically a Mudblood," Rosier said with an amused expression. Nott gave a snort.

Chapter 4: School Starts

Chapter Text

The hall wasn't whispering now. Every student turned to their neighbor, shock was apparent on many faces and the air was filled with controversy. Harry walked unsteadily to the Slytherin table where there was nothing like unanimous acceptance. Some looked shocked, some suspicious, some maybe pleased. At least Nott was among the latter. He made room on the bench for Harry to sit.

"Well done," he whispered when Harry sat down, grateful to be out of sight of the entire hall.

"Thanks. I think everyone's surprised."

"The Gryffindors look disappointed."

They really did. Many even looked betrayed. Several of them stood up in their seats to get a look at him. He wished they would stop staring.

"Well, that was unexpected," Rosier said.

He'd been sorted right after Harry.

"Wish they'd get this started," he groaned, "My stomach's eating itself."

"Didn't you buy anything on the train?" Nott asked.

"'Course I did, not everyone can live on chocolate frogs. By the way, who d'you reckon the jittery gent in the turban is?"

He pointed at the high table. One of the professors was indeed wearing a bulbous onion-shaped wrapping on his head, which wobbled dangerously every time he turned it. Any slight noise seemed to frighten him.

"That must be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor," Nott said knowingly.

"I wouldn't want him defending me." Harry remarked.

"And our head of House is Snape, right?"

"Yep."

They gazed at a sallow-skinned hook-nosed man. He wore robes black as his greasy hair, and his expression forbode a singularly unpleasant individual.

"Well," Rosier sighed, "Better he's for us than against us."

Dumbledore rose to speak. So, this was the famous wizard who was called the greatest of his time. He certainly was impressive to look at. His robes were covered with stars and moons matching the ceiling above, and his long silver hair streamed well past his shoulders along with a magnificent white beard.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down and everyone clapped and laughed. Well, the other houses did anyway. A lot of the Slytherins gave subtle eye rolls.

Suddenly food appeared upon the golden plates in front of them, and Harry's nostrils were immediately filled with the most savory scents he'd ever experienced.

"This is more like it!" Rosier exclaimed as he tore a chicken apart.

Harry heaped his plate with roast beef, mash and gravy and set about filling his growling stomach. He chatted with Nott and Rosier, all three of them becoming more jovial as their hunger abated. Everyone got a fright when the house ghosts came shimmering through a solid wall. The transparent spirits were in the midst of a heated argument and were sad and frustrated they'd missed the Sorting Ceremony.

A prefect named Colquhoun briefed them on the Slytherin ghost, who was called by the ominous title 'Bloody Baron'.

"And since that blood on his tunic came from his wife, I shouldn't raise the subject," he warned.

Finally, their plates were cleared, and the picked-over remnants of their feast vanished. Dumbledore made some announcements, among them an explicit warning that the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds, and more interestingly, that a certain third floor corridor wasn't to be trespassed upon. All who did so were in danger of a painful death.

"Let's chuck in a Weasley to verify," Rosier whispered, causing Nott to smother his laughter as Colquhoun glared at them.

After announcements, Dumbledore bid them sing the ridiculous school song while Harry checked his watch. It had been hours since they left the train, were they getting their luggage back? Salazar was still in the trunk, and as remarkably talented a sneak as he was, Harry didn't think he could get out by himself. At last Colquhoun wrangled the first years to lead them to their dormitories. They went into a dimly lit passage taking a dizzying number of turns. The Slytherin living quarters must be well underground judging by their constant descent, and indeed they went by numerous dungeons. The castle's depths were a stark contrast to the bright and cheerful dining hall. The first years' voices echoed in the empty voids and were swallowed by the blackness. As creepy as it was, there was an odd allure to it as well.

"Here we are," Colquhoun announced as they came to a dead end. "The password changes every fortnight. The new ones are posted on a noticeboard."

He turned back to the wall.

"Anguis."

Like Diagon Alley, the wall disappeared to render a passage through which they entered the Slytherin Common Room. Its shape reminded Harry of pictures he saw of cathedrals. The vaulted ceiling was supported by pillars carved like snakes, and on either side of the room there were stone fireplaces at intervals, with chairs and tables dispersed around them. The walls were lined with portraits of famous Slytherins and paintings depicting storied elements of their past. Many were so high you'd need a ladder to see them properly. The whole place was filled with a slightly green aura emanating from the windows at the hall's end, roundly shaped like a cathedral's apse.

"This is where you'll spend your free time and do much of your studying. You may visit the common rooms of other houses. But," and Colquhoun's face got very menacing, "You areneverto invite outsiders in here. There's a world of pain in your future if you dare."

He stared at them, making sure they got the message.

"Your dorms are down to the end," he led them on, "you'll be three to a room. Boys to the right, girls to the left. And now for the pièces de résistance …"

He took them to the far end, where the windows let in that greenish glow. Upon first glance the darkness beyond was the night sky yet peering closer they realized:

"It's the Lake," Nott whispered in amazement. Fish swam by them, then the odd eel. They crowded around and pressed their faces to the glass trying to see further, as Colquhoun stood smiling behind them.

"It's even better during the day. Sometimes you even see the giant squid, that's a real treat. C'mon to bed now, lads and lasses."

It turned out that Harry Nott and Rosier would be sharing a room, located down yet another winding serpentine staircase. It was modeled after the common area; narrow and tall, shaped in a half-circle apse with an arched ceiling. Positioned on three sides were four-post beds carved in dark wood, and above each bed was another window looking out into the lake. Before the beds was a door leading to their bath, illuminated by green-shaded gas lamps and tiled in slick black onyx.

With a flood of relief, Harry saw his trunk at the foot of the right bed.

"If no one objects, I'm in for a bath." Rosier announced.

"Fine," Harry sighed as he sank onto his bed. Tired as he was, he clutched the keys around his neck in anticipation. Nott had fallen asleep upon contact with his pillow and was breathing softly, his feet dangling off the bed. Harry waited until he heard the water turn on before he quietly unlocked his trunk.

"Coast is clear, but we've got to be quiet. I managed to smuggle some food-"

"No need, I had some sssspare mice. Oooohhh, I can't wait to sssstretch my legsss…in a manner of speaking…"

Salazar crawled out of the trunk, his body sliding with a dry rustle across the stone floor.

"Do you want to stay under my bed for tonight?" Harry whispered.

"Nooo, time to explore…meet up with you later, fuzzy-head."

He was up the staircase and gone.

For most of the first years, the week passed in a hail of spilled ink, crumpled parchment, hastily scribbled notes, privately shed tears, tantrums and overall confusion.

Classes had started with a whiplash suddenness. Schedules were distributed early the morning after their welcoming feast, as Harry and his dormmates, bleary-eyed from insufficient sleep, bumbled their way upstairs into a throng of desperate students. Hasty baths and organizing their bags meant they barely had time for breakfast before things got rolling. Just getting to their classes was a job in itself. The moving staircases made the castle a constantly shifting maze, the talking portraits couldn't be trusted for accurate directions, and the upperclassmen seized every opportunity to misdirect the first years. Harry went to Colquhoun humbly begging for help several times, knowing he was duty-bound to assist.

He hoped Ludwig's lessons prepared him adequately, and they had done so. He easily turned his matchstick into a needle in Transfiguration, and earned the slimmest of smiles from Professor McGonagall and envious glances from his classmates. The sterling performance earned him some points as well, and he hoped to repeat it.

Potions, which the Slytherins attended with the Gryffindors, didn't yield such happy results. Harry's suspicions about Snape were confirmed. The way he tore into the Longbottom boy made the nastiest and most vindictive teachers Harry had encountered in the Muggle world look like positive angels. And for some inexplicable reason he singled Harry out among the Slytherins for a dose of the same treatment.

"Potter! Inform me of the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."

Unbelievably, Harry knew this. He read little about potions on summer holiday but Ludwig mentioned wolfsbane one night when he was talking about an experimental serum his firm was developing.

"They're the same plant, sir. It's also called aconite."

Snape sneered.

"Such basic knowledge doesn't merit a haughty tone, Potter."

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean-"

"Fame will earn you no accolades in this class. Now tell me, where might I find…a bezoir?"

Again, Ludwig's knowledge saved him.

"In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape said nothing. He just whirled about to continue grilling the Gryffindors. Harry felt sweat on his back, glad the attention wasn't on him now.

"Nice work, pissing off our head of house." Nott whispered.

"What did I do?" Harry hissed back at him.

"Dunno, but don't you lose us points with him. Keep answering correctly."

"Duly noted."

Harry was certain if he wasn't a Slytherin Snape would bludgeon the points out of him. He watched as Dean Thomas lost Gryffindor five, and Ron Weasley added to the number by protesting.

Nott snickered.

"Not the brightest chaps, are they?"

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a radical shift in tone and substance from Potions. Professor Quirrell was so tremulous and unsure of himself they barely made it past an overview of the textbook.

"It's a useless subject," Draco Malfoy scoffed at lunch, "they might as well teach knitting instead."

"Worse than that, it's a muzzle," Rosier replied through a cheek full of ham, "these muggle-lovers call any magic they don't like 'dark' and make it off limits."

"Just you wait. They won't even teach how to counter the really severe curses, for fear students will learn them." Chimed in Williams, a passing fourth year.

"Makes me wonder if this whole place is a waste of time. Father's right, Dumbledore is a senile old fool." Malfoy curled his lip up at the teacher's table where Dumbledore sat serenely eating a mince pie.

"Fascinating lesson, wasn't it?"

Zabini had joined them after chatting up one of the Ravenclaw girls.

"I nearly wet myself from excitement when Quirrell finished a sentence in under a minute. What's next, Herbology?"

'What're you doing talking with McKenzie, Zabini?" Malfoy interjected. Harry noticed that Malfoy took the self-appointed role as sheriff policing all Slytherin social activity. It was a bit annoying.

"What do you mean?"

"They're blood-traitors."

"Only the aunt. Her parents are loyal to the bone. And what nice bones, too."

"She's two years older than you!" Nott exclaimed, looking impressed. Zabini languidly raised a long eyebrow.

"Doesn't bother me."

"Speaking of 'Bones', I think there's one left unburied," Malfoy said with a smirk, earning a burst of shocked laughter from the table, and glances exchanged as if to say 'I can't believe he said that'.

"Who're you talking about?" Harry asked innocently.

Malfoy cast him a withering look.

"Sorry, was someone speaking? I'm pretty sure this table is for wizards and witches only."

"I AM a wizard."

"In the same way Quirrell is a Professor."

Harry's fists balled under the table. He was painfully aware of Snape's gaze on them from the high table.

"I belong here as much as-"

"If you know so much about our world, which wizarding family has the oldest and largest estate in Britain?"

"Umm…" Harry could feel his face going red under the table's eyes. Parkinson looked gleeful, Zabini haughty, Crabbe and Goyle their usual loutish selves, and Rosier was impassive. Nott pointedly ignored the whole conversation though he was clearly listening.

"That would bemine. And which family founded the Flavian Society?"

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Wrong. Nott's. I doubt you can say which bloodlines fought in the Warlock's Rebellion either, so please, let the real wizards talk in peace."

Harry could do nothing except choke on his frustration, and unfortunately it set the tone for things to come.

By the very first day it was apparent House Slytherin was not a fan of Harry Potter. In the common room, seats and tables were often 'reserved' for friends that never arrived to claim them. Unmistakable looks of aversion warded him away from others and he was forced to retreat to his dormitory, sitting on his bed reading in private. Whispers stung his ears as he went. The only people with whom he might feel comfortable were Rosier and Nott, but they were always orbiting Malfoy's group. The tentative progress he thought he'd made with those boys seemed illusory.

Ludwig had prepared him for a confrontation, but Harry couldn't pull his wand on everyone who made a sneering comment about 'celebrities' and 'secret Gryffindors'. Malfoy in particular was expert in aiming subtle barbs Harry's way. They pricked him painfully but didn't warrant his preferred choice of outright force. Verbal retorts made him feel momentarily better, yet it was like punching the ocean's tide.

"Do you miss your Muggle home, Potter?"

Malfoy drawled as Harry peered at his Transfiguration book.

"Is magic a bit complicated for you?"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Or what?"

Malfoy was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His smugness implied he knew Harry couldn't curse him before the gorillas pounded him to mincemeat, but Harry didn't care. He drew his wand.

"POTTER!"

Colquhoun bellowed from across the common room.

"PUT THAT AWAY, OR IT'S IN THE DUNGEONS WITH YOU!"

"You heard him. Control that temper."

Malfoy and his cronies chortled and walked away.

As little as his fellow Slytherins liked him, the Gryffindors liked him even less. They looked at Harry like he'd sold their families into slavery. The boy who ended the Dark Lord's reign of terror couldn't be a member of the house that spawned such a monster, but Harry had witlessly violated that unwritten law, and unkind comments in the hallways surrounded him like angry swarms of bees.

"Enjoying life with the other slimy things, Potter?"

"Fitting they put the snakes underground."

"How's it feel being the second most famous Slytherin, Potter?"

A clandestinely placed stink bomb went off once in Harry's bag, and on Wednesday an anonymously cast jinx struck him from behind. He whirled around brandishing his wand, demanding to know the culprit, and he was met with a sea of blank faces. Heeding Ludwig's advice he kept on guard, but how to defend against hundreds of people? Nott and Rosier could do little to help. They were themselves contesting positions in the first-year hierarchy and weren't keen on leaping into a hex's path for a veritable stranger.

Harry isolated himself in the library, staying busy to stifle his seething resentment. He loved the library. The soft sound of flipping pages and leather bindings creaking, the shafts of sunlight catching the showers of dust from the high shelves, the silence imposed by the strict librarian; it was the perfect place for him to calm down. He tried to focus onAugustus's Theorie of Magic.It was a book basically required of him to continue withProjection of Power,since the author cited it constantly. Other similarly advanced books were cited too; Harry wondered how old he'd be when he finally crammed it all into his head.

"Augustus's Theorie of Magic? Here, this is a better introduction to the concepts Augustus propounds."

It was Madam Pince, the librarian. She handed him a book.

"There's no lack of rigor there, don't worry," she said with a slight smile, "it's just more targeted to the beginner, which like it or not, you are."

"Thank you, M'aam." He sighed. A book, to help understand a book, to understand another book. It really was daunting, but he thought of Malfoy and the Weasleys and all the contemptuous-faced Gryffindors, and decided it would be worth it to blast his enemies into tiny little pieces.

"Oh excellent, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick squeaked later that week, when Harry successfully charmed a wooden spoon into gently stirring a bowl of dough, "Five points for Slytherin!"

"No more Muggle labor for you, then?" Malfoy had hissed. "I guess you've had enough after eleven years."

Great, now he was receiving mockery just for benefiting his own House. There was no winning. Slytherin rebuffed him coldly and the remaining three fourths of Hogwarts shoved him right back into their unwilling midst. He was a man without a country, and he had never felt so cast off.

Where was Salazar? Was he simply exploring around, or had he abandoned him? Loneliness was never part of Harry's life because he'd never had a friend to miss, but now he did, and the pain made him want to curl up in bed and not come out ever again.

As if in answer to his quiet prayers, on Friday an enormous black and white owl dropped a heavy package into Harry's lap at breakfast. He waited until he was sitting on his bed to open it, and a letter fell out.

Liebe Spitze,

I hope you are acclimating to life at school and classes are going well. I am unfamiliar with teaching methods at Hogwarts but if they are not rigorous enough, I encourage you to push yourself. Remember, I will evaluate their results.

Enclosed is a book you may find helpful to your interest in dueling. There is also a treat courtesy of Maria. She is a wonderful baker.

Please let me know how things are going. The owl I sent will find his way back.

L.v.K.

Harry felt his heart swell; he hadn't been forgotten. No matter how far away they were, he had friends in this world. He read the letter again: Maria must be Ludwig's girlfriend! Harry wondered what she looked like. Eagerly he pulled the book out, which was calledSword & Shieldand excitedly flipped through, looking at all the pictures of wizard duelists and the diagrams of spell-casting, imagining himself in their place gallantly defeating multiple foes. Then he withdrew a round dense object carefully wrapped in brown paper. It was a Black Forest Cake, rich and delicious and covered in fat ripe cherries. The paper keeping it fresh was surely bewitched because it looked and smelled perfect.

He stashed these new treasures in his trunk and went to the library, setting pen to paper for his response. He gave profuse thanks, telling of his sorting into Slytherin and his success in classes, in particular his achievements in Transfiguration. He described Hogwarts castle as best he could, the turrets, the grounds, the common room, and the great hall. He neglected to mention how miserable he was. Ludwig didn't need to be burdened with his problems, and confessing his hurt even in a private letter seemed like capitulation to his tormentors.

"Potter?"

He turned in his chair. It was Nott.

"You mind if I sit here?"

"Fine." Harry said stiffly, setting his letter to the side.

Nott sat and got his books out.

"You want to work on the Transfiguration homework together?"

"No. I've got it well in hand already."

There was a tense pause.

"Look, Malfoy is just being Malfoy. I know it's been hard for you but you shouldn't let it get to you."

Harry laughed mirthlessly.

"That's why you came up here? To tell me, I shouldn't mind if the whole school hates me?"

"I don't hate you," Nott said in a quiet voice.

"Score one for me, then."

"C'mon, don't be childish. You and I work well together, judging from our time on the train. If you're done with Transfiguration, can we look at your curse book a bit longer?"

Harry bit his lip. Nott was genuinely reaching out, and it would be stupid to rebuff him.

"I guess so. But we've got to review thisAugustusthing first, it gets cited by the paragraph-load. Maybe you can help me understand this bit."

They studied for a long while together and made decent progress. Nott was right; they were a pretty good team. They bid each other farewell so Harry could deliver his letter. He found the owlery in a tall tower and affixed his letter to Ludwig's bird. He watched it fly off above the trees of the forest and took in the unsurpassed beauty of the Hogwarts grounds viewed from on high.

That night he was about to put Ludwig's letter in his trunk, but hesitated, and put it carefully under his pillow instead.

The weekend arrived with a collective sigh of relief from everyone except Harry. No classes meant an idle student body, and more opportunity to treat Harry in their hospitable fashion. The weather was beautiful and the grounds were covered with students laying out on the grass and by the lake. Harry figured he'd do so as well since outside, there was less chance of someone sneaking up on him. He took his books and notebook and walked down a rolling hill towards a shady secluded spot by the forest. A large oak had separated itself from its fellows and leaned precipitously over a patch of dewy grass, its branches bent like it was intentionally providing shelter. The wind sighing through the branches and making little waves on the lake made for a serene scene and he got on with his reading nicely.

"…and so in light of the direct relationship between Intent and the temporal and substantial range of application, we can admit Augustus's hypothesis rejecting the innate qualities…"

After a few hours, Harry felt himself growing sleepy in the ambient warmth of the day, so he packed his bag in the best state of mind he'd been in since Monday, and set off towards the castle for a nap. As he trudged up the hill, the sight of an approaching group soured his mood. It was two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff; Mclaggen, Finnegan, and Macmillan, all among the more prolific sneerers and jeerers he dealt with in the hallways.

"The Boy who Lived!" McLaggen announced.

Finnegan guffawed. "He even wears green on the weekends, what a good little mascot."

Harry was indeed wearing his standard bottle-green shirt and dark trousers.

"Better than those rags you're wearing," he pointed to Finnegan's torn jeans, "Which dumpster did you find them in?"

Finnegan's cheeks grew red. Harry knew it was rich of him to insult someone's attire, given he was clad in Dudley's hand-me-downs not long ago.

"Really fitting in with those Slytherin snobs, aren't you?" McLaggen responded.

"I'd rather be there, than stuck with you hopeless morons."

"Y'know Potter," Macmillan said in that annoyingly officious way of his, "Your parents were Gryffindors. They wouldn't-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Harry had been casual at first, but not now. Not about his parents.

Other students were looking at them. Macmillan frowned and hesitated, clearly not sure whether to continue. Harry inwardly prayed he would. He was desperate for a fight at this point, even if a three on one was impossible.

"They'd be disappointed to see-"

"Sternutatio!"

Harry's spell caught Macmillan right in the face, and he doubled over in a fit of uncontrolled sneezing. As the adrenaline coursed through him, he heard Ludwig's voice like a bell: "It is a fast little jinx. Light and flighty, a good opener."

Finnegan retaliated with some boneheaded excuse for a spell, which Harry saw coming from a mile away.

"Protego!"

The spell ricocheted and sent McLaggen to the ground, who had been fumbling in his robes for his wand.

"Exos!"

"What the-f*ck!"

Finnegan reeled in wide-eyed astonishment at his boneless hand, then scrabbled in the tall wet grass with his good one, trying to retrieve his wand.

"Impedimenta!"

That would put Finnegan on his backside long enough to deal with-

"Expelliarmus!"

Finnegan's deflected spell had been too weak and McLaggen recovered quickly. Harry watched in slow motion as his wand sailed through the air to land in the boy's outstretched hand. A look of stupid triumph was on McLaggen's face. For a moment Harry thought it was over. Then he heard Ludwig's voice again:

"Run at them."

"What?" Harry had said, nonplussed.

Ludwig grinned. "Run at them. If the worst happens and you are disarmed, charge. A duel is not simply a waving of wands, Spitze, it is a fight. We use our magic, our minds, and our bodies. Yours could use some training if we had time." He'd poked Harry's skinny ribs, making him giggle.

So, he charged, bowling over a shocked Mclaggen as they began wrestling on the ground for control of both their wands. Their fingers intertwined, strained white at the knuckles, grunting with exertion as they peeled and pried at the other's grip, teeth bared. Suddenly Harry felt an arm wrap around his neck as a sneeze covered his ear in spit. Macmillan couldn't articulate a spell but he could put Harry in a headlock.

"Get him, Ernie!" Mclaggen gasped from beneath him.

Spots were swimming before Harry's eyes. His glasses had slipped and his eyes bugged as the pressure increased. Ernie was pulling, twisting, yanking at him but Harry clung for dear life onto the wands clutched tight in McLaggen's fist. It felt like all his blood was in his head and pounding at his temples. He only had one chance. He bent Mclaggen's wrists as hard as he could, using all his remaining strength to direct their wands over his shoulder.

"Impedimenta." He whispered.

It worked. His grip must have been sufficient because Ernie went flying off him. The spell passed close to his own head and he felt slightly concussed, but he used the momentum to tear his wand free of McLaggen's grasp.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Mclaggen's limbs snapped together like he was mummified.

Harry sprang up and ran over to Macmillan, crouched on his chest, and began pummeling every inch of the boy he could reach.

"Ow! OW! Get off, I give, I give!'

But Harry was seeing red. He'd teach him toevermention his parents, so he punched again and again and again. Ernie shielded his head with his arms, and Harry felt the sharp shock of his knuckles on bone, felt them split. He yipped with pain and drove down with his elbow instead. He'd keep going until Ernie was nothing more than-

"What's goin' on here!? Break it up!"

Someone lifted Harry in the air bodily and sent him tumbling head over heels. He felt around for his fallen glasses and when he put them back on, he saw an enormous shape through their grass-smeared lenses. It was Hagrid, the Gamekeeper.

"Whats the meanin' o' this? Why you lot fightin'?"

"Potter attacked us! We were defending ourselves!"

Macmillan rose to his haunches, his nose bloody. Someone was reversing Harry's full body bind on McLaggen and Finnegan was coming over too, his arm still hanging limply.

"They started it," Harry was breathing hard, anger still coursing through his body, "They were talking about my parents!"

"Hmmm." Hagrid rumbled darkly. "Whatsit you said 'bout Potter's parents?"

Macmillan had the decency to look embarrassed. "Just that…they wouldn't like him being in Slytherin."

Hagrid sighed like a giant bellows. He surveyed the scene, slapping his hands to his sides in weary kind of way.

"No great harm done I s'pose, but I'll be talking to you lot's Heads of Houses. Potter, take off whatever ye've done to Finnegan."

Harry complied and muttered the counter-curse.

"You three go on up to the castle. Potter, come with me fer a bit."

As his anger subsided, Harry started to dread the consequences of what he'd done. All three of those idiots were now up at the castle spreading their version of events. Harry was already hated, and he'd willingly provided the excuse they needed to kick him out. If they did, he'd go back to the Leaky Cauldron and contact Ludwig. He'd know what to do. Maybe he could get Durmstrang to accept him, or Ludwig could teach him privately. Harry could pay him for lessons with the money from his Gringotts vault. All these plans swam around his delirious adrenaline-addled head as he followed Hagrid across the lawn to a hut by the forest's edge, a good distance from the castle. It was homey with a thatched roof and a garden in the back.

"Go on and siddown. I'll make us tea."

Harry was ushered in and hopped into a huge chair by an equally huge table, letting his legs dangle as he looked around. There was a massive bed in the corner, chickens hanging by the ceiling from hooks, and a big hearth with an iron kettle suspended over it. Hagrid added wood to the fire and lowered the kettle on its chain. Harry spoke up.

"Are they going to expel me for this?"

Hagrid glanced up, looking surprised.

"'Course not. If a teacher'd seen ya, it'd sure warrant detention." He looked at Harry again. "Which ain't no light punishment 'round Hogwarts, believe me."

He straightened up. His beard and hair covered most of his face but Harry could tell he was smiling.

"Been lookin' for a chance to meet ye, t'be honest. Look just like yer Dad. Right down to that big ol' cowlick."

He chuckled.

"Got yer Mum's eyes, though. Big green ones she had."

"You knew my parents?" All Harry's trepidation was gone. "What were they like?"

Hagrid's smile was wistful.

"Finer folk you couldn't hope to meet. Yer Mum was the kindest girl I'd ever met. Yer Dad caused a bit of trouble in his time," he chuckled again, "Thas' why I wasn't too surprised, seein' you scrappin' out there on the lawn. But e' straightened up a bit. Reckon thas' when yer Mum started takin' notice."

The kettle started boiling and he poured their tea. Harry listened silently.

"They married n' had you, not long after graduatin' here. Moved into Godric's Hollow in a pretty little cottage. Never seen a happier…"

His black eyes welled up and he blew his nose on a handkerchief.

"Sorry. I'm not the one should be cryin'."

"It's alright. So, what else can you tell me about them?"

They talked for a good while. Hagrid shed a few extra tears discussing Harry's parents, but they also shared some laughs as Hagrid recounted James Potter's exploits in school. Apparently, he ran around with a group that were always getting into trouble. Harry pressed for more information on his Dad's friends, but for some reason Hagrid was hesitant to share much about them. Then they discussed Harry's journey to Hogwarts, and what life was like with the Dursley's.

"WHAT?!" Hagrid thundered so loudly Harry jumped in fright. "THEY DIDN'T TELL YE NOTHIN'?"

"N-no," Harry stuttered, "I found out I was a wizard from my letter. My fr-"

He was on the verge of mentioning Salazar. Something held him back.

"-I mean, I stole some money and went to London by myself. Mr. Ollivander told me about my parents."

Hagrid looked thunderstruck.

"Those lousy muggles. If I ever get a hold o' that Dursley…" His enormous hands clenched into fists bigger than bowling balls. Harry couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of a blow from one of them.

The conversation moved to Hogwarts, Dumbledore ("A great man, Harry, a great man!"), and of course Harry's membership in Slytherin.

"Do you think Macmillan was right? Would my parents be disappointed?"

Hagrid shook his mane.

"They'd be damned proud o' ye. The way you've handled yourself so far, I wouldn'a believed it possible. I think, they'd be chuffed to bits seein' how'ye turned out."

That made Harry the happiest he'd been all week.

End of Chapter 4.

Chapter 5: Misfortune in the Forest

Chapter Text

Harry bounced with every step up to the castle. After hearing all the anecdotes about his father and mother, he felt for the first time like he'd gotten to know them as people, not just as objects of mourning. He felt he'd made an ally in Hagrid. Surprisingly, the pair had met without Harry knowing it. Hagrid had pulled him from the rubble of his parents' home on the night of his parents' murder. That was the grimmest moment the two of them shared, sitting in the hut as the steam from their tea wafted about their faces and Hagrid's eyes brimmed with tears. Hagrid had saved him and delivered him to the Dursley's on Dumbledore's orders. When Harry pressed him on why he'd been forced to live in that house, why no other alternatives to the people who despised him most in all the world had been proposed, Hagrid shook his head.

"Dumbledore jus' said it had to be yer closest livin' relatives. Weren't two ways about it."

The books from Flourish & Blotts were correct, then: Harry could thank the Headmaster for eleven years of captivity. Surely there was a good reason for stashing Harry with a bunch of wizard-hating neurotics, after all, Dumbledore's brilliance was renown… but was there any conceivable excuse for keeping Harry in the dark? Mightn't a visit informing him of his parents' identities, and his Potter heritage, and the existence of the wizarding world, have been helpful to him? And kind?

It was all very strange. Hagrid drew lots of comfort from the idea of Dumbledore being in charge. Hogwarts was a safe place during Voldemort's reign of terror. Harry wasn't so sure. The notion of this powerful but secretive man lurking in the background made him a bit uneasy. So much of Harry's life had apparently been determined by this man, and Harry had never even met him.

He heard Salazar's voice in his head:

"We two know what truly matters…our freedom."

How free could he hope to be if Dumbledore continued to decide his future?

Harry neared the school entrance, and these ruminations were replaced by more present concerns which diminished his happiness a bit more. Hagrid assured him he wouldn't be kicked out for fighting, but after tooling up two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff, even though it was unbelievably satisfying, it meant both houses would be gunning for him with renewed fervor. Harry would be unable to walk five paces without a punch or hex aimed his way. He'd need four arms each with its own wand, and eyes in the back of his head given he'd have no support from his "fellow" Slytherins.

"Damn it."

He'd forgotten his bag. He didn't have a clue where it was, and didn't even remember taking it off before the fight began. Doubling back, he combed over the lawn and finally found it close to the oak tree he'd lain under. Perhaps it rolled down the hill a ways.

"Long time no ssseeeee."

This time Salazar's voice wasn't in his head. Harry spun around looking for him.

"Up here."

He was in the tree coiled around a branch. It took Harry a moment to even see him, he blended in so well.

"Salazar!" He cried with joy, scrambling up the oak and throwing his leg over the branch. "I've been wondering where you were! I thought maybe you'd left."

"Noooo, never. Been busy getting to know the foressst. Come and sseeee it!"

He slithered off the branch, down the tree and towards the forest's edge. Harry watched his tail disappear into the underbrush. He glanced around. Students weren't supposed to go in there…but Salazar was so excited, and he was Harry's friend, so with a little reluctance he followed the snake beneath the canopy.

"Wow…"

"You sseeee…isn't this better than that cold, cold place?"

"I dunno," Harry said lazily as he arched his back, "I like our common room…but this is amazing."

The sun was blazing bright and warm. Around them insects buzzed in the trees and birds called overhead. Salazar was stretched out with his head near Harry's, who lay with his clothes spread out underneath him like a picnic blanket.

"Sssoon it will get too cold to do thisss…"

"You'll have to stay in the castle more when winter comes. Any place in there you like?"

"Oh yesss, the towers are very warm…there is one, where an old woman livesss…it is very luxurioussss."

An old woman? Harry didn't know which one he was referring to. McGonagall certainly wasn't that old.

"I hope the food's as good in the castle, as it is out here."

"Plenty to eat up there… you look well yourssself."

Harry noticed in the bathroom mirror lately that his belly didn't look so hollow as before, nor his cheeks so thin. For the first time in his life since he left the Dursley's he'd been eating well. Salazar looked bigger too. Harry didn't know how large boa constrictors became; maybe he'd look it up sometime.

He turned to his stomach and laid his head flat. The sun felt exquisite on his back.

"Sssooo, how've things been, fuzzy-head?"

Half-sleepy, Harry murmured about everything that had occurred since the welcoming feast. He told of the cold reception by his house, his dismay over being rejected, and finally how he proved himself in a fight. He talked about Hagrid, and Nott and Rosier. Salazar was particularly enthused about Harry's victory in battle.

"You've sssecured your hunting grounds… beaten the competition…"

"Pretty much. Have you done the same?"

"Mossst I have cowed…there is one holdout, a willful fellow. I will have to kill him."

Harry's eyes snapped open.

"Really? Just because… I mean, you can't share a space, or something?"

Salazar shook his head.

"That is not possssible. Neither of usss can, or will, sssubmit to the other. One of us mussst thrive. I shall live…and he shall die."

Harry was silent. It was scary to hear language like that. So stark. So brutal. He turned onto his side to face the snake.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, this isss not your fight."

Salazar crawled over Harry's shoulder and looped back around again, looking at him closely.

"I can tell you are scared by my wordsss…but sssometimes we encounter true enemiesss…and they mussst be eliminated…In life, we must face death head on."

Harry looked down.

"You're a lot braver than me, then."

"No…this is just necessity."

"Maybe. But I'm always here to help, remember that."

"I will."

Harry absently ran a hand over Salazar's scales. They felt warm and dry. It really bothered him when the Gryffindor idiots called snakes 'slimy': they were cleaner than humans, that was for sure. Unfortunately, like humans, they were territorial, and Salazar had made an adversary in the Forbidden Forest.

"What else can you tell me about this forest? Students aren't actually allowed to come in here."

"Understandable. There are peculiar creaturesss in here."

Harry leaned on his elbows while Salazar related all the forest denizens he'd so far discovered.

"Giantspiders!?" He said, flabbergasted.

"Yessss…disssgusting!" Salazar hissed, with an angry snap of his tail, "I'd destroy them all, if I could…don't worry…the filthy thingsss only come out at night, like the craven they are…"

Harry nervously rubbed his hands over himself, as he imagined thousands of huge spiders swarming across the woods. He suddenly felt quite vulnerable, lying naked in a forest clearing far from the castle, and grabbed his wand for reassurance.

"You humansss rely too much on those…"

"What, our wands? That's how we do magic."

"Don't seem very sssturdy…clawsss or fangsss would be better."

Even though Harry demonstrated some spells Salazar remained skeptical about the utility of magic.

"Anyway not all magic is about fighting. It's about solving problems and making life easier, or discovering things about the world."

"But before all those fancy things are accomplissshed, enemiesss must be dealt with, yesss?"

"That's why there's a Ministry of Magic, to stop people from making trouble."

"And how do they do that? With bigger fangsss and sharper clawsss than othersss, I imagine…"

The sun began its descent and soon it was time for Harry to return. He put his clothes back on and Salazar led the way through the dense trees to get back to the castle.

"I mussst agree with your masssters caution…do not attempt to enter this place without me...at leassst not at night."

"No worries," Harry said as he avoided an obstructing branch, "I'd get lost in a second."

Finally they reached the forest's edge and Harry peered out from the trees, ensuring no one was around.

"When will I see you again?"

"Ssssoon…I am lesss busy these days."

"Okay. Be careful, please?"

"You as well."

It was dinner time when Harry finally got back to the castle, and he was thoroughly exhausted. It was hard to believe only this morning he'd been rolling around on the grass in a fight. He placed his hands on the dining hall doors and winced with pain. He'd need to visit the hospital wing for the hand he'd hurt punching Macmillan. Taking a breath, he entered.

"There he is!" Nott cried.

To his astonishment, Harry was met with cheers and loud hails from the Slytherin table, as they motioned energetically for him to join. He hurried over, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Macmillan's lowering, bandaged face.

"We're have you been?! We thought the big oaf had eaten you!"

A big upperclassman called Warren clapped him hard on the back.

"Taking on three at once, you little madman!"

"Not a bad showing, Potter." Zabini complimented.

"You've done the impossible: you shut Macmillan up for once!" Laughed Rosier.

Harry couldn't help grinning as he took his place among the other first years.

"You know the shield charm? You've got to show me that one!" Nott insisted.

All the Slytherins pressed Harry for his account of the fight, and he gave what he thought an accurate description. They made a great audience: hissing with outrage at the other Houses' insults, laughing at Harry's retorts, and cheering when Harry cursed Finnegan's arm into bone-lessness and punched Macmillan in the nose. They even gasped at the part when he was in a headlock and freed himself by quick thinking use of theImpedimentaspell. Even Malfoy looked impressed by the end of his tale.

It was a better outcome than Harry dared imagine. Snape only reprimanded him about "provoking conflict", a measly ten points were detracted from Slytherin and Harry gained a new respect among not only his House, but the whole school as well. The hateful looks from Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs doubled in intensity in the corridors, but the awareness that Harry was no easy win in a fight prevented blatant retaliation.

"Let's be prepared for sneak attacks, though." Rosier warned.

"Now you're worried about me?"

"Well Mr. Sensitive, you never told us you'd been jinxed in a corridor, so how're we supposed to know you needed protection?"

It was true. When he mentioned that incident off-hand at dinner, they admonished him for not fessing up earlier. An upperclassman named Montague took him aside and sternly warned him that an attack on one Slytherin was an attack upon all. "If you can't settle it yourself, you TELL someone, understand?" He said with a hard poke to Harry's chest.

"I don't need protection," Harry replied to Rosier, "Just… maybe a bit of back up."

"Teach us the shield charm and maybe we will. Anyway, you promised you'd show me some dueling stuff on the train!" Nott whined.

"Okay, okay. Is there anywhere private we can practice?"

Rosier scouted the castle the next morning and found a virtually abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, piled with dusty furniture and moth-eaten rugs.

"Alright," Harry said, when the two stood before him, "What you have to remember is, point of focus."

He recalled everything of Ludwig's lectures he could and tossed bits of chalk at them to block. Not feeling comfortable shouting at his dormmates or smacking them on the knuckles, he stuck to patient encouragement.

"You've got to focus on the object. Imagine it coming to a complete stop."

"How can I imagine that when I've got to watch it moving in real life?"

"I know it's hard," Harry said placatingly, "Just keep trying."

"Demonstrate again for me please, Professor."

The real key to their success wasSword & Shield.Its crystal-clear directions and well-illustrated examples meant that by the end of the day, Nott and Rosier were at least slowing the momentum of the chalk fragments Harry tossed at them.

"Where'd you get that book, anyway?"

"My friend sent it to me."

"The one who taught you dueling?"

He nodded. Rosier whistled.

"If he could take Professor Quirrell's place we'd be trouncing sixth years within a few months."

Nott and Harry continued their pattern of reading together and Rosier started joining them as well. Harry liked having them around; they were studious and clever. Gradually a pattern of trust developed in their circle. You could ask a question without getting the reflexive mockery which was common in Slytherin's culture of one-upmanship. Rosier shared their interest inProjection of Powerand helped research the arcane texts necessary to comprehend it. A frustrating process often ran its course, whereby the author used a foreign concept which they tried to study, but the works explaining the concept were too complicated, and eventually they found themselves going full circle to the basics covered by ordinary lessons. Still, the idea of an independent project was empowering.

"So what does the author mean by 'The Absolute Directive'?"

"I think it means the wizard's will."

"No," Rosier objected, flipping to another page, "He talks about the will like it's something separate."

"I think…" Harry said, tapping his quill on his chin, "He's talking about what the Will actually is, at bottom."

"What is it then, besides just… what we want to do?"

"But why do wewantto do anything? I think that's the point," Nott speculated, "We do things to help us survive, keep going. He's saying, weareour will and nothing else."

Harry looked out the window.

"Is that true though? We do lots of things that help other people survive too."

"I don't!" Rosier said brightly.

"Don't start talking about noble self-sacrifice like a Gryffindor or something," Nott said, giving Harry's knee a playful nudge, "But if you did, that still means you're forcing yourself on the world, trying to make it the way you want it to be."

"Then the unconditional directive depends on who we are. It's not the same for everyone."

Nott frowned.

"Yeah, that's true. Then why are we… us?"

"Maybe that IS the unconditional directive. Maybe there's only one, and we're just different manifestations of it." Rosier said.

"Now we're getting too far out," Nott laughed.

"The way I read this, it doesn't matter what the nature of the person's Will is, as long as its harnessed," Harry said, "So let's keep going."

"We needAugustus's Theorie of Magicagain for this bit…Potter, it's your turn to fetch books."

The following Saturday, Harry said an early farewell to Rosier and Nott and made his way down to the forest's edge. He and Salazar arranged to meet by the leaning oak and visit together in the clearing again. The forest was a wild and beautiful place where they spoke unhampered by worries about witnesses, which was Harry's chief concern. From his lessons in magical history, taught in a dry manner by a boring old ghost named Professor Binns, Harry learned that snakes were reviled in the wizarding world for their role in dark potions and rituals. He suspected as much, from what he read inHogwarts: A Historyabout Salazar Slytherin being a pariah on account of his Parselmouth talent.

Apparently, most Parselmouths in the last millennium were descendants of Slytherin. That fact set his imagination on fire. Was Harry one of them? It was premature to think so…he'd have to confirm by researching a whole lot of genealogy… but what a claim to rub in people's faces! Malfoy couldn't insinuate that Harry didn't belong if there was proof he was directly related to a founder. Not that he should care overmuch. Harry wasn't attending Hogwarts to prove himself to the likes of Malfoy. He was here to get strong, to become a wizard worthy of his parent's sacrifice, and powerful enough to defend himself and those he cared about.

He snapped out of these brooding thoughts when he reached the oak and climbed up into its branches. Salazar wasn't there. He was probably just running late, so Harry leaned against the tree and pulled out a book.

An hour passed. He cast around once again, but no Salazar.

"Where is he?" he thought worriedly.

Perhaps snakes didn't observe punctuality like humans did, but Harry couldn't wait all day. He decided to retrace his steps to the clearing. The trees were dense and the foliage pretty thick, but he'd made a mental note of landmarks in their journey to and from, and he'd probably run into Salazar on the way. So he took the plunge.

It took ages and involved a lot of scratched skin from thorns and torn fabric on his trousers, but Harry finally saw the trees thinning and bright sunshine of mid-afternoon on the grass ahead. Hopefully Salazar would be here. Maybe he'd gotten lost himself?

Finally, he came upon the clearing, and nearly fainted from shock and horror from what he saw.

"Oh, God."

The ground was covered in what at first looked like a multi-colored carpet of moist ropes. Gelatinous fluid shined everywhere in the sun and oozed into the dirt. The air was permeated with the stench of death. Shredded scales glinted in the grass like dew drops and splintered bone sparkled white in the midst of masses of pulped organs.

Harry's mouth was agape. It was the most horrific and surreal thing he'd ever seen. A bit of movement caught his eye.

"SALAZAR!"

His poor friend lay a little distance from the carnage. Harry fell to his knees beside him.

"Looksss like I…under-…underessstimated…"

"What happened?!"

Salazar's adversary had been too afraid to confront him alone. Marshalling the support of every serpent he could find in the forest, they ambushed him all at once. The brutality of the ensuing fight Harry could only imagine from its aftermath. He couldn't count all the species present, nor distinguish where one body began and another ended. Distinct from the other snakes was a black one as large as Salazar himself, and its neck was bitten so deeply the head was practically severed.

But the victory had a steep price. Salazar was punctured and torn so badly, Harry was scared to touch him even just to comfort him. He barely had the strength to lift his head, which Harry cradled in his lap.

"Have to postpone…our little…visit…" He gasped in a weak laugh. His voice was faint. It wasn't its usual silvery and clear note.

"Salazar, you need help!"

"Nothing…you can do…just need to rest…"

Tears blinded Harry. He'd been robbed of his parents, and now he would be robbed of his friend too. This wasn't fair. They were going to explore together, experience real life together, enjoy their freedom. It couldn't end like this. Harry seized a snake's wretched carcass and squeezed it further into mush in impotent fury. He was mad at the cowards who ambushed his friend, mad at an ugly world full of ignorant morons and thieves of life, mad at himself for his own weakness. But Ludwig's words came to him:

"Be angry if you must, but you WILL concentrate!"

What would Ludwig say, if he saw him blubbering like a baby during a crisis? Think, think! He couldn't take Salazar to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't receive a non-human patient, and Salazar couldn't be carried anywhere in this condition. So, Harry would have to bring the hospital wing to him.

In the panicky blur of events that followed, he could hardly believe what he'd accomplished even though it warranted his expulsion from Hogwarts. One second, he'd sworn to Salazar that he'd return to his side. The next second, he was leaning on Madam Pince's desk in the library.

"Need…section…animal care!"

She shooed his moist hands away from her desk with a feather duster.

"That is a broad topic. Which variety of creatures-"

"Snakes!"

She pursed her lips.

"Reptiles, Aisle 34 section 2b. Don't perspire on the books."

He was gazing at all the stupid and irrelevant titles wildly.

"Greater and Lesser Serpents of Asia…Anti-Venom Attributes…Breeding Reptiles… no, no, no…"

Finally a good one, his heart lifted when he found the recipe for a simple healing potion. His heart sank like a stone when he saw its lengthy formula, pounding his fist in frustration.

"Only one place might have all this stuff," He thought desperately.

Next second, sneaking into Snape's office while he argued with Quirrell, slipping into the professor's private stores through the back door and snatching ingredients.

Next second, hunched over his cauldron feverishly stirring in an empty dungeon, his face an ugly rictus of sweat and panic, waiting on his pitiful excuse for a potion to turn light blue.

Next second, sneaking out of the castle. In the darkness, a prefect approached asking 'Who's there?', a circle of light thrown by his wand nearing the suit of armor Harry hid behind.

Next second, running past the boy's motionless body, sliding his own wand back in his pocket.

Now he was running down the lawn towards the Forbidden Forest, his pace slowed to a waddle by the weight of his burden.

*Pant, pant*

His glasses slipped. He took a hand away from the bag which now swung freely, shoving the plastic frames back on his nose. The lenses fogged and he swiped at them clumsily.

*Pant, pant*

The forest's edge neared, he stomped to a heavy halt. His feet were leaden and his shoulder burned. In the dim yellow light of the newly-lit lantern he cast around for the path. Finding it, he crashed forward into the dark trees.

*Pant, pant*

His arm ached from holding the lantern aloft. He lowered it a bit, but the light only blinded him when it was in front of his eyes. Strange noises surrounded him, rasping and rattling sounds and growls, but he kept going. The moon blinked at him rapidly through the trees overhead, until he reached the clearing, and it stared down with a lidless gaze at the ghastly scene. The smell was even worse now. Harry blundered about looking for Salazar, his shoes crunching on scales and squishing on crushed snake flesh, the lantern swinging drunkenly and squeaking on its hinge.

"There you are!"

Salazar lay further off than before. He was feebly trying to crawl away.

"Glad… to ssseee…you…"

"Don't try to talk or move. Stay still while I put these on you."

Harry winced seeing those wounds expand with Salazar's every movement. He set the lantern down and applied the potion-laced poultices he'd made from his shredded bathrobe, binding them carefully with bits of linen.

"Aaaahhh…that feelsss…better."

"I've got water, if you need it."

He filled a cup from a flask in his bag, and Salazar drank gratefully.

"Need…up in…a tree…exposed…here."

"You're not strong enough, and you need to keep the bandages on. I'll stay here with you."

"It's…alright…"

"NO. I'm staying. If anyone comes around, I'll kill them."

Harry was as good as his word. A creature came prowling along the tree line in the night and he unleashed a flurry of spells at it, though it was likely just a small mammal. He sat cross-legged on the ground while Salazar slept fitfully. Occasionally the snake murmured in his sleep, and he awoke asking for more water, but didn't move much. Harry prayed his potion worked. It wasn't the perfect hue or the right consistency yet surely it was better than nothing. He tried to remain vigilant but eventually his thoughts became incoherent, his vision blurred despite ramming his glasses back up on his nose and pinching his skin to stay awake, but eventually his chin sagged to his chest.

He was awoken by something flicking at his cheek.

"Wake up, fuzzy-head."

He was lying on his back.

"Wha…Salazar! Are you okay?"

"Feeling better, yesss."

Harry lurched up and shuffled on his knees to the snake's side.

"Let me check these." He gingerly peeled back the poultices, whose makeshift construction was even sadder by the dim light of morning.

"It's working! Ha!" He laughed in relief. "The wounds are healing!"

"Mussst be…I feel good as new."

"They're not quite THAT healed. You need to keep these on for a bit."

"Very well. But you mussst go back to the castle…before the other humansss awake."

Harry disagreed. He didn't want to leave Salazar yet, and there was a much better chance of not attracting attention if he appeared later and mixed in with the crowd. It was a Sunday after all… as if that made any difference when it came to a paralyzed prefect and a robbed professor.

"There is a sssecret way…to avoid detection. I ssshall tell you."

"Potter! Where the hell have you been?" Nott threw his bed covers off and ran over to him. "Merlin's beard, did you sleep outside or something? Why are you covered in dirt?"

"It's a long story," Harry said wearily, "Has Snape been looking for me?"

Nott frowned.

"No, why?"

"No reason!"

Nott peered at him suspiciously, and continued: "I mean, I thought you might be among the idiots who got attacked."

"What attack and what idiots?"

"Hold on, where the HELL have you been?" Nott repeated, as Rosier came out of the bathroom in a billow of steam.

Harry sighed.

Salazar's directions ensured a stealthy reentry to the castle, and it was one of the worst things he'd ever done. He was forced to wriggle through a large (but still claustrophobic) drain pipe ("It's disssused, I assure you") on the southwest end of the castle. It emptied on to the oldest, foulest, most rat-infested dungeon in Hogwarts, a sub-dungeon of some kind, connected via a ladder to a trapdoor whose rusted lock Harry blasted apart with severalImpedimentacharms. From there, he tiptoed to the mercifully empty common room and down into his dormitory.

"I went into the Forbidden Forest and got lost, alright? Now what attack are you talking about?"

"You W-HA-HA-T!" Rosier laughed.

"It was spur of the moment."

Both boys shook their heads.

"You really do need protection, but only from yourself. Anyway, some first years went into the third floor corridor, and whatever's behind that door put them in the hospital wing. Rumor is, they're both Gryffindors."

"So, Potter," Rosier mocked, "You may not be smarter than a Gryffindor but you are luckier."

"Sod off. I need a bath," he said, pulling his robes over his head. But Nott darted ahead of him.

"Oh no you don't, it's my turn. Just because you rolled around in mud all night doesn't mean you get priority."

"You'll have to wait 'til sundown to get in there," Rosier muttered as the door slammed, "With how much primping he does."

Harry spent the remainder of the day waiting for the axe to fall, but it didn't. Come Monday, Snape was in a fouler mood than usual and Harry's subpar headache-ameliorating draught earned a round of mockery. It was a tolerable punishment. Just twenty four hours before, Harry's rudimentary skill in potions had saved his best friend, and that was a sustaining thought.

It turned out the Prefect he'd hit with a full body bind was Percy Weasley, who seemed to believe his twin brothers were responsible. A sneaky curse in the hallway wasn't the center of discussion in House Gryffindor, and especially unimportant to the Weasley clan. The youngest brother Ron was missing a chunk of flesh from his thigh as a result of this failed venture into the third floor corridor, and from the sound of it, Dean Thomas was having his fingers re-attached. Whatever lurked beyond that door, it meant business.

"Are they going to get expelled?" Malfoy asked eagerly at dinner.

"Apparently not. Just detention and a load of points taken off. Something about having 'already suffered enough punishment'" Colquhoun replied.

"Bollocks," Malfoy sulked, "If it were Slytherins who'd done that, they'd be expelled faster than you can say 'demented old goat."

The rest of them laughed.

"Will they tell everyone what's behind the door?"

"McGonagall swore them to secrecy. She probably charmed them into keeping silent, just to make sure."

"A secrecy and silence spell? That's what we need for you, Bannatyne," Rosier joked. Bannatyne was a very quiet fellow first year who gave a shy grin.

"Maybe we should open up that third-floor door as a Halloween prank," Zabini said with an evil expression.

"Don't go suggesting we flout the Headmaster's orders," warned Colquhoun, "but we all know what Halloween's for."

Harry longed to check up on Salazar but his nigh-miraculous escape from punishment kept him from pushing his luck by sneaking around the Forbidden Forest. His tension was relieved on Wednesday when the snake appeared to him in the dormitory bathroom. His body was covered in silvery scars, but he seemed back to his normal self, and was happy to report that all his competition in the forest had been eliminated.

"Are you sure?"

Harry kept his voice low as possible on account of the bathroom echoes.

"Posssitive. But now it'sss getting cold so I'll be up here more…"

"Great! So I'll see you more often?"

"Of course."

He paused.

"I sssense vibration…someone's coming, I should go."

Harry hugged Salazar as the snake encircled his entire body.

"Don't squeeze too hard!" Harry giggled.

"Don't be so delicate," the snake teased, "Sssee you around."

Harry quickly exited the bathroom in time for Nott to enter the dorm.

"There's a notice up there about flying lessons," he said to Harry, "I guess you've never been on a broom."

"No. Is it fun?"

Nott shrugged.

"I was never into it." He paused. "Did youreallysneak into the Forbidden Forest just because you felt like it?"

"Yep."

It was only half a lie. Nott smiled and shook his head once more.

"You really are weird, Potter."

End of Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Halloween

Chapter Text

It was the day before Halloween, and Harry huddled by a common room fire composing a letter to Ludwig. His scratched-out drafts littered the floor. It was hard to strike a balance between meaningless minutiae and interesting details. Obviously, he wrote about flying lessons and his provisional acceptance onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.

One Thursday they'd tramped down to the manicured grass of the Quidditch pitch where Madam Hooch waited with a fleet of brooms. To Harry's dismay they attended this flying lesson with the Gryffindors. He'd looked up to the goal posts shaped like giant bubble wands, seeing the morning sun framed perfectly in the shadow of a hoop, and wished he were back in his comfy bed. But the second he mounted his broom and rose in the air, a wondrous sense of freedom overtook him, and a feeling of limitless possibility spread in his body.

It was like taking the bus to London or riding the train to Hogwarts, except a hundred times more intense. The broom felt connected to him on a primal level like a horse with its rider and they fed on each other's desire.

He had to fly, right then!

"Potter! Get back here now!" Madam Hooch yelled.

Harry didn't hear her, as he shot with perfect precision through a goal post, laughing almost hysterically as he looped back around again for another go. Madam Hooch mounted her own broom.

"Come here, young man!"

She flew towards him with a furious look on her face. Harry was so effervescent that her anger didn't even register with him. He darted swiftly to the side and she chased him all around the pitch while the other students laughed uproariously. Eventually she caught him by the collar and forced him to the ground.

"You bad, naughty thing! Ten points from Slytherin, and you will sit on the sideline for the remainder of this lesson!"

That sobered Harry up fast. He sat glumly with his knees tucked to his chest, while the rest of the class practiced basic maneuvers and tossed balls back and forth midair. Truthfully, it looked boring compared to whizzing about freely like he'd done.

"Can't go five minutes without showing off?" Malfoy drawled at him, as they walked back up to the castle.

"I wasn't showing off! The moment just took me, is all."

"That seems to happen a lot with you," Rosier commented.

"Keep your stupid stunts out of the teacher's sight," Malfoy snapped, "You lost the points I made in Potions."

Harry pouted for a good long while and things worsened when Marcus Flint beckoned him over that afternoon.

"Potter. Get over here."

Seeing no other option, Harry cautiously approached Flint where he slouched in the nicest common room chair. Marcus had a reputation for a bad temper and unpredictable moods, and he utterly detested underclassmen. The other day, he hexed Bannatyne just because he complained when Flint shoved him on the stairs. But his success as Quidditch team captain earned him Slytherin's adulation, while his brutal tactics made him despised everywhere else.

"Heard you're a damned good flyer."

"I guess I'm not bad."

"Meet me at the pitch tomorrow at 6:30."

His serious tone brooked no opposition, and Harry met Flint the next evening on the Quidditch pitch, where a broom was thrust at him.

"Fly through these," Flint grunted. He waved his wand, and rings made of light appeared in the air above, spaced at intervals and at different altitudes. For the next hour Flint barked instructions as Harry flew through the hoops again and again. Flint changed their position and occasionally threw a ball in his direction which he had to avoid. Then he started timing him.

"Faster, damnit!" he shouted, as he glared up from his stopwatch.

By the time dark set in, Harry was exhausted. He leaned on the broomstick for support, mopping his dripping hair with his sleeve.

"Not bad," Flint grunted. "We'll get you into training."

According to Madam Hooch, First Years weren't usually on Quidditch teams. Harry said so.

"Don't lecture me on what's 'usual'. You'll be sub for Higgs this year. We need a solid back-up."

Later that evening Harry told Rosier and Nott.

"I'm not sure if I should envy you, or pity you," Nott said, as he tried to focus on the rocks Rosier was lobbing at him. They were practicing the shield charm in their disused classroom.

"You'll get all of the pain with none of the glory," Rosier chimed as he ducked the repelled rock. "I've heard Flint is a slave driver."

"I can always refuse."

"Okay then, I'ddefinitelypity you. Flint'll beat the piss outta you, and all of Slytherin will be cheering him on. You dared to show talent on a broomstick, Potter, so it'd be a betrayal not to be part of the House team. Don't say no."

Harry followed Rosier's advice and soon he was jostled, battered, and harangued by Flint for two nights a week. Any more time than that, and Harry would have to be included on the team roster which was full already. The other members were all older and bigger than him, and weren't enthused about his presence there, limited as it was. He was the target of many a shoulder check and sidelong kick as he strained to keep his practice broom straight in the air.

"Don't you quit on ME!" Flint bellowed as Harry rubbed his aching ribs, "You're gonna be Seeker next year. Get used to it!"

The position of Seeker was the most important one in Quidditch, and Higgs, the current occupant of the post, was set to graduate this year. Higgs wasn't a bad guy compared to Flint and Montague, and he explained to Harry the game's rules and told him strategies for pursuing the Golden Snitch.

"Keep well above the gameplay. The Snitch will flit among the Chasers because it likes to be part of the action. A bird's eye view will help you more than getting stuck in."

Harry also wrote about Rosier and Nott and their study sessions together, as well as their practice with the shield charm. He hoped Ludwig would be proud of Harry for instructing his fellow students and using the bookSword & Shieldhe sent as a present to help. The three of them began little sparring practices as well, implementing some of the hexes and jinxes they picked up. They'd flipped ahead inProjection of Powerto see what arcane abilities they'd be learning when all the theory was done, but it seemed far too dangerous for unsupervised practice. Permanent injury and death were very, very possible.

"Let's see…that's Quidditch, classes, studying, sparring…think that covers it."

Part of him felt oddly for withholding all knowledge of Salazar from Ludwig, a man he trusted more than any other human being. He yearned to tell someone who exactly it was, eating all the private stashes of food. It was hilarious watching everyone accusing each other of stealing. But as ever, Harry withheld. He wasn't ashamed of his Parseltongue ability but his friendship with Salazar was a private affair. Their bond was unique.

Up in the owlery, Harry felt a chilly blast of air from the open window. It was really Fall weather now, and Salazar would abandon the forest in favor of the castle. Harry frowned as he gazed up at the rows upon rows of roosting owls. Hopefully, his friend wouldn't succumb to temptation and have a bacchanal bird buffet, once he made Hogwarts his permanent residence.

The next day was Halloween. What a surprise it was! Real live bats flitted above a dining hall decorated with giant jack-o-lanterns. A mummy shuffled around the second-floor corridor scaring the living daylights out of the girls. Montague procured a boggart and released it near the Gryffindor common room, to House Slytherin's great amusem*nt. In retaliation, the Weasley twins unleashed a stink bomb raid that ruined several sets of robes and made a second-floor hallway impassable. Besides the teachers, everyone considered this a proper celebration of the holiday.

Professor Flitwick was instructing them on levitating objects in Charms class, which was surprisingly challenging. It was a spell that required a lot of subtle touch, and Rosier, who was usually the more adept spellcaster while Nott excelled more in magical theory, was grumpy that Nott successfully deployed it before he did.

"This is a damned…!" Rosier started to say, before clamping his jaw tightly. He concentrated on the feather Flitwick provided, which lay innocently on a satin pillow. It quivered weakly.

"Were you about to say it's a useless spell?" Nott said in an amused tone, "Were you gonna say, you prefer straining against heavy objects, so you'll get big and strong?"

Rosier bared his crooked teeth.

"Once I master it, I'm levitating you out the window in our next practice."

"Bring it on."

"Speaking of which," Harry interjected, cutting the argument short, "Do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I'm game," they said simultaneously.

Unfortunately, Rosier's luck got worse. He caught a face full of Neville Longbottom's botched concoction in Potions and was confined to the Hospital Wing, with hair that resembled fried straw and skin covered in sores. Snape deducted a solid ten points from Gryffindor for the catastrophe, so it wasn't a total loss. Crabbe inflicted further punishment by giving the clueless Longbottom a black eye, which Harry thought excessive.

"I suppose we should visit Rosier before bed," Nott suggested.

"Sure, I'll make him a plate at the Feast tonight."

They were studying by a common room fire. It cast shadows on the carvings of snakes adorning the pillars and the light barely reached the cathedral-like vault of the ceiling. Harry got up and added more wood to the hearth. He loved it here. It was getting colder in the depths these days.

"Is Alcibiades talking about the second Ideal Transfigured Form here, or the third?

Harry squinted at the page.

"Theeee… third."

"I wish the Georgians liked periods as much as commas."

Nott rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch.

"Bloody hell, we're going to miss the feast!"

It was true. Harry noticed the room was deserted. The time had gotten away from them.

"Let's go, before Crabbe and Goyle eat it all."

"Wait," Nott said, "I want to drop a book off at the library."

"Can't it wait?"

"With everyone at the feast, maybe we could have a peek at the restricted section," Nott said raising his eyebrows.

"Good thinking!"

They'd discussed restricted section access with Colquhoun, who promptly shut them down. He said only students pursuing advanced studies in Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions were permitted to go in there. However, since tonight was a major event, there was a chance of slipping in undetected. The area was probably charmed to eject anyone not explicitly allowed inside, but they figured it was worth a try.

"Montague said there's some rich material in there. Probably not as good as my father's, though."

"You said after your first year, he'd let you read some of his stuff, right?"

"If he's around long enough for me to ask him," Nott muttered. He looked at Harry, who gazed back questioningly. "Like I've said, he's busy a lot. We don't see each other often."

"Isupposethat I know the feeling."

"Sorry. I shouldn't complain."

"That's alright."

Something in Harry broke loose. He said it without realizing, like it wasn't him who made the decision.

"I found out it was Dumbledore. He was the one who decided I should live with my Aunt and Uncle."

Nott glanced quickly over at him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. And he's never even talked to me."

Usually, they avoided conversation about their families. Harry noticed that Nott and Rosier weren't similarly constrained, nor were any other Slytherins. Purebloods talked freely in a language all their own, filled with references Harry didn't understand. It bothered him a little that even though his dormmates constantly bickered and teased, they had a connection Harry didn't share: the common bond of (supposedly) pure blood. But even more bothersome was the nagging sensation there was something even deeper. The low and solemn conversations between Nott and Rosier breaking off when Harry approached, made him apprehensive. He mostly tried to put it from his mind.

"My father said Dumbledore doesn't…he doesn't always do what's in wizard kind's best interest."

"Well, it' s MY best interests to stay at the Leaky Cauldron every summer 'til I graduate."

Nott gave a flicker of a smile.

The dungeons were full of their usual echoes as they walked. The atmosphere was especially appropriate for Halloween. Drops of water made sounds like tinny gongs in the deep. Harry was creeped out by living down here at first, but now it was home. Tonight the atmosphere was especially appropriate given it was Halloween. They emerged from the south entrance taking a back route to the library. The distant roar of the dining hall reverberated like a giant's breath.

"The kitchens better have outdone themselves, because I'm starving," Nott said, rubbing his growling stomach.

"Me too. Y'know Bannatyne was going to slip Bowel-Liquidation Potion into the Hufflepuff's food?"

"Ha! I hope he manages it. I wonder if Zabini will follow through and open the third-floor corridor door before the night's out."

They reached the library, which was as deserted as the common room. Even Madam Pince wasn't at her desk.

"Is she actually not here?"

Nott wrinkled his nose.

"If she is, I think she died. What's that stench?"

There really was a foul odor in the air, which they disregarded as this was their best chance to look at the restricted section undisturbed.

"Maybe she takes off for holidays," Nott guessed as they crossed the main sitting area, an open space equipped with long mahogany tables resting on a massive oriental rug and presided over by a Bust of Ptolemy.

"I thought-oh, bloody hell!"

They covered their noses with their robes and stopped walking. Suddenly the smell had become overpowering.

"Another Weasley stink bomb!" Nott said through his balled up robes, "Rosier's right, they really are revolting little-"

THUD.

They spun around.

Something heavy nearby had just fallen.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The sound echoed in the cavernous empty room, making it hard to pinpoint.

"What's that?"

"I dunno, it's coming-"

THUD.

There was another sound, like a wooden block being dragged across the stone floor.

"Who's there!?" Nott cried out fearfully.

The answer was worse than Harry could've imagined.

From behind a tall bookshelf walked a creature right out of a nightmare. Someone had sculpted a twelve-foot-tall man out of clay, but then squeezed and distorted it until the dimensions were grotesque. Its flat hoof-like feet connected to legs so thick and stiff, they had no visible knees or ankles. Its gibbon-like arms dangled practically to the ground where it clutched a wooden club in bulbous yet gnarled hands. Its head was disproportionately small to its pear-shaped lumpy body, and its skin looked rough and thick as rhinoceros hide.

"It's a troll." Nott breathed.

Harry was momentarily frozen in disbelief. The troll lumbered out into the sitting area. Its tiny, watery eyes fixed on them as drool fell from its blubbery lips, and it began shambling towards them.

"Run!" Harry cried.

He turned and began sprinting in the opposite direction but then realized he was alone. Nott was rooted to the spot in fear, mouth agape and eyes wide.

The troll raised its club.

Harry darted back, even though he'd never reach him in time.

CLANG

"RRRRRRRAAAGGH!"

Its roar nearly deafened them. The troll's club had hit the chandelier, and the creature looked up just as the huge beeswax candles rained hot liquid into its face. Chairs and tables went flying and bookcases toppled as it swung its club indiscriminately. The room seemed to lurch and heave like a ship in a storm as the chandelier spun wildly, casting crazy shadows over every surface.

Harry grabbed Nott by his collar and shook him violently.

"We have to get out of here!"

Nott came to life and they made motions towards the exit, but the troll and its swinging club blocked their path. Before they could run or hide the thing's vision cleared from the wax and it glared at them in pure hatred. Something in its tiny brain associated the two boys with the sensation of pain. With a bellow, it lurched forward and brought its club down with blistering force. Harry and Nott dived in opposite directions, the weapon smashing into the stone floor with a bone-jarring crack.

The troll looked both ways, picking a target. It turned toward Harry.

"Impedimenta!"

The spell didn't slow it for a second. It swung its club like Harry was a nail to be hammered, but he rolled out of the way. Another bookcase came down with a rolling crash as all the books spilled and the wood splintered. A heavy volume struck Harry on the head as he rose to his feet. He stumbled and fell.

The troll's arm ascended. From Harry's prostrate position, it looked a mile high. Then it whipped downwards.

"Protego!"

The club met his shield with a ripple in the air like a pebble dropped in a lake. There was a sound like an iron bell being torn in two, and Harry felt the worst pain of his life. Blinding, overwhelming pain, as if he'd been ripped in two like a sheet of parchment. He couldn't see or think or hear. He could only cry out in agony and make one last apology.

"I tried, Dad."

Nott was on his feet, knees trembling and ears ringing from the bookcase being shattered. Potter was on the ground and the troll's attention was fixed on him. The exit was completely clear. Now was his chance to escape!

"But Potter will die,"a voice said.

So what?! He was just a study partner! No one in Slytherin would really mourn him. Hadn't Father always said, it had been a sad day when that Potter boy was born? And besides, how could any First-Year hope to fight something so big without getting killed? Instead, he'd be able to run, and get help quicker than anyone else and prevent any more people from getting hurt. Surely it was the best course of action.

He looked across at the beckoning hallway, empty and unobstructed, feeling salvation at hand.

Then, an unbidden memory rushed up like a tidal wave. The library, the troll and Potter all disappeared in an instant and he was swept away. The years flicked past. He was at home standing behind his door, cracked a little ajar, peeking out at the hallway from a much lower height. Men were bustling back and forth carrying various items: instruments, vases, books. He recognized his father's belongings from the study. The strangers wore dark official robes, and in the midst of them stood his frail mother wearing her white gown, trying hopelessly to stem the tide.

"Put that down! You're not permitted in here. This is an outrage!"

She clutched a marble pillar with her wizened hand for support. Every tendon stood out sharply against paper-white skin.

A man spoke ringingly in a curt voice. He had black hair combed flat, and he seemed to be in charge.

"Don't interfere, Madam, this is an authorized search."

"Tiberius!"She cried,"Stop them!"

His father's livid but defeated face emerged from behind her.

"Quiet, woman!"He hissed.

The man in charge snapped his fingers.

"Alastor, John, that room."

"Not my son's room!"His mother's voice quavered with indignation. Her eyes, too prominent already in her gaunt face, became frighteningly large."How dare…I have friends on the Wizengamot…Tiberius, say something!"

But his father said nothing. A scary man with a wooden leg and a stocky man with wiry hair swept into the room, as he pressed himself against the wall, hardly daring to breathe.

His mother lunged for the black-haired man in a feeble movement, and he caught her wrist.

"If you attempt an assault upon a Ministry official, it will earn you a stint in Azkaban!"

There was lots of noise for a while and raised voices, but when all the men left the house, it felt unnaturally quiet. His parents stood motionless in the dim hallway.

"You must go to bed, dear,"His father murmured.

She clutched the pillar like a drowning sailor clinging to a piece of driftwood, replying in a voice exhausted but lit with a contemptuous fire:

"You dragged our family into… into a pack of fanatical dupes. We'll never be free of these Ministry rats, now."

"That's enough."

His father spoke in a forced calm, but she continued without hearing him:

"Seeinghonorable families led astray…purebloods branded like cattle…fawning at the feet of a madman."

His father's face twisted in anger.

"I said ENOUGH!"

"But I forgave it all!"She exclaimed, raising a finger in the air and holding it out like a wand,"We might've kept our honor, despite it. But you hadn't the courage to fight alongside your fellows."

"You say this NOW?!"His father thundered,"After every denigration of our Lord's cause, every slanderous insult about Wilkes and Mulciber, even Rosier! You wish I had gone DOWN with them?"

She shook her head mournfully.

"No word of ridicule passed beyond our home. No word of mine."

Turning, she tottered unsteadily back to her room, her fleshless feet making small taps on the smooth floor.

"They were misguided, half-mad fools… but they were our friends. And we abandoned them."

Harry blacked out from the pain, and it unmercifully drove him back to consciousness. He waited for a killing blow that didn't come. Through the noise and the pain his vision returned. The troll was reeling and flailing its huge arms in a windmill motion, like it was batting at a swarm of hornets. Its club dropped as it spun in circles slapping its flanks.

Harry realized it was on fire. Nott had cast an incendiary charm. The creature's dirty tunic was in flames and seared its thick warty skin. But the fire was soon tamped out.

"RRRRAAAGGHHH!"

In a frothing fury the troll grabbed the nearest desk and hurled it. Nott nimbly sidestepped. The troll grabbed its club again, and Nott cried:

"Expelliarmus!"

The weapon sailed away behind a shelf. Enraged, the troll lunged in a sudden grab. Again, Nott dodged. The creature's hands clapped together in a sound like a cannon shot. For a moment it gazed stupidly at its empty grubby palms. Catching sight of Nott again, the troll dived at the boy with its arms spread wide. This time Nott's speed didn't save him. The troll's fingers closed tightly around his shin.

"IIIEEEEEEEE!"

Nott screamed as the troll's grip crushed his leg and its long dirty fingernails tore at his flesh.

"NOOOOO!"

His cry of pain became one of fear as the troll raised him upside down in the air.

Harry tried to arise but yelped in agony. A shaft of wood like a rail spike was lodged in his destroyed shoulder, which he touched with a shaky hand. The shield charm had blocked the worst of the troll's blow but the fractured club had done its damage. Blood soaked his robes and getting to his feet nearly killed him. The tendons in his shoulder were disconnected from the muscle, stretching out in a nauseating sensation. He vomited and nearly passed out, but he grabbed his wand with his working hand, and lurched forward in a drunken hobble.

"HEEEELLLP!"

Anger and horror filled Harry like boiling water at the sickening sight before him. The troll was burbling with laughter as it swung Nott like a pendulum while he cried and yelled. The monster's lips stretched in a malicious smile as it propelled him back and forth, faster and faster, rotating its wrist to make him spin wildly. Then it paused, changing its grip on Nott's leg to hold the mangled limb like a hammer. It was getting ready to dash him to pieces on the ground.

Harry kept moving. The shard of wood dug deeper like a wedge apt to split him in two. Flesh felt like it was sloughing off.

Nott shrieked in high-pitched terror, pleading for help, calling hysterically for his mother. His robes fell over his head as he kicked futilely against the troll's gnarled hand. The monster let out an amused laugh.

Harry was close enough now. He raised his wand.

"HEY! LOOK AT ME!"

The troll turned.

"EXOS!"

It was the troll's turn to shout in fear, as half the bones in its face disappeared. Yellow teeth clattered on the ground as it lurched back, clutching at its tiny eyes dangling on stringy red cords. Nott was released immediately, falling to the floor in a puddle.

The troll slipped on the pillar which had supported the massive bust of Ptolemy, and fell backwards with a fleshy whump.

"Nott! Nott! We've got to go!"

"My leg!" Nott cried.

It was as bloody and battered as Harry's shoulder. They couldn't get out in time. The troll had risen to all fours, cradling its sagging disfigured face and trying to stuff its eyes back into nonexistent sockets.

Harry saw their best chance on the ground in front of them.

"The Bust, Nott, we can use it. Levitate it!"

Nott wasn't listening. He was still beside himself. Harry slapped him, grabbing his hair and forcing him to make eye contact.

"Listen to me! We're going to levitate that Bust and KILL it."

Nott's face was a mask of pain and tears, but it lit up in understanding.

"One, two, three. Wingardium Leviosa!"

They said it in unison. The huge block of stone rose, rose, rose. The troll was getting to its feet. It grasped a watery rolling eyeball in its thumb and forefinger, holding it aloft on its stalk of corded nerves, wheeling its gaze around manually. The eye fixed upon them and the troll roared gutturally, a wet blast right from the throat with no jaw to articulate, the unsupported lips flapping like sodden curtains in a gale wind.

"Focus, Nott, don't look at it!"

As their terror mounted and pain threatened to overpower them, the Bust began to slip. But it rose steadily like a guillotine blade.

"Now!"

They released their wands.

CRUNCH.

The stone fell, smashing what was left of the troll's skull. It crumpled to the ground, twitching and flailing spasmodically.

"Again!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!" They both cried.

The Bust floated in the air. The troll's arms and legs beat an ear-splitting, arrhythmic tattoo on the floor, flapping like the wings of a pinioned bird as the whole creature spasmed uncontrollably. The stone plummeted for the final time.

SCRUNCH.

A red-purple spray coated the floor as the Bust of Ptolemy crushed its head to a pulp. The troll's arms pistoned into the air, fingers scrabbling at a non-existent foe, then fell limp.

The two boys breathed rapidly in silence, wands pointed at the troll's corpse, not daring to believe it was over. Finally the adrenaline subsided as the pain returned, and Harry sank onto a fallen bookshelf.

"Are you…alright?"

"No," Nott whimpered, "I'm…we're…"

"Gotta…get… hospital wing."

He tried to rise but something wouldn't let him. Why wouldn't his body work?

"Potter? Harry!?"

He just needed to rest. Just lie down for a bit. Sleep.

He dreamed of screams and hideous faces and giant gnarled hands grasping, clawing, snatching at him. He twisted away and tried to escape but they held him fast. He wanted to cry for Salazar and Ludwig but he was rendered mute as a stone. A white-hot fire was in his shoulder. Then it was ice cold. Next, a strange bubbling and fizzing sensation pervaded it. A bottle was forced down his throat and he choked on its contents, trying to spew it up, but the liquid splashed down into his belly. Then everything was blackness.

It was a shadow world he awoke to. White and shadow. Moonlight illuminated the white sheets and white curtains and a tall ceiling was shrouded in darkness. He looked down. The shaft of wood from the troll's club was gone. There was a mass of bandages where his shoulder used to be, and someone had removed his robes and glasses.

"I must be in the Hospital Wing," he thought.

He tried to raise himself up, but his body rebelled immediately. Pain and nausea conquered the effort and his head spun.

"Help…help…"

Someone was whimpering.

"Nott?"

"Help…please…don't let it…"

With an effort that nearly made him wretch Harry leaned over his pillow to see through the gap in the hangings. Nott was in the bed next to him.

"Nott, it's alright. We're in the infirmary."

His voice sounded quavery as an old man's.

"Mom…help…"

Harry heard rapid footsteps and Madam Pomfrey appeared. She pulled back Nott's hangings. He looked drained and paler than usual, thrashing in a feeble delirium. She put a bottle to his lips, firmly but gently, and he quietened down. Harry sank back on his own pillow and fell asleep again.

When he awoke, it was still nighttime. Was it the same night or a different one? His pain wasn't as bad. The mountain of bandages looked a bit smaller than before, and he was able to sit up in the bed. The old springs creaked loudly.

"Potter?"

"Nott, you're awake?"

"Well, yes."

Harry reached for the curtain rod and pulled his hangings back.

"Sorry, I can't get up," Nott said.

"Wait a sec, I'm coming."

Harry slowly got out of bed. He had the shaky, weak feeling of someone in the midst of a high fever. His glasses were on the bedside table but his robes weren't around, so he covered himself with a pillow and pulled back Nott's curtains for him. It took a while because his right arm was immobilized.

"How're you feeling?"

"Terrible," Harry replied. He pulled a chair up and laid the pillow over his lap.

"Same here."

Nott still looked haggard and shrunken. Harry supposed it was due to blood loss. His normally immaculate hair was strewn over his forehead and his mattress was sweaty.

"What happened?"

Nott shrugged.

"Can't say much. McGonagall and Snape rushed in just after you passed out, then I blacked out too. I've felt actually conscious only in the past couple minutes…I've been having terrible dreams."

He shivered. Harry could empathize.

"Mine haven't been great either."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"You saved my life." Harry said quietly.

"Isavedyou?"

"Duh. That troll was about to pound me into Mrs. Norris's dinner, when you set it on fire."

"And it was going to crack me like a wet towel when you de-boned it."

"Let's agree we saved each other's lives then," Harry grinned.

"Like I said before, we work well together."

"We really do."

Nott smiled. Then he got serious.

"How'd that monster get inside the castle?"

"Someone let it in for Halloween, is my bet."

Nott was taken aback.

"You think this was aprank?"

"What else? I'll bet it was those Weasley twins. They weren't satisfied with stink bombs so they escalated."

Nott threw his head back on his pillow, his pale chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared at the ceiling. Then he shook his head.

"I don't think so. This is beyond anything a student could do. A boggart like Montague's is one thing, but a creature as strong and vicious as that…" he shivered again. "I honestly don't want to think about it right now."

Harry nodded understandingly. His head swam when he moved it.

"You should go back to bed. You lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah, I will."

He tremulously arose and tossed his pillow back on the bed, climbing between the covers gratefully.

"Nott?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Nott gazed over at him, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

"Theo. Please call me Theo."

"I'm Harry. Nice to meet you."

They laughed.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Theo."

End of Chapter 6

In the House of the Serpent - Ossian715 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: The Letter

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Return

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Acquaintances & Arrival

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: School Starts

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Misfortune in the Forest

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Halloween

Chapter Text