Chapter Text
The canopy over Harry’s bed hasn’t changed, but Harry still stares at it, going on some three hours now.
He knows what this is. He doesn’t know the name for it, but he knows what it is. He’s in one of those slumps again, where he won’t be able to sleep no matter how tired he is.
The dorm is quiet, mostly. Ron snores softly. Seamus tosses and turns, he’s a restless sleeper. Now and then, Dean mumbles in his sleep. Neville is dead silent. Harry is awake.
He was hoping he wouldn’t have one of his slumps while at Hogwarts, but when has he ever been so lucky? He’s been alright for months, now; even after the troll situation, he was alright. A nightmare here and there, imaginings of being too late, being unable to save Hermione, Ron getting hurt, the troll hurting all of them. In the worst ones, he remembers vivid images of the troll ripping him to pieces with its bare hands, or mowing its way through the crowded Great Hall.
It’s awful, but they’re just dreams. He’s had worse. Bad dreams have nothing against Vernon’s fits of rage, or Dudley’s cruelty, or even Petunia’s viciousness. Harry can stomach a few bad dreams.
Going without sleep entirely, though... That’s harder.
He has a potions essay due in a few days, and there’s the joint potions-herbology assignment of harvesting ingredients in the greenhouse; he needs to read six chapters of their charms textbook and write a few paragraphs about two charms from those chapters (his choice of which two); he needs to practice his transfiguration, there’s an essay for history of magic, he needs to go to the library and pull star charts from his birth year and write an essay about them, and there’s some reading to do for DADA.
Harry isn’t going to be able to sleep. With a sigh, he rolls out of bed. He grabs his school bag and heads downstairs to the common room. Might as well try to do some of the homework. Maybe the reading, at least. The common room is quiet but warm. The fire is low, but still clinging to life. Before sitting down, Harry grabs one of the logs in the holder next to the fireplace and nudges it into the embers. With some gentle fanning, the flames start to slowly pick up. The warm, orange glow fills the room.
He gets comfortable at one of the writing desks tucked in near the walls, pulling out his textbooks and so on. The reading first, then.
Staring at the words on the pages of the DADA textbook makes Harry’s vision blur. It feels like his brain is being rinsed out in a tub of molasses. Every thought feels thick and syrupy. The words roll in and out of focus. He stares at the same page for God knows how long, struggling to read the same paragraph and failing over and over. The words make sense. He can understand them. Each word is one he knows; he knows their meaning and how they sound and how to spell them and use them in a sentence. But put together like this... The sentences seem long and rambling, never getting to the point (if there even is one). He can almost imagine the words spinning in circles inside his head, bouncing around off his skull and colliding and mixing up until its all just an unintelligible jumble of letters that, individually, make sense but put together seem completely foreign.
Harry wonders what Snape is doing. What he’s planning.
It feels as if nothing makes sense. The weird pain in Harry’s scar during the Sorting Ceremony, the Gringotts break-in and the strange package Hagrid picked up there, Fluffy, the troll, Snape being injured (most likely by Fluffy), Harry’s jinxed broom, Nicolas Flamel. How is it all connected? There are the obvious connections, sure, but why? Why and how? Why are all these things happening, and how does any of it make any proper sense?
The more Harry thinks about it, the more confused he feels.
Sighing, he leans back in his chair, head falling back to let him look up at the ceiling.
Why does he even care?
...
Wait. Why does he care? Why does he care? Why, out of all the hundreds of students at Hogwarts, does Harry care? Why should any student care? They’re children! Harry’s eleven! Why is it his job to care about all of this? It’s not his job to do any of that stuff!
His only job here is to go to school. If any of this is anyone’s job, it would be the teachers’, not an eleven-year-old child.
But...why would they even bring all this to the school? Who places a three-headed dog in a school? Who openly tells a bunch of kids to not do something like that, like Dumbledore did? He was practically inviting students to get involved in things!
And…who’s to say he wasn’t doing that?
Harry is a fool. Adults are not to be trusted, and he knows this above all other things. Adults can never be trusted. Not Snape, not Dumbledore, no one. None of these teachers can be trusted if they let their headmaster drag them into something like this. They’re no better than the Dursleys, any of them, for this. For placing a bunch of children in danger, in a place that is supposed to be the safest in all the world.
Disgust twists up Harry’s stomach. He flinches at himself, when the quill in his hand snaps in half. Sighing, he gets up and tosses the broken feather into the fire.
If Harry had a choice, he’d leave this school right now, for how sick the place is suddenly making him.
He stops.
Well, why can’t he leave?
He can’t leave right now, not without causing a stir, but...winter holidays are coming up. If he wanted to, he could just get on the train and go back to Surrey. Harry slumps into his chair again. He could do that, but then he’d just be stuck with the Dursleys again. Except… The Dursleys think he’s spending the winter holidays at Hogwarts. Harry has money, lots of it. He could just…not return to the Dursleys. Best case scenario, they won’t even know he’s technically missing until either the spring term ends, or the school comes asking where he is. Realistically, it will probably be the latter; they’ll probably come looking for Harry if he doesn’t turn up back here at Hogwarts when the new term starts. Even then, though, he will have a massive head start.
He could do whatever he wants. If he leaves the country, they can’t exactly force him to come back to school, can they? Right? And even if they try, he’s a kid, he’s an expert at getting lost, and thanks to the Dursleys, he’s an expert at hiding and running away too. Why can’t he just…hide from Hogwarts? Hide from the Ministry? There’s no one to stop him.
Harry flips through the pages of his DADA textbook. He’d miss Ron and Hermione, that’s true. He’d have to write to them. Just to let them know he’s alright. Hedwig…
He can’t use Hedwig, can he? He loves her dearly, and she’s the best thing he’s ever owned, his very first friend, but… It’s going to be hard to bring her along if he’s travelling. He can’t imagine forcing her to stay in her cage for all that time; he’ll probably be taking a train most of the time, and it’s not as if he can bring her on normal trains. People would have questions about that. He can’t carry her through town either, that’d upset people. He loves her, but she’s just too eye-catching. Any pet owl in a cage would be eye-catching. Even if he lets her follow him on her own, in the air, he’d just feel terrible about it. Making her fly all over Europe, or wherever else he might find himself going, while he gets to ride the train or whatever other means he might find.
Leaving her behind is a painful thought, but…it’s probably for the best, honestly. Surely, Harry can give her to Ron or Hermione to keep safe; they’d take good care of her. He’ll just say his family can’t have her home over the holidays, there’ll be a bunch of muggles over for Christmas and such and there would just be too many questions if anyone saw her, he doesn’t want to get in trouble. Ron can take her home with him, maybe. His family is all wizards and witches; they’d probably love to keep her for him, just for the holiday. Maybe even Hermione could take her; from everything she’s said, her family seems much more accepting and tolerant of all this wizarding stuff than the Dursleys ever will be. Either way, Hedwig will be safe.
Everything will be okay. Harry can take care of himself, and he trusts his friends to take care of Hedwig while he’s gone.
“You’re really going home for the holidays?” Ron asks for the hundredth time the day of the term’s end.
Harry shrugs, offering a commiserating look. “Sorry. I wish I could stay but…they said people would ask questions if I wasn’t there for the holidays and all. Best not to invite all that, isn’t it?”
The redheaded boy sighs. “Yeah, I know…”
Harry feels a bit bad. He thought Ron would be going home too, but it seems not. His parents are going to Romania apparently, to visit Ron’s older brother Charlie, so Ron has to stay behind.
“Sorry, Ron.”
Ron shakes his head. “Nah, no apologies, mate. I’ll have the whole room t’myself!” he says with a laugh.
“Thanks for taking care of Hedwig, too.”
“No worries, at least I’ll have some company, right?”
Harry shoves the last of his clothes into his trunk and shuts it tight. Just breakfast left, then carriages down to Hogsmeade for the train. Ron helps him maneuverer the trunk down the stairs from the dorms. The common room is a mess of kids of all ages scrambling to get all their belongings together and prepare for the trip home. Together, they find Hermione in the mix and make an exit to the stairs where it’s a bit quieter.
“So you’re really going home?” Hermione asks while they’re making their way down to the Great Hall. “I thought you said you’d be staying.”
Harry shrugs. “My uncle wrote and said they needed me at home. They’re having loads of people over, apparently, and there’ll be questions if I’m not there,” he explains. He feels bad for lying. “And knowing my uncle, it must be important if he went through the trouble of getting a letter to me.”
The girl sighs. “It’s a shame, I was hoping to have you two sneak into the Restricted Section now when the school will be nearly deserted,” she explains in a soft voice, to avoid being overheard.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ron tells them, “-but no promises. That Madam Pince is a right terror when it comes to protecting her books.”
They make their way down a few more stairs, where they stumble upon Dumbledore himself wandering the halls. “Ah, ready for the holidays, then?” he asks with a good-natured smile when he sees them.
Harry forces a smile onto his face, despite the foul feeling in his stomach.
“I’m being left behind, sir,” Ron says jokingly, nudging Harry with his elbow. “These two will be gone after breakfast and here I will be, all alone…”
Hermione rolls her eyes, smiling, while Harry grins and nudges Ron back. “We’ll be back before long,” the girl assures. “I’m sure you’ll manage. We’ll be sending you presents, anyway, so stop complaining.”
“Yeah, Ron, stop complaining,” Harry says, slinging his arm around the other boy. “I’ll stop in Diagon Alley and send you lots of candy, and think about it, with no one here, you won’t have to share with anyone.”
The redhead snorts, grinning wide. “Sounds brilliant, that does! Send plenty of Chocolate Frogs, will you?”
“It sounds like you are all excited to get going, so I shan’t keep you too long,” Dumbledore hums. “But Mister Potter, might I have a word with you in my office before you go? Nothing bad, I assure you, no need to be concerned.”
Harry nods. “Of course, sir.”
“You go on, Harry, I’ll bring your trunk downstairs,” Ron offers as he grabs the handle of the trunk.
“Thanks, Ron. You’re getting an extra frog for that!” Harry chides while handing over the weight of the luggage.
His friends both laugh while Harry shuffles after Dumbledore. “What was it you wanted to talk about, sir?”
The headmaster hums. “Come with me. There’s something I think it’s time be returned to you. It’s in my office.”
Something returned to him? But…Harry hasn’t lost anything, he’s quite sure.
Dumbledore leads the way through the school at a sedate pace. His long, red robes drag the ground as he walks but he hardly seems to notice. The hallways are already mostly empty. Now and then, students will rush past them with their trunks in tow, or professors lugging their own bags. Outside the windows, snow rushes down from the sky. The drifts of it are deep enough to reach Harry’s chest in some places, he knows. Most of the courtyards are kept rather cleared, thanks to Filch and Hagrid, but suppose they can’t be everywhere all at once.
They reach the stone griffin Harry has been told leads to the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore speaks the password, pumpkin pasties, and together they ride the spiralling stairs up to the office itself. Once inside, Dumbledore sits down behind his massive desk in his massive chair (obnoxious much?), and reaches one hand into a drawer of the desk. He retrieves a brown-paper wrapped package, tied off with twine, which he places on the desk between him and Harry.
“This, Harry, belonged to your father once.”
Harry’s heart jumps into his throat; his eyes go wide as he stares at the package. His…father?
“He lent it to me for some study, I was quite curious, you understand, but…before I could return it, tragedy struck,” the headmaster explains gently. “All this time, I kept it safe, knowing you would one day be here, attending Hogwarts, and be old enough to best decide for yourself how to use it.”
Harry’s hands shake slightly as he picks up the soft package. “What- What is it?”
Dumbledore looks at him over the rims of his half-moon glasses. “A family heirloom. I have no doubt that if your father had lived, he would one day have passed it on to you himself. It pains me terribly, to have to act as the intermediary for you both.”
Swallowing, Harry nods. He holds the package close to himself. “Thank you, sir.”
The old man smiles, shaking his head slowly. “Not at all, not at all. I’m simply returning it to its rightful owner. I must ask you, however, to use it wisely.”
Harry nods again. “Thanks. Can I-…”
“Of course, Harry, go on, we can’t have you leaving school on an empty stomach.”
Clutching the package, Harry hurries out of the office.
He is revolted! How could he not see it before? The lies in Dumbledore’s eyes, the manipulation in every word he speaks, the false sense of safety in his seemingly gentle nature. Disgusting! Harry knows a liar, an abuser, when he sees one and he was looking at the textbook example of both only a moment ago, wearing the guise of an eccentric but kind old man.
Every word was chosen oh, so carefully to twist the knife in Harry’s heart, to drown him in grief before Dumbledore could once again play the perfect mentor-figure coming in with a kind word to soothe the ache and endear Harry to him. He was trying to bring Harry closer, win more and more of his trust and faith. After all, how could Harry doubt him when he spoke so gently of Harry’s father, of the family he never got to know? It was all designed to win Harry to his side.
Harry almost wants to throw the package away, toss it in the nearest fire, but at the same time, he can’t. What if it really did belong to his father once? That would make Dumbledore’s manipulations even more believable, wouldn’t it?
He hurries through the growing crowd of students milling down to breakfast, to finally sit down with his friends. They ask about the package; Harry makes something up, says it’s the quidditch uniform his father once wore, that it was found in storage and Dumbledore thought he might want it, since he has so little of his parents and all. Everyone in the vicinity fawns about it, of course, and Harry plays along to the best of his ability.
After eating, he and Hermione say a heartfelt goodbye to Ron, promising once again to send letters and presents. The four Weasley brothers all seem a bit melancholy to watch everyone leave, but Harry tries to comfort himself with the thought that at least they have each other to keep company with.
Harry’s promises himself to buy Ron a present from every place he visits.