Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I just want more from life, you know? I always try to do fun things and meet interesting people, but it feels like something is missing. I guess I'm worried that I'll never figure out what that missing thing is.” -Harry Evans to his friend Maya, on a rooftop in London. July 1990.

Chapter 1:

Green eyes fluttered open as the warm rays of the morning sun washed over them. A small groan escaped the lips of Harry Evans as he raised his hand in a vain effort to shield the sensitive organs from perceived harm. Rolling over, he buried his face into the crook of his arm, seeking any available darkness that might allow Morpheus to claim him once more. Five minutes later, with no sign of the mythical Greek god coming to his rescue, the soon to be sixteen-year-old boy decided to throw in the metaphorical towel. The waking world beckoned him and who was he to deny it his presence? The unfamiliar ceiling he expected to see was absent as he instead found himself looking upwards into the deep blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.

That’s right, we went to the rooftop… Harry mused, the memories of the previous evening slowly becoming coherent. All around him, laying upon moth eaten blankets and pillows or strewn about on folding chairs that had seen better days, were the still sleeping forms of his friends in a variety of positions that ranged from comfortable to anatomically improbable. The array of half-empty bottles of vodka and crushed beer cans were a stark reminder of just how the group of rowdy teens found themselves passed out on top of a London apartment building. Benders and parties were a familiar pastime for all of them, anything that helped distract them from the banality and stress of life was a welcome addition to their youthful existence. Were they being dramatic? Undoubtedly so, but they were society’s unwanted children, and they were going to act like it for as long as they were permitted.

The act of trying to escape the mess of blankets he’d been encased in was accompanied by a heavy grown and quite a few muttered curses towards the gods, both those above and below. The instant he rose ungracefully to his feet the curses escalated in number as he promptly regretted ever waking from his slumber. Hangovers were the absolute bloody worst. A headache that felt like some bloke was taking a hammer to his temple assaulted his brain with every step as he dragged his tired body onward. Fortunately, he only tripped and stumbled over his friends twice before he successfully escaped the minefield of living humans.

“Fucking hell,” Harry groaned, one hand holding himself aloft as he leaned against the brick wall of the rooftop that prevented morons like him from walking straight off. Misery was his constant companion at that moment, and he didn’t even have the right to complain since it was entirely self-inflicted. Those who dared to drink alcohol were forever cursed to deal with its vengeance the next day. Would that he could escape such a fate, but no, he was doomed to deal with the deal humanity made with the devil until his final days, just as everyone else was.

A moment of struggle was endured as he reached into his pockets to retrieve a pair of thick sunglasses, a packet of cigarettes, and the cheap lighter he picked up the week before – he lost them far too frequently to ever invest into one that didn’t suck. The fashionable accessory was placed over his eyes, shielding them from further harm against the cruel rays of the mid-morning sun. Harry lit the fag held betwixt his lips and inhaled a glorious amount of the nicotine that his body greedily craved. “Anything to get through the day,” he mumbled to himself around the toxic cylinder.

The headache that pounded against his skull hadn’t abated in the slightest, but strength was rapidly returning to the rest of his limbs the longer he stood, and thanks to the drug he’d built a dependency upon, his skin no longer felt like it was crawling and irritated. In other words, he felt more than well enough to slowly make his way down the metal fire-escape and return to the streets he knew so well. The consideration that he should bid his friends farewell briefly crossed his mind before being discarded entirely. Undoubtedly, they’d be more cross with him for waking them up rather than failing to say goodbye. The Irish would be proud of his silent exit.

Right before he absconded from the roof-top, Harry allowed himself a moment to gaze out over the startlingly picturesque view of London. The city itself had no particular love for him, if anything it probably hated people like him and his friends - the types of punks that threw their cigarettes into the street and left graffiti on the sides of walls… but even still, the city had been the closest thing he had to a home for years, he didn’t hate it. With that thought on his mind, he couldn’t help but smile as he carefully descended the metal steps of the fire-escape. If he was in his best state he wouldn’t have as much care for not falling, but death via collision with the streets below was not on his to-do list for the day.

Upon reaching solid ground, Harry ambled over to the nearest window that was big enough for him to see his reflection in. While he wasn’t the type of person who paid an undue amount of attention to his appearance, he wasn’t fond of parading about the streets of London looking like a slob for every onlooker to snicker at, his pride demanded he at least be somewhat presentable. All it took was one glance and he knew he’d be alright until he made it to a shower. Wild black hair fell almost to his shoulders while wavy bangs constantly threatened to fall over his eyes and demanded he push them out of the way. No one could accuse his hair of being a rat’s nest since he was pretty stringent on taking care of it, but with the way it behaved, he’d be damned if it wasn’t waging a personal war against the laws of physics. A single, simple yet moderately sized silver hoop hung from each of his ears. The decision to get his ears pierced had been an impulsive one, and they’d taken forever to heal thanks to his inability to remember to clean them, but he didn’t regret the choice at all.

The bottom half of his body sported a pair of navy jeans that were frayed and covered in rips and tears but were otherwise free of mud or stains. They vanished into his heavily worn but well-maintained black boots that weren’t laced half as well as they should have been. He wore a simple black tank top underneath a green and black flannel shirt; the buttons on the sleeves and collar had long since vanished, but it was still his favorite shirt he owned. On the whole, he was a disheveled mess who looked like he was doing his best impression of an American grunge musician… but it was still very ‘him.’

Were the weather a bit cooler, then the only real change would be the addition of his favored sheepskin coat that he picked up from a peddler that had set up shop on the side of the bloody road. A curious piece, to be sure, all black with a gray fur lining that reached down to his mid-thigh, which at his height was nothing to scoff at. The moment he’d seen it, he knew he had to have it. Haggling down the seller to a fair price took a bit of time, but neither of them had even bothered to raise their voices, so it wasn’t the most intense haggling he’d been involved in. Even still, it had taken a decent chunk out of the budget he set for himself, but he’d never been more pleased with a purchase.

The reflection in the makeshift mirror offered him a final lopsided grin and a cheeky wave with a fag in hand before he set off towards home. The trek would probably take him an hour or so, give or take depending on if the bus was running late or not, which it probably was given his luck. The day was still young, and he had no plans for the evening though, so even if the bus was running late, he wasn’t in much of a rush. In the end, his expectations proved accurate and between the bus, cutting through back alleys, and hopping a fence or two, he rounded the corner and came upon the closest thing he had to an actual home.

The entire street was lined with buildings that had once been a series of Georgian terraced houses that had all been converted into one big housing project to have a series of smaller homes. The area was by no means low income, but it wasn’t as upscale as its outward appearance may suggest. Even then, the only reason Harry was able to call such a location ‘home’ was thanks to his foster mother, Bethany Morrison. Bless Beth’s kind soul, he owed the woman more than he’d likely ever be able to repay… of course, knowing her, she would never accept any type of repayment. Ever since her husband’s untimely passing during the Korean War decades prior, Beth had lived life as a single widower. She’d only been 19 years old when she was informed by stern faced individuals in dark suits that her husband, the love of her life, had died fighting a war on the other side of the bloody world for a cause that wasn’t worth all the death it caused. To be left alone was a fate no one deserved, let alone a girl at her age. Admirably, Beth wasn’t the type of woman to fall into depression and bemoan her circumstances and the injustice of the world. Thanks to financial backing from both her uncle and her late husband’s older brother, she devoted herself to a cause that was woefully prevalent only eight years after the second World War; there were far too many orphaned children in London, and she had a heart for children unlike any other.

Over 39 years later, and the still young if asked Bethany Morrison was serving as a foster mother to as many children as she was legally allowed. The rules and details surrounding foster care had changed over the years, but her intentions had not. Beth never remarried or had kids of her own, but even still, she loved to proudly declare that she had more kids than most people on earth. Currently, there were a total of eight children under care. A rather sizable number all things considered, but she had the finances to support them in terms of the necessities even if they didn’t enjoy lives of luxury. Harry was the oldest ever since Maya had set off on her own, before her it had been Sammy, before him Anthony. Throughout his years under Beth’s care, he’d seen half a dozen teens set off into the world with their heads held high and her farewell helping them on. No one had left with malice or lingering feelings of malcontent. Whether they were headed to university or simply seeking a life of their own, every single kid Beth raised knew she cared for them as much as any parent could.

Not everyone stayed in contact as well as they perhaps should have, but that was about what could be expected from a bunch of maladjusted youths. Once, Harry had asked Beth why she wasn’t more bothered that those she had raised didn’t always keep in touch, and her answer humbled him. To Beth, she wasn’t selfishly seeking love or affection from the kids she took in, she simply wanted to give them an environment where they could grow into themselves. A home, three meals a day, a place of safety where they didn’t have to fear the pressures of the world until they were ready. The broken youths she took in were always able to walk away headstrong, sure of step, with an eagerness to prove themselves to the world. They didn’t always have a plan, Harry knew that Maya hadn’t had a clue about her future, but still, the weren’t content to languish away. That mindset was born from Beth herself – she always encouraged them to act, to do something, even if their motivation to do so was just to spite the world that tried to beat them down.

Harry had quietly begun to wonder what he’d do once it was his time to set off. School was his priority, he wanted to make sure he finished things up on that front before survival became his main focus in life. Most of Beth’s kids had finished school but given that the law only required them to go until age 16, not everyone had. Personally, school was rather easy for him; he wasn’t a genius by any means, but he had a pretty good memory and didn’t find tests to be stressful or difficult. Technically, attending university wasn’t out of the question for him, he had a couple of teachers who were rather insistent that he do his best to attend, but he was skeptical of that as a possibility. At the end of the day, university required a lot of money to attend, and if there was one thing he did not have an abundance of, it was money. He had enough cash to make it through each day, but that was no where near enough to afford the costly tuition of higher education. Money talked, and he was bereft of it. A shame, honestly, there were a lot of careers that held his interest in life, but most would likely prove themselves beyond his pedigree.

The front door swung open without issue as Harry stepped into the house. Immediately, the cacophony of children playing a variety of different games assaulted his ears while the lingering scent of bacon and eggs greeted him kindly. The tantalizing smell of food was by no means fresh, but it still set his stomach to growling all the same. If he was lucky, there would be some leftovers set aside for him, but even if there wasn’t, that was fine, he’d make some himself and turn the breakfast into a brunch. It was summer, he was allowed to shift the normal schedule of the world a tad. The kitchen itself was far from spotless, with half the dishes from the morning meal still left in the sink to soak, and numerous glasses of juice left scattered across the counters. A quick glance around revealed that there wasn’t a plate set aside from him, but that was fine, Harry was more than capable of making himself a quick meal.  Breakfast for lunch it was. With a shrug he made his way over to the fridge to remove every ingredient he’d need to make himself a breakfast sandwich that would satisfy the cravings that had come over him. Eggs, cheese, bread, bacon, and some tomatoes were placed on the counter after he cleaned up the remaining mess from the kids, even taking the time to clean up the spills that were left behind, most likely from Liz; that girl would never understand the idea of cleanliness even if it smacked her upside the head.

Harry’s food proved to be rather delightful, but as good as it was, the cold glass of water and the two pills he popped for headache relief were undeniably the saviors of his morning. Gods above, he was tired. The previous evening had been fun, but between the restless sleep and the alcohol, he felt positively drained. As he sat there, nursing a cup of tea, the warm rays of the sun shining through the double paned windows, and the comfortable cushion of the chair imploring him to sink further into it, he didn’t even try to fight his tired eyelids as they slowly closed…

“Hey, Harry!”

Unfortunately for him, he lived in a home with seven other foster-siblings, and even if he could drown out the permeating sounds of laughter and yells from a few rooms away, he was not as adept at ignoring addresses from mere meters away. A quick mental curse was extended towards whichever individual had seen him in a restful state of peace and decided to ruin it, he thought he knew who the voice belonged to, but honestly, in his semi-state of consciousness, he couldn’t be certain.

Groggily, Harry allowed his head to lull to the side and get a proper look at just who had disturbed him. Almost immediately, despite his wish to the contrary, his annoyance receded to nonexistence. The sight of his favorite sister smiling his way as she put water on to boil just wasn’t one he could really get angry at. The soon to be 14-year-old girl had long brown hair, dark brown eyes, and lips that could only be described as pouty. She was exceedingly cute, and worst of all, she was aware of that fact and used it to her advantage. Natural charm in combination with a clever mind and a sharp wit, it wasn’t a stretch to say that she ran circles around almost everyone she met.

“Sarah,” Harry greeted the girl with a small smile. The two foster-siblings had known one another for almost five years, and in that time, they’d grown rather close. Of everyone that could claim to know him, he’d say that Sarah probably knew him best.

“I figured when you didn’t come home last night that you got pissed and crashed somewhere. Honestly, you reek of booze.”

“Your way with words is endearing, truly,” Harry deadpanned, placing his largely empty cup down on the table to stretch his arms and back. “We all ended up crashing at Ashley’s place, or rather, the roof of her place.”

“Ashley… Ashley…” Sarah paused, considering the name for a moment. “Is she the one with like, 12 piercings?”

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s Aimee you’re thinking of. Ashley is blonde, tall, talks like a sailor.”

“Oh! The one whose dad works third shift?”

“Yeah, her,” Harry said, “she can be pretty bitchy but she’s cool, and her dad, well, he’s usually too out of it to give a fuck about what she gets up to as long as the place isn’t burnt to the ground.”

“You could’ve invited me.”

A quick eyeroll was his immediate reply. “Like hell I could have, wasn’t my place to invite you, and Beth would have my ass if I didn’t get you home at a decent hour.”

Sarah huffed. “I don’t think Beth would’ve minded that much.”

“Come on, Sarah, let’s not have this argument again, just wait your turn. I know, it sucks, Maya would ditch me all the time, but that’s how it goes. Get older, then we can go to parties together.”

The diminutive girl was quiet as she finished prepping her tea before claiming the seat across from his, basking in the sun’s rays as she slowly stirred honey into the dark liquid. “I get it, okay? I’ve just been really bored recently, you know?”

Unfortunately, he did know. That summer was the first they’d ever spent without Maya. Their older foster sister had finished her A-Levels shortly before her 18^th birthday, and she hadn’t wasted any time moving to Surrey to start a life for herself. In the four months she’d been gone, they’d only seen her once. The time of their lives where the three of them would sit around the house, nursing drinks or just waxing poetic about their past and their futures was behind them. Harry and Sarah still spent time together, but it was just different without Maya’s assuring presence.

“I miss her too,” Harry murmured, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders, her gaze fixated on the slowly twirling liquid as she continued to stir. “Yeah, but you're you. You deal with this stuff a lot better than I do.”

Sarah’s impression of him wasn’t quite accurate, but Harry didn’t allow the honest protest to reach his lips. The simple fact was that he didn’t deal with anything better, he just knew how to mask it. With Maya gone, Harry knew he’d been going out more. Drinking more. Alcohol wasn’t a solution to anything, but it was a mechanism to get him out of his own head. A way to not think about how someone else he cared for had fallen out of his life. An old, familiar wound. Even with his unhealthy methods, at the end of the day, he would be okay; there was no other choice but to do so. To wallow in loss was a waste of time. Move on or get left behind, as it were.

Words of comfort escaped him entirely. Would that he could alleviate some of Sarah’s sadness, but he couldn’t even help himself, let alone a traumatized teenage girl. Sooner or later, she’d probably end up like him. Using any method available to her as a distraction. She was too young for that… but he had been too. That was life. At the very least, he could distract her some other way until she reached that point.

“Hey,” Harry began, cutting through the silence that had stretched on for too long. “What do you say we do something tonight, just you and me?”

A light entered Sarah’s eyes as she smiled at him over her steaming cup. “What do you have in mind?” She probably knew full and well what he was doing, but that was fine, they’d still end up spending time together even if it was a tad forced.

“Cinema?” He had no clue what films were currently playing, but a trip to the movies was always a safe bet for a good time. Even if the film sucked, you could laugh your way through it.

Sarah agreed as she quickly perked up at the suggestion. “You going to buy me popcorn?”

Harry bit back a sigh on behalf of his poor wallet, knowing full and well the inevitable candy and drinks that would accompany her salted snack of choice… he didn’t mind though, the few extra quid was more than worth it to see the genuine smile that lit up her face.

OoooOoooO

Harry took a long drag as he leaned against the brick wall, quietly waiting for his shop of choice to open its doors to the new day. The hour wasn’t early, but the dingey second-hand bookstore that he liked to frequent had exactly one employee, the owner, and said owner enjoyed his drink more than any man should. The fag held between his fingers was spent as he dropped it to the concrete below and stamped the embers underneath his boot. “Hurry the hell up, Connor, you bloody git.”

There were quite a few used bookstores around London that Harry liked to frequent, but in spite of the proprietor, Connor’s was his favorite simply because of the sheer variety of fantasy novels held within. Something about the genre had always appealed to Harry. The magic, the wonder, the fantastical creatures, the distant lands, and even just the colorful characters. Fantasy stories were a delightful form of escapism that called to Harry in ways that no other genre could. Ever since he’d gotten his hands on the works of Tolkien he’d been utterly enraptured. The prose wasn’t even to his fancy, but the world-building had pulled him in and never let go.

There were other genres he enjoyed, of course, and whether it was thanks to school or pleasure, he’d read numerous classics over the years: Alexandre Dumas’ works were brilliant in every facet, particularly the intrigue of his narratives; Jane Austen never failed to entertain with her dialogue, but when her characters weren’t actively engaged with one another, her works dragged in his opinion. Shakespeare’s plays whilst inspired just left him wishing to see them acted on a stage rather than be read as a script; Lewis Carroll’s most notable works proved to be as interesting as they were mind boggling; and Tolstoy, while talented, utterly failed to capture his attention. Occasionally, he even read non-fiction for fun, but those times were far rarer. Besides, whenever he wanted to read non-fiction, he just took advantage of the local libraries and their endless swathe of resource books and biographies, as long as he never walked out with anything in hand, no one ever bothered to question his presence, and that suited him just fine.

The amount of money he had at his disposal to spend on books wasn’t extremely high, as was to be expected from a teenager who was jobless. On occasion he liked to pilfer a title or two from Foyles, the place was so bloody massive that no one would ever miss that inventory going missing, but he wasn’t dumb enough to make theft from a single establishment an everyday occurrence. Harry had a deft hand when it came to thievery, but pushing his luck was just asking for trouble. That was why he liked Connor though, the man was a drunk, but he wasn’t opposed to giving a discount if you were also trading in a book. Man’s business still had to operate while remaining out of the red, but he gave good deals on the whole.

So, there Harry was, debating lighting up another cigarette, with a worn copy of The Neverending Story clutched under his arm. The book had been a rather good read. The characters mirrored one another just as the two halves of the narrative did. With such an imaginative world and premise, it was difficult not to fall into it… well, he liked everything but the concept of the Nothing. Even just as a concept, whatever the hell that was, or wasn’t, as it were, could stay the hell away from him. Harry tended to value his existence more than anything else, and the Nothing was anathema to that ideal.

Eventually, the door swung outwards revealing the clean but unkempt appearance of Connor, the tall, hefty man was wearing his customary flat-cap, and his long beard was the exact same as Harry remembered it. The door was propped open and the sign on the window flipped to ‘open’ as the man lit up a fag of his own and watched Harry cross the street.

“You’re here early today,” Connor’s voice was as rough as sandpaper, but it wasn’t angry or unkind.

“It’s almost noon,” Harry replied dryly. “I don’t think that qualifies as early.”

Connor grunted in response before gesturing to the book in Harry’s hand. “Finished with that one, are you? What’d you think?”

“Good read, kind of wish there were more stories set in that world, but I get why it’s a standalone.”

“Not going to wonder on the similarities between yourself and the protagonist?”

Harry scoffed. “Please, Bastian still had a dad, I’m an orphan, remember? And I bought this book, I didn’t steal it.”

A throaty chuckle escaped Connor’s lips. “Fair enough, kid. Go on inside, find whatever the hell you want, and we’ll talk price.”

Harry nodded wordlessly and trudged his way inside the well-lit but bedraggled shop. Connor’s place of business shirked any and all forms of organization. Nothing was categorized, alphabetized, or even sorted by genre. The entire shop was an homage to chaos. Connor claimed it was in the spirit of adventure that in order to find a book you had to randomly choose a shelf and start scanning titles, but Harry thought the old man was just lazy. Honestly, it was a goddamn miracle that he was profitable enough to stay in business for so many years.

Only about half an hour had passed before Harry found a title that well and truly captured his interest. There were likely dozens of stories he would’ve enjoyed, but he wanted to find one that he could hopefully love. The Magician was a title that was rather on the nose, but the main character was an orphan in a wondrous land and magic existed, that was more than enough to capture his interest.

Harry made his way to the front counter where Connor had taken his seat upon the tall, high-backed chair he perpetually had behind it. Neither of them made a comment on the open bottle he had sitting nearby.

“Find a good one?” The man asked, looking up from his own book to assess what Harry had placed down, title up. “Ah, I see you did.”

“The main character’s name is bloody odd, but the premise seems fun.”

“It’s a good read, two quid plus the book you brought with you and it’s yours.”

“Deal,” Harry said immediately, slapping the money on the counter on top of The Neverending Story. Connor snorted, probably at the lack of haggling, but their dynamic was an old song and dance at this point. In a week or two, Harry would be back, maybe to even re-sell the man his book in exchange for another. There was a time and place to quibble prices, but with Connor, Harry didn’t bother. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, mate,” Harry said, already walking towards the door. “Try not to get too fucked up before the sun sets, yeah?”

“I’ll drink as much as I damn well please,” Connor’s voice called after him in a way that brooked no argument, but after a brief pause, his tone was lighter. “You get home safe, kid. Hope you enjoy the book.”

Harry waved farewell but deigned not to reply. Maybe it was hypocritical of him to warn another man off his drink given his own habits, but Connor was getting up there in age, and on his current path, he was going to wind up in a grave sooner rather than later. It wasn’t Harry’s place to lecture the man or try and help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make comments now and again. They’d likely accomplish nothing, but it didn’t hurt to try. Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance and reached in his pocket to light another smoke.

The ambling journey home was largely uneventful aside from the goddamn cabby that apparently didn’t appreciate that stop signs were actually supposed to be stopped at; bloody cunt almost ran Harry over trying to make the right turn before oncoming traffic hit. That would have been as unwelcome of an addition to his day as the sound of a child screaming his name while he sprinted down the sidewalk.

“HARRYYYYYYYYY!”

Unfortunately for Harry, one of his poor additions to his day was actualized in the form of Jim, one of his younger foster siblings, parading down the street with his hands cupped in front of his mouth. The audible groan that escaped Harry’s lips was more than merited; there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of there being a good reason for Jim to come looking for him. The enthusiastic 10-year-old skidded to a stop in front of the older teen, just barely managing to catch his footing at the last moment to avoid knocking them both to the ground.

“Harry! Beth sent me to co-” Jim's explanation was cut short by Harry swatting him on the back of the head with his book. “Ow! What was that for?” Jim looked up at the older boy with indignant eyes.

“You were yelling again,” Harry said simply. “We’ve talked about that.” Jim was a good kid, but he had the impressive ability to turn heads from blocks away due to his insistence on always being on the loudest volume setting imaginable. Harry had, admirably, been trying to curb that ability and get it in line with most other children who were simply loud rather than deafening.  

“But I had a good reason this time! You said I could yell if I had a good reason!”

Harry nodded his head in consideration. “Alright, that’s fair. So, what’s your reason?”

“You already hit me with your book!” Jim huffed, crossing his arms in the least intimidating way imaginable.

“If it’s a good reason, I’ll let you smack me with the same book,” Harry said, waving the book in the air for good measure.

Jim immediately perked up, a smug smile forming on his rounded cheeks. “Deal!”

Harry had a feeling he was about to get smacked with his own book. “So, what’s your reason?”

“Beth sent me to find you!”

“And why did she do that?”

“Some lady showed up at the house wanting to talk to you!”

“Some lady?” Harry questioned.

Jim shrugged. “I’d never seen her before, but she seemed all serious and stuff, so Beth asked me if I knew where you were.”

Harry couldn’t help the surge of apprehension that welled within him. Call him paranoid, but a stranger showing up on his doorstep looking for him specifically was setting off alarm bells. “She didn’t say what she wanted, did she?” He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, but he was certain he failed on a colossal level.

“Nope,” Jim chirped, happily leading Harry home. Children weren’t often known for their abilities to read the room.

“There, uh, there didn’t happen to be a police cruiser parked out front, was there?” Harry asked, doubtful that the cops would be after his insignificant ass but still wishing to make sure.

The diminutive 10-year-old paused in consideration. “Um, no?”

The reassurance of the kid didn’t mean much to Harry, but he’d take it for what it was. Either way, he was going to have to face the music. In the off chance it was the police, running away would do him absolutely zero favors. Running before the first question was like admitting your guilt straight to their face. Whoever this woman was, if she was a cop, Harry would just pull out his best dancing shoes and lie his ass off. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Does it matter if she is a cop?” Jim asked quizzically, his still chubby face tilted to the side in a way that was downright comical.

Was ten too young of an age to instill a healthy fear of law enforcement? At that moment, Harry decided it was not. “Of course, it matters,” he said, walking past the child.”

“How come?” Jim asked, scrambling to keep up to his foster brother’s longer gait.

Harry stuck a fag in his mouth and lit it without missing a beat. “Simple, Jim, if the cops are asking about you it means one of two things: They either think you've broken the law, or they think you know about someone that broke the law and that you could've been involved.”

“Neither of those sound good…”

Harry hoped Beth never learned of this conversation. “Certainly not. Even if you're innocent the fact that they think you've done something wrong means you're in for a veritable shitstorm of a time.” A slight hyperbole but not an inaccurate assessment.

Jim let out a small breath and looked up at Harry. “So, you didn't break the law?”

Later on, Harry hoped the kid would find this hilarious rather than insulting. “Of course not, Jim. It's just that I’m friends with a lot of different people, and some of those people have reputations for breaking the odd law or two, and by association, the cops might think I’m like them.”

“So, now you’re in for a… shitstorm?”

Harry looked down at Jim and blinked slowly before full and sincere laughter sounded from him. Only an earnest 10-year-old saying that phrase with such a straight-face could elicit such a reaction from him. “If that woman is a cop, then you’re goddamn right I’m in for a shitstorm, Jim.”

When the duo arrived back home, Harry was surprised to see that Jim's observations had proven to be accurate. There weren't any police cars in the immediate vicinity of their street, and while that didn't assuage all his fears, it certainly eased the tension that had been building in the back of his mind. Once they stepped inside, Harry sent Jim on his way with a wink and a smile; that confidence alone being more than enough to alleviate any anxiety the kid might’ve had over whether his foster brother was in any trouble. Harry still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t in trouble, but either way, that was his problem, not Jim’s.

“Beth, we’re back!” Harry's voice called into the house. Though there were half a dozen children at play, he didn't have to shout. His voice was already fairly deep for his age, so it tended to carry well.

Only a moment later, Beth rounded the corner. “Ah, Harry dear!” In all the years since her husband had passed, Beth had never remarried, but that wasn’t for lack of suitors, on the contrary, it was in spite of them, with her graying blonde hair that was often worn loose and fell to just above her shoulders, the warm smile on her face that showed her laugh lines and vivacious propensity for humor, situated right next to her vivid blue eyes. Given her age and conscious decision to raise dozens of kids, the woman looked downright fantastic. Without hesitation she walked over, laid an arm on his shoulder, and began to guide him towards her study. If she didn’t seem so unconcerned, Harry would’ve already begun planning how to grab his bag from upstairs and flee the house.

“Hey, heard you wanted to talk to me?”

“I'm glad Jim knew right where to find you; I would've hated for her to have to come back tomorrow,” she said, glossing over Harry’s question like it had never been asked.

Harry stopped walking shortly before the hallway that led to this study. “Speaking of, who is this woman, exactly?”

Beth must have been able to discern something in his tone because she began to laugh lightly. “Relax, hon', you aren't in any trouble. I'll let her introduce herself but she's here to talk to you about school.”

Damn she was perceptive. He supposed that was what happened when you raised who knows how many kids and watched as each and every one of them went through puberty and their own teenage rebellion. Beth probably saw right through him without even trying.

The mention of school mentally made him pause. It was the middle of summer and he always kept up his grades, so what could this woman possibly want to speak with him about? Unless Mrs. Hammon set something up? Harry knew that Mrs. Hammon wanted to see him go to university after he graduated. Was it possible she'd set up a meeting with a university official about some kind of scholarship offer? Surely, it was too early for that? Surely, she would have told him about it beforehand? Harry tended to avoid naïve optimism in his life, but as he continued to run through reasons as to why a school official was meeting with him in the middle of summer, he gained a small measure of - dare he say it - hope.

Harry followed Beth as she opened the study door. The room in question wasn't remotely ostentatious but nor was it spartan. An elegant mahogany desk dominated the room with bookshelves and cabinets lining the wall behind it. Two patterned guest chairs sat angled in front of the desk; Harry knew from experience they were surprisingly comfortable. The light in the room came from the two windows that took up the majority of the left-hand wall alongside the standing lamp in the corner of the room.

Harry's eyes flitted across the room only briefly before settling upon the woman who had rose from one of the chairs upon their arrival. The woman had rather pointed features complete with a narrow nose and high cheekbones. She had a stern but not unkind look on her face, and her hair was pulled up into a neat bun. Dressed in a simple but elegant white blouse tucked into a modest blue skirt, small cylindrical glasses resting on her face. Based on aesthetics alone, it really wasn't difficult to imagine this woman worked in education. Her age was downright impossible to discern. At first glance, she seemed to be an attractive woman in her early forties, but the more he looked the more he was unsure. There were no wrinkles adorning her features, but she was decidedly not young. In a bizarre fashion, she appeared almost ageless, any guess he made would have a twenty-year range involved.

“We found him!” Beth's voice broke him away from his assessment of the woman's appearance. “I'll just leave you all to it then. Feel free to come find me if you need anything.”

Harry waited for the door to close following Beth's exit to introduce himself but was beaten to the punch. “Harry Evans, I presume?” The woman said, stepping forward and extending her hand.

“Yes Ma'am, that's me.” Harry nodded as he shook her hand, idly noticing the grace that seemed to accompany her movements alongside the Scottish accent.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall; I am a Professor and Deputy Headmistress at a prestigious boarding school in Scotland.”

Harry had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat at the woman's, no, the Deputy Headmistress' introduction. He had never been fanatical about his education, but the fact that he was having a conversation that could very well change the trajectory of his life was not lost on him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, please, take a seat.”

The now-named Professor McGonagall took the offered chair she had already risen from with a nod of thanks as he claimed his own seat beside her. Nerves and butterflies of anticipation welled within him as she rotated herself slightly to face him straight on. “Well, Mister Evans, I imagine you're curious as to why I’m here?” She asked, a slight smile easing her strict countenance.

Harry chuckled and nodded his head. Don't fuck this up! Be respectful! “Yes Ma'am, I am.”

If possible, the professor seemed to sit a bit straighter. “I shall be blunt then. My purpose here today is to offer you a place at my school for the upcoming year, and to discuss the circumstances surrounding your enrollment.”

Harry didn't even try and fight the large grin that formed on his face. Decorum be damned, assuming this wasn't a cruel joke or scam, the entire course of his life had just shifted in ways he could never have imagined. “Please tell me you're not joking.”

Her smile seemed to grow ever so slightly at the sight of his elation. “I assure you Mister Evans; this is no joke. While we have plenty of details to discuss, the offer of your attendance this Autumn is genuine.”

At that moment, Harry couldn't have cared less about the details. A prestigious boarding school had reached out to him... his life wasn't doomed to become one of mediocrity where he spent every minute of his life just trying to survive. He'd always been nothing more than a poor orphan, nothing more than a child fated for failure, and now he might finally have a chance to reach for more... Grin still firmly in place, he made eye contact with Professor McGonagall once more. “I accept!”

With her own matronly smile still in place, the Scottish woman nodded and pulled out a letter. “There are some details we have to go over first Mr. Evans, but I think it’s best if we get the biggest point of concern out in the open first.”

Harry was still riding the high of his own excitement when bemusement suddenly took center stage. The envelope handed over to him was made of a startingly thick and distinctly yellow parchment. Far from what he would've expected a letter to be delivered upon in the modern world. It certainly wasn't worn or aged, but the make and material was unlike anything he'd ever seen outside of a museum. His confusion continued to rise when he read just how it was addressed...

Mr. H. Evans

The Third Bedroom on the Second Floor

552 Springfield Road

London

The only other marking on the envelope was an intricate wax seal bearing a coat of arms featuring a large H and a number of different animals.

“I have a question for you, Mr. Evans,” Harry's eyes looked away from the strange letter and met the professor's own. “Have you ever seen things that you couldn't explain? Have you ever experienced situations that beggared belief and didn’t make sense? Have you ever executed acts with no clue how they were accomplished because logically, they should have been impossible?”

Harry's mind immediately went to the time that he'd fallen from a second story window and gently floated to the ground... an incident he'd dismissed as his own delusion. Or the time when he saw a woman seemingly vanish into thin air shortly after ducking into a side-street when she thought no one was looking... but surely, he just missed when she took a turn? Memory after memory surged to the forefront of his mind… a dozen different moments in his life where he’d been forced to question his own sanity because what he saw, what he lived didn’t match the world everyone else called home.

Harry could feel his pulse racing, the blood pumping through his veins at a furious pace. His own piercing green gaze refused to break away from the woman who was turning his entire world upside down – or right-side up, as it were. The heavy breaths Harry couldn't help but take were the only sound to permeate the quiet study; the expected noises of children playing and the bustle of Beth trying to wrangle them somehow not reaching into the room. Harry’s words, though soft in tone, were only that much more pronounced.

“What are you saying, Professor?”

“Magic is real, Mr. Evans… and you are a Wizard.”

Chapter Text

“Take a guess as to what I'm owl ordering Mr. Potter. I have yourself and Mr. Black in detention with me every night for the next two weeks, of course, it's a case of Ogden's Finest!”- Minerva McGonagall to James Potter, during the first detention of many, September 1970.

Chapter 2:

Magic is real.

Three little words. All it took was three little words to completely and irrevocably change Harry's life.  

Others in his place might have cast aspersions upon the professor’s words, others would harbor doubts and suspicion. Others still might have asked for a demonstration from the woman, demanding that their senses align with her words for final confirmation... but Harry needed nothing of the sort. He knew. Trying to explain how he knew was impossible, he just did. As certain as he was of his own existence, he knew that the woman who had just shattered his entire worldview was telling the truth. McGonagall speaking those words to him had unveiled something intrinsic to his being, an irrefutable fact that he would never even dream of denying from here on out… Magic. Was. Real.

The dozens of random and inexplicable events that had occurred throughout his life now had explanations. The feeling that he'd always harbored deep within his heart, that there was more to the world than what he could see. The intrinsic longing for that which he didn't know and didn't understand, but always dreamt of. The works of fantasy and intrigue he'd always inexplicably found himself drawn to because there was an unspoken connection that no one else seemed to share. All along, it was the simple fact that magic was fucking real. Sixteen years into life and the world finally made sense… all it took was three little words, and the impossible being in fact, possible.

'If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.'  In the recesses of his mind Harry laughed for he'd finally found his other world.

Harry sat in his chair, utterly stunned, for what must have been minutes. Professor McGonagall was polite enough to allow him time to process the revelations that his mind had just been exposed to. Upon gaining a hint of awareness once more, he noted the slight look of amusement adorning her features.

“Do you need more time Mr. Evans?”

Harry shook his head in the negative. “No, I'm good. Well, I think I am. I admit, it's a lot to take in.”

The ageless woman nodded along, seemingly sympathetic to his situation. “You are not the first individual I have had the pleasure to introduce to magic and you will not be the last. In my experience, your reaction is not uncommon.”

Harry reached over to the letter opener Beth had on her desk and picked up the discarded envelope he'd let slip from his fingers. “So, what is this?”

“That is your acceptance letter, Mr. Evans. Go ahead and read it; I'll answer any questions you may have when you’re finished.”

Harry opened the strange envelope and pulled out two thick sheets of parchment from within.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Evans,

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^st. We await your owl by no later than July 31^st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress.

To say that Harry had questions would be the understatement of a lifetime. Even with knowing magic was real, the letter in his hands was beyond confusing. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” The words, while familiar to him, sounded foreign on his tongue.

“Yes Mr. Evans, Hogwarts. I know the name doesn't inspire a great deal of confidence given the nomenclature you're familiar with, but I assure you it is the preeminent school for magical education in Europe if not the world.” Professor McGonagall spoke about 'Hogwarts” with a mixture of fondness and pride from what Harry could tell. She was right though, the name itself was utterly bizarre, and honestly, it crossed the line to the point where it was downright absurd… absurdity would become his anthem if it meant the opportunity to learn magic.

“Who is this... Albus Dumbledore?” Harry had to glance back down at the paper to ensure he got the name correct. “Obviously he's the headmaster, but that's an impressive list of titles even if I haven't a clue what they mean.”

“Albus Dumbledore is, in the simplest of terms, a hero. A national hero more than anything, but also one respected on a global scale.” Professor McGonagall seemed to sit even straighter when talking about the esteemed headmaster. “He's a war hero, a politician, magical researcher, and an educator all at once. You can look up the specifics of his titles at a later time but suffice to say, Albus Dumbledore is truly a one-of-a-kind man, and one I am proud to know personally.”

Harry was surprised to hear the genuine passion in the professor’s voice. Respect had been expected, but awe? He made a mental note to investigate the man further as soon as he could, along with the multiple wars he'd apparently been involved in. Not that he'd expected otherwise but learning that magic didn't take away mankind's base desire to slaughter itself only minutes after learning of its existence was a somewhat sobering one-two punch.

Though Harry had more questions than he could possibly give voice to about magic, the letter itself only left him with one more. “What does it mean 'we await your owl'? A term I'm unfamiliar with?”

“In our world we use magical owls to deliver letters or other small parcels,” she affirmed.

Harry's gut instinct was to find the notion of relying on the magical version of carrier pigeons for long-distance communication utterly ridiculous. “And that's efficient?” He tried to hold the skepticism out from his voice, but it was for naught.

“I know the non-magical world has made many advancements, Mr. Evans, but I would encourage you to keep an open mind when stepping into the world of magic. Right now, you are ignorant of its capabilities, of what is possible and not, you are a babe taking his first steps. Questions, I encourage you to ask. Judgment, I suggest you reserve until you deepen your understanding.” Professor McGonagall’s censure was firm but not unkind. The educator in the woman had already shined through loud and clear with her chastising remarks. Well, if she wanted an inquisitive student, he'd be happy to oblige.

“Apologies, Professor, you're right, it was hasty of me to judge.” Message received Teach, don't apply standard logic to magic. “How are owls the most efficient method of delivery?”

Professor McGonagall’s approval of his change in tone was evident by how enthusiastically she answered him. “Multiple reasons, Mr. Evans. For one, they're frightfully intelligent creatures. All owls are, of course, but the ones bred for use in delivery of our mail even more so. They can deliver a letter to anyone, anywhere. The conditions that you would imagine that would impact their ability to do so, such as weather or distance, never seem to matter. Give them a week at most and your letter will have arrived to whom you addressed it to no matter what.”

The answer, while quite thorough and full of good information, still prompted even more questions from the inquisitive teen. “You sound as if you don't understand how the magic of owls works?”

A small smile flitted onto her face. “That's because I don't, Mr. Evans, almost no one does. The guild of owl breeders guard their secrets closely, and the same is true of many groups and people who study many different fields and branches of magic.” A wistful expression crossed her face as she spoke of guarded knowledge. “Hogwarts has much to teach you, even if we can't teach you everything.”

Harry had no desire to learn everything, he honestly didn't care how magical owls were bred, but he resolved then and there that if there was something he wished to learn, he would. Guarded secrets be damned.

“On the other sheet you'll find a list of your courses and necessary books and equipment for your first year,” Professor McGonagall explained. Harry glanced at the second sheet of paper and noted the long list of things he would need to purchase in order to attend… he tried to hide his slight grimace, but it did not go unnoticed. “What's the problem, Mr. Evans?”

Gods above, I hope they have scholarships or financial aid. “It's the books and equipment, Ma'am…” Harry said, a hint of anger attempting to override his polite manners in the face of financial woe. Throughout his entire life, he’d only ever minded being poor when it was an obstacle to his future… the fact that his magical education was under threat from such a paltry reason was infuriating. “That's a sizable list and I don't think I'll be able to afford them, not even counting the cost of actually attending your school...”

Harry expected the Deputy Headmistress to react with a mix of pity and familiar understanding when confronted with a student who had financial concerns. Instead, she had her own grimace that quickly took hold of her features. “Mr. Evans,” she began slowly, “what I'm about to speak with you about isn't something I will be doing in the role of an educator, but rather as a family friend.”

Without warning or preamble, Harry’s entire demeanor shifted. The polite and affable persona he’d worn since he walked in the room suddenly turned guarded, suspicious, and bitter. “What 'family', Professor?” Harry spat. “Would that be the Dursleys?” The sheer venom in his tone caused McGonagall to appear visibly taken back.

“No, Mr. Evans,” she said calmly, not censuring him for his caustic reaction at all. “Your estranged aunt and uncle play no part in what I have to say.”

That reply confused him. The Dursleys were the only blood family he had ever known. “Then who-?”

“Your parents.”

Harry's words of protest ceased before they left his tongue. His parents. Faceless entities, one of which he didn't even have a name for; the emotions were too complicated for words. “My parents died when I was only a year old. Beth helped me inquire about a will with the Dursleys years ago, there was nothing. All I have is my mother's name.” Harry’s voice was empty of all inflection… talking about his parents always brought about this reaction from him. A strange emptiness where heartfelt passion should have been.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened at his proclamation, her shocked countenance matched only by the surprise in her voice. “Only your mother's name?”

Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop the years of bitterness from spilling forth. Every orphan has scars, and he was no exception. “Lily Evans, the name of my mother, the name of the woman who died when I was one, that's all I’ve ever had!”

For the first time since he'd met Professor McGonagall, she appeared unsure of what to say. Once, twice, three times she opened her mouth before closing it again without a single sound escaping. It was only after she took a deep breath and adjusted her still impeccable posture that her words gained form. “There's a lot I have to tell you Mr. Evans, and if your reaction thus far is any sort of standard by which to judge, then you aren't going to like most of what I have to say.” The mix of shock and grief present in her voice clued Harry in that she had an entirely different expectation for this portion of the meeting.

The moment Professor McGonagall mentioned his family, Harry knew the conversation had taken a turn. For as long as he could remember, he'd shoved aside the feelings and emotions that were buried deep within. The hatred for his aunt and uncle, the longing for his mother, the apathy for his father he didn't even know the name of. Every time he noticed them, he buried them down further. Harry Evans didn't have parents. Harry Evans didn't have any blood relatives. It was easier that way, less painful. All it took was one woman to bring all those buried emotions back to the surface. One woman to share with him the parts of his life that he couldn't remember.

OoooOoooO

“What are they talking about in there?”

“That woman is here to talk to Harry about school.”

“School? He's smart but I don't think he's ready for university.”

“No, no, she’s from some kind of boarding school in the Scottish Highlands.”

“Boarding school? Like Eton?”

“Something like that. I hope he's being respectful in there; this is quite the opportunity for him.”

“Yeah, I guess it is…”

OoooOoooO

Minerva McGonagall barely registered the polite farewell she paid to Bethany Morrison as she left the house, her mind encapsulated by the long, sorrowful conversation she'd just concluded with Harry Evans. Merlin, they had failed that boy. Her first impressions of him were so positive; he’d been polite, excited by the prospect of education, and the way his face brightened when he realized magic was in the world… he reminded her so much of Lily in that moment. It was impossible not to see that he was her late student's son.

Minerva had deluded herself into thinking the rest of the meeting would go smoothly before she brought up his family… the contrast in his countenance could not have been starker. The moment she mentioned his relatives he’d turned cold, and no one could deny him that right. Minerva had long since resolved herself that the meeting would turn in an unpleasant direction; she’d accepted that fact the moment she’d agreed to play her role. The explanation she offered to the young man on behalf of others was complicated and filled with ways in which he’d been wronged, but it needed to be said. Harry was never going to be happy when she was finished with her piece, but given his age and lineage, she’d expected explosive anger and the righteous demand for answers… instead, she’d found only a deeply embittered resignation. There were more emotions raging inside, of that she was certain, but Harry Evans kept them locked away under lock and key, and only allowed the world to see the passive resentment that burned as embers.

The endless spiral of contemplation that had taken hold over her mind came to an abrupt end when she saw an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench lower his paper as she walked past. Dressed in a simple but well-tailored navy suit, his long gray hair and lengthy, well-trimmed beard allowed him to easily blend in on the streets of London. “Pleasure to see you here, Minerva. Lovely weather we are having, is it not?” The weather really was quite superb. The odd cloud dotting the sky, but otherwise warm and sunny with a light breeze.

If she had run into any other wizard reading the muggle paper in muggle London she might've been surprised, but when it came to Albus Dumbledore, she'd long since learned to stop being surprised. “Oh, the weather is nice I suppose.” To not indulge Albus in his wordplay was a challenge in of itself.

“Ah, the Spurs won their game last weekend. Shame I missed it. I wonder if there any good ones this evening? I could go for a nice pint and a good game.”

The prospect of the pure-bloods on the Wizengamot seeing Albus now was almost enough to make her laugh. The eccentric man was genuinely fond of spending time in the muggle world and would usually set aside time every few months for an excursion. Albus was a rather social individual, and as thus always extended invitations for various people to join him, but she usually declined. Personally, she’d much rather nurse a bottle of Ogden's Finest in the comfort of her home than attend a crowded, muggle event. The aged headmaster’s eccentricities on the day did have a way of pulling her out of the dour mood that had fallen over her since speaking with Harry Evans; the small smile on Albus' face told her that it was no doubt an intentional result.

Minerva allowed the humor that had washed over to her to fade away. “Ask your questions, Albus. I appreciate you trying to improve my mood but that was a very difficult conversation.”

Albus sighed and put away his paper. “I imagine it was, Minerva. Harry Evans' past is one wrought with strife, but he did need to learn of it. I am sorry that the burden of sharing said past was placed upon your shoulders.”

“No, no, it's a part of my duties to bring muggle raised students their letters, the extenuating circumstances have no bearing on that front,” she said as she waved away his apology. The situation wasn't normal, but her title came with responsibilities, and she would never fail to carry them out no matter the details.

Albus hummed in agreement as he padded his pockets, probably in search of one of the lemon-drop candies he always carried on his person. “I trust he took the news well? As well can be expected at least, given the circumstances?”

“How is a boy learning that he has a brother he never knew and a godmother he never met supposed to react? I think Harry Evans not immediately demanding we all go curse ourselves is a damn good reaction!” She took the offered tissue from Albus' hands and dabbed the tears building in her eyes. “We failed him, Albus.”

“That we did, Minerva.” Albus Dumbledore was a man that didn't look his age in the slightest, but at that moment his eyes reflected a man who'd lived longer and seen more than most that walked the Earth. “I have made more mistakes than I care to remember, but all we can do is try and make amends and do better going forward. For Harry's sake, for the sake of any other child whose care falls unto us.”

Minerva appreciated the heartfelt platitude, but it didn't help assuage her guilt in the slightest. James and Lily should have been able to count on their friends and family to protect and care for their two boys in the wake of their deaths, instead one was left to grow up in foster care alone. Everyone who failed Harry deserved every shred of blame the boy could hoist upon them.

“Did he agree to meet with Daniel and the Longbottoms?” Albus asked.

“I passed along the letter Alice had written; beyond that, I wasn’t certain it was my place to ask.”

Albus nodded his head. “I believe you made the correct choice; it would be rude of us to pry into their personal affairs any further. We can only hope their reunion goes well.”

No voice was given to the doubts Minerva had in regard to the reunion between Harry and the Longbottoms, a group of people who should have been family. Harry Evans didn't strike her as a vindictive person, but she would be hard pressed to believe that he would easily open his heart. Such was the case with most children that had to bear the burden of looking after themselves while growing up.

Upon rising from the bench, she heard Albus resume muttering to himself about the crossword puzzle located on the morning paper. “Hmm, 'High-grade hard coal', ten letters… ends with an ‘e…’”

Minerva had lived a long life filled with her fair share of hardship, but she held no illusions that she held every answer in life. In the wake of seeing first-hand just how Harry Evan’s life had been ruined in part because of her inaction, she felt lost… but Albus didn’t. Somehow, her respected friend and mentor was behaving as if it’d never happened at all. “How do you do it, Albus?”

“Do what, Miverva?”

“How do you compartmentalize so well that you can just go back to your crossword? Harry Evans’ life was ruined, in no small part because of our inaction, so how? I know you care, but I don’t see how you can behave so unconcerned?” Her critique of Albus wasn’t entirely fair, she knew that, but she also couldn’t reconcile his attitude with the pain they had helped wrought upon the son of her late students, her friends…

Albus placed his paper upon the bench and met her gaze over his half-moon spectacles with a solemn expression. “Would that I could change the past, Minerva. I am an old man, and from the time I was a boy, I’ve made mistake after mistake… too numerous in number to keep track of, and every time, without fail, others have suffered because of me.” For a moment, Albus paused, the weight of his words washing over the only person present to hear them before he continued quietly. “There was this girl I once knew. She was so bright and full of life, shy but still kind to everyone she met. Truly, I’ve rarely met a more beautiful soul… when she died back in the year 1900, she was only 13 years old… I am the reason she is dead.”

Minerva had known the aged headmaster for decades, and she’d looked up to him for longer still, in all that time, she’d rarely seen such a haunted depth in his eyes or heard the sheer pain in his voice.

“I had a lover once,” Albus continued, not giving her time to respond. “He was a brilliant man.  Passionate, inspired, and though it wasn’t discernable to those who didn’t know him, he was caring in his own way. In another life, I am certain that he could have been such a force for good… the type of man to whom we would erect statues in his honor… instead, he fell down a path of darkness, and I pushed him toward it. This man would go on to start wars and commit genocide. Mass, unmarked graves beyond any man’s ability to count. Those deaths, the blood that flooded the fields of war, have stained my hands forever…” Albus leaned back on the bench then, eyes fixated on the sky above; Minerva ignored the way they glistened with unshed tears.

“Albus, I'm sorry. You don't have to-”

“We live in a cruel world, Minerva. Languishing away bemoaning this serves no one, neither us nor those we have failed.”

Minerva nodded along to her mentor's words. “You are right, I know. I just... that's Lily's boy in there and-” she broke off with light sob at the thought of her favorite student. “I am going to go home now and pour myself a drink… tonight I just need some time alone.” Drinking would do little for her guilt long term, but at that moment, it would help.

Albus only offered a small smile as Minerva stood to leave. She regretted that her words forced her friend to relive such painful memories in his life, but she didn’t have it in her to offer nor listen to any more platitudes at that moment. Albus’ intentions were noble, but at that moment, they rung hollow. Right before she left earshot, she couldn't help the half-formed chuckle from escaping her throat as she heard her aged mentor exclaim in a satisfied voice “ah, anthracite!”

OoooOoooO

“He'll be leaving soon, won't he?”

“Probably dear, I've raised enough kids his age to tell when they're going to leave… Harry’s not the type of person to miss an opportunity like this.”

“I'm going to miss him... a lot.”

“You're not alone there, dear. Harry may not realize it, but the little ones are all quite fond of him.”

“Will you miss him?”

“I miss every one of you kids when you walk out those doors, hon'.”

OoooOoooO

The half-filled bottle slipped from Harry’s fingers as he lounged against the bay windows. The night sky offered none of the comfort he often found on lonely evenings. Beth and Sarah had both reached out to him upon seeing him exit his meeting with the professor but had acquiesced to his firm desire to be left alone. The only company he wished to have then was whatever cheap rum he'd spirited away under his bed. Some people would classify his reliance on alcohol at such a young age as unhealthy or dangerous, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The moment Professor McGonagall had mentioned his goddamn family, he'd really needed a fucking drink.

James and Lily Potter… the young married couple who were his parents… both had died defending Harry and his twin brother, Daniel, from a crazed terrorist. Said terrorist was miraculously defeated when he attempted to murder Daniel too; the same spell that had murdered their parents mysteriously backfired and killed him instead, leaving only a pile of ashes and a wand on the ground. Thanks to this unexplainable event, Daniel was internationally renowned as the “boy-who-lived,” and had spent his life living in relative obscurity and safety with their godmother and her family, Alice Longbottom.

Professor McGonagall had offered a brief explanation as to why he was shipped off to the Dursleys, a justification behind why he wasn’t allowed to grow up alongside his brother, why he wasn’t placed under the care of the woman his parents had entrusted him to… she didn’t have all the answers, but she offered something… and Harry turned her down. Maybe it was childish of him, maybe it wasn’t, but he didn’t want to listen to any fucking explanations. Why should he? The die had already been cast; the damage already done. 15 years had passed since his parents had been murdered, 15 years of his godmother in name only neglecting her duty to an orphaned child! Maybe down the road he’d be more willing to entertain an explanation, but at that moment, the sheer rage he felt had been all consuming. Professor McGonagall may have been a teacher and friend to his parents, but she did not deserve his wrath just for being the one to share with him the details of his life that he’d been denied. No, his enmity was reserved for others… he accepted the tear-stained letter that Alice had apparently written and that was the end of it. Professor McGonagall passed over the remainder of the information he would need to be ready to attend Hogwarts come September, and then she left.

Once he was alone, Harry wanted nothing more than to give in to the rage, the righteous fury that threatened to overtake him completely… but he didn’t even know how to. Aimless destruction had never served as a form of catharsis to him as it did others… he wanted to yell, to scream, to hurt the ones who had wronged him… but they weren’t there. Alice Longbottom wasn’t fucking there. How could he cast aspersions upon her, make her feel the weight of his hatred when he couldn’t glare into her eyes? All he had was a useless goddamn letter, a scrap of paper with a few tear stains and some dried ink. The time for him to lay all his enmity and vitriol at her feet would come, but at that moment, he felt aimless… the anger was hollow, the spite had no where to go.

Then there were the emotions surrounding his younger, twin brother, Daniel… he had no fucking clue how he was supposed to feel about that revelation. Was there a right or wrong emotion to feel towards someone he should have been closer to than anyone? A brother whom he had never even seen in living memory… but even then, he was still family, right? Wasn’t blood supposed to run thick? The connection they shared was supposed to be worth a damn, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, Harry was well aware of the original phrase that was so often misquoted: ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ The estranged twins had literally shared a womb, but their bond was utterly nonexistent. Harry honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react when he finally met his long-lost brother...

The letter in his pocket seemingly grew heavier as he thought of the reunion he'd been asked to attend. At that moment, Harry would rather choke on glass than listen to whatever paltry excuses and explanations Alice had to offer about why he was left to the tender mercies of the Dursleys… but he wanted to meet his brother, that much he knew for certain. The two twins would be attending Hogwarts together, so he’d eventually meet him regardless… but Harry wanted to meet him before that. The thought of meeting his brother for the first time in the same environment as a bunch of random classmates bothered him on an intrinsic level.

Harry shelved his thoughts on his complicated familial drama to the wayside in favor of a far happier topic... he was rich! After McGonagall revealed to him that he did in fact have a magical family and the subsequent cessation of that entire topic, what had followed was an explanation that Harry had an inheritance that would be more than enough to pay for his magical education, not even minding the fact that Hogwarts’ tuition cost was surprisingly low given how much of its operations was subsidized by the magical government. The trust-vault he had waiting for him at the wizarding bank was apparently more than enough to cover his day-to-day life expenses until he graduated from school. The Potter family was quite a wealthy family once upon a time. Liquidating most of their assets during the war had cost them a lot, but it meant there was a very sizable amount of money sitting in the bank, and half of it was Harry's. McGonagall had then given him the basic run-down on the magical district of London and how he could get travel there himself. The professor had offered to escort him personally, a service available to all students who she introduced to the magical world, but he declined in favor of going alone.

“For the first time in my life, I honestly don't have to be concerned with finances, thanks, Pops,” Harry said aloud. The young teen looked around the home he'd spent the last eight years living at and felt only a sense of determination to move on. This place was his home… but he’d long since prepared for the fact that it wouldn’t be his home forever. Hogwarts was going to be where he roomed for nine months out of the year for the next seven years, and during the summer he would rent a flat. Though he'd certainly miss Beth, Sarah, and all the kids, it never crossed his mind that sticking close by was an option. For once, he was the character in the fantasy book, this chance wasn't something he would pass up. Tomorrow, Diagon Alley was his destination. A sprawling magical town situated right in the heart of London. The cultural heart of magical society in this part of the world. Restaurants, taverns, shops, stalls, entertainment, and oddities. A smile came to his face merely at the thought of all that he would fine there. London was a city he knew like the back of his hand, but a new town, a new culture that didn't follow the rules of logic? Harry couldn't wait to explore.

“Well, at least you're smiling now. I thought that dour mood would hang over you 'til you died.” Harry turned suddenly, surprised that he'd let Beth sneak up on him whilst lost in his own thoughts. She claimed the cushioned seat next to his and passed him a fag. All the kids must have been asleep, Beth only ever smoked when they couldn’t see. “So, when are you leaving?”

Of course, she knew what he was planning. “A few days, I'm going to get a few things settled in London and then I'm gone.”

Beth opened the windows and held her cigarette aloft for him to light. “Always figured you'd leave young; you've got a spirit for adventure in you. So, where are you headed?”

For a brief moment, Harry considered lying to the woman, a gut instinct born from his desire to hide the meager amounts of money he'd scrounged together over the years… but this was Beth. The woman who'd given him food and a place to live for the better part of a decade. One of the only adults to ever show an ounce of genuine care for him. Softly, he exhaled, allowing the nighttime air to claim the smoke. “A boarding school in Scotland. Turns out both of my parents went there, and the school has this thing about legacy students.”

“Congratulations,” Beth replied, smiling at him warmly, “I know that the idea of university is something that’s been weighing on your mind for the past year or so. I'm happy for you.”

“I have an inheritance, too.”

Beth startled at that. “Did your father leave you something?”

“Yeah, he and my mum. Evans was her maiden name, they were married, and my father had old, family money.” Harry once more resolved to find out as much as he could about his family at first opportunity. He would likely always hold onto the name Evans, but he was still a Potter by blood, he would honor that until the day he died.

“Huh, I think you're the first of my kids to come into an inheritance. Congratulations once more.”

Harry kept his gaze locked on the night sky, obscuring his face from one of the few people who could claim to know him well. “I have a twin brother.”

Beth took an extra-long drag and reached for the discarded bottle of rum. “Christ, kid... any other bombs you would like to drop on me?”

My brother was raised by our godmother while I was sent to the fucking Dursleys. My godfather is in prison for murder and terrorism. My parents were murdered by a terrorist leader, and my brother is the hero who miraculous 'stopped' him. Oh, and magic is real. Those were the details Harry was never going to share with someone ignorant of the magical world. Beth was a 'muggle,’ with neither a blood nor permanent legal relation to him… she would never know magic was real. “That's all of them,” Harry lied.

“Will your brother be going to the same school?” Beth asked, she'd taken a large swig from the bottle then passed it back his way. Harry was never more thankful than at that moment that Beth didn't give a damn about conventional parenting techniques.

“Apparently so.”

“That's good then, isn't it? Gives you two the chance to get to know each other. You're twins, you're bound to have something in common.” Ah, Beth, ever the optimist. Harry was far more skeptical of his ability to bond with his twin.

The two lapsed into an easy silence as they finished their smokes. The streets of London weren't particularly loud this late in the evening, the odd car, and the sound of a distant train the only noises to be heard. The streetlamps below contrasted with the light of the moon to create a sight that was aesthetic enough to be captured on camera. Harry wasn't often one to stop and appreciate the simple things in life but lounging in the window and finishing a bottle of rum with Beth was a good way to spend the evening. Harry lamented that he'd likely not do this with the aged woman for quite a long time.

Beth smiled down at the black-haired boy as she rose from her seat. “I'm proud of you, Harry. You'll succeed at whatever you apply yourself to, I know that.”

Harry barely registered her softly spoken farewell. Beth's confidence in him served not as a groundbreaking resolution but a reminder of what he had already resolved to himself... He. Would. Succeed. The world was at his fingertips, endless possibilities were ripe for the taking, all he had to do was apply himself. Education, resources, money, opportunity… they were all his. Gone was the poor orphaned child with no hope for the future. The world would know Harry Evans, he'd make sure of it.

Chapter Text

"The Green Dragon? No no, this here be the Leaky Cauldron." -Tom the Barkeep to a curious muggle-born patron. Late Fall, 1958.

Chapter 3:

Harry stepped up to the dingy pub with a satisfied smile on his face. A hole in the wall place that most would overlook without a second thought. But when the eyes of the passerby's literally slid over the inconspicuous building there was clearly something else at work. Since Harry placed himself right in the entryway not a single passing civilian seemed capable of noticing his presence. Pushing a man as he walked past only resulted in a light shake of the head and brief mutterings of not getting enough sleep. The 'muggles' – for what else could Harry think of them as when they couldn't even perceive the simple wonder he'd discovered standing outside a pub – rationalized a push from seemingly no where as nothing more than a lapse in their own motor skills. The shove from nowhere was obviously nothing because it couldn't be anything else.

Harry wondered what sort of measures were in place to stop the wizards and witches of the world from taking advantage of the muggles. Legal means or otherwise, to use magic against those without it would be easier than taking sweets from a child. The money that could be made in the muggle world with the help of magic set his heart racing. Only a few minutes after seeing magic at work and already he was planning his first bank robbery.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn't as decrepit inside as the outside entrance would suggest. The low light and wooden décor did little to inspire a sense of luxury in the establishment, but a critical eye would reveal very little dust on the scattered furnishings. The tables and chairs were worn from likely decades of use, but they were still firm and stable.

A dozen patrons were littered throughout the tables and bar, some already well into their cups, others sipping on coffee or eating breakfast while they perused the paper. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that aside from long coats and thick robes worn as outerwear, the style of dress matched that with which he was familiar – but that was where the familiarity ended.

One of the men at the bar took a shot of a drink that by all appearances was just whiskey, but the steam that abruptly shot out of his ears dissuaded that assumption. A woman in the corner was playing cards against what was either an invisible person or simply a pair of gloves; even from a distance Harry could see the face cards were moving and talking, and the woman arguing against them. The waitress that waved her wand and caused all the spilled liquid to return to the mug from whence it came as she resumed busing the table. The man in the corner slowly spinning his finger in concentric circles, whilst his stirring spoon followed the same motion half a meter away.

Harry tried not to gasp and stare at every little sight, but he was certain he failed in such regards. Everywhere he looked there was magic. The wonder would eventually wear off, the extraordinary would turn to commonplace; but for now, he was Alice, and around every corner there was a new sight that begged disbelief.

The bar was manned by a completely bald gentleman seemingly in his late 60s. A warm smile etched its way onto his features as Harry approached the bar. The rag the man had been using to wipe down a glass vanished, with said glass floating up to one of the shelves behind him. "Well 'ello there, I can't say I've seen you around 'ere before. I'm Tom, owner and barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron. What's your name, son?

The man's friendly demeanor was a welcome experience. It was no surprise to Harry that those new to magic were directed to enter Diagon Alley via this pub if this man was a regular behind the counter. Anyone suspicious of the world they were stepping into would find themselves immediately at ease thanks to the cheerful greeting and unassuming questions of Tom the barkeep.

"Harry Evans, first time here."

"Welcome then, welcome! You're a muggle-born then, I take it?" Tom asked his questions with such a sincere interest Harry was almost taken back. This man clearly wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Muggle raised, actually, orphaned thanks to the war." Harry knew that while his circumstances were more complicated than others, he was far from alone in being a child orphaned thanks to war.

"Ah, I'm sorry there, lad," Tom replied. "I can't say I know who your folks are based on your name, but I'll raise a glass to their memory all the same. Take a seat, have a drink on the house."

Though slightly bemused Harry did as asked and took the proffered seat in front of the aged barkeep. The man was kind, and even if it wasn't alcoholic Harry wasn't about to turn down a free drink – especially not one offered in light of his parent's passing. A frosted glass bottle was placed in front of Harry, cold air rising from the opening. The liquid inside was an amber color with white foam gathered at the top. It was clearly a beer. Harry wasn't one to question free alcohol, nor the surprising lack of drinking laws.

"That there is what's known as Butter Beer 'round these parts. Quite sweet but also quite good. That version there is non-alcoholic but even then it has been known to lower inhibitions, but only a small bit." Tom's explanation of the drink was interrupted only by his reaching down to seemingly nowhere to pull out his own frosted bottle. "Can be served hot or cold, but given the warm weather outside I figured you didn't need something to help warm your bones."

A drink that lowered inhibitions but lacked the loss of motor control or hangovers? Butter Beer was undoubtedly a very popular drink among youths – especially those that found getting their hands on booze to be too difficult a task. But if a simple non-alcoholic drink still had mind altering affects, what was the potency of wizarding liquor? Harry's mind was a whirl with possibilities, and he couldn't wait to explore them all.

Tom raised his bottle alongside Harry. "To your parents then. Cheers."

Harry muttered his own cheers before taking a drink while Tom downed his entire bottle without pause. The drink was exceedingly sweet, akin to butterscotch but less sickly. Harry was amazed by the utter lack of artificial flavoring. The thick syrupy texture he'd long since come to associate with sweet drinks was absent. "This is pretty good," Harry said to the expectant barkeep.

"Damn right it's good. Everything I serve is good."
"You make the butter beer in house then?" Harry queried.

Tom barked a laugh. "Not at all, we buy from the same distributor just like everyone else. Ours is just the best!"

Harry accepted Tom's 'logic' with a chuckle. The elderly man was clearly just joking, the odd gleam in his eye suggested that he took quite a bit of pride in the Leaky Cauldron and would happily defend that point even beyond the realm of sense. Harry's own opinions of the establishment was rather high given his own first impressions, so he acquiesced to the man's humorous claims.

"So how long have you been the owner, Tom? Or did you build the pub?" Harry wasn't normally one for small talk, but given that he was still nursing his free drink, he would happily take the opportunity to gather more information on the world of magic.

"Oh, I've been the owner for a good 90 years now or so. Barkeep and server for at least 30 before that. The Leaky Cauldron has been around since 1512 though, so it's a fair bit older than me, yes sir."

Harry was floored. He'd thought the man to be in his 70s at the latest. Double that was practically unthinkable. "You've been working here for over 120 years? How long do wizards and witches live?"

"That's right, you wouldn't know. Most magical folk live to be around 130-150 years, give or take a few. I myself will be 142 this November."

Harry could scarcely believe that his own life span was double of that which he thought. Tom's appearance suggested that wizards and witches aged half as quickly, but Harry's matched the other muggles his age, so it likely slowed once they reached adulthood. A host of questions popped into his brain on the structure of their society and how it differed from the muggles when everyone lived so long.

"I'm definitely one of the older ones these days though. Two wars in the last 50 years 'ave certainly taken their toll," Tom said, his voice heavy. "Too many dead for their damned causes. Why can't people just be happy living their lives?" He was pulled out of his musings by the sound of Harry's now empty bottle setting down on the bar.

"Thanks for the drink, Tom, I enjoyed it."

"Anytime lad, anytime. I'll make you pay for the next one but you're still a welcome patron at The Leaky Cauldron." Tom affirmed his statement with a nod then began cleaning the area Harry had just vacated.

"Oh, the entrance to the Alley is through the door back there," Tom pointed towards a hallway situated adjacent to the bar. "It's the only door so I don't imagine you'll get lost. He chuckled at his own quip before turning away, cleaning rag once more in hand.

Harry was about to leave when he noticed a handsome wooden staircase in the corner that led to a second floor. Looking about he saw a few tables and chairs overlooking a balcony, but the hallways were of greater interest. "Hey, Tom, you wouldn't happen to have any rooms available, would you?"

"I do believe I do, lad. You from out of town and need one for the evening?" Tom's question was understandable, but Harry had no intention of returning to the world of muggles before going to Hogwarts.

"What's your rate? I need a room until September 1st."

"Planning to stick around until you head to Hogwarts then?" Tom asked.

"I'm weighing my options," Harry replied. He didn't know exactly how much money he had access to, but it didn't hurt to get some information.

Tom reached below the register he had at the corner of the bar and lifted out a hefty ledger. He started muttering to himself about rooms and dates as he flipped through the pages. "Well, I don't have any reservations that would stop me from renting you a room. Today is July 3rd, so you'd be needing a room for the next two months... I normally charge five sickles a night for a room and some breakfast in the morning, but if you're staying for almost two months, I think we could negotiate a cheaper price."

Harry really should've gone by the bank before trying to discuss finances. McGonagall had offhandedly mentioned the currency used in the magical world, but knowing he had a vault at the bank she'd continued on without delving further. Rather than admit his ignorance to the aged barkeep Harry did what he was good at, deflect and retreat.

"Sounds fair Tom, we'll discuss the exact details this evening, yeah?" Gods above he hoped that McGonagall wasn't exaggerating his inheritance.

"I'm working a split shift today so that will do just fine, lad. See you then."

Harry waved farewell to the old man and made his way to the exit of the tavern. Stepping into Diagon Alley was an experience unlike any he had ever had before. The cauldrons of different shapes and sizes haphazardly stacked in a manner that seemed deliberately insulting to physics. A woman brushed past him muttering to herself on the ridiculous price of an ounce of dragon liver. Harry mentally filed away that dragons were apparently real. Lovely.

Children were crowded around a store called "Quality Quidditch Supplies", gushing about the brooms advertised in the windows. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "it's a Nimbus Two-Thousand, the fastest broom in the world!" One shop sold telescopes and other metal instruments with uses the likes of which Harry couldn't even begin to guess.

An Apothecary was advertising a sale on the spleen of vampire bats, but a small sign was next to the display warning "not quite dead until doused in sun-infused oil". On the street corner a man was conducting three other instruments that were playing by use of magic alone, passerby's tossing him the odd bronze or silver coin. There were shops selling books and tomes, quills and parchment, a magical pet emporium, potions and elixirs, there were restaurants and inns. Various clothing stores for all different occasions, toy stores for children. A small stand with portraits and paintings that not only moved but talked and interacted with those walking past.

At the end of the road Harry saw a large circular plaza from which multiple other streets branched off from. In the center was a towering clock-tower that Harry was certain had to be the size of the London Clock Tower. There were stores and shops by the dozens on the main street alone, each different and unique in their own way, having some element or oddity to further reinforce that he'd well and truly stepped into a different world. Welcome to Narnia, Harry.

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

"Narnia, young Harry? No no, we do not look to talking lions for leadership around these parts." Harry spun around, eyes narrowed at the man who'd seemingly read his thoughts. Seated at a small table with a chair on either side, the man had pale skin, long black hair, bangs tied back away from his face, and a pair of very dark glasses. He was completely clean shaven, and appeared to be no older than twenty-five, but Harry had already learned his lesson about guessing ages. The man was dressed in black pants and a loose light gray shirt that left half his chest exposed. Below the neck every inch of exposed skin was covered in various runic tattoos. Harry walked closer to the strange man, and in response he removed the dark glasses, revealing his milky white eyes.
"You read my mind," Harry accused.

"I might have," the strange man replied, "but if I did what does it matter?" The man grinned at Harry but it was far from a friendly smile. His entire presence was unnerving, and that was discounting his ability to discern thoughts. "Take a seat Harry Evans, I wish to speak with someone, and I think you shall do nicely." The man gestured to the chair opposite his own, expectant that Harry would comply.

Harry squashed the unease the man instilled within him and claimed the offered seat. The man could be dangerous, but the danger was nothing next to the curiosity Harry had. Besides, talking with the mysterious stranger was far more interesting than walking away.

"You are correct, Harry. Speaking with me is a far more interesting activity than anything else you would be doing right now. Your finances can wait, take a seat, converse with me." The man materialized a thick gold coin from within his sleeve and spun it on the table. "We shall talk until this coin stops spinning, or until we get bored. Then we will go our separate ways and live the rest of our lives in peace. Fun, no?"

Harry had no clue what the man wanted with him, but he was suspecting that while they had different definitions of fun, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to miss out on. "Do you need me to talk? You seem to be able to read my mind no problem."

"Why would I bother when your spoken words are so much more interesting?" The blind man queried, grin still fixed on his features.

"Why are spoken words more interesting?" Harry replied.

The man tsked at Harry. "Now now, it is most impolite to answer a question with a question."

Harry tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He failed. "Fine, I don't know why my spoken words are more entertaining to you. Will you tell me why?"

The man chuckled at Harry's response, clearly taking some amusement in Harry following his lead. His finger tapped on the table three times in quick succession, the spinning coin that had been fixated in one location began slowly moving around the table. "Of course, I will tell you why, though I do have to correct you first. I said spoken words were more interesting, not entertaining."

"Is there a difference?" Harry asked.

"They are different words, are they not?" The man clearly enjoyed wordplay.

"Fair enough, will you answer my question now?"

"I suppose so," the tattooed man said, "your spoken words are more interesting because they are those that you choose to give voice too. Your internal thoughts may be a more honest reflection of what you really think, but your choices are a better reflection of who you are." The man folded his fingers and rested them on the table. "Does that answer your question, Harry Evans?"

Harry mirrored the man's pose, careful not to bump the coin lest it cease spinning. He doubted his efforts were necessary given that the man was likely using magic to keep it spinning, but he was cautious, nonetheless. "It does. My turn again."

"Oh, are we taking turns in asking one another questions?" The lilt in the man's voice suggested amusement more than anything.

"I see no reason not to. I get answers and you get interesting conversation. Win win." Harry was a complete ignoramus when it came to magic, but there was something about the man seated in front of him that was different from anything else he'd seen thus far. Harry looked into the man's unseeing gaze and felt utterly naked. This man, whoever, perhaps even whatever he was, presented an opportunity Harry was not going to miss out on.

The blind man hummed in response and tapped the table three times more. The coin started spinning faster, weaving around their hands and skirting the edges of the table. "I like it. I shall go first."

"It's my turn, actually," Harry said.

"But we just began this game, did we not?" The man asked, his grin growing almost imperceptibly wider.

"You just acknowledged the game, but it had already begun," Harry countered.

"Ah, an opponent! This truly is a game!" The man chuckled at his own realization. "I answered your question on spoken words, no? So, the next question would fall to me."

"You had asked me if your reply answered my question, which is a question in of itself." Harry wasn't an expert in wordplay by any means; but as unnerving as the mysterious man was, he was right, Harry was enjoying himself.

Full and unbridled laughter left the man's lips. "Very true young Harry, very true. You are correct, it is indeed your turn. Ask away!"

"How did you read my mind?" Harry had played it off, but it bothered him to no end that this man had so casually seen his thoughts. He desperately needed to know if it was commonplace, and if possible, how to prevent it.

"I am a natural Legilimens, an especially talented one at that." The pride in the man's voice was audible. "Legilimency being one of the principal elements of mind magic of course. Though I do have to correct your misguided assumption, the mind is not a book to be easily read. Legilimency is incredibly complex given the difficulty of navigating a foreign mind."

The man's tone seemed to take on a weight when speaking of the potent magic. Harry had no reason to doubt his claims despite the seeming ease in which he'd picked apart Harry's thoughts. The man had already professed himself as being a 'natural' at the ability, alongside having talent.

"My turn," the man declared. "How would you describe the state of your morality? Do you think of yourself as a good person? An evil one? Evaluate yourself for my amusement, Evans." His grin had turned vicious with his probing question.

"Fairly neutral, I'd say," Harry quickly replied, entirely unfazed, "good and evil change far too much depending on perspective, and that was more than one question."

The man waved off Harry's accusation. "The same question just rephrased. Your turn."

"Is 'mind magic' a common or well-known branch of magic?" The mysterious man was definitely of interest to Harry, but the powerful magic he had at his disposable was far more valuable.

"No, it is not. Books on the subject are extraordinarily rare. Every practitioner is either a natural like myself or they were taught by a teacher. Which I am certain you can imagine is rare since –"

"The more people that know of mind magic the less useful it is, right?" The man's grin widening once more was the only answer Harry needed. So, it is possible to stop someone from reading your mind.

"My turn," the man said. "What do you think of your first trip to Diagon Alley?"

The seemingly innocuous question almost stumped Harry more than the probing inquiry. "Fascinating. I see why muggle-born kids are directed here, it really is a great way to introduce someone to the world of magic, tossing them into the deep end as it were."

"Hardly the deep end of the pool, young Harry," the man countered.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, really, and despite my having answered your question I will continue with my explanation. Keep up, Harry, this game does have a winner."

Harry rolled his eyes at the man but mentally acknowledged that he was right. He didn't know how long the man planned to sit here and answer questions, so he had to make the most of each one.

"Diagon Alley is the cultural hub of magical London, this is true, but the location itself is barely steeped in magic. Most of the magic you see is simply the everyday variety. True magic goes far beyond the wonderful little spells you have borne witness to thus far."

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "Your turn."

"So, it is," The man leaned back in his seat, propping it back on two legs without using the table as a balance. "Which color would you say you are most fond of? Red, Green, Yellow, or Blue?"

"You're mad," Harry said, utterly bemused by the man's question.

"'That which you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses.' Pick a color."

"Green, I guess."

"A good color, your eyes really are a special hue, no?"

Perturbed once more at the seemingly blind man's ability to discern the physical Harry ignored the rhetorical question.
"What's an example of a place steeped in 'true magic' as you put it?"

The man chortled. "That is an easy one, Hogwarts."

Harry leveled a blank stare at the man, silently urging him to continue.

"Oh fine I shall be sporting. Yes, Hogwarts. Built upon more crisscrossed Ley Lines than almost anywhere else on earth. Machu Picchu and the site of some of the Great Pyramids rival it of course, as well as a few other notable locations. But yes, Hogwarts is special."

The man casually declared that two of the most historical sites on the planet were places of extraordinary magic. Only then did Harry start to wonder just how much of the world's history was warped and shaped by a world most would never know about.

"Alright brother of the Boy-who-lived, my turn again. You were sent to live with muggles while the younger twin was hidden away in the magical world. He is aware of his heritage; he has known love from family. How does that make you feel?" The man's grin bordered on villainous.

For the first time since the conversation started Harry was genuinely annoyed. "Ask something else," he demanded.

"No, I do not think I will," the man simply laughed at Harry's request. "Answer the question. Complicated the emotions behind the answer might be, but the answer itself is quite simple and we both know it."

Harry glared at the man and the smug smile he boasted. "It pisses me off." Harry had almost asked the man if he was happy now, but he was loathe to throw away another question.

"Tsk tsk, holding in anger like that does not a healthy mind make, young Harry."

"Don't care, it's my turn now."

"Indeed it is, ask away."

"What is one book about magic itself that you'd recommend above all others?" Something in his gut told Harry that the man in front of him was the scholarly type, and he would use that despite his still lingering discomfort and growing agitation.

"An excellent question! Let me think..." The man drifted off into silence for over a minute, his chin held in his hands as he still balanced his chair upon two legs. "Ah! Of course. While finding a copy is far from easy, I would recommend 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai. I dare say that book shaped my view of magic more than any other."

"Forgo a question to tell me about the book?" Harry asked.

The man pulled an intricately carved churchwarden pipe out of his sleeve and stuck it in his mouth, a small flame sprung to life on the tip of his finger which he used to light the tobacco within. Harry waited patiently as the man took a few puffs and slowly exhaled. The smoke swirled above the table, slowly forming into an intricate shape that clearly spelled the man's opinions on Harry's suggestion.

"You could've just said no," Harry grumbled, "but fine, it's your turn."

"Do you enjoy cooking, Harry?"

"Somewhat, depends if I have the necessary tools and ingredients."

"But you would refrain from calling it a passion of yours?" The man queried further.

"That's another question."

"Come now Harry, it is your turn to be sporting, this is a game after all."

Harry didn't understand how but the man somehow looked disappointed in him even through the grin. "Alright, I suppose that's fair," Harry acquiesced. "No, cooking isn't a particularly enjoyable pastime for me. I know how to cook, I'm good at it, I can make any of Beth's recipes almost as well as she can, but I would never do so for fun."

Harry still had no idea what the man was playing at. Even discounting his ability to read minds, the man's questions switched from inane to insightful at every turn.

"Are they inane, Harry? Are they really?"

Harry chose to again ignore the man's rhetorical comment. "What's your best piece of advice on attending Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I like this one, but I am going to go ahead and take my next turn now since it will determine how I answer your question. Is that okay with you, my honorable competitor?"

Intrigue took center stage once more. "Go ahead."

The man let the legs of his chair fall back to the earth and he was suddenly leaning over the table, pipe still clenched in his hand. "What makes you believe I attended Hogwarts?"

"Gut instinct," Harry replied. "And the slight hint of fondness in your voice when you mentioned it earlier."

"Very good. Well, that satisfies my query so I will now answer yours," the man resumed his comfortable position leaning back in the chair, his ever-present grin seemingly more genuine than before. "Explore, Harry Evans. Explore."

The man waved his hand to acknowledge Harry's request to elaborate before it exited his mouth. "Do you know what makes Hogwarts unique when compared to the other magical locations I mentioned earlier?"

"I can think of a number of guesses, but I don't want to waste my question so just tell me."

The man chuckled but accepted Harry's response. "The intent behind its creation. Machu Picchu was a royal estate, defense and beauty its primary elements. Situated above the Sacred Valley it was a symbol of power and authority, a message to both the Inca and any other tribes of their victory and strength. The intent is obvious."

As the man spoke a wispy facsimile of Machu Picchu took shape in front of Harry, next to it the Great Pyramid of Giza rose anew.

"The Great Pyramid was a tomb for great kings and queens of old, a colossal structure truly deserving its rank among the seven wonders of the world, but again, we know the intent. To protect their honored dead and riches, to serve as a tomb for any who dare disturb the rest of those who lay there. The magic within this tomb is still a mystery to us in many ways; there are teams of curse-breakers that will spend decades at a time trying to undo a single new trap. But the intent behind the magic is known to us."

"Hogwarts is a school though," Harry decided to cut in when the man paused to collect his breath. "Is that not also clear intent?"
"Yes and no, Hogwarts is a school, that much is true. That is why my old alma mater has classrooms and dorms. But that fact fails to capture the spirit of its creators, its founders."

The smoky creations faded away in an instant, but there, inscribed on the table Harry could suddenly see, were four emblems.

"Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Individually brilliant, together unrivaled," the man's tone was almost reverent when speaking of the four legendary mages. "The Founders of Hogwarts wished to make an institution of both learning and safety for young witches and wizards, but they understood that magic was more than a tool, it was the means to do the impossible. And so, they set out to make the impossible a reality."

"That doesn't really explain anything," Harry countered.

"No, I suppose not," the man relented. "To one who had explored Hogwarts like myself, perhaps. But you are still ignorant of what lies within those halls."

"Could you explain it so I understand then?" Harry asked once more. The man had been surprisingly straightforward since Harry asked about Hogwarts. His grin was still in place, but that almost imperceptible pressure Harry felt from the man was muted as he spoke about the school.

"Alright then, how about this: you likened Diagon Alley to Narnia. Why?"

"Because it felt magical." Duh. Harry hoped the man was reading his mind when he thought that.

"Exactly! Magical! No one who had grown up only knowing magic could understand why you think of Diagon Alley that way, but you who had only known the world of Muggles describe that which you thought impossible as magical!"

"Okay, so Hogwarts is magical, I could've guessed that."

"Yes, but Hogwarts leaves even those raised in a magical world thinking that it is a magical place."

"How?"

"Because in Hogwarts you will find that which even magic says should be impossible."

Harry's befuddlement was brought to an abrupt end. Hogwarts wasn't just a place of learning, it was apparently the collective work of four geniuses who sought to push boundaries, innovators of magic that took the words of cynics as a challenge.

"Well put, young Harry," the man had read his mind again, ass hole. "And before you ask, no. I won't be giving you any examples of the kinds of things that can be found with Hogwarts' glorious halls. I spent seven years learning all the secrets that I could and I am absolutely positive I did not see everything that lovely school has to offer. You spend seven years looking and then we shall compare notes."

Harry was actually glad the man had shut down the question before he asked it. If Hogwarts was as magical as this man was leading him to believe, then it would be a travesty to learn of its secrets secondhand.

"I suppose it's my turn again," Harry said, he would keep asking questions until this man stopped answering.

The man nodded his head at Harry to continue. "Please, ask away. I really am enjoying our little conversation, especially since we began speaking of Hogwarts."

"What was the most useful class you took at Hogwarts?"

"Thank you for staying on Hogwarts whilst also asking something practical, bravo. As for my answer, well I am going to cheat and say it is a tie between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Both are building blocks of magic that simultaneously feed into and contradict one another."

"That sounds more than a little complicated," Harry remarked.

"Depends on how you look at it." The man replied.

"A paradox is a paradox."

"Are you trying to limit magic using logic? Alas, Harry, I fear we cannot continue this line of conversation until you have read 'The Disassembly of Reason'. Perhaps I could explain the necessary concepts to you but that would take far more time than I am willing to invest right now."

"Magic doesn't follow logic at all? Then how is it something that can be studied?" Harry couldn't simply shelve his confusion in the face of such contradiction. He needed the tattooed man to clarify his statements now.

"I do not recall saying magic does not follow logic, I merely implied that you should not limit magic using logic. Come now we have been dancing with words this entire time, do not tell me you are lost now so late in the game?" The man's grin had turned into smirk, and Harry never thought he'd wish for the grin to return.

"Whatever, I accept that distinction despite how little sense it makes." Harry was only fairly certain he actually understood the wordplay but there was no point in arguing. Harry had learned of magic yesterday, only a fool would truly argue over something they were brand new too.

"Lovely, then we can proceed. I think we can both agree that the rules of our little game were shoved aside in favor of our greater understanding of our respective answers, correct?" The man waited for Harry's small nod before continuing. "Then I do believe it is once again my turn."

"Ask away," Harry said.

"A simple question for a complicated answer this time. Do you Dream?"

Harry was far too used to the curious nature of the man's questions by this point. "Yeah, I dream. So do most people. I rarely remember my dreams, but I still do so."

"So, you dream, but you do not Dream?"

"What?" Harry was positive the man was just messing with him now.

"'I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.' Accurate, is it not?"

Harry blinked. "Again, what?"

The man started laughing once more and though Harry had already suspected it was the case he now knew for certain – the man was certifiably insane.

"Do not fret over your confusion, young Harry. I do believe that over time all will be made clear to you," the man's words sounded comforting but were anything but.

Harry accepted he wasn't going to be getting any clarification. "My turn again. What happened to your eyes?" Harry asked.

"Bold of you to assume I was not born this way. Another hunch, perhaps?"

"Yeah, another hunch. Now answer."

"Humanity lives on a placid isle of ignorance, young Harry. The black sea of infinity surrounds us, but our boats do not generally allow us to voyage far. I voyaged far."

"Enough metaphors, that's not how we've been playing this game." Fascinating the man's words were, his attempts to placate Harry's curiosity only spurred him on more.

"Let us just say that I was determined to gaze on brilliance at any cost, and that gaze was exactly the price I paid," the man said hauntingly. "Does that answer satisfy you? If not ask a different question for I will not reveal any more."

Harry was tempted to take advantage of the man's deal but something about his demeanor said that would be a mistake. The mysterious pressure had returned, and Harry had no desire to see it rise any further. "That was good enough, barely. It's your turn."

"Excellent," the man said. "Well then young Harry, do kindly share with me your thoughts on death?"

"Terrifying."

"Elaborate for me."

"I really don't want to die," Harry replied.

"Elaborate further."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man's pushing. Further proof that the man was inside Harry's mind that he chose to ask questions that had long since plagued the young teen. "Death scares me, okay? It's the only thing I can say for certain that truly does. I don't believe in an afterlife, or I didn't as of a couple days ago, so the idea that dying was the end of my existence terrified me."

"They say that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. Would you agree?" The smoke the man exhaled formed into tentacular shapes above him, and for a brief moment Harry swore he heard sounds he would never be able to describe.

"I certainly wouldn't disagree, but I think there's also a lot of intrigue to be found in the unknown," Harry countered.

"An adventurer's spirit but a coward's heart, hmm?"

Harry took offense at being referred to as craven. "I only have one life, so I want to live it to the fullest; that doesn't mean I want to die, nor does it make me a coward!"

"Not fond of my hyperbole then?" The man asked.
"Like you said, it's hyperbole." Harry was adamant on this front. He'd never recklessly endanger himself, but that doesn't mean he's scared of his own shadow.

"You fear death yet court danger. Such a lovely contradiction."

"I don't flee from death, that's the difference."

The man suddenly burst out into a state of uncontrollable laughter. "No no – we leave that – to someone else – do we not?" He could barely stop laughing long enough to speak.

The man's own comments sent him even further into a fit. Whatever Harry had said that set the man off, he clearly found it to be the most hilarious thing in the world. Harry glanced around to see if anyone else found the man's unending laughter odd, but he was eerily reminded of his experience standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. No one was paying any attention to the area in which Harry and the still laughing man sat. No one saw them, no one heard them, no one even tried to walk into their space. To the hundreds of witches and wizard walking around Diagon Alley, Harry and the man might as well have not existed.

The unease Harry had felt when first the man called out to him bubbled in his stomach once more. Ignorant though he was, Harry could mentally file away magic used to ward off muggles as simple. There was a clear delineation between those with magic and those without. But this? This was different. Harry could feel it in his bones that this level of magic was not normal. This man was not normal.

The laughter had stopped.

Fear welled within him. Whoever it was he was speaking to scared him. Harry had felt nervous speaking to the man when first he was addressed. Those nerves, the butterflies in his stomach telling him that something was wrong, he'd casually disregarded them. He'd forgotten that this world of magic was infinitely larger than he could have guessed. That pressure that Harry had always felt emanating off the man was almost suffocating.

When had the laughter stopped?

The man was just sitting there, chin held in one hand, milky white eyes fixated on Harry. His finger periodically tapping the table, the coin somehow spinning faster and faster with each pulse. His smile was gone. "Your turn, Harry Evans."

There was only one question Harry could ask. "Who are you?"

Though it was so small that Harry would forever question whether it was his imagination, he thought he saw the man's lips quirk into a smile once more. "My friends call me Tom."

Harry blinked and the man, Tom, was gone. The table and chairs were gone. A witch brushed past him and muttered her apologies. Her words fell upon deaf ears. Harry could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat reverberating through his chest. He had walked into a game where he didn't know the rules and assumed he could still play. The air in his lungs felt heavy as a bead of sweat slipped off his brow. Harry fell to his hands and knees, cobbled stone tearing at his palms. He could barely breathe! He could barely think!

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

The sound of the bell pierced through Harry's shock. Why was he hearing that bell again? His gaze was drawn to the ringing tower and the impossible time it showed. Eleven had already come and gone, hadn't it? The bell had already rung before his conversation with Tom? Then why was it ringing now?

Had he hallucinated Tom, was it all his imagination? No. Surely not. He'd never shown any signs he was crazy before; unless he was hallucinating the entire last 24 hours then he knew his conversation with Tom happened. Time dilation? Had someone used magic to alter his perception of time? An illusion then? If they used magic to invade his senses it would make sense.

But why?

Harry slumped up against the closest brick wall, his breathing still heavy but he no longer felt like he was suffocating. The polite inquiries of those asking if he was okay were waved off with breathy comments of "I'm fine" and "just tripped". He was probably being rude but there was no way he was even going to attempt conversation right now.

"What the fuck?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and meant only for his ears. One day. One day in the magical world and already he was terrified. Why was he excited too?

"You fear death yet court danger..."

Damn him, Tom was right. Harry hadn't been threatened in the slightest. There were no overt signs of danger but still, he knew. The moment Tom had stopped laughing Harry had been at the edge of a cliff. Tom's hand had been on his shoulder, ready to push him forward or pull him back at a moment's notice.

What does it say about me that I'd like to speak with him again, even if I am standing on a precipice?

A light whirling sound pulled Harry away from his own thoughts. A few feet away was a spinning gold coin. The crowds of people walking past meant that it should have been kicked or stepped on. The roughshod stone should have been an impossible surface for the coin to spin on, but it did so anyway. Harry crept forward and picked up the coin, the carved metal heavy in his hand.

"Umum Galleon?" Harry read the words off the coin.

"Lucky ta be findin' a galleon in the streets like tha', wish I ha' seen it before ya did." The old man who spoke to Harry was clearly poor if the state of his clothes was anything to judge buy.

"Guess it's just my lucky day," Harry said. The old man scoffed and limped away muttering about "spoiled kids" but Harry paid him no further mind.

This coin was the same one that had spun on the table. Harry had no idea if what he saw actually happened or was all in his head, but he knew that the coin in his hand and the one that Tom had spun were one and the same. "Mine now," he quietly said.

Harry reclaimed his seat against the brick and slowly rolled the galleon between his fingers. Mentally exhausted from the conversation that logic would dictate didn't happen. Both wizards I've met today have been named Tom, if anyone else introduces themselves by that name I'm walking away.

Chapter Text

"Oh they are the most dreadful little creatures, aren't they? I've never once regretted taking up arms against them in the rebellions. I won't deny their ferocity in combat, but on the day we finally remove them from the British Isles I will be a happy man indeed." -Cuthbert Binns to Walter Aragon over a game of chess. December, 1794.

Chapter 4:

"May your enemies slit your throat on your way home, Evans."

"I hope you run yourself over with a cart and fall to your death, Griphook."

"A mercy if I never again have to deal with the likes of you."
"I'll be sure to celebrate when I read about the fortunate passing of the world's most grotesque goblin."

One trip to the 'Gringotts Bank" and Harry was absolutely certain – he really did not like goblins. Every single one of the ugly little creatures he'd encountered thus far had gone beyond just being rude and disrespectful, they'd pushed and pushed, apparently finding their passion in acting like cunts for no good reason. Harry was immediately suspicious when their welcoming words were a poem practically serving as an open invitation to try and rob them. If only they reserved their ire for thieves rather than patrons. Why the guard standing just inside the main entryway deliberately pointed Harry towards a clerk that couldn't assist him he had no clue, but Harry now very much disliked that guard. Why the clerk that couldn't help him had a fit after losing a grand total of 28 seconds assisting him he had no clue – but thanks to the long list of colorful insults about Harry and his family he now hated the clerk too.

The "key master" Harry had been instructed to speak with had seemed alright at first with his complete and utter devotion towards silence. That changed once Harry politely introduced himself, his circumstances, and asked for a key. Said key master was then practically apoplectic with rage. It was almost incredible watching a creature get so upset at actually having to do his goddamned job. Harry then dealt with a goblin from the inheritance department since they had to confirm his right to access the Potter vault. Turns out magical insignia are popular methods of determining identities, but since Harry didn't have anything of the sort to prove his inheritance, the goblins needed to conduct a minor blood ritual in order to verify that he was who he said he was. In the end said blood ritual only involved a prick of the finger and a few drops of blood on a rune inscribed stone tablet, but this was only after the goblins tried to convince Harry three separate times that he'd have to sacrifice an entire hand.

With his identity and inheritance proven, Harry could now request a key. So he endured 30 more minutes of bitching and moaning as the key master magically tied the new key to the Potter vault. Harry was instructed to go wait in line once more, and speak to the original clerk now that he had his key. The original clerk again could not help since "accounts that large are handled by managers, not clerks", so Harry requested to speak to a manager. The manager too was annoyed that he actually had to do his job and provided Harry with a report on the Potter vault and how much of said vault Harry personally had access to, all the while insulting him, his family, and all of wizard kind. It was around this time that Harry finally got an explanation about magical money and with it the realization that he was absolutely loaded. Harry then requested to actually go to his vaults, but to do so required the assistance of one of the "vault guides". And so Harry met Griphook...

A completely bald goblin hobbled towards Harry. Pointed eyes, pointed ears, pointed teeth pulled back into some sort of snarl. "Are you the wand-scum that needs to go see their vault personally?"

"'Wand scum?'"

"Yes or no, human!"

"Jesus, yes. What the hell is your problem?"

The goblin somehow narrowed his eyes even further, "Wizards are my problem, especially you muggle-born ones with your pithy exclamations and worship for another wizard!"
Harry shelved the racist proclamation in favor of the far more important detail in the goblin's ranting. "Jesus was a wizard?"

"Follow me, human." Harry didn't know how the goblin forced such venom into his utterance of the word 'human', but Harry chose to follow the diminutive asshole anyway. He really, really needed to investigate his vault. The Goblins tracked the amount of gold with almost a religious fervor, but all the potential artifacts and other valuables held within were simply labeled as "other".

Griphook led Harry to the most rickety and unstable cart Harry had ever seen. "Am I really supposed to ride in that?"

"Do you not trust us, human?" The goblin sneered.

Harry was quite sick of the attitude and insults at this point. "No, goblin, I don't."

"I'd say you were smart, human, but if you were actually smart you'd know that these carts are magically reinforced and thus perfectly safe!"

"Right, and I'm supposed to just believe you? Your superiors upstairs already tried to take my hand," Harry snapped back.

"Then you can go back upstairs and not see your vault, human!"

"Or we could, oh I don't know, WALK!"

"Not an option, wand-scum," Griphook said,

"Oh, I'm sorry, too far for your short little legs?" Harry countered, condescension heavy in his words.

If Griphook could kill with looks alone Harry was certain he'd be six feet under already. "Vault 687 is impossible to reach without taking a cart you imbecilic ape!"

Harry rolled his eyes but acquiesced to the goblin's claims. "I'm not the one that can't build a cart without relying on a dozen different spells."

The two traded barbs the entire way down to Harry's vault. Were he paying more attention to the journey Harry might've found the trip somewhat exhilarating but his mind was solely focused on channeling his wit and hatred towards his goblin escort.

"Honestly, with such shoddy construction it's a wonder your people haven't all killed themselves," Harry remarked. He was doing his best to channel the smug pricks he'd seen on the telly whenever Parliament was in session. "I mean, if I was as ugly as you I would've thrown myself down into the depths long ago, but that aside, construction like this has got to be pushing the limits of what magic is capable of."

"How rich of you to scoff at goblin magic when you have to rely upon wands for every little spell!" The angry goblin retorted.

"You keep telling yourself that as you hide beneath the earth little vault guide," Harry said dismissively. Having reduced Griphook to a near manic rage Harry was rather content; his victory in their little exchange indisputable in his mind. Harry assumed that there was some sort of reason the racist little cretins served as bankers rather than not interacting with the humans they so clearly hated. So he felt rather confident in his ability to insult them without being in any immediate danger. The goblins "starting it" helped too.

"Vault. 6.8.7. We. Are. Here. Wand. Scum." Every word was forced out through clenched teeth as Harry stepped past the creature with a smug smile.

"I won't say you did well, Griphook, but I did arrive safely if nothing else. One star out of five. If it was possible I'd give you a zero. Your customer service skills are just dreadful." Without waiting for a reply Harry approached his family vault. The magic in the door resonated not only with the key in his hand, but he felt it seep and spread through his entire body. An almost imperceptible hum reverberated throughout him, and in that moment he knew the magic guarding the Potter vault, the magic tied to his family's blood, his blood, was welcoming him inside.

Reading that your family vault contained over 50,000 gold Galleons didn't even come close to the awe Harry felt at seeing the mounds and mounds of gold in person. He didn't know the exact worth of a single Galleon, but given that it was 17 Sickles to a Galleon and Tom only charged three sickles for a room and some food, Harry was confident in his belief that he wouldn't have to worry about money for many years to come.

Even more important to Harry than the gold was the tables, shelves, and chests at the back of the vault. On the tables were a number of artifacts that Harry couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of, but he made a mental note to check into them at a later date. The chests filled with clothes and pieces of jewelry were pushed to the wayside without much thought, his mind encapsulated by the many, many books stacked onto the shelves or into the chests.

Most of the books didn't have titles or lettering on the spines, but after flipping through a few Harry was quick to realize that they were largely a mix journals and grimoires. In the midst of his family vault, surrounded by the history of the family he never knew, Harry began to read.

'Tuesday the 10th of July, 1274

Mother says that we are to get my wand the day after next. The journey will apparently take the entire day. I asked why so much time would be required and it is apparently due to the Ollivander family not allowing anyone to apparate onto their property. I had heard Father mention that family before when Simon was first acquiring his wand, but I had no idea that they were the only wand craftsmen in the region. Mother says that they are an old family, far older than our own, far older than anyone in England. Still, I am excited for the journey even if much of it will be on horseback. King Edward I is apparently known to go riding with the Ollivander patriarch on occasion, I wonder if I will get to see him. Eva still calls me foolish for having such an interest in the King, but she looks down upon anyone who cannot use magic. I know Father shares her views, but I cannot help but find the royal family interesting anyway. I have not spoken with Simon on this though I imagine he is of similar mind to Eva, I've rarely seen the twins disagree on anything.'

Harry's mind barely processed the magic that had to be involved that allowed him to read a journal written over 700 years ago as if it was written today. Instead he set the journal of Eustace Potter to the side and grabbed another.

'Friday the 21st of June, 1450

The discontent of the peasantry only continues to grow. Thousands have gathered to march upon London and still the king refuses to act in any way befitting his position. I spoke with William Abbott today on the state of affairs, the man is far from influential in the current political climate, but he does maintain the strongest working relationship with the king. The king's power is little, but he is still the king and that cannot be forgotten entirely. That pathetic show of force he tried to enact was always doomed to fail. I do not mourn the loss of Sir Humphrey Stafford, but the victories gained by the common rabble will only inspire more thoughts of rebellion. I have a meeting with Geoffrey Rosier and Stephen Fawley tomorrow, Stephen shares my concerns on the power this Jack Cade has come to wield and the negative impact it could continue to have on us. The two of them have concocted some sort of plan on how to disrupt the distressingly large number of gathered peasants and have since asked for my opinion. Suffice to say I am interested even while ignorant of the details. Something must be done to stop this man, and if the king won't do it, we Wizards will.'

"So my ancestors helped put a stop to Jack Cade's rebellion... wow." There was more history in his hands than Harry thought he would ever see. His family had been there for the events he read about in school, his family had helped to shape those events even! There were hundreds of books scattered around the vault, and Harry mentally resolved to read them all someday. He put aside the journal of John Potter and again grabbed another.

'Monday the 5th of January, 1693

I cried again today. I know last week I swore that I was done crying over that which I have not a hope to change but I could not help myself. Today is Abigail's birthday. I am certain that she is having a lovely day, her family always lets the kids have it easy on their birthday. I promised her last year that I'd get mother to take us to the theatre in London. Abigail had never been able to attend due to her family's poor finances. I wanted to take her before I returned to Hogwarts. She was going to borrow one of my dresses and we would have such fun! We had already planned out the whole day together, her and I enjoying every minute of the theatre, and perhaps we would have stopped by one of those coffeehouses beforehand. Mother would be there to chaperone us of course, so I doubt we would have gotten away with any kisses or lingering touches, but even then I just wanted to spend time with her on her sixteenth birthday. How I wish I could go walk by the lake with her once more. How I wish she still remembered me.'

Harry felt morose as he set aside the journal of Eleanor Potter. A teenage girl pouring out her thoughts on lost love. He couldn't relate to the girl's feelings, but he sympathized with her all the same.

A sudden spark of inspiration hit Harry over the head and he leapt to his feet checking the names held within the many journals. "Cmon, cmon, please be here somewhere..." Harry spent almost twenty minutes searching the aged but magically held together journals and notes in search of a single name. Then he found a small chest that held 15-20 journals arrayed within. Harry grabbed the first book and gently opened the cover. There, in the top left corner were the words 'Lily Evans'.

Tears began to form in Harry's eyes as he saw his mother's neat calligraphy. This was hers. Something she'd held in her hand, something she'd written in. He had no pictures of her, no keepsakes, no memories, but now he had this.

Harry had learned about his family the day McGonagall came, he'd learned about the sacrifice both of his parents had made. His father, James Potter, had instantly gained his respect knowing the lengths he went to in order to protect his family, to try and safeguard them from the threat of an insane murderer. Harry wished he could've known the man. But his mother... Lily Evans was a name he'd held dear for years. Her name was all he'd had, the only anchor to the life that could have been. Knowing the role she'd taken in the defense of his life only further cemented the love he had for his mother. With an almost tender care Harry started reading the first entry.

'Sunday the 4th of August, 1963

This is my first entry in you, diary number seven. Number six still had some room left but Sev convinced me to start a new one since this is "a new chapter in [my] life" or something. He's right though! I'm a witch! That's definitely a big enough change to warrant a new diary. A secret diary! No one but my immediate family is allowed to know I'm a witch, not even Grandma and Grandpa! I don't know if I'll be able to lie to them though... I'll have to ask Sev if there are any exceptions. I still haven't told Mum and Dad about anything. Even with my flower trick they didn't seem to think anything was different about me, but with an explanation and Sev talking too them too I'm sure they'll believe us. I'll definitely bring Sev with me, he knows more about all of this stuff right now. I wish my parents didn't need me to convince them, I didn't need anyone to convince me after all. As soon as Sev said I was a witch I knew he was telling the truth. But Mum and Dad aren't magical, so I guess that makes sense.

Oh! Sev told me about Diagon Alley today! An entire magical district hidden in the middle of London! There's apparently a smaller alley hidden in Birmingham called Origin Alley, but it's more of a historic residential district than Diagon Alley is. I can't wait to go and see it for myself! I'm still excited for Hogwarts too of course, but there's an entire world out there I've never seen. How could I not want to see it all? I can't thank Sev enough for telling me about the magical world, I couldn't imagine waiting five more years to get my Hogwarts letter delivered to me.

Tuney is still barely talking to me... she says it's because I'm spending time with Sev but I don't know. She screamed at me when I showed her my flower trick. Tuney has never screamed at me like that before. We've fought sometimes, especially that one time I got mud on her new dress, but she's never been this upset with me. I haven't said anything about magic to her since. I don't think I have anything to say sorry for? Hopefully things go back to normal with us soon.'

OoooOoooO

"What's wrong, Pet?"

"Oh nothing, I'm sure. I just feel sad for some reason. Like I lost something that I'll never get back."

"Ah, it's probably just the heat. It's really getting up there today. Dudley!"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Go grab that spare fan we have stored away for your mother. The heat is getting to her."

"I'll get it in a sec."

"Now, boy."

"Alright, alright. God, I was just going to wait until the next break."

"We'll get you feeling cooler in no time, dear."

"Thank you Vernon, I'm sure you're right I just need a bit of rest and to cool off after working out in the garden all afternoon."

OoooOoooO

Harry left the bank that day with a magically enlarged coin pouch filled with a mix of Galleons and Sickles, a magical checkbook, and the first five journals his mother had written. He'd sat in the vault for well over an hour reading the words a ten year old Lily Evans penned to her diary. Griphook turned to loud complaints around minute 25, but Harry stalwartly ignored those. Any misery hoisted upon the goblin was a positive in his book.

Lily Evans had been an exceedingly intelligent young girl, so exuberant and full of life, but it was quickly apparent that the girl possessed a temper and a vindictive streak as well. Harry had only read to entry three when a young Lily Evans grew tired of her sister's passive aggressive actions and decided force a confrontation. Harry could not deny the shock he felt at reading the long list of vulgar words a ten year old girl in the 60s had at her disposal; nor the punishment a young Lily enacted upon her sister in the form of bugs placed inside her shoes. Harry felt only joy at Petunia's suffering, the woman had apparently been a bitch as a child too.

Harry was glad that he had this window into the mind of his mother, a child though she was at the time. Professor McGonagall had barely spoken about them but Harry could already tell that he was receiving an account viewed through rose colored lens. That's how most spoke of the dead, people only wanted to remember the positives of those who had passed on. Harry didn't want to just know the positives of his parents, he wanted to truly know them – who they were, what they liked and disliked, their hopes and dreams, faults and insecurities. His mother's journals were the answer to a wish he didn't realize he had.

Harry had only one stop left to make before he returned to the room at the Leaky Cauldron he'd hopefully be able to rent. A wand. Harry wasn't certain the exact extent that wizards and witches relied upon wands to cast magic. He'd seen plenty of magic used by individuals without the aid of a focus, but the words of the goblins stuck with him nonetheless. Hyperbolic insults they may be, but McGonagall, the waitress in the pub, the journals, and even his list of required supplies for Hogwarts, wands were mentioned too often for Harry to ignore. Hunches and gut instincts were something Harry followed more often than not.

Harry already knew where he had to go to get a wand, he'd seen the sign earlier and the journals had confirmed it – Ollivanders. At first glance the narrow shop seemed shabby, but the longer Harry stood outside the shop the more he was certain, the building practically thrummed with age. The gold letters were peeling and the window was dusty, but Harry could feel a saturation of magic layered over the building that only compared to his family's vault.
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Gods that's a long time," Harry said. If his ancestor's journals hadn't already served as a good source he'd doubt the authenticity of the claim.

A small tinkling sound greeted Harry from somewhere within the shop as he stepped inside. A small room with only a spindly chair and a positively ancient piece of furniture that resembled a hostess stand. Along the walls were thousands of narrow boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice shocked Harry out of his reverie. A seemingly old man was standing in the entryway to the backroom. His hair was white, wrinkles adorning his features, his eyes pale and wide, shining in the gloom of the shop.

"To you as well," Harry said, not taking his eyes of the man who seemed to glide around the shop without making any sound.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Ollivander said, speaking to Harry even as he began to peruse the shelves.

"You know who I am?" Harry asked, taken aback at being recognized.

"Indeed I do. Your younger brother stopped by almost a month ago now. A very tricky customer that one," Ollivander responded.

"You met my brother?" Harry asked, his attempt to sound casual failing even to his ears.

"Indeed, indeed, as I just said," Ollivander stopped and looked back at Harry. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I've never used a wand, how would I know?"

"Take your best guess," Ollivander said as he pulled out a tape measure.

"I'm right handed, so right, I guess," Harry said as he held out his arm to be measured.

Ollivander didn't stop at measuring his arm from shoulder to finger, he continued measuring from his shoulder to the floor, his shoulder to his knee, toes to armpit, and even around his head. Eventually the aged man stepped away but the tape measure just kept on measuring.

"Have you any knowledge of wand-lore, Mr. Evans?" Ollivander asked as he started pulling down boxes.

Harry suddenly had a very grim reminder of a man he did not wish to think about right now. "How'd you know I go by my mother's maiden name?"

"I thought not," Ollivander continued as if Harry hadn't said a word. "Yes, your brother didn't either, surprisingly enough. I'll explain anyway, every Ollivander wand has the core of a powerful magical substance. The types of substances can vary greatly, but even for similar substances no two wands are exactly alike."

"Fascinating," Harry bit out, "now how did you know what name I went by?"

"Oh, that. We both know you already know," Ollivander said, admitting to reading his mind as if it were barely worth mentioning. "Anyway, if your brother was any indicator I think you too will be a tricky customer and that excites me."

"I'm not my brother," Harry retorted, slapping away the tape measure that had just tried to measure the width of his nostrils.

"Hmm, well that much is obvious Mr. Evans. And yes, do slap that thing if it keeps going. I've told it for months that we've progressed beyond measuring nostrils and eye-lash lengths but it just doesn't listen – doesn't listen at all. Honestly, as if I wouldn't progress past the level of my father."

"How obvious is it?" Harry asked curiously. "You're the first person I've encountered that's compared us."

"Honestly, Mr. Evans, I do not think I am the one you should ask about such matters, my focus lies not on your physical appearance." Ollivander opened one of the dozen or so boxes he'd collected and gently extended it towards Harry. "Right then, try this one. Blackthorn wood, eight and three quarters inches long, kraken heartstring core."

"Before that," Harry paused uncertainly, "how important are wands, exactly?"

Ollivander looked momentarily amazed before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Do not be ashamed of your ignorance, Mr. Evans, I will explain."

Harry nodded his head at the man to continue. He was glad that he didn't have to explain to Ollivander why he knew nothing of wands, even if the man could read his mind.

"Wands are the cornerstone of modern magical society," Ollivander said passionately, he must enjoy speaking of the craft he and his family had dedicated their lives to. "Whilst we humans are capable of magic without wands of course, we require these delicate tools to demonstrate the true majesty of spell-craft."

"I see," Harry said simply. His experiences with magic suddenly becoming a bit more clear. "Makes sense."

"Good, now that that's settled we may resume." Ollivander once more extended the box containing the previously described Blackthorn wand.

No explanation was needed from the old wand-maker on what Harry should do. The instant he palmed the wand Harry could tell that it just felt wrong. "Why does it seem so eager? No, a better translation would be... hungry?" Harry said aloud. Without waiting for a response he placed the wand back in the box from whence it came. "It was... aggressive. Like it wanted to fight to satisfy its desire."

"Interesting," Ollivander said, his voice trailing off at the end.

"What?"

"I did not expect you to be so in tune with the magic of wands to be able to discern feelings," Ollivander mused, his eerie eyes looked upon Harry without blinking. "Oh I'm really getting excited now!"

"Was my reaction not normal?" Harry asked, reaching for another box.

"The farthest thing from normal, Mr. Evans. Dare I say it, abnormal." Ollivander pulled his gaze away from Harry and lowered it to the wand now held loosely in Harry's hand. "Rowan wood, nine and one half inches long but very thin, the core is a unicorn tail hair. Do indulge an old man and describe what you feel."

Harry closed his eyes as he tightly gripped the wand, mentally straining for... something. "It doesn't seem very fond of me. I can't tell exactly why though. It's almost as if it's disappointed." Harry shook his head in confusion, he knew there was more to this wand, he could feel that there was more. "It's more personal than that, it's not just disappointed, it's disappointed in me. Rejecting me specifically."

Ollivander was hanging on Harry's every word. "Fascinating," he said quietly.

Harry returned the wand to its container and immediately the foreign feelings dissipated. "Level with me, what the hell is up with these wands?"

"No no no, not these wands Mr. Evans, all wands!" Ollivander exclaimed as he grabbed half the wands he'd brought out and walked away.

"That doesn't even remotely answer my question," Harry called out. He was starting to wonder if every person he met in the wizarding world was going to be vague and eccentric.

"Wands are not just tools, they are more! You don't choose a wand, a wand chooses you!" Ollivander yelled, having not ceased his rummaging around even whilst he spoke.

"Are wands alive?"

"No, no, of course not, not in the physical sense at least," Ollivander said loudly. "Metaphorically, well, that's still a hotly contested debate."
"Okay, well what do you think?" Harry asked, seeking any sort of information that was actually helpful.

"Oh me?" Ollivander's voice was muted as he crawled into a shelf that by all the laws of physics shouldn't have gone that far back. "Ahh, I settled nicely in the middle. Wands are not alive, but they need not be alive to have wills."

Finally, Harry no longer felt completely lost. "Okay, and I'm what, sensing the wills of these wands?"

"Sensor!" Ollivander loudly exclaimed. "Yes! That's the name! Ahaha, I know where that book is now."

Harry watched the man run off muttering to himself once more. Resigned to waiting while the old man searched for whatever it was he was looking for, Harry reached over and grabbed another wand box from off the stand where Ollivander placed them. It wouldn't hurt to keep testing wands in the meantime.

Barely taking heed of the physical aspects Harry reached down to pick up the wand. His fingers had scarcely touched the aged wood when he recoiled. Held within the wand was pure, unadulterated hatred. Malevolence the likes of which Harry had never felt before. Harry jumped back, eager to just get away from the wand that wanted to kill him.

"Ah, that wand," Ollivander suddenly remarked from the doorway, a small brown book held in his hand.

"What the fuck do you mean 'that wand'?" Harry exclaimed. "That thing is evil!"

"It is evil, yes, and its creation is not something I'm particularly proud of," Ollivander said sadly.
Harry glared at the man. "Then why did you bring it out for me to test?"

"Forgive my curiosity, I -" Ollivander sounded genuinely apologetic. "I haven't ever had the pleasure to observe a sensor who wasn't already bonded to another wand." Ollivander walked forwards and returned the lid on the vile instrument.

"What was that thing made from?" Harry demanded angrily.

"Yew, eleven inches long, the heartstring of an Aswang as its core," Ollivander refused to meet Harry's eyes.
"What's an Aswang?" Harry asked, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Ollivander grabbed over half the boxes he'd since removed from the stand and began putting them back on the shelves. "A particularly vile creature native to the Philippines. While many of the details can change, the consistent element to this dreadful monster is that it's known to feed off of pregnant woman and young children."

Harry stared at the man aghast. "Then why the hell would you make a wand out of something like that?"

"To prove that I could, Mr. Evans. The crafting of wands is a complex and fickle art. No two wands are the same and neither is the process of their creation." Ollivander stopped and turned, finally meeting Harry's gaze. "I apologize for involving you in my curiosity but I am not sorry for the creation of that wand. I strive to create great wands and that wand is most certainly great. The combination of materials I was able to harness together – that is a great wand, Mr. Evans."

Harry watched the old man turn away quietly, more boxes being returned to the shelves before they'd been tested. Harry suspected that magic had successfully pushed the ethics of the world more askew than what he was used to. The differences to the muggle world only served to fuel his intrigue.

Harry turned away from the old man and picked up the small book that had been set aside. 'We Who Sense' by Ashier Mi You. "What is this book, Ollivander?" Harry asked, slightly desperate to change the subject.

"Oh, oh that! Yes, yes, yes. It's a book that I've had around for ages. My great uncle was a sensor you see, and this book – why this book was what he always recommended to me should I wish to study the subject."

"So you're a sensor too?"

"No no, it's not something that can be learned," Ollivander paused and shook his head. "No, that's not quite right. Sensors have to learn, but very limited is the number of those who can learn."

"Huh," Harry eloquently responded. Suddenly engrossed in the small book's preface.

Harry's reading was suddenly interrupted when Ollivander pushed an open wand container in front of his face. "You may read that book later Mr. Evans, after you have purchased it from me. But for now we must return to finding you a wand."

"I can purchase the book?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes yes, along with a wand," Ollivander said as if it were unimportant. "Now, try this one."

"No descriptors?" Harry asked, slightly wary after the old man's experiments earlier.

"For your benefit as much as mine," Ollivander quickly responded. "Without any knowledge of what it is you are holding you get to try and sense the feelings emanating from the wand and-"

"And you get to observe me as I do so, right?" Harry finished for the man.

Ollivander's smile went as wide as his eyes. "Indeed, Mr. Evans."

"Alright, fair enough." Harry picked up the wand and held it aloft before quickly returning it to the box. "I felt a great deal of boldness and pride from that one. It didn't consider me worthy, I think."

"Willow, ten and a half inches long, with the feather of a hippogriff as its core," Ollivander helpfully supplied. "Yes, yes, I can see why it wouldn't choose you."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly before collecting himself. "Explain something to me though, I know you said that wands choose the wizard, but how exactly do they do so?"

Ollivander blinked. "I'm afraid I do not understand your question Mr. Evans. Are you seeking a more in-depth explanation surrounding the will of wands?"
"I guess?" Harry shrugged.

"We do not have twenty years for me to teach and thirty years for you to learn, so I will endeavor to make this concise," Ollivander said, his tone brisk.
Harry was reasonably certain he was just insulted but nodded along anyway.

"The wand chooses the wizard or the witch to whom it wishes to bond with, there is no role for the wizard or witch to play," Ollivander paused and withdrew his own wand. "My own wand has been with me since I was eleven. It chose me, Mr. Evans. If my father had handed to me other wands before this one it's entirely possible that I would have a different wand today."

"So, there's no perfect fit?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

"Perfect fit? Why of course not!" Ollivander declared, indignant at the very suggestion. "Did you think that if I asked you to pick a material and core that I would just be able to craft for you the perfect wand?"

"Umm, no?" Harry said, the obvious lie coming easily to his tongue. Luckily Ollivander was absorbed in his own rant.
"I have never understood how that ridiculous rumor about specially crafted wands got started," Ollivander said irately, waving his hands in the air. "Insinuating wands are nothing more than the sum of their parts, honestly!"

"I was just curious," Harry said defensively.

"Not you," Ollivander said, waving away Harry's comment. "It's the rest of the wizarding world. It's no secret that the wand chooses the wizard but these people insist on removing all agency from the wand." Ollivander grabbed another box from the large pile he'd prepared. "Now then, Mr. Evans, shall we continue?"

OoooOoooO

"Who is the letter from, Daniel?"

"It's from Gringotts."

"Your monthly statement? Seems early, doesn't it?"

"Um, no. This is informing me that the other inheritor has made their rightful claim."

"Ah, that law. A holdover from the 17th century contract. There was a problem with successors robbing their own family blind when planning to skip town and head to the colonies. Murder the head of the family –"

"So, Harry's back..."

"-secretly go in as an inheritor and empty the vault. It didn't take the Wizengamot long to come up with a few fixes and then ratify the treaty with an amendment. It has been a part of The Treaty ever since."

"Do you think Harry got the letter mum wrote him?"

"Yes, I think he got the letter. Professor McGonagall said she would deliver it and I trust her word."

"I know, I know – I guess I'm just nervous."

"Daniel, did your mom talk to you?"

"About Harry? Yeah, she did."

"I don't want to dampen your hopes but-"

"We have no idea what he's like, not really. You guys don't want me to get hurt, I know."

"I'm sorry, Daniel."

"You have nothing to sorry for, Dad. It's not your fault or anything."

"No, Daniel, it really is."

OoooOoooO

After over an hour and a half of sitting on the tall spindly chair in Ollivander's shop trying wand, after wand, after wand, Harry was more than ready to leave the aged establishment.

"This one is willful and very focused, I guess," Harry said. "But like all the others it rejects me. It's as if there's an invisible barrier between us. I can sense the magic within and I might even be able to reach for it, but the wand would be fighting me at every turn."

"I see, I see," Ollivander mused. "Well, the wand itself is a very sturdy fir wand, nine and a quarter inches long, with the powdered claw of an owlbear."

"Am I the tricky customer that you hoped for?" Harry asked, at this point fairly disinterested in the composition of another wand that rejected him. He'd taken to hanging his head over the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling and watched the pattern begin to take on shape and dance.

"Oh very much so, Mr. Evans. Just as tricky as your twin brother, actually," Ollivander responded.

Harry couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. He wasn't sure why, but comparisons to his brother had already started to rub him the wrong way.

"I wonder," Ollivander said quietly before dashing to the back.

"Wonder what?" Harry called after him, but no response was forthcoming. Harry shrugged and focused on the ceiling once more.

Minutes passed with Harry only hearing the odd sound of scraping from deep into the shop before Ollivander emerged once more, a layer of dust now coating his sleeves.

"Find what you were looking for?" Harry asked the man, sitting up straight at the prospect of something new.

Ollivander walked directly in front of Harry but did not move to offer the wand held in his hand as he had every one before. "Based on the results of the last wand you tried combined with your questions I was struck with a sudden inspiration," the aged man said, his voice soft.

Ollivander gently, almost reverently removed the lid from the box in his hand, revealing a polished pitch black wand within. "This wand is unique, Mr. Evans," Ollivander began, "but no more so than any other wand in this shop."

Harry started at the bait and switch the man had pulled on him. "Then why did you have to spend minutes searching for it in the back?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Ah, because this wand was not crafted by my hands, but by those of my grandfather, Gerbold Octavius Ollivander," Ollivander said the name of his grandfather with an unmistakable pride. "An exceedingly talented man when it came to crafting wands, everything I know I learned from him. He made this wand in 1746."

"That wand is almost 250 years old," Harry said, amazed.

"Made from dense ebony wood it is quite a heavy wand. Thirteen and a quarter inches long. Affixed with the heartstring of a particularly dangerous Swedish Short-Snout by the name of Indren. The creature was aggressive, violent, and when he escaped from his handlers, he caused the Tiverton fire of 1731 as retribution for what he believed to be a slight made to him." Ollivander didn't miss a beat as he recited the characteristics of the wand he didn't even create. "Grandfather purchased the heartstring and a number of claws at auction once Indren was put down," Ollivander continued. "He was eager to see it choose someone so as to get a grasp of its true potential, but he obviously died before he was able. My father never got his chance either."

"And now?" Harry asked, starting to get excited at the prospect of this incredible wand being his.

"You are only the second individual I've brought this wand out for, Mr. Evans," Ollivander said. "I suspected it would choose Tom Riddle many years ago, but he was selected by another before I could pull this wand out of its container."

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the mention of another Tom, but he resolved to mentally deal with that later. He would swear that the more Ollivander spoke the more he felt the magic of the wand calling to him.

"How I and my fellow wand-makers know how to pair wizards and witches with their wands is a trade secret I'm afraid," Ollivander said, "but suffice to say you met the standards, and now I offer to you this wand."

Harry reached his hand forward to take the wand for Ollivander's hand. The instant he grasped the magical wood he knew that'd found his match. Magic he hadn't ever felt welled from within him and resonated with the ebony wand held tightly in his hand. It wasn't just a tool, it was practically an extension to his arm – the missing limb he never knew he'd lost.

The feelings Harry felt from the wand merged seamlessly with his own. It was bold. Harry was comfortable. They knew who they were.

"This is my wand," Harry said, elation reflected in his features. Without prompt, and for the first time since Harry had been told he was a wizard, he tried to use magic. It was raw, forceful, and primal in execution, but magic flowed from within Harry out of the ebony wood he held aloft.

Darkness blanketed the room, the only light the silver glow emanating from Harry's wand. He stood there, amazed and utterly transfixed on that which he'd wrought throughout the room. Slowly but surely swirling lights began to form in the darkness, taking shape and moving – movement that he knew reflected the experiences he'd already had since learning of magic.

"A beautiful spell if I do say so myself," Ollivander's voice breached through the silence as the man materialized from the darkness.

"I don't know if I could count this as a spell," Harry said, his voice quiet even to his own ears. "I just tried to use magic."

"Magic often reacts to our subconscious," Ollivander said softly, his eyes tracing the light show.

Harry would've stood there and watched for hours, his mind absolutely encapsulated by the magic he'd somehow created. His trance was interrupted by Ollivander's hand suddenly clamping down on his shoulder.

"This experience will prove a lovely memory for us both, Mr. Evans," Ollivander said. "But I think I am going to bring it to a close here. I would like my store back, after all." The old man removed his wand from his sleeve and waved it almost dismissively. His features were briefly puzzled before he turned to Harry, a small smile in place.

"A more potent spell than I initially suspected," Ollivander remarked. "Finite Incantatem."

Harry watched the man form deliberate motions with his wand as he spoke the spell, and just like that the darkness faded away. Harry was sad to see the spell dissipate. Whether it was the fact that it was the first time he intentionally cast magic or the actual effects he knew not, but a melancholy atmosphere settled over him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Evans," Ollivander said. "I do believe that you shall surpass my expectations for such a wand."

Harry mutely nodded his thanks before turning to retrieve the book on sensing he was given permission to purchase. "So how much are these going to run me?" Harry asked.

"Before I get to that, I have one other item I believe you'd like to take a look at," Ollivander said.

"And what would that be?" Harry asked, curious as to what else the man could offer.

"A wand holster," Ollivander responded. "A simple but brilliant design that uses rune inscribed corded leather in the shape of a simple bracelet. On this bracelet is a small loop that one can easily slide their wand into."

"What do the runes do?" Harry asked.

"In this case, everything," Ollivander said, seemingly surprised by the question. "They hold the bracelet in a fixed location, they keep the wand secured, they allow for wands to be easily drawn and holstered away once more."

"Are they a new invention?" Harry was already sold but more information couldn't hurt.

"A new innovation on an old invention," Ollivander said brightly. "The old wrist holsters were these long leather bracers that extended from the finger to the elbow. But a wizard named Skomjorn, a rune-master from the Nordic region, successfully inscribed interlocking three dimensional matrices onto corded leather and created the version that is commonly used today."

"I'll take one," Harry said quickly. An unobtrusive holster that's easily hidden and allows wands to be quickly drawn? It wasn't even a question.

"Then I shall go retrieve one for you," Ollivander seemed happy with his sale.

When the old man returned Harry immediately slipped the holster onto his forearm. True to his word, Ollivander's description was almost perfect. The bracelet, as Harry could not really bring himself to think of it as a holster, was tightly wound aside from a single loose portion that his wand slotted into perfectly. The bracelet was fixed in place and scarcely noticeable despite being pressed against his arm. Even the long piece of wood was unobtrusive despite Harry's brain telling him that given the length it should be in the way.

"I love magic," Harry said quietly.

"I trust you can figure out the exact mechanics on your own time, Mr. Evans," Ollivander said, cutting in to Harry's intense inspection.

"Right, right. So how much will all of these run me?" Harry asked for the second time.

"Fifteen galleons for the wand, five for the book, and another fifteen for the holster." Ollivander didn't even have to think. "More expensive than what I would normally charge, yes. These items are either older than I am or younger than you though, so I believe there's something to be said for their value."

Inwardly, Harry recognized that he was about to spend more money than he had ever dreamed of being able to spend frivolously, over 5000 pounds if his math was correct. But the simple realization that he could easily afford the purchase washed over him, and suddenly Harry no longer cared about the cost at all.

"Worth the money," Harry responded simply as he pulled out the checkbook the goblins had provided to him. He paused when he realized he had no pen. "Umm, do you have something I could write with?"

Ollivander surprised Harry when he pulled out a brilliant, black-feathered quill and passed it over.

"Any ink?" Harry asked. He wasn't that familiar with quills but he was reasonably certain quills and pens did not function the same way.

"Magic, Mr. Evans," Ollivander responded dryly.

"Ah, right. That," Harry said lamely, his face lightly flushed at the blunder. Just another reminder to not treat this world with the logic he was familiar with.

"Just input the amount, the date, and sign your name. Those checks are tied to both your vault and your blood," Ollivander explained helpfully. "If anyone but you tried to make use of those checks there would be dire consequences."

"I'm surprised the goblins would go so far for their clients," Harry muttered.

"Yes, well, unpleasant though the goblins of Gringotts may be, there is a reason our society entrusts them with our money," Ollivander said.

"I'll remember that," Harry said, mentally filing away Ollivander's specificity in referring to the goblins as 'Gringotts goblins.'

Harry finished filling out the check noting how odd it felt to write with a quill. Scratchier than any pen he'd ever used, but the ink flowed easily all the same. His writing had never been considered neat before, now it was only one step above chicken-scratch. Ah well, it was still legible. Barely. "Annnd, signed. Now what?"

"Now we use this rather helpful device the goblins invented and just like that the money will be transferred from your account to mine," Ollivander said.

Harry watched as Ollivander pulled out a small device that somewhat resembled a muggle cash register but was smaller and had far less knobs and buttons. "Huh, that's convenient," Harry remarked.

Ollivander nodded. "Oh, quite convenient. This device is only around a hundred years old. It used to be that we carried large amounts of coins with us everywhere. We had to visit the bank in person constantly," Ollivander trailed off for a moment as he continued to work the odd machine.

"If one were to ask me," Ollivander continued, "I suspect the Gringotts goblins invented this just so they would have to interact with humans less."

"Helping us in the interest of not having to deal with us," Harry said dryly. "Somehow that logic seems perfect for a goblin."

"It does, doesn't it," Ollivander said as he passed the check back to Harry. "That there is a copy, Mr. Evans. I will hold onto the original for legal purposes whilst you keep a copy as a record of our transaction. It would not do to fail to keep track of our finances, now would it?"

"In case you get audited?" Harry asked.

"Something akin to that, yes." Ollivander said mysteriously.

Harry was more than content to not pry further. Ollivander was an odd man whose company Harry was ready to be done with at this point. "Right, well, thanks for your help, I guess. I'm still annoyed at you for that shit you pulled earlier," Harry said, unwilling to give the man a pass on the awful experience.

Ollivander merely shrugged. "Farewell, Mr. Evans. I think we shall be seeing each other again."

"Not soon, I hope," Harry said quietly as he stepped out of the shop and onto the still busy streets of Diagon Alley.

OoooOoooO

"Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"I thought it best, at the time anyway."

"Separating us was for the best? Are you kidding me?"

"Daniel, I won't deny that in hindsight it was a mistake-"

"Yeah, obviously."

"-but at the time we were scared. Your parents were dead, my mother was dead. Our homes were supposed to be safe and it was clear that they weren't."

"How the hell is that supposed to justify sending Harry away?"

"When Lily did whatever it is that she did, she left behind powerful defensive magic. More powerful than anything I've personally seen."

"I know, her magic is what protected me from Voldemort."

"Yes, but what you don't know is that Dumbledore figured out how to tie that magic into a ward scheme."
"He what?"

"You heard me correctly. He said he couldn't tell exactly what it was or how it was created, but the magic could be interacted with."

"How does that explain why Harry and I were separated?"

"I'm getting there. The protections your mother left on you were also on Harry just to a lesser degree. The house was destroyed but the only scratch on either of you was your scar. It was clear as day that your mother had shielded you both from harm."

"Dumbledore... He created two safe houses instead of just one, didn't he?"

"There was no such thing as too careful back then..."

"And you all chose me instead of Harry because I was The-Boy-Who-Lived, right?"

"Your name had already been revealed to the world. We knew the likelihood of you being targeted was far higher than the relatively unknown older twin."

"But it was you who had the idea for everything?"

"Yeah, it was me."

"Was the Fidelius charm an option?"

"No, for three reasons: One, the Fidelius charm doesn't play well with other wards. Two, only one secret per secret keeper. Three, the secret keeper being inside the secret they are keeping will slowly but surely erode the charm. No one knows why but it's a fact."

"Oh."

"Which brings us to the other reason why it's my fault."

"There's more?"

"Alice suggested that she take Harry while I keep Neville and yourself. We'd each be the other's secret keeper and we could all stay safely hidden until it was time for you all to go to Hogwarts."

"I – I don't-"
"It was me that convinced her not to. I don't think she's ever really forgiven me for that."

OoooOoooO

As the sun began to dip into the horizon Harry realized that he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Beth's place and move out before the day's end. Shops and curiosities by the dozens pulled at his attention as he made his way back to The Leaky Cauldron. As much as he wished to explore now, he had time for that starting tomorrow.

"Keep walking, Harry. Just keep walking," he muttered to himself. Luckily, the old tavern wasn't far from Ollivander's shop, so Harry wasn't exposed to temptation for long.

Entering the pub Harry immediately made his way to the bar. The tavern was packed compared to earlier in the day. Harry glanced around and saw people seemingly from all walks of life gathered to eat and enjoy a nice drink at the end of the day. Tom was nowhere to be seen but the woman running the bar approached in his stead.

"What will it be, dear?" She asked kindly, a warm smile on her face.

Harry realized in that moment that he had no eaten since breakfast. He wasn't certain as to what exactly he was smelling, but he quickly informed the waitress of what he needed, "I'll take an order of whatever it is that smells so delicious."

The barkeep raised an eyebrow but still smiled as she poured Harry a water. "Alfie's on the grill tonight, I'll tell him to throw on another steak, yeah?"

"You and Alfie are both angels," Harry said, returning the woman's smile.

"I'll be sure to let him know," the barkeep laughed as she turned away to refill another drink.

"One quick question if you have the time," Harry called after the woman.

"I'm listening," she responded, still facing another patron.

"What time will Tom be back in?" Harry asked, slightly concerned that the busy tavern would run out of rooms.

The woman glanced back at Harry in understanding, "you're the kid that wants to rent for a few months, aren't you?"

"That's me," Harry said proudly.

"Don't worry about your room dear," the barkeep returned, "Tom already has one set aside for you. Said you all could talk payment whenever you next see each other." The woman gestured up the stairs with her free hand. "Room number nine, ready for you whenever."

His room secured for the night, Harry let out a content sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thank you," he called out to the woman that was once more absorbed in keeping her patrons at the bar happy.

Harry turned around and gazed upon the friendly and warm atmosphere that permeated the tavern. "And thank you, Tom," he muttered quietly to himself.

Harry stayed in the pub while he enjoyed his dinner. Alfie's skills on the grill were something to write songs about. Shortly after his food was delivered Harry noticed a large group of wizards and witches gathered around what appeared to be a radio.

Magical, I'm guessing. Harry thought to himself. It wasn't immediately obvious, but Harry now understood that while the magical world lacked electricity, they did just fine without it.
"What are they listening to over there?" Harry asked the man sitting next to him.

The man in question was rocking the salt and pepper look but didn't have a wrinkle anywhere on his features. His eyes were locked onto the barkeep, more specifically the woman's backside, but still he responded easily, "they're listening to the quidditch game."

"Quidditch?" Harry said, confusion evident in his tone.

"Haven't heard of quidditch, eh?" The man chortled. "Muggle-born then."

"Muggle raised, actually," Harry countered. "Just learned of my heritage yesterday."

"Welcome back then, dear!" The barkeep entered the conversation at this point. She wagged her finger at the man next to Harry. "And you, Luca, don't think I didn't notice you staring at my ass for the last half hour."

"If you knew I was watching then you should've done a dance," the now identified Luca said with a wink.

The barkeep only laughed before turning away once more, a noticeable sway in her step that showed off her assets quite nicely. "I take it you two flirt often?" Harry said, highly amused by the duo's antics.

"Oh often enough, Kiara and I have been married 35 years now so that's how it goes," Luca said fondly.

Harry glanced at their hands and saw matching silver bands. He shook his head at having missed such on obvious detail. "Yeah, that makes sense then," he said. "So, tell me about quidditch."

"Best sport in the world," Luca let out a hearty chuckle. "Two teams, seven players per team, six hoops, a total of four balls in play at all times, all hundreds of feet in the air."

Harry let out a long whistle. "I'm sold."

"Damn right you're sold!" Luca said enthusiastically. "Order another drink, I'll explain to you the rules and the like; and then I'll tell you about one of the greatest matches of all time – 1958, Japan versus Morocco, the semi-finals of the World Cup."

Harry was momentarily tempted to ask for a rain-check and keep to his schedule, but he was in a new world, he was a new Harry, and he was going to follow his every whim and desire until it killed him.

"Kiara," Harry called out, raising his hand in the air, "I'll take whatever you're allowed to serve me, and another drink for your husband as well please."

Luca laughed uproariously, "good man, good man. What's your name, kid?"

"Harry Evans."

"Listen well Harry," Luca began, taking a large swig of his drink, "listen well and appreciate the glory that is quidditch."

By midnight, Harry was a die-hard fan.

Chapter Text

"The Ministry? Come down and raid ol' Knockturn? That there's a good one, mate. Ministry doesn't raid down 'ere, oh no. They tried that once upon a time, got sent scurryin' back up to dear Diagon with their tails tucked right between their legs. Only bleedin' aurors come down 'ere now – an' lemme tell you, they're far worse than any raid." -Mundungus Fletcher to a business associate over a drink, a bar in Knockturn Alley. October, 1988.

Chapter 5:

The early morning sun was still shining through the windows of the bedroom that Harry had called his for eight years. The book-shelf in the corner contained the books that he'd be leaving behind, which was all of them. Harry enjoyed each and every book he kept but he was living in a fantasy story now, he had no need to read about them.

All Harry had really packed was his clothes and a few keepsakes, all of which fit into a single large duffel bag. The photo album Sarah had gotten him was tucked tightly away. She and Maya had both been big into photography. They took pictures of experiences more than scenery or posed group photos. On his last birthday Sarah had gone and compiled an album for him. Filled to the brim with memories of the time they had all spent together and random little shots she'd taken of him. Throughout the majority of the last year she'd frequently given him more photos to tuck into corners or flaps. Harry cherished that album more than most things he owned.

Looking back at the room that still looked entirely lived in, Harry was reminded of how he'd never felt truly at home here. He would thank Beth until the day he died for all that she'd done for him. Both her and Sarah would always have a place in his heart. But he wasn't saying goodbye to his home, he was saying goodbye to the place he'd lived for a few years. It was the closest thing Harry had ever known to a home, but he'd never allowed himself to truly embrace living there. A small part of him fearing that if he did so, he'd lose it. So even after living underneath the same roof for the past eight years, Harry Evans still didn't have a home.

"You really are leaving," Sarah suddenly said from behind him. Her words weren't a question.

"Yeah, I am," Harry said, turning to meet her eyes.

Sarah clenched her fist at her side. "Were you going to say goodbye?" She asked, her voice sounding hurt to his ears.

Harry walked forward and pulled the girl into a tight hug. "C'mon now, we both know I'm not that bad."

Sarah's hands snaked around Harry as she returned the hug, now burying her head into his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you, you know?" She said, her voice muffled as she cried into his shirt.

Harry kissed the top of Sarah's head and continued to hold her close. "I'll miss you too." He knew it wasn't fair to the girl. Every person she let herself get close to inevitably left her alone. First her parents, then her grandparents, then Maya, and now him. Regardless of the circumstances, the fact of the matter was that he was leaving her behind, and they both knew he wasn't going to regret it.

After a minute of silence Sarah slowly pulled away from their embrace. Wiping her eyes of the tears that had built up she looked up at Harry with a smile on her face – a smile that was painfully fake. The pain in her eyes all too easy to read. "Well, Beth told me you're rich now so if I ever need money I'm hitting you up, okay?"

Harry saw what she was doing and happily played along, for her sake. "You already mooch off me, so I doubt I'll be able to tell a difference," he said, a far more genuine if still somber smile on his features.

"If you think I'm bad now just you wait, Harry," Sarah countered, forcing a small laugh as she did. Harry wished she would drop the facade, but he could never ask her to be honest right now, it would only hurt her more when he still walked away.

"I'll see you then," Harry said. He kissed Sarah on the head one last time before making his way past her and down the stairs for the last time.

Waiting for Harry in the main foyer was Beth and all the kids as he'd affectionately dubbed them. Few words were exchanged as he hugged each of the kids goodbye. He wasn't particularly close with any of them, but he had still known them all for two years at least, and he knew that they liked him. Jim, more than the others, was emotional as he bid Harry goodbye.

"You'll visit sometime, right?" Jim asked, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at Harry.

"Definitely," Harry said, smiling down at the boy, hoping his words wouldn't prove him a liar down the road.

Then there was Beth. Harry walked up to the woman and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispered into her ear. They were the only words he said, they were the only words that needed to be said. Two little words carried eight years worth of care and emotion. Harry pulled away from Beth and he saw in her eyes that she understood. Harry kissed her on the cheek and stepped towards the door.

"Goodbye, Harry," Beth said, tears in her eyes as she watched another one of her kids leave her care.

"Bye all," Harry said. He walked out the front doors, stuck a smoke in his mouth, and never looked back.

Harry hailed down a taxi and gave an address that was near the Leaky Cauldron. Normally he might have taken the bus, but he had muggle cash to burn so why not take a load off and enjoy an easy method of travel. It wasn't even ten in the morning by the time Harry reached the magical tavern, and just like that he felt validated in paying for the more expensive method of travel.

Having already met with Tom earlier that morning and agreeing upon a more than fair price, Harry nodded at the man but otherwise walked straight up to his room for the next two months. Room number nine wasn't glamorous but it did still have the same sense of tasteful age the rest of the Leaky Cauldron possessed. A good sized four poster bed in the middle of the room, a small nightstand next to it. A dresser against the wall across from the bed, with a standing mirror placed adjacently. A desk and simple wooden chair in the corner completed the ensemble.

Harry tossed his bag on the bed and removed his coin pouch and the list of equipment and books Hogwarts had provided. "Might as well get the necessities out of the way first," Harry said. He had a list that he was going to complete today, but that was no excuse not to have a look around, wander off the beaten path a bit.

Harry made his way back to the Alley and was again surprised by just how crowded it was. Note to self – figure out just how many magical folk there are in Britain. Harry didn't mind the crowds though, having this many people in one area brought a certain level of excitement to the streets. Combine that with the obvious magic every which way he looked and Harry was having a blast.

"Right, trunk first so I can carry all this stuff," Harry said. Rather than asking for directions Harry just started walking, his eyes peeled for any signs or displays that would help guide his way. For the first time in his life Harry didn't have to worry about money, time wasn't a constraint in the slightest, and each and every one of the shops was a new experience. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to squander this opportunity. Harry Evans was determined to have a damn good day.

OoooOoooO

"Wait, you're serious, Mum? You're not letting me go to the Alley?"

"Dressed like that? Absolutely not."

"Dressed like what? Daddy bought me these clothes! What's wrong with my shorts, a Swish and Flick t-shirt, and a flannel?"

"What do you mean your father bought you those?"

"I asked Daddy if he could please buy me these clothes and he said yes!"

"Well I'm going to have to speak with him on what's proper for a young lady to wear."

"You know you're one of like, five witches in all of England that actually cares about this kind of stuff, right?"

"Witches should care more about modesty!"

"How about they worry about how they dress and I'll worry about how I dress? Everyone's happy then."

"Well I'm not, Lavender. You're my daughter and I don't want you going out dressed like that. So if you want to go out with your friends then go upstairs and put on a more conservative outfit."

"No way."

"Then you're not allowed to go, it's that simple."

"Ugh! But I already agreed to meet Annabel and Faye at that new boutique store!"

"You can write them a letter explaining why you weren't allowed to go."

"Oh yeah, sure – 'dear Annabel, I couldn't leave the house because my mom is crazy and afraid of showing more than her ankles. Sorryyyy!'"

"That's it, Lavender! Go to your room! I'm done arguing with you right now."

"Fine, my room or the hammock out back. Makes no difference to me since I'm stuck here either way!"

"Go, Lavender."

"I'm going, I'm going! Merlin, what's your problem?"

"Your mouth is. Now go!"

"I already said I was going!"

"Another word, Lavender, and I'm revoking your house elf privileges for a week!"
"Eep!"

"That's what I thought. Honestly, that girl..."

OoooOoooO

Harry let out a contented sigh as he plopped down on top of his trunk. He was currently seated against a bare spot of brick in Diagon Alley after having spent the better part of six hours shopping.

"Multi compartment trunk, check. Standard size pewter cauldron, check. One set of crystal phials, check. One set of brass scales, check. One telescope, check. One pair of dragon-hide gloves, check. Standard array of potions ingredients, check. Extra self inking quills, check. Notebooks and spare parchment, check. Schoolbag, check." Harry was pouring over the list provided to him by Hogwarts along with the extra things he'd picked up after shopping in the various stores. There were a lot of random stores and stands in Diagon Alley.

Harry realized after about fifteen minutes of walking that he couldn't identify a purpose behind the majority of what was being sold. Some things such as an enchanted razor or a magical deck of cards were obvious, Harry had seen them in their respective shops and immediately purchased them. Then there were other items such as the bottle of "left handed nazle powder" that Harry had spent ten minutes trying to decipher but with no luck.

Harry was tempted to purchase a "Cloak of Death" when wearing it gave him the appearance of a truly grotesque undead nightmare, complete with a skeletal face and desiccated skin. He knew that he'd have far too much fun on Halloween with such an item, but until he had a place of his own to store it, he refrained.

Then there were items such as the "Glutton's Fork." Harry could not resist asking the shop-keep what exactly it was, and the answer both intrigued and disgusted him. The ability to at will turn anything that will fit into your mouth into an edible version of itself was disturbing, to say the least. Harry did not even consider purchasing one even if the enchantment itself was quite interesting.

At one point throughout the day, Harry had enjoyed a lovely conversation with a painting of a witch that claimed she'd once danced with Godric Gryffindor at a party. A lie she maintained even when the seller had pointed out that she was a painting of a witch from the 1600s. Harry was not quite certain of when Godric Gryffindor had been alive, but he gathered from the merchant's tone that it was far enough away from the 1600s so as to make the dates incongruous with one another.

The painting next to her had been just as full of tall tales, though admittedly far more entertaining ones. Harry could technically neither confirm nor deny the veracity of Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III's claims, but he was immediately skeptical of them when the poised man asserted that he and a group of legends had battled a god while atop a living, colossal mountain that was laying siege to civilization's oldest city; and that they sealed said god before he could bring doom upon the world. An entertaining story, to be sure, one Harry wouldn't mind hearing in detail at a later date, but it wasn't the type of tale that Harry could believe to be true – no matter how much Lord Percival insisted that was the case.

Harry had learned an interesting fact from the seller of the fine paintings that he had engaged in conversation with. The magic of portraits that allowed real people to be captured and immortalized using paints and dyes, had only been around since the Renaissance. A fictional painting had long since been able to speak and move about the frame, embodying the character in which they were created, but real people, real likeness, the magic behind these works was a comparatively new technique.
"All I have left to grab is my uniform and my books," Harry said aloud, returning his focus to the list in his hand. "Now, if I was a uniform, where would I be sold?" Harry glanced around but couldn't see any sort of shops that had clothes available for purchase. With a destination in mind but no clue as to how to get there, Harry rose to his feet and started walking once more, his wheeled trunk being pulled behind him.

After roughly 30 minutes of searching Harry finally found his way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The interior of the shop could not have possibly reflected what Madam Malkin was selling more clearly. Mannequins that kept posing in different positions were literally all over the shop, each advertising vastly different styles of robes. Some of which were simply outer-wear layered over-top other articles of clothing, while others appeared to be a manner of dress in of itself. Near the door was a desk that had a number of ledgers and one of those devices akin to a register that Ollivander had also possessed. Seated at the desk was a middle aged woman dressed entirely in mauve.

"Hogwarts, deary?" The somewhat squat woman asked.

"Yeah, full set. You sell the entire uniform or just the robes?" Harry asked.

"Oh we have the entire uniform here," the purple woman replied. "Shirts, ties, shoes, pants, skirts, and of course, robes."

Harry was borderline uncomfortable with the way the woman said 'robes', but he shrugged it off. "Great, I'll take the standard lot for blokes then," he said.

"Go right through the back there," the woman gestured with her hand. "One of my assistants should be there, and they will handle your fitting."

"Alright, thanks."

Harry made his way to the back and saw a girl who couldn't be more than a few years older than himself sitting on a stool with a book in her hand. She was cute, brown hair tied back in a messy bun with a few bangs falling loose that framed her face nicely. Dressed in ripped high waisted jeans and a simple black top, Harry definitely thought there were worse people he could have fit him for clothes.

"You the assistant I was told to see?" Harry asked.

Said girl dropped her book in surprise at the sudden address. "Holy. Fuck," she glanced up and saw Harry grinning at her from the door way. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Never would have guessed," Harry said, amused.

"Asshole," the girl said as she rose from her stool, clearly annoyed at having been caught off guard.

"Guilty," Harry accepted her accusation with pride.

"Just get on the footstool," the girl said.

Harry laughed but still did as he was instructed by the assistant.

"Hogwarts first year, right?" She asked as she grabbed a bunch of fabrics.

"Yeah," Harry replied, watching the girl as she went about measuring him. "Can I get a name?"

"Leia, and don't you dare say anything about Star Wars or I'll stab you."

"Message received," Harry laughed. He had definitely been about to mention Star Wars.

"What about you, what's your name?" Leia asked.

"Harry Evans, pleasure."

"Mhm, sure it is."

"Bit prickly today, are you? Or is it me you dislike?" Harry asked teasingly.

Leia snorted, she took a brief glance back at the hallway before replying to Harry in a lowered tone. "You try measuring people by hand all day when an enchanted tape measure sits upstairs and see if you don't get annoyed."

Harry tried to hold back his chuckle but failed spectacularly – and so Leia promptly stabbed him with a needle. "Ouch! Rude much?" Harry exclaimed.

"You deserved it," Leia retorted, a small smirk now on her face.

"Great, you enjoyed stabbing me," Harry said dryly. "I guess I know what to expect for the next half hour, sadist."

"Please, I'm a switch. I'll only stab you for half that time."

Harry laughed at the girl's quick retort as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of a very cute, older girl flirting with him. "Is that so? I'll have to remember that for later."

"I'm out of your league, Evans," Leia said smugly. "Come back when you've filled out in a few years, then we'll talk."

"Later it is," Harry responded easily. "I'm told I have good genes, so that shouldn't take too long." Inwardly, Harry was so proud of himself.

Leia rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her face, she refrained from responding any further. Despite their banter she'd been working diligently and was now thoroughly engrossed in her task. Outside of the intentional injuries she inflicted, Harry hadn't been stabbed as a product of her work even once.

"So what year are you at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, enjoying his conversation with the cute and forward girl.

"I'm about to be a fourth year," Leia said, the first bit of enthusiasm entering her voice. "Hogwarts is a blast. Lots of empty rooms, not a lot of supervision – if you catch my meaning."

Harry understood quite well. "You explore much? Someone I know said that was the best part about the school, a lot of secrets to be found," Harry said, barely holding back a shudder at the thought of Tom.

"Can't say I have," Leia responded. "I found my quiet spots that others never seem to find and that's enough for what I'm after."

"So unimaginative," Harry said, thoroughly unimpressed with the girl's lack of spirit and quite willing to tease her over it. "I enjoy a nice hook up spot too but come on, don't you want to find more interesting places?"

"Hey, fuck you. Between my classes and social life I don't have time for much else," Leia said indignantly. "Not that I wouldn't mind the occasional tryst in a better spot than an abandoned classroom," she muttered quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes at the girl fondly and chose not to press her any further. She clearly wasn't as curious as him about finding interesting things, but she also seemed genuine in her stance that classes took a lot of time. There was nothing else for Harry to say. Didn't stop him from checking out her ass as she bent over to pick up the needle she dropped. Kindred spirits they might not be, but Harry was still a hormonal teen.

"Classes difficult?" Harry cut through the silence that had fallen over the pair with another question.

"What am I, your student handbook?" Leia said, though there was little heat to her words.

Harry just shrugged. "Eh, you might as well be. You've already admitted classes and sex consume all of your time. Sex is out of the question for now, so talk to me about classes." Harry couldn't lie even to himself, he was quite proud that he didn't stumble over his words to the cute nineteen year old.

"Wow," Leia said succinctly. "Your persuasion skills suck dick, Evans." She really was quite the poet with words. Almost as if it was on queue Leia stabbed Harry in the leg. Again.

"Okay, okay," Harry said, he raised his arms in surrender, interrupting Leia's work in the process. "A question related to your job then?"

The girl snorted at his quick retreat. "Go for it," she said, forcefully readjusting his arms where she needed them to be.

"What's with the antiquated robe design on these uniforms?" Harry said, confused. "I saw the occasional person wearing robes that looked a bit like coats, but this uniform is just weird."

"Once upon a time everyone would dress in robes like these believe it or not," Leia said easily, proving Harry's assumption about her interests correct. "Apparently it was around two hundred years ago or so that muggle fashion began to catch on. Not that anyone said it was muggle fashion, the pure-bloods would never have gone for that. Stupid cunts."

"So ever since people have just been introducing muggle fashion as their own?" Harry asked, trying not to shuffle as Leia continued her work. He'd been briefly introduced to the bigotry present in magical society when McGonagall had explained his past.

"Nah, though that shit would have been funny to see," Leia responded with a chuckle. "Magical folk got a real eye opener to muggle society when all of London was bombed to hell and back. Ever since some elements and ideas from muggles have seeped their way into our culture. Stuff like clothes, music, foods, you get the picture."

"You learn about this stuff in History of Magic?" Harry questioned.

"Fuck me, I wish," Leia said bluntly. "That class might be worth my time if we studied the history of fashion, but Binns drones on about shit like the Statute of Secrecy, goblin wars, or the spread of the British Empire. Useless stuff."

Harry thought that her priorities could use a bit of work, especially since, to him at least, those all seemed like extremely interesting topics to cover in a history course. "So, you know about this because -"

"Because it relates to clothes and clothes interest me, yeah," Leia said, cutting Harry off. She was slowly walking around Harry inspecting the cut of the robes, hemming it further whenever she saw fit. "Well, music interests me too, even though that's not apart of my job."

Harry suddenly smirked. "Let me guess, you were in a band, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was in a band. Yes, we broke up," she said sullenly, her needle finding its way into his thigh once more.

"Ouch ouch ouch! I'm sorry, but it was just too cliché," Harry was almost glad for the pain as it helped him not to laugh. He was certain that if he laughed he would've been stabbed. Again.

Leia shrugged as she resumed her work. "We were a cover band for The Cure, but in the magical world that's what over half the bands are."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Exactly what I said, in the magical world a band forms, they cover songs from the muggle world and then claim it as their own," Leia said, her tone suggesting that she thought it obvious.

"Damn, I respect the hustle," Harry said, impressed.

"Right?" Leia agreed. "Magicals and muggles live in largely separate societies. We have our own economies and laws. So, fuck copyrights, make good music. If they could steal our shit, they would. Plus, the music really is good. Most bands that make it big aren't lazy, they just have covers alongside their original stuff."

Harry honestly could not wait to listen to some of these bands. Maybe someone had gone and made The Beatles actually sound good. He knew it was almost a crime to dislike The Beatles, but he'd stood by his opinion since first he heard Hey Jude on record, and every other album had just further solidified his belief.

"Aside from the magic there's not as much of a culture shock as I was expecting," Harry said, fairly relieved.

"That's how it goes these days," Leia said with a shrug. "There are still some differences between the two worlds, but it could be worse.

"You're a half-blood, aren't you?" Harry asked, he would bet money that he was right given all that Leia had said, not even counting her name or the reference it had become for her.

"Mhm," Leia responded. "Dad the muggle-born wizard fell for Mum the cutest muggle in town. Ten months later, there I am."

"So, do you want to become a designer or run a shop?" Harry asked. He vastly preferred small talk to silence and he had nothing else to say on the subject of Leia's birth.

"Merlin, a designer any day of the week," Leia looked at Harry like he was an idiot. "What, do you think I want to spend the rest of my days hemming the clothes of brats getting ready for Hogwarts?"

Harry thought about what it must be like to spend the next 150 years performing the same task for thousands of children. "No, you're right. That sounds awful," Harry agreed.

"Ugh, I want to die just thinking about it," Leia said, shuddering at the thought alone. "Malkin's is a summer job, that's it."

Leia stepped back away from Harry, giving him a final look over before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her work. "You want your shirt and pants to be hemmed too, or just the robes?" She asked.

"If they're hemmed won't I outgrow them in a few months?" Harry said, uncertain as to how exactly tailored clothes would fit him given he was still growing. Robes were one thing to swallow given how damn bulky they were. A button-up shirt and pants were another matter entirely. Not that he'd actually ever had tailored clothes before, but common sense seemed to suggest his question was a valid one.

"Nah, the enchantments tied into the clothes will help them resize to fit you. Within reason anyway," Leia said. Harry was grateful she didn't make fun of his ignorance.

"You can tie enchantments into clothes too?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Our cotton comes from this specific farm in India that's situated in this region that has a lot of magical creatures and by extension magical saturation," Leia explained. She was very well informed on her chosen profession. "If you tried to enchant muggle clothes the magic would rip the fibers apart."

Leia tossed a shirt and pants towards Harry who just barely caught them after they hit him in the face. "Go put those on and then come back, I'll make sure they're fitted for you then you can get out of here," Leia said as she started to write out his order.

"Leia, are you trying to get rid of me?" Harry said, mock hurt in his voice.

"Yes. Hurry up."

Harry laughed at her blunt reply but still complied and went to put on the shirt and pants. It didn't take long for Leia to hem the clothes to his size, she was quite talented and their conversation had taken a far less probing turn. Throughout the whole process Harry kept trying to flirt with the girl but was cleverly rebuffed at every turn. Harry would have stopped had Leia not seemed to find his efforts amusing. What can he say, he liked it when pretty girls laughed.

"Alright, Evans, you're done," Leia said with a contented sigh. "I'll take this order-slip to the boss-lady, come back here tomorrow to pick up your order. You can pay then."

"Simple enough, thanks, Leia," Harry said, smiling at the girl. "See you at Hogwarts."

"Mhm, shove off now, please," Leia responded bluntly.

"Try not to make any children cry, today!" Harry called back to the girl as he left. He steadfastly ignored the two fingers she threw his way.

The info Harry had gotten from Leia was beyond helpful. Even the goddamn clothes were magical. Harry made a beeline towards the clothing store he had caught sight of earlier in the day. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to wear boring old muggle clothes when a magical variety was available. If they could be enchanted to compensate for minor changes in size there's no saying what other common enchantments they might have!

"Carnall's Curious Clothes from a Companion's Closet," Harry read the sign aloud. "Man, I cannot get over these names."

Harry stepped into the store and in spite of the name found a rather fashionable clothing store, one that wouldn't stand out from any store in the muggle world. Sure, there were a few minor differences in style and some bands that no one in the muggle world would have ever heard of, but it was easily the most non-magical place he'd stepped into yet.

Harry spent the better part of the next hour purchasing an entirely new wardrobe. New shirts, new jeans, socks, boots, underwear, and of course new flannels. Magical clothes just felt softer and better fitting. A small part of Harry's brain wondered if it was just placebo, but the rest of Harry was now firmly a believer in whatever enchantments were placed on the clothes.

Having recruited one of the store's workers to hold onto all the purchases, Harry finally approached the counter with checkbook in hand.

"Haven't seen someone buy this many things in one go since the Greengrass sisters came through on their last birthday," the clerk said, slightly dumbfounded.

"Let me guess, two rich teenage girls and a friend or two?" Harry said, amused at the comparison.

"Yeah, they must have purchased half the damn store between them all. You're rich but those girls were something else," the clerk said, amazed.

Harry pulled out his quill and started filling out the check. "What was the total?"

"14 galleons, 16 sickles."

Harry whistled in surprise, "Huh, less than I thought it would be."

The clerk just stared at Harry, wide eyed. "14 galleons and he doesn't even care. I hate rich people," he muttered to himself. Harry was quite certain he wasn't supposed to hear the clerk's comment but it came out clear as day nonetheless.

Someone else who had recently come into money might have been a bit more sympathetic to such comments but Harry wasn't a very sympathetic person. He snorted at the clerk as he stored his new clothes in his trunk. "I quite enjoy being rich," Harry said snidely. "You should try it sometime,"

That's twice in two days where I'm doing my best impression of a rich cunt... Am I just a rich cunt now?

Harry mentally shrugged and determined that he didn't really care either way – which was in of itself cause for more self reflection. Harry again didn't really care but he shut down that endless cycle of thought before it could continue any further.

Harry approached one of the other employees he'd seen in the store, he was done with Mr. Envious back there. It only took a few minutes to learn that yes, they did do custom orders. Said orders were erroneously expensive, would probably take a month to fulfill, but the order could be completed to whatever specifications were desired. Harry was sold. His fall and winter coat would be the exact same, only magical.

Harry then made his way over to Flourish and Botts, by far and away the largest seller of books Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. Inside were books of all varieties, stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Some of the books were as large as paving stones and bound in leather; some were covered in silk and only the size of postage stamps; some were decorated in strange symbols that Harry forgot about the moment he looked away, others still appeared to have nothing in them at all.

Harry had always loved books, but he knew he would have to return to this shop to peruse as many of these books as he was able. The staff at Flourish and Botts had the sense to have an entire section devoted to "Hogwart's Students", which was conveniently separated by year. Eight books later and Harry had officially concluded his shopping for the upcoming school year.

Between my schoolbooks and my family journals I won't be doing anything but reading. The price I pay, I guess. Harry knew that being muggle-raised wasn't going to do him any favors. He was a good student, that wasn't even a question, but there were undoubtedly a million different things he was ignorant about that those raised in a magical society were intimately familiar with.

Harry tried not to go overboard with his purchases, but he just couldn't help himself with each new title that caught his eye. Modern Magical History by Orchid Inkwood. Good and Evil; Light and Dark: What does Magic say about Morality? By Amon Staghart. Reality and Other Falsehoods by Celia Lyre. 101 Charms to Make Your Life Easy by Alonzo Shore. Despite all the intriguing titles that Harry kept finding and planning to buy, one in particular wormed its way back into the forefront of his mind.

Harry approached the dark skinned woman that was tidying the store. "Hey, quick question if you don't mind."

"Not at all, what do you need?" The woman returned.

"I'm looking for a book that someone recommended to me, it's called 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai. I know it's fairly rare, but I was wondering if you'd heard of it?" Harry hated the way his heart sped up at the mere recollection of his conversation with Tom, but the man had referenced this book twice. Harry would be a fool to forget about it.

The woman stared at Harry with her eyes wide. "No, I've never heard of that book! And you haven't either! Make your purchases and go! Go!" The woman immediately stormed off towards a back room, casting a nervous glance back at Harry as she ran.

"What the fuck?" Harry said, unsettled by the woman's fearful reaction. What kind of book did you tell me about, Tom?

Harry had already made the choice that he wouldn't tell anyone about the mysterious man that introduced himself simply as Tom. His encounter beggared belief on its own, but there was something else that practically screamed at Harry to keep the entire experience to himself. He half suspected that Tom had placed some kind of spell on him to lead him to this conclusion, but until he was more versed in magic there was truly no way to tell.

After the woman's response to his question Harry resolved to not mention anything of what he learned from Tom to anyone else. As much as he wanted answers for the questions Tom had brought to light, he didn't know how others would react and that was dangerous. The woman had been terrified at the mere mention of the book, but perhaps it was the author that inspired such terror rather than the book itself?

It would certainly make sense why the book was rare if the author had committed some kind of atrocity in his day. The emotional mind would associate the book with the actions of its creator rather than viewing it objectively. Though it would also make sense to fear the book if the contents espoused dangerous ideas or rhetoric. What did that say about Tom then, he who had recommended the book above all others? What did that say about Harry, that he still wanted to find a copy and see for himself?

OoooOoooO

'Thursday the 6th of July, 1967

I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I can't describe how good it feels to finally have one of these to use! It was the most infuriating thing being able to read about these spells for so many years but unable to try casting them even once! I memorized the movements and incantations but that doesn't even begin to compare to actually casting magic! It's honestly difficult to describe – every spell feels like an extension of your own being. With MY magic I'm literally imposing MY will upon reality! It's surprisingly personal. I've had my wand for maybe five hours now but I already can't imagine my life without it!

Oh! I should describe my wand! Right, so it's ten and a quarter inches long (did I mention that the magical world uses the imperial system, it's weird), it's made from willow wood, and the core is whiskers from a wild Kneazle Ollivander apparently befriended when he visited South America years ago! I was a bit concerned at first about the core being Kneazle hair. In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Kneazle hairs were specifically referenced as a weak core for wands. I asked Ollivander (he's the guy who makes and sells wands for pretty much everyone in Britain), and according to him that's nothing more than a myth! I was so relieved. I know he could be lying to try and assuage my fears or something, but he seemed quite genuine to me. The rumor was apparently started by this wand-maker in France that insisted powerful wands must come from powerful creatures. Ollivander seemed rather vehement in his assertion to the contrary. In all of Britain there's no greater authority on the subject of wands than Ollivander. Maybe even all of Europe if the "since 382 B.C." is to be believed.

Oh! Sev got his wand too! His was cedar wood and the powdered fang of a runespoor. I don't know what the combination of materials say about either of our wands. Wand-lore is apparently a rather secretive field. Ollivander wouldn't say anything on the topic beyond the basics. I hope I can find a book on the subject somewhere, I'd love to know more about the tools that are so important to us and by extension our society.

I showed Mum and Dad a spell or two that I thought I'd be able to perform, and I cast the spells perfectly! Mum and Dad looked so proud when I cast Lumos that I actually got a bit embarrassed. It's literally the first charm in the Standard Book of Spells. They're allowed to be impressed when I can wordlessly cast the spell while also changing the hue and intensity.

Petunia left the room as soon as we started talking about magic, again. I know she's just jealous that I'm a witch and she's not, but I don't particularly care at this point. She's sixteen now – if she wants to be petty for the rest of her life at the cost of our relationship then whatever; I'm done trying to apologize for who I am! I'm done trying to be forgiven for the way I was born! Ugh! I get so fucking angry when I think about Petunia! She's my sister! She's supposed to be my best friend in the world but instead she's just a jealous bitch! I hope you're happy, Tuney! We were so close but you ruined that! You weren't happy that I had something you didn't and so you lashed out! That's not my fault! I'm not the one to blame! YOU ARE!

You are, damn it...

Why do I even bother? She'll never read this anyway. I start Hogwarts in two months. Petunia and I really will be done with each other then.

OoooOoooO

Harry stood in the shadowed entryway of a shop that had long since closed for the evening; the relative lack of floating lanterns near his location did wonders at hiding him from view of those walking past him on the nearby street. He didn't know magical London as well as he would like, not yet anyway – but that was going to change starting tonight. All he had to do was wait.

Knockturn Alley was the spurned younger sibling of Diagon Alley. Directly attached the cultural center of magical Britain was the capital of crime. Smuggled goods, dark artifacts, illegal potions, dangerous creatures, illicit gambling rings, outlawed services, and far, far more. If the magical world said it was bad then there was a good chance it could be found somewhere nestled within the twisted and spiraled streets of Knockturn Alley.

From what little information Harry had been able to pick up by listening to the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Knockturn Alley was the worst kept secret in the entire world. A known hub of criminal activity yet most of it was allowed to continue. The entire Alley was a permanent black stain on the British Ministry of Magic. Harry wasn't sure how brazen the denizens of the infamous Alley were in their disrespect for the law, but he intended to find out tonight. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and the darkest jeans he owned, Harry waited for the sun to finish its daily descent. Knockturn Alley didn't truly wake up until the moon claimed its rightful place in the sky.

The final rays of the sun dipped below the horizon and almost as if on queue Harry saw a heavily shrouded person make their way onto one of the many side-streets that connected the two Alleys. The individual walked in without any wand waving or spell cast, which was all the confirmation Harry needed. He followed after the individual and began making his way down the the curved steps.

Walking into Knockturn Alley gave Harry a brief pause as he was reminded of the rougher sides of Soho more than the bastion of criminality as he'd been led to believe. There were a scattered variety of bars and brothels that were immediately obvious to the eye, some seedy shops and hawkers peddling their wares. The streets were dirty, the people suspicious, the wanted posters that lined the brick walls numerous in number. It was clearly a rougher area than Diagon Alley, but nothing immediately caught Harry's eye that would provide such a negative reputation. Harry realized his meandering walk was getting him nowhere and so he stepped off to the side of the street. He tried to recall what he felt when he 'sensed' the magic of his vault, of Ollivander's shop, of the wands themselves – he reached out, as it were, trying to feel any magic in the air or from the buildings. There was little doubt in his mind that these sprawling streets hid more than he could imagine.

At first he felt nothing but the breeze pulling at his hair, but at the very edge of his senses Harry felt something lightly brush against him. If he hadn't already been focusing on trying to sense magic he would have missed its presence entirely, but Harry knew it was there. He could tell that someone was directing magic towards him. Harry broke off into a fast walk directly towards the source of what was cast at him. He couldn't sense any intent but the origin was quite clear.

Knockturn Alley never quite leveled off, each street was higher or lower in elevation than the last. So down Harry went in search of that which had been cast at him. Harry walked for almost ten minutes before he realized that something was wrong. He'd passed dozens of aged and decrepit buildings with the exact same structure and layout. That twisted lamppost on the corner. The tavern called "The Poison Apple." Harry had walked passed these once, twice, three times over without ever changing direction at all. Harry instinctively drew his wand, even without knowing a single offensive spell it felt right to have the ebony wood in his hand.

Fog swirled in from every direction, surrounding Harry entirely. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing. Harry was entirely at the mercy of whomever had placed the illusion over him.

"What are you doing down here, boy?"

A rough hand and a far more rough voice pulled Harry from his stupor, from the illusion that had taken hold over his mind. The firm hand gripping his shoulder belonged to a middle aged man with close cropped blonde hair. Dressed in an all black suit only devoid of a tie, and a long dark brown duster made from a leather Harry had never seen. The man's eyes were a piercing blue with the rest of his features rugged and stern, clean shaven and utterly devoid of any emotion but suspicion. Harry would swear the man hadn't smiled in decades.

"Answer me, boy!"

Harry attempted to break the grip on his shoulder by jabbing the interior of the man's elbow, but long before his fist connected he felt magic swirl into his abdomen.

"Ruinalum."

Harry felt his entire body go limp at once, a small part of him registered the way the magic instantaneously permeated across every part of his being before his mind was consumed by the pain of his sudden impact with the stone pavement. No sooner had his face scraped against the rock when control returned to his limbs for only the briefest moment before the man waved his wand over Harry once more. Harry's limbs quickly snapped together of their own accord and so he was forced to lay face down on the ground, completely paralyzed, and at the mercy of a man who'd assaulted him out of the blue. Harry's eyes were all that were left free, and so he watched as the man waved his wand over Harry thrice more, muttering under his breath all the while. He nodded, seemingly in satisfaction as he snapped his fingers. Reality shattered as the dense fog Harry had been entrapped in fractured like glass, cascading down onto the ground without a single sound. Harry and the man were still in Knockturn Alley, right where Harry had walked earlier, the corner across from the twisted lamppost.

The man bent down and roughly hoisted Harry to his feet. "Prepare yourself, boy," he said, and that was all the warning the still paralyzed Harry received before he felt the most uncomfortable physical sensation he could imagine. Darkness overtook his vision as an immense pressure suddenly pushed Harry from every single direction at once. His lungs collapsed as every ounce of air was forcibly expunged, his eyes were forced into the back of his skull, an iron grip seized his chest and crushed until every bone was on the verge of splintering. His limbs were still trapped at his sides, continually being forced to tighten more and more against his frame.

As suddenly as the sensation began, it was gone. The pressure immediately receded, leaving Harry only with the memory of what had just transpired. Harry collapsed to the ground once more but was thankfully able to use his hands to catch himself as he emptied his stomach on the ground.

"What – the – fuck?" Harry exclaimed as he dry-heaved, barely keeping himself aloft as his own sick pooled underneath him.

"First time apparition sucks for everyone. More so for side-along apparition. A body-bind curse on top of that must've been hell," the dry tone of the man's voice sounded from behind Harry. There he stood, the same stern look on his features, the only change was the engraved silver case held in his hand. He slid it open and used two fingers to extract a single cigarette that he promptly stuck in his mouth.

"I'll ask again, what were you doing down in Knockturn Alley, boy?" Despite his words it was obvious the man was done asking.

"I was just – exploring the Alley," Harry paused to spit the bile out of his mouth, his words still interrupted by his laborious breathing. "Didn't mean any – harm – why'd you – attack me?"

"You were just exploring, eh?" The man said as he took a seat on the stone ledge Harry could now identify as a rooftop. The man lit his smoke with a small flame that sprung to life on the tip of his finger. Tom had used the same trick for his pipe. "And what the fuck made you think that was a smart thing to do?"

Harry desperately wanted to lie, but the words turned to ash before they ever reached his tongue. In his current condition he knew there was no way he'd be able to lie convincingly. "It sounded – interesting – heard about Knockturn – at the Leaky Cauldron – I was intrigued." Harry continued to breathe deeply, from both the lingering nausea and the brief but no less potent memory of his lungs being entirely devoid of air. Harry never wanted to experience such a thing again.

"Remedium Ventris." The man said, his wand briefly awhirl as smoke trickled out of his mouth.

Harry's nausea abruptly vanished, allowing him to focus on more than his own internal misery. Harry shakily stood to his feet, his hands clutching the stone for assistance. Harry noticed that they were on the rooftop directly above where he had been waiting to enter Knockturn just a bit earlier in the evening.

The man appeared to have not a care in the world as he lounged against the terrace, occasionally taking a drag. "Let me guess – you're a rough and tumble muggle-born kid that learns he's a wizard and thinks 'I can take the rough and tumble of the magical world too, no problem.' That about right?"

Harry flinched, the man wasn't exactly correct on the rationale, but he'd gotten the general sense of Harry's thought process almost to a tee. "Something like that," Harry mumbled.

"Mhm, thought so. You aren't special, kid," the man said. "Hell, I was the same way once upon a time. I thought I knew how to survive after growing up during the Great Depression."

"Muggle-born too, then?" Harry asked, slightly disarmed by just how casual the man's demeanor was.

"Aye. The muggle world made me arrogant. There I was, sixteen years old, and I thought I was untouchable," the man took a long drag and stamped out the butt. "I was wrong."

Harry could see in the man's eyes that whatever had happened many years prior still haunted him.

"The name's Adrian Savage, kid," the man said.

Harry refrained from providing his own name in turn. "Still cagey, eh?" Savage said, smirking at Harry. "That's fine, I don't need your name."

"Then what do you need?" Harry demanded. The man was polite now, but he'd assaulted Harry just minutes prior. No true injuries but damn it all that combination of spells had felt awful!

"I'm an auror, kid. I hit you with that illusion shortly after you entered Knockturn Alley because I saw a kid that was about to get himself in more trouble than he could handle."

"An auror?" Harry had offhandedly heard the term used in association with law enforcement but little else. "What, like a police officer?"

The man snorted. "No, not like the police," Savage smiled wryly. "Think of aurors as agents that are highly educated, trained, and with far, far less red tape to hold us down than the police officers you're used to. Any brat with a wand can become an officer at Ministry Security. Those half decent at combat can become a hit-wizard. But aurors are the best of the best."

"So what's the best of the best doing grabbing a teenager off the streets?" Harry said, disgruntled.

"I was in the area, killing some time before I was set to meet an associate. And then I see a brat waltz right into Knockturn Alley without a care in the world," Savage scoffed. "That's a good way to end up as potions parts or get turned into a vampire's thrall."

Harry barely held back a shudder at the thought of being turned into ingredients. He guessed that Savage was exaggerating so as to scare him, but he couldn't rule out the possibility that the man was being truthful. Harry had seen numerous parts from other creatures advertised, it only made sense that there would be a use for human organs as well.

"So you're saying that everyone that goes down there risks death?" Harry said, his skepticism obvious.

"No, I'm saying ignorant little shits that haven't even been to Hogwarts should avoid potentially dangerous areas they know nothing about!" Savage responded, he was still calm but there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice.

Harry was forced to acknowledge that the man had a point. It could've just as easily been someone with more malicious intent that grabbed him. "Point made," Harry said begrudgingly. "Can I go now?" The stern man may be right but Harry wasn't about to stick around and chat.

Savage chuckled even while maintaining his stern demeanor, it was strangely disconcerting. "Yeah, you can go," he said. He waved his wand toward the edge of the building as he spoke more of the words Harry had come to realize were spells. "Funem Videal," A surprisingly firm rope ladder materialized before Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded at the auror but said nothing else as he began climbing down the side of the building. The words of Adrian Savage lodged inside his brain. Harry knew that he had been reckless, pointlessly so, and that bothered him. High on his introduction to magic, even his unsavory encounter with Tom hadn't been enough to sober him to the dangers of the new world he found himself in, not truly anyway. He honestly wasn't sure if his encounter with the auror had either.

"Hey, kid!" The voice of the auror called down to Harry as he finished climbing down. Harry turned to look at the man but still remained mute. "You have good instincts, I'll give you that. Curb that ego, hit the books, and I bet you'll do well." A small pop sounded off and Auror Adrian Savage was gone.

Harry stared at the ledge Savage had just vanished from, dumbfounded. "He wants me to curb my ego?" Harry scoffed. "Pot meet kettle."

Harry knew he was a bit egotistical, but it wasn't the place of others who were clearly full of themselves to point that out to him. Harry would accept censure from very few people, one of which was Jesus, but apparently that guy was just a wizard, so the already small list was shrinking.

Harry began his walk back towards the center of Diagon Alley where he could at least use the clock-tower to judge the time. He was terrible at trying to ascertain how much time had passed using only his perception. Harry shoved the fact that his evening was a colossal failure to the back of his mind. He'd return to Knockturn Alley when he knew more. Just let Savage try and stop him then.

Diagon Alley was quite a different beast at night when compared to the day. Numerous floating lanterns hovered over the streets, casting a warm glow over the Alley. Most of the shops were closed, but certain stalls and stands remained open to sell both their services and goods. The restaurants he saw open were busy with their night-time dinner rush and serving drinks to those who needed them. It was well past ten o'clock and still the street bustled with life.

Distracted by the atmosphere of the Alley, Harry didn't notice the girl in front of him until he'd already bumped into her. Harry quickly rotated his body out of the way to avoid knocking the girl over as he tumbled to the ground. The girl in question stumbled for a brief moment but was able to remain on her feet with little difficulty. Harry shrugged off the pain of falling to the stone for the second time that day, an experience he was eager to not repeat for a third time.

Harry looked up to apologize to the girl he'd almost bowled over when his breath caught in his throat. This girl was gorgeous. She had to be around his age, big brown eyes and full lips, a cute slightly turned up nose. Her features were soft and complimented beautifully by her black hair, styled in a tousled bob cut. Dressed in a sleeveless gray dress that cut off mid-thigh, the brown straps matching her calf boots perfectly. A brown and white patterned scarf with one tail lingering between her modest bust while the other trailed down her back. A layered necklace that tied the outfit together along with big hoop earrings. Harry couldn't remember a time when he was so enraptured by a girl's looks.

"Watch where you're walking, you idiot!" The girl shrieked.

Of course, the gorgeous girl was a bitch. How quaint. "Easy there, love, no harm done." Harry gave her his most charming grin as he stood up. "How about you let me make it up to you?"

"Get stuffed, you brute, I have somewhere to be!" The girl responded, quite rudely in Harry's opinion.

"Well, aren't you charming," Harry said dryly. Even if she was one of the most beautiful girls he'd met, he wasn't going to pester her for a date, especially since it was obvious the girl had, to put it kindly, more than a bit of an attitude. "Can I get your name, I want to make sure I know who not to bump in to next time?" Sarcasm aside, Harry did genuinely consider himself at fault for running into the girl given how much he'd zoned out, her own attention to where she was walking notwithstanding.

The girl looked as if she was about to walk away, but stayed after appraising Harry for a brief second. He chose to believe it was because she thought he was cute. "Pansy Parkinson," she said briskly.

"Well then," Harry said grinning and winking at the girl, "allow me to offer my absolute most sincere apologies for bumping into you, Miss Parkinson." Harry said, mock bowing ever so slightly; he may have been laying on the sarcasm a bit thick, but he couldn't resist. Besides, it was still an apology, if only in words and not intent.

Pansy's eyes lingered on his own as he rose from his mock bow. "Apology accepted," she murmured quietly. She seemed to be studying him, a slightly perplexed look on her face. "What's your name?" She asked.

"Harry Evans."

Pansy offered a sharp nod to him and turned to leave. "See you around, Harry." She said simply.

Harry unashamedly watched her walk away until she rounded a bend, and he was happy to see she glanced back at him as she did so. Getting to talk to a gorgeous girl like that more than made up for getting roughed up by an auror, admittedly an auror that was trying to teach him a good lesson.

Harry made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron to grab some dinner before the clock struck midnight. Tom had explained that he didn't serve any cooked food past that time and Harry wasn't going to miss out on whichever cook was running the kitchen tonight, Harry had only tried Alfie's cooking so far, but Luca had sworn to him that they were all incredible.

Harry enjoyed his dinner as he sat alone at the bar, occasionally chatting with Tom about this or that, but it was mostly small-talk and a way to pass the time rather than engaging conversation. Harry wasn't the only patron at this hour, far from it in fact, but the atmosphere was a fair bit more subdued than the previous day. Evenings that featured quidditch games clearly helped drive a lot of extra business into the aged tavern.

Harry adjourned to his room and took a seat at the desk he'd already prepared earlier in the day. He picked up the quill and flipped open the empty journal to the first blank page.

The journal of Harry Evans

Thursday the 4th of July, 1991

Well, here we go, I guess. I've never written down my thoughts like this before, but it seems to be something my ancestors have done for millennia, and it was something that my mum did, so I guess I'd like to continue the tradition. I know there's not one way you're supposed to journal, it's just something personal, but man is it weird. It's like I'm writing a letter to myself, or taking notes on experiences I lived. Bizarre to say the least, but I've already written this much so I know I can do it, so I might as well continue. Who knows, maybe one of my descendants will read this in four hundred years. That could actually be pretty cool.

Where to start... okay, so two days ago I learned I that magic was real, that I'm a wizard, the names of my parents, the fact that I have a twin brother, that both of my parents were murdered, that my twin brother somehow stopped this murderer, I have living family in the form of godparents, one of which is a murderer, oh, and I'm seriously rich. Yeah, that was a day and a half...

Chapter Text

"I promise you; you don't want to know what it's like. Magic of the truly dark variety isn't as simple to cast as one might expect. Just as the Patronus charm necessitates the caster recall happy or joyful thoughts, dark magic requires the inverse – thoughts of a far more iniquitous variety. You have to be willing to twist your own magic into such a depraved and vicious state that pain and suffering outweigh all other results. And then, after you successfully cast such malevolent spells, the euphoria that washes over blinds you to the atrocity you've inflicted upon yourself... Dark magic is incredibly addictive – even now I feel its seductive call imploring me to succumb to the corruption that still taints my very soul." -Albus Dumbledore to Minerva McGonagall during a late-night discussion on magic. January 1951.

Chapter 6:

Harry Evans stared down at the tear-stained letter he'd thrown onto the desk in frustration. It had landed among the birthday cards and sweets he'd left on his desk for the past two weeks. Harry had read the crumpled paper well over twenty times in the last few days, trying to decide if he should even bother showing up to the reunion he'd been asked to attend. Alice Longbottom and Daniel Potter would be waiting at a private table at The Nook, a small coffeehouse located in Diagon Alley, at Two o'clock on the 17th of August. Today was the 16th and Harry had absolutely no clue if he was going to go or not.

Harry sighed and drew his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said quietly, watching contentedly as the crumpled piece of parchment gently rose into the air.

If Harry was going to agonize over his decision, he might as well multitask and practice his magical control. The study of magic had consumed the majority of Harry's time over the last month. He'd already read through the first ten chapters of all his textbooks; glanced through the entirety of his additional Charms book and earmarked those that were high priority to learn; finished reading through Modern Magical History; and he was on chapter seven of Reality and Other Falsehoods.

The study of magic had been different when compared to anything Harry had studied in the past, and that was putting it lightly. A subject that contained both theoretical and practical elements, Harry quickly came to realize that he was a dab hand at both. That was not to say that either aspect of the extremely broad subject matter was easy, though; to the contrary, the theoretical elements of potions and the ingredients that went into creating them were extraordinarily. The sheer number of combinations and factors that could affect the product bordered on baffling: temperature of the ingredients and the solution itself, the age of the ingredients, the time of day, even the amount of ambient light could have an impact on the more esoteric potions. Harry knew that he'd never be able to memorize all of them even if he had a lifetime to devote to that single purpose. Beyond that, however, there was an acknowledged dearth of information on a number of different ingredients thanks to the scientific method utterly failing to yield consistent results when attempting to examine said ingredients. Potions was a science that only artists could master – Harry found it both maddening and enthralling.

The textbooks that focused on spells cast from the wand were largely just instruction manuals. There were brief histories and descriptors of the spells effects, but by and large it was filled with instructions and diagrams detailing how to cast specific spells. Harry did pick up on the occasional reference to Arithmancy, usually in relation to the reasons behind why certain wand movements and their associated incantations were designed in such a fashion. He had resolved to pick up an introductory textbook on the mathematics-based subject sooner rather than later. Hogwarts may not offer the class as an elective until third year, but he figured it didn't hurt to get an early start.

The theoretical elements of magic discussed in his first-year books were odd in that literally everything was treated as just that, theory. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling was an entire textbook devoted to the subject, but even the author acknowledged how little he truly knew.

'I have devoted my life to the study of magic and all of her properties. In my early research I was arrogant enough to believe that I had discovered laws of magic; I know now that there are no laws of magic, not truly. If we, as humans, have found limitations in our ability to actualize our wills using magic, then that is the fault of the mage, not magic itself.

With that said, our understanding of magic is the collective work of thousands of years of study. Magic may not be limited by rules, but we as finite beings most certainly are. That which we treat as laws are not laws of magic, but laws of witches and wizards.'

The author had then launched into an examination of basic theory and how it applied to every facet of wizarding magic, but Harry had already begun to wonder if Waffling was correct. Tom's words had seemingly contradicted the celebrated theoretician. Harry did not have access to the apparently taboo book recommended by Tom, but he couldn't deny the nagging suspicion that it would serve as an interesting counter to the texts assigned by his school. In lieu of any proof to his gut suspicions, Harry nevertheless resolved to study the assigned books diligently.

The practical side of magic brought nothing to Harry but pure, unadulterated joy. Many of his textbooks had made note of the difficulties associated with casting spells but Harry had experienced almost none of them firsthand. He had occasionally messed up the pronunciation of a spell or improperly performed the correct wand movements, but to identify and fix these errors was far from the most arduous task. Continuously casting magic was a tiring endeavor, but the act of literally channeling his magic was almost effortless. Harry could scarcely describe the satisfaction he felt when he essentially made reality his bitch; even when it was something so simple as an illumination spell.

Harry leapt to his feet with a start. He'd become so engrossed in the books he'd purchased that he'd somehow neglected the first book on magic he'd purchased. We Who Sense was in his hands in a flash. The small brown book was even smaller than he first thought. Less than a hundred pages in its entirety, still diminutive in size, though with thick writing. All else forgotten, Harry began to read the book sold to him by the strange wand-maker.

'There are many inborn magical abilities and traits present in our world, but none quite so useful or subtle as Sensing. Any common witch or wizard can pick up on the traces left behind by powerful or particularly heavy magic, especially that which is dark, but Sensing, however, goes far, far further.

Those who are able to Sense magic often find it manifests in a variety of different ways, not all of them pleasant. Some are able to Sense using their eyes. Magic takes on animated shapes and colors that only they can decipher and give meaning. To these individuals, one blue line will be indicative of a charm to summon bats, whereas another blue line will cause internal bleeding, while the yellow line will actually turn one blue. In all my research, I have found no consistency on what it is these Sensors see. The same ward will look entirely different to two different Sensors, yet both will describe its intended effects and purpose perfectly. Visual Sensors, as they are colloquially known, are unfortunately quite sensitive to that which they can perceive, and this sensitivity can often lead to tragic fates.

A young witch writing a book on just what she saw when she looked upon magical creatures sought to gaze upon a Dementor. As directed, the creature pulled down its hood and the young witch screamed in terror. She fled the scene and returned to her home, a home she never left again. She would never describe what she saw, only that it was "too terrible for words." She took her own life less than a month later.

A young wizard from France once wrote about the beauty and elegance he saw in the magic of Beauxbatons Academy, and so sought to gaze upon all of the magical wonders throughout the known world. Hogwarts was to be the start of his journey; it would also be the end. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry drove the man insane. Until the end of his days, the man would spend his every waking moment attempting to understand that which he saw. His writings were numerous in number and completely unintelligible to any sane mind.

To myself as well as many others, Sensing manifests as a metaphysical sixth sense. We feel the existence and presence of magic in a fashion that is indescribable to those who cannot pick up on this sense. We can evaluate and assess the intent of magic, the will behind its creation on this mortal plane. We gain an almost intrinsic understanding of our own magic and how it is cast, as we've felt its presence, conscious thought or no, for the entirety of our lives.'

Harry almost slapped himself for his failure to return to this book the day Ollivander sold it to him. He and the author, Ashier Mi You, were clearly the same type of sensor. Harry had only been aware of magic for a month, but he couldn't fathom being unable to sense it. The ease at which he channeled his magic into spells was due to the fact that he was intimately more aware of what his magic felt like.

Harry didn't move from his seat for hours as he read Ashier Mi You's book from start to finish. The man or woman, as the author had never properly established their identity, acknowledged that it was quite the esoteric field of magic. Sensing was not a muscle to be developed through repeated use alone; Harry could spend years sensing magic as he had been for the last month and not improve at all. Ashier Mi You had recommended a practice that somewhat resembled meditation. To find a location either saturated in magic or where magic was used frequently, and to simply spend hours truly delving into whatever magic that was available to be sensed.

Harry knew that his room would likely suffice for his needs, but he had a better spot in mind. Harry navigated his way through the evening crowds and took a seat on one of the many benches that dotted the plaza. Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on the many, many sources of magic around him. Identifying that magic was literally all around him was no trouble at all but delving deeper was a rather abstruse venture. Every single magic he could sense around him was utterly unique, but even then, he found them to be wholly indecipherable.

For now, Harry vowed.

Learning to sense was just another daily task to add to the list. Harry's life of late had been entirely consumed by the study of magic. The sheer wonder of the supernatural drove him in ways that nothing else ever had. He didn't expect the almost religious fervor in which he studied to continue for too long, but for now it was far too exciting to not do so.

Harry wished that his interest in magic was the only factor that drove him, but to claim as much would be a lie. Try as he might, Harry could not expunge the bitterness that had taken hold within him. Harry didn't care that Daniel Potter was raised around magic; that he always had access to money and resources… Harry refused to lose to him.

The emotions Harry felt for his younger twin were complicated. Even without having met him in person, Harry was confident that he already felt familial love for his brother. Family was important. Explaining why he felt as he did was an exercise in futility, but such were his emotions. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that hatred was the furthest thing away from what he felt for his younger brother, however, what Harry did hate was the thought that the world would look upon him as lesser than his twin. Worse yet was the notion that they may look upon him with pity. Some may view pity more benignly than he, but in his mind, it would always be indicative of judgement. Harry knew his life had not always been the easiest, but he didn't want pity from anyone, least of all strangers who dared to presume to know him. The solution was simple: Harry would never give them the chance to look down on him. If that meant he had to spend day after day absorbed in his books, then so be it. The study of magic wasn't exactly a steep price to pay.

OoooOoooO

"What are you reading this time, dear?"

"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander."

"Oh? That wasn't on your assigned list, was it?"

"No Dad, but it did strike me as a rather interesting read; plus it's a required book starting third-year according to the woman at the shop."

"Well that's perfect, so you won't object to me reading through A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration again?"

"Dad, that will be the fourth time in as many weeks."

"Well, I'm sorry, Hermione, but it just doesn't make sense."

"It's magic, Dad. I don't know why you expect it to fall in line with the principle of mass conservation."

"Now you're just quoting your mum."

"It's because she's right."

"You're only assuming she's right. We don't know for certain if magic has been properly vetted by science. I only think it's presumptuous to assume that magic falls outside of the laws that govern our universe just because it appears so at a glance."

"Haven't you already made the exact opposite assumption?"

"It's no secret that I'm more inclined to a scientific explanation, Hermione. That's why I'm looking for evidence of my assumption."

"You know you're looking in an introductory text-book, right?"

"Um-"

"One meant for teenagers no less."

"Okay, you have a point."

"I was quoting Mum again."

"I just don't understand what our lives have become, Hermione. My eyes have been opened to a world beyond that which I've always known, but I'm stuck viewing it from the periphery."

"Are you sad that you're not a wizard?"

"A bit, Hermione, yeah. I grew up reading the works of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis after all; as a boy my friends and I would get together and pretend we were fighting off evil using swords and magic. We would all return home wishing it could be real."

"And now?"

"And now it is real – just not for me. It's been a rather bitter pill to swallow, honestly. Magic was always there, I simply wasn't allowed to know about it."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"No, Hermione. Don't do that. I don't ever want you apologizing for such a wonderful gift. Your mum and I are both so happy for you."

"Thanks. Should we go back to Flourish and Botts to buy some more books on magical theory so you can learn more?"

"Yes! But let's ask your mother if she wants us to pick her up anything as well."

"I saw her reading through my drafts and potions textbook while cross-referencing it with One Thousand Herbs and Fungi. Should we pick up an advanced potions manual?"

"She does have a degree in Biochemistry; I'm not surprised that she'd be interested in that subject more so than the others. We'll find her something."

"I will be reading in the car, just so you're aware."

"You always read in the car, Hermione."

OoooOoooO

Harry walked into The Nook without any hesitation in his step. Impassive in the face of his upcoming reunion, nothing about his demeanor so much as hinted at the anxiousness he felt slowly bubbling within his stomach. He was about to meet his family, and he had no fucking clue what to think.

Following an internal debate that lasted the better part of three days, Harry had settled on agreeing to meet his estranged relatives because he refused to be seen as running away from them. They may have sent him off, but even still, he refused to cower. While it was undeniable that he held more than his fair share of hostility, Harry was doing his best to squash such emotions. The past was the past, he wanted to leave it there.

The Nook was a chic little coffeehouse, but there was nothing extraordinary about it. A month ago, Harry would've been mesmerized by all the little displays of magic that rand rampant through the establishment, but such wonders had already become a normal aspect of his day-to-day life. Magic was incredible, but even incredible things could become part of the back-ground if they were witnessed almost every waking moment.

Harry glanced around in an effort to catch sight of the duo who was to be his company that afternoon, for better or for worse. Unable to find them, he made a polite inquiry with the café's staff and was instructed to head toward a private section in the back that was apparently a rentable location for casual meetings that still desired a bit of privacy. The private room was only private insofar as it was physically separated by a sizable hallway from the rest of the main floor, but otherwise, it was just like any other part of the café. A sturdy, wooden table rested in the center of the room lit largely by natural lights, but with some braziers on the wall. The chairs were a deep mahogany color with padded seats. In spite of himself, Harry was brought up short when he saw who had claimed one of those seats… the teen looked exactly like him. On an intellectual level, Harry knew he had a twin, so he was very well aware of all that was potentially entailed by the existence of said twin, but that did not prepare him for what it was like to see his doppelganger on the other side of the room.

Daniel Potter, for who else could he be, had almost the exact same bone structure and build as Harry; the way Daniel sat at the table left Harry feeling as if he were looking in a mirror that reflected a slightly different, twisted reality. Just seeing his twin for the first time was easily one of the most bizarre experiences of his life. Fortunately, the two twins would still be easily discernable from one another thanks to the states of their respective hair-cuts and style preferences: Harry's was still an untamed and wild mess that reached his shoulders, only half a step up from a bird nest. Each day was an exercise in futility and struggle to tame it just enough so that it wasn't falling over his eyes every damn second. Harry was well aware that he ought to just give in and either cut it or buy some hair ties, but stubbornness was a hallmark trait of his, and he was loath to abandon it. Daniel, on the other hand, had shorter hair that he wore in an intentionally messy, windswept style that worked really well and complimented his features. While it was far from neat, it didn't appear to be quite as uncontrolled as Harry's own.

Daniel was also sporting a thin pair of wire-frame glasses with circular rims. Harry was surprised by just how well the glasses fit Daniel's face, somehow adding to the easy going and laid-back aura the teen seemed to give off. Harry couldn't help it when his eyes flitted to his brother's forehead in search of the infamous scar – a scar that was mysteriously absent at that moment in time. Given the guy's popularity and fame, it made sense that he wouldn't venture out into the heart of magical Britain without some tactic to preserve his anonymity.

The two brothers were also dressed in dramatically different ways. Harry had opted for a pair of ripped jeans, his favorite black boots, and an oversized checkered flannel that was left unbuttoned, and damn near falling off his shoulder. Daniel had chosen to wear jeans as well, though his was complimented with a slightly faded graphic t-shirt that appeared to be in support of a quidditch team, but Harry could just make out that he slung a denim jack over the back of his chair. If first impressions held any value, then Harry thought it was safe to say that no one would be mistaking them based on their fashion choices.

With his visual inspection of his younger twin complete and his presence still unnoticed, Harry turned his gaze over to the woman sitting next to Daniel. Alice Longbottom was a stunningly beautiful woman with soft features and chocolate brown hair that carried a rather distinct wave but cut off at just above her shoulders. Her smile was the kind that could light up a room; even from a distance it practically radiated warmth and joy, especially when she looked at Daniel. Tendrils of anger pulled at Harry's heart as he watched the display of motherly love… love that he had not truly known since he was a toddler. The bitterness may have run deeper than he initially presumed.

Alice's smile abruptly faded when she rotated and suddenly saw Harry standing down the hallway, stoically observing from his place against the wall. The woman gasped, her neatly manicured hands leaping upwards to cup her mouth as she sat there, stunned. Only a moment passed before Daniel himself turned and became aware of his estranged twin. Fuck… here we go. As Harry entered the private room, he noticed how the conversation and sounds from the rest of the café, already muted because of the distance, vanished entirely. Some kind of silencing spell, huh? Interesting. He figured it was probably a two-way street and that no one outside of the room would be able to hear what was said inside, rather, he hoped that was the case. Harry steeled himself as he walked towards his now elated younger brother, and his still shell-shocked… godmother? No, whatever she was to him, it was not a relationship deserving of a title that carried affection. Up close, it was easy to see the undisguised well of emotions that ran rampant across Alice's face, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. Tears of guilt born from being absent for almost fifteen years, or tears of joy at those years finally being over? Harry wasn't sure there was a difference, at least not one that mattered.

There were no heartfelt embraces as the three came face-to-face. Instead, they stood around the table in an awkward, quiet stillness, each of them unwilling to be the first to speak up, whether from fear, nervousness, or simply shock, he couldn't say. The silence between them was easily the most uncomfortable experience Harry had ever had the displeasure to be a part of, and damn it all it had continued far longer than it should have.

"Daniel, right?" Harry said, face blank as he extended his hand towards his long-lost twin, though he supposed it was more accurate to refer to him as the long-lost one.

Daniel smiled broadly, genuine, unfiltered joy lighting up the grin that took over his features; apparently in his mind, the ice was shattered completely with only two words. "Hell yeah! Long time no see, Harry!" Daniel reached forward and grabbed Harry's forearm, pulling him into a deep hug.

For a brief moment, Harry was completely still, his arms held awkwardly out to the side, unsure of whether or not to return the affectionate embrace. That brief moment passed in a flash when Harry recalled just who this was. His brother. His twin. The one person Harry should have never been separated from, reunited after fifteen years. There was nothing else he could do but return the hug with a grin of his own.

"Long time no see, little brother," he replied warmly, echoing the words just spoken to him. Harry slowly pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at his twin. Up close, he could see that while they weren't quite mirror images of one another, he was still blown away by just how similar the two of them were. Though, Harry was pleased to learn that he stood an inch or two taller than his younger twin.

Harry then turned towards the woman who was, in name only, his godmother. So far, she hadn't said a word, she was simply watching the reunion with unfettered tears spilling down her cheeks, mixed emotions of joy and regret gathered in every stained track. "Alice, then?" Harry asked, his voice noticeably cooler than his address to Daniel.

Alice nodded as her hands slowly fell away from her face, though her tears did not cease their gentle cascade. "I can't believe you're actually here," she murmured softly, her arms moving as if to hug Harry before she stopped herself, hesitant in her actions before pulling back.

Harry's gaze hardened but didn't respond to the woman as he took a seat at the small table. With a lazy gesture at the full, steaming cup of coffee in front of him, he turned to face Daniel. "This is for me, I take it?"

While momentarily put off by the frosty interaction between Harry and Alice, Daniel quickly rebounded, claiming his own chair as his hands cupped his own drink, some kind of latte with what appeared to be a light dusting of cinnamon on top. "I went ahead and ordered us all something, took a guess at what you might like. If you don't like it, we'll get you something else though, no worries."

"I'm sure its fine," Harry waved off Daniel's offer. "I've learned not to be picky."

Alice seemed to withdraw in on herself even further with Harry's comment. The life he'd led under Beth Morrison's care had been a good one, but it came with its fair share of struggles. Financial challenges were a regular part of his life. Beth and by extension the kids under her care had never been destitute, but it wasn't a lie that he learned to appreciate what he could get. The old adage of beggars not being choosers was hyperbolic, but even still, he related to it. If Alice felt guilty over the life he'd led, then Harry wasn't about to assuage those feelings. For as emotionally downtrodden as the woman seemed though, Harry couldn't shake the impression that she wasn't normally this meek or restrained in the slightest.

Whether it was his abilities as a sensor or simply his proficiency at reading people Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't help but draw a likeness between Alice and Adrian Savage. The more Harry reflected on that evening, the more impressed he was by the stern auror's presence and skillful display of magic. There was never a moment during their confrontation and subsequent conversation when the man hadn't been in absolute control of everything. Savage had been so self-assured in his actions and intuition; his words of censure and casual spell usage seemingly took less effort than smoking a bloody cigarette. Plenty of people feigned confidence in their lives, but Savage struck Harry as being wholly real in a way that he did not know how to describe. Somehow, despite the emotional distress she clearly felt, Alice Longbottom struck Harry in a similar way. The comparison was nebulous, at best, and the foundations upon which his suspicions were built might as well have been non-existent, but all the same, the two were equated in his mind.

Daniel smiled uncertainly at Harry's comment, but he steadfastly endeavored on. The effort he was putting in to keep the atmosphere friendly was admirable. "Alright Harry, let's skip the small-talk yeah? I can learn your favorite color another time. Tell me about you!"

Harry's lips quirked upwards. "You want to know more about me? Just in general?" It was a fair question, but he had not been expecting it in such a direct manner.

"Yeah!" Daniel replied exuberantly. "I mean, c'mon, you're basically a complete stranger right now. I want to fix that." The explanation was said with confidence, but Daniel's hands returned to cupping his drink as soon as the last word was given life. A physical outlet for nervousness, most likely.

Harry laughed at his brother's joyful but anxious enthusiasm; the honest reaction instantly endearing him to the older twin. That one display was all the affirmation he needed for his plan to engage with Daniel. They were brothers. Circumstances may have separated them for the better part of 15 years, but they were supposed to be closer than anyone. "That's hardly fair asking me to start, but alright," He paused, wondering to himself how much he should share. Ah, fuck it. Harry mentally shrugged, might as well have some fun. "So, I spent most of my life in London after the Dursleys kicked my ass to the curb," the sharing session needed to start with a bang and being blunt always was his preferred method of communication. The widened eyes and slight flinch backwards were satisfying to see, in a vindictive sense, at least. "I got thrown into foster care right quick after that, but that was actually a stroke of good fortune since my guardian, Beth, wasn't exactly what I would call the authoritative type."

Daniel seemed to have an inkling where Harry was headed, a grin taking shape. "Wait, so you could pretty much do whatever you wanted?" His voice was slightly awed but with hints of doubt shining through.

"To a point, yeah," Harry said, rocking his hand side-to-side. "Remind me to tell you this story about last winter when I started the night in London but woke up 14 hours later missing one shoe, my shirt but not my jacket, and I was in bloody Bedford. That was a fucking night and a half." Harry still wasn't entirely certain of all the details, but the broad strokes were no boast.

"Wicked," Daniel remarked, running his hand through his hair to make it appear even more windswept. "What kind of stuff are you into that you have stories like that?"

Harry was almost taken back by the question. He didn't often have conversations with people his age who weren't also in the same social circles, pulling the same stupid shit that he and his friends did. For every story Harry had, there was another troubled bastard with a tale just as dumb, crazy, and absurd as his own. "I mean, normal stuff, I guess? Booze, weed, that's a drug," he added, unsure if the magically-raised teen was familiar with the slang-term. "Fairly basic shit, all things considered."

"Going on a bender is basic?" Daniel asked, scoffing lightly. "I mean, I've snuck some drinks but damn…"

Harry shrugged, "like I said, not a lot of oversight on the home front. Beth probably knows a lot more than she lets on, in fact, I know she does, but aside from reminding me to 'be safe' or 'use protection' now and again, we avoid awkward conversations. I prefer it that way." Harry could tell that Alice was listening intently to every word, but she was seemingly content to not join in on the conversation. That suited him just fine. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to engage politely with her at that moment.

"Wait, 'use protection,' you mean sex?" Daniel's face flushed lightly as he quickly turned to look at Alice, apparently a tad embarrassed about the prospect discussing shagging in front of his adopted mother. Honestly, who could blame him?

"What else would I be referring to, hm?" Harry smirked, pushing Alice from his brain as he turned his full attention toward his little brother. Maya had taught him well the role of an elder sibling, he'd had practice with Sarah and the other kids, but he'd always had a soft spot for her, and the others were too young to rightfully tease. This was his moment to prove her lessons had not been in vain. "You're looking a little red there, brother mine. Never shagged before, have you?"

"Like you have!" Daniel sputtered; finger pointed indignantly.

Harry's smug grin turned predatory. "I have."

"Bollocks!"

Harry raised a single eyebrow at the undeniable challenge; his confidence swelling as he prepared to shatter his little brother's expectations. "June of last year, a buddy of mine named Jonah invited me and around ten others over to his place while his parents were out of town. Ashley Miller and I shared a bottle of vodka and by the end of the night we were fucking on top of the sheets in the upstairs bedroom."

Harry had that story, even the concise version, down to a tee. Practice made perfect, after all, and he had plenty of practice given that he recounted it to anyone who was willing to listen. He was rather proud of that entire evening. What he tended to leave out was the fact that half of the night was a complete blur thanks to the copious amounts of substances he'd consumed, and that he passed out shortly after finishing. Ashley was long gone when he woke up; but she'd been willing to sleep with him again after that time, so he assumed he hadn't been complete rubbish that first time, or maybe her standards had been lower than the floor. Either way, he liked to think he'd improved a lot since then. There was also the slight detail that Jonah had access to a number of unflattering pictures of Harry's naked ass alone on the bed, pictures that had been taken when he had still been out cold the next morning. Harry was very well aware of these pictures because every single one of his friends within that social circle never failed to make mention of them in his company. 'Evans' first time' became bloody running joke that always managed to inspire a few good-natured chuckles. In spite of some of the more embarrassing details, Harry had a simple and oft repeated mantra that kept him in good spirits: Doesn't matter, had sex.

"Unbelievable…" Daniel responded, slumping back in his chair, smiling ever so slightly. "How many stories do you have?"

"A fair few, but once we're at Hogwarts, you and I will have to make some memories so that we can share stories featuring both of us." Harry punctuated his comment with a sip of his drink, a lightly sweetened but otherwise plain cup of coffee, but the brew was excellent.

Daniel seemed excited by the prospect, Alice on the other hand looked as if she couldn't decide whether she should be scandalized or just amused. "Merlin, you really are just like James," she murmured quietly, but Harry heard her clear as day, and almost instantly he was set on edge.

"I'm like James, huh?" Harry began, his voice terse as a mixture of anger and raw pain welled up within him, the lighthearted atmosphere fading away as his focus shifted to his estranged godmother. "It's funny, up until a month ago, I didn't even know his name, and now I'm being told that we're a lot alike?" A joyless laugh echoed out. "Don't you all think that's funny?" There were a lot of emotions he'd repressed since McGonagall handed him that damn letter, and all it took was one fucking comment about his dead dad to bring them to the surface.

Alice's reaction was telling as she recoiled, her gaze glued to the table, unable to bring herself to meet his narrowed green stare. A display of cowardice? No, the woman wouldn't have agreed to meet with him if she was a coward. Her actions spoke of guilt, and Harry was not about to assuage her of that. The unintended side-effect was the pained look on Daniel's face, worried eyes fixated on Alice before returning to his twin. "Harry…" he began, "you have every right to be pissed off, but-"

"Oh? I have that right?" Harry asked, his words dripping with sarcasm. "That's good to know. And here I thought I was being unreasonable! Good to know that I'm allowed to be pissed off at being robbed of my heritage for 15 fucking years!" He was more caustic than intended, especially given that it was his blameless brother he was speaking to directly, but he couldn't help himself. The choices of the past and their consequences were always going to be hashed out at some point, might as well do it then and there. There was going to be no beating around the bush, he refused to hold back on account of sparing feelings.

"Please, please don't blame him…" Alice said, her voice barely above a whisper as the tears began to fall anew.

"I don't!" Harry bit back, his voice rising. "He was the same age I was when I was sent away. I don't blame him at all… I blame you!"

Harry had spent his entire goddamn life always wondering why? The questions he had about his mum, whom he only had a name for. Questions about his father, who he was and why he wasn't present. Questions about the goddamn Dursleys, and why'd they'd tossed him away like fucking trash. A month ago, he'd gotten his answers… and though Alice Longbottom wasn't the reason he was an orphan, she was directly responsible for the omnipresent wonder he'd felt about his own goddamn life! His family, his heritage, his own goddamn birthname had been robbed from him since the time when he was still sleeping in a goddamn cradle! Whatever explanation or justification she attempted to peddle, that fact would remain unchanged.

"Harry, please just hear her out…" Daniel's plea bordered on desperate. "After that, you never have to talk to either of us again if you don't want to, just, please, listen to what she has to say." He sounded… hurt.

A nicer, more sympathetic person would have taken their little brother's earnest, heartfelt words to heart. A boy just asking for their adopted mother to be given a chance to explain herself… but Harry was not so kind. "You know, Daniel, you seem like a good guy. Really, you do. You seem happy and well cared for; the kind of person who grew up in a stable home, loved and protected by your family… As your older brother, I should be fucking grateful that someone took care of you for all these years, right?"

So consumed by his righteous anger and caught up in his enmity, Harry barely processed the unmistakable signs of guilt present in Daniel's countenance as his cruel words took hold. His little brother was utterly blameless for the events of Harry's life, but even still, he felt guilty for the simple reason that he'd gotten the life that should have belonged to them both. It was clear for all to see, Daniel did not deserve Harry's wrath at all, but nevertheless, he internalized it as if he did.

"But I can't be fucking grateful, can I, Alice?" Harry's voice was like ice, a cold rage fueled by bitterness and spite. A malignant stare was directed toward Alice as she silently sobbed in her chair, taking every word that left his lips as if it were a lash. "I can't, because unlike Daniel, I was tossed away like fucking TRASH!"

Alice violently balled her fists as they rested upon the top of the table. Her nails dug into her skin, almost drawing blood from her own palm as she bore the weight his accusations. To her credit, she had finally found the courage to meet his eyes. All he saw reflected back at him was regret. To the side, Daniel sat in silence, one hand covering his mouth as if to keep him from talking. Harry could tell he wished to protest his harsh choice of words but refused to do so. Whatever his motivation for staying silent, deep down, it was appreciated, but at that moment, Harry didn't care how much pain his words caused, he wanted Alice to feel the full weight of the resentment that had taken hold within him, even if that meant his little brother had to feel the heat of the flames too.

"You," Harry pointed at Alice, his voice strained, "couldn't be bothered to raise me, so you tossed me to the fucking Dursleys! They couldn't be bothered with me, so they tossed me to the fucking state! Do you know how many foster homes I was moved between until I landed on Beth's door? It took a woman in her 50s for me to feel an ounce of comfort or safety! Do you even realize how fucking lucky I was?!"

Harry was very well aware of how fortunate he was, in the grand scheme of it all, to end up with Beth Morrison. Tragically, there were countless horror-stories of kids in foster homes who were abused, neglected, beaten, raped… the oversight and attention paid to kids like him was downright pathetic. It would have been so easily for him to be placed with someone who, unlike Beth, only had ill intentions for him. The world was a cruel, vicious place, and he'd been lucky to get as far as he did unscathed.

"And now here you are, 15 fucking years too late, delivering letters through goddamn proxies, expecting everything to be just water under the bridge?!" Harry loomed over the table, catharsis driving him ever onwards in his tirade. Every word that parted from tongue laced with over a decade's worth of venom and spite. He hadn't let a bad life… but the one that was robbed from him stung more than he knew how to describe. "Where was my godmother when I was a child?! Where was your goddamn letter when the only family I'd ever known fucking abandoned me?! I was scared, alone, and you weren't there!" His fist slammed into the table. "WHY? WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE?!"

Common consensus said that the act of airing one's grievances was healthy, that it could help alleviate the pain that lay deep within the heart. Well, he'd done it, he'd said his fucking piece and allowed every ounce of bitterness and anger to flow forth. So, why did he feel hollow? Why was the pain of abandonment still there?

The silence that blossomed between the three of them in the wake of his final, barbed question was deafening. Harry slumped back into his chair, the furious energy with which he'd used to rage against the injustice of his life fading away into nothing.

Eventually, Alice broke the silence, her tears having long since ceased their downward path. "May I speak?" She asked, her voice soft and fragile, as if it would fall apart with the slightest pressure.

Harry reached forward and pulled his forgotten drink toward him, the flavorful liquid the only thing preventing from answering with another verbal attack. After a moment's pause, he acquiesced to the request with a small, barely discernible nod.

"The… the reason I-" Alice cut herself off, minutely shaking her head before taking a deep breath. "Harry, there is nothing I can say that will ever excuse my decision to not raise you as if you were my own son, nothing!" The repeated word bordered on being a sob, the woman's eyes beginning to mist once more… "But-"

"There it is," Harry interjected her mid-sentence, snarling through clenched teeth. "Of course, there's a 'but!' Why wouldn't there be? What kind of fucking justification do you already have prepared to defend yourself?"

"It's not a justification," Daniel cut in, his tone sad, but resolute. "Her reasons don't justify what happened to you at all… but I still think you should hear them."

"Why should I?" Harry asked, he knew it was a petulant question, but he didn't care. The torrent of emotions swirling within him barely allowed him to form coherent sentences, let alone think in a calm, rational manner.

Smiles weren't supposed to be sorrowful. So, why was Daniel smiling when his eyes shared such grief? "Because, why else would you still be sitting at this table?" He asked gently.

In any other context, answering a question with a question would be considered rude… but at that moment, something unspoken passed between the two brothers. It didn't matter that they'd only met a few minutes prior for the first time in over 15 years; on a fundamental level that Harry would not be able to explain, Daniel's earnest plea reached through his haze of bitterness and resentment. The anger had not abated, but he would at least do the woman the courtesy of listening to whatever it was she had to say. "Continue," he murmured, nodding at Alice.

"Harry… you can hate me for the rest of your life for the choices I made, but please, please," she stressed, fervently meeting his gaze, "don't think you were tossed away like trash! Nothing could be further from the truth!"

"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry lurched forwards, his palms impacting the table as his volume rose. "You threw me to the tender mercies Petunia Dursley and her fat, fucking, whale of a husband! I've read my mum's journals! Petunia was always a spiteful cunt! Ever she was a kid, that horse-faced bitch relished in the misery she caused! Especially to my mother!

Alice recoiled as if she'd been struck, but still, she pressed on, frantic to explain. "Petunia had changed! Lily's death almost broke the woman. Her parents, Lily's parents, they had already died, and now her sister was dead too… Lily died thinking her sister hated her, but that wasn't true! The chance to raise you and keep you safe was a silver lining for Petunia. A way to repay the years of bitterness and hate between her and Lily."

"Then why'd she'd abandon me?" Harry spat, the rage within him threatening to boil over once more. "It took five years for Petunia to show her true colors then, is that it?" He had told himself that he didn't care to hear answers or justifications since every word out of Alice's mouth pushed him that much closer to true vitriol, but when finally confronted with the opportunity, he just couldn't resist.

Alice replied, but her voice was so small, he couldn't understand so much as a single syllable. "Speak up, Mum," Daniel murmured firmly. "He deserves to hear this part too."

Harry chose not to dwell on the fact that his little brother called her 'mum.' He had enough things to disentangle without adding that emotional weight onto his list.

Following a deep breath, Alice nodded at Daniel before turning back to Harry, her voice still small, but audible. "We… we didn't realize what the Dursleys had done for almost three years-"

"THREE YEARS?!" Harry roared, surging to his feet; barely even noticing the mug that shattered upon the floor as he did so. "It took you three fucking years to realize that they'd abandoned me?!"

"It's… it's not that simple," Alice stammered.

"Then start explaining!"

"Harry, after the murder of your parents we were all scared," Alice's eyes flicked briefly over to Daniel before refocusing on him. "The man who killed your family had followers, who, even after his death, still tried to find him."

Harry was very well aware of that fact. Sirius Black, his own fucking godfather, was rotting in the deepest cells in the worst prison the country had to offer because of the murders he committed following the psychopath terrorist's disappearance. The infamous mass-murderer had naturally garnered Harry's interest to some extent, but he'd put down the numerous articles written about the man shortly after their introduction. Someday, he'd stomach reading about the man who betrayed those who loved him, but that was for the future.

"I'm aware," Harry said churlishly. "Black was one of them."

For the first time, since he'd met the woman, Harry thought Alice looked angry at the mention of her former friend. "Yes, Black was one of them." A shiver trailed down Harry's spine; the sheer vitriol with which Alice spoke the man's name was unakin to anything he'd ever heard before. "He proved to us that the places we thought were safe havens from danger weren't actually safe at all. When Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, Rodolphus, his brother, Rabastan, and Barty Crouch Jr. murdered Frank's mother in their family home, we were terrified that even though You-Know-Who was gone, his followers still posed a very real threat…"

Harry sat back down and listened to Alice's vague explanation of the esoteric magic that his mum had placed upon he and his brother. None of it made any sense to him in the slightest. How could Dumbledore, who apparently led the organization his parents were members of, manipulate the magic in complex ways without actually understanding it? "Nothing in your justification explains why Daniel and I needed to be separated!" Harry could make sense of why they would tie the magical protection into wards as a safety measure, but that was all.

"We thought that two safe-houses would be better than one," Alice said weakly, folding her arms and shrinking in on herself. "That was the reason. We couldn't think of any method to circumvent the wards, but just in case something did happen to either of you, we'd have another place of safety to fall back on… and that required you all being separated into different homes to set up the wards."

"How much fucking good could a back-up of the same kind of wards be if someone was able to break through them?!" The question was born from righteous fury, but in the recesses of his mind, the magic still intrigued him.

Alice shook her head. "That's not how wards work, Harry, breaking through wards or subverting them are both complicated. If something had gone wrong with the wards, having that other safe-house would make all the difference in the world."

Begrudgingly, Harry let the point lie. If there was one thing he wasn't in a position to argue, it was the efficacy of complicated magic. "Fine," he ground out, the acknowledgement tasting like ash upon his tongue, "even if separating us made sense, why the radio silence? Why did I not even fucking know you all existed until a month ago?"

"You weren't separated completely, not at first," Alice remarked, reaching into a bag she had hanging from the back of her chair to pull out a moving photograph. "You wouldn't remember, but when you were young, you and Dudley played with Daniel and Neville a lot. Every few weeks we would visit… you knew us."

Pictured within the photo were four toddlers, all of them boys, crawling around on the ground, laughing, and playing together. Two of the boys looked exactly alike, but he wouldn't have been able to identify which one was him even if he tried. Almost reverently, Harry placed the photo back onto the table… it was the first time in memory he'd ever seen a picture of himself from when he was younger than six. "Why did the visits stop?" He barely even heard his own question.

"As you all started to get older, the differences between living in the muggle world versus the magical were too large to ignore. One of the magical toys we'd brought over was spirited away by you and Dudley… you didn't mean anything by it, you were only two years old… but it ended with Oblivators needing to be called."

Harry had to bite his tongue from instantly lashing out. The only legal aspect of being a magical that had been stressed by both McGonagall and the official Hogwarts letter was the absolute necessity to not tell muggles about magic. If Obliviators had to be called to modify the memories of muggles, it meant something had gone very wrong all those years ago. "One bloody incident caused you to write off all contact completely? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Alice's hand flew to her chest, covering her heart. "I didn't want that, Harry! Petunia did! Dudley had to have his memory wiped about magic too, and that scared her… magic scared her, just like it did when she was younger. She was apologetic, but she thought it would be best for both you and Dudley to grow up in the muggle world, as free from magic as possible until you were ready to go to Hogwarts…"

"And you just rolled over and accepted that?!" Harry spat. With a growl of frustration, he pushed back his chair to stand. He couldn't sit still, even if he was confined to just pacing back and forth in a small area, it was an outlet for his fury.

"Of course, not!" Alice refuted, the earnest rebuttal spilling from her lips. "I practically begged her not to, but she was your mother in all but name. Ultimately, it was her decision to do what she thought was best for you! Even though I disagreed, I couldn't argue with her!"

Harry scoffed, an indignant, derisive sound full of malice and contempt. "What about the will of my dead parents? Huh? How was that not a good enough reason to put your fucking foot down?"

"She was your legal guardian, Harry! I wanted to, please believe me, I wanted to! But I couldn't at that point!" The tears had begun to fall once more.

Harry was seething. The endless parade of excuses filling him to the brim with wrath. "You don't get to deflect all the blame to Petunia alone! That bitch was in the wrong, but you could have done something, goddamn it! You could have done fucking anything except sit there and accept it!"

"You're right…" Alice choked out; the words inserted around regret laden sobs. "You're right, Harry… I could have. I'm… I'm so sorry I didn't."

Vicious satisfaction welled within Harry. Alice's admission that she was in the wrong fueling every ounce of righteous indignation he'd felt since he first read the letter that McGonagall pressed into his hands. It only took a few moments for it all to fade away like smoke in the wind. The satisfaction he'd sought was hollow when confronted with the guilt-ridden tears of a remorseful woman. He didn't pity her, but the sorrowful emotions were not one he could derive any degree of pleasure from no matter how much he wished otherwise. That simply wasn't the type of person he was.

No one said anything as moved backwards to lean against the wall. Harry had a thousand more questions to ask, but he needed a moment to collect himself. There was nothing else he could say on the subject of why Alice wasn't in his life during that period of time; he could still despise her for the decisions she made, but that was all. Daniel was simply morose, shrouded in melancholy but otherwise sitting in silence aside from brief interjections. There was no mistaking that he was not happy to be there. Alice, on the other hand, looked utterly miserable with her puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and general lack of composure. The sorrowful expression never left her features, even as she displayed her casual mastery of magic to vanish the coffee he'd spilled onto the ground and repair the porcelain mug. The intricate designs of blue and white reconfiguring themselves perfectly as if it'd never been broken at all. The fairly simple spell, while incredible to see on display, was just another reminder of the world he hadn't had the opportunity to grow up in. A life filled with magic and the ease it afforded any who could use it, was a life superior to the flat, mundane existence in which he'd spent 16 years.

"Why…" Harry paused, his thoughts awhirl with too many questions to even know where to begin. "You said that the reason it took you three years after the Dursleys abandoned me to realize what had happened was complicated… I've gotten the goddamn backstory, so start explaining!" He was no longer asking.

"Without your presence, three years was how long it took for the wards tied to your magical protection to fall apart," Alice explained, the guilt in her voice almost palpable. "We… we were asked to keep our distance, and we obliged that request. Every metric and method of determining the wards potency told us they were still working without issue, which in turn informed us you were alive and healthy… beyond that, we respected Petunia's wishes." Quietly, almost to the point where Harry couldn't hear, Alice murmured to herself, "I wish we never had."

"That doesn't explain why that cunt gave me up in the first place!"

"Magical children often experience uncontrollable bouts of accidental magic," Alice explained. "Petunia knew this from when she had grown up with Lily, but we also were sure to explain it to her when taking you in… They're blameless moments of power, no different than a child knocking their drink onto the floor because they didn't understand the lack of lid."

Harry waved his hand dismissively, annoyed at the repetition of information already available to him before stepping forward to place his hands on the back of his chair. "I know all of this already. Explain my life, explain what happened to me, specifically!"

She acquiesced to his demands immediately. "When you were six, you had a powerful incident of accidental magic occur. So powerful, that it…" She paused for a moment, only pressing forward at the sight of his hardened stare. "So powerful, that it frightened Petunia and Vernon into giving you up entirely."

Harry's knuckles went white as he gripped the wooden edge the café's choice of seating. The pain that came from continually squeezing that which would not break under his strength alone was the only thing that kept him from exploding into another tirade. He wracked his brain for all the instances of accidental magic that had occurred to him that he'd once brushed off as his naught but his imagination and waking dreams. "I don't remember anything like that!"

"I'm not surprised, the incident itself and the fallout would have both been traumatic," Alice said morosely. "People in general, but especially kids, rarely are able to recall the memories surrounding trauma with clarity… You had a nightmare and your magic lashed out," she continued. "Every piece of glass in the entire house shattered; every window, picture frame, drinking glass – everything. You weren't injured, but Dudley was… and that scared them enough to -"

"To give up the child that saw them as his parents; the child that didn't understand why he was being sent away," Harry spat, unbridled hatred laced within every word. The enmity and anger Harry felt for the Dursleys was something he could scarcely describe. He loathed them with every fiber of his being and wished upon them nothing but suffering and misfortune; but back then, when he had just been like any other child, he had loved them. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been his parents. The love of the past was nothing more than fuel for the flames of his malice.

"They had never formally adopted you… I still don't know how they accomplished everything so quickly, but within a few months of the incident, they'd terminated your guardianship, you were in the British foster-care system, and they'd moved houses…"

Harry had zero recollection of that time period whatsoever. The memories of a six-year-old were fragile, at best, but he remembered the day the social worker came to retrieve him perfectly. He could still recall the unmistakable tension that lingered in the air when Petunia got Dudley dressed to leave the house, but not him. At the time, he hadn't understood why he couldn't go with them, but with hindsight, it was obvious they wanted to spare their only child from witnessing a tragic scene. Vernon, once always quick with a wink and quip, was silent reading his paper. The double-knock on the front door was emblazoned in his psyche. Quick and sharp, as if the knocker was impatient. Harry still associated the social worker with that impression. Everything about that woman had set him on edge, even as a child. Her fake smile plastered with too much red lip-stick, the overpowering scent of some kind of flower he still couldn't identify. The moment she reached down to retrieve his hand was the moment the tears began. He'd almost started to fight back, to run towards his Uncle Vernon, a place of safety and comfort… but that delusion was dispelled the moment he caught sight of Vernon's cold stare. Gone was the warmth he'd known all his life. On an instinctual level, Harry recognized that he would find no help in that man. That was when his heart broke. From then on, the confusion, fear, and pain that came from knowing that the only family he'd ever known was sending him away dominated his every thought and emotion. He'd screamed and cried, but in the end, he still found himself in the backseat of that off-white, Ford Cortina, watching through the window as he sped away from his home, never to return. It was amazing that he could recall every little detail of that day, but the preceding weeks might as well have been a blur. Honestly, he wished he could just forget it all. The memories of that day brought him nothing but pain.

"By the time we realized what had happened, you were firmly entrenched in the muggle child services system, and we wouldn't have been able to adopt you without going through the Department of Education and Child Services at the Ministry of Magic," Alice finished, wringing her hands nervously.

"And what difference does that make?" Harry asked pointedly, reclaiming his seat.

Alice took a deep breath, "it was practically guaranteed that someone would catch wind that the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was up for adoption. Whether that person was a reporter, a mole, or even a random clerk who only saw a glimpse of the paperwork, as soon as that information went public, it would've turned into a scandalous legal battle -"

Harry cut her off mid-sentence. "So, for seven fucking years, you left me ignorant of everything just so you could avoid some bad press?!" He accused, glaring daggers at his would-be-godmother, though, he saw Daniel flinch all the same.

"No! No, no, no, Harry, of course not!" Alice wailed; horror struck at the thought. "That wasn't the reason at all! It would have dragged you into the spotlight! I wasn't your legal guardian anymore, so, if I had moved to adopt you then others would have tried to stake their claim as well. You would've been pulled away from Miss Morrison, stuck with a Ministry Child Services agent, and accosted day after day by people looking to manipulate and adopt you for their own reasons!"

"Bullshit!" Harry sneered, the paltry defense not moving him in the slightest. "Even as the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, no one would give a toss about me!"

"You're wrong, Harry," Daniel spoke up once more, "A lot of people would've cared… honestly, a lot of people will still care. Guaranteed."

"What?"

Daniel met his brother's gaze firmly. "I don't blame you for not realizing this, especially since I've grown up knowing what it means to be famous, but even beyond why I'm famous… our family is important in Britain."

"Important?" Harry repeated the word aloud. "I thought we were just an old family with a good amount of ancestral money from hundreds of years ago when this region was settled?" The journals in his family's vault had provided what he thought was more than enough context… it appeared that he was mistaken.

Alice shook her head. "The Ancient and Noble House of Potter has been a staple House in our country since they arrived during the Norman Conquest as personal friends of William the Conqueror. Even before that, the Potters were an old French family with roots in what would become the County of Flanders, and before that the Frankish Empire… And you, Harry, are the heir to that House! You have access to a very large inheritance and a great degree of political influence. Add onto that your status as the only living immediate family member to the famed Boy-Who-Lived."

"Plenty of people would've tried to turn you into a political tool…" Daniel finished the explanation. "I… don't want to sound like I'm defending their decision, but she's not lying. It's highly possible that you would've become nothing more than a piece on other people's chess board."

Harry had to bite his tongue. Was it just him being a child that such a legitimate explanation rankled him? Or was he simply furious at the notion that he was denied a family because others would've tried to use him. Perhaps both were contributors to his continuing ire?

Alice ignored the stony look in Harry's eye as she reached over and grasped his hand with her own. He flinched backwards at the sudden physical contact, but her grip, firm but also gentle, prevented him from pulling away. "I wanted nothing more than to have you back with us! I wanted to hold you in my arms and swear to never let you go again! But you seemed happy! You were with a woman who was taking care of you, surrounded by other kids you got along with! I couldn't rip you away from that – not if it meant subjecting you to the cruelty of our society!" Alice paused to wipe away the renewed tears that fell from her deep, brown eyes; her choked sobs easing as she took a moment to breathe. "I am so sorry that I was wrong."

For the first time since learning he had a family, Harry had no response as he removed his arm from her grip and rose to pace once more. The sudden revelation prompted him towards contemplation. The silence that fell over the table went practically unnoticed as he grappled with information previously denied to him. Of all the things he expected to feel towards Alice Longbottom, he never thought he would actually understand why she had taken the actions that she did. Harry hadn't considered the political and social situation of his family for even a single second. An ignoramus in every sense of the word and still he'd leapt to conclusions.

Professor McGonagall had already explained to him that while he was considered a ward under the care of Hogwarts during the school year, for all other legal purposes, he held the status of being an emancipated minor. In the magical world, the age of majority was age 21, which coincided with the final year of required education. This wasn't a huge surprise to Harry as, until the past few decades, that had been the age of majority in the muggle world as well. The only real distinction between the magical and muggle worlds was that, apparently, even centuries prior, gender equality was more common, with men and women alike sharing the same rights in essentially every respect. Harry's status as an emancipated minor was a comparatively rare but not unheard-of circumstance. It required him to have no legal magical guardians and no legal muggle guardians of blood relation. Beth Morrison wasn't related to him by blood, and thus she was not permitted to learn of magic. The moment he'd accepted his invitation to the school, his status in both the magical and muggle world was assured. Harry only just realized how that status would protect him from all of the opportunistic sharks looking to take advantage of him for who he was.

Eventually, pushing through his shocked countenance, he broke the silence with more questions; the need for more answers driving him ever onward. "Why did you never visit? Why didn't you reach out to me? Why didn't I know that my mother and father died loving me? Why didn't I know that I still had a family who gave a damn about my life?!"

"I don't have a good answer for you," Alice said softly. "I -" she broke off with a small shake of her head. "You were only nine," she croaked out, refusing to meet Harry's eyes once more. "After everything you'd already gone through, I thought… I thought that telling you about us would only bring you more pain..."

"Explain." Harry spat venomously. He knew she'd have an answer… if nothing else, he'd already realized that Alice hadn't acted in any way that was deliberately malicious. But even then, her foolishness, her cowardice in the face of what should have been done, still left him with anger aplenty. Whatever her justification, blameless, she was not.

Alice wrung her hands nervously, eyes askance as she answered him, "You were only nine," she stressed again, "a child. I didn't think you'd understand the idea that you had family you weren't allowed to live with. You wouldn't understand why you'd been sent away in the first place. You wouldn't understand not being able to talk about magic, and I would've had to explain magic for you to know why we couldn't just adopt you... I thought that staying away would hurt less."

"So, you decided to leave me ignorant of everything about my own fucking life because you thought the truth was TOO BLOODY DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN?!" Harry roared, flinging his arms out wide before running his hands through his unkempt hair. "HOW DOES THAT JUSTIFY ANYTHING?!"

"It doesn't!" Alice cried mournfully, rising to her feet. "Nothing does! I should have been there for you! I should have done whatever I had to if it meant being in your life!" She broke off, suddenly retreating into herself. "But I didn't... because I thought I'd just be hurting you more."

"I THOUGHT THE DURSLEYS WERE MY ONLY FAMILY! I HAD NO MONEY! NO KNOWLEDGE OF MAGIC! NOTHING! I DIDN'T KNOW MY MOTHER'S FACE OR MY FATHER'S NAME! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I HAD A FUCKING BROTHER! HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU HURT ME MORE?!"

"I thought that if I tried to enter your life, knowing I wouldn't be able to explain everything, that it would be like I was taunting you! It wasn't fair for me to not tell you anything; you deserved to know about the life I kept from you, but I believed ignorance was better than half-answered questions and glimpses of a life you still wouldn't be able to have!" She didn't even try to wipe away her tears. "I thought that if I waited until you went to Hogwarts that – that you wouldn't be scared or confused like you would when you were only nine. By waiting to tell you, I knew you'd be angry… I-I knew you'd be hurt. But I hoped that if nothing else, you'd understand why…"

The young teen glared at the woman that should have raised him, his mouth twisted into a bitter, furious scowl. He was angry. He was hurt. And worst of all, he did understand why. Damn the woman to hell, her fucking assumptions had been right.

"Stop." Harry said quietly. Alice lightly jumped, shocked that he was suddenly speaking softly following his loud tirade. "Just… stop." Harry didn't know what to say at that moment; hell, right then, he barely knew what to think. But if nothing else, he knew he couldn't bear to listen to Alice Longbottom's tears and apologies for another second. The three of them remained still, not a single word passing between them. Harry tried to compile his thoughts so he could say something, anything, but they kept slipping away; the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him utterly blocking his ability to think. This wasn't a situation with a clear cut right or wrong answer; there was no instructions on what he was supposed to say or how he should respond. Eventually, Harry decided to just give up. "I need a fucking smoke," he muttered, his throat hoarse and raw from the shouting.

"What?" Daniel asked, mouth agape.

"I'm going outside because right now, I really need a fucking cigarette," he repeated. Honestly, he wanted a bloody drink as well, but it was still early, so he highly doubted he'd be able to find one without going to some dingey bar. A cigarette would have to suffice. "You," he pointed right at Alice, "better not fucking follow me." After what she had revealed, he desperately needed to not be in her presence.

Harry didn't stick around to hear their replies. Returning the way from whence he entered, he outright ignored every farewell comment offered to him by the staff. It was rude of him, but he didn't care. Once outside Harry stuck a cigarette in his mouth, the action that he normally executed with the smooth ease of a long habit made clumsy and difficult by his shaking hands and fervent pace. He raised his wand and quietly muttered flamma vus, a small fire springing to life on the tip. It was one of the first spells he'd sought out. Honestly, with his mindset, he was surprised it only took him a single try. Harry quickly burned through the first cigarette of what he expected would be many. On a good day, he liked to make each smoke last as long as possible; to savor every inhalation and let the act itself calm him alongside the drugs. On bad days though, of which this assuredly was, he just needed the edge to fade away as fast as bloody possible. A second cigarette followed the first as the minutes passed and the world continued to move around him.

The solitude he'd claimed for himself against the brick wall of the café was interrupted by the arrival of a melancholy stranger who should have been his best friend. "Mind if I join you?" Daniel asked, politely gesturing to the empty spot next to Harry.

A small nod was his only reply as his twin claimed his own spot leaning against the hardened surface. "I thought I smelled smoke on you earlier, so I figured you smoked, but I guess this is confirmation, huh?"

Harry exhaled a stream of the toxic chemicals as he raised an eyebrow imperiously. "My parting words not enough of a hint?"

Daniel chuckled, but there was little humor in it. "I guess you can say they didn't register properly. My mind was focused on other things, you know?"

Pain gripped Harry's heart at his little brother's words. Whatever gripes he had with Alice, Daniel did not deserve his place adjacent to their drama. It was unavoidable, but he did not deserve it. "I'm sorry you're caught in the middle of this," Harry murmured, facing forward as he took another drag. "I'm not sorry for anything I said in there, but you should know, I don't blame you at all."

"Thanks… As for what was said in there," he pointed backwards with his thumb, "well, it wasn't pleasant, but it needed to happen. You deserved to know, and Mum deserved to hear your response."

"Is this where you ask me to forgive her?" Harry asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Daniel shook his head lightly. "No, it's not my place."

"I… I appreciate that," Harry said, surprised, but earnest in his thanks.

Daniel lowered himself to the concrete below, his feet splayed out in front of him. There wasn't a lot of traffic on this side of the street, so no one had to step over his outstretched legs. "I don't really know you, and I don't know the life you've lived. It wouldn't be fair of me to expect you to forgive and forget the last 15 years. Especially since I got to live the good life; the other side of the coin, I guess."

"I already said you're not to blame."

The younger twin shrugged. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't feel some measure of guilt all the same."

Harry snorted. "Noble idiot. You've got nothing to feel guilty over. Don't feel bad for living a good life."

"I'll do my best to remember that," Daniel replied, a warm smile on his face.

Daniel was clearly a good person. Undeniably, it was the sign of a good heart that he was bothered by the fact that he lived a happy, stable life when someone else didn't. That was a level of empathetic awareness that Harry knew most people did not possess, including himself. Bloody hell, it was downright touching to know his younger twin gave a damn. If that perceived responsibility turned to pity, then they would have a problem, but in its current state, it was simply something to be rid of. Harry highly doubted Daniel would instantly be assuaged of said guilt, but a little progress was better than none.

"Do you mind if I ask a hard question that isn't fair to ask?" Daniel did not look up at his brother.

"Why not?" Harry had dealt with a lot of difficult topics that day, might as well add some more.

"When you agreed to meet with us today… what were you hoping would be the outcome?"

The probing inquiry prompted an immediate and rather long drag from Harry. "You weren't fucking kidding about it not being fair…"

Daniel scratched at the sidewalk, the sound drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the Alley, but the movement caught Harry's eye. "I know, and I'm sorry for that, but I couldn't help but wonder since, if I were in your shoes, I…"

"You what?"

"I don't know," Daniel finished. "I genuinely have no idea what I would have wanted or expected."

Harry mimicked his brother and lowered himself to the same level, stamping the remains of his cigarette out on the ground before lighting another. It was definitely one of those days. "I don't know, man, I guess I just wanted answers more than anything. The letter Alice sent with McGonagall promised to explain, so, yeah, I guess knowing why everything played out the way it did was my main reason."

"Did you think about not coming?"

Harry started to laugh, the involuntary response quickly turning into a series of coughs since he'd been in the middle of inhaling a lungful of toxic carbon. Daniel wasted no time in clapping him on the back a few times before he was waved off. "Fucking hell,"

"You alright?"

Harry coughed a few more times. "Yeah, I'll be fine. To answer your question, though, yeah, I thought about it a lot."

"What finally caused you to make the decision?"

"If I didn't come, it would've felt like I was running away," Harry said firmly. "Hypothetically, if Alice hadn't offered to explain, I don't know that I would've ever sought her out to ask. Maybe I would have, I don't know… but with the opportunity in front of me, I think I would've felt like a coward if I didn't come; like I was too damn scared of what she might say. Fuck that."

"And… and how do you feel about what she said?" Daniel's question was as direct as they come.

"I have no fucking clue." The combination of a good cigarette, the warm sun, and a refreshing breeze had done wonders in calming Harry down. Not that he was surprised, he'd taken up smoking as a quick way to take the edge off a few years back and the habit suited him. It hadn't taken long for the tiny toxic cylinders to become a mainstay of his everyday life. On an average day, he reserved himself to smoking one, maybe two at a time, but the edge he needed to knock off at that moment was a bit larger than what he dealt with on a normal day… Not that it fixed everything, even with the help of his habit, his mind was still awhirl when it came to his bloody godmother. Every ounce of anger was still present, but a traitorous part of his brain kept insidiously whispering in his ear that her logic made sense. It didn't excuse every action she took, but damn it, not even he could deny that she did have reasons. She'd fucked up, royally so… but did he hate her for that? The answer eluded him.

"That's… fair," Daniel concurred, brushing back his windswept hair with his fingers. "I guess it only makes sense that you'd need time to process everything."

"My turn for a hard question," Harry said, turning towards his twin, matching green orbs staring into one another.

"Go for it."

"If I decided I wanted nothing to do with Alice ever again, would you abide by that?"

Daniel let his head fall back against the wall they rested upon; his head tilted upwards to the lightly clouded sky. "Your question is harder than mine was."

"I know," Harry murmured.

"I would try to. To be honest, I don't know how good I'd be at it, and I wouldn't like it… but I'd try to. I think it's your right to not forgive her, if that's what you want…"

Harry hummed, the answer surprising him. "I would've thought otherwise."

Daniel laughed. "A week ago, I would've given a different answer. Yesterday, Mum and I talked. It was actually her who told me that no matter what happened, I should respect your decision."

The torrent of emotions within Harry raged that much more. "Alice said that…?"

"Yeah," Daniel said, nodding slowly. "She's not a perfect woman, I won't pretend that she is, but I guarantee that if you walked back in there and said you never wanted to see her again, she'd leave you be without complaint."

Harry took another long drag, refusing to let it show how much those words affected him. "You're really talking her up, huh?"

"No," Daniel disagreed, "I'm just being honest, mate. You can hate Mum for the choices she made, and I wouldn't blame you for that, it would hurt, but I wouldn't blame you… however, even if you hate her, you don't know her. You don't know the kind of person she is."

"You think actions don't say a lot about who someone is?" Harry countered, his tone wasn't pointed, but it was safe to say the two brothers were no longer dancing around the awkwardness of having just met and had started to speak their minds.

"I don't think those actions alone are the full sum of a person."

"Maybe you're right," Harry conceded, retrieving a galleon to twirl betwixt his fingers. "But that doesn't mean those actions aren't impactful. Hell, I'd argue they carry more weight than anything else. It's what people do that defines them, isn't it?"

"Context is important too, though," Daniel responded, his tone utterly unchanged. "Intent may not be everything, but it does matter."

"At the end of the day, results don't really care about intent… Rather, I should say that the results aren't changed by the intent." Every word he spoke to his brother was true… but even to himself, he couldn't deny the impact that knowing one's intent had on him. Alice Longbottom had tried to do right by him. She fucked up. There was no denying that. She. Fucked. Up. But she hadn't meant to. Harry may not have been the most well-adjusted guy, but even he wasn't so far gone as to despise someone forever for a mistake they regretted. At the end of the day, results did matter, and in this case, the results were his life – and Harry didn't hate his life. It could've been a hell of a lot better, and he was fucking livid over that fact, but it also could have been far worse. "Fucking hell, it doesn't even really matter right now. Can we move on from this?" Harry asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"Yeah, we can… sorry, I shouldn't have challenged you on that. Not right now, at the very least."

Harry waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it, I'm just… I'm just not in a good headspace to think about shit objectively right now."

"Are you going to head on out?" Daniel asked, accepting Harry's offered hand to pull him up.

"Well," Harry rubbed the back of his head nervously, "I'd planned to grab some food, was going to invite you along. Maybe talk without the immediate weight of other shit hanging over us… but I guess that'd be pretty difficult right now, wouldn't it?" He didn't know why he was even bothering to ask. Of course, it would. How could it not? The metaphorical ax was still hanging over whether he would even speak to Alice again.

"It might be a little forced, but I'd love to grab a bite," Daniel replied, the acknowledgment that any conversation would contain an element of falsehood an honest yet disheartening notion.

"Conversation shouldn't be forced, mate," Harry said, shaking his head. "We'll grab a bite another day, yeah?"

"Oh, okay," Daniel said, and Harry felt a phantom pain grip his chest. "That works for me, just send a letter for what day works for you, okay?" He smiled, but it was forced – fake. Daniel's smile was a deception, and it didn't take a genius to know what he was trying to hide.

Harry knew it was irrational to care for someone simply on the basis of a blood connection. There was no reason for it, no explanation or justification. People were people. Objectively, there was no reason to give a damn about someone just because you happened to be related… and yet, the simple knowledge that his little brother was hurt by his decision bothered him more than he could put into words. It didn't matter that they'd only met for the first time that day. It didn't matter that they knew almost nothing about each other. The simple reality was that Harry did not like the idea that his younger brother was hurt because of him. With that realization, he knew what he had to do. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Even contemplating the action he was about to take filled him with rage that was directed towards himself, towards Alice, towards literally everything that even dared to exist, because by all rights he shouldn't have to do this at all… but he was going to anyway because damn it all, he didn't want his relationship with his brother to die before it ever got off the ground. Fuck. Me.

Without warning, Harry stomped out his cigarette and walked back into the café. He ignored the surprised questions spilling from Daniel's mouth and continued forward, back to the room he'd stormed out from only minutes prior. The door was still ajar, just as he had left it, and Alice saw them coming. She rose from her chair, her eyes still puffy, but even from a distance, a hint of hope was present. "Fucking hell," Harry whispered, once again running his hand through his hair; a nervous habit, nothing more. The moment he stepped pass the silencing magic, Alice started to speak, all it took was one look at his face before she stopped herself. Behind him, Daniel closed the door, sealing them away from rest of the café entirely; he too, chose to remain silent. Their intuitive understanding to not speak at that moment and give Harry room to go at his own pace was a mercy. All it would take was a single wrong word to set him off completely and unleash the furor that threatened to explode as is, and he knew that if that happened, he would say things that he would regret in the future.

Harry tried to compile his thoughts, but they kept slipping away. He knew the ideas and emotions he wanted to give voice to, but he couldn't find the right words to formulate them. The decision was made for him when, without thinking, he let his lips move of their own accord. "I spent my entire life completely ignorant of magic, my heritage, my family, of the life I could have had…" His words sounded foreign to his own ears. For the first time, he understood what it meant when people described speaking from the heart. "The Dursleys abandoned me, and I grew up thinking that the only relatives I had left alive hated me… Ever since I got your letter, I thought I could lay all the fault at your feet…" Harry hadn't cried since the day the social worker picked him up from the Dursleys. Even at the age of six, he'd realized it was a useless action and sworn it off completely. Family that abandoned their children weren't worth shedding tears over. And yet, as he poured out his heart on his brother's behalf, Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't fighting back tears. "I wanted to blame you for everything, I wanted to hate you but damn it all, I can't! I can't hate you, but I can't forgive you either, because damn it all, my childhood was not right!"

Alice fervently nodded her head in agreement, liquid pouring from her eyes yet again, though, if he had to guess, they were different than those that came before. "Harry, I'm not trying to absolve myself of anything, I don't expect you to forgive me for anything I've done to you."

"Good, because right now, I don't." Would he ever find it in himself to forgive her? Honestly, he couldn't say. Forgiveness was a concept he wasn't overly familiar with, but unlike smiles, it couldn't be forced. The future was full of infinite possibilities, so, someday, maybe he'd forgive her… but on that day, at that moment in time, the best he could do was not hate her. Harry did not hate Alice Longbottom. It was a start.

"Right now," Alice repeated, her voice barely a whisper, but to him, it was still audible, and then she broke down completely. She fell to her knees, sobbing uproariously as one hand clenched over her heart. In an instant, Daniel was kneeling by her side, but Harry remained impassive. "I'm sorry," she said around choked cries, repeating the words multiple times.

"You're fine, Mum, take your time," Daniel consoled the woman who raised him, gently pulling her into a hug. Harry, on the other hand, simply reclaimed his seat and though it was rude to do so, he couldn't resist lighting another cigarette – he deserved one after his little speech, damn it. The niceties he was willing to expend were nonexistent; he wouldn't be a cunt and interrupt what was clearly an emotional moment for the woman, but nor would he offer words of kindness or reprieve.

Harry was halfway through his smoke when Alice regained a semblance of composure. "Thank you," she said to Daniel, undisguised, motherly love emanating from those two little words. Even through the bitterness, he thought it was a tender sight to behold. "So, Harry, I…" Whatever words she was about to say, he couldn't even begin to guess. "Would you like me to tell you more about James?"

The question startled him. "What?"

"I know you probably don't want much to do with me right now, but based on what you said earlier, I figured you didn't know a lot about him…" Her voice got quieter and quieter towards the end, wilting under his stony stare.

Conflict warred within him. He very much wanted her out of his sight so he could start thinking about anything but her, but at the same time, he was desperate to know more about his father… Harry had yet to find any journals from the man, and Alice was someone who had been friends with him for years. The temptation was too great to resist. Harry gestured to the chair. "Tell me about him."

Alice, whether through perception or intuition, must have realized that he didn't want to talk to her so much as he wanted to listen to stories about his father, and so she wasted no time in sitting down and launching into her tale. Even then, she was noticeably happier than any time since they'd met. "James Potter was an ass," she began with a small laugh, her words blunt yet still clearly fond. "We were all in the same year, your mum, dad, and I – Frank was two years older. James was the biggest braggart around, well, one of the biggest anyway; always so cocky and self-assured. He even crossed the line and was a bit of a bully at times, especially to certain students."

Harry listened with rapt attention. All of his grudges and tumultuous emotions falling to the wayside as he listened to tales of his father. He didn't care that it was Alice who was talking, this was the first time he'd ever heard anyone talk about his dad.

"For the first five years that we knew him, there wasn't a day that went by without James flirting with Lily and her calling him a 'toe-rag' in reply. I never did learn what that was supposed to mean," Alice trailed off with a small chuckle as she turned toward Daniel. "You've heard these stories before, would you mind getting us all more drinks?"

"Sure thing," Daniel said, a content smile on his face. Though it vanished as quickly as it arrived, a small pang of jealousy towards his brother stabbed into the older twin. Daniel had grown up hearing these stories, while, to Harry, they were like water to a man dying of thirst.

Alice waited until the door was closed to continue. "James was a huge flirt, and he made no secret of that. I swear, that until sixth year, he'd made it his mission to charm the panties off every girl he could, and that included me until I started dating Frank." Harry mentally saluted his father for his skirt-chasing endeavors. Quietly, he wondered if his father had succeeded with the woman in front of him, but that was a question for another day. He had no wish to actually engage with her.

"Still, in spite of him being a bit of a bully and a man-whore, James was a really good guy," her words carried a distinctive, sad edge. Remembering a dead friend would do that. "He liked to push boundaries, but there wasn't a single person in Gryffindor who thought he wouldn't have your back if you were in a pinch."

"Was this before or after sixth year?" Harry asked, smoke trailing his question. "You mentioned sixth year earlier, seemed important."

Alice nodded her head. "A bit of both, honestly. James and his best friends were only really mean to certain Slytherin students. There was this group in our year, especially, who gave as good as they got. When it came to those two groups, no one was just a victim, and everyone was to blame. Not that I'm defending James, though, he and his friends were still bastards."

Harry had known quite a few people like that in his life, particularly his old school. Kids and teenagers alike could be right cunts sometimes, but that didn't mean every aspect of their personality was bad… a notion that Daniel would no doubt agree with given their earlier conversation. James Potter could have been a bully towards some classmates while still being a great friend to others. Neither of the two descriptions were mutually exclusive.

"That changed?" Harry probed. He didn't mind asking the occasional question of Alice if it meant learning more about his dad.

"James changed," Alice said simply, a wistful smile on her face. "He never mentioned this profound moment or experience that caused him to grow up, he just did so of his own accord. Sixth year was the start of a new James. He was still James, of course, happy to crack a joke or casually flirt with every girl he saw, but the more boorish aspects of his personality were gone."

Harry deigned not to respond as Alice continued to share stories of his father. Eventually, Daniel returned, drinks in hand, to share in the experience. Harry, for his part, barely said a word. He simply listened and watched – he listened to tales about a man who Harry thought he could have easily loved. It wasn't hard to see why Alice compared him to his old man given their shared propensity for rebellious behavior… but Harry also watched; taking notice of how Alice interacted with one who was her son in everyway that mattered. The way she bantered and engaged with Daniel was clearly that of a mother and son, but it was friendly and fun too – the mark of a relationship that had begun to progress pass an adult and a child, and into two adults. It further reinforced his opinion that she was a good woman who had made mistakes… but it also added that much more fuel to the lingering bitterness that resided deep within. It was a bond he would never have with anyone.

"So, Harry," Alice said eventually, addressing him by name for the first time since they'd begun to talk. He didn't like how casual she sounded. "You drink, you smoke, you're already having sex. You got started young, huh?"

"Alongside everyone else in my social circle," Harry replied, his voice deliberately cold as smoke poured from his lips. "Peer pressure is a hell of a drug."

Daniel chuckled at that. "I haven't known you long, but I don't believe that there was much pressure involved," he said dryly.

A humorless chuckle escaped Harry's lips in spite of himself, his little brother had hit the nail on the head with that assumption. There had been others that influenced Harry, of course, but no one would ever accuse him of being a victim of peer pressure when it came to his poor habits.

"Do yourself a favor and go buy a few of those lung cleansing potions," Alice gestured to his fag. "I don't know the name off the top of my head, but it's a popular potion with smokers."

There was a potion that would allow him to smoke while also dodging the tar build-up on his lungs? He had never loved magic more. A nod of thanks was his only reply to the woman as he made a mental note to ask the potion's shopkeeper about potions for his teeth as well. While very diligent about his dental hygiene, assistance from magic couldn't hurt in the slightest.

"And please learn the contraceptive charm," Alice continued after a few seconds of silence. "Witches are taught it early at Hogwarts, and my mum taught me before I even went to Hogwarts; but it doesn't hurt for you to know how to cast it as well. Frank already taught it to Daniel and Neville, just in case.

Harry made note of Daniel's slight flush and once again nodded his thanks, inwardly elated that such a charm existed and was apparently commonplace. Magic really was quite the gem.

With the silence that unfolded, Alice seemed to realize that while Harry wasn't vocalizing his displeasure, she'd overstayed her welcome all the same. "Well, I think it's about time for me to take my leave. I've got a few errands to run before I head home, so…"

"That works, Mum," Daniel chimed in. "Harry and I are going to grab some food, so I'll just floo home when I'm finished, yeah?"

"That's perfect!" Alice said excitedly. "I hope you two have fun." She then turned toward Harry specifically, and a complicated expression overtook her features; clearly a smile, but one with more depth of emotion than could properly be conveyed with that word alone. "Harry…" She began, one hand extending outwards to gently touch his arm. "Thank you."

"For what?" He said, somewhat tersely, eager to have this conversation end sooner rather than later. The number of heartfelt declarations and cathartic rants he was capable of handling in a single day had long since been met. He was almost positive that there would be more emotions to air out in the future, but that was for another day. A downward glance was spared for her hand's placement on his arm, but he didn't shrug it off despite being somewhat uncomfortable with its presence. The affectionate gesture wasn't actively causing him pain, so he put up with it.

"For listening," she said simply. "You didn't have to, but I'm so glad you did."

"I wanted answers, and I got them. Besides, I didn't do it for you." That really was all there was to it in Harry's mind. Alice may have been absolved of his hatred, but she was his godmother in name only. The emotions that should have accompanied such a title were nonexistent.

"Even still, I'm glad. Also…" she trailed off uncertainly, but an encouraging nod from Daniel reignited her bravery. "Would you mind if I wrote to you? Letters, I mean. You don't have to respond if you don't want to. I would love it if you did, but it's not necessary. I just… the time for me to try and be your mother has passed, I know, but I want to be a part of your life going forward, even if it's just a small part. So, I would like to write if that's okay?"

Harry would absolutely not return her letters, but he wasn't about to stop her from sending them. Would she ever be a more active part of his life like she desired? That was a question that he would have to address in the future. "Do as you wish," he murmured.

Alice smiled brightly, a full, heartfelt smile that could turn heads from across the room. Alice truly was a beautiful woman, and Harry thought the smile fit her far better than the tears. "Well, I'll leave you all to it then. See you both later, and don't worry about the cost of the room, I'll pay it on my way out." With those parting words, Alice opened the door and made her exit, leaving Harry and Daniel by their lonesome; the two falling into a rather comfortable silence on the heels of her departure. The older twin would have never guessed that he'd find the company of his brother to be such an easy thing to settle in to. Despite the years of separation, his presence felt downright natural.

"So, ready to grab some food?" Daniel asked, pulling Harry from his reverie. Already, the tone of his question was night and day from when they were alone previously. That, if nothing else, affirmed Harry's decision to say his piece to Alice.

"Definitely," Harry confirmed, his mood easing up in turn. "Where are we going?"

"There's this place called the Maple Tree around the bend. Best waffles in the world, I swear." Daniel started leading the way to the renowned restaurant.

Harry couldn't resist the easy opportunity to tease. "Oh, and how does the Boy-Who-Was-Sheltered know about such an establishment?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Boy-Who-Was-Sheltered? Where'd that come from?"

"Just an assumption," Harry said innocently. "I mean, given your fame, I'm assuming you don't get out as often as you maybe should."

"My life hasn't been quite as adventurous as yours, but it's not like Nev and I have never gotten up to anything fun. We do leave the house for various reasons!" Daniel defended, intent on proving he wasn't what Harry accused him of being.

"Dinner with mummy doesn't count," Harry mocked.

"Ouch," Daniel deadpanned. "But seriously, you're right that I don't go to parties or anything, but for the past few years we've regularly gone out and done things with light disguises to avoid getting swarmed."

"You didn't when you were younger?"

"Merlin, no. It was understandable given the number of random attacks that still occurred even after You-Know-Who was killed though," Daniel said as he led Harry through a shortcut towards their chosen destination.

"You-Know-Who… I've never understood the reason as to why people call him that. It just seems so random?" Harry remarked, the lilt in his voice conveying his confusion.

"That's what everyone calls him."

"Well, yeah, I know, but he was just a psycho-terrorist, right?" Harry asked, still confused.

"Yeah, the guy was a psycho-terrorist, but he was also a terrifying son of a bitch that almost brought our society to its knees," Daniel explained as the two of them navigated through the crowded streets filled to the brim with families shopping for Hogwarts.

"So why the moniker 'You-Know-Who'?"

"I asked Dad that too way back when, and he said it was thanks to a curse placed on You-Know-Who's actual name," Daniel explained, easily leading the duo through and around throngs of people enjoying the Alley. "Anyone who spoke it risked bringing his personal attention down on their heads. People who spoke his name with impunity almost always died."

"Nice horror story, but that sounds like confirmation bias to me," Harry said skeptically.

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe, but does it really matter? People who said his name tended to die, so people stopped saying his name. There's nothing fictional about it, just history. Fifteen years later and the habit stuck."

Harry thought there was a huge difference based on the potential magic involved but conceded that the public perception was the same regardless. "Fair point."

Harry wondered if his sensor abilities would allow him to detect such magic, assuming it existed at all. No doubt he would first have to improve his capabilities as a sensor since in his current state, he could barely detect obvious magic, let alone subtle spells that had their very existence questioned by an entire society. Still, it was a curious line of thought to explore, and definitely one he would have to remember for the future.

"You talk about what happened fairly easily," Harry commented. "Our parents, I mean, and their murder.

Daniel cast a forlorn glance towards his twin. "I've always known about it; I've had time to process everything. You haven't had that luxury."

"I suppose that's true," Harry once again acknowledged that his little brother had a point, but he and Daniel would go down the road that was their tragic past another time. "So, have you read any of the journals in our vault?" The blunt subject change was both obvious and intentional.

"A few of them. None of our parents' journals specifically though. I've heard so many stories about them that their journals weren't really a priority for me. I'll read them at some point, but for now," Daniel trailed off with a slight shrug.

"It seems like a Potter tradition that Mum happened to fit in with by pure happenstance," Harry remarked as they approached their restaurant of choice. "Ah, we're here."

The Maple Tree was a small little place built entirely out of wood that was stained a beautiful mix of red and browns. Harry didn't even make it inside before his eye was caught by the outside seating area; dotted with elegantly carved wooden tables and chairs, with a beautiful wooden canopy shielding the area from the rays of the sun. In an unspoken agreement the two twins claimed one of the empty tables.

"Trust me, this place is fantastic," Daniel said, his grin wide as he sat down. His assurance was perfectly timed with a sudden waft that originated from inside the establishment that tickled Harry's senses. The scent of waffles had never before been so enticing.

"You are right though, journaling has been a thing in our family since practically the beginning, as far as I can tell," Daniel continued, picking up their conversation once more.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Harry replied. "Hell, I even bought a journal to try my hand at it. Trying to continue the family, tradition, you know, but damn is it awkward." He inwardly cringed at his mediocre attempts to journal. The act of writing to no one was both slow and uncomfortable; he did not understand how it was such a common hobby.

"Want my advice?" Daniel asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Grab a dictation quill. I thought writing my thoughts was awkward too, but with a dictation quill it's super easy since all you have to do is speak your mind and let the quill handle the actual writing."

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, recalling just how conversational his mother's journals had seemed, an aspect that would make a lot more sense if she were simply talking rather than writing. "Did Mum use one of those too?"

"Well like I said, I haven't read Mum's, but Mum said she always had them at Hogwarts, so it wouldn't surprise me."

Harry had to take a moment to parse through Daniel's confusing choice of words, but he eventually nodded, his suspicions all but confirmed. "You call both Alice and Lily 'mum'," he commented. "Does that not get confusing?"

Daniel shrugged lightly, "not really, it's easy in my head."

"That's fair, it's a bit weird to hear, but if it works for you, it works."

Daniel suddenly looked apprehensive. "That doesn't bother you, does it? That I, you know, call both Alice and Lily mum?"

Harry sighed as he leaned forward and forcefully met his little brother's averted eyes. "Alice and Frank raised you, Daniel. They're you're mum and dad, simple as that. No one, and I mean no one – not James, Lily, or myself – would ever begrudge you calling them that."

Harry meant every word. Anyone that would get upset at Daniel for calling his adopted parents mum and dad deserved a special place in hell. Harry was certain that he would never personally ever view Frank and Alice in such a light, but they hadn't raised him. No matter what issues he had with them, he'd never deny the fact that they were good parents to Daniel and had raised him as if he was their own.

"Thanks, Harry," Daniel said warmly, a tad bashful at Harry's encouraging words, but sitting up proudly all the same.

The younger twin was spared from any teasing thanks to their waitress arriving at their table. She was cute, probably a few years older than the twins, her dark hair pulled back into a simple pony-tail. Dressed in the restaurant's uniform, a simple button up shirt with their name and logo printed on the breast and back, and a pair of light-wash jeans, the girl would have fit in perfectly anywhere in London.

"Alright guys, what will it be today?" She asked, a slight Irish accent shining through the question.

"Hey Darcy," Daniel said without having to read the name-tag on her chest, "I'll take the Red Berry Waffles, a side of eggs, and some tea, yeah?" Harry was impressed, the guy hadn't been kidding when he said he got out a decent amount.

Darcy nodded as a quill wrote in her notepad by itself. "I should have guessed that. Someday you should consider branching out and order something new," she said, smiling down at him.

"I know what I like," Daniel replied, returning the smile confidently. "Besides, I tried your recommendation once last year, and I think we both remember how that went."

"Not my fault you used too much syrup," Darcy laughed before turning towards Harry. "And what about you..." her voice trailed off as she focused her gaze on Harry before looking back at Daniel, then back at Harry, and so on for almost five seconds. The two twins were both patient and grinning from ear to ear. "Daniel, when did you have the time to create a simulacrum?" The poor girl was completely befuddled at how there were suddenly two of her regular customer.

Well, that's an easy set-up, Harry thought. There was far too much fun to be had now. "I'm Daniel Alter," Harry chimed in, interrupting Daniel before he could get a word in edgewise. "I'm the twisted and villainous version of Daniel. Or as I like to think of myself, a more honest version."

Darcy blinked, bemused at the fantastical identity Daniel's duplicate was sharing. "What?" She asked eloquently, levity clear in her countenance.

On the other hand, Daniel Prime as Harry had affectionately mentally dubbed him, looked both slightly amused and nervous at the thought of what Harry might say while operating under the mediocre guise of Daniel Alter. Even though no one would believe the obvious tall-tale, it was clear that Daniel was still genuinely concerned over the damage his older brother could cause to his reputation. His concern was honestly quite justified.

"Think of me as Daniel if he had no filter, no inhibitions, and no moral fiber," Harry said, grinning at the poor waitress he'd turned into an unwilling participant in his joke.

Darcy had clearly caught up to the fact that Harry was messing with her if her grin was any sort of judge, but she was still utterly clueless as to who the Daniel lookalike was. "Alright, I'm lost, Daniel, who is this guy?"

"That's my twi-"

Harry once again interjected before Daniel could finish his thought. It was quickly becoming a habit of his. "Don't mind him, Darcy, was it. Anyway, Daniel Prime over there is currently paralyzed in fear over what will happen when I reveal how exceptionally cute the two of us think you are." Harry briefly paused and grinned wickedly at the shocked Daniel. "See, other me? Nothing to worry about, just like I said; now that you've complimented her and she doesn't seem offended or creeped out, you can try your hand at flirting a bit or asking her out!"

Harry knew that somehow, at some point in time, Daniel was going to exact his revenge for this. Not that he cared though; the face his little brother was making was easily the most entertaining thing he had seen in months. Daniel hadn't gone completely red in the face, but the combination of embarrassment, amusement, annoyance, and downright disbelief was a wondrous sight to behold. A memory Harry would cherish for years to come, to be sure.

Darcy, who had flushed lightly at the flirtatious comment, regained her wits, and chose to help Daniel recover from Harry's onslaught of teases rather than joining him in making the guy even more embarrassed. "Don't worry about whatever your evil… lookalike, I guess, says, Daniel," she said, almost stumbling over what to call Harry but pushing through admirably, "he's just jealous of you." She hugged Daniel from behind, laughing at her own swift turnaround.

Harry chuckled as Daniel smirked at him victoriously. Darcy really was quite attractive, so he had to give it to his little brother, the guy had won this round quite handedly. The fight wasn't fair in the end, but even still, a loss was a loss. At least he had the memory of Daniel's face to the lead-up.

"Darcy, meet my twin brother, Harry," Daniel said dryly, his ability to speak seemingly having returned with the proverbial spar having reached its conclusion. "As you can see, he's a dick."

Harry grinned at the description but made no move to deny. "Charmed," he declared, extending his hand towards the cute witch.

Darcy laughed as she released Daniel and matched Harry's hand with her own. "You've been holding out on me, Daniel. I didn't know you had a twin brother," she remarked, quickly giving Harry a quick look-over. "You two don't look exactly the same, but still, I could easily mix you all up… You are clearly the nicer twin though, so maybe you weren't holding out on me."

Harry feigned a sudden pain in his heart by dramatically clutching his chest, but he still neglected to contradict the young woman. "Must you strike unto me a fatal blow?"

Daniel snorted. "Ignore him, like I said, he's a dick. He's not all bad, though."

Ahh, there was his little brother chiming in with the kind words. Harry was enjoying being the elder sibling so much, even with only meeting Daniel earlier that day. If their dynamic continued in the same fashion, he was quite certain that the future was going to be chock full of exciting teases, taunts, and jokes. Daniel was a bit more reserved than he was, but the more time they spent bantering, the more comfortable and open he seemed to get.

"What will it be for you, Harry," Darcy asked, a small smile in place as she resumed her task of actually taking their orders.

"Apple Strudel Waffle, also with a side of eggs and a cuppa, thanks." Harry returned with a smile of his own. Messing with the cute waitress at the expense of his brother had been fun, but he knew not to push too far and annoy people he wasn't personally familiar with. Besides, at the end of the day, Darcy was at work and had a social obligation to be at least somewhat nice, he wasn't about to take advantage of that fact.

"I'll be back in a few with your drinks," Darcy stated cheerfully, already turning away from the two brothers.

Harry waggled his fingers goodbye to the pretty witch, enjoying the sight of her walking away only to have to bite back a stream of curses as Daniel kicked his shin under the table. "Fucking hell! Rude!"

"You have no right to call anyone else rude," Daniel scoffed, waving away the accusation like it was naught but air, a satisfied smirk worming its way onto his face. Cheeky bastard.

"Oh, I'm the rude one? You're the git who's already resulting to violence. Could've just bloody well insulted me rather than beating the shit out of my shin. Christ…" Harry complained, throwing on a hint of dramatism for the fun of it as he rubbed his bruised appendage. It probably wasn't bruised, but he could pretend it was.

"Don't worry, I'll do that too. In fact, I'll start now. You're a cunt."

Harry leaned in conspiratorially, "Maybe I am a cunt, but…" He smirked widely. "I was right though, wasn't I? You think she's cute." It really wasn't much of a question; it would take a special brand of idiot to think Darcy wasn't an exceedingly pretty girl. Even with that objective acknowledgement, Harry still planned on needling Daniel over his obvious attraction to her; though, with that thought in mind, he realized that there were very few subjects he wouldn't tease his little brother over if it meant an amusing reaction was the end result.

"Yeah, no shit," Daniel said, rolling his eyes. "I think lots of girls are cute, that doesn't mean I want you telling each and every one of them in spectacularly obnoxious ways."

"I don't know," Harry hummed. "I think it's my solemn duty as the elder brother to tease and corrupt my younger brother. Ancient and sacred honor bestowed upon us mere mortals by the very gods themselves." It was practically written in the guidebook to life that older brothers must negatively influence their siblings – it was a tradition to be honored.

"You know you're only older than me by about two minutes, maybe three, right?" Daniel's dry commentary did not move Harry in the slightest.

"Older is older, besides, you have to admit I've been around the proverbial block a few more times than you."

"I won't deny it," Daniel agreed, nodding along as he maneuvered the glass pitcher of water that was placed on their table by a passing member of the staff. "What do you expect to happen though? Do I suddenly take up smoking in your mind, or…?"

"I mean, do you want one?" Harry asked, fishing the pack out of his pocket, and tossing it in the air with one hand. "They're pretty enjoyable, if I do say so myself."

"Nah, mate, I'll pass," Daniel waved off the offer with a laugh. "I doubt that will be the last time you tempt me, though, I wonder if you'll be tempting Nev as well?"

"Ah, the other brother in your life," Harry smiled to show the comment wasn't malicious or bitter. "I'm guessing he's like you in terms of life experience?"

"Pretty much, yeah. There was no special treatment ever shown to either of us. Hell, if anything I'd bet that Nev is even more conservative than I am." Harry didn't think his little brother was genuinely sheltered, he himself was simply a poor benchmark to the average person his age. "Nev takes after Dad a lot, and while they both know how to have a lot of fun, it's almost like they mentally associate fun as a 'time and place' kind of thing. Within the bounds of that, they go all out, but you won't see it all the time."

Before he even registered what he was doing, Harry found himself asking a question he barely wanted to hear the answer to. "I take it Alice is different?"

Daniel's eyebrows rose sharply in surprise. "Oh, Mum is almost the polar opposite. Doesn't matter when or where, she'll turn anything into a situation to laugh and have a good time. Last Christmas she was drunk singing Christmas carols until almost three in the morning."

Though he would lie about it after the fact, Harry had to smother a smile before it could show itself on his face. "Hope you snuck a few drinks yourself."

"A few, aye."

"Alright then," Harry's enthusiasm was suddenly palpable, "when we get to Hogwarts, you and I are getting absolutely plastered!"

"That seems like a lot for my first real time having more than a few drinks…" Daniel said skeptically. "I mean, I'm in, but you're essentially tossing me into the deep end to start things off."

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. "The person who taught me how to swim started by shoving me into the Thames – I'm just channeling the lessons she taught me."

"That explains way too much about you," Daniel muttered, his eyes wide as if the chaotic force that was his twin suddenly made far more sense than moments prior.

"I'm taking that as a compliment." Harry had no idea what his comments explained, but in lieu of an explanation, he was going to roll with whatever made him feel better about himself.

Daniel snorted at that. "So, what House do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts?"

Harry took a moment to ponder the question. "No clue, honestly, I know there are four Houses, but beyond that they're a mystery to me. I figured I'd just roll with whatever happened – let the cards fall as they may, you know?"

"You don't even know what they are?" Daniel asked, flabbergasted at his brother's laissez-faire attitude.

"Nope, and beyond being aware that each one corresponds to one of the four founders of the school, I'm good not to know," Harry explained. "I want Hogwarts to be a surprise, an experience unlike all others; so, until we get there, I don't want to know anything more than I have to."

Daniel nodded at the strange but still sound logic. "I suppose I can understand that. How about classes? You nervous about those?"

Harry guffawed at his twin's remark. "I've been doing a lot of reading, so I'm honestly not worried at all." Thank fucking god for his being born a sensor; he had no doubt that his ability to sense magic was greatly contributing to his rapid rise in magical skill.

"You're not worried at all despite only knowing about magic for a month?" Daniel raised an eye-brow in surprise.

"Nope," Harry popped the 'p' for extra emphasis. "I've never been bad with my studies, and this is just another kind of studying. What about you? Are you going to be the second coming of Merlin with all your super-special, Dark Wizard hunting magical training?"

Daniel laughed good-naturedly at one of the more absurd rumors about the Boy-Who-Lived that people actually seemed to believe for some unholy reason. "Oh definitely. Using the vast knowledge and resources I've gained from being the secret descendant of all four founders, I'll use the power I stole from Voldemort combined with my magical animagus form to reshape our society into a utopia!"

"All before the age of seventeen," Harry added helpfully, uncertain about what an animagus was, but still willing to continue with the bit.

"Those stupid rumors are the absolute worst," Daniel complained. "If you ever figure out who started them, please let me know so I can hit them over the head. Hard."

"You do know there's an entire series of children's books about you, right?"

Daniel smirked. "Yeah, but I make money off of those."

Harry had to hand it to him for the pragmatic outlook. Fame wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but anyone that looked down on the oft included fortune was an idiot. Harry was quite pleased that his brother didn't strike him as an idiot.

"Oh, I just remembered," Harry lowered his voice and glanced around before gesturing to his brother's forehead, "aren't you supposed to have a big prominent scar somewhere up there? You mentioned disguises earlier, but I forgot to ask how?"

Daniel chuckled at his brother's bemusement. "Normally yeah, but if I was walking around with that thing clear as day I'd be mobbed. One time was enough for that."

Harry made a mental note to ask about the mobbing later. "Glamor charm?" He had read about the useful classification of alteration spells in one of his many books.

"Mhmm, along with a bit of make-up," Daniel confirmed. "Charm on its own doesn't work too well for some reason, but when combined with make-up you can't tell it's there at all."

Harry stirred a single sugar into his recently delivered tea and took a sip with a contented sigh. "Damn, that's good."

Daniel nodded along in agreement. "Right? What'd I tell you? This place is great. I'll miss it when we're at Hogwarts."

"I can see why. So, do you cover up that thing every time you go out?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Daniel paused, adding a splash of milk to his own drink. "Most people just want to thank me, you know, which is fine; I don't deserve their thanks at all, but I can put up with it since it makes people uncomfortable to constantly deny them. Even after all these years people are just grateful that You-Know-Who is gone. Some people are obnoxious when they see me, but they're clearly the minority, so, for the most part, I really don't mind..."

"Buuuut," Harry urged his brother to continue following the poignant pause.

"But it fucking sucks being famous because your parents died," Daniel spoke softly, but there was a distinctive edge to his words. "You-Know-Who mysteriously being vanquished was a good thing for most of the bloody world, but we were orphaned right after we turned one... Most people seem to forget that part of the story."

Harry grimaced at the dark turn he'd accidentally forced their conversation down. The subject was one he wanted to pursue further, but their impromptu brunch was neither the time nor the place. "Yeah, you're not wrong… I mean, I wouldn't want people to constantly pity me, but it's a weird thing to be thanked for."

"Right?" Daniel agreed. "How do fully grown people really think that I, at the age of one, had anything at all to do with his destruction? It's bloody frustrating. Where's the credit for what Mum did? I swear, most people have forgotten her and Dad's names completely, never-mind that they were murder victims."

"That!" Harry said fervently, snapping his finger in agreement. "That bothers me to no fucking end. Even if everyone is going to thank you or whatever, at least put some goddamn respect on Lily and James' names!"

"Hey, at least we're on the same page," Daniel joked.

"True, true, I mean, imagine a world where that fame and faux praise went to your head, and you turned into an arrogant twit convinced you're the savior of the 'light side' or whatever, fucking Star Wars style. You'd be bloody unbearable."

"Ooh, and in this same alternate universe, you would've gone down a dark path and shown up to Hogwarts as this edgy prick who everyone was convinced was evil until you made unbelievably self-righteous speeches, right?"

"Makes sense, makes sense," Harry nodded along. "You think in this world I'm eventually revealed as the real Boy-Who-Lived? It'd be quite the dramatic reveal, wouldn't it?"

Daniel burst out laughing. "Oh, Merlin, I hate that I can actually imagine that rumor being spread in this world…"

"I'd coif my hair just to be different from you," Harry laughed, shoving his hands through his hair in a pathetic attempt to straighten the untamable mess. "Think I could pull it off?"

"Only if you're sorted into Slytherin."

"Whatever that means, I'll do it. At this point I'm fully committed. I might need an edgier wand though… I mean, I know Ollivander would say that 'every wand is special,' or some shite, but the layman's perspective is important in this dumb little fantasy. So, is ebony and dragon heart-string special enough, you think?" Harry adored his wand, but he wouldn't be surprised if people expected the world's most deadly magical creature to somehow be its core – well, in the universe where he's secretly the Boy-Who-Lived, at least.

Daniel groaned and rubbed his eyes. "You have no idea how accurate that is…"

"Huh?" Was Harry's eloquent reply.

"Special wands, I mean…"

"Don't tell me…"

"My wand and You-Know-Who's wand were made from tailfeathers from the same phoenix…" Daniel said despondently, instantly punctuating his reveal with a facepalm.

Harry had to spend a few solid seconds processing that information. "That's fucking stupid."

"I know…"

"Also, pretty fucking creepy."

"I know…"

Harry chuckled humorlessly. "What the hell, mate? I was just making a joke. Your wand is actually connected to that murdering fuck's wand?"

"Ollivander said they were 'brother wands,'" Daniel sat back up with a shrug, drawing his wand and handing it over to Harry. "It's a bloody amazing wand, seriously, it is. Wouldn't trade it for anything… but that connection is-"

"A lot…" Harry finished for him, feeling the aged Holly wood with his hands. The wand, surprisingly, noble, and proud, but also fierce, and determined, didn't dislike Harry. It was very obvious that it didn't view him as its… master? Partner? The feeling couldn't quite be translated into human speech, but at the very least, it didn't outright reject him like the majority of wands in Ollivander's shop had. "That is a good wand, though."

The two continued their conversation well into the afternoon, but a small part of Harry kept harkening back to the connection between his brother and the madman who murdered their parents. Was it nothing more than sheer coincidence that the two would find another connection through their wands? Magic was infinite in terms of what it could do and accomplish. For all Harry knew, the attempted slaughter of a babe resting in the crib established a nebulous and ill-defined magical connection that spanned time and space to ensure the two would have brother wands? Or maybe the stupid rumors peddled by foolish masses were correct, and Daniel was some kind of magical saint delivered from on high? Harry didn't have a fucking clue, but regardless of the reason, it was undeniably interesting.

OoooOoooO

"Welcome back honey, how'd it go? And where's Daniel?"

"Daniel is still talking with Harry, he'll floo back when he's done."

"So, I take it things went well?"

"Much better than I expected, far worse than I hoped."

"I'm guessing he yelled a lot?"

"A bit, yeah… not that I didn't deserve it."

"I can tell you've been crying."

"We both said what needed to be said, but he doesn't seem to hate me too much – I know that's not saying a lot, but I'll take it."

"Did you all talk about anything else?"

"Not really… Outside of me explaining everything, asked to hear some stories about James, but for those he mostly just listened rather than talked."

"Honestly, Alice, who could blame the kid? I'd say you're lucky to get even that much out of him. Plenty of kids his age wouldn't have even given you the time of day."

"I know, I know… I just…"

"You don't have to say it, hon', I understand. I hope he comes around even more."

"Me too…"

"Sorry for changing the subject, but is that smoke smell coming from you?"

"Oh, I didn't even realize it was there. Harry smokes and I guess the smell just got on me."

"He smokes?"

"Mhmm."

"And he's going to be around Daniel and Neville a lot? That should go over well…"

"Harry's a good kid, Frank, he's just a bit rough around the edges. Cut him some slack."

"How rough around the edges are we talking?"

"Imagine a more emotionally mature James, but with a bit extra delinquency tossed in?"

"Are you asking me? You're the one that met him, hon'."

"I don't know. I guess you could say that he's a kid that turned towards whatever habits made him feel good at that moment. Most teens use substances as nothing more than a way to rebel, but for Harry it's just the way he's lived his life for years. I don't know if he even considers the oddities of his life as oddities."

"Hm."

"What's that look for?"

"Your description, it… it reminds me of Black."

"Stop it, Frank."

"It was just an observation. I didn't mean to imply anything."

"Sirius lied to us all for years! Harry is just a kid that had to grow up looking after himself! They're completely different!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Black was nothing like who he pretended to be, so that comparison isn't fair at all."

"Harry is nothing like that traitorous son of a bitch!"

"Alice, you're right – I'm sorry."

"No... No, I'm sorry, for snapping at you."

"Black is a sensitive subject; I should have never brought him up."

"I can't run from the past forever, Frank."

"You're not running even a little bit. You just met with Harry knowing he'd be upset with you; you knew that it would hurt, but you did it anyway. That's not running, that's standing strong and facing your past. It's practically the exact opposite of running."

"Nice pep talk."

"Encouraging speeches have always been my thing."

"Oh, I know, Mister Captain of the Gryffindor Spirit Squad."

"Ugh, you're never going to let me live down that name, are you?"

"Nope."

"I was a coach for the team!"

"James always described you as their best cheerleader."

"Motivational coach!"

"Uh-huh."

"Why did everyone make fun of me and not Charlie Marsh? He basically did the same thing."

"One, Charlie was a Puff, there's a difference. Two, his girlfriend was on the team. There's a lot of things that are excusable in the name of love. His cheering probably got him laid."

"..."

"Ha! You have no defense for that, do you?"

"Whatever, keep laughing. Just don't you forget that for both years I helped coach, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup."

"The efforts of Gryffindor's number one cheerleader shall not be forgotten, honey, I promise."

OoooOoooO

Darkness greeted the eyes of Quirinus Quirrell as he rapidly came to consciousness. Few people understood what true darkness was; their belief that the world darkened once the sun set was naught but folly. Even he, who had journeyed to the bottom of the Veryovkina Cave and turned off the lights, had not truly grasped the domain of Erebus until his master taught him to Dream.

The true absence of all light was a familiar sight to Quirrell at that point. Many months had been spent learning the ways of this world that was not truly a world at all, and while he held no illusions as to his mastery of Dreaming, he was more than capable of escaping the darkness that blanketed him. With but a thought a grand marble fireplace sprung into existence; the warm flames flickering within its stone carapace offering their soft glow to help fight off the never-ending void of light.

An instant later, two high-backed leather armchairs took form adjacent to the fire, resting atop an intricately carved rug of Persian make. Next to each chair a small table appeared from thin air: on one sat a vintage bottle of 1970 Romanée-Conti and a single pristine glass; on the other a bottle of Macallan 1947 Single Malt Scotch with a lone crystal tumbler.

Quirrell would never be able to properly thank his Master for introducing him to the world of fine taste and luxury. Were it not for his Master, Quirrell would have continued to labor away in his ignorance, operating under the misguided assumption that muggles had little of true value to offer Wizards despite the strides they'd made without magic.

'Muggles are inferior, Quirinus, but do not misunderstand my intentions for them. Muggles have performed admirably in the world given the absence of magic. They have used their own methods to reach the stars, to build and destroy cities, to create fine cuisine and excellent wine. I would not have such talents wasted when they could be better utilized in servitude.'

Quirrell laughed lightly at the thought of his master's plans for the world as he conjured a gramophone playing Mozart's Requiem in D minor. Not even the separation of their societies thanks to the Statute of Secrecy stopped the magical world from listening to the compositions of the legendary composer.

Quirrell idly directed the ambient darkness to shift into a night sky reminiscent of the one he'd viewed whilst visiting the Namib Desert so many years ago. There was far much work to do now or else he might have begun planning another trip to the gorgeous locale. Working as his Master's only active agent in pursuit of the Stone was quite the difficult and time consuming task. There was much to do, and he remained the only catalyst by which anything would get accomplished. Despite his request for more assistance his Master was adamant that no one else be brought into the fold as of yet. Quirrell did not understand his Master's reticence on the matter but he was loathe to question him directly after already being told no. Experience had taught him that this was not the wisest course. Besides, his Master knew what was best far better than he.

Pulled from his contemplation by the sound of a cork popping from a bottle; Quirrell gasped as he turned to see his Master standing there in all of his transcendent glory. Casually pouring a glass of wine, his Master stole his very breath away. Everything about the man, if he could even be called that anymore, was perfect. From his fitted black suit to his neatly styled black hair, both contrasting beautifully with his pale skin and piercing red eyes. Every movement was graceful to a truly inhuman degree. Even the way he stood in place was striking. His Master was the true pinnacle of human evolution – a gift to all who were able to gaze upon him.

Quirrell felt his heartbeat rapidly quicken as his Master directed him to take a seat with a small gesture. These weekly meetings where the two of them were able to meet alone and face-to-face were the most cherished part of Quirrell's life. Quirrell did as his Master directed him, delaying only long enough to pour himself a glass of Scotch. The arm-chair was of a sublime level of comfort, just as he had intended. Nothing but the best for his Master.

"Excellent choice of vintage, Quirinus. And this setting is marvelous. Based on the constellations I would say we are somewhere in Southern Africa, am I correct?" A voice of pure velvet, every word his Master spoke was encapsulating.

Quirrell shuddered briefly at his master's address. Would that he could spend all day basking in the sound of his master speaking his name, but he knew better than to keep his Master waiting. Efficiency above all else, even worship. "Yes, Master, you are correct."

"An interesting region, I must say. I only visited briefly as most of my endeavors in Africa were focused on Egypt..."

Quirrell had to bite his tongue to avoid asking why his Master was in Egypt. Speaking out of turn was... unpleasant, to say the least. There were rules in place for a reason, and if he broke those rules than his master would punish him, it was as simple as that. While Quirrell would give anything to feel his master's tender touch, discipline at his hand was something not even Quirrell found pleasurable. Punishments were not meant to be enjoyed.

"As for the music you have playing," his master's words tapered off as he cocked his head slightly to the side, listening to the Kyrie intently. "A hauntingly beautiful piece. What is the name?"

"The Requiem, Master," Quirrell answered immediately. Though, he was somewhat perturbed as he had thought his master familiar with the work.

"I see, I see."

Quirrell lightly shook his head. He must have been mistaken. If his master had known of the piece, then he would've recalled it. Since he could not recall the name, he must not have known of it. There was no other explanation that made sense.

The music quieted down immensely as his master claimed his own seat, elegantly crossing his legs; seemingly content with the level of comfort provided by the chair that Quirrell had brought into existence. Quirrell let out the breath he did not realize he'd been holding. The thought that his master might be uncomfortable thanks to his failure was unbearable. His master deserved only the best that the world had to offer.

"Tell me, Quirinus, do you have everything prepared for the upcoming school year?" His master punctuated his words with a small sip. It took every ounce of willpower Quirrell possessed to focus on his master's words rather than the tantalizing visage on display. Quirrell quickly cast aside the sensual desires that had taken hold in his mind. Now was not the time to indulge in fantasies.

"Yes, Master. In terms of my role as an educator, I have everything set in place perfectly. In regard to the theft of your Stone, I have acquired every tool on the list that you provided save for one that will be delivered come October."

His master's eyes narrowed minutely, serving as the only warning Quirrell would receive before he felt a searing pain inside his mouth. He opened his lips to scream in agony, only to have his rapidly rotting tongue seep past them like it was a liquid. He fell to the floor, thrashing upon what was once a soft carpet, only now it was a hard soil with hot, sharp rocks that pierced his skin like jagged glass. The warm glow of a fireplace had been replaced by the oppressive heat of a thousand suns, evaporating every ounce of moisture in the air and blistering his skin. The light itself burned his eyes – he tried to close them, but his efforts were for naught. An acrid smoke filled his nose and mouth, turning the very act of breathing into another source of misery. Every one of his senses cried out in agony.

Quirrell begged for it all to stop.

The necrosis continued to spread, turning his gums and lips into a horrid mix of mottled blacks and browns as they quickly decayed into a foul liquid.

Quirrell screamed.

'I TOLD YOU TO HAVE EVERYTHING PREPARED BY SEPTEMBER 1ST, QUIRINUS!'

Quirrell wanted to die...

The heat melted his flesh, his skin sloughing off and searing him to the ground.

WHY HADN'T HE DIED?

'LET THIS SERVE AS REMINDER TO YOU ON WHY I AM TO BE OBEYED!'

The voice in his head that was not his own shouted, and even through the agony Quirrell understood. This was his fault. The pain. The suffering. It was all his fault. If Quirrell had just done as his master commanded, then he wouldn't be in this situation. He caused this. He deserved this. His master did not let his mind break, for that would've been avoiding the punishment he so justly deserved. The pain did not stop.

Time lost all meaning as Quirrell's body was broken down, restored, and then broken down again. Whether it was minutes, days, months, or even years Quirrell was not sure. Pain became his life. Suffering his existence.

"Welcome back, Quirinus."

Just as quickly as the pain had begun, so too was it gone. Quirrell was back in his armchair, a tumbler filled with scotch held aloft in one hand, the pleasant sound of Mozart's Requiem playing around him. Quirrell was frozen in place as phantom pains cascaded throughout his body. His master always kept him paralyzed after punishments.

His master took another sip of wine. "The delay for that final tool is regrettable, but we can still keep to our schedule without issue."

Even if he had been able to form coherent speech at that moment, Quirrell knew better than to try. As much as he wished to apologize to his master for the delays, to do so would involve interrupting the master and thus delaying him further. No. No. Quirrell would remain silent and listen. Apologies could be saved for another time.

"We will not be able to communicate like this very often once you are in Hogwarts, so I will be trusting you to stick to the schedule I set for you."

Quirrell nodded mutely, his neck the only part of his body that he could control.

"It is also likely that even should you leave the grounds of Hogwarts I will not attempt to commune with you. I will be saving my strength for when the time is right."

Again, Quirrell could only nod.

"Do not fail me, Quirinus."

The snap of his master's fingers was all the warning he had before Quirrell awoke in his bed, screaming. The pain was gone, but the memories still remained. Eventually, his mind caught up with his body and the agonized screaming ceased. Quirrell slowly rose into a sitting position as he cast a sideways glance out of his bedroom window. The rising sun's rays colored the countryside as the morning dew glistened on the grass; the sounds of singing birds and other morning life greeted his ears. Quirinus Quirrell cared for none of that, though, and began to weep, for today was another day that he was still alive.

Chapter Text

“Bah. It's all about perception, lass. Everyone shrieks and cries that a curse is dark because it causes pain, but pain isn't dark. The entrail expelling curse isn't a pleasant curse. It's not a nice and happy spell you show to your grandkids when you're bouncing them on your knee. You won't find many good people casting it because most good people don't want to cause others pain... most people don't have it in them to do that to another human being. I've cast that spell before, and I'll cast that spell again if you show me a cunt worth casting it on. I'm no saint, and I'm certainly not Dumbledore; I'll use whatever spell is at my disposal if it means putting a murderer in Azkaban where they belong! That doesn't make me worse than those evil bastards, not by a long shot. And I'll break Albus' nose again if he insinuates as much.” -Alastor Moody to Amelia Bones over an early morning coffee after a long night. October 1964.

Chapter 7:

"Ah, there you are lad," Tom the barkeep called out to Harry as he trudged down the steps with his trunk banging every single one.

Harry smiled at the old man and raised his hand. "Hey Tom, I've got my key right here, and the room is in mostly good condition, minus the scorch marks on the ceiling that we'd already talked about."

Harry liked to think he'd been an excellent patron during his two month stay. Well, there was the time or four when he'd set the bed-sheets on fire while practicing his spells. Not to mention the potions mess that almost melted through the floor when he had let it simmer for too long. There was also the unintentional party he helped throw in the dining room during the Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies match, but that wasn't entirely his fault. Yes, he'd bought a number of rounds for everyone that cheered when the Harpies scored. And yes, he had been one of the few people that had started singing the Harpies' theme song when Puddlemere had to call a time-out after one of their Chasers was knocked from his broom and broke fourteen of his bones – but most of the room was singing by the end anyway.

Besides, he had not been responsible for the raucous singing of Welsh drinking songs long after the game was over. Harry didn't have any Welsh pride, he was English for fuck's sake. The Holyhead Harpies were his favorite team because the all women's roster was seriously hot and kicked tremendous amounts of ass both on and off the pitch.

Harry had became a fan of the Harpies shortly after Luca introduced him to the wonderful world of Quidditch. Despite having grown up watching football and rugby, Harry had never really found himself that enticed by either of the sports. But Quidditch... Quidditch he loved. It was only natural then that he'd deck himself out in merchandise that showed his support for his favorite team. The local branch of the Quidditch Club Store had all kinds of things one could buy to show the world their loyalties. Harry had purchased a few jerseys, roughly seven graphic t-shirts, two scarves with different designs, and to top everything off he bought two posters.

Poster number one simply featured the starting roster. The seven woman team was fully decked out in their uniforms and gear, and they had their game faces on. The star Beater and Captain of the team, Gwenog Jones, was standing up at the front, leading her team. The impressive woman had her club held aloft, ready to smash heads and bludgers both as she dominated her opposition with her team right behind her every step of the way. The aura it gave off was honestly quite intimidating – Harry wondered if it was charmed to be like that, or if Gwenog Jones really just had that much of a presence. Poster number two on the other hand was of a far more salacious variety. The suggestive work of art featured the three starting Chasers, with rising star Valmai Morgan taking center stage. The three gorgeous woman were dressed in wonderfully skimpy and tight versions of their official uniform, leaving very, very little to the imagination; but what really sold the poster was that said gorgeous woman had posed while straddling their brooms in quite literally the most provocative positions imaginable. Harry had never been so thankful for the fact that magical pictures moved. And by the gods did these girls know how to move.

"Ah, no worries there," Tom replied, waving off Harry's comment. "None of the owners, not me nor my many predecessors, have ever bothered to have structural runes installed. We have to repair things a bit more often, but the repairs are cheap; and I like to think they add to the character of this old place." Tom looked around the aged building with a warm smile.

Harry followed suit and really tried to get an appreciation for the nature of the Leaky Cauldron. Breathing deeply, Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus his nebulous sixth sense on more than just the obvious magic around him. Unclear on what, if anything, he might find, Harry ignored the wards and small sources of magic that were in every direction. He wasn't trying to focus on magic that had been cast or placed, but something deeper – something more intrinsic.

Harry no doubt left Tom quite confused as he fruitlessly examined the building. There was nothing to dive deeper in because there was simply nothing there. The spirit of the building was just the atmosphere perpetuated by the friendly staff and goodwill of the patrons. There was no magic, it was just placebo. Such is what logic would dictate anyway, but Harry had already learned his lesson on that front.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

There!

The smallest of flickers. A minuscule flash hinting at something more. Harry didn't know what exactly it was, but he could tell that it was in fact, something.

The sound of a plate being placed in front of Harry pulled him from his meditation.

"'Ere's your breakfast, lad." Some sausage and bacon piled high next to a few over-easy eggs, and a side of raw, sliced tomatoes. This simple but delicious breakfast had become his staple meal over the past few months.

Harry didn't let his disappointment about being pulled from his trance show on his features. Whatever he had felt was easily the most ephemeral piece of magic that he had been able to Sense yet. For all he knew it could just be a deeper aspect of magic buried into the wood itself, but even that brief flash had felt like something more. Based on what Ollivander had said there weren't many books on the subject of sensing, so it looked like this phenomenon was something he'd have to puzzle out on his own. Ah well, that was for another time.

"Thanks Tom, I'll miss your cooking when I'm gone."

Tom barked a laugh. "No you won't, lad. I can promise you that where you're going serves way better food than what I serve on your average day."

Harry raised a single eye-brow, silently urging the barkeep to explain while he enjoyed his morning meal.

"I'm telling the truth. Some of the best meals I ever 'ad came from my days at 'ogwarts," Tom nodded enthusiastically as he magically directed a pitcher of ale to refill the mug of another patron, already deep in her cups despite the early hour.

"Seriously? Meals that good came from a school?" Harry asked, nodding his thanks as a cup of tea was set before him.

"Oh, absolutely. There's supposedly scores of 'ouse elves specialized in cooking that work for the school," Tom sighed, a far off look entering his eyes. "What I wouldn't give to 'ave a 'ouse elf assist me around 'ere."

"Um hey, still new to magic – what's a house elf exactly?" Harry asked confusedly. The image of a brownie popping into his mind.

"They're these tiny, little creatures that are completely bald with these 'uge bulbous eyes. They clean, they cook, they 'elp with anything you need of them, really."

So they were almost exactly like a brownie, only better in every conceivable way. Harry had no need for one right now, but once he eventually got his own flat it might be a worthwhile investment. To have someone around that could cook and keep things tidy, that sounded like a dream come true. Harry technically could cook, but why would he want to when there were literally millions of other things he would rather be doing? The same logic applied to cleaning, only magnified by a factor of seven.

"They sound useful," Harry remarked, blowing on his tea to help it cool.

"Damn useful!" Tom agreed, slapping his rag on the counter. "Problem is they're expensive as all get-out."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned with the price should he eventually look into getting one. "Shame," he commiserated with the old man. The Leaky Cauldron saw a lot of business, but Harry doubted the low costs were conducive for making a lot of money. Tom struck him as the type that took over the establishment for no other reason than it was what he loved doing.

Tom glanced towards the large clock mounted on the wall behind the bar. "It's almost ten, lad. You best get moving soon. Wouldn't want to miss the train, now would you?"

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "I'm just flooing to the platform; but I still wanted to get there pretty early, so thanks." He downed the rest of his tea and reached out to shake Tom's hand. "It's been a pleasure, Tom. I'll see you next summer, yeah?"

Tom returned the handshake and nodded at the boy who'd been a near constant presence in his tavern for the past few months. "See you then, lad."

Wheeling his trunk behind him, Harry approached the large, mantled fireplace set up as an outbound floo passage. Dropping a few knuts into a currently bereft bowl, Harry scooped out a handful of the floo powder Tom had available and tossed it into the empty stone hearth.

"Platform nine and three quarters," Harry intoned, very deliberate in his enunciation.

Green flames that were utterly devoid of heat surged upwards in a brilliant display. Harry took a deep breath, and for the first time he walked forward into the magical fire. Floo travel was awful. It felt as though he was swiftly being pulled down a very tight drain. He shut his eyes tight, feeling as if his entire body was awhirl at a rapid pace, his recently consumed breakfast churning inside him. The roaring in his ears deafened him to all other sounds as he continued to spin. And spin. And spin. And spin. Just as he was on the verge of getting sick it was suddenly over.

Harry stumbled forward ever so slightly, most of his inertia magically washed away or never existing to begin with, he couldn't tell. The small coat of soot covering his person automatically dissipated, leaving him clean once more. Proper etiquette drilled into him after watching others use the floo for the past few months caused Harry to immediately step off of the exit grate and move to the side – therefore allowing that specific inbound floo passage to once more be available for use.

Standing out of the way of other passersby, Harry decided to take a moment to calm his still raging stomach. The next time he had to use the floo he was going to make sure at least an hour had passed since his last meal. Apparition and floo travel both were absolute murder on the stomach. No doubt they became more bearable the more familiar one was with them, but that wasn't much of a comfort to the young teen that still felt a bit nauseous from the magical journey.

Platform nine and three quarters was already teeming with life as students of varying ages wished their families farewell for the coming months before boarding the gargantuan scarlet steam engine. Harry was blown away by the sheer size of the hulking monstrosity. It dwarfed every other train he had ever heard of, let alone seen. Multiple stories tall, at least twice as wide as any other passenger train, and over a dozen carriages long – it was obvious, even from his comparatively ignorant perspective, that the Hogwarts Express was an unparalleled marvel of magical engineering. Even whilst barely focusing, Harry could easily sense the intricate magic at work within the locomotive. Comprehending what it was he was sensing was far beyond his rudimentary capabilities, but Harry was still awestruck by the majesty of the magical creation before him.

Harry was glad he'd arrived almost an hour early as the crowds were already pretty severe, he almost couldn't imagine how busy the platform would be in the final minutes before it left the station. There was on average over 1100 students that attended Hogwarts every year. Packing that many students plus their families onto the large platform all at once would've likely pushed it beyond capacity but spread out over the course of an hour or two and it wasn't nearly so bad. The platform was still crowded, of course, but not unbearably so. Alice had requested to meet Harry before he boarded the train, but he'd declined by not responding. Petty? Maybe, but he didn't care. The two letters she'd sent to him thus far had not been unpleasant reads, exceedingly casual and impersonal since she danced around trying to offend or upset him, but it was a useless effort, he wasn't about to reply. He'd been honest in his declaration that he didn't hate her, but that did not mean he actually wanted anything to do with her. Alice was his godmother, he would not deny her that title, no matter how hollow and devoid of emotion it rang.

Harry grinned at the sight of a group of older students as they idly floated on brooms probably some fifty feet in the air. He couldn't wait to try flying for himself. If he had so chosen he could have gone to visit one of the many Quidditch Clubs and paid for some lessons. For most people, unless they knew someone that owned private land that was heavily warded against muggle sight, Quidditch Clubs and the extensive property they had at their disposal were the only places where they were legally allowed to recreationally fly. Harry was 100% certain that people flew outside of these areas all the time, but if seen by muggles the Ministry would levy some seriously hefty fines. Three instances of said fines and then they'd turn towards criminal charges, charges that could vary widely in scope. Harry only knew of this because he'd checked.

The Ministry Security Services, or M-sec as it was colloquially known, had a branch in Diagon Alley that was strictly devoted to keeping the peace in the largest magical district this side of the continent. Honestly, the building itself was nothing special. Just a large station attached to a small office building; it was unsurprisingly quite reminiscent of the police stations Harry had tried so hard to avoid in the muggle world. Inside the station a bunch of various M-sec officers milled about, some desk jockeys, others appearing to be field officers not currently working the streets – Harry's interest in them had been minimal either way.

It had turned out that Harry's questions on the legality of flying were far from being an uncommon occurrence. The man working the front desk had seemed disappointed that all he had to do was reach into a single drawer and pass along a small booklet. Harry was impressed that they had a detailed booklet outlining the law surrounding a singular area of interest. Said impressed attitude only lasted long enough for him to realize just how regulated flying was. To say he was disappointed did not do any justice at all to the immense sorrow he felt knowing he would likely never get to speed through the streets of London on a flying broom. Intellectually, a small part of him had already been aware of the probable impossibility of his dream, but it had still been quite the devastating blow all the same.

Though, such strict regulation on flying had brought to Harry's mind an entire separate line of questioning. It didn't make any sense to him that magic was able to be kept secret. Surely, after hundreds of years, someone would have dropped the ball on the existence of magic? Especially since cameras and video tapes had become commonplace, it just didn't make sense that magic was still a secret. His curiosity piqued, Harry had then asked the officer at the front desk about the Statute of Secrecy and how it was maintained, and once again he was handed a small booklet.

It turned out that there was more to the Statute of Secrecy than he had initially suspected. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised. The Veil was a magical haze that was forcefully settled over all muggles when the Statute of Secrecy went up in 1692. The Veil worked by causing muggles to simply not see or recognize magic; or if magic was seen, it forces muggles to somehow rationalize what should be impossible as something that makes sense. A wizard on a broom would either not be seen, or they would simply be a large bird that went flying by. A witch shooting a destructive spell clearly had a gun in her hand rather than a wand. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised.

Harry had been amazed to learn that the Statute of Secrecy was far more than just a law passed by the International Confederation of Wizards – it was the single largest and most well coordinated magical endeavor in the history of the known world. Thousands of wizards and witches all over the globe had channeled their magic into a single ritual circle, a circle that had a diameter extending over a mile long. One ritual, and the knowledge of magic was erased from every single muggle on Earth. In a flash, what was once commonplace did not exist to the majority of the world – their minds were rewritten and their histories changed, never again to be aware of the true supernatural.

As Harry had suspected, keeping muggles in a state of ignorance required more than just removing their memories a single time. There was still magic in the world, and all it would take was one untamed dragon to shatter the illusion that had been so carefully crafted – and so the Veil was conceived. The Veil, a way to ensure that muggles would never learn of the wonders that existed right beyond their doorstep. The Veil wasn't foolproof, of course; some humans were able to see through it better than others, and if the magic in question was blatant enough, anybody would be able to do so – hence the laws that every single magical country on Earth honored strictly. Making it illegal to directly use or cast any magic in front of a muggle that didn't already have ties to the magical world was commonly agreed upon as the best method to help keep the Veil in place. Which was why every single country magical country, along with the ICW itself, had entire task forces dedicated to nothing but maintaining the Statute of Secrecy by obliviating muggles and covering up every real piece of evidence that suggested magic was real. 'Muggles must be kept ignorant' – that was the consensus that was shared by every single magical country for almost three hundred years.

Harry understood why the magical world wanted to stay hidden. If muggles knew about magic than it would undoubtedly lead to war. There was simply too much potential for danger. Muggles would either want to use magic, or they would fear it – and neither one of those were favorable outcomes. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that magicals would win said war, should it ever come to pass. Sure, muggles had bombs that could blow up cities – but would they know where to drop them? Magicals could teleport, read minds, dominate wills, vanish matter, and unravel physics. It was simply for the best that muggles remain ignorant of magic – their continued survival depended on it.

Mentally saluting the flying teens, Harry eventually reached one of the many ramps that led up and into the train, specifically the one that was closest to the locomotive itself. It barely felt like he was even walking onto a train, the scarlet behemoth was so far beyond anything he'd ever seen before that his natural expectations were having trouble keeping up with reality. Nothing about its size made sense, and yet thanks to magic, here it was. At the top of the ramp standing directly to the left of the doorway there was a smiling, middle aged man with a brown mustache dressed in a resplendent red conductor's uniform.

"Welcome, good sir! You're a first year, correct? I can always tell when someone is a first year! Ah, it's so good to have you aboard!" The conductor said, he was far too chipper for Harry's taste.

"Mhm," Harry nodded politely and tried to move past without responding. The longer he listened to this guy the greater his chance of getting a headache. He really did not want a headache on top of his still rattled stomach.

"Not so fast there, friend, I've got a few things I need to share with you."

Harry had never hated being called "friend" so much in his entire life. The lively conductor seemed so obnoxiously genuine in his exuberance, it was almost painful.

"This!" The man swept his hands in the air and gestured around him. "IS THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS!"

Harry decided to strike the almost, now it was actually painful.

"Requisitioned in 1827 by Minister Ottaline Gambol, the Hogwarts Express is the combined product of wizarding and goblin ingenuity!"

Loathe as he was to actually listen to the conductor's voice, the impromptu history lesson did still hold his interest to some extent.

"Goblins helped make this?" Harry asked, slightly surprised. His one and only experience with goblins thus far had been vexing to say the least. If the goblins involved with this project were Gringotts goblins then the wizards of the past had his sympathy.

"Indeed! The Revilgaz clan's experience with magical railways and carts was instrumental in the construction of this beautiful locomotive! Why, to this day there are a few goblin engineers that work on and service the train!"

The Revilgaz clan, huh? That makes two distinct clans of goblins thus far. Hopefully, if he encountered any of them, they wouldn't be complete cunts like the Gringotts goblins had been. Harry really fucking hated the Gringotts goblins. He didn't care how good at their jobs they were.

"That's nice," Harry remarked quickly, "can I go find a seat now?"

"Of course!"

Thank you!

"But only after I finish telling you about the layout of the train!"

Fuck.

Harry mentally begged for someone, anyone, to walk up and take the conductor's attention away from him. "You have twelve seconds to finish your spiel, man, and then I'm walking away." He normally considered himself to be a fairly polite person, but there was something about this guy that was driving him up the goddamn walls.

The conductor's achingly genuine smile widened. He took a deep breath, and then he spoke. "My name is Clinton Magnolis and I shall be your conductor for today's journey. Cars four and twelve are dining cars where a number of food and beverage options are available for purchase. The second and third floors of car number one are reserved for the Head Boy, Head Girl, Prefects, and the conference they will hold; in the rare event that a teacher is on board, then they too are reserved a spot on the first car. Aside from those two designated areas, you are free to sit anywhere on the train. The sweets and tea trolleys will begin their rounds in approximately two hours time, we only ask that you please clean up after yourself the best that you are able. The entire journey to Hogsmeade Station will take exactly eight hours, forty two minutes, and thirty nine seconds regardless of any inclement weather or giant attacks. Please enjoy the ride!"

Harry stared at Clinton with wide eyes and his mouth agape, absolutely dumbfounded at the display of what could only be magic. It wasn't just that the conductor had spoken inhumanly fast – finishing his introduction in the exact time frame that Harry had allotted – it was also the fact that despite only picking up every third word, he somehow understood the exact meaning of what the man had said. "What – I don't – how?"

Clinton motioned him into the train proper with an elegant bow as Harry walked past him shaking his head. That conductor was weird and Harry was more than content to not think about him further at this time. Looking around, the young teen realized that the interior of the train was larger and even more grand than he had expected; tastefully decorated and incredibly luxurious, the Hogwarts Express blew every other train in the world out of the water. While still reminiscent of the trains he knew in terms of layout, the spacious compartments and hallways almost caused him to forget that he was even on a train at all.

Car Three, compartment H, got it, Harry thought to himself as he stored away his trunk. There weren't too many students on the train just yet, so he had picked a random open compartment after meandering through the first few cars. He had no intention of spending the entire trip inside of his compartment, not when there were so many things to do and people to meet. Which people were actually worth meeting was the question though. Harry was an extrovert, there was no question on that front, but he'd rather avoid conversing with fools if he could avoid it.

Harry decided to head to the dining car and enjoy a nice cuppa while he waited for 11 o'clock to roll around. Claiming a seat by the window, Harry idly watched the throngs of families as they bid farewell to the children they wouldn't see for months. It surprisingly wasn't a particularly sad affair – despite his expectations, it looked like bidding your kids goodbye for such a lengthy amount of time was just another aspect of wizarding culture. Harry knew numerous people back in the muggle world who's parents would have never consented to such an arrangement; and even if they had, the goodbyes would have been tragic displays filled with ugly tears and long hugs. Magicals just did things differently he supposed.

"You would not BELIEVE the morning I've had!"

Harry jolted his attention to the voice of the young witch that had just unexpectedly claimed the seat across from him without so much as a greeting. An exceedingly attractive girl around his age, with lightly curled dirty blonde hair, dressed in a white crop top that stopped just shy of where Harry guessed her belly button was, and a pair of navy-blue overalls with one of the shoulder straps hanging loosely at her side.

"Hello to you, too," Harry said bemusedly; more than happy to entertain the voluptuous young woman, but still perplexed by her sudden entry into his life.

"Oh yeah, hi!" The strange girl smiled at him, showing off pearly white teeth. "So back to my morning, yeah – okay, so my mum KNOWS how I like to be early to things, right?"

As the forward young woman launched into her story without a moment's hesitation, Harry settled back into his seat with an amused expression, resigned to the fact that he would be hearing about her terrible, no-good, very bad morning.

"She knows this! That's why I packed the night before. That's why I had most of my things laid out for this morning. OH, and I even gave Leesy strict instructions to wake me up by 7:30!"

Harry had no clue what a 'Leesy' was but he nodded along anyway. "You had it all planned out," he agreed.

"Exactly!" The brazen girl didn't even ask before pouring herself a cup of tea from the small pot he had ordered. Sure, you can have a cup. Ah well, she was cute. Harry had a habit of letting cute girls get away with things he would happily smack others upside the head for.

"The plan was perfect – we'd floo over around 9:45 and have all of our goodbyes done before 10:15, this way I could be happily on board the train and ready to go by 10:30."

Harry glanced at the clock that clearly displayed 10:39 and wondered what was wrong with the girl.

"But nooo~, right before we're about to leave the house mum walks up and starts bitching about my outfit!" The young woman huffed and took a sip of her tea, she made a face and proceeded to add copious amounts of sugar and a healthy splash of milk. Harry made a mental note to talk to her about that at some point; tea with that much sugar was downright American.

"That seems a bit rude of her," Harry concurred, innocently inspecting the outfit of his spontaneous companion once more. No complaints from this side of the table, he mused. As a healthy teenage male, he thought her clothes were perfectly fine and acceptable. If anyone tried to claim that his evaluation was influenced by how well her outfit showed off her body then they were clearly a liar.

"Merlin, you don't know the half of it," she took another sip of her drink and nodded happily, seemingly pleased that she'd vanquished the flavor of tea. "Today she was like, 'you can't go out dressed like that, look at how much cleavage you're showing off!'"

The girl's dramatic re-enactment caused Harry to almost choke on his drink. The voice she used to mock her mother was clearly one she was well practiced with.

"And I was like, 'yes mum, I know I have big tits, thanks for pointing out the obvious.'"

Harry burst out laughing at her blunt declaration, barely managing to not spill his drink in the process. This girl was odd, no doubt about that, but damn he liked her so far. "No argument from me on that front," he chuckled.

She raised an eye-brow and wryly grinned at him, "you would have to be a either liar or blind to argue with me there."

Harry again chuckled at the young woman's brazen attitude and returned to looking out the window; with only twenty minutes left until the train departed, the platform was positively flooded with people. Harry wasn't normally the type of individual that cared for arriving early, but he was glad for his foresight today. Trudging through those crowds looked like pure hell.

"Before you share with me the finer details of your argument with your mother, can I get a name to work with?" Harry asked, cutting off the girl in question before she could continue her story.

"Whoops, my friends all tell me I can be rude sometimes – my name is Lavender Brown," the now identified Lavender shook Harry's proffered hand.

"Harry Evans, charmed."

"Anywho, so after I mentioned my tits my mum got even more offended; which is weird since I got these from her." Lavender mimed grabbing her chest but stopped short of giving the world a free show. "Then she started on one of her modesty rants again, but I've gotten pretty good at tuning those things out."

"Modesty rants are a regular thing with her?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

Lavender nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh yeah, they've become a weekly thing of late," she briefly paused to take a large drink of sugar with a bit of tea. "She has actually stopped me from leaving the house multiple times before because I was wearing a Swish and Flick shirt. Can you believe that?"

"Swish and Flick?" Harry wasn't familiar with the name of what he assumed was a band. Even in the muggle world music hadn't been a topic he was particularly interested in. The popular bands and top singles he was familiar with, but anything besides what made it to the top of the charts and it was beyond his sphere of knowledge.

"You haven't heard of Swish and Flick?" Lavender looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach and then she'd seen a ghost. "OH MY GOD!" She yelled, unsurprisingly gaining the attention of half the passengers in the car. The humongous grin on her face gave Harry less than a second's warning before he was rammed over at full speed by the power of a fan-girl. "Oh my god! I don't know how you haven't heard of them, but they're literally the coolest band in the history of everything!"

Harry recoiled slightly, "I'm about to learn all about them, aren't I?" He asked, hoping to whatever higher power might exist that the band in question didn't have a long history.

The apprehension in his voice must have been obvious because Lavender deflated in her chair with a disappointed look and replied, "not if you don't want to, no."

Well that wasn't going to work. Harry had a thing about making cute girls sad – he liked to call it "don't." The possibility that she could just be faking her disappointment was acknowledged and immediately cast aside because Harry didn't care – he was now going to learn about Swish and Flick even if it killed him. Gods above, he really could be the biggest sucker in the world sometimes.

"You have twenty minutes to start off with," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself as Lavender immediately perked up. This obsession might be a bit unhealthy, Harry thought. Just talking about a band should not result in such drastic shifts in mood... Ah well, he'd refer to it as her passion for now and leave it at that. "After twenty minutes we'll reevaluate and go from there."

Lavender nodded happily. "Right, so the band was formed by five friends who all went to Hogwarts together back in eighty-four –"

Harry contentedly leaned back his chair with his drink in hand, ready to learn about the band that gut instinct told him he would become intimately familiar with over the next seven years. Hell, he had a gut-feeling that listening to Lavender in general would become a very familiar pastime going forward; and honestly, based on his first impressions of the girl, he was okay with that.

OoooOoooO

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"What if I add a cherry on top?"

"Maybe, but I want an actual cherry."

"Daph~! You know that's not fair!"

"You're the one that wants to go meet the Boy-Who-Lived, not me. You have to make it worth my while."

"Helping your best friend isn't worthwhile to you?"

"Nice try, but no."

"But he's like your cousin or something! You have an in!"

"You do realize that not every pure-blood is closely related, right?"

"Well, for like five minutes can we just pretend that you're his cousin?"

"Tracey, he's like five compartments down from us. Just go chat with him if you really want to."

"But I'll be outnumbered..."

"Didn't you say he already had two friends with him?"

"Uh huh."

"So even if I do go we'll still be outnumbered."

"You tend to scare people, so I always count you as two, sometimes three if you've had a really bad day."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome!"

"Smiling at me like that isn't going to help."

"Then what will help? Because I really want to go meet him. Ever since he did that interview for the Prophet a year ago I've had a crush on him, you know this!"

"I still don't understand why you like him so much."

"Why don't you? He's cute, rich, smart, sweet, and did I mention cute?"

"Merlin, Trace..."

"Don't judge me, you know I have a weakness for cute boys."

"Fine, you win. I'll come."

"You're the best, Daph! Have I ever told you that?"

"Yes, you have, and I'm going to want to hear it at least three more times once you're done flirting and in the process of getting me a cherry."

"You really want a cherry now, huh?"

"I'll take any food at this point. I could eat a hippogriff right now."

"That's what you get for waking up late."

"It's not my fault my bed was comfy..."

OoooOoooO

Ron Weasley could honestly say that when he woke up that morning he had no idea that he would be sharing a compartment with the Boy-Who-Lived while on the train to Hogwarts. Everyone knew who Daniel Potter was. Everyone. The guy's name was more well known than practically anyone else in the last century aside from Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and You-Know-Who. Famous beyond belief and he was just sitting there, chatting away like he was just another teenager. To most people Daniel Potter was a hero. His story was one of undeniable tragedy, yes, but that just made the world even more thankful to him. A living testament to the fact that good triumphed over evil – an icon of hope in a world that could always use some more of it. Given that he was only a baby at the time, Ron obviously had no memories of when You-Know-Who terrorized the country, but his eldest brothers had told him stories about those dark days.

The way their mother used to watch the family clock every time their dad went to work. How none of the kids were allowed outside of the wards, and how their mum still preferred them to stay inside the house, even during the day. The nervous conversations their parents would have in hushed tones when they thought the children couldn't hear or see them. Their uncles' funeral that none of the kids had been allowed to attend, and how their mum had been utterly inconsolable for weeks afterwards.

Even hearing about the effects the war had on his family secondhand had left Ron with a deep-seated gratitude towards the Potters – the family that had brought an end to it all. Ron knew that Daniel Potter was only a baby when You-Know-Who attacked, but he was grateful all the same. Even if he didn't remember what had happened, he had still paid a price – a price that Ron would never personally wish to pay for anything. Orphaned at age one. Famous because he survived when his family was slaughtered. Ron couldn't imagine what that was like.

When Ron had accidentally almost knocked Neville Longbottom over while trying to lug his trunk up one of the ramps, he was sure that he was going to die out of a mix of frustration and embarrassment. The trunk was Charlie's old one. It had multiple expanded compartments so he couldn't complain too much; but unfortunately the lightening enchantments had stopped working, which honestly explained why his brother had passed it down to him in the first place. Bill had guessed that the runes used to help seal the 'poorly cast' enchantments as permanent had simply faded with time. Given that the trunk in question was older than even Charlie was, it wasn't exactly a surprise that it was breaking down. Bill was an absolute genius when it came to runes, and he had promised to fix the trunk at some point. Repairing the enchanted trunk was apparently much harder than it sounded; Ron had asked if he could just fix it then and there but he had been soundly rebuffed.

'The expansion and lightening enchantments are both attached to the same runic array, Ron – a patented array. If I break into the patent seal to look at the array then I'll be breaking the law. If the patent seal is still functioning properly it will alert the manufacturers, and they could have M-sec come down on me for theft. I could of course circumvent the patent seal because I'm me, but that's extremely illegal and could even get me locked up in Azkaban if it was discovered I'd done so. I will fix your trunk, I promise, but I'll have to build an entire separate runic array that interacts with the first seamlessly. The difficulty in doing so is that I don't know exactly how the original array reads, and by extension I don't know how it will interact with the new enchantments I'm adding nor the runes I'm trying to inscribe. There will be a bit of trial and error, some guesswork, but I should still be able to do it without issue – but it will take some time.'

Ron knew that Bill was good on his word, and eventually he would roll back into town having put together the perfect solution to leave his trunk even better than when it was first enchanted. Ron had accepted that it would be awhile though. Bill would probably enjoy the project because he was weird like that, but he also had a full-time job that kept him busy. Ron would be a right prat if he pestered his brother to help him when the guy was in the middle of working his dream job.

So that meant he had a trunk that could easily store all of his belongings, but it also weighed a metric fuck-ton. Even with both of the twins actively maintaining levitation charms on the blasted thing, it was still a royal pain in the arse to move up and onto the train – especially when their pitiful attempts resulted in one of the wheels sliding off the ramp. Ron was certain that the small crowd of amused onlookers would spread jokes about how many Weasleys it took to get a trunk onto a train. He had to admit that it was probably a fairly amusing sight, but he was absolutely going to help Fred and George remember their faces for future revenge. Weasleys always got even – that was just how they were.

It took them far longer than it should have, but eventually, through the combined mix of magic and the bodily strength of three tall teenage guys, the Merlin-be-damned trunk was successfully hoisted up and onto the train. It was of course at that exact moment that Neville Longbottom had been walking by and was thus almost bowled over by Ron and his ungodly heavy trunk. What followed was a quick exchange of apologies as both boys tried to take the blame for the narrowly avoided incident. They then introduced themselves, and just like that Neville invited Ron to come sit with him and his 'brother.'

In hindsight, it should have been obvious to whom Neville was referring to as his brother. Everybody knew that the Longbottoms had adopted the Boy-Who-Lived and retreated from the world after the Potter family was all but wiped out. Ron didn't consider himself the most knowledgeable individual when it came to politics or the Wizengamot, but even he knew that the Longbottoms were a very old, very powerful family. The world would notice them retreating even if they hadn't taken in Daniel Potter, but since they had it was front-page worthy news.

Besides, Ron had read the interview Daniel gave the Prophet about a year back; he didn't keep a framed copy on his wall like Ginny did, but he had read it a time or two when it circulated the news for a few weeks. In the interview, Daniel specifically made note of how he considered the Longbottoms to be his family. It couldn't get any more blatant that that.

Ron held no illusions when it came to his intellectual prowess, he was cut from the same cloth as Charlie rather than Bill, Percy, or the twins (much as they tried to hide it). He wasn't dumb by any means, but he was more of an action oriented kind of guy rather than the scholarly and contemplative type. Even then though, his inability to associate Neville Longbottom with Daniel Potter was quite the embarrassing error. Ron felt that he deserved the good-natured chuckles from Neville and Daniel in response to his stammering when he realized just who it was that had been waiting inside the compartment. He could appreciate a bit of friendly ribbing; growing up with five older brothers and a very cheeky little sister taught him to not get offended over the little things.

Ron couldn't help but stare at the infamous scar on Daniel's forehead after he'd introduced himself and taken his seat, but he had refrained from asking any insensitive questions and instead just chatted with him like he was any other bloke. It was almost surreal just how ordinary Daniel Potter seemed. Expectations must have gotten to Ron's head more than he thought since he felt so surprised by the normal, casual atmosphere that permeated the compartment.

The three boys must have been sitting there and chatting for over an hour when the door was abruptly thrown open.

"How's it going, little brother. Hey, did you know there's like twenty people gathered around outside this compartment all just whispering about you?"

Ron was rather bewildered by the sudden entry of the boy around their age that looked pretty damn similar to Daniel. If Daniel took off the glasses, pierced his ears, grew out his hair and lazily tied it back, Ron wasn't sure if he would be able to tell the two of them apart. Oh, and the newcomer affectionately referred to Daniel as 'little brother,' that was weird too.

"I didn't notice, but I'm not surprised – hey, what took you so long? We agreed to meet up on the train before it took off."

Okay, so Daniel expected this guy would show up. That knocked off some of the apprehension he felt, but it still left him with a fair bit of confusion.

"And now we are meeting up," Daniel's look-alike said with a grin, idly brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes as he plopped down on the seat next to Ron.

"We left the station over an hour and a half ago," Daniel argued. Even through his bafflement, Ron could tell there was no heat in their bickering – it reminded him of his own interactions with his siblings, actually.

"I got held up talking to this really cute bird in the dining car. And let me tell you, this girl is something else. So, I'm just sitting there, enjoying my tea when -"

"Umm, who are you?" Ron asked, interrupting the newcomer's tale.

The strange clone of Daniel turned towards Ron with a surprised look on his face, he paused and considered the red-head when a flash of understanding showed in his eyes. Without hesitation he smiled and extended his hand, "I'm Harry Evans, Daniel's evil twin -"

"Would you please stop introducing yourself like that?"

"- that was deemed too dangerous to be raised around magic, so I was raised in the muggle world instead. Pleased to meet you," Harry trailed off expectantly, clearly waiting for Ron to return the address.

Ron smiled at the strange introduction and gladly shook Harry's hand. "Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled and then returned to his story, gesticulating every little detail as he did so – from sipping tea to the size of the girl's breasts, he mimed it all.

"And then she just started commenting on my hair and gave me this hair-tie," Harry said, turning slightly and pointing to where he'd haphazardly tied it up.

"Mate, that's a scrunchie, not a hair-tie," Ron laughed, even for someone he just met he was not about to let him get away without that distinction being made.

"Damn, I was really hoping no one would notice that."

"Are those prancing unicorns?" Neville leaned in to get a better look.

Daniel followed suit and he immediately looked like Christmas had come early. "Oh my god, they are." Ron had only known Daniel for an hour or so, but he couldn't imagine the guy looking more pleased than he did at that moment.

"Yeah, the unicorns aren't my favorite, but it was the only one she had in her bag that was mostly dark colored, so I took it," Harry shrugged, trying to give off the impression that he didn't care. He wasn't fooling anybody. "You think I should've gone with the bright red one instead? Maybe the sky blue?"

"Nope, this is perfect," Daniel hadn't taken his eyes off his brother's hair, for a moment Ron swore he saw his pupils turn into hearts. "Nev, grab the camera!"

"What makes you think I have a camera?" Neville, or Nev as he seemed to go by, asked, bemused by the request.

Daniel pulled back away from his twin to look askance at his adopted brother.. "Mum asked you to bring one to Hogwarts. If you didn't bring one we've gotta pick one up somehow. She'll be super upset if we have no pictures to show her come Christmas."

Neville's eyes widened considerably as he pointed at himself, mouth agape. "Me? She asked me? Daniel, I was there, she clearly asked you!"

Ron was greatly enjoying the byplay as he munched on one of the four sandwiches his mum had made for him. Corned beef was bloody disgusting, but food was food and Ron Weasley was not the type of person that let good food go to waste. 'Good' may have been a stretch for corned beef, but it wasn't poisonous, and that was enough for him.

"I know I wasn't there, but she probably asked you," Harry cut in, pointing towards Daniel while solemnly nodding his head. "I'll remember you both fondly when Frank kills you for making Alice cry."

Both Neville and Daniel looked at Harry incredulously. "You've made her cry more than anyone!" They both accused.

Harry shrugged unconcernedly, opening up one of Ron's sandwiches – apparently having snagged one for himself at some point – and taking a bite. He chewed exactly three times before shuddering as he swallowed. "No offense, Ron, but these sandwiches are fucking rubbish. Corned beef? Seriously?"

"It's pretty minging, right?" Ron agreed as he took another bite.

Harry seemed downright horrified by Ron's actions and abruptly pulled the sandwich out of his hand. "Hey! I was eating that," Ron said around a mouthful of the world's worst sandwich. He may not have been overly fond of the food, but he was still going to protest its absence – especially since it was the only thing he had available.

"I can't in good conscience let any friend of mine eat that filth. Come on, let's go to the dining car. I could use something that actually tastes pleasant to clear my palate." Harry stood and turned towards the door while Ron slumped back in his own seat.

"You go ahead," Ron muttered dispiritedly, "I'll just eat this stuff." He tried not to sound bitter towards Harry for having the money to live so freely. Being poor sucked, yeah, but he'd come to terms with it years ago. Acting like a petty child in regards to his family's finances had caused his mum to cry once. That had been an eye-opener on its own. Percy's lecture helped him understand their family's situation. Fred and George both hexing him had really made the lesson stick. Ginny setting fire to his Chudley Cannons' posters was just cruel though.

"No need for that," Harry said happily as he motioned Ron to come with him. "Let's go get some good food."

"Don't have the money, mate."

Harry sighed but remained by the door as he stared Ron down. "I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't intend to pay, you know?"

Ron waved off the admittedly kind offer but still didn't move from his seat. "I appreciate it, Harry, I really do – but I don't do the whole charity thing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Cut the stubborn pride shit, and let's go grab a bite, please," He huffed as he bounced in place, clearly eager to leave the compartment.

"Hey, let's not insult anybody, yeah?" Daniel stepped in between them with outstretched arms.

"Just leave it, Harry," Neville added, his voice stern.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the black-haired teen but didn't bother responding. Harry was trying to be nice by offering to pay for his meal, yeah, but even though he'd accepted his family's financial status years ago it still wasn't something he was happy about. It wasn't the type of thing he felt like advertising anymore than he already did with his prepacked food and second-hand clothes.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry exclaimed, annoyed by the turn of events and glaring at the two censuring him. "Two months ago I was literally buying half my meals using the money I got from pick-pocketing tourists while they shopped at Harrods. I know what its like to be poorer than dirt better than both of you, so save it!"

Ron gaped at the young teen, scarcely believing his own ears. "But the Potters are rich!" He blurted out. The Potters were another one of those wealthy and politically involved families that had a lot of money to their name. Admittedly, most people only knew so much about them thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived being a Potter. They were an old family, but up until Daniel Potter became the most famous baby in Britain they'd been a fairly private one.

"I didn't know I was a Potter until recently – hence my last name being Evans," Harry responded blankly, leaning up against the door-frame. "My foster parent had seven other kids to feed and take care of. I could help her out by scrounging for my own cash, so that's what I did."

Daniel was morose as he reclaimed his cushioned seat. "I didn't know things were that bad for you. Mum said Miss Morrison had a nice place..."

Harry inclined his head towards his brother in acknowledgment. "The house and cars were paid off years prior thanks to the money she got from her family. But the pension she receives as a soldier's widow is minimal, and the subsidies she gets for fostering amounts to enough to survive, but all in total its not enough to give the young kids in her care the lives they really deserve."

Ron was still stunned by the rapid reveals about Harry's life. He watched in silence as the now broody teen opened the compartment window and smoothly stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Well, that confirmed that he was raised by muggles, at least. Ron only knew what those things were because two years prior he had woken up in the middle of the night while Charlie was trying to sneak out of the house. His second oldest brother then proceeded to borrow their dad's Ford Angela and drive off towards the nearby muggle town. After confronting him the next day, he showed Ron the muggle liquor and 'carton of smokes' that he'd purchased.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harry?" Daniel asked, intently watching his twin. "Didn't we agree to be honest with each other?"

Harry breathed heavily out the open window, the smoke creating a small trail as the train sped past. "I knew you and Morals-Mcgee over there would get on my case about it." Harry lazily gestured over to Neville who was quietly muttering to himself.

"Stealing is wrong, but he did it for a noble reason... But do the ends justify the means? It's in the past, but does he acknowledge it was wrong? It's complicated but -" Neville looked up, having only just realized that the other three people in the compartment were all staring at him. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a prat, I just..." He trailed off briefly before firming his resolve. "Stealing isn't a victimless crime, Harry. Even with your good intentions, that's not the type of thing I'm okay with."

Harry rolled his eyes and returned to looking out the window, muttering quietly about shoving a silver spoon up Neville's arse.

Ron had always been told that theft was wrong, but when he was actually confronted by someone admitting to having stolen things he found he really didn't care. Especially not with the reason Harry had supplied. "No judgment from me," Ron said, countering Neville's more strict and lawful stance.

Daniel looked disappointed and turned towards Neville, the two became engaged in a rapid but hushed argument. Ron couldn't quite make out what they were saying and decided it wasn't his place to intrude on their private conversation, even if he could easily guess the topic.

"I get it, Ron, I do," Harry spoke up once more, his voice slightly muffled as he leaned out the window. "That whole idea about not wanting anyone to look down on you because you don't have money – I get it."

Ron rose from his seat and joined Harry in leaning out the large window. He silently accepted the cigarette offered to him, but made no move to place it in his mouth.

"Just answer me this one question," Harry paused, but Ron immediately nodded at him to continue. "What good does it do? What do you accomplish by stubbornly refusing everything people offer you? I mean, you turned down a simple meal from me – but what's the point?"

Ron wasn't sure he had an answer for that. Situations where he turned down the kind offers of others didn't exactly happen a lot, so he hadn't given much thought to the reason why. No one was proud to be poor, that much was obvious. When someone turned down the charity of others it was a way to show that despite facing financial woes, they were still capable of standing on their own two feet. That they could make it in the world without having to rely on others for help. Was that really nothing more than stubborn pride?

"I only just figured it out right now, but do you know what it looks like from the outside? What it looks like when you turn down a meal from a friend?" Harry queried, now watching Ron intently. He didn't bother waiting for a reply. "It just draws more attention to how poor you are."

Ron didn't respond as he watched the smoke make patterns in the air before succumbing to the pressure of the wind.

"I hadn't even thought about the reason why you had sandwiches," Harry continued. "It wasn't until you made a point of turning down my offer that it became apparent."

Ron's ears reddened. "Thought it was obvious between my clothes and the food," he mumbled despondently.

There was never a time Ron hadn't been aware of how poor his family was. It was just the type of thing all the kids had been aware of. They knew to expect hand-me-downs rather than brand new clothes. Well, except for Ginny of course. As the only girl, none of the boys were exactly up in arms that she got new things. They weren't about to force their baby sister to wear boy's clothes, after all. But aside from her, they knew they were wearing clothes that had no lasting enchantments – clothes they'd seen on their siblings hundreds of times in the past. If something broke they had to try and fix it themselves, because there wasn't a chance in hell that they would be able to afford a new one. The kids never asked for expensive brooms or shiny, enchanted toys. The older model would work just fine, they'd find something else that was fun to play with.

The Weasleys weren't completely destitute by any means, but a family of nine subsisting off the income of one earner took its toll. Bill and Charlie being out of the house helped a fair bit, but that was a comparatively recent development after so many years of being at home. Not to mention the fact that any time it seemed like the Weasley family might finally be getting a leg-up, they were hit back down, hard. Dad got a bonus at work, time for Dragon Pox to sweep the country and force two of the kids into St Mungos for weeks. Bill moves out and is entirely self reliant, time for one of the old anchoring stones for the wards to break. That was just the life of the Weasleys.

"You really think it was that obvious? That's just you being insecure, mate," Harry said bluntly.

Am I really just being insecure? Ron wasn't convinced it was quite that simple, but he couldn't deny the logic. Most people probably didn't think much of their friend offering to pay for lunch. To Harry, the idea that he'd pay may not have even been a conscious decision.

Harry reached over and lit the cigarette still held loosely in Ron's fingers, "feel free to either smoke that or pass it back this way, up to you."

Ron considered the small white and yellow cylinder in his hands. He recalled how Charlie told him not to tell their mother about his purchases lest she kill him and bury the body out back. I'm on my way to Hogwarts, might as well have some fun. Ron brought it up to his mouth and inhaled deeply.

"Ah, shit! Not that much -"

Ron quickly turned green and started coughing, Harry chuckled lightly as he patted his back. "Thanks for – the warning," Ron barely managed to get out in between coughs.

"Sorry mate, forgot to mention that part. No biggie though, literally everyone I know did the same thing. Including me." Ron found it a bit difficult to think of Harry's apologies as sincere when he was laughing so much. "It's more of an initiation rather than a rookie mistake. The proper method is to breathe in a bit, hold the smoke in your mouth for a second, and then inhale the smoke into your lungs. It's far more pleasant that way."

Ron tried again, the proper way apparently, and he still hated it. Harry chuckled once more as Ron passed the smoke back to him. "Not sure smoking is really my thing, mate," Ron leaned out the window even further to take in the nice, clean air as he tried to expunge the remaining smoke from his lungs.

"It's not most people's thing," Harry shrugged, tapping the loose ashes off. "Hey, good on you though for actually trying before making your decision. My general motto for life is 'I'll try anything once', so, respect."

I'll try anything once, huh? Not a bad motto. Harry's maxim for life was honestly something Ron liked the thought of. Gryffindors had daring and nerve, didn't they? There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would be a Gryffindor, it didn't hurt to start living up to the reputation expected of him even before he got to Hogwarts.

"Good way to live," Ron agreed.

Harry grinned and suddenly pointed his wand towards the two cigarettes in his hand."Desinae," he intoned, his wand tip moving in a circle. The lightly burning ends of the cigarettes abruptly stopped glowing, and Harry stuck the apparently cooled remains in his back pocket. "I'll dispose of those properly later, flicking them out windows is a dick move. Now, come on!" Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and moved towards the door.

"What? Where are you going?" Daniel asked, having been drawn away from his ongoing debate with Neville by his twin's antics.

"Ron and I settled our differences, and now we're going to go grab a bite," Harry confidently declared.

"I didn't agree to that!" Ron contested. The guy may have made a few good points, but Ron still wasn't sure he wanted to accept his new friend's offer.

Harry cocked his head to the side quizzically as he looked back at Ron. "You just said you'll try anything once. It's time to try letting me buy you some food so you don't have to eat literal shit."

"Corned beef is not that bad you guys," Neville interjected.

"Yes, it is," Harry and Ron said in unison, grinning at one another in surprise.

Ron had just agreed to the daring adage, but he was still reticent on accepting charity. "Low blow, mate," he accused. Harry probably knew it was a low blow, hell, it was probably why he had said it.

"First rule of being poor and not stuck at home, Ron," Harry began sagely, his pointer finger held aloft as if delivering a lecture. "Never – and I mean never – turn down free food. Not only does free food taste better because it's free, but free things in general are good. That means free food is practically good-squared."

Ron blinked once. Twice. A third time. Though he didn't quite understand why, the strange logic was slowly finding a foothold in his mind. "Free things are good," he muttered softly. Harry's humorous delivery aside, he was trying to take the words to heart. Obviously the food wasn't legitimately free since it was being paid for, but Harry's persistence showed how little he actually cared about spending money on good food. Ron honestly wanted to accept the offer – he really, really hated corned beef – so if he turned his friend down, wasn't that nothing more than stubborn pride?

"Exactly! And since I'm both rich, and an epicurean by nature, sticking with me means lots of free things!" Harry was obviously trying to sell him on his way of thinking... and damn, it was kind of working.

"Free food is especially good," Ron repeated, he wasn't sure what an epicurean was, but the gist of Harry's words were still finding purchase within. Why would I not accept when a friend is offering? I'm poor either way, but there's no benefit to be gained if I turn him down, right? If Harry really doesn't mind spending the gold, then why would I turn him down...?

Daniel watched as Harry continued to tempt Ron with food like a siren would tempt sailors with the promise of sex. "Harry's got him hooked now," he sighed. "Neville, when he eventually gets me too, remember me as I was."

"Don't worry, Daniel, I will."

The more Ron thought about it, the more he was really coming around. Yes, he was poor, but that didn't mean he had to wallow in self-absorbed unhappiness and act like a sad sack to the first friends he'd met on the train. Accepting his friend's generous invitation didn't make him a charity case at all. Harry's invitation to get food when he knew Ron couldn't pay had nothing to do with him being a burden, it meant that Harry honestly just wanted to invite him to come along. It wasn't pity – it was kindness!

Besides, I can always pay him back later when I'm rich and famous!

"Alright, Harry," Ron started as Harry began fist pumping the air, "I think you've convinced me, let's go get some food!"

"That is what I'm talking about, Weasley!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "That little voice in the back of your head, his name is Inhibition, and he's a right fucking bastard. Stick with me and you'll quickly learn how to drown him in a river and get rid of the body!"

There was a brief moment of silence in the compartment. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Neville asked, seemingly convinced more than ever that Harry was mentally unstable.

"He's right, Harry," Daniel chimed in, a slightly concerned look in his eyes, "you've got problems."

Ron on the other hand was grinning ear to ear. Sure, the metaphor was a bit violent, but the spirit of it was about cutting loose, and that sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

Ron wasn't like his eldest brother – he didn't share the almost prodigious level of talent Bill displayed when it came to magic; nor the desire to go places where others didn't dare to and unravel the world's secrets. He wasn't like Charlie with his love for dragons and competition; nor did he have the same level of skill that he had on a broom. Percy and his academic drive – his unparalleled need to make sure his name, their family name, was remembered by history. Ron didn't have anything like that. He wasn't Fred or George either. Their love of pranks, their talent for originality, and their shared ability to make someone laugh regardless of how bad their day was – that skill set belonged to them and them alone.

Ron wasn't his brothers, and that was okay because none of his brothers were exactly alike either. Each of the Weasley brood was unique in their own way. Ron admired his brothers for the individual talents and abilities they had; the lives and paths they'd already attained or were still in the process of carving out for themselves. By the time Ron graduated, he was going to make sure all of his siblings could look at him and think that he had something that was worth admiring.

Ron had sworn years ago that he was done feeling envious of his brothers, and now it was time to for him to swear off feeling sorry for himself because he was poor. He was going to start by grabbing some good food with his new, strange friend that had a wicked grin and a glint in his eye. Fuck his insecurities about money. Fuck his lazy desire to fall back on the cushion and eat his disgusting sandwich. There were a million interesting things that he could do each day and damn it all, he was going to start experiencing them for himself because he was Ron-Fucking-Weasley!

"Bloody hell, I think I just had an epiphany," Ron exclaimed, his own thought processes taking him by surprise.

"Atta' boy, Weasley!" Harry encouraged. "Tell me all about it once we've placed our order! See you later, Daniel." Harry stepped out the door before sticking his head back inside and offering Neville a halfhearted wave. "You too, Nev, I guess."

Ron grinned at the two remaining boys and offered a more enthusiastic wave of his own. "Bye, guys!" And though he never would have guessed it at the start of his day, Ron Weasley left the compartment containing the Boy-Who-Lived to go hang out with his slightly mad twin.

Forced to stop behind the slightly shorter boy after closing the door behind him, Ron realized there were in fact a number of people standing around in the hallway, all of them keeping a weather eye on the known location of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Follow my lead," Harry whispered quietly before he suddenly clapped his hands and called out loudly. "Alright then ladies and gents, Daniel Potter will now be receiving fans and well wishers!"

Ron had to disguise his laugh as a cough to keep from ruining Harry's charade. Ron may not have loved practical jokes as much as Fred or George, but he still had a healthy respect for messing with one's siblings.

"Only two people at a time, please," Harry continued. "We still have plenty of time on the train and I will remind you that we are all attending the same school. Autographs and pictures are okay, but please refrain from asking any crass personal questions."

Ron honestly couldn't believe it when a facsimile of a line began to form. This is brilliant.

There were two girls at the front of the line, one a blonde, the other a brunette. Both girls were exceptionally attractive and appeared to be around their age. Ron wasn't exactly the most experienced bloke when it came to girls, but that was another thing he intended to change now that he was at Hogwarts.

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow at Harry imperiously. "And who are you to dictate such rules?"

Harry accepted the challenge without hesitation. A cocksure smile in place, he took a small step forward so the surprisingly short girl had to actively look up to maintain eye contact. "My name is Harry Evans, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and right now I'm the one telling you how its going to be if you want get inside and see Daniel." Harry capped off his dramatic introduction with a small wink.

Ron wasn't able to disguise his laughter that time. If that moment had been Ron's introduction to the guy he probably would've hated him, but he knew to look for the signs that Harry was just fucking with the cute blonde. The titles were all real, but the attitude was just an act.

Ron could see the shock and suspicion painted across everyone's features. It was one thing to hear the Boy-Who-Lived had a brother – honestly Ron was still catching up to that point – but to hear it brazenly declared as Harry just did added a whole new level of disbelief.

"What? Bullshit!"

"Nice try, kid, but pick something more believable next time!"

"Could he be telling the truth?"

"No way."

"But it's possible, right?"

"I think he's full of it."

Harry's confident smile didn't slip as the crowd doubted his claims. Ron would bet every sickle he owned that everyone gathered would ask Daniel if he really did have a brother. The whole train would likely know within the hour.

"Liar," the blonde from the front of the line accused with narrowed eyes, her friend seemed stunned into silence as she intently studied Harry's features.

Harry shrugged blithely as he stepped to the side and dramatically gestured towards the door. "By all means, sweetheart, ask the little-brother-who-lived yourself." Like any good friend, Ron mimicked Harry's movements on the other side of the door. Showmanship was important, after all. Fred and George had taught him that quite well.

"Fine, I will!" The blonde sneered. "Come on, Tracey!"

The brunette followed after her friend, but gasped loudly as she studied Harry's face whilst walking past.

"Daphne! I think he was telling the -" the noise from within the compartment was abruptly cut off as Harry closed the door behind the girls.

"Well that was fun, let's grab some food, yeah?" Harry chirped.

Both Ron and Harry ignored the numerous gob smacked gazes and inquiring comments that followed them as the two walked away. They were far too busy happily discussing the foods they hoped were available.

Chapter Text

"'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster,' right, Nietzsche? Ah, how I would love to engage with a mind as wonderfully twisted as yours. Here is to you, my woefully mundane friend. I must have heeded your words to some extent, for I am not a monster at all – but I suppose I cannot deny that in the end, the abyss did indeed gaze back." -Tom to himself, whilst standing in the center of an alchemic circle. November, 1980.

Chapter 8:

"Knock, knock, Al."

"You may come through, Nicolas."

Nicolas Flamel stepped through the floo and into the office of Albus Dumbledore with a spring in his step and a quirk to his lips. For the seemingly youthful and handsome blonde, today was a very, very good day. It was the day that he was finally going to be free of the persistent annoyance that had dogged his life for the past few months. Well, annoyance was not giving nearly enough esteem to the series of extremely adept attempts to steal his beloved Stone. The mysterious thief, whoever they were, had never gotten truly close to succeeding, but they had gotten close enough for him to take personal notice – and that was not an easy task. 600 years of life and he could think of less than five times that an individual had actually come so near in their attempts to plunder what was his. The whole situation was disconcerting, to say the least.

"Must you insist on referring to me by that nickname, Nicolas?" Albus asked petulantly.

The number of people in the world that could get away with calling Albus Dumbledore petulant, even within the confines of their own mind was quite small. Luckily for Nicolas, he was one of these people.

"It does the soul some good to have to deal with things they aren't fond of, Al," Nicolas said happily as he took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs Albus had in front of his desk. He casually splayed his feet out over the armrest, reaching over and plucking one of the delectable little candies that his old student had available.

"Ah, how I wish your nicknames could be the worst I had to deal with in life."

Nicolas frowned at his longtime companion. If there was ever a man who took too much upon himself it was Albus bloody Dumbledore. Knowing just how much was on the man's plate almost made Nicolas feel bad about the burden that he had placed upon his friend. Almost. In truth, he had long suspected that Albus actually enjoyed being so involved with the world's problems. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot – all of those horrible, dreadful titles on top of maintaining an active network of informants that kept him up to date on the movements of every known or suspected dark wizard across Europe. There was no reason for him to assume those mantles unless he derived some sort of pleasure from doing so. Or so Nicolas thought, anyway. The immortal knew that his friend wanted to do good in the world, but such pure motives were not mutually exclusive from the satisfaction he likely felt. Just as Nicolas was a researcher at heart – Albus was a meddler. The best kind of meddler, most assuredly, but a meddler all the same.

"I am not sure you have the right to lament your self-inflicted woes, Al," Nicolas said, rolling his eyes.

Albus sighed and removed his glasses, polishing them with an enchanted cloth. "We've had this debate numerous times, old friend."

Nicolas raised his hands in surrender as he mentally smirked at the fulfillment of the French stereotype. "You're right, Al, you're right. I still think you're wrong about the topic itself, of course, but that's not an argument we need to rehash at this time."

"I do appreciate that."

"I normally wouldn't give in so easily, but you are doing me a favor by getting involved this time, so I suppose I can't complain."

Albus chuckled lightly. "Consider it my way of repaying the debt I still owe you – for Paris, all those years ago."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Nicolas grimaced, popping another candy in his mouth. "You know how I loathe being involved in such affairs." His voice was warbled by the delightful lemon sweet.

The half-moon spectacles were returned to their proper place as his old student nodded. "Oh, I'm quite aware. Nevertheless, I believe my assisting you in catching this thief shall be enough for us both to consider the debt settled?" Albus raised an eye-brow questioningly.

"Oh, fine," Nicolas rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes – if you catch this would be larcenist than I promise to stop bringing up that nasty business in Paris."

Albus' eyes twinkled at him amusedly. A more impertinent student there never was, truly. "You know I would never turn you away should you require my assistance, Nicolas."

Were they having a moment? Well, that wouldn't do.

"I know, Al," Nicolas deliberately stressed the abhorred nickname. "I know."

The two old friends broke out into laughter together. Nicolas had known Albus for quite a long time, even by his own warped standards. In many ways, the two companions could not have been more different from one another. Their views on the world, their desire to get involved in the problems of others – they stood in direct contradiction. Despite their differences though, Nicolas viewed Albus as one of the few genuine friends he had. Albus was one of the few individuals in the entire world that he could truly engage with about magic. One of the only people that he could count on to help him should he truly need it. Nicolas greatly valued the man's friendship.

"Let's return to the reason why I'm here, shall we?" Nicolas asked, standing up. The tip of his finger began to glow brightly, and as he traced it through the air so that it formed symbols and shapes, he spoke in a strange language that did not sound fit for human conversation. When he was finished, there was a small flash of violet light that stayed floating in the air. Without hesitation Nicolas sliced open his hand and quickly stuck it inside the magical illumination. His hand disappeared for only the briefest of moments before the light was gone, and within his bleeding grasp was a pristine, crimson stone.

"Nicolas," Albus spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "is that really the Stone?"

"Of course not, Albus," Nicolas laughed heartily, "but this is a stone."

"I'm afraid I do not understand," Albus said, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "Did you create a second stone as bait?"

"Not a true Stone, no," Nicolas explained. "In my creation of the Philosopher's Stone I had many, many unsuccessful prototypes. As it turned out, not all of my failures were useless pieces of junk."

"Then that," Albus gestured towards the crimson jewel, "is one of your more useful creations, I take it?"

Nicolas smiled at his former pupil happily. "Indeed! Can you determine its potency?"

"Not to any great level of detail, not without studying it more closely – but it is apparent that there is a great deal of power held within that stone."

Nicolas reclaimed his comfortable seat and leaned forward to place the faux stone on the desk. "Oh yes, this little rock is by no means a trifling failure. In fact, despite it not being the true Stone, I would hesitate to call it a failure at all."

"Then why bring it to," Albus trailed off and suddenly narrowed his eyes. "You mean for me to use this as bait rather than what we had previously agreed upon." It wasn't a question.

Nicolas nodded his head. "An artifact of sufficient power is the only way to convince this thief to target you instead of searching for me." He idly began tossing the stone into the air and catching it with one hand. "We laid out the bread-crumbs perfectly, Al, there is no way the thief won't believe you're guarding the stone for me. And now, you'll actually have something worth protecting," Nicolas finished with a smug grin.

"What is this stone even capable of?" Albus asked. "I must confess that at this distance I cannot discern the magic layered within." Albus drew his wand and paused. "May I?" He asked.

Nicolas motioned him to go ahead. "By all means."

Albus quietly muttered to himself as he waved his wand over the stone for a few minutes. Nicolas could have just explained what the fake stone was capable of, but testing one another had long since been a game of theirs. Nicolas had been the master and Albus the student, it was true – but even when he was young and foolish by comparison, Albus Dumbledore could do things with magic that astounded even an immortal's old bones. There was never a dull moment in those years they spent studying dragon's blood and improving their alchemy. Just two brilliant alchemists spending night and day trying to fit the pieces for a puzzle they couldn't be sure was possible to put together. They had made games out of their discoveries. A challenge from one to the other, to see if they could unravel that which they had already figured out on their own. Those were good memories, and the habits from those times still remained.

"Nicolas, this is an incredible creation," Albus praised warmly. "Please, correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe this artifact would allow the user to bypass the need for a circle when performing alchemy!"

"Right in one, old friend," Nicolas said proudly.

Albus gazed at the fake stone with an almost childlike wonder before he suddenly sobered, his face grim. "Answer me honestly, please, I implore you – would I actually wish to know the details behind how this artifact was crafted?"

Nicolas shrugged callously. "Most likely not."

Albus sighed, and while he still looked quite healthy for his age, his eyes reflected a man that was far, far older. "I will use this as bait for our thief, Nicolas; but once I have caught the individual in question, I will destroy this artifact."

Despite the severity of Albus' tone, Nicolas couldn't help but chuckle. Their respective moral principles differed greatly, especially in regards to scientific ethics. The death of his sister had scarred the man for life. Albus was still far more brilliant than almost any other magical alive; but Nicolas couldn't help but feel wistful for how much further he could have pushed if only he had moved beyond his fears and regrets.

"Destroy it if you wish, Al. I personally have no need for it, after all."

At that moment, Fawkes the Phoenix swooped in from one of the grand windows and successfully distracted the two old friends. Phoenixes were incredible creatures in Nicolas' eyes. Their magic remained a mystery to him in almost every way. Studying one at some point was a dear wish for him, but it was unfortunately impossible to keep a phoenix in captivity against its will; and for those phoenixes that bonded with a human, the individual they bonded with never seemed inclined to investigate their magic for themselves. Someday, he planned to unravel their secrets for himself. It would take a long while, but he was unconcerned. After all, if there was one thing that Nicolas Flamel had in abundance, it was time.

"Ah, welcome back, Fawkes," Albus greeted the magical bird warmly. "As you can see, Nicolas decided to stop by."

Fawkes let out a rather plain – comparatively speaking anyway – musical cry, an acknowledgment of Nicolas' presence more than anything else. The immortal had always gotten the impression that the magical bird wasn't his biggest fan. Obviously the phoenix did not hate him, if he did than he likely would have attacked a long time ago – but the creature clearly did not hold him in the highest regard. Honestly, the feeling was mutual. Phoenixes were not the paragons of virtue that the layman had come to associate them with, but they did tend to bond with those that reflected what they as individuals valued. Albus and Fawkes were two peas in a very principled pod.

"Don't bother, Al, your faithful companion has never been fond of me," Nicolas grumbled good naturedly.

"To be fair, I do not believe Fawkes' distaste towards you began until after you tried to steal some of his tail-feathers," Albus said, looking over his glasses in a reprimanding fashion.

How dare you use that technique against me? I taught you how to do that, you brat!

Nicolas huffed and stood up from his chair. Better to walk around and play with Albus' numerous toys than sit quaintly and passively endure the judgment of a phoenix.

"So, if you don't mind my asking, where have you hidden away the actual Stone?" Albus queried as he gently helped Fawkes preen his feathers.

Nicolas wasn't certain of what most of the various contraptions did upon first glance, but poking them and seeing what happened was more fun anyway. "For now, a vault that has the Fidelius charm layered over it. I'll be retrieving it shortly though, and then I will be meeting up with Perenelle in Sierra Leone. She already has a vault underneath one of her laboratories prepped."

"You never did trust the Fidelius charm very much," Albus muttered.

"No, and for good reason. Despite that charm's vaunted reputation, I've always felt that it accomplished little beyond lulling one into a false sense of security."

Albus sighed heavily. "I will continue to maintain my stance on this point, Nicolas – your stubbornness against that charm is largely unwarranted. If cast correctly, the Fidelius charm is practically unassailable."

"Practically is not good enough for me, Al. Not if it means I am unable to put up any other defensive measures. Plus, we both know that the Imperius Curse can force a secret keeper to reveal the secret," Nicolas countered as he poked a strange, floating metal device with three, antennae like arms sticking out of it.

The Imperius Curse was easily the most disturbing piece of magic that Nicolas had ever seen. To attack and control someone's very soul... All of the Unforgivable Curses were disturbing spells, of course, but only those who had studied souls – and by extension soul magic – could truly understand just how abhorrent it was to deliberately target the soul and attempt to dominate it. Nicolas had never subscribed to the notions of good or evil, not since he was a boy anyway; but the Imperius Curse was the type of magic that even he had a difficult time not seeing as evil. Magic may not have an objective morality inherent to it, but any human that could successfully cast the Imperius Curse was one to watch out for in his opinion.

"While I understand your reticence, I am afraid that this will just have to be another subject that we agree to disagree on," Albus said diplomatically. "Oh, and I meant to ask, why Sierra Leone?"

"Ah, well, it appears the muggles there are in the midst of a civil war – and you know Perenelle, her little experiments always require a fair amount of bodies," Nicolas responded, chuckling at his wife's habits.

Albus grimaced but deigned not to respond. Albus and Perenelle had never seen eye-to-eye on anything. At all. They were never unpleasant to one another in person, but they had both long since given up on speaking with one another outside of civil small-talk at the occasional soiree.

"I imagine you're looking forward to seeing her for an extended period of time," Albus said, choosing to move past the details of her experiments. "If I recall correctly, you two have not seen each other very often over the past few years."

"Well, we haven't met up in person for any reason other than sex in almost three years, but those were fairly regular occurrences," Nicolas corrected, wagging his eyebrows. "Sex is another one of those things that's good for the soul, Al. Even meaningless sex with a stranger can be healthy. I should know, Perenelle and I experimented with that back in the 1700s."

"I have only taken one lover in my lifetime, Nicolas, and you know why." Albus' voice was calm, bordering on detached as memories from almost a century prior were brought to the surface.

Nicolas would burn the world for Perenelle, if she asked it of him. Not that she ever would, of course, his lovely wife had no interest in such wanton destruction. But there was nothing he wouldn't do for the woman he loved more than anyone, anything, else in existence. She was the very reason behind his fervent study into alchemy and eternal youth all those years ago. He couldn't bear to see her grow old – to slowly become a shell of the woman who had possessed such energy and life. For Perenelle, Nicolas would make any sacrifice. Unravel any secret. The immortal had always felt sorry for Albus that he and Grindelwald could not love one another so strongly.

The two friends fell into a silence that while not comfortable, wasn't quite awkward either. It was familiar, if nothing else – a sign that their conversational topic had reached a true impasse. Still walking around Albus' office, Nicolas found his attention pulled away by the sight of a dodecahedron with golden handles on two sides, emitting a dull, undulating gray glow. He had absolutely no clue what it was, but it was utterly enthralling. He wanted one.

"Was there anything else you wished to speak about, Nicolas?" Albus asked politely. "You know that on any other day I would not protest your continued presence, but I do have some last minute preparations to make as an educator. The students will be arriving in only a few scant hours, after all."

Nicolas sighed happily, memories of his past stints teaching at Beauxbatons returning to him. "No worries, Albus – I'll see myself out now," he said, acquiescing to his friend's courteous request for him to leave. "Do keep me up to date on any developments, if you don't mind," he walked over to the fireplace and withdrew a handful of floo powder. "If you discover that the thief has seen through our deception, I would like to be informed immediately."

Albus stood up and shook Nicolas' hand. "Oh, you know I shall, old friend. However, I am confident that will not be the case. I like to believe that between the two of us, we are able to outsmart a thief."

"A thief, yes, but a talented one, Al," Nicolas corrected. "This individual did successfully break through many of my own defenses, and even into Gringotts."

Albus quirked a smile, his eyes twinkling as he motioned Nicolas towards the fireplace. "Quite true, but I must admit that I have often pondered how I would break into the vaults of Gringotts – should the need arise, of course – and I do believe that I could do so, but I would accomplish it with far more finesse than our mysterious thief."

Nicolas laughed heartily as he tossed his floo powder into the lightly smoldering hearth. "We need to grab drinks together once this is all finished, Albus – The Three Broomsticks – farewell, for now."

With a jaunty wave towards his friend, Nicolas walked into the dazzling green flames. The travel itself was both brief and entirely forgettable. He'd been using floo travel for longer than anyone else alive, literally. It was no longer an experience of note to him. A galleon was dropped into the jar kept above the mantle. Most people tended to tip in knuts for use of a floo, but money was of no concern to him.

"Thanks for the tip, hon'," the ever attractive Rosmerta called out, winking at him as she delivered another patron their food.

Nicolas returned the wink and smiled, but didn't respond further. He couldn't stop his eyes from trailing the woman as she walked away though. Madame Rosmerta was famous for always fleecing a nice tip thanks to her ample cleavage and fondness for leaning over her patrons; but as Nicolas was realizing for himself, the way she sashayed her hips was worthy of songs.

Nicolas was definitely going to mention her to Perenelle now. The two of them had experimented many times over the years with ways to keep their sex life interesting – inviting beautiful people to share their bed was just one of their more preferred solutions. On their next trip to England, he rather hoped Rosie would be amenable to his flirtations; with over 600 years of experience in the art of charm and seduction, he was rather confident in his abilities. But, even if he did somehow fail, Perenelle could always give it a go. His lovely wife was far better at seduction than he could ever hope to be. God, I love that woman.

Nicolas walked out of the inn and into the delightful streets of Hogsmeade. The sprawling town was truly a wondrous place to visit, but he had done so once this decade already, and that was enough for him. A moment later and a small rope was in his hand. Every citizen was supposed to go through the Ministry operated travel-ports if they wished to take a portkey, especially an international one; on top of which the Ministries of the world generally liked to keep track of who was inside their borders. Not that Nicolas cared, he predated most modern governmental institutions by centuries. The Portus charm was difficult to cast and known by only a select few, but the immortal ranked highly among those select few. One of the many benefits to being him was being able to learn so many lovely spells before the Ministries of the world attempted to regulate them. Silly little governmental institutions.

With a contented sigh and an activation word, Nicolas Flamel was whisked away from the British Isles and off towards Russia, where he had temporarily stored the one and only, genuine Philosopher's Stone.

OoooOoooO

"There you are, Nott. I've been looking for you."

"Ohhhh, hey – hey there..."

"I'm Draco, you twit. Open your eyes and you'd see that."

"Drake! Hey – hey, Drake! What're you – I – I mean, what'dya – what'dya want?"

"Bloody hell, Nott, how many potions did you drink?"

"Mixed 'em last night! Noooo – no – two nights? No! No! Morning! This... morrrrn – this – this morning!"

"How many, Nott? A number!"

"Threeee? Three! Or – or – or – or was it – or was it four?"

"Damn it, you're way too high. It's useless trying to speak with you right now."

"I wanted – I wanted t'celebrate! D'ye know where're we – where we're going? Do ya, Drake? D'ye knooow?"

"Yes, Nott... I know we're going to Hogwarts -"

"HOGWARTS! Drake – Drake, d'ya know – d'ya know what Hog – Warts – Hogwarts – what Hogwarts means? Drake, I'm'o be freeeeeeeee~!"

"I know, man. I know..."

"Y'don't, not reeeeally – you might think – you think y'know. But y'don't! My brother! He knows – he knew... M'brother's dead, Drake."

"Theo, this really isn't a conversation we should have right now."

"'Twasn't an accid- accid-"

"Accident."

"AC-CI-DENT! 'Twasn't that! I told 'em – I told 'em what – told what happened!"

"You told me too, Theo. I know."

"MURDER! MUR-DERED! I – I – I TOLD THEM – I DID! I TOLD THEM – TOLD EV'RYTHING!"

"Damn it, Theo! Stop yelling!"

"But – but Mmmmm-sec did – didn't – didn't listen t'me! ME! THE – THE ONLY – THE WITNESS!"

"Crabbe, check his trunk! He should have a bunch of potions in one of the compartments, and he usually has them all labeled. Grab a sleeping draught."

"D'ye know – d'ye know I tried – I – I tried them – the aurors too – the aurors – I tried 'em. Yax though – Yaxley – Yaxley was the one – 'twas him in – the auror given m'case."

"Any luck, Crabbe?"

"He's got a lot of potions in here, Boss."

"Keep looking. I'm sure he has some in there somewhere. Merlin knows he has enough trouble sleeping without them."

"Y'know – y'wanna know some – y'wanna knooooow something, Drake?"

"What, Theo?"

"Someday I'm – I'm gonnaaaaa – that day – on that day – I'm gonna kill him."

"What...?"

"Mmmmmmmhmm! I'm'o kill him, Drake – kill him dead!"

"Stop talking, Theo."

"Her toooo~! If she – if she, y'know – if she does that thing – if sheee... lies – lies for him. Protects – if she does – if she protects him! She does that, then – then I'm'o kill her too."

"Theo! Shut the fuck up!"

"I – I think – I think it'll be. . . funny – Yeah, funny – it'll be a good thing – a good thing, y'know?"

"Found one, Boss!"

"About fucking time! Give it here!"

"I'll laugh – I'll laugh a – a lot – I'll laugh a lot. Laugh – laugh – laugh-laugh-laugh. Ha – Ha – Ha!"

"Shut up and drink, Theo."

"Hmmmm? Why – why am – is it – is it good? It's good – it's goooood, right?"

"It's very good, now drink."

"M-mkay – mkay. That – that was – good – that was... good..."

"Finally. He's going to be out for most of the trip now. Crabbe, Goyle – put him on one of the cushions but make sure he's laying on his side. Crabbe, you're going to stay here and keep an eye on him. Close up his trunk for now in case anyone drops by."

"No problem, Boss. I'll watch over him."

"Thanks. Goyle, you're with me."

"Where are we going, Boss?"

"We're still going to go see Daniel Potter."

OoooOoooO

"You're kidding me?" Harry gasped at his tall, redheaded friend. He and Ron had stolen two empty seats at the bar – the bar that wasn't really a bar in Harry's mind since it didn't serve alcohol, he'd asked – and were now talking about the best sport in the world while they waited for their meals. Chef's choice was a favorite of Harry's to order, it was almost always guaranteed to be something truly delicious.

"Not you too," Ron groaned, looking towards the sky desperately. "How do you already hate the Cannons?"

"I don't hate the Cannons, I just think they suck." Harry didn't hate any of the other teams. Yet. Well, discounting Puddlemere of course. But the Harpies had a rivalry with them, so not only was his hatred understandable, but it barely even counted.

"They beat out five other teams last year! Ninth isn't the best, but it could be a lot worse!" Ron would clearly defend his team through thick and thin. Harry could respect that he was a genuine fan rather than just being a fair-weather one.

"Mate, they haven't won the League Cup in almost a hundred years," Harry snickered, casually leaning on the bar as he kept an eye on the other students in the car. He was half hoping to run into one of the many Hogwarts students he'd met over the past two months. Especially that girl, Pansy. Damn, he had not been able to get that girl out of his mind.

"They're just going through a rough patch!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A hundred years is just a rough patch?"

"They're going to do better this year!" Ron swore emphatically. "Their talent scouts have been putting in a lot of work. Plus, Biscus' contract is up in a couple of months! So if they don't resign him they'll have a lot of extra money to try and entice some of the current stars! Just you wait, Harry, the Cannons will prove everyone wrong."

Harry didn't even try to hold back his doubtful chuckle. There was a saying in magical England that he had already become quite familiar with: 'You can only count on three things in this world – Life. Death. And the Cannons not winning the Cup.' Harry didn't consider it the most fair saying given that there were plenty of magicals still alive that had seen the Cannons win, but it amused him all the same.

No one had faith in the Cannon's ability to have a good season, no one. With their current coach, their roster, their management staff, or hell, even their facilities it was looked at as being impossible. Ron was technically correct in his rant that it wasn't impossible for them to turn things around for the upcoming season, but it would take a miracle for them to make it happen. Fans of quidditch lived in a world where magic was real, a world where teenagers and morons could bend reality to their will on a whim, a world where their sport of choice involved flying through the air at high speeds on enchanted brooms, and still no one had faith in the Cannons winning the Cup. That simple fact spoke volumes about their current players and staff.

Both of the teenage boys were distracted from their conversation by their food being placed before them. Two piping hot steak pies, complete with a golden-brown, flaky pastry, and a rich, savory filling. Harry looked up to thank the woman that had dropped off their orders, but she had already moved across the room. Didn't want to talk to you anyway, he thought as he dug into his food.

"Ohhhh, blimey..." Ron practically moaned. If Harry hadn't seen him take a bite he'd assume he was having a shag. He couldn't even blame the guy for making noises like that though, their steak pies were just that fucking good.

"There is a god," Harry murmured before digging in with gusto.

Not a single word was exchanged further as the two teens devoured every single bite of their delicious meal. It had only been a few hours since Harry had last eaten, but food that good could never be allowed to go to waste. That would be a crime against food – against humanity! If Hogwarts had food even half as good as what the train served then Harry was going to love every single meal.

Ron leaned back in his chair, rapture painting his features as his hands rested contentedly on his stomach. "I cannot believe I almost turned that down."

Harry laughed heartily and tossed two sickles on the counter top. "Lesson learned then, always accept my offers to buy food!"

Still slightly stunned by the heavenly food he'd just partaken of, Ron nodded slowly, but happily. "When it comes to food, you're buying. Every time."

"I can agree to that."

"Wicked."

Now that he had thoroughly erased the memory of corned beef from his brain, Harry leapt to his feet and clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go find something interesting to do." Harry had greatly enjoyed the food, but if he couldn't have a smoke right now then he needed something to distract him. Interesting things generally did a good job of taking his mind off of his never ending desire for nicotine. Drugs were funny like that, being addictive and all.

"What else is going to be interesting on a train?" Ron asked.

Now that was an excellent question – one that Harry hadn't actually given much thought to. "I'm not sure. You have any ideas?"

"None at all," Ron helpfully supplied.

"We could try to get on the roof?" Harry offered, rolling a galleon in between his fingers. It helped him focus.

"Likelihood of us falling off?"

"It's a magical train, it's probably been warded so dumb students like us don't fall off, right?" Harry was trying to convince himself more than anything.

Ron shrugged, just as clueless as Harry was, "dunno, never been on a magical train before."

"Want to risk it?" Harry was already sold but it didn't hurt to confer with his newfound partner in crime.

"I'll try anything once," Ron said, grinning at Harry as he quoted his own adage back at him.

Harry groaned loudly. "That was cheesy as hell, man."

"I thought it was brilliant!" Ron proclaimed, clearly just trying to tease his friend.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say it," Harry muttered, rotating in place as he looked for a sign to point him towards the higher floors. "Where the hell do we go to get upstairs?"

Ron just raised an arm towards the very obvious sign indicating stairs, quizzically watching his friend spin for seemingly no reason. It wasn't Harry's proudest moment, so naturally he chose to ignore the fact that it happened at all.

"Hey look, I found the sign!" Harry exclaimed happily.

"You're a special kind of bloke, Harry."

The two eventually found their way to the top floor of the dining car they'd just eaten in. On one of the walls, there was a ladder that led up to a hatch that opened directly to the roof. Harry was a bit surprised that no one so much as questioned why they were going to the roof, but he wasn't going to complain about the lack of obstacles. The last thing he actually wanted to deal with was some eighteen year old arse with an overinflated ego trying to boss them around.

The hatch opened without issue, allowing the two boys to easily climb onto the roof and into the open air. The wind buffeted them to a decent degree, but it wasn't enough to make them lose their footing. The weather was gorgeous, the warm sun casting its rays with only the occasional white cloud dotting the sky. Harry cast his gaze as far as he was able, searching for any signs that the train was about to pass through a tight tunnel, or indications of an imminent giant attack. Fortunately for them, the horizon was devoid of any such threats.

"Um, Harry," Ron cut through his analysis of the direction in which the train was traveling, "does that guy look weird to you?" He inclined his head towards a person that was sitting on a roof a few cars back from them.

Details were nigh impossible to make out given the distance that separated them, but Ron was correct in his assessment that something about this individual was off.

"Yeah, they do," Harry replied slowly. "Let's go say hi, yeah?"

They had come to the roof in search of something interesting after all, and a strange individual fit the bill pretty damn well.

"Why not, right? They're on the Hogwarts Express, how dangerous can they be?"

Harry stopped Ron from walking any further with a single hand on his shoulder. "Let's not tempt the gods of fate going forward, please," he pleaded, his severe tone offset by his smirk.

"Religion isn't really much of a thing in our world, mate," Ron corrected, chuckling at the presumed error of his muggle raised companion.

Harry shook his head in the negative. "Nah mate, the gods of fate aren't related to a religion, they're a curse upon humanity."

Ron hummed along to Harry's explanation as the two slowly walked towards the strange figure, every step deliberate so as to avoid slipping off the speeding train. "They sound bloody dreadful."

"They're the worst," Harry concurred.

Finally getting a good look at the strange individual when they were about twenty or so feet away, Harry was shocked to see a man well beyond the age of a student, lounging in a chair. The man in question appeared to be in his mid-thirties with a heavy five o'clock shadow coloring his jaw and cheeks, dressed in a tattered brown coat and matching flat cap. The man looked rough, and that was a kind description. Seated in a raggedy and worn folding lawn chair, the man was playing what appeared to be a beat up guitar. Despite the wind and the distance between them, Harry had no difficulties hearing the music the man produced. A beautiful yet melancholy tune, one that almost felt out of place coming from this drifter on top of a train.

Ron continued to move towards the man with an inquisitive grin on his face, but Harry refrained from taking one step closer. This strange individual eerily reminded him of someone else. "Hey!" Harry called out, shocking Ron who turned to look at him.

"Is there something I can do for you boys?" The man yelled, greeting them neutrally. His voice was gravelly and coarse, a stark contrast to the music he produced.

"Your name's not Tom, is it?" Harry demanded. He was not going through another round of that bullshit again. Not before he knew a shit-ton about magic anyway.

The strange man chuckled, it was not a pleasant sound. "And if it was?"

Well, that answer was easy. "I'd walk away without saying another word," Harry responded loudly.

Ron studied Harry intently, trying to get a grasp on his friend's bizarre reaction to the man. Harry was thankful the redhead wasn't making humorous comments or teasing him right now; the lessons imparted by his previous strange encounters had stuck with him – for better or for worse he wasn't quite sure.

"The name is Hank Mots, kid," the man, Hank, responded. He hadn't ceased playing his music and nor had he yelled, yet his voice still carried to the two boys perfectly.

Harry was put at ease by Hank's assurance that he did not share a name with the man that still haunted his dreams and nightmares. Ron, still ignorant of just exactly why his fellow teen was so tentative in his approach, calmly walked forward and claimed one of the two free empty chairs. Harry snorted at the obvious 'convenience' of their being a total of three seats, but he still followed his friend's example. Until the man started spinning coins or using Legilimency, Harry was content to talk to Hank the stowaway.

Since when do strange people doing strange things make me so nervous? Harry thought to himself, the moment of honest introspection suddenly making contact with his psyche. Fuck you, Tom. You creepy, informative arse. Weird people should excite me, not scare me! Harry was going to have to make an effort to approach people even if they were reminiscent of Tom. Hell no was that encounter going to dictate how he lived his life. He didn't have to be cavalier or moronic – but frightful? Fuck that.

"So, I'll ask again now that you boys are seated," Hank's unpleasant voice pushed its way through Harry's self-analysis, "is there something I can do for you?" Hanks demeanor was gruff but not unfriendly. Most likely easily misconstrued as blunt or even rude, but Harry could tell that if the man really had no desire to speak with them then he would simply say as much.

"Just looking for something to do that might be fun or entertaining, figured the roof was a good place to start," Ron replied for them, not put off by the man's attitude in the slightest.

"Two lads taking a break from their socializing and flirting, come up here to see the sights and meet the king?" The man reclined further into his chair, his eyes locked on the teens even as he continued to strum away.

Harry gave Hank a once over, from his ragged cap to his muddy boots and raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by the absurd claim. "You're the king?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "'You're the king,'" he parroted back, his tone mocking. "You're goddamn right I am, kid. Oh, yeah, yeah, it's true. You see, I hop aboard this old rattler any time I feels like it."

Harry and Ron exchanged a wry glance, neither of them moved by Hank's flimsy defense.

"What? Don't believe me?" Hank didn't seem affronted at all, more amused than anything. "I understand, I understand. Nobody wants to go through life getting conned or duped at every turn. Hoodwinked!" His voice more intense than it was a second prior. "They don't want to have the wool pulled over their eyes!" He leapt to his feet, his body passing through the guitar as it continued to play on its own. "You don't wanna be taken for a ride, railroaded!"

Hank leaned down and grabbed a handle that Harry knew hadn't been there previously. "You've gotta see something to believe it, am I right?" His voice was barely a whisper, but it was still clearly audible.

"I suppose so?" Ron sounded like he was guessing.

"You suppose, eh?" Hank slid his eyes over to Harry. "And what about you, kid?"

"I guess I'd agree, yeah," Harry concurred. "For the most part anyway."

Hank chuckled as he lifted up the hatch. "Then follow me, boys – oh, but first, give me your names. If you would be so kind."

"Harry."

"Ron."

"Thanks for the names, I promise to return them to you before we're done," Hank cackled as he leapt into the hatch. Though Harry was inclined to believe the man's parting comment was just a quip, he didn't like how his hair stood on edge at the thought of such magic. Impossible or not, he wasn't sure, but it unnerved him all the same.

"Is this what its normally like with you?" Ron marveled at him with wide eyes. "Blimey, mate – we met an hour ago and already we're doing stuff like this?"

Harry was quite pleased that he gave off the impression that his life was this adventurous all the time. "I couldn't have planned this if I tried," he divulged, happily. "Hogwarts is going to be fun, man!"

"So we're following after this guy?" Ron asked, incredulity clear in his tone. "The random bloke we met on the roof of a train meant for students only?"

"I mean, why not, right?" Harry grinned back at his friend. "He doesn't seem like a crazy ax murderer to me."

"Not an ax no, but..." Ron pondered to himself for a few seconds before snapping his fingers. "I bet this guy has a cursed hammer that he carries around."

"I can see that," Harry agreed, trying to create a mental picture of Hank with a cursed hammer. "Think it's called the 'Mallet of Misfortune', and that's why Hank's a drifter?"

"It would make sense."

"I bet we could take a guy with a hammer if he attacked us, don't you?" Harry posed, confident that if he dodged Hank's initial swing, then he could tackle him while Ron tried to remove the weapon from his grasp. In his mind, it was now all but confirmed that Hank did indeed have a hammer.

"Hmmm," Ron hummed in thought. "Maybe, but if he lands one good hit we're screwed."

"Then we just don't get hit, simple as that!"

Ron chuckled but still seemed unconvinced by his plan. "You ever been in a fight?"

"Two of them, yeah. First fight I was in I punched a guy, but then he punched me WAY harder. It knocked me right to the ground. I was lucky that he walked away after that."

"So, you got your ass kicked, right," Ron summed up.

Harry cringed slightly. "It wasn't even close."

"And the other time?"

Harry's eyes hardened and he clenched his fists. "There was this arsehole that wouldn't stop being a creep to my foster sister, Sarah – worse was the fact that she was only eleven at the time."

"You better have hurt this guy," Ron said, his eyes narrowing.

"Kicked his knee in, broke three of my fingers when I punched him in the face, then stomped on his ribs before running away with Sarah," Harry effused, vivaciously. The memories of what he'd done to that cunt always brought a smile to his face. He knew that the older teen would have likely kicked his teeth in had it been a fair fight – but there weren't many people that could fight back with a wrecked knee. Harry had made sure that his opening strike fucking hurt.

"Good," Ron nodded before sighing dramatically. "I'm fairly certain I'm going to snap when blokes start making a move on my sister..."

"You have a sister, hmmm?" Harry waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"I have five older brother's Harry. Make a move on my sister and I promise that we'll win."

Harry laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Message received. Seriously though, any guy that makes a move on her gets your wrath? I understand beating up ass-holes, but what if he's a nice bloke?"

Ron groaned and rubbed the back of his head. "Haven't given that one a lot of thought, mate. I'm sure Ginny will be able to take care of herself just fine, but..."

"Oi!" Hank poked his head back out of the hatch. "Get your heads out of the clouds, you lazy sods! We gotta get a move on here!"

"Get your crotchety ass out of the way, we're coming," Harry barked amusedly, shrugging at Ron before following after the strange man. As he stepped inside, Hank grumbled something about kids and respect but pulled back before Harry could catch exactly what he said.

The journey through the hatch was unquestionably the most disorienting experience of Harry's entire life. Apparition and floo travel had both been uncomfortable, but neither of them had been quite so bewildering, they hadn't been so odd. Harry had been on the roof when he stepped down and into the hatch, so having to step up and out to pass through made his sense of equilibrium go absolutely batty. There were no words to describe the feeling of descending into a state of ascension. It didn't make sense – it simply felt wrong.

"Alright, that was weird," Ron succinctly described, having followed after Harry.

The three of them and the floating guitar were now standing in a slim, fairly dark hallway, the dim light was source-less, but still present. There were large, floor-to-ceiling windows dotting the walls, and a single door at either end of the corridor. Harry looked through the window to his left and saw a group of older students lounging inside a compartment. One guy was asleep, his head resting on a girl's lap as she read a book. The other two guys were playing some kind of card game while the final girl chatted amiably at all of them. None of the teens seemed to notice Harry as he stood there, despite him being less than two feet away from some of them. Harry couldn't hear what the talking girl was saying at first, but the moment he actually tried to listen, her words were suddenly clear as day.

"- forward to seeing Professor Snape still. I know the man is a genius when it comes to potions but -"

"Everyone hates him, Taylor," the guy Harry had presumed to be asleep chimed in.

"Everyone but the Slytherins," said the the girl that was still reading her book.

One of the boys playing a game of what Harry now saw was simply War, looked up after his jack of hearts was brutally stabbed by his opponent's king of spades before being dragged away. Harry missed what was said due to being distracted by how awesome the magical deck of cards was. Even the non-face cards had a soldiers befitting the card's value and suit. The pictures were intricately designed, and the combat between cards seemingly not scripted at all – the four of hearts started cheering when the three of clubs slipped off the seat and splattered onto the floor, his screams cut short by the violent landing. Harry was definitely finding a deck like this for himself.

"Hank, where the hell are we?" Ron loudly questioned their mysterious guide, pulling Harry from his rapt focus on the game of War.

The moment his attention shifted away from the compartment he could no longer hear inside of it. Turning back towards his friend, he noticed Ron standing next to a separate compartment entirely.

"Why can't they see us?" Harry asked, continuing down the same line of questioning.

"And why can I hear them when I focus?" Ron had apparently had the exact same experience as himself.

"Never mind that fuckery with the hatch, what was up with that?" Harry finished, still more than a little perturbed by their entrance into... wherever they were.

Hank held his arms up triumphantly, almost as if he were standing before a large crowd and his prized creation was behind him. "Welcome to the Hogwarts Express, boys!"

Harry and Ron shared a confused glance as Hank took a bow before them.

"Yeah we'd gathered that we're still on the train," Harry declared.

"This guy's barmy," Ron whispered, chortling at the the self proclaimed king as he took a second bow.

"Seriously though," Harry called out to the bowing drifter, "where are we right now?" The strange locale they'd found themselves in was extremely interesting, but he still wanted to know what was going on. Magic was the obvious answer, but that wasn't nearly enough. The colors of this thin corridor didn't match any other part of the train, and some of the windows looked into compartments while others into the actual hallways that every other student was using. They were on the train, but something was different.

"Any guesses from you two non-believers?" Hank taunted, plopping down in the lawn chair that materialized underneath him. "What's your persuasion on all of this? If you don't mind me asking."

Harry rolled his eyes at the patronizing attitude while Ron muttered at the man quietly, "just tell us, you wanker."

"I heard that, you know," Hank said, chuckling at their surprised features. "Oh yeah, the king hears everything in his castle. If he didn't it wouldn't really be his castle, now would it?"

"He's not going to tell us, is he?"

"Doesn't look like it," Harry replied.

Hank rose to his feet and beckoned the two teens towards him, gesturing inside the window he was leaning next to. "I'm done messing with you boys. Yeah, I'm done. We're inside the walls, we three. A place where space has ceased to have meaning."

Harry and Ron walked forward and saw the inside of Daniel's compartment, viewing it as if they were standing opposite the compartment's actual door – Hank wasn't kidding about the whole space losing meaning thing. Daniel and Neville were both on their feet, confronting a neatly dressed blonde boy and his very large, very stout friend. Damn, they look pissed off.

"Holy shit, their wands are drawn!" Harry exclaimed, smiling at the display. Kick his ass, little brother!

"They're about to fight!" Ron yelled eagerly.

"My money is on Blondie and Gorilla," Harry challenged. He'd pull for his twin of course, but he'd place his bets on who he thought was going to win. There was almost no way that Daniel was going to win.

"What? But Neville and your brother both have their wands out already!" Ron countered, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Hank shook his head and pointed at Gorilla. "No no, lookie here at this one, see him, his stance says he's ready to fight. No wand, yeah, but at this distance he could easily get a few licks in before the other two know what hit them."

"There's that," Harry agreed, "but there's also the fact that I doubt any of them know any combative spells."

"Or if they do, they're weak as hell," Hank nodded along with Harry's logic. "Never go into something ill prepared, boys." The way the man spoke when he offered his advice sent a small chill down Harry's spine.

"Plus, they don't have the ability to take cover around the corner of the door like Blondie does," Ron observed, his hand held in his chin. "If Blondie knows any dueling spells, he could duck back and then hit them without exposing himself to further danger. You guys are right, Daniel and Nev don't have much chance."

Blondie and Gorilla then exited the compartment without a fight actually breaking out. Harry didn't necessarily want to see his little brother get pummeled, but it probably would have been entertaining all the same. He rotated to look into the window directly behind him, and watched as the two boys walked away. Damn, doesn't look like they're going to pick a fight with anyone else. Shame.

"What do you guys think set them off at each other?" Ron wondered aloud.

"You could always listen in and find out," Hank said, gesturing back towards the window.

Harry waved off the suggestion. "Nah, I'm good. I'll just ask Daniel about it later." He had no qualms about spying on others but it felt pointless to spy on his brother. There was a chance that Harry would get some dirt on him, but that slim percentage was of little interest.

"Wait!" Ron exclaimed, pointing at Hank bemusedly. "You're not a bloody voyeur, are you?"

Of all the things Hank might have been expecting at that moment, Ron's question was obviously not it. The ragged man stood there, mouth agape, and with the most gobsmacked expression of all time parked on his face. "What kind of manky bastard do you take me for?" He bellowed angrily.

Ron, that's absolutely brilliant. Harry cheered in his head. It was pretty obvious that Hank wasn't voyeuristic at all, or at least no more so than your average individual. His ability to navigate the train in seemingly impossible ways would make it easy for him if he were, but the man just didn't seem like the type to get off to students having a shag. That didn't mean the two teens couldn't mess with him though. It was so easy to do so that they pretty much had to.

"I don't know, Hank, it kind of fits..." Harry jeered, casting a fake look of disgust around the corridor. "Oh god, what kind of things have you done in here?"

The two teens tried to stifle their laughter as Hank scowled at them. It was quite a low blow, accusing someone of being a deviant. Even in jest, that was considered pretty damn rude. Ron held back his mirth admirably; Harry on the other hand gave up rather quickly, and then guffawed for all that he was worth.

"You boys finished now?" Hank asked, his gravelly voice one step short of a guttural growl.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Hank," Ron teased playfully. "It was a funny joke, you've got to admit that." The redheaded teen motioned to a still chuckling Harry as an example.

Hank fell back into his chair and clapped slowly once. Twice. A third time, "oh yeah, yeah yeah, you're a right couple of comedians."

"We're done, we're done," Harry conceded, though he was still smirking.

Hank returned the smile, though his carried a distinct edge to it. "Come now, boys – let's continue to believe what we see, shall we?"

"You think he's upset?" Ron whispered to Harry.

Oh, he's definitely upset.

"Nah, I'm sure he's fine."

The look Ron gave him said that he didn't believe his deceit even a for a single second. Damn, I really need to work on my lying skills. Apparently I suck now.

"If he goes to murder us with his cursed hammer, I'm reminding him that you laughed more," Ron said bluntly.

A small part of Harry appreciated the honesty, the rest of him was just confused by why that was something that needed to be mentioned, especially when it was obviously irrelevant. "You know you were the one that made the joke, right? You started it, so you should be the one that gets murdered."

"That's not fair at all!"

"Sure it is."

"It was your idea to follow after Hank to begin with!"

"Again, you made the joke that pissed him off."

"Boys, boys," Hank interjected, "should we go down that route together, I'll just kill you both. Promise."

Hank's words didn't ease their fears in the slightest. In fact, if anything, it did nothing but accomplish the opposite.

"Was that supposed to help? Like at all?" Harry posed.

"Don't think so, no," Ron answered blankly.

Hank walked towards the end of the corridor, and opened the door into the passageway beyond. He glanced behind him for the briefest moment, and whispered – despite the distance his voice still carried to their ears as if he were right next to them, "the primrose path awaits us, boys." And then he just kept walking, not bothering to see if he was being followed.

The trio neither stopped nor slowed as they passed window after window, each glass panel revealing various compartments, hallways, kitchens, and dining rooms. The entire train was theirs to view, and still they walked. The corridor's design never changed or shifted; there was nothing significant about passing through the doors at all. Hell, even the hatch remained on the ground behind them. On and on they walked, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't tell how far.

Had they actually walked anywhere? Had they made any progress at all?

Still they walked.

What direction were they moving in? There was only forwards and and backwards, wasn't there?

Still they walked.

Were they going any which way? Anywhere? Had they stopped?

Still they walked.

If they stood still would anything change? Time was passing, of that he was certain. He could hear the guitar still making music behind them, and even brief glances through the windows showed that the students weren't frozen in place. But were they moving? Were they actually traversing through space at all?

Still they walked.

This is so bloody weird.

No one spoke, funnily enough, but every time Harry glanced at his friend it was like they didn't need to talk out loud. Body language, facial expressions, an understanding of intent that went beyond the physical. The two friends had barely stopped speaking since they met earlier that day, but in this brief time in the place beyond space, they'd progressed past the exchange of words.

One minute turned to five, and then ten followed after. They continued to walk. Twenty eventually came and still the two teens followed their guide. When thirty had passed the two friends stopped by unspoken, mutual agreement.

"Where are we going?" Ron asked their guide. His words sounded... off. Almost as if the sound waves vibrating through the air weren't functioning properly. Unexplainable. Bizarre. Harry had never heard anything akin to it before. "Actually," Ron continued, "have we gone anywhere at all?"

Nice correction, Ron. Harry hadn't spoken yet; he wasn't sure he wanted to. What would his own voice sound like to his ears? Why the hell does the music still sound normal?

Hank didn't turn around to the face them, he merely inclined his head slightly and spoke three little words, "so many questions." Just like Ron, his voice was distorted and odd, utterly beyond explanation.

Harry blinked, and Hank was suddenly at the end of the hallway, his hand reaching for another door. The two teens raced forward – or was it backwards now? Which direction had they not been standing still in? No, they'd been moving in place. That was it. They didn't have to move, they just needed to not be where they were. They stopped right in front of Hank as he opened the door, and it was at that exact moment that Harry realized this door was far, far different than those that had come come before it.

The others had been simple doors that slid open and closed, their color mattered little in this corridor inside the walls, but as doors, they had been exactly what one would expect to find on a train. This door though, no, not a door, but an archway. An archway that had simply been blocked, this final archway was different. It was twisted and curved in a manner that almost hurt to look at; Harry couldn't tell where it connected to itself, where it began or ended, only that it was compiled of separate pieces despite still being a cohesive whole. The more he tried to focus on its shape the more his eyes slipped away.

'You do not yet know what lies beyond the door.'

Was that Hank's voice? Was that his own? Why had it sounded like Tom?

What lay on the other side of the twisted archway was an inky, all consuming darkness. This darkness was not simply a mist or a fog, nor was it a solid mass either; but to describe it as a void would be inaccurate – the blackness was still something. There was something there. A formless mass of black that had a texture the mind could not quite define. Existing, yet not. Observable, yet not. Hank invited them to step into the darkness – for there truly was no other way to describe it – with a formal bow and a smirk that spoke of unshared knowledge. "After you, boys."

The atmosphere had shifted when Hank revealed the way forward. Earlier they'd been amused, jovial in their exploration with Hank as their guide. That casual and easygoing mood had long since passed, it had been replaced by confusion and disorientation. What else could their human minds feel as they traversed through the place where space had no meaning? But that confusion too, had faded. What was left now was only a sense of wonder. The type of wonder that could only be felt when pondering that which would never be understood. It was only then that Harry glanced behind him and realized the hatch leading to the roof was gone. The windows were gone. The source-less light of the corridor faded further and further until there was nothing but the dull glow of the twisted archway. Fuck.

"Can't say I'm fond of the turn this took, mate," his friend murmured from beside him, his voice still distorted and warped.

Harry appreciated that the redhead didn't look scared, rather he just seemed prepared. Ready. The two of them had both reached the same conclusion – there wasn't anything to fight, not here. They simply had to walk forward.

"Nothing else for it then, is there," Harry spoke. Oh god, why had he spoken? Why did he have to hear his own voice? He would not do so again.

The tune being played on the man's guitar had never faded away, but the moment Hank revealed the depths of the twisted archway it became more. What was once background noise became a theme. That which was forgettable would now never be forgotten; a melody that he would carry with him forever more. As he stood in front of the archway that led to the unfamiliar, he listened – truly listened – for the first time. The beautiful tune composed of musical notes that were interwoven with melancholy – notes that belied the ominous truth hiding deep within. For underneath was an eerie mystery, one fraught with the uncanny and strange. The music and the archway worked in concert – one complimenting the other in a bizarre dance that ensnared the mind and beckoned the spectator towards the unknown.

Harry and Ron walked past the grinning king and into the darkness of the twisted archway – neither of them questioning the title the man had bestowed, nor the crooked crown that rested upon his head.

OoooOoooO

"What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, finally decided to show up, did you? Spare me your faux concern."

"He's my friend, I do care."

"Save it, Zabini. You're just like your dear old mum. Nothing is more important to you than yourself. We both know this, so cut the act."

"I'm not my mother."

"That so? Then you might want to learn a charm to straighten out your clothes if you're going to lie about their recent place on the floor."

"I'm not certain of what you're implying, but I don't appreciate your tone."

"Ha! So you're going to deny that you just got back from being waist deep in Terence Higgs' arse?"

"What does that have to do with anything? Why do you care about who I fancy a shag with?"

"I couldn't care less about where you stick your dick, Zabini."

"Then what's the issue, Malfoy?"

"The issue is that Nott told me last week that we would meet on the train, but that he was meeting you on the platform."

"So what?"

"So what? Do you know what kind of state we found him in?"

"High as a kite, I'm guessing."

"Fuck you."

"What? You know as well as I do why he drinks those damn things. Why he needs them."

"He drank four, Zabini. Not one or two like normal, but four."

". . ."

"No defense? No excuses about why your dick mattered more than your 'friend's' safety?"

"I saw him on the platform and he seemed fine..."

"Oh, well that makes everything okay then."

"I'm not his baby-sitter, Malfoy."

"Good to know that watching over a supposed friend is a chore to you."

"How was I supposed to know that he'd down four potions?"

"We agreed to help Lillian keep an eye on him. Or had you forgotten in between all that time you spend trying to fuck everyone that catches your eye?"

"Like you've ever actually helped look after him! Crabbe and Goyle are the ones that watch him, not you!"

"And they do so under my direction. Had I known you were going to be giving Higgs a hand-job on the train I would have sent one of them in your stead. I thought you had things covered. My mistake for thinking you actually cared about your only friend."

"Stop pretending that you actually give a damn about Theo! We all know that you just enjoy feeling superior thanks to your family! Theo isn't your friend, neither are Crabbe and Goyle – they're just tools to you!"

"You're just projecting, Zabini, and I'm sick of listening to it. Get out."

"Vaffanculo a chi t'è morto, Malfoy!"

"Get out, now. Or I'll have Goyle force you out. He's very good at what he does."

"You're just proving my point! You're nothing without your family name."

"Hold on, Goyle – I'm curious about why Zabini thinks he's better than me? Better than any of us for that matter?"

"I am."

"That so? Riddle me this, Zabini: how are you, the bastard son of a cheap whore pretending to be something she's not, better than the heirs of pure-blood lines over a thousand years old?"

"How do you –"

"Know you're a bastard? Know your family's secrets? Oh, I know far more than just that. Information is fairly easy to come by if you have the gold. Your mother may be beautiful, and she may be able to swindle rich, old fools, but she has no clue how to erase her past."

"You're bluffing!"

"We both know I'm not. My father and I decided to go digging you see, and what we found... well, I imagine that both the Ministry and the Daily Prophet would greatly enjoy our discoveries."

". . ."

"What's the matter, Zabini? No clever retort?"

"What do you want?"

"Where's your misplaced superiority now, Zabini?"

"Damn it, Malfoy! Tell me what you want?! What will it take to keep you quiet?!"

"For now, just your obedience. I had no intention of revealing anything today, but the way things have gone... Well, I have no complaints. But that also means I have no explicit instructions for you right now."

"And my mother?"

"My father is handling your mother in his own way. You know your mother though, so use your imagination."

"You're a right, foul cunt, Malfoy. You know that?"

"Your opinion is of little worth to me, Zabini. Your place is beneath my boot, just remember that. Oh, and get out."

OoooOoooO

Hermione Granger looked down at the two unconscious boys entangled in a mess of limbs with a hint of exasperation. She knew that her vexation was directed more at herself than either of the two passed out boys. Yes, they were passed out in the middle of the floor and thus the source of her problem, but they hadn't asked for her help. They hadn't asked and yet, no matter how much she honestly didn't want to, Hermione wasn't the type of person that could walk away without checking on them. Never mind that she'd purchased her food and come up to this comparatively quiet top floor in an effort to escape distraction while she ate and read her book; the simple fact that she'd discovered the passed out boys in such a state meant that she was going to try and help them. That was just who she was.

She tried to gently shake the two boys awake, but that accomplished literally nothing. Shaking them a tad harder and telling them to "wake up" still yielded no results, unfortunately. Huffing in frustration, Hermione spent the next few minutes trying to untangle the two boys from each other – a difficult task as both of them were a fair bit taller and heavier than she was. If they weren't going to wake up at this moment, then she was going to make sure they were at least fairly comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one could be while laying on the floor.

Honestly, what were they even doing to wind up like this? Hermione mused. For their sakes she hoped they would wake up shortly. They would be arriving at Hogwarts in two hours, nineteen minutes, and thirty three seconds, if her math was correct – which it always was. If they weren't up in the next hour then she would go find a Prefect to assist them. If she knew any magic to wake them up then she would do so, of course, but nothing of the sort had been covered in her books just yet. All of her attempts to cast spells thus had far had gone splendidly. If a spell of the sort had been mentioned in her books then she was confident that she would be able cast it successfully, but that was not the case. Oh! If I have to get a Prefect, perhaps they wouldn't mind teaching me the spell they use?

Hermione had been on cloud nine ever since Professor McGonagall arrived at her door with her invitation letter to Hogwarts. Magic was just so amazing! Different and challenging, far more so than anything else she'd studied in school thus far. She didn't have an overinflated ego when it came to her intellectual prowess. She knew she was above average intelligence, and she knew that she was highly logical. With those two aspects of her personality, combined with her diligent study habits and mnemonic techniques, she excelled as a fantastic student. Top of her class almost across the board. Magic on the other hand, wasn't quite as simple to learn.

She was, of course, still confident in her ability to be a top student; she wouldn't be able to live with herself otherwise – but she still expected to have to push herself in order to stay on top of all the new material. Unlike those who had been raised in the magical world, she had no prior foundation on which to build her knowledge. Every single piece of material was brand new to her. Not that what she'd spent the past decade studying in school was useless, of course, but it didn't exactly have the same level of application in regards to her magical education.

While waiting for the two boys to awaken, Hermione busied herself by arranging her book of choice, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, in such a way that she could easily eat and read at the same time. Despite the title suggesting a broader field of magic, the book was entirely devoted towards charms – a classification of spells that caused an effect or behavior. Hermione thought the breadth of charms was ever so wide, with the majority of the magic she'd seen thus far likely falling under that designation. She hoped the charms professor was as impressive of an individual as Professor McGonagall. The Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor had left quite the impression on the young teen.

Hermione had been very pleased to learn that cultural sexism just wasn't a thing in the magical world. There were individuals that looked down on the opposite sex, of course. But as a society, there was equal treatment and opportunity regardless of sex. Professor McGonagall was a stately and dignified woman that had risen to the second highest level of authority at Hogwarts – the premier magical school in Europe according to the books she had read – and she was still a woman in her prime! The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was also a woman in her prime, and she wasn't the only currently sitting Department Head that was a woman! The previous Minister for Magic had been a woman! Two of the founders of Hogwarts were woman, and all four Houses were viewed with equal levels of respect! It was a wondrous dream come true.

The only genuine concern Hermione had about the magical world was in relation to the discrimination she might be subject to as a result of her blood status. Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and pure-bloods – it all sounded like a load of rubbish according to her, an opinion backed up by everything she'd researched. Professor McGonagall had assured her when she first made mention of the subject that it was nothing more than segregationist nonsense; but Hermione had decided that some additional reading and a differing perspective on the subject couldn't hurt. Professor McGonagall had been correct, of course, an individual either had magic, or they did not. There was no middle ground or gray area from which you could interpret alternate meanings.

Hermione couldn't deny that there was a certain advantage to having a magical pedigree that could be traced back thousands of years. It was no secret that many of the old bloodlines had successfully cultivated treasure troves of books and knowledge that they then sealed away, only to be seen by members of that bloodline. She considered it to be a travesty that such vast quantities of knowledge had been secreted away from the rest of the world, but she couldn't begrudge these old Houses for taking pride in what they had access to. What Hermione did take issue with was notion that the many books and tomes these old, 'pure-blood' families had stored away made them superior to everyone else. That was where the moronic bigotry began. All bigotry was moronic, of course, but her own personal relationship to this particular brand of intolerance had made her a tad passionate.

The book, The Majesty of Dynasties by Asim Shafiq, had delved into the subject of pure-blood families quite thoroughly. While initially skeptical of the contents based on the title, Hermione had to give full credit where it was due, it had proven to be quite the fascinating and insightful read. She would have to thank the helpful witch at Flourish and Botts that had directed her towards it. The book focused on Ancient and Noble Houses in Britain, specifically the history of Britain and how it was shaped by those magical and venerable dynasties that endured even to the modern day. The author did not hold back on his opinions, he praised some aspects of the Ancient and Noble Houses whilst harshly criticizing others.

Shafiq rightfully applauded the manner in which these families had gathered together to form ruling councils many years prior, especially since said councils actually served as the foundation for the Wizengamot – an impressive judicial body that still played a central role in magical Britain. While the concept of Noble Houses wasn't ratified until the creation of the Wizengamot in 1106, the Wizards' Council, and many of the families that helped found it, had helped govern magical Britain for over 500 years prior. Hermione wasn't entirely certain how magical Britain compared to other nations throughout the world; but according to Shafiq, the only time of true instability had been during the Norman conquest. After the conquest was complete, the surviving families that had formed the Wizards' Council disbanded, and then reunited to form the Wizengamot alongside the Houses that had accompanied William the Conqueror over from the mainland. Almost 1500 years of relative peace and stability within the magical community was an almost unrivaled feat, and it was almost entirely thanks to the efforts of the Ancient and Noble Houses, many of which were pure-blood. That wasn't even counting the role these Houses had played in the formation of the British Empire, which was apparently a much larger and more complicated subject that Shafiq only referenced briefly. Hermione very much intended to find a book on that subject alone at a later date.

The Ancient and Noble Houses had, literally for centuries, maintained a culture of pushing their children towards greatness. Whether it be business, politics, education, research, military, regardless of the subject, one only needed to read through textbooks to find the surnames of these Houses repeated time and time again. Shafiq and Hermione both agreed that the level of continued excellence achieved by the sons and daughters of these Houses was worthy of respect.

Of course, there was also the other side of these Ancient and Noble Houses – a history of espousing vile and bigoted rhetoric that was targeted towards those that weren't born into a magical family. Hermione absolutely loved reading Shafiq's arguments against pure-blood supremacy, he systematically ripped apart the moronic and patently false claims that were upheld as reasons for muggle-born inferiority, and he did it in such a brilliant fashion. She hadn't yet faced any targeted discrimination herself, but it was immensely satisfying to read a logical and well-structured take-down of such narrow-minded ways of thinking.

The best part of the book had easily been when Shafiq revealed that he himself was from an Ancient and Noble House, a pure-blood line that dated all the way back to Imperial Rome. His ancestors had migrated to the Roman Empire from an unknown region of the Middle East, as was quite common during that period, and they had settled as wealthy researchers within the capital city itself. The man was clearly proud of his heritage, and Hermione wouldn't dream of begrudging him that, but he didn't allow his pride to falsely inflate his ego. He didn't turn towards denigrating minority groups as a method of seeking self-assurance and power. Despite being pure-blood, he wasn't a horrible excuse for a human being.

Hermione didn't know what degree of bigotry she would face at Hogwarts, but if anyone tried to harass her over her heritage then she could not wait to quote Asim Shafiq and put them and their asinine views back in their place! She had already intended to strive towards being one of the best in her year – and she was confident that she could do so after her early success with casting spells – so if anyone had tried to bully her for being a muggle-born, she could easily shut them down by showing her competence with magic. But even then, it certainly didn't hurt to have a nice book to reference, especially when said book was backed up by historical facts and empirical data.

Almost an hour had passed by the time the two boys began to stir. Hermione had spent her time well, in her opinion. She'd finished her food and completed her review of chapters three through six of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. All things considered, it had been a fairly productive hour. Plus, with the two boys returning to consciousness, she would be free of her responsibility to watch over them. Admittedly a self assigned responsibility, but that's neither here nor there.

A number of other students had taken notice of the two unconscious teens throughout the time Hermione had watched over them, but they'd all quickly moved on after lightly laughing. At most someone would mutter "they're probably fine", but then they too would move on. The lack of care exhibited by the other students did help Hermione feel a bit better in her decision to watch over the passed out boys. She wasn't perfect, obviously, but she felt proud that she took time out of her day to help others.

"GAAH!"

The two boys, who had only just begun to stir – now that Hermione thought about it, they had been awfully still before – lurched to their feet in a panic.

"What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?" The black-haired one exclaimed, throwing his back against the wall and placing his hands on his head. Apparently, alongside having quite the foul mouth, he'd had an awful dream as well.

"Bloody hell! What was that?" The redhead yelled, following his friends actions and placing his back against a hard surface. He seemed quite scared as well, which was honestly quite peculiar, and that was putting it lightly.

"Excuse me, could you both please calm down? Yelling and running around really isn't conducive for good conversation – and I would very much like to know why you two were both passed out on the floor?" Hermione tried to get the two boys' attention, but neither of them seemed very keen on listening to her at that moment.

"Seriously, Harry! What was that?!" The redhead yelled once more. She learned the black-haired boy was named Harry, that was at least some measure of progress.

"I don't know, man! Fuck!"

"Will you both calm down, and share with me what's going on?" Hermione said, slightly raising her voice to try and get their attention.

"We were fine, joking around and having a good time! What did he do to us?" The redhead yelled, now pacing and hugging his chest as he walked back and forth, demanding answers from his friend.

Harry took multiple, very deep, long breaths as he sunk to the floor. His skin was pale and... was he shaking?

"The last thing I remember before things went to hell was that we started walking after Hank! If he did something else to cause that change then I don't fucking remember it!" Harry then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette that he immediately stuck into his mouth. In the blink of an eye his wand was in his hand, he then used a spell she wasn't familiar with to light the end of his toxic habit.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in confusion, she was now both annoyed and perturbed for a number of different reasons. First of all, she wasn't pleased that Harry was smoking indoors – there may not be a sign expressly forbidding such an action, but it was still inconsiderate and rude. Secondly, both of the boys seemed genuinely freaked out about something despite being peacefully asleep just a minute prior. She was becoming both very curious and very concerned about their behavior. Thirdly, whoever 'Hank' was, he was apparently the one that had done something to them. So where was he now? Oh, and she was ever so interested in learning the little candle-flame spell that Harry had used. That hadn't been mentioned in any of her spellbooks, and it could prove quite useful for lighting scented candles.

The redhead, who's name she still hadn't caught, sat down on the floor next to Harry. He appeared to have calmed down to some degree as he breathed deeply. "Blimey – that was – I don't know what that was, mate."

Harry slumped down on the floor as well. Smoking seemed to be helping him calm down quite rapidly. "I know man. I mean, I've already been through some shit since learning about magic – but that was just weird. I mean, that was really fucking weird."

"Language!" Hermione chided loudly. The two boys had slowed down enough for her to seize her moment and intervene.

Harry and his friend suddenly looked up at her, just now taking notice of her presence at all. Both of them still appeared rather flustered, but now they also showed a fair bit of incredulity.

"Did you just try to unironically 'language' me?" Harry asked, blowing his smoke to the side and away from both her and his friend. At least he wasn't a complete boor. Smoking indoors was still impolite though.

"Also, who the bloody hell are you?" The redhead added.

Hermione wasn't the biggest fan of sitting on the floor, especially not since she'd already changed into her Hogwarts uniform, but standing in front of the two boys whilst they sat on the ground was just awkward. She lowered herself to the floor and took a moment to adjust her skirt before responding, "I'm Hermione Granger – and yes, I believe your name is Harry, I did censure you for your ever so foul language, and might I add that smoking indoors is exceedingly rude – but that's not important right now. Since I currently have both of your attention, I have to ask – what were you two doing earlier that ended with you being passed out on the floor? And what exactly did this 'Hank' do to you that caused you both to be scared out of your minds upon waking up?"

The two boys continued to stare at her, somehow even more incredulous than before she'd sat down.

"Blimey, are you for real?" The redhead said, amazed at her admittedly long-winded series of questions and remarks.

"You talk really fast," Harry added, also astonished by her rapid fire way of talking.

Hermione huffed at them for still not giving her the response she was looking for. "Yes, I know I talk quickly – it's a habit I'm working on breaking. Never mind that, answer my questions, please."

She knew that she could be a tad nosey on occasion, but with this circumstance she thought her curiosity was more than justified. Not only had she watched over them to ensure they were okay, but their strange behavior upon waking merited further investigation.

The two boys turned to look each other and began muttering quietly. Hermione wasn't quite sure what the point of lowering their voices was though since she could still hear them without issue.

"Should we tell her?" The redhead asked.

"Do we have any reason to keep it a secret?"

"I suppose not."

"Do we actually want to tell her?"

There is literally no reason not to tell me, Hermione thought as she blatantly rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, do we?"

"I'm not sure..."

Alright, she'd had enough of that. "Oh, will you two just tell me already?" She pleaded, desperately trying not to scream at their obstinate attitude.

"Ugh, she reminds me of my mum," the redhead muttered.

"I might avoid meeting your mum for a bit, Ron," Harry responded.

He did not just say that!

At least she finally had a name for the redhead. "Now that was just rude!" Hermione exclaimed. Even if he wasn't fond of her, saying as much to her face was uncalled for.

"Oh, relax. I'm just messing with you."

She was really getting tired of them dancing around the topic at hand. "Never mind that, just answer my questions, please!"

"Fine, fine – we decided to follow in Alice's footsteps," Harry answered quickly, as if such a simple response covered everything that needed to be said. Which was of course far from the truth, in fact, the boy's response was entirely unhelpful - even his friend seemed confused by his reply.

"Who's Alice?" The other one, Ron, asked, and she was thankful he did so. With him asking the questions she might actually get some definitive answers.

"You know, Alice, from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll? The crazy guy that was tripping out the entire time he wrote his books?"

Hermione was beyond surprised to hear a wizard referencing a non-magical work of fiction. Though, after he started smoking a cigarette she should have expected he might have been raised in the non-magical world. There were plenty of people enjoying pipes in Diagon Alley, but cigarettes specifically she had not yet seen. Regardless of his habits and upbringing though, what was he trying to say by implying he and his friend went on an adventure to a world filled with the nonsensical?

"Never heard of him," Ron responded with a small shrug. "Muggle author?"

"Yep, muggle author. I didn't realize you were raised in the magical world."

"Yeah, I'm actually pure-blood. I've got magical family on both my mum and dad's side."

Are they ignoring me again? Hermione thought to herself. She could swear she was beginning to develop a twitch.

"Huh, wouldn't have called that. Cool."

Oh my gosh, they're actually ignoring me again! Are you kidding me?!

Harry paused briefly and then physically faced his friend, tuning her out entirely. "So, what was it like growing up in the magical world?"

"Will you two please focus!" Hermione yelled. She'd tried to avoid raising her voice, honestly she had, but these boys were easily some of the most infuriating individuals she'd had the displeasure to deal with! Their ability to be difficult without actually shutting her down was beyond infuriating. She would rather just be told no than be forced to engage in such a maddening back and forth! Her stupid curiosity got the best of her once again. Why couldn't her brain have just allowed her to walk away? Why did she actually have to care about the misadventures they had gotten up to?

"What?" Harry raised his arms in defense, physically shielding himself from her metaphorical wrath. "I already said we followed in Alice's footsteps!"

Hermione wasn't the type to generally think in terms of physical violence – but at that moment, she kind of wanted to slap him. "Are you really trying to say that you went to Wonderland... whilst riding on a magical train?"

Harry exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Close enough, honestly."

"What's Wonderland?" Ron interjected.

"A fucked up place," Harry eloquently responded.

"Definitely went to Wonderland then."

"I give up!" Hermione proclaimed. "You two are utterly impossible." She began to rise to her feet before the two friends seemed to take a bit of pity on her.

"Okay, okay," Harry sighed, opening a window and gently tapping off the gathered ashes. "What do you want to know? Oh, but first – why do you care?"

Hermione returned to her seated position in front of the two boys and sighed. "First, please throw that disgusting thing out the window," she pointed at his cigarette. "You can harm your own body all you want, but inside you're forcing others to breathe in toxins as well."

Harry rolled his eyes but acquiesced to her demands, sort of anyway. He muttered a spell under his breath that completely put out the cigarette and placed it in a nearby bin. She was quite pleased about that. "Jesus, woman – if you knew what we'd just gone through you wouldn't begrudge me a smoke."

"He's right," Ron mumbled, now lying face down on the floor.

"Besides, there are magic potions that can cleanse your lungs pretty damn easily. I bought like two dozen of them last week."

"He's right," Ron mumbled again, still face down on the floor. It appeared that he was going to let Harry handle most of the talking for now.

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "It's still rude!"

Harry shrugged and joined his friend in laying down. At least he was face up and easily comprehensible. "Yeah, well, we've had a day and a half. So you'll just have to forgive me if courtesies aren't high on my priority list right now."

Hermione supposed she couldn't get on his case too much about being rude. Goodness knows her mum had spent enough time trying to explain social niceties to her. "Then explain to me what happened. I wish it wasn't the case, but I really am beyond curious about how you both ended up passed out on the floor?"

"Well," Harry began, "I guess it started when we got bored and decided to head up to the roof."

"What!?" Hermione shrieked. "Don't you two know how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, relax. I'm sure there are wards that prevent people from falling off."

Hermione would swear that her jaw hit the floor as she looked at Harry, aghast. "NO!" She yelled. "No, there's not! There are no wards up there at all!"

She had read all about the Hogwarts Express thanks to her dad expressing an interest in magical engineering that resembled non-magical technology. That had led to them buying a book. Which of course had led to her actually reading the book. Which in turn led to her knowing everything there was to know about the Hogwarts Express. The book expressly mentioned that there were NO wards on the roof! None!

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" She cried out, dumbfounded at how casual the boy was in his inquiry.

"Well, shit. Hey, Ron – my bad on that one."

Ron rolled over onto his back and shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, no big deal, I agreed to go. Besides, it was fun. Well, kind of. Fucking Hank."

"Fucking Hank," Harry agreed with a sharp nod.

"How are you both so blasé about almost dying?" Hermione asked, shocked at how little the two friends actually cared about their own well being.

"What? It's not like we fell off," Harry countered. "Not to mention it was nice and sunny out, so there was little chance of us suddenly slipping off. It was perfectly safe."

"It really wasn't any more dangerous than riding a broom," Ron agreed, a huge yawn following his words.

Hermione began to rub her temples soothingly. She could feel a headache coming on, and she wanted to preempt it as best as she could. "Just... keep telling your story." These boys were utterly beyond her comprehension, of that she was certain; but for some ungodly reason she still wished to know what had happened to them.

"Okay," Harry continued, still laying on the ground. "So there was this bloke just sitting on the roof, right?"

Harry then told their bizarre tale. He did so with copious amounts of fanfare and theatricality – the side of Hermione that appreciated verbal storytelling as an art form was begrudgingly impressed – while Ron occasionally chimed in with his own experiences or to add a detail that his friend had neglected to mention. Their tale wasn't a particularly long one, but she found herself engrossed all the same. At first glance, Harry and Ron meeting a strange drifter on the roof of the train before being taken on a journey into the walls of said train was one that beggared belief. And yet, she was actually inclined to believe they were telling the truth.

Hermione knew she barely even qualified as a novice when it came to magic, which was why she ignored her automatic response to dismiss the boys' experiences as nothing more than drug induced hallucinations. Who was she to say what was impossible?

So, since she was operating under the assumption that what the two teens described was possible, she then only had to determine whether she believed they were lying. In Hermione's admittedly amateurish opinion, it was obvious that they were being honest. Both their initial fear and then the steadiness in their voice when sharing their story, thanks to those two aspects, she was simply inclined to believe them.

"So, you just woke up here after walking through the archway? You can't remember anything else that happened?" Hermione asked, seeking a bit of clarification on the detail that bothered her the most.

"Yep," Harry said, popping the 'p'.

"In that case you need to inform a member of the train's staff, or a teacher when we arrive to Hogwarts," Hermione told them in a matter of fact voice.

"Yeah, I'm good not doing that," Harry brushed off her advice with a negligent wave.

"Same here," Ron said, only just now rising into a seated position. "Why would we tell them something that might get us in trouble?"

"You're more concerned about getting in trouble than the possibility that your mind has been tampered with?" Hermione asked, horrified by their utter lack of care towards the sanctity of their memories.

Harry stood up from the floor and stretched. "We're probably fine."

"And if you aren't?" Hermione demanded imperiously, following the boy's example and rising from the floor. Taking a brief moment to smooth out her skirt. She'd double check her appearance in a mirror before they arrived at the school.

"It's our memories, right, so we wouldn't really know, would we?" Ron joined his friend in his stretches, successfully popping his back by the sound of it. "Blimey – that felt good."

"You two really don't care, do you?" Hermione genuinely couldn't believe them. This was a level of personal negligence that she just couldn't wrap her head around. They had absolutely no clue what this 'Hank' had done to them, but they were content to stay ignorant lest they get yelled at for breaking a rule? What kind of person actually thought that way?

"I'd care more if I thought Hank had actually done something to us," Harry replied easily. "He was weird, no doubt about it, but I didn't get the impression that he was malicious."

"What he," Ron cut off as he yawned again, "said. Creepy bloke, but not evil."

"And the fact that you both got the exact same impression of him doesn't disturb you?" Hermione asked, her skepticism obvious.

"Look, Hermione," Harry began, placing his hand on her shoulder, "he was probably just some ghost hobo that haunts the train and has way too much fun messing with students. Nothing to be that concerned about."

That explanation was not good enough for Hermione Granger. Not by a long shot.

"I can't just leave it at that," Hermione declared adamantly.

Ron rolled his eyes at her, seemingly exasperated at her insistence. "Okay, but we can."

"And will."

"Fine!" Hermione said, stomping her feet. "I hope for your sakes that Hank really was a benign spirit, and not some malevolent force that manipulated your minds!" She huffed and grabbed her book, holding it tightly against her chest.

About to storm away, Hermione was distracted by Harry abruptly slapping himself in the forehead. "I am so fucking stupid!" He burst out.

Part of her wanted to again chide the boy for his language and walk away, the other part of her was just curious about his sudden revelation.

"What?" Hermione and Ron said in unison. Both of them recoiling slightly at their shared response.

"I'm a bloody sensor, and not once did I think to actually focus on what I felt when we were inside the walls! Why am I so fucking stupid?"

"You're a sensor?" Ron exclaimed

"What's a sensor?" Hermione asked at the same moment. None of her books had so much as mentioned the term. She had only ever heard it in reference to the non-magical device that wasn't even invented until the fifties.

"A sensor can sense magic!" Ron explained. "Supposedly really powerful wizards and witches can do it too, but sensors can do so naturally. Everyone else has to use spells to even try! They're extremely rare!"

Hermione was amazed that such an ability actually existed, and honestly, she was a bit jealous that she wasn't one. "That's incredible! What is it like? Was the non-magical device named after it in some fashion? Is there a limit on how much you can sense? Can you sense location or just the existence? How about the nature of the magic? Or perhaps its classification? Did sensor as a word evolve from 'sense-er', or was 'sensor' always the word and muggles accidentally adopted it for their own use?" She wanted to know everything about the esoteric ability, and she would not settle for anything less than everything.

"Incredibly hard, more like," Harry responded, shaking his head in annoyance and ignoring all of her questions. "I'm not very good at it yet, most of the time I have to focus if I want to actually sense something. And that focus isn't second nature, so like a bloody idiot, I completely forgot!"

Hermione sympathized with him. That frustration he felt towards himself was a feeling she was familiar with quite well. Every time she missed an easy answer on a test. Whenever she said the wrong thing and pushed a potential friend away. It never evolved to self-loathing, but frustration was an old friend to her.

Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, commiserating with him. "Don't beat yourself up about it, mate – no point in doing so when its already happened. You'll be better at it for next time."

"Ahhhh," Harry groaned, "you're right, you're right. Fuck, that's really annoying though. I mean, think about what -"

"Could you tell me more about sensing, or at least recommend a good book on the subject?" Hermione interjected, her natural curiosity about the intriguing ability getting the better of her. Time and time again her parents had talked to her about not being rude even when presented with information that interested her. It appeared that she still needed quite a bit more practice on that front.

"Seriously?" Harry asked, momentarily stunned before a predatory grin took hold. "Now who's being rude?"

"Please?" Hermione pleaded, her voice much smaller than it was the first time she had asked.

"Okay, sure, but on one condition," Hermione's hopes plummeted as Harry held up a single finger, smirking down at her. "You admit that we're BOTH rude people. Payback from earlier when you called me rude."

"Really?" Hermione sighed, trying to use her eyes to express what she thought of his conditions. Honestly, interrupting someone and smoking inside of a confined space were on entirely different sides of the rude spectrum.

"Say it quickly, or I might make you speak some 'foul language' as well," Harry added, clearly enjoying his sudden position of power.

"You're evil," Hermione pouted. A small part of her, deep, deep down inside, appreciated the humor of the scenario. It wasn't often that she got to speak with people her own age like this. Most would have either insulted her and walked off, or she would have insulted them and done the same. Harry and Ron were both more maddening than almost anyone else she'd ever dealt with; but the longer she spoke with them the more she came to realize that she honestly didn't hate either of their company. She could easily imagine hitting a daily limit on how much of their presence she could tolerate; but in short bursts, they weren't completely dreadful.

Off to the side, Ron suddenly guffawed loudly. "You did say you were the evil twin," he chuckled, pointing at his friend. Apparently Harry had a nicer twin? The twin part was surprising; the fact that Harry was the more evil of the two was not.

"Told you," Harry grinned mercilessly.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione huffed, a hint of a smile threatening to show on her face. "I admit..." She paused, shaking her head as her own amusement broke through. "That we're both rude -"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed joyfully.

"- BUT you are far more rude than I am, or could ever hope to be for that matter! Interrupting someone doesn't even begin to compare to the level of rudeness and apathy one has to have to smoke indoors!" Hermione finished, watching the dark haired boy celebrate the most meaningless confession of all time.

"The details don't matter, we're both rude. End of story," Harry declared.

"I'm a witness, all I heard was that you were both rude," Ron lied, holding his wand aloft. "So I swear, and so mote it be.."

Hermione and Harry both looked at the redhead with confusion, though Harry was still grinning. "No idea what that was a reference to, mate."

"Oh, yeah – raised by muggles," Ron murmured, returning his wand to his sleeve. "Right."

"Well, are you going to explain what you were doing?" Hermione tried to coax. She wasn't too skilled in the art of persuasion, but she tried.

"It's just an old joke about how easy life would be if magicals could all just hold up a wand and swear something to be truthful, and magic would just take away our magic if we were lying," Ron sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "My dad works in a department that's connected to law enforcement, so its a, uh, it's a common joke."

"Don't worry, Ron – I'm sure Daniel would have laughed," Harry teased.

Hermione wasn't a fan of obscene gestures, but even she thought Harry deserved the two fingers Ron flipped in his direction.

"Anyway, Hermione, I have a book on sensing you can borrow. Follow me to my compartment and its yours."

Hermione was almost stunned that he was actually going to lend it to her. "Really?" She asked, her surprise evident in her tone. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, really. We're attending the same school and you're a friend. Why wouldn't I loan it to you?"

Hermione quickly turned away to hide her growing blush. It wasn't often that she was called a friend, even casually as Harry had done. "Thank you," she said meaningfully, turning back to meet his eyes.

"No biggie," Harry waved off her thanks. "Just don't lose it or destroy it or anything. I paid like five galleons for it."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, looking at Harry. He appeared to be utterly dumbfounded by his friend's spending habits. "You paid that much for a single book?"

Even Hermione had to admit that was a great deal of money for one book. She was lucky that her parents were well off enough to purchase her any extra books on magic that she – or they, honestly – desired, but roughly 600 pounds for a single book was a lot. Especially since the Gringotts Goblins refused to exchange pounds for magical currency. They insisted that paper money was worthless and mundane gold only half a step above worthless – but they were at least still willing to trade for gold.

Apparently, there were magical deposits of gold in the world that were far, far more valuable than mundane gold – and that mundane gold was only valued thanks to how much it resembled magical gold. Once muggles forgot about magic, they forgot about magical gold. Hence the many ancient legends and stories that surrounded the precious metal. Not that the goblins had explained any of this, of course. As was the case with every other subject, Hermione's mum and dad had been more than open to buying a few books if it helped them be less ignorant.

'Our little girl is now apart of an entirely new world, a new society that we know nothing about. If books can help us learn how to navigate it, then we'll buy as many as it takes.'

Hermione loved her parents for their willingness to embrace magic. She also loved books, but books were just a bonus on top of everything else that her parents had done for her.

"I told you mate, money isn't a concern of mine at all," Harry said dismissively, casually rolling a galleon in between his fingers as he began to walk away.

"Clearly," Ron murmured, plodding along after him.

Hermione trailed behind the two boys, their banter was as humorous as it was exasperating. As soon as the book Harry agreed to loan to her was in her hand, she was going to return to her compartment. Neither Harry nor Ron were awful by any means, but she could tell that her daily tolerance limit was close to being reached. It would just be better for everyone if they parted ways before they said something hurtful to one another.

Hermione tried to imagine a world where she became best friends with the two boys and shook her head ruefully. The stress alone would give me an ulcer! Not to mention how frizzy my hair might get like when I was younger! Or the anxiety I'd feel being dragged on their silly adventures! Better we all just remain casual friends, or perhaps good acquaintances. She resolved then and there to not get entwined in Harry and Ron's antics once they were at Hogwarts. Maybe the nicer twin would be better company for her disposition? There was no way he was going to be more adventurous and crazier than his brother, after all.

Chapter Text

"I love Hogwarts. I never really had friends before coming here. Thanks to this school and being sorted into Gryffindor, I have you, James, and Sirius – and you guys are everything to me. Don't tell James I said that though, he'd just laugh even though we all know he feels the same way. These have easily been the best years of my life. Once the war is over, I think I'm going to look into becoming a teacher. Being able to live and work at Hogwarts... it's a nice dream, don't you think?" -Peter Pettigrew to Remus Lupin on a warm and pleasant day at Hogwarts Castle. May, 1974.

Chapter 9:

"FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS, OVER HERE!"

Harry barely paid attention to the colossal man's booming, West Country accent as he continued to gather up the new students. The man in question was certainly large, but he did not quite reach the height of the infamous giants that Harry had heard about. Plus, the giants had a well earned reputation as primitive, savage creatures that formed tribes seemingly for the express purpose of almost killing each other day after day. They weren't exactly the type of creatures to be employed in leading first year students to Hogwarts.

The chill of the nighttime air was not unbearable, but it wasn't pleasant either. What was genuinely unpleasant though was the damn necktie that Daniel had insisted Harry put on. The rest of the uniform wasn't too bad, a bit too neat and clean for his usual taste, but he could probably get away with dressing down to a certain extent once classes began. The necktie though was absolutely unbearable when tightened. Fuck it, I'm loosening this goddamn thing.

"Really, Harry? Ten minutes and you're already having a conniption?" Daniel asked from his place next to his brother.

"FIRS' YEARS, OVER HERE!"

"Yes, really!" Harry whined, unbuttoning the topmost button and slackening the tie. "How can you all stand to have it constricting your neck like that?"

"One, it's not that bad. Two, you just accept it and move on," Neville said, adding in his completely useless and incorrect stance. "How have you never worn a tie before?"

"How have you never had jeans with holes in them?" Harry countered, now unbuttoning his sleeves underneath the robes. "We grew up in very different worlds, Nev."

Ron uncomfortably fidgeted with his tie but made no move to follow Harry's example. "It really is uncomfortable, but if I loosen this thing now then Percy will get on my case about it. He may even write to my mum, and she'll get on my case even more."

"My sympathies there, friend."

The four companions were all gathered together as they waited for the large and extremely hairy man to direct them where to go. Harry watched wistfully as the older years boarded themselves into self-pulling carriages. He was honestly quite excited for whatever journey the first years were about to be taken on, but he wasn't a fan of waiting around for no reason. There was no way everyone on the train couldn't hear the man's resounding shouts, so there was no reason to hang around this long.

Daniel sighed heavily and cocked his head towards a large group of students that were all whispering and casting subtle looks towards the Boy-Who-Lived and his apparent friends. "I'm blaming you for that, Harry."

Harry was indignant. "What? What did I do?"

"You had people line up to greet me!"

"And some of those people were seriously cute girls. So, you're welcome," Harry replied as if that made everything okay – which in his mind, it did. The short, blonde bird he had taunted seemed a bit acerbic, but she was still hot, which was to say nothing of her ridiculously cute friend. And those were just the first two in line! His little brother had nothing to complain about if you asked him. In fact, Harry was a bit jealous – in spite of his best efforts, he'd never had girls line up to meet him.

Daniel was momentarily distracted, happily staring at nothing as he recalled what were undoubtedly pleasant memories, but he was pulled from his daydreams by Neville thumping him on the back of the head.

"GATHER ROUND, FIRS' YEARS!"

"What was that for?" Daniel exclaimed, rubbing the area of impact and grimacing.

"Just me keeping your ego in check," Neville teased, grinning at his adopted brother.

"Arsehole."

"Git."

Harry tuned out the exchange further as he observed the other first years ambling about. One boy in particular stood out to him. At first glance the boy was utterly unremarkable: average height, quite skinny, mid-length, curly, brown hair. The boy would have likely been considered fairly attractive had it not been for his hard, sunken, and bloodshot eyes with heavy dark circles underneath them. Pale and gaunt, the teen looked like he'd just woken up after having a really, really bad night. Harry recognized the signs that this kid was exhibiting clear as day; they weren't unfamiliar symptoms among some of his old acquaintances.

"You know that guy?" Ron asked, having sidled up next to his friend and following his gaze.

"No," Harry murmured quietly. "But I can tell that he had a rough train ride."

"Blimey, he does look like hell – hey, it's that guy that almost fought your brother."

"FIRS' YEARS!"

Draco Malfoy, as Daniel had named him, had just approached the disheveled teen and passed him a flask. They were speaking far too quietly for Harry to make out what they were saying but given their body language he assumed they were close friends. Malfoy looked like he was censuring the other teen, but it appeared to be the type of censure that came from a place of affection more than anything. Akin to a parent scolding a child when their recklessness almost got them hurt.

"They're probably friends," Harry murmured, his attention still rapt on the duo.

"Better keep an eye on them – the Malfoy family has a really bad reputation. Most people are sure they supported You-Know-Who during the war," Ron warned, his voice hushed.

Harry hummed for a second before shrugging. "Yeah, Daniel mentioned that the guy's dad got off on a technicality, but I'll meet him for myself first. Draco, that is. Even if his family is full of murdering cunts, I don't really put much stock in the opinions of others when it comes to things like this."

"I guess that's fair?" Ron said, a questioning lilt in his voice.

"If it turns out he's a dick, I'll treat him like he deserves. He hasn't done anything to me so far though, so," Harry paused briefly as he turned his focus away from the aristocratic boy. "Can't say I have an opinion on the guy."

"Even though Daniel said he was a foul git?"

"I'm not my brother, mate."

That seemed to get through to the redhead as he looked slightly guilty. "I'm so used to seeing twins be almost the exact same person. Fred and George, two of my brothers, they're twins, and they're so alike that I assumed all twins were like that too. My bad, there," he apologized.

"No harm, no foul," Harry replied, waving off what he thought of as a needless, though appreciated, apology. "If he and I had grown up with each other we'd probably be a lot more alike."

"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP," the gigantic man exclaimed, somehow far louder than his previous calls, a fact that Harry hadn't thought possible. "C'MON, AND FOLLOW ME. BE SURE TO MIND YER STEP, AND DON' WANDER OFF! FIRS' YEARS, THIS WAY!"

The large crowd of students had no issue hearing the man and grouped up to follow him. Harry and Ron remained close to one another but didn't even try to keep an eye out for anyone else in particular amid the chaotic throng of students. Their humongous guide took them down a steep, narrow, and poorly lit path. Most of the assembled teens slipped or stumbled at least once as they walked. Harry swore he heard Hermione's voice among the many that were grumbling aloud about the conditions of their path. The dark, closely packed trees packed on either side of the trail prevented them from seeing anything beyond it. Only the third quarter moon and the vivid constellations were visible in the night sky above.

The slim pathway rapidly widened and opened onto the edge of great black lake. The glimmering stars refracted off the water's surface, light show entirely of nature's creation. On the other side of the lake, a high mountain rose towards the heavens. There, perched atop the peaks, its windows flickering in the dark, was a magnificent, vast castle.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the gargantuan structure, its many turrets and towers almost innumerable in the night sky. He made no claims to being an expert on medieval structures, but the sheer size of Hogwarts dwarfed every other castle he'd ever heard of. The famed Windsor Castle absolutely paled in comparison to the majesty of the magical school – for what else could it be but magical.

"NO MORE'N FOUR TO A BOAT!" Their escort called, snapping everyone out of the trance that had taken hold of them. Harry quickly realized that being riveted on the glorious castle in the distance was not an experience unique to him. Momentarily confused at the directions that had been called out, Harry saw that floating on the surface of the water, right near the edge, were dozens upon dozens of small boats.

"Blimey – I can't believe we're going to be living in that," Ron said, his voice barely a whisper.

The two friends stepped into one of the empty boats and claimed their seats. Harry barely paid any mind to the two students that climbed in after them, completely enthralled by the castle in the distance. Without even being entirely cognizant of what he was doing, Harry lit up a single cigarette and lounged against the edge of the wooden craft.

'Explore, Harry Evans. Explore.' Tom's words reverberated through his mind without bidding.

Don't worry, you creepy bastard, I intend to. Something about Hogwarts called to Harry. It had nothing to do with him being a sensor, of that he was certain. At that moment he just wanted to be inside the ancient castle, to stand inside the walls and run his hand across the aged stonework. It shouldn't have been possible to feel nostalgia for this place he had never known before, but Harry had no other way to describe the longing he felt.

"EVERYONE IN?" The large man's voice sounded on the edge of Harry's reverie, just barely cutting through his focus. The imposing man had a boat entirely to himself and he was standing on his feet in an impressive display of control and balance. "RIGHT THEN – FORWARD!"

The fleet of boats then moved forward all at once, following the large man's direction as he held his lantern aloft. The lake's surface was as smooth as glass they glided across it. Silence blanketed the students as they sailed nearer and nearer to the grand castle that loomed above them. Their voices stolen by the spectacle alone.

"WATCH YOURSELVES!" Their guide shouted as the first of the boats approached a curtain of ivy that fell over a wide opening in the cliff face.

Harry idly brushed a few of the hanging vines out of the way of his head. What he had assumed would just be a dark tunnel proved to be so much more. The light of the lantern illuminated murals that seemed to move with the flickering glow of the flames. One showing four friends as they held their wands high, magic blossoming forth. Another depicted Hogwarts itself with a coiled snake slumbering below, hidden away beneath the castle. Rowena Ravenclaw as she studied the stars atop the tallest tower. Helga Hufflepuff in front a small hearth, stirring ingredients into a cauldron as she drained a tankard of ale. Godric Gryffindor, wand in one hand, a ruby encrusted sword in the other, as he faced down ten men. Salazar Slytherin as he drew alchemic circles in the confines of his study lit only by a single candle. If one looked closely, they would see that these paintings did not move, but in the low, lambent light, they still told a story. A story about Hogwarts and her history.

Eventually, the party of first years arrived at some manner of underground harbor, with a rocky shoreline that met with stone construction. The wrought path then connected to a long flight of stone stairs that led directly to the castle's heavy, wooden gates.

"Alright now, everybody out of the boats!" The hulking man's voice reverberated inside the stone cavern, evidently there was no need for him to yell in here.

Harry joined the mass of students as they clambered out of the boats and onto the uneven shore. For some reason, Harry had difficulty keeping his mind on the present. All of the others milled around him, but he felt as if he weren't actually among their number. Ron's words beckoned him to walk; he could hear them, understand them, but they felt distant all the same.

Focus, he told himself, but it was for naught. Focus was not the heart of his issue – if it could even be called that, as the effects were not truly adverse in any way. Awareness and attention for the world had not left him, instead it was as if the magic of the castle was always in his periphery, begging to be noticed further but constantly moving out of the limelight. Whatever it was that had taken hold in his mind, it refused to dissipate. The new sensation was one that he was slowly becoming acclimated to as he journeyed up the numerous stone stairs. Like everyone else, he remained mute in the face of their introduction to the venerated castle.

"Everyone still here?" The large man called. Not the most useful question in the world by Harry's estimation. If anyone was missing, they wouldn't exactly be able to announce it themselves. Their guide raised a gigantic fist – large enough to easily crush a man's head – and knocked three times on the castle's iron inlaid gates.

The heavy doors slowly creaked open, a warm glow from within escaping through the widening space. There, standing on the other side was a witch that Harry was already familiar with, though her wardrobe had changed significantly. The ever-attractive Minerva McGonagall still had her dark hair pulled up in a tight bun, the same small glasses resting on her narrow nose; now dressed in elegant, emerald-green robes tinged with a healthy amount of black. Even more eye-catching was the splendiferous and stereotypical witches' hat that she wore upon her head, slightly cocked to one side. Had Harry not already met the stern woman, he might have guessed that she was simply making a joke, bringing some levity to the otherwise subdued, yet captivating experience. But no, this was real, and Harry loved it so, so much.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall. All safe and accounted for."

"Thank you, Hagrid," McGonagall said, her eyes briefly flicking up towards her coworker's own before returning to the students. "I will take them from here."

Hagrid lumbered off, muttering to himself. What about Harry neither knew nor cared, because McGonagall had just directed them to take their first steps inside Hogwarts.

The entrance hall alone blew his expectations out of the water. It. Was. Huge. The ceiling stretched further than his sight allowed, never mind that he'd seen the tops of the towers from the outside. The grand marble staircase was pristine and polished, leading to a landing from which dozens of hallways and staircases broke away. Flaming sconces lined the walls, leaving only the corners shrouded in shadow.

Even just while standing in the entrance hall and looking into the corridors that branched away from it, Harry could see moving suits of armor. Their hollow bodies moved without assistance, their heads following the crowd – some watched impassively, some saluted respectfully, while others brandished their weapons aggressively; weapons that clearly bore runic carvings. Paintings too numerous to count lined much of the walls; with the denizens of said paintings happily moving between frames. There were woven tapestries aplenty; each one beautifully crafted, all of various design and style. Some lay flat against the wall while others billowed from a non-existent wind, only to reveal a hidden passageway behind it. There were statues with eyes that followed those walking past, potted plants that seemed truly alive. And dotted around there were strange artifacts, some in glass display cases, others simply hung on the wall: weapons, talismans, relics from a bygone age – each with small placards providing brief tidbits of information.

Beyond the decorations and memorabilia that the castle clearly had a surplus of – Hogwarts was permeated with an inexplicable sense of weight. The flagged stone floors cracked with age but still polished and smooth. The ancient, stone-brick walls, occasionally marred by a chip or scorch mark, but walls that had stood firm for over a millennium. The wooden benches carved with initials and names – each one telling the story of students that had come before. There was an undeniable significance born from walking within Hogwarts – one that Harry would never quite be able to define.

Off to the right, Harry heard the voices of hundreds of what he presumed were students, but McGonagall showed them into a small chamber instead. Not that the chamber was empty, for inside were a number of spectral, semi-transparent figures. Their ghastly appearance made a couple of students scream and jump back in fright. Ron swore quietly as a ghost covered in bloods and chains floated up from the floor directly next to him while Harry just looked around in excitement.

"I'd heard rumors of ghosts," a girl whispered from beside Harry, "but I didn't expect them to look so -"

"Real?" Harry finished for her, his excited grin still in placed as he turned to face his new source of conversation. The brown skinned girl was stunningly beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes. Harry wasn't sure if magic was to thank or not, but the seemingly large number of attractive witches and wizards in the world was nothing but a boon if you asked him.

The girl returned his smile. "Something like that, yeah. I mean, they're just souls that haven't passed on, right? So why would anyone expect them to look like their human selves?"

Harry had read a bit about ghosts in one of his books, but neither he nor the author were still entirely certain of why they were still present on the mortal plane. "I've heard there's still some debate on why their souls stick around?" He said, extending his hand towards the girl. "Harry Evans, by the way – ignoramus on ghosts."

"Padma Patil, also an ignoramus on ghosts," Padma replied, laughing and gesturing to the girl that was repeatedly jumping in the air to try and get a better view of the spectral figures, "and this is my sister, Parvati."

At the mention of her name, Parvati turned and looked over towards Harry and her twin sister – though not an identical twin. Despite clearly being sisters, the two gorgeous girls were easily distinguishable from one another, a fact only helped along by the large, golden hoop earrings Parvati had, as opposed to the small, presumably diamond studs worn by her sister. Parvati brazenly checked Harry out, for a few seconds before smiling mischievously at her sister. "Well, hello there. You got my name already, but I missed yours," she said, winking at him and gently biting her bottom lip as she smiled.

Padma took one look at her sister's rather ostentatious flirting and groaned. "Really? Already? We literally just stepped inside."

Harry, who had returned the flirtations from Parvati with a sly smile of his own, watched the two sisters without even trying to hide his amusement. Padma didn't seem angry per se, but exasperation certainly fit the bill.

"Just living up to my namesake," Parvati responded easily, still making eyes at Harry – a gesture he was more than happy to return.

"Being named after a fertility goddess does not mean you have to throw yourself at every boy you meet!"

"Goddess of beauty too, don't forget that," Parvati cheekily added. "And you should try having some fun with a boy now and again. That stick you have shoved up your arse shouldn't be the only intimate relationship you have." Harry thought Parvati's snipe towards her sister was a drastic escalation of the argument, but Padma did not seem that affronted at all, honestly, she looked as if she had been expecting such a caustic response. Sisterly love was truly a wondrous thing to behold.

"Intimate? Relationship?" Padma scoffed. "Please, like whoring yourself out to every guy that stares at your ass qualifies as an intimate relationship. You're a cock-sleeve, hon', don't delude yourself into thinking you mean anything more to them."

Damn, that was fucking brutal.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron whispered from behind him as he motioned towards the bickering twins. "Did you start that?"

"I wish, mate," Harry murmured back, intent on not missing a single word of the biting exchange.

"Oh, don't even try and pretend like I wasn't the best thing that ever happened to those boys," Parvati bit back, one hand dramatically placed upon her hip. "They were practically begging for my attention the entire time! Besides, we both know I'm not that loose."

"Could have fooled me!" Padma retorted, crossing her arms.

The two sisters' rapidly intensifying argument was interrupted by Professor McGonagall somehow gaining everyone's attention without making a single sound – Harry was actually impressed by her little trick. Controlling crowds of students at that level could only be gained through decades of experience. The two sisters ceased their hostilities and turned towards the professor. Parvati took a moment to wink at him coquettishly but refrained from any further flirting as she focused on the ensuing introduction. Ron, who had apparently noticed the playful gesture, nudged Harry and gave him a subtle thumbs up.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Professor McGonagall began loudly, "the start of term banquet will begin shortly. Before you take your seats in the Great Hall however, there is the matter of sorting you into your Houses. There are four Houses, one for each of the school's founders and the traits they valued. While you are in Hogwarts, your Houses will be like your family. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in the same dormitories, share a common room, and the list goes on."

Harry had already pieced together a decent amount of the House system just based on the offhanded comments that others had made, but many of the finer details eluded him. The founders had apparently just wanted to group students in some way and so they devised the House system; he wasn't quite sure why, but he had no complaints. Regardless, no one ever said that you couldn't associate with students from other Houses.

"The four Houses are named after the four founders of our great school: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own proud and noble history, and each has produced exceptional witches and wizards throughout the years."

Harry respected the healthy egos the four founders had possessed. They were apparently unrivaled in ability, so it only made sense, but they had successfully enshrined their names with the traits they valued. The number of times he had heard references to the Houses from those that had graduated decades prior clearly proved as much.

"Every year the four Houses compete to earn the House cup, a great honor that also comes with a number of benefits for the students of said House. Your triumphs will earn you points for your House, while rule-breaking will lose you points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points wins the cup."

Though it might have just been his cynical side talking, Harry couldn't imagine that many students actually gave a flying fuck about the honor that came from winning the House cup. Teenagers were by and large rebellious and impetuous bastards – Harry would know, he was one after all. Nobody would actually give a damn about following every little rule in life if all it amounted to was a pat on the back. Hell, even if the rewards were only semi-decent, he still doubted that most of the school's populace would give a damn. House pride was a thing, he'd already confirmed as much, but it was entirely possible for the students of a House to not desire to lose while also not really showing much care towards winning. Further judgment would be reserved until after the rewards system had been explained to him. If the Hogwarts staff had any understanding of teenagers then the rewards might just be worth it after all.

"I hope each of you will prove to be a credit to whichever House shall become yours. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin, so please follow after me in an orderly fashion," Professor McGonagall finished.

Harry ended up in between Ron and Parvati in the line, a fact that Harry became very appreciative of when the flirty girl ever so slyly kept rubbing against him with her extremely shapely arse. He had never met a girl that was as forward as Parvati Patil, but by the gods did he already love her for it.

The Great Hall lived up to its name splendidly, more so than Harry had expected. Thousands of lit candles floated in the air above four grandiose tables that already seated the rest of the student body. The ceiling was just like the night sky, an endless expanse of velvety black dotted with stars. If he didn't know better, he would swear that there was no ceiling at all. The older students each had golden plates and goblets placed in front of them, filled with various drinks and an assorted mix of breads and dipping oils. Harry had heard mention of there being a feast, it only made sense that the older students would be offered some sort of starter course during the Sorting Ceremony. The woes of being a first year, he supposed. Guess we're not allowed to eat until we've been sorted, he thought to himself, wryly hoping that the order for sorting would be alphabetical.

At the top of the hall there two more long tables, tiered on different levels, that seated all of the teachers – and quite the eclectic group they proved to be. Albus Dumbledore was easily distinguishable from the others with his place in the center. His large, gilded, throne-like chair placed him a bit higher than all the rest. The man had long, gray hair that reached past his shoulders; what was also long but surprisingly well kept was his gray beard that reached shortly beyond the collar of his ostentatious crimson robes. The man's piercing blue eyes twinkled even behind the half-moon spectacles resting on his nose, one that appeared to have been broken many times in the past. Why the man hadn't just used magic to fix his nose was a mystery, but at the very least it did add more character to the legendary headmaster. There was an extremely beautiful dark-skinned witch that barely looked older than the students, a diminutive, little wizard with an impressive mustache, a tall, pale wizard wearing a purple turban, the ever-imposing Hagrid, a hook-nosed wizard that stared sullenly at everyone around him, a witch with heterochromatic eyes and a shock of white hair despite her features suggesting she was not nearly so old, and those were just the first few he'd noticed. There were almost two dozen teachers all in total, which fit Harry's expectations reasonably well.

McGonagall led the first-year students to an area off to the side that was directly in between the rest of the students and the teachers. While the first years shuffled into place, the Deputy Headmistress wasted no time in placing an old, somewhat frayed hat on top of a small four-legged stool, situated in front of the entire school.

Now, what are you? Harry thought wildly, his focus now fixated on the strange wizard's hat that was, by all appearances anyway, integral to the Sorting Ceremony. Obviously, you're a powerful magical artifact, but what else? Harry reached his own conclusion at the exact moment that it should have become obvious to all the other first years that lacked his fairly unique ability. Sentience!

In the brief time since he had learned of magic, Harry had already encountered many examples of magical artifacts that were seemingly sentient. Paintings, portraits, wands, the occasional book, the list went on – but none of those had truly possessed a soul of their own. It was an accepted fact in the magical world that souls existed and had great meaning. What exactly a soul was remained a hotly contested and ongoing debate, but its existence was never called into question.

Souls were an enigma. They were present in all beings, though the nature of souls differed greatly by species. Clearly able to be created, as evidenced by the creation of new life and by extension the new soul that lay within; and yet, souls weren't strictly tied to life, as evidenced by ghosts, poltergeists, and a number of other creatures simply defined as 'non-beings'. A nebulous topic to be sure, but one that had an entire branch of magic built around it. Souls were difficult, that statement was common even among experts, and Harry was by no means an expert on the subject. His own knowledge barely extended beyond that which he'd gained from Amon Staghart. Knowledge that wasn't even the most useful as the personal opinions and beliefs held by the author of Good and Evil; Light and Dark: What Does Magic say about Morality was not the type of information Harry was going to immediately accept as fact. That wasn't to say that said information did not still have value to Harry though, after all, it had piqued his interest in a topic that had hitherto been unknown to him.

Harry had spent time sensing the magic within portraits. The complicated magic befuddled him in more ways than he could count, but the feeling of that magic was something he became fairly familiar with. The well-learned seller of paintings in Diagon Alley had referred to portraits as but a shell of whomever it was they depicted. An impression of the soul captured with magic and preserved with paints and dyes. In many ways they seemed alive, like they really were the immortalized form of a person that had passed from the world, but they weren't. Magical items that possessed a semblance of personality were even more common than genuine imprints of souls. A purely fictional painting here, a wand there; from a temperamental tea-kettle to an aggressive chess board. Such items were naught but faux facsimiles of a sense of self and identity, ultimately nothing more than a reflection of their creator's intent.

Even with all of the information Harry had though, he would bet every galleon he owned on the fact that the Sorting Hat, the self-proclaimed 'Thinking Cap', had a soul.

"Remind me to punch my brother, Fred, later on," Ron whispered fiercely to Harry. "He had me believing that the sorting involved casting a spell of your choice, and that the teachers would evaluate what you cast and how well you casted it! Do you know how long I've been practicing the color change charm to turn something red?"

Harry barely managed to shake his head in the negative while trying to suppress his mirth.

"Weeks! I practiced for weeks! It's a bloody difficult spell!"

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry smiled back at his friend, "but that's just funny."

The two friends began to subtly elbow one another as Professor McGonagall called up names to have the Sorting Hat placed upon their head. In alphabetical order of course. Apparently in both the muggle world and the magical one, children with surnames that began with the latter letters of the alphabet just had shit luck. Harry was rather pleased at that moment that his adopted last name began with an 'E'.

Though, after thinking about it for a second, Harry wondered which name McGonagall would call out? Evans or Potter? Evans was the only name he'd ever known, but he was still legally considered a member of House Potter – he knew that for a fact, he'd checked. His parents had been married and hell, he was still the heir to the head seat of House Potter. Surely those two elements meant his actual name was Potter and that Evans was more of a nickname instead of anything official? Then again, his Hogwarts Letter had been addressed to Evans…

Harry's thought processes then led him to another question: how the fuck had his letter even known which bedroom he slept in? The only conclusions he could arrive at were that magicals spied on prospective Hogwarts students for the inanest reasons imaginable, or the creation of the letter was automatic. If it was automatic, then that spoke of a magic that was tied to names – which would seem to suggest that his magical name was Evans? But why would it be Evans when not only had his magical parents named him Potter, but he was still a member of House Potter? Did the method used to create Hogwarts letters take into account preferred names, or in his case, the only name he knew? That didn't seem like that much of a stretch given that the magic was aware of very bedroom he slept in. Of course, Harry also had to consider the fact that in his case, the letter had been hand delivered by a woman who knew who he was beforehand. It would have been easy for McGonagall to alter what was written for his sake; especially given the order of events that she introduced him to magic and by extension his past.

Honestly, Harry wouldn't even care which name was called if it wasn't for the existence of magical contracts. They were an accepted and fairly common element within magical society, so he needed to learn which name he would have to use in order to properly sign one – preferably yesterday. Not knowing was practically inviting problems his way. I wonder if the terms of a contract could be dodged by signing the wrong name, Harry pondered. I'll look it up later. The Hogwarts library is supposed to be huge, so thank christ for small mercies at least.

The Sorting Ceremony was progressing more quickly than Harry would have initially guessed. On average each student only took about thirty to forty seconds to be sorted, with the Hat being on their head for less than ten of those seconds – the rest was just McGonagall calling out names, or the first years walking to their seats while the older students politely cheered their acquisition of a new House mate. An approximate eighty-minute-long Sorting Ceremony was still quite long, but it could have easily been worse.

The magic that slightly altered the student's uniform from all black to reflect their House's colors was interesting, but Harry was not yet learned enough to even begin guessing the theory behind such magic – and he wasn't even about to try sensing an effect that was that small, not when he himself was about to be sorted in the coming minutes.

"Ugh, this wait is torture," Ron complained quietly, casting wistful looks towards the warm breads and refreshing drinks that kept materializing on the tables. The tables they weren't allowed to sit at yet.

"I'm sure it won't take too long to reach the Ws," Harry said sarcastically.

"You know, Harry," Ron dryly replied, "you kind of suck sometimes. I'm going to be standing here till the end of the bloody ceremony. I mean, we're literally still on the Bs!"

Harry wasn't going to argue that one. Ron's predicament amused him and he would not hide that fact. "Man, you're going to get really bored, huh?"

"Tosspot," was Ron's succinct reply.

"Bones, Susan!"

A somewhat shy redheaded girl answered McGonagall's summons. Her head was held high, but one only had to glance at her hands to find them clutching the ends of her skirt in a death grip.

"Bloody hell, you see how fit she is now," Ron murmured, an appreciative glint in his eye as he followed the cute redhead's movements towards the Sorting Hat.

Now? "You know her?" Harry asked.

"Not really, met her at this Ministry function about two years back. Or was it three years? Anyway, her aunt is my dad's boss' boss."

"So, you guys snogged or what?" Harry had never been to any kind of posh, high society party – which is what he assumed this function was given that it was held by the Ministry of Magic – but his experience with other types of parties was not nearly so limited. Based on the fun that he had been able to have at parties, Harry hoped his friend had been able to share in similar experiences.

"Boot, Terry!"

"No," Ron sighed dejectedly. "I was way too insecure for that. Susan and I barely spoke five words before we both practically ran away and hid. She hadn't quite lost all of her baby fat back then, but damn, she was still cute – even more cute now."

"Get yourself sorted into Hufflepuff then and correct the mistakes of your past. Go forth and impress the cute girl, Ron!" Harry's eyes sparkled with amusement as he teased his friend.

Harry wasn't sure what House he would be sorted into, but he was as sure as possible that it wasn't going to be Hufflepuff. Not that he had anything against loyalty, but the idea of being just and true, patient and unafraid of toil… it just wasn't him. Sure, he could work hard, but the path of least resistance was almost always the superior one. Ravenclaw was also likely not the House for him. Harry quite enjoyed learning and being witty, but neither of those two traits embodied him or his ideals. Slytherin or Gryffindor were the only two Houses he could imagine himself getting sorted into. But, at the end of the day, he wasn't exactly the one that made the decision. Nope, that was left to a bloody hat.

"Bradley, Erin!" McGonagall announced loudly, continuing to shout out names as she worked her way down the list.

Ron snorted loudly, a bit too loudly if the way a few students glared at him were any indicator. "Me? A Puff? Fat chance."

"Even for a girl that cute?" Harry pressed.

"Nobody wants to be a Hufflepuff, Harry. Not even Hufflepuffs want to be Hufflepuffs."

Harry didn't know much about the history of the House, so he couldn't comment too much, but even he had to admit that Hufflepuff was a spectacularly moronic name. McGonagall had lectured him once about judging magical nomenclature, but since Ron was also mocking the House, he felt a bit more justified in his derision.

"Hey! My father was in Hufflepuff!" A boy exclaimed quietly. He had maneuvered his way right next to Harry and Ron after hearing their comments on Hufflepuff, much to their amusement.

"Poor bloke," Ron replied, wholly unapologetic in his degradation of the famed House.

"Will you all be quiet!" Hermione Granger had also chosen to make an appearance in their impromptu discussion.

Wonder if she realizes she's the loudest of us all? Harry mused, thoroughly entertained by the growing number of interjections.

As Ron turned to quietly, but fiercely, engage with Hermione in what Harry imagined was an argument, his own attention was stolen by Padma Patil nudging him in the side.

"Sorry about earlier, with my sister and all," she whispered, leaning her mouth closer to his ear. Harry had to lower his head a bit to accommodate the girl, but height difference between them was relatively small, so it wasn't exactly difficult for him to do so.

Harry raised a single eyebrow towards the girl. "Are you apologizing for you two arguing, or for her flirting?"

"A bit of both?" Padma said sheepishly, though she didn't sound entirely certain herself. She played with a ring on her finger for a few moments before continuing, her words far firmer than before. "No, I'm only sorry for the arguing, actually. Parvati is welcome to fool around with anyone she wishes."

Harry chuckled to himself as he began to roll a galleon between his fingers, the wait was starting to get to him, and Padma had inadvertently reminded him of his favorite little token. "Not fond of your sister's proclivity for the sexual then?"

"It's not that," Padma said, crossing her arms defensively, "I mean, I'm not exactly a pure maiden myself, but it's literally the first thought on her mind whenever she sees a cute guy."

"Did you just call me cute?"

"Shut up, I'm making a point," Padma brushed off his question without hesitation, a small smirk the only sign his teasing comment landed at all. "She didn't even know your name, but she was already planning to shag you."

"I'll be honest, I personally see no issue with that," Harry would defend promiscuous women to his dying breath. Sluts make the world a happier place, that's just a fact.

"You're the beneficiary in this scenario, so of course you wouldn't," Padma laughed softly. He didn't think she was offended by his logic, but he'd been wrong before...

"Campbell, Madeline" McGonagall called out. Harry caught sight of a cute girl with black hair that had ranked among Daniel's fans from the train making her way towards the Hat.

"So, you're upset that your sister enjoys a good shag?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light and free of judgment.

"No, everyone enjoys a good shag," Padma countered, "I'm upset that my sister can't think of anything else even when we're walking into Hogwarts!" She took a moment to calm herself, taking deep, measured breaths before continuing. "Parvati isn't the brainless bimbo her first impression might suggest – I'm smarter, of course, but she's up there too. And it's not like I actually mind that she's fond of sex, I just wish she would tone down how obvious she is about it."

"Far be it from me to try and play therapist," Harry murmured quietly, his eyes still glued forwards so as to give the impression that he was paying attention to the sorting, "but it sounds to me like you just disagree with how forward your sister is."

"That much was always obvious, dear," Padma said, her somewhat condescending smirk demonstrating quite clearly what she thought of his capabilities as an armchair psychologist. "It bothers me, but that doesn't mean I'm wasting my time trying to change her."

"Then what was with your argument earlier?" Harry didn't buy her dismissive attitude, not in its entirety anyway. Sure, neither Padma nor Parvati had seemed to put off by the insults they hurled at one another, but they were still vehemently disagreeing.

"It's Hogwarts," Padma whispered, her voice passionate. "We've grown up hearing all about this castle, but she acted like she barely cared. I know she does care, but still!"

"If you grew up with stories of Hogwarts, that must mean you're from around Britain then?" Harry asked, slightly eager to change the subject away from the issues between the two sisters. He didn't understand, but honestly it wasn't his place to pry farther when he'd only just met them. He'd stuck his foot in his mouth once already – an experience that Padma had been kind enough to gloss over – a repeat performance wasn't something he was keen on. Subject changes did not have to be smooth or pretty, they just had to fucking work.

"Be honest, where did you think I was from?"

"India?" Harry said uncertainly; he was nowhere close to being an expert on surnames, but guessing wasn't beyond the realm of his capabilities.

"Nice guess," Padma's eyebrows rose in slight surprise. "My father is from India, but my mother is British, so we," she gestured to herself and Parvati, who was standing a bit away, "were raised in London. Seriously though, nice guess. I expected you to be way off."

"And how can you be sure I was guessing?" Harry was basking in his successful shot in the dark and decided to push his luck in his attempts to impress the cute girl.

"Oh, please," Padma scoffed, "you didn't even try to hide it."

"Hide what? That was a calculated assumption!" He lied, grinning broadly even as she rolled her eyes.

"Cooke, Damian!"

Padma folded her arms as she readjusted her posture, showing that she was settling in for a long wait. "You have way too much fun lying even when the truth is obvious," she said, chuckling at Harry's sudden and quite false outrage.

"Miss Patil, are you casting aspersions on my character?" Harry challenged, the effects of his theatrics heavily dulled thanks to his muted tone.

"Absolutely."

Harry placed one of his hands over his heart. "You wound me," he whined.

Padma smirked but her attention was stolen away by someone else before she could respond. The majority of the first years were standing quietly while they waited for their turn to be sorted, with the occasional duo speaking quietly. Anyone that got too loud was quickly silenced by McGonagall's piercing gaze, that included the older students and even some of the teachers. That woman is terrifying, Harry thought to himself.

Harry debated trying to find some other way to entertain himself until his name was called, but in lieu of having anyone to speak with he resigned himself to what he hoped would be a small wait. Evans. Please just call out Evans. I want to sit and eat food. Please call out Evans.

Luckily for him, Harry did not have to wait long. Less than ten minutes had passed before his name was echoing throughout the hall, "Evans, Harry!"

Without hesitation Harry began to saunter his way forward. There were an uncommonly large number of eyes following him as he walked, far more so than any other student thus far. The whispers were not difficult to hear.

"Is that him?"

"The one who said he was the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, yeah."

"They do look alike..."

"Kind of, I guess."

Harry smirked internally. There was never going to be any hope of him keeping a low profile as the forgotten Potter son, so he decided to openly embrace his title instead. His little show on the train was just the first display. Harry was more than comfortable enough with the grandstanding even though it wasn't normally his style. In his opinion the best way to deal with his newfound fame and mystique was to get the whispers and questions out of the way early on instead of allowing them to sit and fester into rumor. The world would likely get used to his existence soon enough, but so long as he wasn't treated as an accessory to his brother, he honestly didn't care if they talked about him.

Professor McGonagall had already taken a small step back, allowing him to take a seat on the surprisingly sturdy wooden stool without issue. As soon as Harry was properly positioned, his vision was obscured by the inside of the of patched hat.

"Well, well, well – your mind is fun."

A voice, deep and laced with confidence, resounded through Harry's mind the instant it settled onto his head. It was just another being that could peruse his mind freely. Harry couldn't exactly be upset about it this time, the Sorting Hat was probably as old as Hogwarts itself.

"Nothing special, of course, but quite the amusing headspace nonetheless."

The hat's words were not correctly aligned with Harry's perception of time. More time should have passed around him than what had, almost as if what he was hearing in his mind was progressing at a slower pace than reality.

"Oh? What's this? Something even I can't see? No, just an individual deliberately shrouding themselves. Now where did they learn to do that? Would that I could sit upon your head for a few minutes and break through their magic, it's so very intriguing..."

Harry knew then and there that it was Tom the Sorting Hat was referring to. Somehow that crazy bastard had obscured himself from the hat that boasted being able to see through anything hidden. Almost two months later and Tom continued to impress.

"Ah, but they didn't go far enough, did they? Through them you've learned of so many interesting topics that you shouldn't have any knowledge of. Dangerous topics. Topics that most of the world has forgotten about... Who did you speak with, I wonder?"

You'll never know, Harry thought to himself, though he imagined the hat could hear him. The hat did not seem as if it was actually interested in having a conversation, just talking at whomever it was placed upon.

"A mystery for another day, but you've assuredly given me a project for the next seven years. Ah, I digress, your sorting is all but determined, I only need a second or two more."

Harry would have never thought that time would be such a useless frame of reference.

"You would do well in either House. Your personality, your traits, your values above all else, they would allow you to find a home regardless of where you find yourself."

Slytherin or Gryffindor, it mattered not to Harry which House he was placed into. As long as it doesn't flip things on me and shout Ravenclaw to the world... The idea of being a Hufflepuff didn't even cross his mind. There were some things in life that were simply beyond the realm of possibility.

"Better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

The table full of Gryffindors erupted into applause as McGonagall removed the Hat from Harry's head. It may have just been his ego talking, but he thought the applause for him was just a bit larger than what the other students received.

Harry walked to the open section near the front of the table that had been left open and available for the new first year students.

"Oh my god, Harry! We're in the same House!" Lavender Brown said happily as she patted the open seat next to her.

On the other side of the table, Fay Dunbar, if Harry recalled correctly, smiled at him prettily but deigned not to speak.

"Are you honestly surprised?" Harry asked quietly, the hall having returned to a state of quiet as Curtis Evercreech's name was called out.

"Why would I be? I told you earlier that I knew we'd become best friends."

Harry chuckled lightly at Lavender's previous claim that her great-grandmother was a seer, and that her bloodline occasionally allowed her to just 'know' things. "I thought you were full of shit."

"You're going to learn very quickly not to doubt me, Harry Evans," Lavender declared with confidence, lightly buttering some bread and ignoring the ceremony entirely.

"That so?" Harry asked, grabbing some bread for himself and finally partaking. He caught sight of Ron watching him from the other side of the room, so naturally he pointed at his food and gave a thumbs up to his still standing friend. The rude gesture Harry received in reply was honestly well deserved.

"Mmmmhmmmm!" Lavender hummed, covering her mouth with her hand that was complete with beautifully painted and manicured nails.

"Wouldn't be very Gryffindorish of me to doubt a friend, would it?"

"That's a good point," Lavender agreed, pointing her finger at Harry.

"Honestly though," Harry began, "I like to think I was sorted into Gryffindor thanks to the daring and nerve part rather than the chivalry."

"Chivalry wasn't even a thing by that name until after Godric Gryffindor had died," Fay said, cutting into the conversation. "And even then, it mostly pertained to the rules and ethics of combat rather than an honorable code as most think about it today." The pretty brunette looked somewhat bashful at the blank-faced stares Harry and Lavender were leveling towards her. "Sorry, both of my parents were Gryffindors. I'm a big fan of the House..." She quickly turned away, her curly brown hair hiding her face from view.

Harry shrugged blithely, utterly unconcerned with the detailed piece of history. He wasn't the chivalrous type, and he wasn't even going to pretend such was the case. Luckily, he doubted that he was alone. Nothing about Lavender struck him as chivalrous either.

"I better not be expected to be some kind of combat witch just because I was sorted into Gryffindor," Lavender urgently whispered to him. "Daddy took me to watch a dueling tournament once, and yeah, it was fun to watch – but I don't want to learn that stuff!"

Blood sport truly has no rival, Harry mused. The 'dueling circuit' was just a colloquialism for the many, many dueling tournaments that took place across the world; the scale of which varied from small, local tournaments to the grand championship featuring the best from around the world. Harry hadn't yet attended one of the tournaments himself, but they were supposed to be brutal. Deaths weren't the norm, but nor were they exceedingly rare. On the other hand, permanent injuries and maiming were far, far more common – apparently even healing magic had limits. Duels were an unholy combination largely born from the Ancient Roman's gladiatorial fights, fused with a smattering of rules inspired by Medieval Europe's honor duels. A violent blood sport between two individuals that could also be used as a staging ground for conflicts between Noble Houses. Harry couldn't wait to watch one in person.

"I doubt you'll have to, but I'm the wrong person to ask," Harry responded, though he was personally quite taken with the idea of learning combative magic.

"It would probably piss my mum off if I learned some dark curses though," Lavender murmured, finger tapping on her chin rhythmically. "You want to learn curses with me?"

"We should probably start with more basic spells, yeah?" Harry asked, he absolutely loved the girl's logic but made no comment on it. He knew she had issues with her mother, but it seemed to govern more of her decision-making process than he initially suspected.

"I guess... do you think Hogwarts has places where we can practice curses? Daddy never talked about learning curses, but then again he is a Hufflepuff."

Harry didn't question the continued assault on Hufflepuffs, apparently that's just how it worked in the magical world. "I'd assume so, I mean, did you see the size of this bloody castle? God, I can't wait to have a look around."

OoooOoooO

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

"Who's that shouting? That's the third time I've heard them."

"That'll be Black, lass. Rotten son of a bitch does that all the time. Shouts, rants, and raves about how he'll tear him apart with his teeth."

"Tear who apart?"

"Pettigrew."

"But Black already killed him!?"

"Welcome to Azkaban, Tonks. Most of the inmates here are crazy before they get locked up. Those that aren't crazy when they come in don't last long."

"And Black?"

"Your cousin is like your aunt. Both of them too mad, too far gone. They break the mold."

"They're not my family!"

"We all have family we hate, doesn't change the facts."

"I'm not claiming the two most infamous Death Eaters as my family, Mad-Eye."

"Heh, fair enough. Now, time to focus. Constant Vigilance! Dementors and scum are the only ones that call this place home, and we're marching straight into their nest."

"Wait, we don't need an escort or anything?"

"You're training to be an auror, Tonks. Aurors don't play by the same rules as everyone else. I filled up half of these cells by myself – I can damn well check on them without an escort."

"By yourself? Not even a part of a team?"

"I work better on my own most days. Now listen, once we're in there, don't cast a Patronus unless I tell you to."

"Ugh, another 'training exercise?'"

"Aye, you may know how to combat dementors, but can you handle their presence? When you're in the middle of a fight you won't have time to calmly muster up your courage and cast a Patronus. You'll already be in the thick of it, with a hooded demon from hell bearing down on you. I want you familiar with the affect dementors passively have, even beyond their rotten, soul-sucking desires."

"Wait, are we here for combat training?"

"Of course not! They may call me Mad, but throwing around spells in the vicinity of the monsters in here is just asking for a prison break. No one has ever escaped from this hell-hole before and I won't have us be the reason for the first one!"

"Yeah, that makes sense, but does that mean we're literally just here to walk around?"

"Walk around? Of course not! We're going to go sit in a cell for a few hours and I'm going to quiz you the entire time. Every question you get wrong is another five minutes of dodging practice in the Yard."

"Mad-Eye."

"Eh?"

"You're evil."

"You're the one that wanted me as a mentor, lass. Got Albus, Filius, and Pomona to sign that letter of recommendation and everything. Heh, I still can't say no to Pomona."

"That's a mental picture I didn't need, thanks."

"You'll get over being embarrassed or put off by uncomfortable topics and imagery soon enough. I'll teach you not to freeze up at the sign of entrails painting a wall, like hell I'm going to let you freeze up thanks to some old bastard's cock flying in the breeze."

"Please, like I haven't seen a cock before."

"You've never seen mine, and you certainly haven't seen Rowle's when its half melted and sprouting mushrooms."

"What kind of spell caused that?"

"A bloody good one."

"Well, I don't think I'd freeze up seeing that."

"Hah, I damn well hope not, but not freezing up isn't good enough. Just look at me – the thought of Rowle writhing on the ground helps me get to sleep on rainy nights when my leg is aching up a storm."

"There's no way that's a healthy mindset."

"Bah, like I give a damn. I'm still alive, aren't I? Rowle is rotting in this dungeon, no? Leave the niceties at the door, Tonks. Aurors don't have the time for them."

OoooOoooO

Daniel was already sick of the stares. He had mentally prepared himself for them for a while now, well aware of the fact that his fame would never be something that he could take off or avoid, but they still annoyed him. No one in their right mind would want to be famous because they were orphaned, no one. If most of his current watchers had even an ounce of empathy, then they'd turn the other direction. If they used their brains, they'd realize that staring at someone because their parents died is a shitty thing to do. But stare they did – grin and bear it he would.

"You alright there?" Neville quietly asked from his place next to Daniel, both new Gryffindors were enjoying the many varieties of foods and drinks spread out upon the table.

"Yeah, just wish more of these people would eat rather than stare at me when they think I can't see."

"Could be worse, at least they're not shaking your hand anymore," Neville said before taking a bite of the generous helping of Beef Wellington on his plate.

Daniel chuckled to himself at the strange manner in which some of the Gryffindors had reacted to his sorting into the House. The loud, extra-long cheering was expected, but he would have never guessed that people would trip over themselves just to share their names and shake his hand. "Seriously though, what was up with that?"

"You think Harry had everyone do that to embarrass you?" Neville asked, his head subtly gesturing towards Daniel's wayward twin.

Daniel took a moment to consider his elder brother as he animatedly spoke with Ron and three girls, Brown, Dunbar, and Patil if he recalled correctly. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that it was theoretically possible that Harry was to blame... "Oh, it was probably him," Daniel said with a grin.

"You sure? Because I only said it as a joke..."

Neville was likely only half-serious in his attempts to cast more aspersions on Harry's character, but as amusing as it was to think about, Daniel doubted that Harry was genuinely at fault. Their brotherly instinct was not at the level that it could have been if they had been raised together, but Daniel still thought he had a decent understanding of how his elder twin operated at this point. Besides, if Harry had been at fault, he would have undoubtedly taken credit already.

"Alright, what about you lot – Potter, Longbottom?" The heavy, Irish accent of one Seamus Finnigan interrupted Daniel's vengeful but entertaining thoughts.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking about something and missed what you said," Daniel replied

The sandy haired teen leaned in close to Daniel. "Right, so myself, Dean, Sally, Trinity, and Rose here," Seamus paused to gesture to the glasses wearing brunette and apparent co-conspirator that had leaned in next to him, "we're all planning on doing something together after the feast."

"My sister just graduated last year," Rose chimed in, "and she said the Gryffindors always throw a party first night back, but it always ends up splintering off into a bunch of smaller parties in the dorms after a few hours."

"And you all want to meet up?" Daniel asked, guessing what his fellow Gryffindors were thinking.

"Right in one, Potter," Seamus remarked, tipping his drink towards Daniel. "Not every first year needs to be fast friends on the first night, but I figured this group here could get together since we're already sitting together and all." The heavily freckled teen set his cup down and leaned in once more, eyes alight with anticipation. "So, you guys in?"

Daniel's eyes flickered over to Rose and the slight grin she wore, a grin that only grew when he raised an eyebrow towards her. Daniel may not have been as experienced to the ways of the world as Harry, but he wasn't completely naive. Hell, he'd made a point of grabbing one of the comparatively newer and thus less expensive bottles of whiskey that his parents had stored away and getting drunk with Neville as they sat around a bonfire a few weeks back. Harry's teasing was all in good fun, and it was clearly Harry's way of trying to establish a bond between the two of them, but Daniel would not allow his elder twin to maintain the worldly lead he currently held, not for long anyway. That was part of why he was so excited to be in Gryffindor rather than Hufflepuff like the hat seemed to be considering.

Gryffindors had a well-deserved reputation for being a bit on the wild side compared to the students of other houses. The stories Daniel had heard about his father were unrivaled in terms of both hilarity and vulgarity. The young teen could admit that his perspective was a bit skewed given the fact that all four of his parents had been in Gryffindor and so stories about that House were the only ones he'd ever had the chance to hear, but based on the values of each House the reputation seemed to check out.

Before Daniel had a chance to agree to hang out with his new House mates, Neville beat him to the punch. "Yeah, we're in," the tall blonde said confidently.

Daniel was delightfully surprised that his adopted brother was as interested as he was in experiencing new things now that they were at Hogwarts. Given the way they were raised, Daniel had half expected him to be strait-laced and boring, but the daring side of Neville showed up more than the rules abiding one.

"Excellent," Seamus said, rubbing his hands together. "We've got no set plans or anything, but I'll tell you now that I raided my mother's stash of liquor when she wasn't looking. I've got a fair number of bottles stowed in my trunk, and I'm more than happy to share."

"Brilliant," Daniel said. "Classes don't start until Wednesday, so it's not like we have to worry about tomorrow."

"My thoughts exactly, little brother!" Harry declared, claiming the small, open space next to Neville. The grinning teen nodded across the table at their fellow first years whose attention he had just gained. "Trinity Lynn there, sweet girl, blonde hair - anyway, she happened to mention to Lav that there was a party that was happening later on tonight, and I came over here to make sure Daniel got the memo. Lo and behold, he not only beat me to the punch, but he even got invited to the after-party before I did. I admit, little brother, I'm impressed."

Harry was as theatrical as ever, and apparently right at home with the Gryffindors that all seemed to find his antics amusing. Daniel couldn't blame them, he did as well.

"Well, if you lot are in, that brings us up to twelve, that's a good number I think," Seamus said, extending a hand for Harry to shake. "The name's Seamus Finnegan, in case you missed it, and I think most people know you by now."

That was the understatement of the year. Daniel had heard all the whispers that followed his twin. The fact that Harry seemed to saunter everywhere he went certainly didn't help. Daniel couldn't tell if the guy was actually enjoying the attention or not, but by all appearances it fit him like a glove.

"My little brother casts quite the shadow, but I do alright," Harry said, taking the freckled teen's proffered hand. "Did I hear correctly that you're bringing the booze?"

"That's right, my mum won't be happy when she notices how much I took."

"And how much would that be?" Harry asked eagerly, his eyes alight with anticipation.

"Let's see," Seamus began counting on his fingers. "Three bottles of Ogden's, two bottles of Blishen's, not as good in my opinion but some prefer it. I've got one large bottle of red currant rum, a 12-pack of Simison's, two bottles of Daisyroot Draught, and to top it off a bottle of Bungbarrel Mead."

"Oh, well that should be more than enough," Harry said happily. "I'll get you some gold later, yeah?"

Seamus waved off his offer. "You can if you want to, but I don't expect it. Da' always said drinks are better shared anyway."

"Good man, but I'll get you some gold anyway, it's only fair." Harry rose from his seat. "If you all will excuse me, I'm going to return from whence I came and share the absolutely splendid news that tonight we will all be getting drunk. Cheers."

"Your brother seems like a good bloke, Potter," Seamus said with a laugh.

Daniel gave his retreating brother's back a sideways glance and shrugged. "He's not bad, I suppose."

"You two don't seem that close despite being twins," Rose chimed in, her head laying in her palm. "How come?"

"Ahhh," Daniel scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Let's just say that we didn't grow up together and leave it at that."

Rose grimaced. "Sensitive topic then, sorry. That's my bad." The girl looked genuinely embarrassed for asking.

"Don't worry about, no way you could've known." Daniel was certain that at some point he'd snap at someone for asking that question, but it would only happen after he'd been asked many, many times after he'd made it clear it wasn't a topic he wished to discuss. Well, that was assuming Harry wasn't going to be super blasé about the whole thing. Daniel doubted he would be though. He liked to give off the impression that he was casual and easy-going all the time, but Daniel saw a different side of him in the coffee shop that day. Harry had a lot of anger he needed to work through. Daniel knew he wasn't a saint, but he was self-aware of how he had personally accepted and moved beyond his family's tragedy. Though it was understandable why, Harry had not done so, not yet at least.

"Gotta say, Nev," Daniel said, turning towards Neville, "didn't expect you to be the one saying yes to a party. What happened to keeping me out of trouble?"

Neville looked slightly bashful, shrugging as he deliberately took a drink.

"C'mon Nev, out with it."

"Just wanted to have some fun before classes started," Neville mumbled. "We were invited, so I figured why not?"

"Hey, I don't disagree, I was going to say yes for both of us if you hadn't." Daniel lowered his voice and jokingly jostled Neville with his elbow. "You're not about to change your mind now that Harry is coming, right?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "No, and for the last time I don't hate him."

"Could've fooled me," Daniel said, grabbing another slice of treacle tart for himself. Dinner had been amazing, but nothing was better than treacle tart.

"I said he was a dick, not a bad person."

"You literally censured him on the train for stealing food."

"That's because stealing is wrong!" Neville said, seemingly amazed that he was being challenged on that point.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at his adopted brother. "Food, Nev. He said he was stealing food."

"I still think he was exaggerating. Mum and dad said he lived in a nice neighborhood with a nice woman. Do you think they would somehow miss out on there not being enough food in the house? Really?"

That was actually a fair point. Alice and Frank were both former aurors, a career path that demanded attention to detail and seeing beyond the surface. They wouldn't miss anything. Harry had never given the impression that he was malicious, but he was rather fond of hyperbole and flaunting rules, that much was obvious. "You think he'd lie like that?" Daniel asked.

"I'll put it this way, the only House I was positive he wouldn't be in was Hufflepuff," Neville said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder where the yellow and black clad students were gathered.

"Who's a liar?" Rose asked, reentering the conversation once more.

"Harry," Neville declared without fanfare. "Though, I do think that's a harsh label. I just think he's prone to exaggeration."

Rose's face contorted into a puzzled expression. "Isn't that the same thing as lying?"

Neville waved his hand in a so-so gesture. "By the literal definition, sure, but I think they give off different impressions."

"I don't claim to know the guy, but that wouldn't surprise me," Rose agreed.

Daniel still wasn't certain either way, but he decided it wasn't even worth the effort to think about. It was in the past regardless, and grilling Harry on the subject after it had been settled on the train was fruitless. Better to just leave it as water under the bridge, move on, and enjoy treacle tart.

Daniel was spared further conversation on the subject by Dumbledore rising to the stand. In a similar way to McGonagall earlier, everyone got quiet suspiciously quickly.

"Ahem – now that we are all sufficiently fed and watered, I have a few quick announcements before I release you all to your dorms."

Daniel smiled fondly at seeing the old man in his element. Over the years Daniel had met the man quite a few times. Dumbledore would always visit two or three times a year, check the status of the wards, but also just talk or offer a gift for Christmas or birthdays. Daniel wouldn't go so far as to call the man his grandfather or anything, but he definitely considered him a family friend. Plus, he knew for certain that Dumbledore had been instrumental in keeping he and his family alive both during and after the war. Details still eluded him, but the snippets of conversation he'd overheard from his parents clued him in to as much. Luckily, his parents had always referred to him by either his last name or as 'Professor' themselves, so no adjustment was needed in regards to what he should call the man.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "First of all, I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is true to its name and remains forbidden beyond the border. First years, I recommend that you avoid it entirely."

Daniel wasn't surprised about that rule. The Forbidden Forest was one of only three magical nature preserves in Britain. A positively massive forest with all manner of magical creatures and fauna hiding within. Dad had promised to take him and Neville camping in there once they were ready for it. Daniel was still looking forward to that.

"As a reminder, if you are interested in playing Quidditch you will need to consult Madam Hooch for the proper form, and then turn that into your respective head of House for details on tryouts."

Daniel was still disappointed that he would have to wait a year to pursue Quidditch, he absolutely loved the game. Even by his lonesome he'd been running seeker drills on the grounds since the moment he first flew. Apparently Quidditch was in his blood, and that was a legacy he intended to honor.

"And finally," Dumbledore said, his voice stern, "I must warn you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off limits to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Daniel didn't have a death wish but even he was curious to see what was waiting within that corridor. The people in this castle that had the self-preservation instincts of a lemming didn't stand a chance. Merlin, did Harry stand a chance?

"Now, that is all from me," Dumbledore's voice was far more chipper than just seconds prior, "as usual the curfew tonight has been extended to eleven o'clock for those that wish to continue to enjoy the feast. There will be no roaming the corridors, but you may stay in the Great Hall and fraternize to your hearts' content should you so desire. Welcome back to Hogwarts!"

On cue most of the students rose to their feet and began heading off to their respective dormitories, with the odd few going out of their way to greet or join students from other Houses. Before Daniel even had a chance to wonder where he should be going, all the Gryffindor first years were rounded up by the two of the prefects, the youngest two if Daniel had to guess.

"All right everyone, listen up!" The blonde girl's voice carried pretty well, she was able to grab the attention of all forty or so Gryffindor first years without issue. "My name is Amira Barrett, and this is Percy Weasley, we're the fifth year prefects."

As if it was rehearsed, the guy, Percy, stepped forward the moment Amira stopped talking. "We will be guiding you to the dormitories today, and back down here to the Great Hall tomorrow morning at ten for any who wish to."

I think Ron had mentioned that he had a brother named Percy, I bet this is him, Daniel thought idly. While the offer to guide the new students tomorrow morning was appreciated, Daniel seriously doubted he was going to attend. It was already fairly late, and apparently he was due for a long night with his new House mates. It was a safe bet that he'd be sleeping in.

"Fair warning," Amira continued, "the castle is difficult to navigate for even experienced students, for those who are new it borders on impossible."

Again, the tall, glasses-wearing redhead picked up right where his companion had left off. "There are shifting corridors, secret passageways, and moving staircases, all of which may or may not work depending on the day."

Percy and Amira were far too synchronized for this not to be rehearsed. Daniel respected the effort, but he honestly wasn't sure who they were trying to impress, the teachers had already left the Great Hall. Perhaps that was presumptuous of him though, Mum always seemed to know exactly what he and Neville were up to regardless of where she was in the house.

"I will be leading while Percy brings up the rear, so none of you will get lost tonight, but please try and pay attention. I promise that it will help you out in the coming weeks."

The Gryffindor first years dutifully followed after the attractive prefect as she led them through the halls. Their route took them upstairs, then downstairs, through two secret passageways, behind a tapestry, up some more stairs, down a number of large corridors, and then up some more stairs. Left down that corridor, right down another, and then two more rights. Again, they went up even more stairs that were apparently only for going up, and a different set would be required to go down. Three more lefts followed by two rights, and then a final set of stairs and a landing. At the end of the landing stood a portrait of a very large woman lounging on a balcony, sipping wine in the breeze.

"How in the hell are we supposed to remember that?" Neville whispered to Daniel. "Seriously, how?"

"No clue," Daniel said, and he honestly meant it. All of the sudden that time his father had laughed when he said he would memorize all of Hogwarts made sense. This school was a bloody labyrinth.

"I know that journey was rather confusing," Percy declared, his voice carrying throughout the large chamber, "but I promise that it will get easier with time. Plus, if you have any questions you may ask not only the teachers and prefects, but any of the more helpful ghosts, paintings, and even suits of armor. I can't promise they'll always help you, but it doesn't hurt to try."

"This here," Amira said, drawing everyone's attention back towards her, "is the guardian of Gryffindor tower-"

"Oh, just call me the Fat Lady, dearies," the portrait of the woman said, interrupting Amira's introduction. "It's been my name for over two centuries so I'm rather fond of it at this point." The Fat Lady seemed like a fairly affable woman as far as Daniel could tell.

"Anways," Amira said somewhat tersely, apparently not fond of being interrupted, "the Fat Lady guards the entrance to our tower and will thus require a password to get inside. Fair warning, the password changes every week on Sunday, with new passwords posted on the announcements board inside the common room."

"Remember, dearies, no password, no entry. You'll be stuck outside until another Gryffindor comes along to let you in." Daniel recanted his opinion of the woman given how large her smile was when she spoke of locking people out. Further research was definitely required.

"The password this week is "Caput Draconis," Amira continued. "Oh, and do not share it with anyone outside of our House. Students from other Houses are allowed into our common room only if someone lets them in, understand?"

The infamous House rivalry in action, Daniel mused. The bitter relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin was the most frequently discussed rivalry, but it was no secret that all of the Houses had their fair share of spats with one another. According to his parents the rivalry was barely noticeable on most days, but during the weeks and months when it flared up, things could get rather heated.

"I'm done for," Neville muttered.

Daniel cocked his head quizzically. "Huh, why?"

"Do you not remember?" Neville asked, somewhat surprised. "Back when we were seven, we turned the attic into our clubhouse, remember?"

"Oh, that's right!" Daniel exclaimed, following the slowly ambling crowd as they funneled into the opening from when the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. "We set a password to get in, but you forgot it immediately!"

Neville grimaced, nodding sadly. "You changed it after that, but I still forgot it almost immediately. By day four it had been changed six times and I couldn't remember it even once."

"You're right, you're done for."

"Surely I've gotten better about that? Right?" Neville asked nervously.

Daniel shook his head in the negative. "After only nine years? Not a chance."

The inside of the common room reminded Daniel of a very large, very well-furnished, multi-tiered and floored circular living room. There were red couches and chairs all around the room, most of them already occupied by the older students. Along the walls where there weren't large fireplaces or pillow laden bay windows hung portraits and tapestries aplenty. Scattered around the outskirts were dozens of small tables and chairs that Daniel imagined would be good places to study in the evenings – assuming Gryffindors studied, that is. The center of the room was dominated by an extremely large hearth that extended into the upper floors. Thanks to the various sources of fire around the room, the ambient light was just enough to read and study in without ever feeling too bright. Daniel loved it.

A large whistle sounded from the corner of the room where a surprisingly short, but clearly older student given his facial hair, stood atop the table. "Alright, now that the firsties have joined us, it's time for the real start of term announcements!"

Oh, this should be good.

"For those of you who don't know me, my name is Ralphy Howard, prefect extraordinaire. No, I am not Head Boy, that honor belongs to a damn Puff this year."

Daniel was not prepared for the near universal booing that accompanied Ralphy's statement.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," the prefect dramatically clutched his chest. "If I had been Head Boy we could've gotten away with a lot more bull-shit."

That was not the direction Daniel expected that apology to turn. Hermione's scandalized face suggested that she too was surprised by this outcome

"Plus, I lost to a Puff, at least Hallie only lost to a Ravenclaw."

Do all Gryffindor's hate Hufflepuffs? Daniel wondered; a tad bit self-conscious of the fact that he himself was almost a 'Puff.'

"But hey," Ralphy continued, "we can't all be Bill Weasleys, now can we?"

The cheers that echoed throughout the room at the mention of another one of Ron's older brothers was surprising. The bloke had been very popular if this reaction was anything to go by. Daniel hadn't talked to Ron that much, but he almost felt for the guy, that was quite the legacy to live up to.

"Here's to you, Bill, you beautiful bastard, you," Ralphy said, raising the bottle of whiskey that was suddenly in his hand skyward before taking a large swig. "Ah, and speaking of Weasleys, now that Charlie is no longer with us, Wood is our new Captain." Ralphy pointed to a tall, serious looking guy with a buzz-cut. "If you want on the team go through all the shit Dumbledore mentioned but also talk to Wood. He'll be arranging try-outs soon. Wood! What positions are we filling?"

"One chaser and a seeker as starters, reserves for the whole team," Wood called back. "Oh, and first years are allowed to try out for reserves. Get your name in early for next year. You won't play in games, of course, but you'll still be useful for scrims and drills."

"There you have it, kiddos!" Ralphy said, looking straight at the first years who were still largely congregated together.

Daniel quickly scanned the group to look for Harry and instead found him sitting halfway across the room on a couch alongside the same four people he'd spent the entire feast talking to. How did he make it over there so quickly?

"Next on this list is a fair warning to all you firsties – Professor Snape fucking hates us." Not a single person in the room laughed or jeered. "You may think that's an exaggeration, but it's not. Snape is the potion's professor, and he's going to make your lives are hell. Oh sure, he grades fairly, but he's a sardonic ass that won't hesitate to insult you, your family, your dead cat – hell, even your neighbor's cousin isn't safe."

Daniel had heard mention of Severus Snape more than a few times in his life. The man had loathed his father, at one point been friends with his mother before that friendship eroded into ash. Daniel knew that he had fought for their side during the war against Voldemort, but his dad said that he was still a piece of work. Apparently, nothing had changed.

"General stuff that honestly everyone could use a reminder on: NO duels in the common room. Take that shit to the corridor outside or I will personally have Hallie beat your ass into next week, and we all know she can."

Hallie's smug face and the odd shudder of fear from the other students was confirmation enough for Daniel to believe the girl was not worth pissing off. Ever.

Ralphy pointed to all the couches and chairs. "Older students get priority seating. No one cares that it's not fair to the younger students - deal with it, that's what the rest of us have done. What else, hm?" Ralphy paused and bent down so Hallie could speak into his ear. "That's right! Thank you, Hallie! This is for everyone – do not, I repeat, DO NOT bring any weird or dangerous creatures into the common room! A few years back some asshole decided to try and raise some Horklumps in here. Those little mushroom shits ended up releasing spores that stank up the common room for weeks! So, don't bring in anything weird! Owls, cats, and if you have one for some ungodly reason, toads, I guess. Otherwise, keep the damn creatures out! Capisce? Good."

That rule was more than fine for Daniel. While he didn't dislike most pets, he also wasn't the biggest animal person. He had his owl, Hedwig, and she was perfect for him.

"Oh, one more thing for you all to note," Ralphy said, holding up his index finger, the fact that the bottle of whiskey was in the same hand certainly added to the imagery. "The House Cup… here in Gryffindor, we really don't care about it. No seriously, we don't. Gryffindor hasn't won that blasted thing in the last seventeen years, and I doubt that's going to change just because it's 1991. As nice as benefits like the later curfew, special bathhouses, extra feasts, and priority quidditch pitch access are, well…" Ralphy paused for dramatic effect, "they're not worth kissing ass for an entire year!"

Ralphy's words were punctuated by a large cheer from the rest of the House, music was immediately blared from an unknown source, and drinks suddenly started being poured. Ralphy continued shouting even over the loud music. "REMEMBER, KIDS – DON'T EMBARRASS THE HOUSE AND WELCOME TO GRYFFINDOR!"

As Daniel let himself get pulled along by Rose into a whirlwind of drinking, talking, and even some dancing, he knew that he was going to love his time at Hogwarts.

OoooOoooO

"Hey, Remus. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."

"I only agreed because I knew your boys would already be at Hogwarts."

"You still don't want to see either of them? Even after all these years?"

"No, Alice, I don't. Not after failing him as I did."

"Self-pity never was a good look on you."

"Spare me your spiel, we both know I've heard it a dozen times."

"Then do something about it, damn it!"

". . . Why'd you want to see me, Alice?"

"I wanted to ask you to meet with the boys."

"No."

"Will you at least hear me out? Please? This isn't about me, hell, it's barely even about Daniel."

". . . Harry?"

"Yes."

"What about him? He should've started Hogwarts this year without issue. What happened to him?"

"He's fine, Remus, he's fine. Perfectly healthy, just some emotional scars to deal with."

"If his life isn't in danger, then I'm not seeing him."

"Even if he hates Frank and I?"

"What?"

"Well, hate may be a strong word, but he's not fond of us. I don't know what I expected him to feel towards me, but it's clear he hasn't forgiven me at all, let alone trust me."

". . ."

"Anyway, this isn't about me. What I wanted to ask you was if you'd speak with him about James, tell him stories of your Hogwarts days."

"You were friends with James too, I'm sure you can share plenty."

"Remus, please. I was friends with James, but you were his brother."

"Why ask now, and why just for Harry?"

"I've asked you to be a part of Daniel's life plenty of times!"

"Don't deflect the question. I mean this specific reason, at this specific time. Why now?"

"Because Harry reminds me of James. Don't get me wrong, I see James in Daniel too, especially his looks, but with Harry it's different. His approach to life, his sense of humor, the way he sees everything around him as another way to have fun."

"Yeah… that sounds like James."

"Harry is rougher around the edges than James ever was, but he's also less spoiled, a bit more emotionally mature."

". . ."

"He only agreed to meet me in person once, and he spent a good portion of that meeting furious at me, but since then he hasn't said a word to me. He said I was allowed to write to him, but he doesn't write back. I just thought it'd be good for him if you'd do the same. It'd be good for both of you, actually."

"If Harry is loath to speak with you, why would he speak with me? I never even made an attempt to be in his life."

"Because technically, you didn't have an obligation to."

"THE HELL I DIDN'T!"

"Remus…"

"Fuck… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Damn it, Remus, sit back down! Now!"
". . ."

"Thank you… Now, look, I think Harry blames me more than anyone else. I was the only person who betrayed the job his parents entrusted unto me. Okay? I'm not saying he'll be immediately thrilled to meet you, but-"

"Do you know what Daniel and Harry called me shortly after they turned one? Do you?"

"No, I don't…"

"They called me 'Unc Rem.' I never even tried to teach them my full name, and Lily ran with Rem. They barely had 'unc' down, and a few weeks after their birthday they called me 'Unc Rem.' No prompting or encouragement was needed. They just recognized me when I walked in while they were all eating dinner."

"Oh, Remus…"

"Don't… don't you ever fucking tell me I didn't have an obligation to those boys! Don't you dare! I had one! I had one, and I failed! A werewolf could never raise a child, I know that – but a werewolf should've been able to sniff out a traitor! I should've been able to murder that son of a bitch before he ever had the chance to betray them! I should've protected them… all of them."

"It's not too late to protect them, you know?"

"I know…"

OoooOoooO

Harry wasn't sure it was possible to have a better first night at Hogwarts than what he'd experienced so far. The feast had started strong when he quickly befriended Parvati and Fay alongside his already budding friendships with Ron and Lavender. Then, the night got even better when he learned that not only were Gryffindors even more wild and carefree than he'd expected, but that they threw great parties with lots of free liquor! Hours had passed since the glorious party first began, and Harry had since moved onto what he jokingly dubbed 'the after party' with a group of fellow sixteen-year old students.

Harry, Ron, Lavender, Parvati, Fay, Dean, Seamus, Trinity, and much to Harry's surprise, Hermione had all gathered into Dean and Seamus' twin room. Daniel was originally supposed to join them, but the last time Harry had seen his little brother he was being straddled by some bird as they snogged. Harry enjoyed tormenting his younger twin, but not even he was cruel enough to try and interrupt a lovely experience like that. As for Neville, last he'd seen of the poor bloke was when he was passed out on the floor missing his shirt and one pant leg. Harry was kind enough to grab him a pillow before he went upstairs.

Of the missing individuals, Neville was for sure the one who was going to regret passing out early the most. After congregating in the room, finding a nice wizarding wireless to turn on, and opening a few of the bottles so generously provided by Seamus – Parvati, bless the girl, had suggested a game of truth or dare. Harry hadn't been that surprised to find that the infamous party game had made its way into wizarding society; and after thinking about it for a second, he wasn't surprised that Parvati was the one to suggest playing it either.

The game had started off innocent enough, but as more drinks were had, the more the stakes were raised. Harry was honestly rather pleased with the results. Dean, after performing a lap dance for first Trinity then Ron, was dared to wear nothing but Lavender's skirt for the rest of the evening. Over the course of a few dares, Lavender, after losing her skirt, proceeded to lose the rest of her clothes including her bra, snogged Fay, Ron, and Harry, then gave Seamus a hand-job in private. Upon their return, Harry had never seen a bloke look so happy in all his life. Ron was shirtless and had successfully played with both Parvati's tits and Fay's ass. Trinity got fingered by Dean, and based on the noises the guy certainly knew what he was doing. Fay, who was wearing nothing but her knickers, had been dared to sit in Seamus' lap for the rest of the evening when he too was down to nothing but his small clothes. Parvati performed a striptease for everyone – a routine she seemed quite well practiced in. Harry was down to nothing but his shorts and Lavender's tie, surprisingly enough. Personally, his most risqué dare involved sporting a hard-on in front of everybody, generously fluffed by none other than Trinity. Harry was rather content with that dare, it felt good and he had no shame.

There had been other, more varied dares as well. Harry did a shot from Fay's bellybutton, Seamus was dared to kiss Dean, Ron and Trinity had to go retrieve something from the common room after stripping down, Lavender and Harry had to smack the ass of everybody in the room. The list was both long and enjoyable for all. By the time things were finished, they were just a bunch of drunk, horny teenagers seeing how far they could push each other. Well, everyone except for Hermione. Harry had to give her credit where it was due, she was a better sport than he was anticipating. Hell, when he'd first found her after the party began, she'd been adamantly against even taking a single drink. A bit of peer pressure later and she was at least willing to try a single glass; and as the night went on, she was progressively more comfortable with upping the ante. Though it took a fair bit of time, eventually the normally stuck-up girl was as intoxicated as the rest of them. When it was her turn in the game once more, she surprised everyone by choosing 'dare' for the first time. Lavender, bless her, assumed it was their one and only chance so she went for broke and dared Hermione to strip completely naked. No one who had met the girl could believe it when she actually did so. Accompanied by the raucous cheers of all present, Hermione Granger ducked under the covers and slowly threw out every single article of clothing she had once been wearing. No one saw an ounce of skin beyond her very, very flushed face, but Harry still considered it one of the highlights of the evening.

Harry smiled fondly at the many memories the night had spawned and took a drink of Daisyroot Draught, his cigarette held off to the side. The fruity liquor was, much to his surprise, not overly sweet and thus very good straight. Cigarette once more held in his mouth; he fell backwards onto his bed, utterly unconcerned where the majority of his clothes had vanished to. His pants he kept close at hand though, he couldn't risk losing his smokes. The game between the teens had long since come to a close: Ron, Seamus, and Fay were all passed out on the bed together in various states of undress. Hermione had taken her bedspread laden self and snuck off to her room. Dean and Trinity had snuck off to someplace private together. That just left Lavender, Parvati, and himself still in the room.

Almost as if on queue both girls fell onto the bed on either side of him. Harry definitely did not have the most discerning eye at that moment, but he could swear that Parvati was wearing his shirt while Lavender had his robe… "You mind?" Lavender asked, removing the cigarette from Harry's mouth and sticking it in her own before he could say anything.

The expected cough and sputter never came. "You've smoked before," Harry accused.

"Mhm," Lavender nodded, exhaling a cloud of exotic smoke. "Daddy smokes pipes, I figured it was the same thing."

"You're not wrong," Harry mumbled, sitting up and reaching off the bed to retrieve his wand and preferred brand of cigarettes. "Want one?" He asked, extending the open packet towards the rather languid Parvati laying on her side.

"Sure, why not?" She craned her head forward and let Harry place it in her mouth.

"Breathe it in slowly, let it rest at the back of your throat a bit, then inhale," He warned. As amusing as it could be to see people coughing because of their first cigarette, he had seen it enough that he didn't really care to see it anymore. With an already well practiced movement Harry had both his and Parvati's smokes lit in a flash before he fell back into his previous spot as if he'd never budged an inch.

For a few minutes no one said a word. The silence wasn't awkward at all, the wizarding wireless was playing a cover of Phil Collins' Against All Odds, and the trio was content to enjoy their smokes. Harry idly took notice of the fact that the girls were communicating without actually saying a word, but he didn't even try to translate it – if it concerned him then he'd figure it out later.

"Ugh, fine," Lavender suddenly whined. She swung her legs off the bed and shakily stood up. "Ah, fuck."

"You good?" Harry asked, concerned that his new friend was about to faceplant the floor. The only reply being a thumbs up was not the most reassuring of gestures.

"For Merlin's sake, lay down and sleep here, Lav," Parvati said, patting the bed. "Don't worry, we'll leave."

Harry raised a single eyebrow. "Oh? We will?" Smoke gently poured from his mouth as he turned to look at the girl named after the Hindu goddess of beauty.

"Yes, we will," she teased, one of her hands reaching forward to ghost over his clothed crotch.

Well, Harry certainly wasn't the type of guy that would argue with an invitation like that. He winked at Parvati and then rolled over towards Lavender. "Hey," he said, pulling the drunken girl towards the bed. "Rest here, you've got the bed all to yourself."

"All for me?" Lavender asked cutely as snuggled into the sheets.

"All yours."

"Mkay, night Harry, have fun…" The girl's eyes were closed after the first word.

Harry rose from the bed and took Parvati's hand to lead the girl back to the room that had been marked as his and Ron's. How the rooms had been divided he still wasn't sure, but that was a question for another, more sober occasion. The sound of music, laughter, and even dancing still echoed from the common room proper.

The two hadn't yet made it back to the room when Parvati's hand circled the back of his neck and pulled his head down into a rough, fevered kiss. Their lips met as Harry's hand instinctively fell to the girl's toned hips. Harry shifted away from the kiss, his lips trailing along her jaw until he was able to whisper in her ear. "Just couldn't wait until we were someplace, private, huh?" His voice, rougher than normal, made Parvati shiver as her hands dragged down his chest, nails leaving a soft, white marks in their wake. Harry sealed her mouth with his, her answer turning into a moan as his tongue swirled around hers. She tasted like red currant rum and the smoke he was oh so familiar with. He wasn't sure he'd ever associate with her anything else...

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry held himself up on his forearms, his head bent forward and resting against her shoulder. With a small heave he pushed himself off of her, laying on the bed directly parallel to the nearly breathless girl – not that he could judge, he was still completely winded himself. Parvati rolled over, turning his arm into a pillow as their legs became entangled. Brown eyes met green and she began to giggle. Harry raised an eyebrow, both amused and confused at the sudden bout of laughter from the nude girl. “I was that bad, huh?” Harry teased. Once upon a time he’d asked that question genuinely scared of the answer, but those days were but a distant memory.

“Oh, please, we both know you weren’t,” Parvati assuaged his non-existent anxiety as her fingers idly traced his build. “I’m just laughing at my family’s reaction if they knew I’d shagged one of the first guys I met on my first night in the castle.”

“Furious I take it?” Harry asked as he rose from the bed.

Parvati watched him as he lit his cigarette with the ease of a long habit. “My dad would be mad, but mum would only be ‘disappointed.’”

Harry savored the pleasant warmth at the back of his throat as he climbed back into the bed. “And your sister?”

A wicked grin rose to her face. “Once I give her the details… jealous.”

Harry laughed as a surged of confidence welled within him – whether it was the lingering alcohol in his system, the bliss from good sex, or just his slowly rising ego he wasn’t sure. “Tell her that if she’s interested, she knows where to find me.”

“Did you really just offer to fuck my sister while I’m still naked in your bed?” Parvati asked, utterly amazed.

Harry exhaled a puff of smoke as he offered her a cigarette. “Maybe.”

“You’re incorrigible.” The second cigarette was plucked from his hands.

“You like it.”

“Maybe,” Parvati laughed, the fag in her hand outstretched as she propped herself up on the pillows, “now light this thing already.”

Harry obliged the girl via his favorite and most practiced spell. “Flamma Vus,” he said. One of his favorite aesthetics was a naked girl smoking in bed. It was an experience he considered himself fortunate enough to have seen multiple times in person, and it was no different with Parvati. Even with her admittedly novice technique with smoking, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She exhaled a large cloud. “Seriously, why do I keep saying yes to these things they taste awful?”

“Because they go excellently with sex and alcohol.”

“I guess,” Parvati said, the fag rising to her lips. “I’ll pass on the booze though. I’d actually like to be able to wake up tomorrow.”

“Probably smart,” Harry murmured, “I hope that doesn’t mean you plan on going to sleep soon though?” This was the first time he’d gotten laid in months; he really didn’t want it to end so quickly.

“And miss out on another round of that?” Parvati scoffed as she rolled over, now perpendicular to him with her head resting on his chest. “We’re going to start round two as soon as you’re ready.”

Harry basked in the praise. “You sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego, huh?”

Parvati tilted her head, smiling up at him. “I’m not about to lie and say that wasn’t really good sex, but don’t let it go to your head – you’re not the only guy to actually make me finish.”

“Duly noted,” Harry said, internally allowing the compliment to indeed go to his head. “But come on, you can’t blame me for being a bit proud after hearing that?” He blew a stream of smoke off to the side and away from her face, making a mental note to look up scent defusal spells soon, Ron probably wouldn’t appreciate their shared room smelling like smoke all the time – or sex for that matter.

Parvati tapped her chin in thought, “alright, that’s fair, but you have to keep that level of performance up until we both pass out. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Harry wasn’t sure what time it was when they both fell asleep, but he made damn sure that he kept up his end of the bargain.

Chapter Text

"I will never understand some of the patients I get, Ted. I don't know how they manage to cause these injuries to themselves. Just today I had a patient that said his hand was hurting. Not only was his hand COMPLETELY gone but seared against his ribs were three of his fingers! They were actually seared against the bones too! Under the skin! And here's the thing, I believe him when he says it was an accident, because if there was a spell that caused those effects, then I promise you the Blacks would've had it in their library." -Andromeda Tonks to her husband while he cooked dinner. March 1982.

Chapter 10:

"Ow…" The morning light waged a war against Harry Evans with all the subtlety of a bludger stuck in a cabinet filled with fine porcelain. Whatever time it was, it was probably too early given the events of the previous night. He hadn't even gotten that drunk, or so he assumed anyways, alcohol memories were always a bit skewed… but regardless, it had been a long day and an equally long night. Harry rose to a sitting position and through squinted eyes made his first of many attempts to take in his surroundings. It took a while, but he eventually discerned that his clothes were where he'd left them, Parvati was slowly stirring from her slumber next to him, and it appeared that no one had disturbed anything else in the room. "Perfect," he mumbled through a yawn.

The thought of going back to sleep was an enticing one, but it was his dry mouth above all else that convinced him to try and stumble to the nearest source of cold water. Situated on top of one of the dressers was a pitcher of cold water and two glasses. The tray even had ice cubes still floating in it, whether that was due to magic or the recency of their placement Harry wasn't sure. He had already fallen in love with Hogwarts' house elves after the previous evening's feast, but the fact that they had cold water waiting for him once he woke up solidified his love forever – he would now die for them without question.

Between the ice-cold water soothing his throat, the hot shower to soothe his body, and a series of other hygiene related activities, Harry felt like he honestly stood a chance at accomplishing something that day. When Harry exited the bathroom connected to his room, he found Parvati in the process of waking up. "Morning," he murmured, crouching down to dig to into his trunk so that he could wear something besides a towel.

Parvati muttered 'tempus' as she waved her wand through the air. "Afternoon at this point," she yawned deeply, "it's already past one. How late were we up?"

"No clue," Harry chuckled as he put on his clothes, jeans and a flannel as was habit, "but I'm pretty sure we missed our guided tour back to the Great Hall."

"That's their fault for scheduling it so early…" Parvati craned her neck so she could see all around the bed. "Have you seen my panties?"

Harry retrieved the jumbled-up cloth and tossed it onto the bed. A few seconds later a pair of his pajama pants and a t-shirt followed suit. "Here, you can wear these to get to your dorm, I don't imagine you're keen on giving everyone currently in the common room a free show."

"I'm way too sober to give them a free-show," she said, stretching in bed and giving Harry an excellent view in the process.

"I couldn't tell who enjoyed your little dance last night more, everyone watching or yourself," he teased.

Parvati smirked as she stepped out of the bed. "What can I say, I love to dance."

"Does Hogwarts have dances?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing he had no clue if Hogwarts had the same types of social events that were so common among muggles.

"One in the fall, one in the spring," her voice briefly muffled as she pulled the shirt over her head. "Did no one ever tell you?" She asked confusedly.

"Muggle raised," was Harry's succinct reply as he took a seat on the small stone ledge of the window. He opened the window and let in an extremely pleasant breeze. "Cigarettes didn't clue you in to as much?"

"Honestly didn't even think about it. Those things aren't common, but you're not the first person I've seen with them or anything."

Harry inhaled deeply on his freshly lit fag. "Fair point," he acknowledged, the smoke being carried out the open window.

Parvati waved off his offer to smoke as well but joined him on the ledge. "So, just to be clear…" She paused briefly before looking him in the eyes, "you're not interested in a relationship, right?"

"Right," Harry nodded, enjoying his smoke before clarifying. "I like you, Parvati, and the sex was great but I'm not about to get into a romantic relationship my second day at Hogwarts." The visible sigh of relief made him chuckle. "A bit nervous about my response, huh?"

"Fun fact: telling guys you don't want to date them when they think you're into them isn't fun. At all," Parvati began running her fingers through her hair, unraveling the occasional knot. "Not like any of them got that aggressive or anything, but it's not a very pleasant conversation regardless."

"I imagine not," Harry murmured, quite grateful that he'd only had to deal with a clingy girl once. He hadn't even slept with her, but apparently in her brain making out at a party meant they were together… she tried to kick him when he explained his utter lack of interest in a committed relationship. Unsurprisingly, they hadn't spoken since.

"I'm going to go take that shower now," Parvati said, standing to her feet. "We should definitely do this again sometime – not tonight though, I'm way too sore for that and I really should make sure I have everything ready for classes."

Harry wasn't surprised that Parvati had a side to her that was still focused and interested in their studies. Padma had spoken highly of her intelligence, and that girl had been sorted into Ravenclaw almost the second the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. They hadn't had a ton of intellectually stimulating conversation at the party thanks to all the alcohol, but even at dinner Parvati had proved there was more to her than just being a flirt. "Agreed on all accounts."

"Perfect," she said, walking towards the door. Before she left, she turned around and flashed him her breasts, a cheeky smile on her face. "And that's for you to think about until next time."

"Get out already before you turn me on again," Harry called at her as she exited the room, giggling at him all the way. "Damned tease." He retrieved his ashtray from his trunk and placed it on the ledge that was likely going to become his favored place to smoke.

"Time to go find Ron," he muttered, and headed off to Dean and Seamus' room, the last place he'd seen the majority of his new friends. Once he arrived, the sight that awaited him inside the room made him desperately wish he'd thought to purchase a camera, and he immediately resolved to owl-order one that day. Ron and Seamus were spooning on the bed while Fay was half draped over them, half falling off the bed – meanwhile Lavender was still asleep, utterly content on the other bed, somehow with both bedspreads on top of her when Harry was certain she'd only had one when he left. Given that the shower was running, Harry presumed that Dean had also returned.

Skirting the many empty bottles and stray articles of clothing scattered about the room, Harry decided to be the guy everyone was going to hate and opened the curtains with a single, sudden movement. "Wakey wakey!" He shouted, his voice and the sun's rays streaming into the room working in concert to wage war on everyone's senses. The annoyed and slightly pained groans of Fay, Seamus, and Ron were like music to his ears. Lavender, on the other hand, didn't move an inch.

"Bloody hell, Harry?" Fay mumbled. She then shifted, apparently not realizing the precarious position in which she lay and tumbled off the bed, her squeal of surprise also making him laugh. He enjoyed doing this to people a bit too much, even with the black eye it had once earned him when one of his friends instinctually threw the first thing they could find, a half empty can of beer… they really were such fond memories.

"Come on, kids, time to wake up."

"Wha – what time is it?" Ron asked, arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the sun's evil rays.

"Late, now hop to it," Harry called, taking a seat on the bed next to Lavender, who had still barely so much as stirred. Something in the back of his mind told him that if he tried to wake her up with his usual methods then he'd end up with far worse than just a bruised eye. "Hey," he lightly shook her shoulder, "time to wake up, Lav."

The blonde girl mumbled something that was completely unintelligible and rolled away from him, pulling the bedspread over her eyes as she did so. A small smile came unbidden to his lips as he was reminded of Sarah. His foster sister had a habit of doing the exact same thing. Hiding under the blankets was by no means unique to the two girls, but the reminder of the pseudo-sister he hadn't seen in months was a nice one all the same. Sarah had never taken kindly to being woken up after a late night herself, so he decided to take that as a hint and leave Lavender to her slumber.

"I need food," Ron yawned, stumbling to his feet as he haphazardly pulled up his pants.

"You need a shower first." Harry glanced at his alcohol-stained clothes. "You should probably change as well, if I'm being honest."

Ron pulled his shirt up to smell it and instantly recoiled. "Yeah, you got a point there, mate."

"Hey," Fay said, rubbing her eyes as she addressed the room at large. "I don't know whose pants these are, but I'll get them back to you later."

"No one cares about any damn trousers, has anyone seen my wand?" Seamus was scrambling about on his hands and knees, desperately searching for his apparently missing wand. Poor bastard.

"Day one, and you already lost your wand?" Ron asked, utterly incredulous at the Irish teen.

"Well forgive me for being a bit preoccupied last night!" Seamus bit back, his voice muffled as he leaned down to look under one of the beds.

Harry snickered as he exited the room, Fay right behind him. "I'll wait for you in the common room, Ron," he called back."

"Seriously, where the fuck is my wand?!" Seamus' nervous cry was the last sound Harry heard from the room before the door closed behind him.

"Poor bloke," Harry began idly chatting with Fay as they walked, or lumbered in her case, in the same direction. Even after only having it a few months, the black-haired teen couldn't imagine not having his wand readily accessible.

Fay shrugged, another yawn coming unbidden to her lips. "Eh, I'm sure he'll find it before classes start."

"You really think it will take him that long?" Harry asked, not sure if he should be laughing or genuinely concerned for his friend's lost wand.

Fay shrugged cutely. "Not sure, I passed out. For all I know someone ended up throwing it out the window or shoving it up their ass."

Full, unbridled laughter erupted from Harry, his volume unknowingly making the girl alongside him recoil thanks to her hangover. Comments like that were why Harry had quickly befriended Fay during the sorting ceremony – she never hesitated to say what was on her mind.

"Hey, it's not that ludicrous of a thought! After last night it's obvious some of you are into some more kinky stuff, how am I supposed to know how far you all went?"

Harry could not be prouder of the first impression he and the others had left on her. "You were apart of that game just as much as the rest of us, Fay," Harry teased as the two stopped their walk, now just standing in the middle of one of the connecting hallways between the various dorm rooms. "Weren't you the one that dared Lav and I to smack everyone's ass, including yours?"

A light flush painted Fay's features, the only visual sign that Harry's comment had landed at all. "I didn't deny that I may or may not be included on that list."

Harry smirked at the shorter girl but chose to let the topic lie, the memory had already been brought back up and that was more than enough for him. "Regardless, Parvati and I were the last ones awake in that room and no one dared anyone to do anything with Seamus' wand. It's probably just laying under Lav or something."

The two resumed walking, Harry idly following the girl since he had nothing better to do as Fay chuckled lightly. "That might be just as bad, honestly, she seemed pretty out of it still and if I were him, I wouldn't try waking her."

"If we hear Seamus' pained screams, I think we'll be able to assume what happened."

Fay shook her head, stepping over the sleeping form of an older student that was passed out in the middle of the hallway, the guy in question had both pillows and blankets though so Harry assumed he was okay. "I don't think Seamus is that thick. He's not exactly the brightest candle if you know what I mean, but he's not that bad."

Harry could agree with that assessment. Despite how enjoyable it was to laugh at Seamus' expense, the guy seemed to enjoy being the class clown, as it were, rather than legitimately being an idiot.

"Katie! Open the goddamn door already!" A girl in nothing but a towel shouted as she slammed her hand on an apparently locked door.

"In a minute~" a far too cheerful voice sang from inside the room.

"Fucking bitch…" towel-girl muttered to herself, slamming on the door thrice more. "KATIE!"

Harry almost made to stop and question what was going on since he was absolutely certain there was some very entertaining drama to be found, but he decided against it at the last second.

"Good call not getting involved in that one," Fay murmured, her head craning back to catch a final glimpse of towel-girl before they rounded the bend. "She was cute, but that is going to turn into violence, mark my words."

"Are you trying to get me to go back and watch?" Harry asked, confused since the thought of combat magic being flung at one another by two presumably pretty girls sounded like a lovely way to kickstart his day. Harry was well aware he had issues.

Fay rolled her eyes but still she smiled. "You're incorrigible."

Harry smiled at the girl's words that unknowingly echoed Parvati's from the previous night. "I take that as a compliment."

"Just proving my point," Fay said, rubbing her eyes with one hand as she pointed towards the door on their right. "This is me, are you going to be waiting in the common room?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I'm presuming we're going to get lost on our way to lunch so might as well get lost as a group, right?"

"That works for me," Fay began scrunching up her curly hair. "I probably won't be too long; I'm not going to bother washing this yet." Fay brought up a strand to her nose. "I don't think it smells like Ogden's…" She trailed off uncertainly.

Harry pitied the girl for her dilemma; he'd heard from numerous people he knew over the years that washing curly hair was a particularly difficult science and was a different beast for every person. The constant battle between trying to maintain the natural oils that kept the curls versus the desire to stay clean and healthy was one Harry was glad he did not have to deal with.

"Are you asking me?" Harry said.

"No… yes… maybe?" Fay held out a strand of her hair. "Do I smell like booze or Merlin forbid, Seamus' cologne?"

"Seamus was wearing cologne?"

"Not enough to be annoying or anything, it smelled pretty good honestly, but I don't want to smell like him all day," Fay clarified, still holding her hair out. "Come on, help me out I can't tell if it's me, the clothes, or what."

One whiff was all it took for Harry to realize it was most assuredly the clothes. "You're safe, someone must have spilled a drink or two last night."

"Perfect. Merlin, I cannot wait to learn some charms to help me out with problems like this," Fay walked into her room, leaving the door open behind her as she talked, so Harry assumed it was okay to follow. "Spells like that are a bit advanced compared to the shit I can do now, which is why I always had my mum help me out at home but she's obviously not here now."

Harry leaned back onto the bed as Fay began to dig through her magically enlarged trunk. "I thought they sold products that could help out with that stuff?"

"They do," Fay said, tossing clothes onto the bed, so far Harry had caught sight of some leggings, a pair of denim shorts, and an oversized t-shirt. "But I don't know, I've never been a big fan of the products I've tried. I might have to give in and use them for now, but I was a much bigger fan of natural methods combined with a few spells my mum knew."

"Thank you for the reminder of how much I love my simple and easy hair," Harry laughed, fiddling with his horribly messy, untamed, but miraculously knot free mop of hair. "Aside from occasionally tying it up when it gets too long, I don't really have to do anything but occasionally brush it."

Fay just stared at him blankly before throwing her socks at him. "And you don't bother with make-up either!"

"Isn't being me great?"

"Oh, just get out of here and go wait in the common room already!" Fay said, making her way to the bathroom with a towel in hand. "And close that door behind you, please."

Harry waved his hand as a reply as he exited the dorm. The sooner his friends gathered the better in his mind, he desperately wanted something caffeinated. Though, given the fact that they still had to navigate the magical school his desires were likely going to be shelved for a bit. Harry made his way to the common room and decided to join the first friendly face he knew seated at a table. Though, friendly might have been a stretch when it came to describing the seemingly tired and regretful duo of Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger at least appeared to be awake and alert given that she was already reading and taking notes, but the bags under her eyes combined with the slightly more frazzled hair compared to the day prior seemed to suggest a rough morning. Neville, on the other hand, was face down on the table using his arms as a substitute for a pillow. Harry wasn't the biggest fan of either of the two individuals in question, but nor did he particularly dislike them either. Well, Nev depending on the day could be a prat, but after the previous evening Harry had plenty of ammunition to work with so he decided to take a chance. Plus, conversation was more entertaining than sitting alone. If Harry had been thinking ahead then he would've grabbed a book to read while he waited but given that he likely wouldn't be waiting long he forwent the decision to walk back up to his dorm.

"Morning, friends!" Harry proclaimed, taking the seat adjacent to Hermione.

"It's the afternoon, actually," Hermione murmured, glancing at Harry out of the corner of her eye as she continued to read her book.

"Same difference, we had a long night after all, and some of us stayed up a bit after you adjourned for the evening." Harry noticed Hermione flushed lightly at the reference to the prior night but didn't press further.

Neville groaned lightly from his place on the table. "You're… surprisingly chipper right now. I figured you'd be as hungover as the rest of us."

"I've got a moderately sized headache, but little else… which is a bit surprising now that you mention it. I'm good, but I'm not normally this good." Harry genuinely wasn't sure why he was feeling as good as he was. Hangovers were an old friend at this point, and the fact that his wasn't substantially larger was a mystery.

"Lucky bastard…" Neville murmured. "And I've already told Daniel, but you all suck for leaving me on the floor! Do you know how much my back hurt when I woke up?"

"You'll be fine," Harry assured his fellow teen. "Do you know how many floors I've crashed on?"

"Many, I'm sure," Neville's succinct reply didn't miss a beat.

Harry was half certain that he'd been insulted but decided to press on. "Exactly, and I'm perfectly okay."

"That's debatable."

Alright, that one had definitely been an insult.

"Can't believe you guys cut up my pants too…" Neville said, continuing to bitch about the previous night.

"Huh? I didn't cut up your pants," Harry said, slightly confused because while the state of the guy had made him laugh, he wasn't to blame at all. "Last I saw you was shortly before I went up to the dorms and you still had one pant leg at that time."

Neville gaped at him, genuine surprise painting his features. "If you weren't the one that did that to me, then who in their right mind did?"

"You really thought it was me?" Harry asked, torn between amusement and the wonderment at how bad of a mental picture Nev had of him. He settled on both.

"I mean," Neville shifted somewhat awkwardly, "if the shoe fits, you know?"

"It does seem like the type of behavior that you might find funny, Harry," Hermione chimed in. "You strike everyone as the type of person that finds humor at the expense of others, at least to a certain extent. Damaging clothes like that knowing you could reimburse the cost of such a loss befits your style of humor rather well."

The alcohol must have done a real number on Hermione's ability to communicate because Harry had honestly forgotten just how quickly the girl talked when sober. Her words the previous night hadn't been slurred in the slightest, but they had been delivered far more slowly than the miniature rant Harry had just born witness to. Regardless though, Harry had to give it to them that their assessment of him wasn't entirely off the mark, he had thought the state of Nev's pants to be a rather amusing sight after all. "I guess that's a fair point," he acquiesced. "It genuinely wasn't me though." Harry then turned to look at Hermione. "And look at you getting involved in the conversation! Did you sleep well? Rest easy? You told us last night that was your first time getting drunk and all, also told us about-"

"Would you please not reference the previous evening to me right now?" Hermione interrupted him, her voice rising in pitch. "To be perfectly honest I am still trying to process everything that I did and said while under the effects of that foul concoction and just need a bit of time to take it all in…"

Between her inflection, the beet redness of her face, and the simple fact that Hermione had still not made eye contact with Harry despite how much he knows she values politeness, he knew exactly what she was feeling at that moment. "Oh my god, you're embarrassed, aren't you?"

"I'm mortified!" She exclaimed in a hushed tone. "I've never done anything even remotely like that before but apparently my inebriated self decided to forget every lesson on modesty that my parents ever taught me!"

Harry guffawed loudly, his hand clapping Hermione on the shoulder in commiseration, though judging by her reaction it wasn't going to be much help. "Modesty is overrated, no one in this House thinks less of you, promise." That was Harry's assumption anyway but based on the ideals and behavior that he had seen espoused so far it was a fairly safe bet in his mind.

"But I think less of me!" Hermione cried, her voice still quiet but clearly filled with shame.

Well, that wouldn't do, they lived in a post-sexual revolution era and that meant feeling shame about an enjoyable evening was a thing of the past in Harry's mind. "No reason to," he asserted confidently. "You had fun, trust me, I saw the smiles. The rest of us had fun with you, plus you didn't actually do anything but hang out under some covers." Harry paused for a moment before shrugging. "Honestly, I think more highly of you after last night rather than the opposite."

Hermione stared at him with her mouth slightly agape before audibly groaning and burying her face in her book, face still flushed beyond belief. "I know you're simply trying to make me feel better and that effort is appreciated but if I'm being perfectly honest your system of values could not be further from my own in this regard. My passing some sort of bar of approval in your eyes is quite literally the exact opposite of comforting at this moment."

Harry really didn't have a reply to that. She'd denigrated both his ethics and his attempts to help in only a few quickly spoken sentences. It appeared that his initial impressions of the girl remained accurate. Nice girl, good heart… stick still firmly lodged up her ass.

"You're useless, Harry." Ah, Nev had chimed in once again, and unfortunately Harry couldn't even deny his words.

"Yeah, I've got nothing here," Harry looked at Nev and then jerked his thumb toward Hermione, who was still hiding her face in the pages of her overly sized book. "You're up, model citizen. Give her a pep talk until we can get some caffeine in her or something."

Nev shook his head in the negative. "You already had breakfast, right, Hermione?"

Harry glanced at the girl in question with the look of a man seeing the impossible. "You already woke up, showered and got dressed, navigated the labyrinth of corridors, made it to the Great Hall, got breakfast, and made it back here?"

Hermione nodded, seemingly having squashed her embarrassment enough to engage in her standard format once more. "Well, I didn't have to navigate to the Great Hall myself seeing as I was present for the return tour offered by the prefects, I was the only one present, actually… other than that detail however, you summed up my day rather nicely."

"One," Harry held up a single finger, "I deliberately left out the soul crushing regret you feel," he ignored her eye roll. "Two, you're crazy! You were drunk as hell last night. Why didn't you sleep in?"

Hermione's book hit the table with a thud as she in turn looked at him like he was crazy. "Sleep in and miss the opportunity to not only gain a better understanding of Hogwarts' structural layout, but also to ask questions of the prefects as we walk the corridors? Please, there was no way I was going to oversleep that opportunity."

"You disturb me…" Harry muttered, quietly resolving to keep an eye on Hermione in the off chance she was secretly a Ravenclaw.

As Hermione returned to her book and Neville returned to doing whatever it was guys of his disposition did when waiting, Harry decided to idly practice his control of the Lumos charm as he reclined his chair back on two legs. All of the ambient magic in the air around Hogwarts had made him somewhat surprised that their spells still functioned as normal, but after considering that their spells were the result of their internal magic cast through a wand it wasn't quite as much of a shock. Though, it did make him wonder if wandless magic, runes, or rituals would be impacted in any way or fashion, but that was an experiment for another day. Despite the progress he'd made in his self-study of magic, Harry was well aware that he was a long, long way off from any real degree of proficiency.

The teen's encounter with Auror Savage had been a rather humbling one, but even then, Harry was still Harry. On one of his many excursions into the varied shops of Diagon Alley he'd decided to peruse a book on runes since it was one of the subjects that Tom had recommended. Harry had never found the old phrase 'it's all Greek to me' to be more appropriate. The words and diagrams on the page might as well have been a foreign language given how well he was able to make sense of them. The book was meant for beginners though, so he already had loose plans to revisit the topic after a few months.

Only about twenty or so minutes had passed when Harry heard the now familiar voices of Ron and Fay approaching.

"You've got to be on something if you think the Cannon's stand so much as a snowball's chance in hell of beating the Arrows this season," Fay said, dismissively waving her hand towards the red-haired teen. "We signed Clive Hemlock for Merlin's sake."

Ron snorted derisively. "You're actually proud of that signing?"

"And why wouldn't I be? Hemlock was fourth in goals scored across the entire league last season!" Fay's voice was growing more impassioned by the second.

Harry approved of her ardent quidditch love, though he hadn't a clue as to why they were arguing when it was clear to him that the Harpies were the best. That reminded him that he had a poster to hang as soon as he got the chance.

"Hemlock isn't bad, I'll give him that," Ron acquiesced, but his body language screamed confidence for all to see. Harry wasn't even sure he could pull off that 'I'm about to win the argument' posture so well. "But you, I, and every other fan out there knows that the main reason Hemlock had such good numbers was because he had the best beater in the entire league constantly guarding him."

Fay almost flinched at that comment. "I… can't really deny that point. Button is better than anyone at defending his chasers."

"Exactly! And without Button backing him up Hemlock's numbers are going to plummet." The two friends had long since reached Harry's table, but they were so engaged in their conversation neither so much as acknowledged the others in the room. "Hemlock is a pretty good shooter, one-on-one with a keeper and the odds are definitely in his favor-"

"But without Button guarding him on the leadup or setting up a safe zone to pass, Hemlock won't be in scoring position as often, I know," Fay finished for him dejectedly before perking back up. "The Arrows' beaters aren't complete slouches though! And there are still rumors of us replacing Merril."

Harry appreciated the girl's optimism in this regard, much like he did Ron's when it came to the Cannons. Unfortunately for them, they were both fans of perennial bottom half teams. The Arrows last year though, but it was the first time in five years. Their reputation wasn't great right now, but they weren't the Cannon's.

"This late into free agency I'd say you're probably stuck with Merril," Ron countered, though his eyes narrowed in thought. "I supposed it's still possible for the Arrows to sign an import now that I think about it."

"Right?" Fay said excitedly. "We've only used two of our three potential slots, and our head coach spent some time as a chaser coach in Australia, Japan, and France. That's a lot of foreign connections! For all we know he's got his eye on a promising rookie from another country!"

"But why would they wait so long to announce this new player?" Harry chimed into the conversation after seeing a flaw in Fay's optimistic outcome. "If they could replace Merril, who everyone knows isn't great, wouldn't they want to get that announcement out there sooner rather than later? A new rookie to place their hope in would do wonders for fans, recruitment, and sponsors alike."

"Why do you have to hurt me like this, Harry?" Fay sighed, her voice flat.

"He's right though," Ron agreed, "The British and Irish league is a fairly high skill one, not quite on the level of the Chinese or Balkan leagues, and don't even get me started on the Amazonian league, they're just insane…" The red head trailed off briefly before seemingly remembering that he was in the middle of a conversation. "My point though is that if there was a promising player from one of the regions you mentioned, then it's a fair bet that they'd leap at the chance to play here and thus the signing wouldn't be a prolonged affair worthy of being kept secret."

Harry had to give credit where it was due, Ron really knew his quidditch. Harry was aware of the international scene's existence, but Ron spoke about it with a level of familiarity that went far beyond what he was capable of. Harry made a mental note to see if there were any Wizarding Wireless stations that broadcasted international matches on a regular basis.

"Now I'm hungover and depressed about the Arrows' upcoming season. Thanks, guys, really," Fay remarked dryly as she pushed her dark curls away from her eyes.

"Happy to help," Harry said, raising a nonexistent glass in her direction. "Are we waiting on Lav and Parvati?"

"No, I ran into Lav on my way down and she said to go ahead without her," Fay replied. "She said she was going to be awhile so there was no point in us waiting."

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. "I was wondering if that was going to be the case, she mentioned on the train that she likes to be punctual, but I'm guessing all bets are off after alcohol enters the fray."

"Probably," Ron agreed. "My brother Charlie is the same way, morning after a late night and it's impossible to get him up quickly. There was this one time where half our house was on fire and we still couldn't get him up."

"I take it that story had a happy ending since you're telling it so casually?" Harry confirmed, hopeful that his friend's house didn't burn to the ground instead of him just being blasé because it was the norm.

"Yeah, luckily my oldest brother Bill was home and he was able to get the fire squared away pretty quickly. Let's start walking while we talk," Ron waved them along as he started walking to the exit. "Later Nev, later Hermione."

"Tell Daniel I'll catch up with him on what he was up to all morning later," Harry called back to Neville, waggling his eyebrows as he and Fay followed after Ron. As eager as he was to grill his little brother about what he got up to the previous evening, that was a conversation that could wait a few hours.

"Can do," Neville said, seemingly unenthused at the idea of being a messenger but too polite to turn down the request.

Harry noted that Hermione didn't say a single word after Fay and Ron showed up but chose not to embarrass her further by drawing attention to that fact. She hadn't run away red faced and screaming and that was pretty much progress in his book.

"Okay," Fay said, "now that we're walking, please clarify how the hell that fire even got started. Had to be more than something like a grease fire or your mum would've taken care of it, yeah?"

"Oh, well…" Ron nervously rubbed the back of his head before eyeing the other students within earshot and lowering his voice. "Let's just say that for legal reasons I was told not to discuss it where others might hear, so…"

Harry stared at his friend and one would be forgiven for seeing stars in his eyes. "Ron, every new thing I learn about you and your family excites me more and more."

"That's nice and all," Ron responded, "but which way do we go?" The three friends had arrived at their first set of stairs and had absolutely no idea which path they should take and no older students nearby to ask.

"Nothing else for it then," Harry said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the same galleon he'd found spinning on the streets of Diagon Alley. "Heads we go up; tails we go down."

OoooOoooO

"Why am I not surprised to find you back here already?"

"What can I say, Raashid, you know me pretty well by now."

"Ha, after sharing a dorm with you for two years I should damn well hope so… I've got to say though, Cedric, your interest in this… whatever it is, it is starting to become an obsession."

"I know…"

"And yet here you are again."

"It's not like I skipped the feast or anything."

"That is true… but still, the fact that you're here by yourself on the second day of term rather than socializing as I know you are fond of doing, that says a lot."

"You could always bring some of our friends here. That would be the best of both worlds, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, please. You and I both know this magic is beyond most of our peers. They would get bored within minutes and then falsify some excuse as to why they have to leave. I simply do not wish to hear their lies."

"I knew you weren't actually interested in socializing."

"I was speaking for your sake, Cedric, not my own. Everyone knows I'm the brilliant recluse, you're the one that ought to be maintaining appearances."

"Recluse my ass, you just find most people boring."

"I don't deny it."

"Well, since you're here-"

"You want me to assist you?"

"It would be helpful."

"I already told you that I haven't the faintest idea as to what is causing this 'flicker' of magic, as you put it."

"I didn't either at first, but the more I study it and the rest of this room, the more clues I've discovered."

"You didn't tell me you were making progress."

"You didn't ask."

"That is… fair, I suppose. Very well, show me what you have found."

"Okay, so as best as I can tell the 'flicker' that I'm seeing is an unintended side effect of something else entirely."

"What led you to that conclusion?"

"The runic arrays scattered and hidden throughout this room."

"Full arrays? As in plural?"

"Yeah, and as best as I can tell they're connected somehow."

"Curious. Have you been able to translate or decrypt any of them?"

"Not even a little bit. I was doing a lot of self-study on runes over the summer, but nothing I've read has been applicable to translating these."

"I'm certain we'll find something to aid us in the library."

"Probably, but that's not all I've discovered."

"Oh?"

"The room itself is a perfect circle. Literally perfect."

"You're thinking alchemy or rituals were involved as well?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I intend to find out."

OoooOoooO

"My efforts to perfect a potion of true invisibility are continuing as expected. I have confirmed the common theory that the hair of a Demiguise is integral in the brewing process, but unlike many others I do not believe it will serve as the principal ingredient in the final product. Cease dictation," the final, softly spoken words from Severus Snape caused the quill scratching in a bedraggled journal to come to a halt before gently floating to the side of the page.

The youngest professor at Hogwarts was currently pacing throughout his personal potions laboratory, a hand rolled cigarette held betwixt two fingers in his left hand, a tumbler of whiskey served over never-melting ice in his right. The brooding Potions Master wasn't a conventionally attractive man by any stretch of the imagination. Severus was a tall, thin man with skin that was slightly sallow after decades of smoking and regular exposure to experimental potion fumes. His large, hook nose was the dominating feature of his face – a feature that was only accentuated further by his shoulder-length black hair that framed his face like curtains. The man sported uneven teeth, a goatee, and his black eyes were sinister pools rather than being warm. Despite all of this though, there was a reason no one had spoken ill of his appearance since his school days when he had worn dirty, mismatched clothes and lacked proper hygiene. Those days were long gone.

The strong, authoritative presence he carried about his persona at all times dramatically altered how he was perceived. Severus held no illusions that he wasn't still a hated man for innumerable reasons, but the men and women that had scorned him as a teen for his appearance and manner of dress would not dare speak ill of him now – and it was not simply out of fear. Severus himself could not have cared less about what the foolish throngs of witches and wizards thought of his appearance. There had only ever been one woman whose opinion he cared about, and she had been in the ground for years… No, that was a lie. There were others, he just didn't want to admit it.

"Dictation quill number four," Severus called out, a separate quill on the other side of the room rising to attention. "Two cores of a Mephit, elemental type unimportant. Venom of an Amphisbaena from the Mediterranean region. Powdered Zorbo claws. Two vials of Subterranean Choker blood. Cease dictation." As large as the research stipend Hogwarts granted to him was, he would probably need to dip into some of his personal funds to help cover the costs of the Mephit cores. Not that money was any sort of real obstacle for him. The number of patents he'd licensed to brewing companies over the years ensured that he had plenty of money. Plus, he could easily go to one of the Potions Guilds across Europe and ask for a grant if he ever needed to. Given that Severus had already proven that he could produce results, the Guilds wouldn't even hesitate to throw galleons at him. Not that he actually wanted to rely on the Guilds, using their money meant that any recipes he developed using said money belonged to them even though the credit remained his. In his experience he much preferred having full control over his own creations.

A light knock at the door pulled Severus from his ruminations. "Enter," he answered.

"Pardon the intrusion, Professor," the voice of Rae Lawson reached his ears before the young woman had finished stepping through the door.

Severus would not consider it a stretch to say that Miss Lawson was the single most talented student in her entire year. Intelligent, capable, a consummate Slytherin, and undeniably attractive on top of it. The only adverse condition she faced was that she was a half-blood, but that just made her strides within Slytherin all the more impressive. The petite, black haired fourth year with ice blue eyes strode forward into Severus' laboratory with an air of familiarity. Students were allowed to visit him in his laboratory since the location was by no means a secret, but few students, even among Slytherins, had the guts to do so. Rae Lawson, however, was different than most students.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Lawson?" Severus asked the girl as she walked around his lab peering into the cauldrons. Thankfully, the girl was smart enough to not touch anything nor lean in too closely.

Rae turned to face him, her lips forming a small smile as she nodded to his hands. "Drinking and smoking already, Professor? Isn't it a tad early for such things?"

Severus exhaled a steady stream of smoke. "Trust me, Miss Lawson, should you ever find yourself a professor at an institution attended by mostly teenagers, you will understand why it is I so heavily rely on my vices."
Vices that were many in number if he was being honest. The cigarettes were a habit he'd indulged in since before he started at Hogwarts. One of the only memories he had of speaking with his father without yelling or raised fists was when they sat on the front steps of their old home. His father had passed him a cigarette and asked how school had been going. That was when he'd been fourteen. Severus had essentially quit the habit after starting Hogwarts. The infrequency in which he actually smoked while attending as a student had meant that the addiction had practically faded from his system entirely. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't help but light up at his father's funeral post-graduation. The catharsis he had felt knowing he was the reason the bastard that helped spawn him was finally in the dirt while the somber faces of his father's extended family and friends had no clue… he simply couldn't pass up the poetry of having a smoke at that moment. The habit had been a mainstay in his life ever since.

The drinking was another beast entirely. There was no other reason than it helped him forget. The choices he had made, the regrets he had, the people he'd lost… alcohol diluted his senses and allowed him to sleep. Pathetic didn't even begin to describe him, but he was functioning, and that was enough. To say nothing of the sexual coping mechanisms he'd developed over the years. Most people weren't aware of his unhealthy relationship with red headed prostitutes, never mind the odd affair he'd been involved in... Psychiatrists would have a field day if they ever got him to open up. Not that there was ever a chance of that happening, the young professor would literally rather die than engage with a stranger about his past trauma and feelings.

A fit of laughter from the young woman in front of him was her only reply to his cynical comment, and in spite of his best efforts he could not tell if it was genuine or fake. Begrudgingly, he was impressed. "Why are you here?" Severus asked again, his voice a bit more forceful than the first time but not quite hitting the levels he used with the students from other Houses.

"Is it not obvious?" Rae quirked her head as she stood in front of his desk. The girl enjoyed her little games far too much. They both knew there was an infinite number of reasons as to why she would wish to speak with him. Even if he made an educated guess, referring to her reason for visiting as 'obvious' was an extreme hyperbole.

"Elucidate me," Severus said dryly.

Rae brushed a rogue strand of hair out of her eyes. "I had questions pertaining to the Headmaster's warning at the feast last night."

Ah, so that's what this is about. "Do you?" Severus asked, pausing as he inhaled and released a lungful of high quality, scented smoke. There was a very good reason he rolled his own cigarettes. "I do believe the Headmaster's words were rather simple and to the point, but if you have questions, you may ask them." Severus couldn't resist the somewhat petty comment at her expense. "Though I will preface your inquiries by stating that I do not promise satisfactory answers."

Rae pouted at that. "Even for me?" She punctuated her question by surreptitiously adjusting her already short skirt so that it revealed more skin. Merlin, she really was just like her.

Once upon a time Severus would have likely fallen right into Rae's ensnaring ways and been dancing to her tune as every other boy in her House was. However, that was a less wise, less cunning version of himself from ages passed. Severus didn't even allow his eyes to flit down to the exposed skin, instead maintaining piercing eye contact with the girl that while undeniably attractive, was also his student. Severus did not personally have any care or consideration for the nebulous moral reasons as to why one should not engage with their students sexually, but he had other considerations to take into account at this time.

"Ask your questions, Miss Lawson," Severus said plainly, placing his tumbler down and leaning forward over his desk, cigarette still held lightly in his grasp.

"Would there be any value in trying to find out what is now so dangerous about the third-floor corridor? Furthermore, ascertaining if there is any reason as to why Hogwarts now boasts a dangerous corridor?" Rae asked, having largely forgone the cutesy façade she frequently wore to instead engage with him directly.

The soon to be twenty-year old's subtle flirtations would likely return at some point as was her modus operandi at this point but given that it had clearly failed this time around she was favoring a more straightforward approach. Said approach was objectively less conniving than the alternative, but given the rapport already established between the two of them it was not an incorrect avenue to take.

The truth of the matter is that there was a definite value to be found in investigating the traps and trials set by the Hogwarts staff leading up to the Stone. Not that Miss Lawson would ever reach the Stone, of course. The staff had all designed their trials to be non-lethal, but they were still extraordinarily difficult and complex. To get through them would require more skill and knowledge than what one student in her fourth year could likely possess. That's not even counting the countless wards that Dumbledore had placed to alert him and the staff should anyone ever begin making their way through the trials. But even then, Severus thought there was quite a bit of valuable information that could be gleaned by looking into the matter.

"There is always value in acquiring knowledge, especially knowledge that others do not have. Applying that knowledge, however, will be up to you." A part of Severus wanted his student to succeed if only to see what she did next. In spite of his initial trepidations, he had found himself rather invested as an educator as time went on. Most of the students that he had to teach weren't worth his time, but on occasion a student with true aptitude would walk through his doors. With those individuals he genuinely found himself curious as to how far they could go. Rae Lawson was absolutely one such student.

Rae hummed lightly, her thoughts clearly awhirl. It was curious being able to see such a side of his student. Severus had not seen her so honest in her emotions outside of his office. Even around her friends she never let her guard down. Not that he believed she had completely dropped her masks, but this side of her was seemingly more genuine than what she normally wore. "Any advice on what I should look for once I reach the corridor?"

The young woman must have been more intimidated by Dumbledore's warning than she initially let on if she was being so openly cautious. Severus actually counted that as a mark in her favor. For all of his eccentricities Dumbledore was not the kind of man that joked about death lightly. Ironically enough in this instance, his words had been hyperbole as death was not the likely outcome should students ignore his warning, but their belief in his warning was a boon to the staff. The fewer students investigating the corridor, the better. Severus recognized his somewhat hypocritical thoughts on the matter since he had given tacit approval to Miss Lawson to investigate, but he honestly didn't care. A Slytherin would not enter the trials with the same brazen, foolish bluster that a Gryffindor would. That distinction mattered.

"I have no advice to offer," Severus responded around a mouthful of smoke before snuffing out the cigarette in the ashtray he kept on his desk. "All of the tools required to accomplish your self-appointed task are already at your disposal."

Rae smiled at him. "That was a piece of advice in of itself, you know?"

"However you choose to interpret my words is your decision, not my own," Severus said, rising from the chair behind his desk and stirring one of the many cauldrons in the room precisely nine times counterclockwise. "Will that be all, Miss Lawson?"

The girl in question instead chose to take a seat on his desk, crossing one leg over the other as her gaze looked over the many potions he had brewing. "Did you have a good summer, Professor Snape?"

So that will not be all… "It was quiet. I was able to conduct my research free from both distraction and interruption." Severus was not trying to be subtle; he was rather fond of her as a student, but unless she had an important matter to discuss he would much prefer she leave sooner rather than later.

"That sounds lovely," Rae remarked cheerfully, her lips turning into a small smile. "I'm glad it was so peaceful for you."

Rae's words were utterly benign and of absolutely no interest to him. Severus was certain her small talk served a greater purpose, but he did not have the patience to entertain it at this time. Other Slytherins would talk around each other all day long, never saying what they mean outright but always managing to convey their intended meaning all the same. Severus Snape was not that type of individual.

Thankfully for him, their conversation was interrupted by a light knock at the door. "Enter," he repeated just as he had done a few minutes prior.

Instead of a student walking through his door, Severus was greeted by the neutral face of one of his colleagues, Quirinus Quirrell. "Ah, my apologies, Severus, Miss Lawson, I had assumed you would be alone. Is now a bad time?"

"Not at all, Miss Lawson was just leaving," Severus drawled, making eye contact with the fourth year who, despite her best efforts, seemed more than a bit annoyed at the unavoidable dismissal.

"Thank you for your time, Professor Snape," Rae said, the saccharin sweetness of her voice grating on his ears. She knew he hated when she took on that tone. "Professor Quirrell," she bid the other professor farewell and exited the room.

Severus waited to speak until the door had closed behind Rae, the runic sequences to block out noise completed with the thud of the heavy, wooden door. He took that brief moment of time to examine the former Muggle Studies professor with a critical eye. The man did not cut the most impressive figure with his premature baldness and excessively sharp features weighed against his thin frame. At least his suit was tailored to fit his frame, though Severus thought the man was a tad too fond of purple. As was the case with many of the impressive men and women the young Potions professor had met over the years however, appearances could be deceiving.

Quirinus Quirrell had earned his respective teaching positions. To teach Muggle Studies he had to be knowledgeable on more than just the muggle world, but also advanced muggle sciences and the intricacies of their rapidly evolving world. Chemistry and Physics from a mundane perspective did not greatly matter to the average magical, but Quirrell was an expert in both fields. Though the ignorant scoffed at the class' purpose, there was a reason Muggle Studies was taught at Hogwarts.

Then there was the man's new status as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Severus had made a point of requesting his credentials when Dumbledore made mention of his application, and despite his presuppositions to the contrary, Quirrell was more than qualified for the role. Exemplary OWL and NEWT scores in all of the required fields. Over half a dozen letters of recommendation from notable individuals and groups across Europe that spoke of his prowess in identifying and handling magical creatures and beasts. The man had even taken part in a number of special operations in Belgium where he worked alongside the local equivalent of the aurors dismantling known terrorist cells for which he had received special commendations from their government.

Severus was not very fond of the majority of his colleagues on a personal level, but it was a fact that each and every one of them held his respect when it came to their prowess in their respective fields. Hogwarts was the preeminent school across Europe, debatably the world. To be a teacher at such an institution necessitated being more than just good – you had to be great.

"I must say, I still have trouble reconciling that young woman with the girl I knew when she was a first year," Quirinus said, shaking his head absentmindedly as he wordlessly conjured himself a simple chair to sit upon.

"Two years is a long time," Severus replied, his tone as soft and dry as it was with his student. Even to those he respected, he did not often bother with social niceties.

"Ah, I suppose you are correct," Quirinus assented. "Especially in regards to students. So impressionable yet so ready to discover themselves. An intelligent individual will never stop seeking growth, but I still believe the years one spends as a student are particularly special."

"It's like I'm speaking with Dumbledore," Severus took an extra large drink from his tumbler and grabbed the bottle.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Quirinus laughed, waiting patiently to take the bottle from Severus' hands to pour himself a small glass after receiving a small wave of approval. "I don't think many would argue that Dumbledore is a great man."

Quirinus was correct in his assessment, but he missed the mark believing Severus was among Dumbledore's defenders. Undeniably, Albus Dumbledore was one of the most knowledgeable and powerful people alive. Severus would openly laugh at anyone that dared to say the Hogwarts Headmaster was anything but a fantastic wizard… but that was not the full measure of an individual in Severus' eyes. Ironically, that was an area that he and Dumbledore would agree on – but their respective criteria that they chose to judge based on likely could not be further apart.

Quirinus jumped on Severus' lack of reply and inclined his head toward the door. "We are safe to discuss classified subjects in this room I presume?"

Severus slowly spun the liquid within his glass and nodded. "Anyone that makes an attempt to listen in will find themselves wishing that they hadn't." The head of Slytherin House would not abide anyone trying to spy on him, student or otherwise.

"Perfect, then if you do not mind," Quirinus leaned forward, his eyes strangely glinting in the low light, "I would like to gauge your opinion on the rather suspect series of events taking place in our esteemed school."

The shadows in the room flickered and danced, almost as if they were orchestrated to do so on the heels of Quirinus' intriguing statement. "Explain."

Quirinus scoffed, leaning back in conjured chair and crossing his legs. "Come now, Severus, don't play dumb. The Stone's placement in the school, Daniel Potter attending Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy becoming the Chairman of the Governor's Board. That's not even including how the Centaurs have been all up in arms ever since the total eclipse back in July. We live in strange times, Severus, and I do not believe them all to be coincidence."

Severus did not allow his interest to reflect on his features, the same dour expression present as always. "If you do not believe these events to coincidence, then you believe someone, or something is orchestrating them."

"Not necessarily orchestrating, but rather capitalizing," Quirinus clarified, his finger rising into the air as he was fond to do during his lectures. For his sake, Severus hoped he was not intentionally comparing him to a student.

Severus did not disagree with the Defense Professor's theory. Dumbledore had shared his belief in the Dark Lord's survival years prior, and to a certain degree was concerned that he could be the mysterious thief that sought the Stone. No one could say for certain the feelings that the Dark Lord would harbor toward his vanquisher, but Severus had a better guess than most. He knew the Dark Lord hated any and all obstacles to his authority, and though he did not know the full scope of how, Daniel Potter was an obstacle in every sense of the word. Dumbledore was not the senile, soft-hearted fool that many of his detractors claimed he was, but nor was he the ruthless, conniving mastermind that others believed him to be – that Severus wished him to be. Dumbledore had his moments where he showed the spine required of those in his positions. It really wasn't that difficult of a stretch to imagine that he was using both Daniel Potter and the Stone as bait. The Headmaster would be taking a very daring gamble for sure, but if it paid off then he would safeguard Britain from one of the greatest threats it had ever faced.

Then there was Lucius Malfoy to consider, but even the thought of guessing what that man was up to was enough to drive Severus back toward his drink. Lucius had always been devilishly clever, a gift that seemed to have blossomed in the wake of the Dark Lord's demise. A great deal of Death Eaters had managed to elude incarceration via various methods, but few had come out the other side smelling of roses like Lucius. Less than two decades after publicly admitting to having served as the unwilling pawn of terrorists, and Lucius Malfoy was richer than ever, had the ear of the Minister of Magic, and served on the Board of Governor's at Hogwarts.

Families such as the Notts or the Rosiers may have been able to keep most of their financial holdings and status as Ancient and Noble Houses, but their standing in the eyes of the layman had been shot to hell, and yet the Malfoys were still held in high esteem. Severus did not know who Lucius had threatened, bribed, and silenced over the years, but the man had made done exceedingly well for himself. Severus would not even blink if he learned that the rising tensions with the Centaurs were an orchestration of his doing. To what purpose, Severus couldn't say, but he had learned long ago to not underestimate the Malfoy patriarch.

"I do not begrudge you your suspicions, but I believe at this juncture they are nothing but," Severus drawled, the ice clinking in his glass as he raised it to his lips.

"True, but that is why I came to you for your opinions."

"Fishing for validation, are we?" The taunt was not entirely deserved, but Severus held his acerbic tongue for no one.

Quirinus smirked, evidently unperturbed by the goading remark. "Your words, not mine, but I cannot deny the veracity."

The young Potions professor would never offer up his genuine thoughts on the subject, but he supposed a bit of engagement wouldn't hurt. "I am of the opinion that Dumbledore has his eyes on the Potter boys, the one with the scar obviously the more important of the two."

"I believe the elder twin prefers Evans as his surname, but nevertheless that is an interesting theory. Why both of them?"

Decades of study into the magical art of Occlumency and the ability to control his emotions were all that kept Severus from hurling destructive spells around the room. Potter's spawn dared to claim the name Evans. It was bad enough having to bear witness to the likeness of James walk around with her eyes, but to have his attitude as well was confirmation that Severus had angered the gods of fate at some point in his life. The damned teen had strutted even while walking to the Sorting Hat. The way in which he bantered with the newest of the Weasley herd. Severus did not simply see similarities between Harry and his father, it was like they were the same damn person. Dumbledore would not allow him to fail students outright, but Severus was already imagining inventive ways to make the Potter brats lives hell in his classroom. Petty spite remained his one true companion through the ages.

"The Headmaster's interest in the Boy Who Lived is obvious, but I believe he sees the older twin as simply another avenue by which to gain access to the younger."

"If I recall, the two were raised separately from each other, correct?" Quirinus rhetorical question neither merited nor received a response from Severus before he continued talking. "Surely that estrangement means the elder's value is lessened in such regard?"

"Dumbledore is an endless optimist. He likely believes that the two brothers will form a relationship anew."

Dumbledore's intentions for the Potter twins were probably both genuine and Machiavellian in nature. Severus did not believe the man to be evil, but he was a schemer for certain. And even if ill will was intended for them, short of their lives being taken Severus was happy to sit back and watch it all happen. Adults they were clearly not, but nor were they children that had yet to advance beyond prepubescence. In Severus' spiteful mind, they deserved any consequences that might befall them.

"And what of the Stone?" Quirinus probed.

"Bait, of that there is no doubt. It is the only explanation behind why the location was announced," Severus said, utterly confident in his assertion. The design of the traps themselves was genius, Dumbledore had tapped into truly ancient magic when establishing them. By designing trials that were meant to be solved, he ensured they could not be circumnavigated. There was no way around the traps but through them, at least no method that had ever been discovered. From there it was simply a matter of warding the various rooms beyond the realm of reason and designing the trials to take time to pass through. Whoever the thief was, they would get through the traps, but if it took them long enough then they would be forced to contend with the wrath of the Headmaster, a prospect that Severus did not consider to be enviable in the slightest.

"I am glad to see we were of the same mind," the Defense professor murmured, his gaze flickering to the door that Severus noted curiously was not to his back. Quirinus had adjusted his chair to not be angled so that the door and the desk were in his line of sight. "I believe his tactic was far too heavy handed though… the students' curiosity will spur them toward that corridor in droves."

Severus shrugged unconcernedly. Most of the students would relent their investigations the moment they realized there was a genuine threat to be found on the third-floor corridor and the traps within. Pain and fear were remarkable deterrents to those that were not mentally prepared for such barriers.

"Perhaps that was the purpose," Quirinus began, his words more of a vocal expression of his inner musing rather than an address to Severus. "No one has seen the thief, but it has been demonstrated that bloodshed is not their way. Students crowding the trials would prove an accidental safe-guard that couldn't be accounted for."

"An ever-changing variable," Severus continued in slight surprise. A brilliant strategy if their profile of the thief was accurate. If it was not, then casualties were unavoidable.

Quirinus began to chuckle, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose even as the hollow mirth escaped him. "Only a wizard such as Dumbledore would come up with such a strategy and actually implement it within a school. All these years and still I find myself shocked."

Severus did not have even the slightest clue as to what the man could be referring to, but he recognized the realization he'd arrived at. Humbling experiences had the potential to bring about clarity for those that had even an iota of self-awareness. Though it appeared that his lessons were far less excruciating than those that Severus had endured. Whether it was at the hands of Potter and Black, the Dark Lord himself, or even Dumbledore… pain had been his stalwart companion ever since he has a boy.

"Pardon me for that display," Quirinus said, slowly shaking his head as his eyes rose to meet Severus' own. "The reasons as to why are personal, I'm afraid, but the realization our conversation led me to was obviously quite impactful."

Severus raised his tumbler into the air, casually gesturing toward the exit with two fingers extended. "No need to linger here on my account then, take your leave and collect your thoughts. We can continue our discussion another time."

Quirinus seized the polite offer without hesitation and immediately left Severus to his solitude. The Defense professor's reaction was curious to say the least, but not to the point that it genuinely aroused Severus' interest. His own mind was enough of a labyrinth for him to worry about, he felt no need to concern himself with whatever thoughts plagued Quirinus' mind.

The minutes dragged on in almost complete silence as Severus nursed his alcohol and pondered what had been brought to his attention. The more he considered what Quirinus had said, the more he felt the need to thank the absentee professor for coming to speak with him. There really were far too many factors and events at play for Severus to dismiss them as mere coincidence. Unfortunately, he lacked the necessary information to come to any real conclusions. Still, it couldn't hurt to monitor the more important pawns currently present in the school. Who could say for certain what he might uncover?

OoooOoooO

"I'll be damned, is that you, Lockhart?"

"Hestia? Hestia Jones! Bless my soul, it is so good to see you! How many years has it been?"

"Eight years, at least! Not surprising when you've spent the better part of the last decade traveling the world and fighting monsters. For someone that made us all swear to keep in touch after Hogwarts, you've been the worst of the lot, mister!"

"Oh, please don't judge me too harshly, Hestia, you know how the thrill of adventure always called to me."

"Relax, Gil, you know we'd never hold anything against you. Now give me a hug, it's been too long."

"I really did miss all of you, you know. My travels have been exciting, but few things compare to spending time with friends."

"Lay it on thicker, Gil, really."

"I am being absolutely genuine!"

"Please, we've all read your books. I'm sure you much prefer the company of werewolves in Wagga Wagga, or banshees in Bandon."

"Still as teasing as ever, I see. The real events were nothing like in the books, you know. I was under the care of a healer for over a month after the events in Bandon! And I was lucky not to be bitten by a werewolf! Lucky, I tell you!"

"So, you didn't use a spell no one has ever heard of to turn the werewolf back into a human?"

"Ugh, I told Bernie, he's my co-author, that exaggerating the details for storytelling purposes was fine, but he made the events nothing but fiction…"

"You're adorable."

"You only say that because you do not realize the difficulties I face. I am famous in two different ways to two entirely different groups of people."

"Oh, woe is you."

"Laugh all you want, but it is a tight balancing act to juggle the fame from being a legitimate hunter of dark creatures versus the fame from being a sensationalist author and the basis for the main character in a fantasy series."

"How do you manage with legions of fans, loads of gold, and a stellar reputation?"

"Your sarcasm is also as biting as ever."

"You know I never was able to resist, that habit hasn't gone away. But what are you doing back in town? Just dropping by, or will this be an extended stay?"

"Extended stay, indefinite if I am being honest… Can you keep a secret?"

"You have to ask?"

"With you, I suppose not. Anyway, I am back in the Britain because I am working on an autobiography. A legitimate one. A book about me and my life that bridges the gaps between how I've actually lived versus the hyperbolic and fictitious depictions in my books."

"Wow, that's amazing, Gil!"

"Do you really believe so? I admit, I've been considering whether or not it was too early in my career to write an autobiography."

"It's abnormal, but no one can deny the incredible life you've led after Hogwarts! Most of us were still trying to land apprenticeships or jobs in our chosen fields, but you'd already left the country and thrown yourself into the real dangers of the world! That deserves to be shared in an honest way."

"Thank you for the kind words. I needed them. Merlin, talking to you again it's like we're back at Hogwarts. I've made many friends over the years, but I have not been so open to another in some time."

"Always a smiling face to the camera, huh?"

"I am a five-time winner for a reason."

"Can't believe your fake smile still works that well."

"It always was my greatest weapon, though I resent the accusation that it is always fake."

"Ha, I am well aware of how well you utilized it back in our Hogwarts days. I heard all the rumors about Gilderoy Lockhart and his 'weapon.'"

"Oh, Merlin… Olivia told you, didn't she?"

"About your accidental rendezvous in Germany? Yes, she did."

"Did she tell you that wasn't our first tryst…?"

"She didn't, but I suspected, and it only took a few bottles of her favorite brandy before secrets started spilling. I'm still surprised neither of you told me back in Hogwarts."

"When I look back, I'm a bit surprised myself. I think I was afraid you'd hex me."

"Not afraid of that possibility now?"

"Less so. I am at least somewhat confident in my dueling skills these days."

"Uh-huh. And the M-sec station less than a block away has nothing to do with your confidence?"

"I admit, it does help."

OoooOoooO

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed, holding his hands aloft as he happily walked towards the large entryway into the Great Hall.

Harry, Ron, and Fay had spent the better part of the last two hours navigating the esteemed halls and corridors of Hogwarts searching for the Great Hall. An attempt that taught them virtually nothing about the layout of the school given how frequently they'd found themselves turned around or back in the same location.

"If I ever come across that painting of the man in the lion costume again, I might just set him on fire," Harry grumbled, running his fingers through his hair and claiming a seat on the bench next to Ron. The red head in question had already grabbed himself a plate and was in the process of putting himself together a sandwich from the variety of ingredients that were laid about on the table, all magically kept at the optimal temperature, of course.

Fay sat across from Harry and grabbed a nearby pot of tea. "Let me know when you do, I want to help."

"I still think that was funnier than you all are giving him credit for," Ron chuckled at the pair's anger.

Fay narrowed her eyes. "We asked him how to get to the Great Hall, not to guide us to a damn window where we could see the Great Hall in the distance!"

"Not to mention the implication that we could always jump and hope for the best," Harry grumbled, taking the pot from Fay. On an objective level the black-haired teen could appreciate the dumb but amusing humor to be found in messing with new students… but by that point in time he half wanted to get to the Great Hall just so Fay could get some caffeine in her system. Mental notes had been taken – always get Fay caffeine as early as possible so as to avoid her bitchy state.

"It's about time you all got here!" Lavender abruptly said, surprising Harry since he had not seen the girl when he entered the hall. He must have been more out of it than he thought after their trek through the school.

"Why am I not surprised you managed to beat us here?" Fay groaned, both hands held around her steaming cup of tea as if it were her only comfort left in the world.

"Well, once Parvati and I had finished getting ready we were about ready to leave the common room when this second-year guy offered to guide us." Lavender's smile said more than her words ever could. Harry couldn't even blame the nameless guy for making a move, Lav and Parvati were both incredibly beautiful girls. Unfortunately for him, both girls knew exactly how pretty they were and how to utilize such gifts.

"How thick did you lay it on?" Ron asked, amused rather than annoyed at how easily the two girls managed to find an escort.

Lavender waved her hand in a so-so gesture. "Probably a bit too much, honestly. I don't know, he was nice enough but…" She paused in thought. "Fuck, what was his name?"

"Clearly he left an impact," Fay muttered, her death-grip maintained with one hand as the other began to pull food within her reach.

"Where'd Parvati run off to?" Harry asked.

Lavender chose to bastardize another perfectly nice cuppa as she answered him. "Oh, we ran into her sister, Padma, once we got down here. Chatted for a bit, but then they went off together, presumably for twin stuff or something."

Ron arched an eyebrow. "Twin stuff?"

"I don't know, I'm an only child."

The four friends talked for awhile as they filled their stomachs and for some nursed the lingering effects from the previous evening. Harry kept his eye out for any friendly or at least familiar faces, but aside from catching a few glimpses of some of the various students he'd encountered on the train, there was no one he even knew the name of aside from the one guy that he had seen in the company of Malfoy. Harry probably should have tried to catch his name at the Sorting ceremony, but he had completely forgotten to do so.

The guy in question still looked like hell, but in a sad way it seemed to fit him. He did not look as bad as when they were on the train platform, but his appearance was still exceedingly disheveled and marred by what appeared to be perpetual exhaustion. He sat alone, his back facing the wall, and he constantly seemed to be watching everyone around him. Hell, the more Harry watched the more convinced he was the guy was absolutely paranoid.

Harry realized he'd been staring a bit too long when the teen's gaze locked onto his own, his brow furrowing at being examined by a random Gryffindor from across the Hall. "Ah, fuck," Harry murmured.

Only Ron apparently heard him. "What happened?"

Harry inclined his head toward the Slytherin. "Remember him? He caught me staring."

"And now he's gesturing you to follow him out of the Hall…"

"This should be a fun conversation," Harry sighed. This was not something he wanted to deal with right now, but it was his own damn fault. "Want to come with?"

Ron shrugged as he rose from his seat. "Might as well. I'm done eating anyway."

"Where are you two going?" Lavender asked.

"We'll be right back, have to talk to somebody," Harry easily replied. The vague answer was apparently enough for Lavender since she went right back to talking with Fay and another girl whose name Harry had not caught. She likely presumed he'd tell her later. She was correct in assuming as much.

Harry and Ron followed after the nameless Slytherin as he led them by a solid 30 feet. There were a fair number of students in the Great Hall and nearby corridors, but not so many that the two friends couldn't still keep track of their quarry. They caught up to him when he decided to take a seat on a ledge without an accompanying window that overlooked one of the various courtyards of the great castle.

"Shit, he looks pretty pissed," Ron whispered.
Harry had to agree with that assessment. The Slytherin in question had his back propped up against a pillar with one knee pulled up to his chest, but the casual position did nothing to mitigate his hard gaze and clenched jaw, and especially not the wand he surreptitiously held in his grasp. Unsurprisingly to anyone that knew him, Harry lit up a cigarette as they approached.

"Hey man," Harry tried to seize the initiative once they were within conversational earshot, "my bad for staring, alright? It was pretty damn rude, I admit."

"Why would I give a fuck about that?" The still nameless Slytherin retorted, his voice surprisingly low pitched - not to an abnormal degree by any means, just enough that Harry thought it didn't suit his build. The anger was still present though. "It's not like you're the only one that was staring."

"Then why single me out?" Harry said around a large puff of smoke.

"Because of that," the Slytherin pointed towards the smoke.

"You… want a cigarette?" Ron's incredulity mirrored Harry's own. He had been expecting to be told off for staring or some shit, not questioned about a habit that wasn't even unique to him.

Harry sat down on the ledge a few feet away from the already seated teen. "I'm at a loss, mate. What is it you want?"

"The name is Theodore Nott, but for Merlin's sake call me Nott."

Harry finally had a name to work with, even if it was informed to him with a large eyeroll as an accompaniment. "Okay, Nott then. Again though, what is it you want?"

Nott lazily pointed at Harry's cigarette. "I need some of those. Muggle ones, specifically, and I need you to get them for me."

Harry was rather accustomed to requests of that nature. Though the entrepreneurial spirit had never found its way into his body, he was always more than happy to send curious, would be customers to a friend or acquaintance. The request for cigarettes wasn't new, but Harry honestly didn't expect to be asked on his second day at Hogwarts.

"Okay, but why come to me?"

"And why do you want them?" Ron interjected, clearly bewildered by Nott's strange behavior as well.

Nott appeared to bite back a comment as he broke eye contact, looking down into the courtyard below. "All you need to know is that I'm following Drake's advice and cutting back on a certain habit…"

"Ahhh," Harry nodded his head in understanding, two fingers rising to place his burning cigarette between his lips before removing the carton from his pocket. Harry had never personally tried anything beyond the occasional psychedelic, but he'd known many friends who had. There was a consistent trend among those that tried to quit once a habit had formed: they depended on something else to help. Chain smoking seemed to be a particularly common alternative. "What are you trying to kick?" He asked, plopping himself down on the empty stone space adjacent to Nott. The cool seat providing a nice contrast to the warm, ambient sunlight that fell upon them.

Nott rolled his eyes and swung his legs off the ledge so his feet were dangling over nothing but air. Harry's opinion of the teen rose that much more. They were only on the fourth story, so it wasn't as if they were too high, but he'd seen others balk at less. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, he didn't particularly care what the other teen's battle against addiction looked like. Idle curiosity was simply his natural state.

Ron remained standing but leaned over onto the ledge, his hair lightly blowing in the wind as he craned his neck to look around. "I'm more interested in why you want the muggle variety specifically. Wouldn't expect that from a son of the Nott family of all people." Ron's voice had gained a certain edge near the end, one Harry wasn't used to hearing. Accusatory was the most apt descriptor he could come up with.

"You have a problem with my family, Weasley?" Nott responded in turn. The tension was almost palpable at that moment, but just before Harry could speak up to try and diffuse the situation with honeyed words, Nott started chuckling. "Join the fucking club."

Harry's quizzical expression was matched by Ron's own. The Slytherin's curls bounced in accordance with his body as his laughter slowly built. A nonexistent tear was wiped away, but Nott did not elaborate.

"Fucked up homelife, I take it?" Harry probed, extending the unlit cigarette he'd removed to the interested teen.

The hands that accepted the proffered smoke were not strangers to the drug filled cylinder. Practiced actions and deft spell-work allowed Nott to quickly get his dose of nicotine – though if it was his first time trying tobacco specifically, it would be the first exposure. "Look up my family name on your own time and use your brain, you'll figure it out." The words were spoken plainly, without inflection or emotion.

Repressing things a bit much there, aren't we, Nott? Harry mused, humming to acknowledge he'd heard Nott's statement. "I'll bring you a few packs of those tomorrow," Harry exhaled a cloud of smoke, relishing the way it was carried away on the breeze. "I'll send a letter to the guy getting them for me to include some extra when he sends me some in a few weeks. You will be paying me though."

Nott's head lolled to the side; his heavily lidded eyes, tired from god knows how many drugs, just barely finding Harry's own. "Works for me," he murmured, nodding off for a brief second before snapping back to alertness.

Harry was about to lurch forward to stop the guy from falling off the ledge but was fortunately spared the need as a well-manicured hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"I appreciate your assistance in this matter, Evans. Even a loathsome muggle habit is better than the hell Nott keeps exposing himself to."

The hand and voice belonged to a fellow first year with patrician features and a demeanor that demanded respect. The teen was the picture of elegance, that much was clear even to those who usually spurned such aesthetics. A slim cut, white shirt and gray waistcoat and slacks with an even skinnier green tie. Neat, perfectly coifed blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin rounded off the ensemble to create the visage of one Draco Malfoy.

"No sweat off my back if you're paying me," Harry responded, rotating his torso to address the newcomer. "You know my name, but I missed yours?"

Draco's lips turned upwards ever so slightly, as if he knew that Harry was full of shit. "My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. And it's true, almost everyone knows who you are by now, Evans. Being the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was always bound to get people talking." Draco's eyes narrowed discerningly. "I would be willing to bet that you were well aware of that fact when you boarded the train."

Harry noticed Ron had gone rather quiet ever since Draco made his presence known. His fellow Gryffindor seemed lost in thought, staring at the newcomers with a blank expression coloring his freckled features. "I thought I might be a small topic of interest," Harry shrugged, taking another drag as he mimicked Nott's previous actions and swung his feet over the ledge.

"Small…" Draco repeated amusedly, seeing through Harry's thinly veiled minimization as he shook his head. "Regardless, I must say you appear to have taken to your newfound fame rather well. Certainly, with more tact than your brother at the very least."

"Or maybe I just relish in the attention?" Harry posited cheekily.

Draco chuckled as he pulled lightly on Nott's shoulder, urging him to stand up. Delirium and weariness working in concert had almost overtaken the curly haired Slytherin entirely. "Narcistic motives aside, you are capable of holding a conversation and not glowering at onlookers. That's more than I can say for your younger twin."

"He's young, he'll learn." Harry hoped he would, at least. Daniel had obviously had some sort of media coaching prior to the interview he did for the Daily Prophet, but it was painfully clear that he had never had to really deal with crowds of people staring at him and him alone. Harry hadn't either of course, but he wasn't exactly joking about enjoying the attention.

"Young and foolish are used as synonyms far too frequently for my tastes," Draco drawled, unimpressed with Harry's defense of his brother. Whatever had unfolded between Daniel and Draco on the train had left the Slytherin with an overwhelmingly negative impression of the wizarding world's savior. "Now if you'll excuse us, I have to ensure this one gets his rest. Wouldn't do to have him wondering about and speaking nonsense while… low on sleep, would it?"

Harry waved at the Slytherin duo's retreating forms. "I'll bring the packs tomorrow," he called after them. He waited until they had rounded the nearest bend before turning toward Ron, who hadn't budged from his leaning position against the smooth stone brick. "You got rather quiet."

"I was… I am, actually, thinking about what he said."

"In regards to…?" Harry questioned, a lilt entering his voice.

Ron rocked his head from side to side as he gathered his thoughts. "Nott mentioned his family, right?"

"Don't forget the part where he seemed to hate them," Harry added sagely, tapping the burnt ashes off the butt of his smoke, the wind carrying them away before they could hit the stone.

"Exactly! You don't know how significant that was, Harry." Ron had begun to pace behind him, his chin held in his right hand as seemed to be his habit whenever he was pondering. "The Nott Family is old, very old. Older than most you'll find."

"What's important about that beyond being a fun fact?"

"How to explain it…" Ron muttered uncertainly. "To all Noble Houses, especially the Ancient and Noble Houses, lineage is important because it's a sign of their status, doubly so if they're a pure-blood family. That name becomes interchangeable with that status."

Harry snorted derisively. "Medieval caste system is still alive and well, I see." He had been an opponent of hereditary titles and power long before he entered the magical world.

"That's what is so weird about what Nott said!"

"Hating your family is rare?" Harry asked dubiously. He wasn't a student of history but even then, he'd read his fair share of accounts of family members offing one another for increased status and position within said family.

"Of course not, but publicly hating them without finding yourself kicked out of the family is," Ron clarified, smirking as he finished making his point.

Harry had to concede that one. Expressing familial derision to essentially strangers while bearing a famous name was genuinely perplexing behavior. "Is he the heir?"

"Yeah, and I only know that because it was a big deal a year back when the previous heir tragically died. Was all over the papers as this huge, tragic affair. Suicide, apparently."

Suicide, huh? Harry mused. While intellectually aware of the reasons why someone might kill themselves, it was never an idea he'd been able to fully wrap his head around. Even when he considered that everyone's experiences were different from his own, his worst-case scenario still didn't end with him deciding life had nothing left to offer. "Tragic enough to make Nott want to drown himself in narcotics?" Harry asked. Access to magic or no, he had already come to realize that humans were the same regardless. From the virtues to the sins, even down to the reasons why one would turn towards substance abuse – magicals and muggles were the fucking same.

The consistent tapping of Ron's shoes meeting the floor didn't cease as he shrugged. "It's likely a fair bet, but honestly who could say?"

"It's an interesting topic, but not one I care to waste my time on, you know?" Harry rotated himself around, wand twirling betwixt his fingers. "I've got enough problems of my own without trying to solve the Nott family conspiracy."

"Like trying to navigate the school?" Ron teased.

"That is priority number one at this point in time, yes," Harry agreed easily, smiling in spite of himself as he jerked his thumb behind him. "The only thing I'm certain of is how we can get to that courtyard, but that involves a one-way trip, and my life isn't nearly bad enough for that to be a consideration."

Ron choked back laughter, seemingly torn between whether he was supposed to be amused or horrified at Harry's rather grim sense of humor given the topic they'd just left. "Bloody hell," he murmured, shaking his head amazedly.

"Anyway, back to the Great Hall or should we just keep walking?" Harry immediately answered his own question by walking in the opposite direction from which they came, stretching his arms wide as his cigarette rested on his lips.

Ron followed after without a word in edgewise, proving once more that great minds thought in similar ways. "Where we off to?"

"We'll be lost in five minutes. Wherever we end up is as good of a place as any other."

Chapter Text

"Everyone is just so boring, Cissy. All the rules I have to follow. All the restrictions I have to obey... I'm sick of it. Would it really be so bad if I just did whatever I wanted to do? Shouldn't we all just do what we want?" -Bellatrix Black to her younger sister while they walked the Hogwarts grounds. November, 1965.

Chapter 11:

"Fuck that putrid cunt and the damned inbred womb he crawled out of!" Harry spat, throwing his book bag atop a nearby bench as he paced angrily up and down the stone corridor.

Ron simply sighed, the rather colorful insults no longer meriting so much as an acknowledgment from him at this point. It was hard to feign interest after listening to almost twenty minutes straight of Harry Evans hurling abuse towards their potions professor. Ron had to give it to Harry though, the guy was creative enough to compete with the worst things Bill had said, and his eldest brother regularly worked on expeditions with goblin clans every bit as mean and vile as the Gringotts goblins. Still, he wasn't quite sure Snape's mum deserved to get called a 'fat, stupid cow' for not shoving a coat-hanger up herself when she realized she was pregnant, but he was very, very glad Snape hadn't been around to hear it. The poor Hufflepuff girl that had overheard his ranting had appeared utterly scandalized. To be fair, Neville was scandalized as well.

The warning offered on their first night had Hogwarts had successfully tempered majority of the Gryffindors' expectations of their upcoming potions class, but even with that warning in the back of their minds they still weren't ready for the never-ending stream of vitriol spilling from Snape's mouth. The man hadn't raised his voice once, he hadn't even appeared to enjoy the constant insults, but they still didn't stop. Fortunately for the first years that weren't named Harry or Daniel, the two twins had borne the brunt of their professor's ire. Ron had gotten a sneer for being 'another Weasley' with a veiled reference to rabbits. Lavender and Parvati were denigrated for being shallow, Seamus was apparently a dimwit, Dean received a snide comment about being outsider. Hermione, oddly enough, seemed to take the personal attacks less well than most of the others, recoiling in spite of herself when Snape likened her to some bloke named Icarus. Ron wasn't sure what the meaning behind the insult was, but it had left an impact.

The secret Ravenclaw apparently hadn't been discouraged enough to not be insufferable during the remainder of their class though. The second they'd started brewing Hermione adopted her bitchy, know-it-all demeanor once more. Ron didn't hate Hermione, but he couldn't deny that he had an aversion towards people that had to advertise how damn smart they were everywhere they went. It was the same reason why Ron got along great with Bill but wasn't that close with Percy. At the end of the day Ron loved Percy, but the two largely kept their distance from one another. Hermione and Percy might as well have been the same person when it came to academics.

The worst part was that Ron knew she didn't really mean anything by it when she tried to correct him, but it rubbed him the wrong way all the same. They would've been fine if she had taken the not-so-subtle hint he had thrown her way to stop correcting him, but instead she doubled down on her efforts. Ron was not going to apologize for the words they exchanged in hushed tones whenever Snape was far enough away to not hear them, he'd given her an out and she'd trampled right over it. Ron did feel bad about not realizing just how pissed off Harry had become over the course of the lesson. The bloke had shrugged off pretty much everything they'd encountered with an easy-going smile and confident stride. Snape had gotten to him though. Something he had said had struck a nerve and Ron had missed it completely.

"Harry, give it a rest already, will you?" Daniel said, approaching his twin, hands raised in a placating fashion.

"Fuck that," was Harry's mature response before he lit another cigarette. That was smoke number four if Ron's count was accurate.

Daniel rolled his eyes but chose to retreat without comment, returning to where Neville and Rose had decided to make themselves comfortable. A number of Gryffindor first years had elected to stick together in the wake of their first potions class. Whether they found some subconscious safety in numbers or whether Harry's ranting was just too interesting to miss he wasn't sure, but it was why they were still grouped up and staking their claim to the random first floor corridor that they all agreed was only a short walk away from the Great Hall… or so they hoped anway. None of them still had any real idea how to navigate the school.

"Wish he'd just move on already," Daniel groaned. "It's not like I'm over here throwing a fit, and Snape was just as much of an ass to me."

Neville started to say something about maturity but was drowned out by Lavender talking over him. She could do that to anyone at any time, but Ron nevertheless thought her timing was deliberate at that moment. "Did you even hear the final comment that set him off?" Lavender asked, her accusatory tone matching her narrowed eyes. "That asshole said that it was no wonder Harry was sent away to be raised a muggle urchin after examining his potion, and then mentioned how he was an embarrassment even to his shameful lineage!"

Oh, Ron thought to himself, all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fitting together neatly. Harry wasn't cagey about anything, except when it came to his family. The bloke didn't share any of his thoughts when it came to the late Potters, and the majority of the polite people of Hogwarts had quickly realized that it was in their best interest not to ask. It just so happened that Snape was the furthest adjective imaginable away from polite.

"I… I get why that would set him off," Daniel acquiesced, the sympathy in his voice immediately apparent for all to hear. His negative opinions of his brother were seemingly mollified since it wasn't just any gibe that made Harry so livid.

Even Neville seemed to accept why that comment would be particularly infuriating to Harry if his chagrined expression was any sort of judge. That said a lot since normally the guy was the first to hop on and stay on Harry's case. He appeared genuinely remorseful, the sympathy on his features as he stared at the still raging teen plain to see. "I guess we know what topics to not broach with Harry now," he muttered quietly.

Ron thought that had already been made painfully obvious, but then again, he wasn't involved in a perpetual, passive-aggressive war of words with Harry so he let it slide without comment. Though, sometime down the line he'd have to imply to Harry that some manner of vengeance would fit in with the karmic value of the world rather well. Weasleys always got even, Ron would continue that unofficial family creed on behalf of his friend.

"Ranting like that can be cathartic, just let him get it out of his system and focus on your own shit," Fay said from her place on the bench next to Lavender. "Not like he's really making it our problem since he's keeping his distance at this point."

"Actually, he's just walking away," Rose said, somewhat surprised herself at her own statement. She was right though; Harry had just kept walking rather than continue to pace back and forth in a line as he had been.

Ron pushed himself off the wall and scooped up Harry's book bag before taking off after his wayward friend.

"Hey," Daniel called, having not moved even an inch. "Maybe just give him some space for now?"

The red-headed teen didn't even have to think about what to do. "Nah, mate, there's a time for that, but this isn't it. We'll see you all in the common room later." And then he was off, lightly jogging to catch up to his best friend.

"What do you want, Ron?" Harry asked once he had caught up. The fiery rage had simmered, replaced by a cold anger as the drugs settled into his system. Ron wasn't sure what to think about the fact that his friend was so reliant upon narcotics at their age.

"Nothing," Ron said, his hands finding a resting position behind his head as he simply kept pace with Harry. He had no clue what the troubled teen needed at that moment, but he figured that supportive company couldn't hurt.

The two roamed the corridors aimlessly and without a destination in mind. The labyrinth of halls had started to seem familiar though navigating them was still a challenge and a half. Ron thought he knew where they were, that McGonagall's classroom was down the hallway on their left, but it was impossible to be certain given that some of the hallways literally moved depending on the day of the week Stupid castle.

The only sound between the two friends was the steady thuds produced from their shoes making impact with the stone floor. Eventually, Harry stopped in front of one of the many, many paintings that decorated the walls of the ancient castle. For a moment Ron thought it was a random stop, but a family eating dinner was anything but random when it came to Harry. It wasn't a perfect match to what the Potter family was, with four kids present instead of two, but the poignance had evidently still hit close to the heart.

"I'm still pissed off," Harry said, his voice quiet. "I was pissed from the moment he made his first comment against Daniel and it just fucking spiraled from there."

"Mind if I ask why?" Ron tried to keep the dumbfounded lilt out of his voice. The last thing he wanted to do at that moment was cause further offense. "I mean, we were warned about what to expect from him…" Snape had gone after Harry and Daniel far more than anyone else in the classroom in terms of both the number of verbal attacks and how personal they were. Ron understood why Harry was angry given what was said, but he was still surprised by the degree to which the black-haired teen reacted.

"You know how I have my mum's journals, yeah?"

"You mentioned having a bunch of them." The question came seemingly out of nowhere, but Ron figured there was a point to it. Harry wasn't such a poor conversationalist that his subject changes would be forced or awkward unless deliberately intended to be so, and that was clearly not the case then.

Harry slumped to the ground, that same galleon he always carried on his person slowly being twirled between his fingers. "He's in them," he murmured sullenly.

"He's in them?" Ron repeated confusedly. "Wait, Snape is? Professor Snape? He's in your mum's journals?"

"Severus fucking Snape," Harry confirmed with a slow, heavy nod. "Not many bastards with a name like that."

An accurate statement. Even among wizards, Snape had a particularly unique name. Ron made a mental note to laugh at the asshole's first name being Severus later. "So, he knew your mum?"

A bark of humorless laughter escaped Harry's lips. "Oh, they didn't just know each other – they were best friends!" The messy haired teen scowled up at the painting of the happy family. "They met as kids. Snape was the one that introduced her to magic. She was a muggle-born, but she learned of magic years before she ever got her Hogwarts letter thanks to him."

Ron didn't respond, he simply leaned up against the bricks of the wall immediately adjacent to Harry. Sometimes it was better to just listen. George had taught him that, funnily enough.

"They were best friends!" Harry stressed, the words emerging through clenched teeth. "Even back then he was quick to insult, but to her he was kind. She confided in him! He helped her! Defended her! In spite of the warnings, I expected a man who knew my mum better than almost anyone. Someone that could tell me about her firsthand without the baggage of a fucking history with me… and instead I get a spiteful cunt that enjoys denigrating who she was, and the kids she died saving!"

Ron wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in that moment. Harry had not talked about his family or the circumstances that surrounded them. Beyond the occasional gibe about his brother being the Boy Who Lived, it was not a topic he ever brought up. Ron realized then that Harry needed to talk to someone. There was absolutely no way that he was the best person for the task, but his friend needed his help and that meant he didn't have a choice.

The redheaded teen lowered himself to the ground, feet splayed out in front of him. "Forget Snape for a second," Ron said in as light-hearted of a tone as he could manage, "tell me about your mum."

"What?"

"Your mum," Ron repeated himself. "Snape's a bloody bastard, we agree there, but this is the first time you've mentioned your mum. I've told you loads about my family, but you haven't talked about yours."

"For good reason. My family is dead, and I never knew them." Harry didn't even sound angry about that fact, just… resigned. Ron wasn't sure what to make of that.

"But you have her journals, so you can still get to know her in a way, right?"

Harry shook his head. "It's not the same as having memories of her, mate. It's just not."

Silence fell over the two once more and Ron didn't know how to correct that – hell, he didn't even know if he should. What was he supposed to say to someone in Harry's position? Was there even a right thing to say? Minutes passed, but eventually Harry snorted, and with eyes fixed on the floor he began to speak.
"Her name was Lily Evans. The first journal of hers I've read was from when she was eleven. She had just recently learned about magic and had to write in her diary about it… She was smart, really smart. Had a better vocabulary than I did at her age, that's for sure. She was so excited to learn about the magical world. Every little new thing she learned she made mention of. The first time she was shown a self-inking quill, even…"

Ron wasn't sure how long the two of them sat there, him just listening to Harry talk about his late mum. It was a surprisingly peaceful experience. At first, Harry's descriptors were vague and bordered on impersonal, but the more he talked the warmer he became. Information about Lily Evans turned into him retelling stories of her. The way Harry spoke was genuine and earnest, but Ron could tell that Harry's earlier words rang true. Harry didn't talk about Lily Evans like he knew her, because he didn't know her, he hadn't been afforded that chance.

Most of the stories Harry relayed about his mum were from when she was younger than them, before she even went to Hogwarts. From what Ron could gather she'd been a lovely girl, but she wasn't yet the woman that would die protecting her children. All the same, it seemed to be comforting for the black-haired teen to talk about her.

"And to think," Harry said, a depressed chuckle spilling forth, "I was actually looking forward to that fucking class."

"Potions?" Ron asked, seeking a bit of clarification.

"Yeah, it was one of my mum's favorites. She practiced a lot before Hogwarts and would write about her experiments a lot. Apparently, she had entire notebooks specifically for potions. I just hope they're in the vault somewhere… would be nice to cross-reference her notes with the ones I've already taken."

Potions being all but ruined was a damn shame. Ron figured there were a lot of resources available for self-study given how adept his elder siblings were at the subject, but that was just making the most of a shitty situation.

"At least some of our other classes are going to be interesting," Ron said optimistically, not wanting to backslide into a rage inducing topic.

"That's true," Harry agreed. "Transfiguration was… incredible. The lack of fundamental change while still being permanent…" The green-eyed teen trailed off, but unlike before where he was brewing in his own anger, he now seemed to be consumed by pondering.

"What did that feel like to you? You know, as a sensor." Ron was actually incredibly jealous of that ability. The ease of which Harry was able to cast spells was just not fair.

"It's a bit difficult to describe, but" Harry pointed to the various paintings on the wall, "the portraits are a decent metaphor."

"How so?"

"Well, they look very realistic, right? The human ones look like a human, sound like a human, behave like a human… but you'd never mistake one for being a living, breathing person because they only exist on canvas."

Harry reached into his book bag and tore out half a sheet of parchment, setting it on the ground between them. Their Transfiguration textbook was then hoisted into his lap. Ron was amazed at just how different their two textbooks were. Same author, same edition, but Harry had numerous notes in the margins, with certain pages earmarked for easy reference. The redhead's book was aged and worn as a byproduct of belonging to his brothers before him, but it wasn't personalized. Maybe Hermione wasn't the only closet Ravenclaw in their year.

"Lapize en Char," Harry spoke softly but with clear enunciation, his wand waving over the parchment from left to right. The paper seemed to roll in on itself, rapidly forming into the rough shape of a sphere and taking on a gray hue, the soft texture became hard and coarse. A split second after the spell was cast, a small stone lay on the ground in place of the parchment.

"Show off," Ron murmured good-naturedly, smiling all the while.

Harry did not react to the comment, instead continuing with his explanation, he got really focused when it came to magic. "To me, this rock is like those portraits." He tossed it up in the air, catching it before then lobbing it at Ron. "It looks like a rock, it feels like a rock, but I know it's not a rock. The magic of the spell did not fundamentally change the fact that it's a parchment. And in a way, even the rock knows that it's not really a rock."

Ron rubbed his fingers along the coarse stone as he tried to process Harry's surprisingly coherent explanation. Only the final aspect had really thrown him off kilter. "The rock is… aware?" The questioning lilt in his voice even more pronounced than he'd intended.

"Not quite, no. It's more like there's a way things are in the world, and by being a rock, it isn't in accordance with what should be."

That explanation still did not help Ron understand even a little bit. "Yeah, you lost me, mate."

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. "Didn't expect you to grasp it, honestly. I mean, how could you explain sight to someone who cannot see? You can do your best, but they won't be able to understand, not really."

There was a whole other aspect to the world that Harry could sense that Ron would never be able to. Life really wasn't fair sometimes, but there was literally nothing he could do about it so there was also no need to dwell on that fact.

"Thanks, by the way," Harry said, turning to look at Ron. "For listening."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but he nodded all the same. "Anytime." He rose to his feet and offered Harry a hand to help him stand. "Let's head back to the dorm and drop off our shit before dinner."

The transfigured rock was returned to its natural state and placed back in Harry's bag. "Works for me, sitting on the floor was hurting my ass anyway."

"Thousand-year-old stone really isn't the best seat, is it?"

"Not even a little bit," Harry chuckled. "Next emotional outburst I have, we find a better place to talk."

OoooOoooO

"I've got the report for you, sir."

"Just drop it there, Perkins, thank you…"

"Something troubling you?"

"It's just this case – the one with the broomsticks."

"What's bothering you about it?"

"Based on where we keep finding these things, I would suspect it's some pure-blood, magical supremacist looking to cause issues for muggles, but now I'm not so certain."

"You realize something while I was out?"

"The behavior of the broomsticks perfectly matches that of the enchanted broomsticks in the muggle movie, Fantasia."

"I haven't seen the film, but you think it's a muggle-born copycat?"

"That's what my gut is telling me, but that's not definitive. They could easily be a half-blood or even a pure-blood looking to sow chaos with disinformation… but I have no idea what the motive could be regardless."

"Well, whoever they are, they're talented. The enchantments are surprisingly potent given that they aren't further sealed or amplified with runes."

"NEWT level work, no doubt."

"The crime itself is quite juvenile… think it could be a student?"

"Or one that has graduated in recent years, maybe."

"I'll send an owl to Professor Flitwick and see if we could speak with him soon. He may recognize the work."

"That's a solid lead on the who, but I want to know the why. There's no profit being earned as far as we can tell. Just enchanted broomsticks left in areas where they can cause havoc."

"Our perpetrator could just be doing it for the thrill. Young but talented, looking to have some fun by causing a stir. For all we know they were watching the chaos they unleashed, watching our investigation even."

"If you're right, it's a safe bet that they'd also enjoy the fact that we have to look into their work, study the enchantments they created."

"And acknowledge their skill in the process."

"People have done more for less… It's all supposition, but it's not a bad profile to start with."

"I'll owl Flitwick right now."

"Thanks, Perkins."

"Not a problem. Anything else you'd like me to take care of? If not, I'll head out after sending the request."

"I've got nothing else for you, enjoy the rest of your evening."

"You too Arthur, see you tomorrow."

OoooOoooO

"Settle down, class," Professor Quirrell called out the moment the bell signaling the top of the hour rung. It didn't matter which classroom or hallway you were in, that bell could always be distantly heard.

Harry had been desperately looking forward to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts since potions turned out to be such a colossal disappointment. Petty cunt, he thought, even the vague thought of Snape provoking slight feelings of anger. The room itself had already piqued Harry's interest given the excessive number of armaments and artifacts decorating the walls. No one knew that much about Professor Quirrell as a professor for his current subject and thus had not been able to tell Harry too much, but the aesthetics of the room were providing a solid first impression.

Most curious of all was the decorative, red, and purple chalice sitting on Quirrell's desk. Incredibly ornate, balanced upon four small legs, and decorated with symbology indicative of the elements. The only vague feeling he could associate with what he sensed was that it was less of a container and more of a gateway, but even that was far too literal of an interpretation. Harry did not have a clue what the strange item did, but he knew it contained very tumultuous, very powerful magic.

Professor Quirrell had risen from his place at the desk to write his name on the blackboard. Unlike the other professors who had already written down information or just spelled the chalk to write for them, their Defense professor did it by hand.

"My name is Quirinus Quirrell, but to all of you I prefer either Professor, or Professor Quirrell if you wish to be specific. I am your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

The professor was dressed in a neat, white dress shirt with a magenta tie, and well fitted black slacks. Over the back of his chair there was a jacket that had clearly been tossed without too much care. The man appeared to have no shaved that morning if the very small amount of gray facial hair growth was any indicator – it didn't look shabby though, he made it work surprisingly well. The premature balding was the only indicator that he was likely a bit older than his otherwise ageless features would suggest. The turban he had worn at the start of term feast was absent, but Harry thought that was a note in his favor. Overall, his appearance was very put together and cut an impressive figure.

"Within this classroom we will be focusing largely on practical aspects. The casting of spells, how to defend yourself against both other magicals as well as the creatures that go bump in the night."

Harry grinned, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the start of his journey to catch up to that dick, Savage. The idea of being an auror didn't even cross his mind, law enforcement wasn't even remotely his style, but he still wanted to show up Savage someday just to prove that he could. Never mind the general desire he had to learn to fight with magic. The world was a big place, and Harry had no way of knowing who or what he would encounter in his desires to seek out interesting things and places. Self-defense might as well have been synonymous with common sense with those goals in mind.

Professor Quirrell was slowly walking back and forth at the front of the classroom, hands clasped behind his back. "I still expect all of you to read your textbooks and perform any necessary self-study you believe shall help you. Assuming I am not in a class or with another student, my door will always be open for questions or guidance."

The emphasis on self-study whilst only attending the respective classes twice a week each suited Harry just fine. The time spent in the classroom would undoubtedly be valuable, a fact proven by the classes he had already had the pleasure, or displeasure in the case of potions, of attending. The green-eyed teen was more than confident in his ability to thrive in such an environment. Some students may prefer a more structured environment, but Harry had come to enjoy the freedom he'd established as a standard in the final months of the summer.

Harry could tell that Ron was just as interested as he was in this class. His best friend may not have held the same academic interests that he did, but the guy was not a fool, and he still enjoyed magic. There were undoubtedly many nights of practicing spells on one another in their future. Or maybe they could find a friendly suit of armor that would allow them to practice with it. The possibilities were endless in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

"Now, to begin I will be demonstrating the first combative spell in your books." Professor Quirrell stopped walking and pulled out his wand, the quick movement one Harry recognized as being indicative of a holster. "Who seized the initiative and actually read chapter one of their textbooks?"

Every student in the class raised their hands. Whether everyone was telling the truth was up in the air, but Harry did not see any obvious signs that someone was lying.

"Very good," Professor Quirrell seemed genuinely pleased that no one advertised themselves as an idiot. "Initiative such as that will serve you well at Hogwarts. Onto the spell itself though, who can recall its name and incantation?"

Hermione's hand was, unsurprisingly, the first into the air. Harry had no issue with the girl's enthusiasm, it was her choice to be a teacher's pet if she wanted to. The rest of the first year Gryffindors were not a collection of dullards, and a number of other hands were raised aloft. Harry lazily held his up, his apathy to getting called upon very purposefully standing in contrast to Hermione's intense interest.

"Miss Granger," Professor Quirrell said, nodding at her. "I saw your hand first, go ahead."

Harry hoped that same method to call on students would remain constant throughout the year, it would make his role in classroom discussions far easier.

Hermione sat up even straighter, a feat Harry hadn't thought possible, and began to quote, almost verbatim, from the book. "The spell is named the 'Full Body-Bind Curse,' but has also been referred to as the 'Body Freezing Spell' in other regions of Europe. The spell causes temporary paralysis on whomever it is cast upon. Its incantation is 'Petrificus Totalus,' and it does not require a particular wand motion."

"You are correct, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor."

Hermione preened under the praise and points earned, but she seemed to be one of the few in their House that actually gave a shit about the House Cup. Harry would not deny the fact that she was excellent at earning points, but it was obvious her efforts would be utterly fruitless. It was still only the first week and the Gryffindors had already fallen far behind the other three Houses. There was a constantly updating record of which individuals received and awarded points, and Harry had been greatly amused to see that two of Ron's older brothers had lost over 50 points between them. Then there were the actions of Madison Fluke and Otis Magrath, who had each lost 15 points in one go, never mind the 10 Harry himself had lost during potions. Ralphy's words from their first night were proving prophetic. The Gryffindor's didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of winning the cup, so there wasn't really a point in trying.

"The Body-Bind Curse is not a difficult spell to cast as long as you focus. Now, in just a moment you all are going to pair up and practice this spell on one another." Professor Quirrell had wasted even less time than the other professors and just jumped straight into the lesson. "Before that, however, I will be showing you what the spell should look like. Do I have any volunteers?"

Harry almost laughed when no one raised their hand. The idea of being a guinea pig for a combative spell wasn't exactly the most appealing task.

"No one?" Professor Quirrell said, amusement apparent. "I suppose I can't blame you, but I assure you the experience will be utterly painless."

No one raised their hand.

"Random selection it is, then," Quirrell murmured, haphazardly waving his wand so a thin strand of blue energy was flung out. It flew around the room for a second before settling over the head of Roy Patterson, a boy that Harry had not really spoken to since introducing himself at dinner on the second day. "Patterson it is then. Front and center if you please."

Patterson let out a barely concealed groan but followed the Professor's directions. "Do I just stand here?" He asked, nervously biting his lip at the prospect of what was to come. That little detail made Harry think he might not have read the chapter as he claimed.

"Yes, Mister Patterson, you will just stand there," Professor Quirrell responded easily, a single finger rising into the air as he addressed the whole class. "When cast properly, the Body-Bind Curse does not appear as any sort of visual beam or stream of colorful energy as many other combative spells do. Depending on the potency of the spell there can be a flash of light at the point of impact, but that is all." The professor waved his wand at the wall and a split second later a burst of energy sounded against the stone surface. "As you can see, the spell does travel rather quickly, hence its effectiveness in a fight." He paused and shook his head slightly. "Though, its potential is heavily diminished by the fact that it is easily blocked by shield spells."

"When will we learn shield spells?" Dean asked loudly, his hand half raised in the air even as he called out his question.

"A proper shield will be formally taught in your third year, though you're more than welcome to attempt to study such spells on your own at an earlier date," Professor Quirrell answered before brandishing his wand towards Patterson. "Today though, we focus on this spell. Petrificus Totalus."

A split second after the words left the professor's mouth, a flash of light impacted Patterson and his body went completely rigid. His hands ceased their nervous wringing, frozen in place. The words he had been about to speak, only half formed on his lips, died as his mouth was stuck ajar. There was no discoloration or visual sign that the spell had taken beyond the fact that Patterson could not move in the slightest. The Gryffindor first year would have collapsed backwards were it not for a small, circular wand motion from Professor Quirrell. A barely visible, shimmering energy materialized around the frozen teen and stabilized his standing position.

"Now, bear in mind that this spell inflicts paralysis only on the physical," Professor Quirrell lectured, slowly examining Patterson. "Neither the mental nor the magical capabilities of the target are impacted in the slightest. Though it is extraordinarily difficult, there are some magicals that would be capable of casting even from this paralyzed state."

Harry raised his hand aloft. "So, given the detriments that the spell possesses, would you recommend against its use in a duel or actual combat?"

Professor Quirrell chuckled softly. "When it comes to magical combat, Mister Evans, I would recommend any and every spell that can lead you to victory."

That answer was a bit too cryptic for Harry's tastes. "But aren't some spells objectively better for combat than others?"

"Objectively better? Absolutely not." The Defense professor tsked a few times. "There are many spells that are more conventionally suited for specific tasks, but it would be ill advised to underestimate the creative potential that lays within spells and the minds of those who employ them."

Harry couldn't deny that fact, but he nevertheless thought the Professor was being deliberately difficult and dodging his question. "Have you ever used the Body-Bind Curse in combat, Professor?"

The man's lips quirked upwards. "I have."

And that's enough for me, Harry mused, lowering his hand. The teen planned on mastering every spell he came across, but some spells were more valuable than others, that was just a fact.

Professor Quirrell waved his wand once more and the paralysis spell faded off Patterson over the course of a second. The Gryffindor student shook out his limbs and rolled his neck, glad to have movement restored. He wasn't frozen very long at all, but it was as thorough as thorough got. While not painful or harmful, there was no way that curse was a pleasant experience.

"Thank you for your assistance in that demonstration, Patterson," Professor Quirrell remarked, waving him back to his seat. "Now that you've seen what the spell should look like, it's high time for you all to attempt it yourselves.

Harry grinned in excitement. Spellcasting was always a treat for him thanks to his sensing ability, but he was even more enthused to finally be practicing combative magic. The idea of fighting itself didn't seem that enjoyable to the black-haired teen. He'd much rather enjoy a nice drink or fool around with a pretty girl than get slammed in the gut by a fist or get thrown against a wall thanks to a blasting spell. But Harry wasn't naïve, and he'd had his illusions about his place in the magical world shattered by Tom months ago. There was value in learning how to defend oneself, that fact was even more true in the world of magic where everyone walked around with what was essentially a more diverse and powerful gun. The magical world was fun as fuck in his opinion, but it was dangerous too.

"Go ahead and pair up," Professor Quirrell called out. "We only have so much time in this classroom, and I do not wish to see that time wasted. Hop to it. Oh, and I recommend whoever is getting the spell cast at them remain in their chairs with their feet firmly planted on the ground. Your body will freeze in whatever position you happen to be in once hit. If you fall, that's on you."

Harry almost burst out laughing at the utter lack of concern for the students' safety whereas Hermione just seemed horrified. "If we fall that's on us?!" She repeated, mouth agape and eyes wide. "On these floors? We'll break bones should we fall!"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Granger," Seamus called out, wand already pointed toward Dean whose hands were furiously clenching the desk. Poor guy looked like he needed reassurance almost as much as Hermione did. "Broken bones aren't that bad! Petrificus Totalus!"

No one was prepared for the gout of fire that exploded out of the tip of the Irish teen's wand – Dean and Seamus least of all if their startled screams were any sort of judge. Dean was fortunate that the flames did not travel further than a few inches, but that did not help Seamus who started yelling as the sleeve of his uniform caught fire. "Fucking fuck! Put it out! Put it out!" The teen immediately leapt backwards, trying to scramble his way out of his robe.

Before the fire could spread any further it coalesced into a single ball and floated away from Seamus' sleeve. Every eye in the classroom was locked on the sphere as it moved across the classroom and to the tip of Quirrell's wand. With an almost negligent wave the flames extinguished completely. "Do try and maintain your mental focus, Mister Finnigan. I am not very fond of unanticipated explosions in my classroom. I believe Mister Thomas would also appreciate not being set on fire."

"Yeah, no more of that shit, please!" Dean agreed, nodding furiously.

Hermione was slowly shaking her head, dumbfounded by the events that had just unfolded. "Why is the Professor so calm? Seamus and Dean could have been seriously hurt!"

"They're fine," Ron replied, shifting his desk so it faced Harry's, the two of them partners for the exercise. "Worst case scenario the school's healer will fix them right up. No biggie."

"Just because magic can heal them that doesn't mean injuries are something to shrug off!" Hermione shrieked.

Ron seemed genuinely confused by her protest, not even annoyed, just perplexed. "Okay…" He said, glancing at Harry and shrugging.

As amusing as the sight of the random flames had been however, Harry's gut instinct was more akin to Hermione's than Ron's. Most of the class seemed to be in the same boat as the one who was actually raised around magic. It was a curious bit of insight into magical culture that he'd have to explore later.

"You want to cast the spell first, or should I?" Harry asked.

"You cast first, you'll get the handle of it quickly enough and then we can help me." Ron set his legs apart and flat on the ground, but otherwise didn't prepare his body in the slightest. His prerogative if he wanted to fall.

Harry grinned in spite of himself, rather proud that his ability to pick up spells easily had already been noted. "Hope you're ready," he remarked, ebony wand pointed at his friend. "Petrificus Totalus." Magic rapidly flowed throughout his person, seeking the now familiar outlet through his wand. Harry could feel his intentions meld with the incantation to give shape and structure to the magic as it formulated into a spell. The process itself was instantaneous, but he still felt the spell unfold as if time was slowed down.

The ability to sense the detailed elements of magic that wasn't within him was still a skill he was an utter novice at, but Harry had spent a great deal of time focusing on himself and what his magic felt like. There was an intrinsic knowledge that accompanied what he felt. There was no way to describe how he knew how to alter the subtle elements of his spell to better produced the desired effect, but it was irrefutable that he did. The young Gryffindor had a great deal to learn about being a sensor, but even at his skill level he considered it the most valuable tool at his disposal. How other magicals practiced their spells without the ability genuinely perplexed him. If he hadn't been born a sensor, he would have undoubtedly figured out how to cast spells just as most other magicals did, but he was very content with his method thanks to the natural gift he had been fortunate enough to receive at birth.

Harry's first attempt at the Body Bind Curse on Ron left the poor redhead only partially frozen. Both hands and arms sans the fingers were stiff as a board, the left leg was free below the knee while the right leg was locked in place completely. His entire midsection seemed frozen, but everything from the neck up was unaffected. Not too bad for a first attempt, honestly.

"How in the bloody hell did you not get my fingers?" Ron asked, amazed as he waggled them on the desk.

"I'm honestly not sure…"

"Well, undo the curse so you can try again."

Harry realized at that moment that he had not bothered to memorize the counter curse. "Yeah, you're going to have to give me a second," he murmured, pulling out his textbook and beginning to flip to the necessary section. He'd read the entire book already, but the details had escaped his mind.

"Really, Harry? Really?" Ron asked, staring at him blankly as he drummed his fingers.

"Do you know the counter curse?" Harry replied, raising an eyebrow imperiously and not looking up from the text.

"Hey, I'm not the one that went first."

Harry did not buy into that logic at all. "Just wait patiently, I'll find the counter-curse in a second."

"I literally can't do anything else," Ron said, genuinely laughing as he flailed his one working foot.

Off to the side Daniel was partially frozen by Neville, but it was only his head that was stuck in place rather and the rest of his body was fine. Harry made a mental note to find a spell for that specific purpose down the line. More incredible was the accidental babbling spell Lav had cast on Fay. Poor girl just could not stop talking to save her life; as more time went on the frequency of 'fucks' was increasing rapidly, a highly amusing scenario in Harry's opinion.

"Do not forget that the counter-curse is every bit important as the curse itself," Professor Quirrell declared. "This is your time to practice both, so make good use of it." As the class slowly descended into chaos Professor Quirrell began to walk around the room, putting out both literal and proverbial fires whenever they sprung out of control. The man wasn't just herding headless chickens though, to most students he passed by he took a moment to stop and offer bits of instruction and advice. "Intent goes a long way with all spells, but especially the simple ones. You know what you want to happen, so visualize it in your head before casting the spell. You're capable of actualizing your intent with a few simple words, so make it happen."

Not too much time had passed before Harry was able to fully cast both the curse and its counter. It was nice to finally have a partner that he could practice spells on and with. There may exist some method that he could practice spells that had to hit someone on his lonesome, but it wasn't something he'd bothered to look into during his stay in Diagon Alley. There had been so much information to absorb that it hadn't even crossed his mind. Ron didn't seem to mind being a test dummy though, so Harry was optimistic about his ability to practice going forward.

"Alright, turnabout time. Sit down and grit your teeth because this isn't going to be pretty," Ron declared, pulling out his wand and waving it at Harry. The gesture was pretty damn menacing when combined with his advice. The grin he sported did not help in the slightest.

"If you set me on fire, I set fire to your bed," Harry said, claiming the vacated seat, though he wasn't quite as relaxed as Ron had been. The idea of making impact with the stone floor because only half of his body and he lost his balance was not a pleasant one.

Ron took a second to glance over the book before turning back, nodding slightly. "Alright, it says I need to put the wand inside your right ear."

"Bite me."

"Spell doesn't call for that, actually," Ron murmured, grinning as he readied his wand.

Here we go, Harry mused, mentally preparing for all manner of spell effects.

The remainder of the class passed with Harry repeatedly getting hit by variant versions of the Body Bind Curse. By the end of the period Ron had a firm grasp of the spell itself, but still had to work on the counter curse. Every time he tried to cast it Harry's left foot was consistently left frozen. That was a far better result than what had happened to Neville when Daniel had first used the counter curse on him. Harry wished he'd been paying attention to know exactly how a simple counter curse resulted in Neville getting blasted twenty feet across the room, but it was entertaining all the same. Thankfully for Neville's bones, Professor Quirrell was able to cast a cushioning charm in time to prevent injury. Daniel was fairly adept when it came to spell work so that only happened once, but the initial how remained a mystery. Magic was fun, but it was also fucking weird, there was no denying that.

The bell sounded once more, signaling to the class that their final class of the week had come to an end. "Your homework is to practice the Body Bind Curse as well as its counter, and to fully read chapters one and two of your books," Professor Quirrell called out, wand awhirl as he tidied up the desks while talking. "No written assignments for the weekend since this week was only a half-week but expect them to begin soon."

Harry was not too enthused about the prospect of essays for a practical class, but he reserved judgement since there was a slight chance they could prove useful for understanding the material.

"Weekend time!" Ron cheered, passing Harry his textbook. "We've got that assignment for the ass-hole due Tuesday, but other than that it's just reading and practice."

Reading their textbooks and spell practice was still a fairly substantial amount of work, but nothing unreasonable in Harry's opinion. "Don't forget the assignment for Professor Sinistra," Harry added, slinging his bag over his shoulder and exiting the classroom alongside his friend.

"Oh, shit, I forgot about Astronomy," Ron groaned.

"At least it's an interesting topic. An essay on common rituals that could have added benefits depending on the phase of the moon is way more exciting than just charting stars or some shit like that."

"That's true, I suppose," Ron murmured. The bloke did not seem that enthused but the visual annoyance was gone.

Astronomy had been the one class that had well and truly blown away Harry's expectations. The textbook had clued him into the fact that there was a great deal of powerful magic that had relevance to the subject, but he'd still been dubious on just how much knowledge of the cosmos the magical world could honestly have without access to technology. If he had bothered to test out all of the various knobs on the telescope he'd purchased he may have been clued in sooner, but once again his foolish presuppositions about magic's potential had gotten the best of him.

Their first class with the extremely beautiful Professor Sinistra had been set inside a classroom near the top of the astronomy tower, the final stop on the stairwell before it ascended to the literal, open air top. The interior of the classroom lacked any windows, lit by floating globules of light that hovered around the open air. There were no desks, just a series of circular tables lining the edges of the room. On the ground itself was a thick, impossibly soft and comfortable rug that felt more like a stiff bed than anything you were supposed to walk upon. The ceiling had been similar to the one in the Great Hall except it solely depicted the star filled night sky rather than reflecting the current time of day and weather.

Professor Sinistra had directed the class to lay down while she talked about the various aspects of what the class would cover, and the various applications astronomy could have in other subjects. Harry had been to the London Planetarium once or twice in his life and had even managed to catch a show that utilized lights and projectors to great effect in its depiction of the night sky. All of what he had seen before absolutely paled in comparison to the sheer majesty and detail of the Astronomy classroom.

The whole class' attention had been captured the instant the ceiling began to expand downwards, covering both the walls and floor until the rug the students were seated upon appeared to be floating in the vast emptiness of space. The number of stars was staggering, utterly beyond true comprehension and understanding. Then their perspective had changed, and they were moving forward, different celestial bodies either coming into view or the same ones suddenly able to be seen from a different perspective. Stunned silence was the only apt term to describe the first year Gryffindors at that moment. Harry had held only a passing interest in the subject before, but after that display a genuine passion for the expansive cosmos had developed within the teen.

Harry had absolutely no idea how magicals had managed to glean such information about the universe, but it was something he was going to figure out. The evening after that first class Harry had tried his hand at using his own telescope and discovered it was a fair bit more advanced than the one Beth had owned. The obviously magical mirrors and lenses did not allow for the wonders that Professor Sinistra's classroom had, but Harry was still able to observe the stars in more detail than he would have thought possible for a telescope that he could carry in his hands.

"It's not due until Wednesday though, do you think we really need to work on it over the weekend?" Ron asked pleadingly. Harry had fought off Sarah's puppy dog eyes before, Ron's were no match against him.

"I'm not religious about schoolwork, man, but we really probably should. It will save us the stress later."

"Fine, fine," Ron acquiesced, grunting slightly as he adjusted his book-bag. "If you turn into Granger though I'm going to arrange an intervention. Or an exorcism."

Harry had absolutely no issues with that contingency plan. "If I ever turn into Granger, then please save me from myself no matter what it takes." A healthy respect for getting work done on time was not the same as the obsessed fervor that Hermione lived with every single day of her life. The girl was a borderline genius, but she also spent more time studying than anyone else Harry had ever seen.

"So, that was a fun class," Fay remarked, walking up alongside Lav and Parvati, catching up to the two boys. The sarcasm in her voice could not have been thicker.

"I said sorry about the talking thing!" Lav cried, taking cover from the acerbic girl by hiding on the other side of Ron. The redhead got nervous when he caught sight of Fay's narrowed eyes. An understandable reaction.

"I couldn't control what I was saying at all! You're lucky I didn't start talking about who I've slept with in the middle of Defense!" That little detail made Harry sad he hadn't paid better attention to the girl's babbling. Alas, there was always next time.

Lav cocked her head to the side. "Is information like that really a secret?"

"Not the point!"

"Ugh, fine!" Lav groaned, rolling her eyes heavily. "What do I have to do to make it up to you?"

Harry started to zone out as the byplay between the two girls continued but was pulled out of it by Parvati saddling up to his side. "What's up?" He'd spoken to the girl fairly regularly over the past few days, but they'd both realized that while they got along well enough, they would never be best friends. The attraction was still there, and Harry did consider the girl a friend, but that was the extent of their relationship. Parvati was the most social girl he'd seen though, forming friendships with just about everyone but seeming especially close to both Lav and Rose, flitting between the two of them depending on the day.

Parvati hooked her arm in his. "Since it's the weekend, you down to have some fun tomorrow night?" She asked impishly.

Goddamn, I love booty calls, Harry mused to himself, a satisfied grin forming on his face. "Tomorrow works for me. My room or yours?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find a place." Parvati replied, winking up at him as she released his arm and stepped closer to Lav.

The no strings attached friends with benefits scenario he'd established with the girl was his dream scenario. Sex with a gorgeous girl was obviously a plus regardless, but it was the lack of commitment or romantic attachment that was the crown jewel of the entire situation.

The entire group of first years were forced to come to an abrupt halt as a suit of armor was flung down the corridor perpendicular to them. Immediately in its wake danced a strange, spectral figure, different from the ghosts that inhabited the castle, but clearly not human either. The individual was clearly male, but their face seemed to change ever so slightly the more you looked at it. The pseudo ghost was dressed akin to a jester, but somehow even more odd. His bizarre outfit was themed after the suits of a card, with diamond patterned, thigh high tights, a series of hearts forming a bandolier strung over his shoulder. Spades were stitched into a line along the entire main portion of his hat and under his left eye was a tattoo depicting two clubs, vertically in a line. The odd man's shirt had long, billowing sleeves that tightened at the wrist, over top which a thin, two button vest was flush against his chest. Two, short ties hung from their neck, extending down from the ruffles that adorned their collar but stopping at the chest. The diamond patterned tights vanished into a pair of billowing shorts that matched the shirt in both color and fit as they tightened above the knee. A festive pair of ankle boots rounded off the ensemble, little bells hanging from each shoe.

The jester, for what else could he be, appeared to be laughing manically as it danced, each erratic movement barely avoiding the swing of a sword as two other suits of armor harried it with their blades. The suits of armor as well as their blades were shimmering with a slight silver glow, evidently imbued with some manner of magic, though they were moving too quickly for Harry to try and sense any details about.

"So much effort for little old me? In the middle of the corridor where all can see? Quite unbecoming for a fine lady. Wouldn't you agree, young Miss Headley?" The jester said, every word walking the line between being sung or simply spoken, but all of them dripping with condescension. Just as the odd entity's face was always slightly changing, so too was his voice. The subtle pitches, tones, and intonations were slightly altered with every new word.

The woman the jester was addressing turned out to be a ghost herself. She was a beautiful woman seemingly in her early thirties, though it was difficult to say given her translucent appearance. The woman was garbed in an exceedingly ornate dress that indicated she had been a part of the nobility when alive, perhaps even royalty. Most eye catching of all were the large bloodstains that coated the garment she'd evidently died in, as well as the long, deep gash that stretched across her throat.

"I've grown tired of your mockery, Peeves!" Miss Headley, as the now identified Peeves had referred to her, practically hissed at her fellow incorporeal being. "You may not die, but you will know pain!" The suits of armors renewed their attacks in accordance with her words, forcing Peeves to dodge and dance around their blades with even more speed than before.

"What the fuck is happening?" Ron asked, dumbfounded as his eyes tracked the various ghosts and suits of armor engaged in a full-on melee in the middle of the corridor.

"No idea, but I'm enjoying it," Harry replied absentmindedly, his attention riveted on Peeves and the way he moved. Surprisingly, they were all movements that the human body was actually capable of.

Laughter then emanated from Peeves, louder than anything else he'd said or done, the sounds echoing off the walls and reverberating into the ears of everyone nearby. "Oh, pitiable, little Headley… still clinging to power that was never truly yours," Peeves mocked, the target of his provocative comments growing more upset by the second. "Threats and anger combined together – a wildfire they make."

"You-" The jester did not allow her to finish whatever vitriol she was about to spew before fading into nothing and instantly materializing right in front of Headley. She screamed and lurched backward through the air. A lone, disembodied hand pressed into her back and prevented her from gaining distance. Peeves' disembodied hand.

"You best be careful, little Nela. We all remember what happened the last time you stuck your neck out a bit… too… far…" Peeves mimed slicing open his own neck, but to the horror of everyone watching, a wound exactly akin to Headley's own actually opened across his throat. A cruel mimicry of the injury that had claimed her life Merlin knew how many years prior.

Anger remained on Headley's twisted, spectral visage, but above all else there was fear. The woman had frozen completely, her eyes wide as she stared into nothing. Her bearing strangely reminiscent of the Body-Bind Curse the students had just learned. Harry would bet anything that the woman was remembering her death at that moment. An experience he himself hoped to never have to go through. Dying was already a concept that terrified him, the idea of remembering such an event while only existing as a facsimile of life somehow seemed worse

The wound vanished from Peeves' neck as he floated away, cackling loudly and erratically all the while. "Send your guards, send your men! Peeves will best them all again!" The spectral jester bowed dramatically before the small crowds of students that had assembled at various portions of the hall. His hat was held in his grip as he repeatedly bent his body completely over, continuing to do so even as his body slowly sunk into the floor below.

"Peeves will best them all again."

The words were repeated again, but in a far more eerie fashion. The latter half of the rhyme gaining a sinister quality as Harry heard them within his own mind. A quick glance toward Ron confirmed that he'd heard the same.

"Hogwarts is fucking weird," Fay murmured, eyes following Headley as she too floated away through a wall.

"Yeah, but I'm into it," Harry responded, resuming his walk since the unexpected performance had come to a close.

"Have any of you ever heard of Nela Headley before?" Parvati asked.

"I'm certain that library could tell you," Hermione said, quickly walking past the group as she was wont to do. That girl walked faster than anyone else Harry had ever met.

"Pass," Lav called after her, shrugging when there was no reply. "I'll just ask Binns next time we have History."

Harry had admittedly only attended History of Magic once thus far, but his first impressions of the class were far more positive than what Leia had led him to believe. There wasn't a lot of magic involved, and Binns could stand to be a bit less dry in his delivery, but at least the content itself was interesting. The green-eyed teen had always enjoyed history, but the opportunity to see a different side to the same events was utterly fascinating. The journals within the Potter vault had given him a taste for just how different the reality of the past may differ from what he'd been told growing up, and he could not wait to discover more.

"What time is our 'broom lesson' tomorrow again?" Ron asked, mocking the very idea that they needed lessons.

"One, I think?" Harry answered, rather excited at the prospect of flying for the first time. To someone that had grown up in the magical world it was commonplace, but Harry couldn't wait to try his hand at that which was utterly impossible to achieve in the mundane world.

"I'm tempted to skip it," Ron said. "I mean, it's not like I actually need any lessons on flying."

"We were told it was mandatory to attend," Fay cut in and scoffed. "But hey, if you want to tempt McGonagall's wrath that's your choice."

The redheaded teen paled and shook his head. "Nope, I'm good. Flying lesson sounds fun, actually."

Harry couldn't resist the urge to tease his friend. "And they say bravery and stupidity are one and the same. Way to prove them all wrong this time, Ron."

"This time?!"

"Yes, this time."

OoooOoooO

"Good morning, Daddy!"

"Good morning, Luna, dear. Did you sleep well last night?"

"I don't believe so, but I did Dream very well."

"That's marvelous, sweetheart! Where did you go? What sights did you see?"

"I decided to go to the beach and build a great castle from sand, but I did get a bit distracted just enjoying the water hit my toes. At first it was cold, far too cold, but I wanted it to be warmer and so it was."

"Your control is getting better then?"

"Oh, much so.

"So, what happened next?"

"Well, after I had built my castle and helped some gryphons settle inside of it, I decided to go visit a real one."

"A real gryphon?"

"No, silly, a castle."

"Ah, that makes far more sense. Which castle did you visit?"

"The Alcázar of Segovia."

"A lovely choice, please continue."

"There were a great many people who kept popping up for a few seconds and then vanishing. I tried to peak into their dreams, but I was only able to see glimpses and flashes."

"Even your mother had difficulties peering into the dreams of others when she was still alive. Do not worry, my dear, I am certain you will master it in time."

"I did manage to catch sight of quite a few Heffalumps and Woozles."

"Are they still up to their usual tricks?"

"I imagine so, they are very covetous creatures, but I was not able to stick around long enough to confirm."

"I'm certain they were. Extraordinary creatures the Heffalumps and Woozles are, extraordinary… distinguishing between them is proving difficult but as a collective they are fascinating. But enough about them, what happened next?"

"It was shortly after that, I was still inside the alcázar, when he showed up."

"Ah, him again? And how is our mysterious friend?"

"Oh, he is doing quite well. Still smiling, still a bit peculiar. He did say that things were starting to get interesting in this country though. That was different. I don't know what he was referring to, but he seemed excited."

"He did not elaborate any further?"

"We were talking for a few minutes but no, he did not clarify his interests."

"That is a shame. I was thinking about writing an article on him, but I want a bit more meat for the story..."

"Well, actually, when I asked him if he was still reading that rag, he did say yes because it was a 'good source of information' for him."

"Ministry controlled propaganda! All of it! Whatever miniscule tidbits of truth he is able to derive from those pages is not worth the subtle magic that infects his mind and warps his thoughts!"

"I did tell him that, though I used slightly different words."

"And? What did he say?"

"He laughed, tapped his head, and said his mind was assuredly his own. A very strange reaction since if his mind wasn't his own, then denying that fact is exactly what he would do to convince me of the opposite."

"Unless he knew you'd anticipate that line of thought and went a step further."

"That is a possibility! It is hard to say for certain though…"

"Indeed. For his sake, we must hope he has not fallen victim as he seems to believe. And we should also hope that he does not consume from their cursed, factually incorrect pages anymore – it is for his own good."

"I thought you said hope was hollow?"

"No, no, I said it is only as hollow as the Well of Eternity that Fudge and his secret cabal drink from to preserve their youth – but that Well is quite full on every day but Wednesday."

"Today is Tuesday."

"Then hope is not hollow!"

"In that case, I hope he's okay."

"I do as well, sweet girl. Now come, let us prepare breakfast together."

OoooOoooO

"I never imagined that Da Vinci's supposed words would ring so true," Harry said, his voice reaching only his own ears before being drowned out by the steady, powerful winds that were ever present hundreds upon hundreds of feet in the air.

All that kept him from plummeting to his death was a single, wooden broom that had clearly seen better days, but Harry didn't care – on and on he flew in the warm skies above Hogwarts. The feeling of soaring through the air at speeds faster than cars was utterly incomparable. There were no safety standards, no contingency plans, only his grip on the wooden length and his feet on the metal foot grips keeping him connected to the flying tool.

Harry was a natural at flying. Alice had mentioned that his father was rather skilled at it as well, but he was still surprised that the skillset came so easily to him. While he could sense his own magic intertwining and connecting to the magic enchanted into the broom, he knew that wasn't the reason behind his ability to do so with such ease. Flying on a broom was as simple as walking to the teen.

Aimlessly, he continued to follow the whims of desire and fly. Where he flew was unimportant, the act of flying alone was all the sustenance he required. Harry was fairly certain that he had a series of detentions waiting for him back on the ground. Madam Hooch had given the students that seemed even halfway capable on a broom permission to fly around freely, but he ignored her instructions to stay within eyeshot. The weather was warm, the sky was surprisingly clear, and Harry could not bring himself to ignore the allure of just flying to wherever he could see. In the span of only a few minutes he could reach the Quidditch pitch, Forbidden Forest, the main gate, or the greenhouses. All of Hogwarts was available to him. From the tallest towers to the distant town of Hogsmeade. Flying was the purest expression of freedom Harry had discovered since entering the magical world. A direct 'fuck you' to the flightless anatomy humanity had been cursed with since time immemorial.

The distant sound of someone shouting drew Harry's attention behind him. "Oi! Harry!" Ron called out, waving one hand through the air as the other gripped the broom.

Coming to a stop and just hovering, Harry waited for his friend to slowly catch up. Poor bastard's broom kept slowing down, veering to the left, and generally just not cooperating with the subtle movements used to control the flying device. That was on top of him being stuck with a broom that was likely from the previous century. Harry had lucked out and gotten one in solid condition.

"Blimey, Harry, I thought you said you hadn't flown before?"

"I haven't, first time on a broom," Harry said, a somewhat cocky smile in place as he maneuvered closer.

Ron was taken aback. "What? Bullshit. First time flyers are supposed to be like Hermione and not get more than two feet off the ground." The poor girl really had been dreadful. An amusing change given that she excelled at literally everything else that was related to coursework.

"Sorry, mate, guess god just loves me more than everyone else." Harry deserved the punch he received in the shoulder.

"Why am I friends with a git, again?" Ron chuckled, shaking out his hand.

"I guess the parts of me that are a git speak to you on a personal level. You know, Ron, you may be a git too." Harry was only half kidding. In the brief time he'd known Ron he had realized that the guy was as adept at insulting others as Harry himself was. All of the Gryffindors made fun of each other. So much so that thick skin might as well have been a prerequisite for joining the House, but Ron had demonstrated that it came naturally to him. "Not to mention I buy you food, so." Harry shrugged.

"You've only bought me food one time though," Ron countered.

"So far. I've only bought you food one time so far." Harry planned to be rather generous with his finances when the first years were allowed to visit Hogsmeade on certain weekends come October. The magical village was essentially just a college town that students flooded into on the weekends. There were supposed to be a lot of cool places to visit, hang out, and spend money at though, so Harry was looking forward to it.

"I am so holding you to that," Ron laughed, but it slowed as he cocked his head to the side slightly and pointed back toward the ground. "What's that building over there?"

Harry followed where his friend was pointing and saw a sizable, wooden hut sitting near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, at the base of large hill that led up to Hogwarts. "I'm not sure. Want to go check it out?"

"Think Hooch will kill us if we do?"

"The more time we spend away the more convinced I am that she actually doesn't give a shit what we do as long as we bring the brooms back," Harry replied, mostly trying to reassure himself. Madam Hooch had given rather explicit instructions about not soaring off, but she hadn't enforced said rules, so he was at an impasse on what to believe. "Worst case scenario is that we're already in trouble, so might as well go all the way."

"By getting expelled?" Ron was incredulous. The idea of getting expelled in the first week of school did not sit well with him it seemed.

"We won't get expelled for something like this," Harry said confidently. "Expulsion is for the seriously bad shit, like getting someone killed."

Ron raised an eyebrow imperiously. "And how sure of this are you?"

"47 percent sure."

"Good enough for me, let's go see what the weird hut is about."

The two friends angled their brooms downward and began to descend rapidly. Harry debated letting the magic stop flowing through the broom to see what it felt like to just fall through the air, but he decided to save the skydiving experience for when he had a better broom and less oversight. As they neared the hut Harry got a closer view of the structure and realized 'hut' did not quite do it justice. While not erroneous in size, the building was a lot larger than he had initially believed. The doors and windows of the establishment were twice as large as the standard sizes of such features. The same was true of the front steps, the handle on the door, and even the chimney. The entirety of the wooden structure appeared to be built for someone that was far bigger than any human.

"Oh, I know who lives here!" Ron declared, stepping up to the hut with his broom in hand. "That big guy!"

"Big guy?"

"You know, the one who gathered us up on the first night and led us to the boats and across the lake."

"Shit, I think you're right," Harry said, nodding along. "I think his name was H something. Harrod? Hargon?"

"Yeah! The big guy!"

Harry knew that he had caught the ginormous man's name that night, but his attention had been on a million other things and then he'd gotten hammered. Those circumstances combined meant that recalling a name he'd only heard once was completely beyond his capabilities. Whatever the large man's name had been though, he'd seemed friendly enough, never mind that he was employed by the school, so Harry wasn't nervous about stumbling onto his home. Hansel and Gretel was an amusing tale, but not one that was applicable to his life… or so he hoped anyway.

"Think he's home?" Harry wondered aloud, hovering on his broom to peer through the windows. There was no light shining from within, but that did not necessarily mean much.

"No smoke from the chimney," Ron said, following Harry's example and remounting his broom. "Guess he's out right now."

That was unfortunate, Harry actually wanted to speak with the giant man. He was weird and different; separate from the rest of the school but still clearly attached to it in some fashion. Those oddities were interesting and had piqued his interest more than most of the shit he'd seen thus far. "Well, damn. Want to come back here tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me. We won't have our brooms, but" Ron gestured to the rocky, dirt path that led back up to the castle, "I think we'll manage to find our way just fine.

The two friends took to the skies once more and held an impromptu race to see who could get back to Hooch the fastest – a race that was quickly abandoned when they remembered just how shabby Ron's assigned broom was.

"I hate this thing so bloody much," Ron grumbled, once again adjusting course just to stay straight. "Even my old Cleansweep is better than this flying piece of firewood. I would've brought it to the lesson if I thought the school brooms were going to be this fucking bad."

Harry had to concur, as far as brooms went, it was pretty much the worst. "How the hell is Hogwarts not better funded? Imagine if some poor, brand new to magic muggle-born had gotten that broom."

"Oh, they'd fall within forty-five seconds," the redhead said confidently.

"And how high can these brooms rise in that time?"

"High enough to hurt when you land, that's for sure."

Prior to his start at Hogwarts Harry would have assumed there were safety measures in place, or that Madam Hooch would at least be ready to cast protective spells on those who fell… but his experiences thus far had demonstrated quite clearly that short of death or magical malady, magicals did not give a single, flying fuck about injuries. It was as inspiring as it was terrifying.

Though it took some time, eventually the two friends made it back to the large, open section of the grounds where their lesson had begun. Harry mentally braced himself for an angry tirade the second Madam Hooch came into eyeshot. The spiky, white haired woman had her hands on her hips, and her yellow eyes were narrowed. We are so fucked.

"Evans! Weasley! What in the bloody hell were you two thinking flying off by your lonesome?" Hooch shouted, not bothering to hide her reprimand from the rest of the class.

Harry was fairly familiar with the public censures often offered by teachers and other individuals of authority in the world – they were an old friend to the troubled teen. Hooch seemed pissed, but he had honestly expected more vitriol.

"I'm sorry, Madam," Harry said, feigning contriteness. "I'd never flown before and just got carried away, and Ron came after me to bring me back." He had long since figured out that fake apologies were the fastest way to get passed the yelling and onto the punishments.

"Spare me your bullshit, Evans," Hooch said sternly. Evidently, she was familiar with these situations as well. "You took off to Merlin knows where the second you bloody well could. And you, Weasley, you were right on his damn heels!"

"Well, I couldn't let him go off alone…" Ron muttered, rubbing the back of his head. Though if Harry had to guess, getting yelled at was not a new experience for him either.

"Oh yes you could!" Hooch countered. "Here's a piece of advice for you, let fools make fool decisions on their own. Evans wasn't in any danger of falling, you knew that just as I did, so there was absolutely no reason for you to go chasing after him."

Harry was torn between annoyance at being called a fool and pride at the recognition of his day one flying skills. The snickers from the student onlookers settled the mental debate for him rather nicely. He surreptitiously flipped the crowd the two-fingered salute where Hooch was hopefully unable to see. Boring bastards had no right to laugh at him when they'd stayed neatly inside the lines and not had any real fun.

"Give me your brooms, you're both done with them."

Sighing heavily, Harry followed Ron's example and placed the broom into Hooch's outstretched hands. "How many days of detention do we get?" The black-haired teen asked, mentally preparing for the loss of free time.

Hooch placed her hands on her hips. "None."

"What? Really?" Ron exclaimed, a hint of hope entering his voice.

Harry was just as taken aback as he was. "We're not getting detention?"

Hooch smirked at them. That was not a good sign. "If I assign you detention then I have to preside over it. I don't feel like dedicating my free time to your damned punishments. So, no. No detention."

The optimism that had welled within Harry faded away in an instant. "Shit."

Shit is right, Evans. Both you and Weasley are banned from flying for the next two weeks."

"Two weeks?!" They yelled in unison.

"Two weeks," Hooch repeated. "I had one blasted rule and you two decided to flagrantly ignore it. I think being landlocked and unable to practice flying leading up to your Quidditch tryouts for your House is more than fair for disobeying me. You're lucky I'm being lenient, I've half a mind to make it a month.

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out. He knew it was important to take into account whose rules were being broken but he hadn't done so. Wounded pride was the reason he and Ron were being punished more than anything else.

Hooch nodded firmly, the punishment administered and over with, and turned toward the rest of the class. "If you want to borrow a school broom from here on out, just sign one out and return it in the same condition you checked it out in. If you have any questions stick around and ask, otherwise you're all dismissed."

The majority of the Gryffindors began to make their way back into the castle, first among them Hermione, who looked very, very pleased to be finished with the lesson. Harry did not see his brother anywhere among the crowd though.

"Oi, where's Daniel?" He called out to anyone within earshot.

"That's right, you weren't there to see what happened," Seamus replied, walking backwards while talking.

Saddling up next to him, Neville took over from where the Irish teen had left off. "So, you know how Daniel loves flying?"

Harry nodded, "yeah, he mentioned it a few times." That was an understatement and a half. Daniel had talked about flying more than almost anything else in the short time that Harry had known him.

"Well, he doesn't just love it, he's incredibly talented and regularly practices to get even better," Neville said proudly. Pride in the accomplishments of others was not an unfamiliar concept to Harry, but he hadn't experienced it in regard to his twin just yet.

"And?" Harry dragged out the syllables trying to stress how little he still knew.

"After you flew off, Daniel decided to do as he always did and run some drills," Neville resumed his recounting. "Standard stuff for him, but way beyond what the rest of us could do."

Fay hummed in agreement. "He's not kidding, Harry. Your brother is a really fucking good flier." Quite the endorsement given who it was coming from. Fay and Ron had firmly established themselves as the Quidditch duo among Harry's circle of friends, but even betwixt them Fay had gone to more professional matches.

"So, what happened next?" Ron stepped in to help usher the story along.

"Wood, the fifth year Captain of the Quidditch team came sprinting out of the castle, waving his hands in the air, shouting at the top of his lungs that he'd 'found his Seeker,'" Neville said, mimicking the arm movements and almost hitting Rose in the face.

Harry had trouble imagining the stern guy from their first night acting so enthused, but given how rowdy Quidditch fans got, he supposed it wasn't a stretch that the player had an alternative, more passionate side to him.

"He called Daniel to the ground and yelled at Hooch that he was going to 'borrow' him for a while, and then marched him right inside," Fay chimed in. "No clue what he said to Daniel beyond that, but it doesn't take a genius to guess."

"Wood was actually skipping," Neville laughed. "Can't blame him though, Daniel is a great addition to the team."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "I thought first years couldn't be starters on the team?"

"I'm pretty sure that's just an informal rule," Fay replied, though she seemed uncertain herself. "We'll have to ask Daniel for the details when he's finished."

Harry was not naturally a jealous person, but he could not help but feel a bit of it prickle at him as he heard about his younger twin landing what was presumed to be a special and coveted position. Playing Quidditch wasn't even something that held particular interest to him, at least not yet as he'd only just gotten on a broom… but Daniel was already the center of attention wherever the first year Gryffindors went, joining the Quidditch team was only going to exacerbate that fact.

Intellectually, he was well aware that Daniel neither asked for nor wanted the copious amount of attention he received, but in a way that was almost worse. The spotlight was going to shine on the Boy-Who-Lived regardless of what he did, but instead of enjoying that attention for what it was, Daniel always sought the politest way to step out of it. Harry wasn't mad at Daniel for not enjoying the stares and focus of the magical world, he was just frustrated knowing everyone else in their year would always be in his shadow. Daniel wasn't a prodigy at classwork, but he was good enough that people would note his intelligence. His spell-work wasn't top of their class, but the world would note how quickly he mastered spells, all the while ignoring everyone else his age.

Harry was just being petty; he knew that better than anyone. Daniel was a prodigious flier and so deserved his spot on the team. His placement was not born from nepotism or as a result of his fame, he had genuine skill. He may not have had to tryout but rumors of his talent painted a very clear picture… even with all of that in mind though, the jealousy remained all the same. No one would ever hear of Harry's disgruntlement over this fact, and nor would he allow any clues to bleed through in his mannerisms or behavior. Daniel didn't deserve to be made a victim because his elder brother was wallowing in childish feelings of envy.

The throng of Gryffindors all split off into groups and went their differing directions. Harry and Ron decided some lunch was in order and made their way back to the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling made him feel like he was still outside enjoying the pleasant weather and feeling of the sun on his skin. All that was missing was the light, perpetual breeze gusting through his hair.

Lunch that day consisted of a sandwich station operating on its own, a sight they had already seen earlier in the week as well. The surprisingly large array of ingredients and option for ambient or grilled varieties meant that the food was still quite amazing. Far better than anything Harry had tasted during his time in the muggle school system.

The two friends had just sat down to enjoy their meal and mutually bitch about their newly received punishment when two, tall redheads flanked Ron on the long benches. Harry guessed these were the infamous twins he'd heard so much about but had only seen in passing.

"You would not believe what we just heard!" The one on the left said, throwing an arm around Ron's shoulders.

"Our little brother, Ronniekins the First-"

"Got himself on the wrong end of Hooch's temper!" The two were in perfect sync with each other. Harry almost wondered if there was a magical phenomenon that allowed them to share a single mind.

Ron waited a moment to finish swallowing his food before answering the duo. "Wasn't that big of a deal," he took a long drink. "She just got mad when we flew off on our own."

"Oh yes, we heard that you weren't alone," the one on the right said, now looking across the table at Harry for the first time since sitting down.

"Harry Evans, the evil twin brother of the Boy-Who-Can-Fly." The one on the left was smirking rather heavily as he snagged a chip off of Ron's plate.

"News travels fast around here," Harry said, feigning a small chuckle.

"That's true, that's very true-"

"But we hear things more quickly than most."

"Especially when it pertains to Quidditch rosters."

"We're on the team so it wouldn't do to be blindsided by who else is taking the pitch."

Harry felt like he was at a tennis game the way his eyes flicked back and forth to whomever was talking. The twins were utterly identical in both appearance, cadence, and demeanor. It had to be magic. There was simply no other explanation. Identical twins did not manage this level of synchronicity. Harry and Daniel were not a good basis on which to judge given the circumstances of their respective childhoods, but Parvati and Padma had very clear differences between them as well. The same was true of every muggle pair of twins Harry had even heard mention of. The Weasley twins were different somehow, that much was clear. At some point Harry resolved to try and sense if there was anything unique to them, but that could wait for another time.

"Oi," Ron butted into the conversation, elbowing his brothers lightly. "Introduce yourselves, you gits."

Ron was tall, but the two twins made eye contact over his head, both of their mouths slightly ajar. "Did we just get rightfully told off by Ronniekins of all people?"

"By George, I think we did!" The other said, dramatically placing his hands on his cheeks."

"Well, George, I think we should introduce ourselves!"

The other nodded profusely. "Right you are, Fred, it's clearly the polite thing to do." Both brothers turned back to Harry and stuck out a hand to be shaken. "I'm Fred," the one who had been addressed as George said.

"And I'm George," the previously referred to Fred declared.

Torn between amusement and bewilderment, the slowly mounting headache Harry felt in the back of his brain settled his opinion on the brothers. Fun blokes, but only in short bursts. "Pleasure."

"Likewise, little Harrykins," Fred said, vigorously shaking the proffered hand. "So where did you two ne'er-do-wells soar off to long enough to send Hooch into one of her moods?"

"No where in particular, we were just flying," Ron grumbled, Harry nodded along in agreement as his mouth was full. "She just got her knickers in a twist because we broke her pointless rule."

"No surprises there," George said, commiserating with his little brother and patting him on the shoulder.

"Everyone knows Hooch is a right terror if you get on her bad side," Fred continued sagely.

"Doubly so if you try anything during a Quidditch match," George finished. "Hooch officiates every match here at Hogwarts, and she takes the matches more seriously than anyone but Wood."

The helpful advice was appreciated even if it had come a few hours too late. "Good to know," Harry muttered. "Any other tips?"

The two twins rose from the bench in unison. "Not today, Harry, old chap," one of the twins said. Harry had lost track of which was which the moment they weren't seated in place.

"Places to be, people to see," the other remarked, already moving away from the table.

"We have plenty of tips, of course-"

""We just won't be sharing them today!"" They called out together.

Harry waited until they were out of earshot before looking at Ron earnestly. "If those two ever say 'Come play with us, Harry,' I'm grabbing an ax."

"What is it with you and axes?" Ron asked, not understanding the reference in the slightest. "First when we were with Hank, and now this?"

Harry sighed and wiped his hands off with a napkin. "If you'd seen The Shining, then you'd understand."

"What is that? Muggle theatre?"

"Close enough."

Chapter Text

"Let them call us whatever they wish. I have no care for the opinions of men so content with the mortality of their loved ones. I will not watch you die, Perenelle. If I have to become a monster in the process, then so be it. Damnation is a price I'm willing to pay." -Nicolas Flamel to his wife while he experimented on humans. July, 1353.

Chapter 12:

There was no shortage of people wandering the corridors of Hogwarts when the moon took centerstage in the night sky. In spite of the curfew meant to curtail rendezvous under the starry expanse, many students, teachers, ghosts, and other odd beings made a habit of venturing out into the darkened corridors once the sun had set. Some students sought the company of their lovers from other houses, some simply wished to see what they could find, others still went to quiet alcoves they'd carved out and made their own. Hogwarts was an enormous castle, there was simply no way for the teachers and prefects to monitor all of it, and so they didn't even bother. The main throughways were patrolled for the first few hours of the evening, but after that it was simply a matter of avoiding Argus Filch and the series of paintings he'd recruited to aid his cause. The old man had no access to magic, but there was no denying that he knew how to navigate the ancient maze of corridors and secret passageways better than most; the corridors he could access, at least.

The thought of running into a wandless squib was of no concern to Quirinus Quirrell as he confidently strode toward the principal entrance to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. Most of the portraits decorating the walls were sound asleep, but even those few that were awake had their eyes slide right past the professor without recognition or awareness. A useful charm meant to aid one in going unnoticed; when combined with a simple silencing charm on the soles of his feet to ensure they would not hear him as he walked upon the stone floor he might as well have been invisible.

In any other circumstance he would have utilized a disillusionment charm, but Quirrell wasn't overly fond of the visual distortions to one's eyesight that naturally accompanied the spell, especially not when he was keeping his eyes peeled for the subtle visual traces of magical wards and enchantments. Dumbledore had shared detailed plans on the defensive measures he had in place for the Stone, not including the individual trials designed by the Hogwarts staff, but Quirrell had the nagging suspicion that the wizened Headmaster hadn't shared everything. The part of his mind that was still his own rejoiced at that fact, but the rest of him, the parts that were no longer under his control, felt only a grim sense of determination.

There was a cruel irony to being aware of one's own possession. Quirrell could feel how his mind was not entirely his own, yet he knew full and well what sides were not his. It was akin to the Imperius curse only even more insidious. Quirrell had experienced the dreaded unforgivable curse more than once in his life, and each time there was at least the ability to fight back, an opportunity to try and resist the command as the spell took hold… but possession was something more; complete and utter subversion of the free will every sentient being enjoyed. There was nothing Quirrell would rather do more than run into Dumbldore's office and tell him everything. Share with him that Voldemort was still alive, that he was after the Stone, and that Quirrell himself was his unwilling pawn, but he could not do so. There wasn't even a choice to be made.

Quirrell knew that the odds of him being stopped were slim. Voldemort had not just gotten lucky in choosing to possess him, he'd hit the damned jackpot. He was an expert in multiple fields of study, an accomplished combatant, and worst of all, an individual who had the trust of Albus Dumbledore. For over six years Quirrell had worked at Hogwarts as the Muggle Studies professor. In that time, he'd been a friend to the rest of the staff and had never given them even the slightest reason to distrust him. Without that history he would have never been hired for his position, not when the headmaster was trying to bait a thief into capture. An inaudible snarl escaped Quirrell's throat as he strode past a set of wards that he'd already been keyed into. Dumbledore had prepared for all the possible variables of each potential outcome; he'd considered every single detail except that one of his own longstanding teachers would be a traitor.

The access granted to him by his status as a professor was unrivaled; allowing him to simply ignore the majority of observation and detection measures that had been put into place. In the confines of his mind, Quirrell raged. He raged at Voldemort for being a psychopathic monster capable of possession; he raged at Dumbledore for not realizing that he'd hired a possessed man doomed to die… but most of all he raged against himself. Against his own stupidity and the harm that would come from it. Every moment that he spent aiding the disembodied soul that was Lord Voldemort was another moment that Quirrell cursed himself for ever daring into those damned woods. In his foolish arrogance he had believed that on his lonesome he would be able to handle the magic that had set a plague over the forest in Albania.

The price of his idiocy would be his life.

Quirrell was far from an expert on possession, the esoteric field was both incredibly dark and difficult to study given the infrequency in which it occurred; but everyone aware of it knew that possession never ended well for the one who was possessed. Muggles believed that exorcisms were rituals that would free the possessed from their torment by safely casting out the evil spirit… if only muggle mythology were more accurate. It was true that exorcisms removed the malignant spirit from their hostage, but the price was always the life of the possessed. Always.

Even the desperate side of Quirrell that craved a method by which he could stay among the living didn't even consider the eventuality that Voldemort would let him live when all was said and done. The Dark Lord had been known for many, many things, mercy was not one of them. That was not even factoring in the very clear insanity that gripped Voldemort's mind in a vice. When Dreaming, even Quirrell's own thoughts betrayed him, an utterly humiliating circumstance but at least when he was awake clarity of thought remained in his control. The Dark Lord was insane. Most would say that was an obvious conclusion to reach given the actions he had taken during the war, but Quirrell disagreed. Voldemort was unquestionably evil, wicked, cruel, and narcissistic, but he was also calculating, cunning, and a genius on par with Dumbledore. The shade of a man that Quirrell spoke to in his Dreams possessed all of the attributes you would expect of the Dark Lord, but there were moments, brief flashes of illumination that betrayed how fractured his mind truly was.

All of the British Isles had suffered during Voldemort's war of terror, but if nothing else he had been canny enough to not needlessly alienate his potential allies and lay waste to the cultural heart of the land he wished to conquer… every just minded individual wished for his downfall, but the sad reality was that for most half-bloods and purebloods, staying out of his way was a path of relative safety. But the malignant spirit that now resided in Quirrell's body had whispered to him that the methods of the past would not suffice upon his return. Passively watching from the sidelines would not be an option. Every man, woman, and child would either serve him or perish. Such a future would lead to naught but ruin… And it will all be my fault.

Quirrell came to an abrupt halt in the darkened corridor, exactly 15 feet away from the door that he knew would lead to the first trial. The nature of the trial itself remained a mystery to him, he dared not peak inside just yet, not until he'd subtly disabled or keyed himself into the dozens of wards and alarms that had been layered into the simple wooden door. A herculean task to be sure, but to his chagrin, he had plenty of time.

The Defense professor knelt to the ground and slowly traced his hand over the stone brick of the wall immediately perpendicular to the floor. A moment later his wand was in his hand, a whisper of a spell upon his lips. "Formistrare." An unseen magical surge swept from the tip of his wand into the stone brick. The magic that permeated every single aspect of Hogwarts meant that the castle wasn't completely immutable to change, but in a way, it was resistant, especially dependent on what exactly one was looking to achieve. Quirrell had to check to make sure his plan would work in this area of the castle. In a similar vein, he had to make sure the many wards that crisscrossed Hogwarts in a normal year didn't have a direct anchor to his location as that would render it impossible for him to use spatial magic there without tipping Dumbledore off. There was a pervasive myth among the public that the Hogwarts' wards gave the Headmaster or Headmistress omniscient awareness inside the castle, but Quirrell knew that to be false. The ancient wards protected Hogwarts from unwanted intrusion, and other wards crisscrossing the grounds and castle could be activated for further defensive measures, but that was all. Hogwarts was not Gringotts, and anyone who assumed otherwise was a fool.

The Philosopher's Stone's placement inside the school wasn't meant to be the ultimate defense, it was bait. Dumbledore wanted someone to attempt to steal and be caught by him in the process. It was a twisted plan, placing an artifact of unimaginable power within the reach of children to bait a thief; but at the very least Quirrell could appreciate that if the thief were anyone but himself, it would have likely worked.

"This area will suffice," Quirrell murmured quietly before repositioning his wand against the stone. "Scalpere." Immediately a small slice was cut into the stone, thin enough to be easily mistaken as simply another natural crack that were common in the aged castle. The even more precise variation of Diffindo had served its purpose well. "Now, for the difficult part." Quirrell reached into his pocket and procured a small, green medallion on which a single four-leaf clover resided. The small, magical artifact was a creation of a particular race of fairies that had a knack for enchantment. Fortunately, its original artificers had designed the artifact with humans as a potential user in mind. The process of designing and implementing a runic array to make the artifact safe for him to use would have been possible but extraordinarily complicated and time consuming.

With a deep breath Quirrell began to channel a small stream of magic into the artifact while slowly rotating it in his hands three times over. After exactly 37 seconds, of which Quirrell had counted perfectly in his head, he felt his perspective of the world begin to shift. The empty sconce on the wall, once at just above eye level was now far, far beyond his reach. The heavily warded door that had previously stood only a few steps away now felt like it was separated from him by miles. The Defense professor normally stood at a height just below six feet, but now he was less than the height of a single millimeter. The change in perspective was jarring but not completely foreign. Quirrell had made a point to test the efficacy of the artifact prior to entering Hogwarts and had in the process become rather familiar with the differing view of reality. It was almost humbling to be confronted with a perspective of the world that so greatly differed from one's norm. Dust bunnies that were once trampled underfoot became a great hurdle to be avoided. Insects that crawled unnoticed along the ground became might predators. The insignificant crack that Quirrell had made into the stone brick just minutes prior morphed into a great fissure he could fall into. Which was exactly its purpose.

There were plenty of spells and potions that could allow one to grow or shrink, but none save the artifact he had acquired scaled down every single aspect of an individual and all that was in their possession. Even his own magic was ratioed to match. Size was regularly mutable via magic, but no potion or spell would adjust your spatial existence within the universe.

Jumping down in the crevice of his own creation, Quirrell directed his wand towards the roughshod stone within the crack. "Terraeforma," he murmured before the once solid rock began to shift and move, an ever-deepening hole wide enough for Quirrell to fit into left in its wake. Satisfied with its depth at five times his diminutive height, the professor waved his wand over his own head. "Labatur." The instant the spell took hold he leapt into the manmade chasm, gently floating downward until his feet were planted upon solid ground. A small globe of light sprung into existence over his shoulder before he cast the same spell again and began to shift the stone to form a passageway inward as opposed to a vertical descent.

On and on the tunnel went, the process of its creation was extraordinarily simple, all it took was time and the occasional vanishing spell to remove excess stone. At the end of the passage, he formed a rectangular room to a very specific set of dimensions; even taking the time to carefully craft a thick, stone door capable of sliding open or closed after casting Terrafigurae.

"Tradembrare,", Quirrell intoned, a faint green glow emanating from the tip of his wand as he slowly traced it along all the edges of the room, a shimmering green line left behind wherever his wand made contact. When the final line was connected, the magic confirmed the perfect symmetrical shape of the room as a shimmering green grid automatically fell into place.

From his pouch, Quirrell removed a scroll of parchment on which a blueprint for a rectangular room resided. Scrawled upon the page were dozens and dozens of interlocked runic arrays, arranged in a very specific sequence and shape. The possessed professor sighed forlornly. While competent in the application of runes, Quirrell had never considered a field that he was an expert in despite having secured a NEWT in the subject. Voldemort, on the other hand, was a master at runes, and these arrays were of his design. There was zero doubt in his mind that it would function perfectly.

The blueprint was placed in the exact center of the room on the ground, with the designs face-up and exposed to the air. "Lumos Proiecur," Quirrell said, tapping his wand upon the parchment as a projection of the runic arrays sprung onto the walls. "Merlin, this is too easy."

Hours passed as Quirrell etched hundreds of runes into the walls, floor, and ceiling of the stone chamber. His possessed body did not allow him to be anything less than careful and meticulous. An additional surge of regret washed over the man, mixing in with the perpetual anger. If he messed up the design of even one of the runes, then the whole sequence of arrays was likely to collapse in a violent fashion once activated… but his dreams of suicide were not to be. As an unwilling pawn, he was woefully competent.

In the heart of the entire array Quirrell placed a second medallion, almost exactly akin to the green artifact he'd use to shrink himself, except this one was crimson in color. "Damn Minish were too clever for their own good…" A single flare of his magic into the crimson artifact was all it took before the entire room pulsed with magic, and the entire room expanded. Spatial manipulation was a regular aspect of many charms and runic arrays, but the degree to which Quirrell watched the miniscule stone room grow in size was incredible. Without the artifact it wouldn't have been possible, not without spending weeks if not months powering the runes without overpowering them. The minutia of runes is what made their application such a complex subject, but Voldemort had conceived of a way to bypass some of their commonly perceived limitations. "Damn him."

Situated within the stone brick of the floor, Quirrell stood in a chamber the size of his classroom. Activating the initial green artifact once more, the Defense professor rose back up to his normal height and nodded in satisfaction. Well within range of the first layer of wards over the trials; hidden in plain sight but practically undetectable unless you were specifically looking for it. This room would serve as a perfect staging ground for the rest of his efforts to steal the Stone.

Not even the ghosts would be able to accidentally stumble upon his hidden abode thanks to the combination of ghost-repellant and notice-me-not runes tied into the various arrays. The flagrant breach of security would exist right under the staffs' noses, and no one would be the wiser until it was too late. Quirrell was still operating on the schedule his unwilling parasite had established for him; and even though circumnavigating the wards established by Albus Dumbledore was no easy task, he was confident that he would accomplish his tasks with time to spare.

A few quick applications of the green artifact and Quirrell was back in the corridor, standing at normal height, with the charms to disguise his movements back in place. He took a moment to vanish any errant stone or dust that had gathered on his clothing. Even though no one would see him during his return journey to his chambers, his own personal sense of decorum demanded cleanliness.

Quirrell had not even exited the third-floor corridor when the unmistakable din of teenagers reached his ears. A small smile quirked at his lips at the timing of their intrusion. If he hadn't planned ahead to hide in the stonework, the students could have presented a very real threat to his ability to see his task through.

"I assure you, friends, our destination is down this way," a male voice declared, faux confidence laced in their tone. Quirrell had spent too many years away from the castle to have any clue who the student was based on voice alone.

"Oh, come off it, already, MacBride," a second male voice interjected. "Why do you even want to see what's here anyway? Does the idea of a painful death get you that hard, or what?"

Trust a teenager to turn every statement uttered in their vicinity into a sexual reference. Quirrell had been the same way in ages long past though, so he did not judge the lad for behaving in such a fashion.

"Matty, I had no idea you were into such things…" A third, feminine voice joined in on the teasing, the playful lilt in their tone obvious to all.

"Oi, I'll have you know I'm into most things, for all I know death could be among them," the now identified Matthew MacBride said, his words utterly devoid of shame. "I assure you though, death is not on my to do list for the year, so I'm thinking we're going to be just fine." Quirrell had yet to teach the boisterous, 5th year Hufflepuff personally, but the brief snippet of conversation he had heard aligned perfectly with the profile the school had assembled on the lad. Average grades, startingly daring behavior for a member of his House, jovial and personable individual.

A loud sigh followed MacBride's assertion. "I don't know where you get your confidence from, mate, but that's really not how the world works," the second male voice said.

"I'm with Glyn, Matty," the lone female joined back into the discussion. "Unless you're carrying around a few bottles of Felix Felicis somewhere in those clothes, then I don't think we can count on the world just making things work in our favor."

"Oh, Delilah," now within eyeshot of the teens, Quirrell could see MacBride theatrically bowing before the named Delilah. "You wound me with your lack of faith. Even without such vaunted elixirs, I think we'll do just fine on our own."

Quirrell's estimation of this group of students' capabilities that much more with their mention of the Felix Felicis. Every single brewer of note in the world agreed that it ranked among the most complicated potions to create. He felt some measure of surprise that a group of 5th years were even aware of its existence to the point of referencing it in casual conversation. On the other hand, their ability to stealth their way into restricted corridors left a lot to be desired.

"Isn't that what you said when we were trying to track down that supposed hot spring in the Forbidden Forest?" Glyn asked dubiously, a single eyebrow quirking upwards.

Were he in complete control of his actions, Quirrell would have dedicated the better part of his next few weeks seeking to verify the truth value of such a rumor. The hot springs he had the pleasure of visiting in Iceland ranked among his favorite ways to relax after a long, stressful day.

"I still haven't forgiven you for that load of bullshit, Matty," Delilah pouted, crossing her arms in a display of seemingly genuine annoyance.

"Hey now, in my defense, I told you both from the beginning that it was just a rumor!"

Delilah scoffed indignantly as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no, you spent that entire week talking about how you'd heard all about a mysterious hot spring that only appeared under the full moon; and that we just haaad to check it out… do you know how excited I was for that?"

MacBride laughed boisterously, a flagrant display of disrespect to the school rules that the party of three were actively violating. "I did say I was sorry. That counts for something, right?" His lively tone a clear indicator that he was not worried about her reply.

"Buy me a box of chocolates from Honeydukes our first Hogsmeade weekend and I might forgive you," the girl impishly replied.

Glyn audibly groaned, both of his companions turning toward him. "You have the most boring taste imaginable."

"What's wrong with a box of chocolates?"

"It's Honeydukes! They have a million and four different types of candy, half of them alcoholic, and all you want is a plain box of chocolates!" Glyn dramatically threw his arms in the air before pointing at Delilah. "You have MacBride eating out of the palm of your hand and all you want is some plain old chocolate that I could find at any Tesco. It's shameful."

Quirrell had never seen anyone quite so passionate about candy before. He almost envied the boy that his greatest concern in life was the type of sweets he would consume. The begrudgingly impressed evaluation he'd had of the teens due to their awareness of obscure topics dropped marginally the longer they were in his presence. Once upon a time Quirrell would have found the casual, lackadaisical attitude of the students charming, but those days had passed. Though it was against his will, he had been forever changed.

"Wait, is Tesco that muggle place you took us to last year?" MacBride asked, a nod from Glyn his only reply. "Their candy was no where near the quality of Honeydukes. Horrible comparison."

As the three descended into further debate over the superiority of their chosen sweets, their quest to find the dangerous portion of this corridor temporarily abandoned, Quirrell decided he'd lingered long enough. He wasn't set to patrol any of the corridors this evening, so revealing his presence to the three students in order to punish them for breaking curfew was not even considered. Given the noise they were making and the utter lack of concealment charms, Quirrell had little doubt that someone of authority was going to catch them sooner rather than later.

As he wondered the halls back towards his residential quarters, his mind could not help but ruminate on the horrific things he had already done and those he had yet to do. Before coming to Hogwarts, he had ruined lives beyond the point of return. He'd made victims of those who believed him to the same man they'd known for years. The horror he had let loose into the world was already beyond his purview and nothing could change that.

There was a good chance that one of the students he'd just passed, Glyn, was a muggle-born. Glyn would die under the Dark Lord's reign. If his friends tried to protect him, then they would die too. Glyn, Matthew, and Delilah. The sane portion of his mind repeated their names almost like a mantra. Just a group of dumb, innocent students in their early twenties, enjoying life to the fullest…

Unbiddenly, the visage of their corpses was conjured within his mind. Twisted limbs, misshapen and discolored, their organs spilling out of their stomach as blood pooled beneath them. People feared the Unforgivable curses, but most of Voldemort's followers were not even capable of casting such spells, let alone multiple times in quick succession. Few of Voldemort's victims died quick, painless deaths. No, instead they found their bodies wrought by the most foul, malignant curses that mankind had been able to create. Curses that made a mockery of all that was good and decent in the world in the name of causing their target to suffer in the lead up to their death.

Possession was such an esoteric branch of magic that he honestly wasn't sure how the world would look at him when all was said and done. Would he be a viewed as an unfortunate victim? A hapless soul lured by faux promises of greatness? Or a willing pawn of a deranged madman? A malignant scoff escaped Quirrell's lips. The answer honestly didn't even fucking matter. Dead men did not have the luxury to care about perception.

OoooOoooO

"You're late, Parvati. Where were you?"

"Oh, you know how it goes. One minute you're walking back to the dorms and the next, a boy is taking you by the hand and pulling you into his bedroom."

"Harry again, I take it. Is that the sixth time you two have hooked up now? Seventh?"

"Something like that? I honestly stopped keeping track."

"And knowing you, you have no plans to actually date him and see where it goes, right?"

"Pass. He's hot and good in bed, that's enough to satisfy me right now."

"Not boyfriend material then?"

"I wouldn't necessarily go that far, that's just not what either of us are looking for."

"Hmmm."

"Ohhh? Are you thinking of asking him out, Pads?"

"Does Harry really seem like the kind of guy I'd date?"

"I wouldn't dare to presume."

"Well, he's not."

"Are you sure? Like I said, the sex is good, and I know you think he's cute."

"I have this habit of wanting some emotional attachment to accompany my sex, thank you."

"Ugh, fine… I won't pressure you anymore about it. You can save yourself for your one true love you meet reading textbooks in the library."

"Way to jump from one end of the spectrum all the way to the other. No, really, it lends tons of credence to your intellectual prowess."

"Am I wrong?"

"Of course you are. Just how boring do you think Ravenclaws are?"

"More boring than Gryffindors, that's for sure. Which is why you have an open invite from me to the next party we throw. I'm pretty sure there's one planned for the weekend before Halloween."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Huh. Okay. As long as you don't try and hook me up with Harry, I'll come."

"Wow, you really hate him, huh?"

"Not at all! He's just not my type for that kind of thing."

"Well, don't worry about that, there are plenty of boys besides Harry."

"Such as?"

"I know I've mentioned Dean to you. Then there's Daniel, of course, though you might have to fight Rose for him. She's already gotten pretty clingy, though I think that's more one-sided."

"I've only spoken to Daniel Potter twice, and both times for less than a minute. Why would I fight for him?"

"Cause he's cute?"

"Pass."

"Okay, okay… Well, like I said, there's Dean – damn that boy is fine. Nev is cute. Miles. Edwin. Ron. Cormac. The list goes on and on."

"That many? Even for your standards?"

"Even for my standards. I told you I loved my House."

"Hmmm…"

"So, you'll come to the next House party, right? Because I already went to the trouble of talking to the Prefects to make sure that was allowed."

"I'll come, but you better not expect me to jump into bed with any of them."

"It's a party, Pads, you're allowed to talk to people without losing your clothes. I mean, that's not my preferred method but it's not like every Gryff is exactly like me."

"With the stories I've heard, I find that hard to believe."

OoooOoooO

Harry Evans reached up a hand to rub his weary eyes as he snapped another book closed. "No mention of him here either." Despite what he had hoped, the 12th century edition of 'Great Wizards and Witches did not reference Elan Morin Tedronai in anyway, nor had any of the subsequent volumes. Harry's curiosity about the mysterious author that Tom referenced had grown rather rapidly the more time he spent in Hogwarts.

The students were about to enter their fifth week of term, and in that time a sense of normalcy had settled over the castle. There were still wondrous things going on each and every day, but the initial excitement had passed. Harry was rather confident in his belief that he ranked among the top ten students in his year on both the practical and theoretical aspects of magic. Casting spells was just too damn easy for him. Even students whom he had barely interacted with had taken note of how little practice was required of him in order to cast the spells covered in their curriculum. It was that very ease that afforded him the time to be able to put a bit more effort into the theoretical aspects of their studies and find purchase among the top students there as well. Harry knew he was intelligent, but he wasn't quite on Hermione's level, and nor did he have the prior years of study that many from magical families had granted their kids. The extra work he was putting in to read about the theoretical material was allowing him to catch up though, slowly but surely.

Magic was absolutely fascinating to study, but almost in spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was more to magic than what most of the magical world understood. The conversation he had with Tom kept coming to mind. Harry had no illusions that he would be capable of the things Tom did anytime soon, he was only five weeks into his first year after all, but the mysterious man had recommended the teen do two things: Explore Hogwarts, and read 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai.

The unnerving reaction of the woman working in Flourish and Blotts had taught him not to ask just anybody about the book itself, but he figured looking up the individual in question wouldn't be a bad place to start. Given the title of the book, Harry believed he had to have been a magical philosopher, but he could've been involved in numerous other fields as well; hell, the possibility of him being an evil madman was even on the table. Regardless of who he'd been and what he'd done in life, he had to have been great enough to be mentioned in history books, but so far as he had found, the mysterious author's name hadn't even been referenced. Harry tried not to get dispirited given that he had scarcely even scratched the surface of the historical section in Hogwarts' vast library, but it was frustrating to already have sunk hours of work into a project and see absolutely zero results. Tom had given him one hell of a project, that was for sure.

While it was unfortunate to make no headway on his specific task, Harry didn't consider scouring the historic tomes to be a completely wasted effort. There were quite a few interesting individuals that had made their mark on both the magical world and prior to that, the entire world, throughout history. Tissaia de Vries in particular had caught his eye, the Dutch born Headmistress of Hogwarts during a sizable portion of the Hundred Years War. During one of the many conflicts throughout that period, some moronic, French wizard and nobleman apart of the Armagnac faction thought it wise to attempt a clandestine strike on Hogwarts. The attack was a colossal failure, with the assailants failing to even get past the wards before enchanted suits of armor stormed out of a secret passageway to slaughter them all. The blood spilt was not enough to pacify the unbridled rage de Vries felt. The Headmistress was so infuriated by the attack she took a sojourn away from her position at the school to join the warfront. While initially faced with some obstacles during her time with Henry V, when all was said and done, she was the sole reason behind England's utterly decisive victory in the Battle of Agincourt. During the course of the battle, she personally killed the Count that had first suggested the assault on Hogwarts along with his entire male line. Tissaia de Vries was bloody terrifying, but so far, she was Harry's favorite Headmistress of Hogwarts by a wide margin.

A heavy sigh accompanied his somewhat stiff movements as he pushed himself off his placement on the floor. The table and chairs present in the library were far too stiff for Harry's preference, and he didn't know the charms necessary to make them more comfortable, so stretching out on the floor was his temporary solution of choice. "Note to self: look up cushioning charms," Harry grunted, the pain of sitting on the stone ground making itself apparent upon standing up.

The sound of approaching footfalls caught Harry's attention as the books floated back to their placement on the shelves. The large, lumbering individual dressed in black robes with silver and green trim was someone he recognized by sight if not name, and he was staring right at Harry.

"Oh good, you are here. She said you'd probably still be here," the large teen's voice was deep, deeper than any other student's Harry had heard in their year.

"And who told you that?" It was no secret that Harry was a bit more studious than the average Gryffindor, but he didn't think he spent that much time in the library.

"Greengrass."

Now that was a name and face Harry was familiar with. The cute, diminutive blonde girl that he had a brief confrontation with on the train outside of Daniel's compartment; Harry had made a point of paying attention to her sorting on the first day. "Oh?" A cocksure smile sliding onto his face. "She's been watching me, huh?"

The large teen chuckled. "Not exactly, she said she was just in the library and happened to see you on the floor surrounded by books."

"I'm choosing to believe she was watching me," Harry declared confidently, the logical explanation not swaying his viewpoint in the slightest.

At that the Slytherin laughed rather boisterously, and Harry immediately began counting down the seconds until the stern librarian, Madam Pince, arrived to tell them off for making too much noise. "The name is Gregory Goyle, Evans," he said, extending a hand for Harry to shake.

"Pleasure, mate," Harry returned the handshake easily when Madam Pince rounded the corner, an irritated scowl marring her slightly aged features.

"This is a place of quiet study and learning, gentlemen! If you two wish to carry on a needlessly loud conversation, then you will do so outside of these halls!" Madam Pince's eyes were narrowed and her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Harry raised his hands in surrender as Goyle nodded plainly. "We'll leave now, Madam," Goyle remarked respectfully, inclining his head for Harry to follow him.

The two exited the library without another word shared between them, both eager to not provoke the librarian's ire once more. "My bad in there, Evans. I haven't spent much time in there, didn't realize she was such a harpy when it comes to noise."

Harpy was an accurate descriptor in Harry's eyes, from an insulting, hyperbolic perspective at least. The woman in question did possess somewhat pinched, avian features, which, when combined with her ability to hover over and descend upon students she judged as misbehaving, made the comparison a fair one.

"Nah, you're all good," a negligent wave of his hand assuaging the other boy's apology. "I am curious why you were looking for me though?" A single eyebrow arched in question.

"Draco asked me to find you."

"Well now, that's fun," Harry mused, intrigued by what the other teen could want with him.

Harry and Draco had casually interacted on a few occasions since their first meeting outside the Great Hall, but they were largely cursory greetings or classroom exercises than anything resembling actual social interaction. This was a stark contrast to the caustic dynamic that was slowly mounting between Daniel and Draco, but rather Daniel and most of the Slytherins. Sometimes, people just didn't get along, but from what Harry had been able to gather from watching their interactions, their barbed interactions were more a result of House rivalry and bitterness than anything else.

Every House had their pride, and the inter-House competition for points meant that some degree of rivalry was only natural, but it was easily the worst between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. It wasn't anywhere close to being so bad that there was a social pressure to hate someone just because they were in a different House, but in the wake of the war, tensions remained higher than the average year. After all, it was no secret that a fair number of Slytherins had relatives, both close and distant, who were willing participants in the war on Voldemort's side; with even more having relatives who claimed to be unwilling participants. A shadow had fallen over the House of Slytherin, and it was not uncommon to see judgement from other students, irrespective of House, cast in their direction for who their parentage was. A fact that was only escalated by Daniel's arrival to Hogwarts. He served as a perpetual reminder of days past, a symbol of both the war and its conclusion. It was no surprise that his presence would invite enmity from those of ill-intent and embolden the scorn others felt toward the progeny of Voldemort's followers.

The Slytherins weren't exactly victims in these schoolyard conflicts. Though stereotypical to say, their general attitude and behavior contributing to their relative ostracization as much as anything else. Harry had already heard more than his fair share of bigotry being directed towards muggles, muggle-borns, other magical races, and even some half-bloods. Prejudice was not exclusive to the House of Snakes, but it was undeniable that it ran more rampant.

The tenuous relations between their respective Hogwarts Houses made it all the more interesting as to why Draco was reaching out in such a fashion. Whatever he wanted with Harry, it clearly went above and beyond what could be casually mentioned in passing.

"So, if it's alright with you, would you mind following me to him now?" Goyle asked plainly. Malfoy's henchman, for what else could he be described as, was very straight forward in how he carried himself.

A quick cast of Tempus allowed Harry to check the time before smiling at Goyle. "Sure, I've got nothing better to do right now. Lead the way."

Goyle nodded resolutely before he began walking the same path that Harry would use to get down to the dungeons for Potions. "So, why were you in the history section? I didn't think Binns had assigned any homework over the weekend?"

I guess the rumors about him being a complete fool aren't accurate after all, Harry thought to himself, lightly smirking. "The subject interests me, especially in regard to cross-referencing it against what muggles believe to have happened." That was the excuse he had come up with, and he was going to stick with it no matter who asked.

"Not what I expected, but I guess if you enjoy it…" Goyle clearly did not understand, but he was polite enough to let the subject fall to the wayside.

Silence settled over the two teens that was surprisingly comfortable in nature. There were none of the awkward glances or sighs as they tried to force conversation. Goyle was a man of comparatively few words and Harry, well, Harry was just a social chameleon. The halls of Hogwarts were by no means empty on the lazy, Sunday afternoon, and Harry could tell that the occasional pair of eyes followed the hitherto unseen duo as they walked side-by-side. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived and the subordinate of Draco Malfoy, scion of the richest Noble House on the British Isles, being seen together was sure to inspire its fair share of gossip.

Despite Harry's expectations, Goyle did not lead the two of them down into the dungeons proper, where the Slytherin Common Room was known to reside, but instead took them to a side corridor a few levels above the dungeons. Harry was about to ask about where they were headed when Goyle paused next to a tapestry depicting two creatures, both with purple skin and long ears, though with differing kinds of horns protruding from their head, engaging in combat with one another. The tapestry was wonderfully woven, with every detail practically leaping off the fabric.

Harry would have likely been ensnared by the picture for some time, but he noticed Goyle deliberately tapping his wand on specific stones and in a specific order. Upon touching the last stone, the large teen noticed his audience watching him with intent and smirked before slashing his wand downward from his height all the way to the floor. As soon as his wand contacted the floor, the stone bricks began to shift and rotate, revealing an entryway into what could only be described as a lounge. On one side of the room a moderately sized hearth was built into the wall, a couch and a few comfortable chairs seated around it, a low to the ground table placed between them. On the other side of the room was a large, cylindrical table, completely devoid of chairs. To tie in the room a surprisingly ornate, iron wrought chandelier hung from the ceiling. The furniture, while not exquisite in design or material, was well made and clearly meant to be apart of a set.

"Ah, glad you were able to join us today, Evans," the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy carried from his place around the table, both hands upon it as he leaned forward. As always, the teen's physical appearance was immaculate: sporting perfectly fitted, black slacks and a crisp, silver shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms. The slim tie that he frequently wore was noticeably absent, but Harry had never before seen him out of uniform so it might have been expected.

"Couldn't very well turn down an invitation, especially not after you sent Goyle to come find me, now could I?" Harry remarked, an easygoing and genuine smile on his face as he quickly glanced at the other occupants of the room.

On one of the couches lay Theo Nott, a disheveled, black shirt half unbuttoned and completely untucked barely covered his chest, lazily paired with a wrinkled pair of black pants, and to top of the ensemble he was completely barefoot. He still possessed the same heavy bags that were omnipresent under his eyes, and a lit fag was held betwixt his lips. Seated on one of the leather chairs was a girl that Harry recognized due to how distinctive she was, but he hadn't engaged with her even once. Millicent Bulstrode was an eye-catching woman to say the least. She was easily the tallest girl in their year, standing on level height with the majority of the men in the school sans individuals like Goyle. On top of which, she was clearly well muscled, her toned limbs often visible even whilst wearing a dressed down version of the standard uniform. She possessed strong features, with a square jawline, thick lips, and heavily lidded eyes. Her black hair was styled into a slightly long, messy pixie cut, complimenting the dark make-up she seemed to be fond of wearing. While not a 'traditional' beauty given its common definition, Harry knew there were plenty of individuals who found Millicent to be an attractive woman, and honestly, Harry understood why they did.

Noticing how Harry's gaze was lingering on the other occupants of the room, Draco seized the initiative and said, "you're familiar with Nott already, you've just met Goyle, and seated before you is Millicent Bulstrode." The aristocratic teen lightly gestured at the individual in question when introducing them.

"Evans," Nott muttered in greeting, his head hanging off the arm of the couch. Harry had to stifle his amusement at the heir to such a prominent family behaving in a way that conveyed how little he cared about decorum. It was a refreshing change of pace. While not stiff, most pure-blood heirs still tried to carry themselves in a specific way. Nott had apparently set that standard mold on fire.

Goyle strode past Harry and claimed one of the other leather chairs in the room as Bulstrode rose from her chair to stand before him. She had a solid inch or two on him when it came to height, forcing his eyes to angle ever so slightly upward to maintain eye-contact. "So, you're the evil twin, huh? You don't seem that mean to me," a mirth sparkled in the girl's eyes as she assessed him. "But…" she paused for a moment as her tone took on a dangerous note, "how about you duel me, Evans? We'll see if the rumors about you are true."

She was challenging him, and she wasn't even trying to be subtle. Fun… "Oh, and what kind of rumors have you heard?" Harry asked, not backing down the slightest. If anything, his smirk became even more cocky.

There were plenty of rumors circulating about the older Potter twin. Some were of his own creation, with some gullible fools citing that he must have been raised in the muggle world for a reason; the circumstances of his childhood all but confirming a wicked personality in their eyes. Other rumors were not started by Harry but remained undeniably true all the same, such as his status as a hedonistic libertine or how he had a knack for spellcasting few others possessed. Bulstrode's challenge implied that there was some manner of rumor circulating about his dueling prowess, and that was new to his ears. In theory she could have just been making assumptions based around the evil twin jokes, but something about her demeanor told Harry that she wasn't making that challenge lightly.

Bulstrode's grin was almost feral. "All different kinds, Evans, but only one type held my interest."

Harry possessed absolutely zero formal training in magical combat, but he found himself wanting to take up the taller girl on her offer to duel. Some basic combative spells had found their way into his repertoire since learning of magic, and now that he'd been challenged, he couldn't deny that he was curious as to how he'd fair in a fight. Especially a fight against a child of the Bulstrode family, a respected House that was a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who clearly enjoyed the violence.

The Sacred Twenty-Eight did not hold any specialized legal status in the British Isles, but it did come with a certain degree of pedigree, especially among the upper echelons of society. After his first encounter with Nott, Harry had decided to do a bit of research into the other notable Noble Houses in Britain. The Sacred Twenty-Eight were a pretentious lot, but they were, generally speaking, capable as hell. Harry had not even been raised a Potter and he still wanted to live up to the legacy left behind by his parents and ancestors. To be pushed your entire life towards success in the name of your family… it made sense why so many from those Houses strove towards greatness.

Harry still had his personal gripes with the criteria for the Sacred Twenty-Eight, viewing the selection process as both nebulous and ill defined, but he at least had some measure of respect for the accomplishments of the respective Houses, even if he utterly despised individual members of the families.

"I hope I can live up to your expectations," Harry practically purred his response. There was little doubt in his mind that he'd likely get his ass kicked, but he'd rather lose a challenge than retreat away from one.

"If you're going to duel, I'm afraid you're going to have to do it at different location, and at a different time," Draco's voice cut through their standoff easier than a hot knife through butter. While the patrician teen had no authority over Harry, it was clear that Bulstrode deferred to him. "This room may not be as opulent as I might wish, but even still, I won't have you two throwing spells at one another within it." Draco was not asking them to not duel, nor was he even demanding it of them; he was simply stating how things were going to be.

"Your room, your rules," Harry agreed. The room technically did not belong to the Slytherin, but for all intents and purposes it did, so he was not going to quibble over the finer details. Besides, if he claimed a secret room in the castle and invited others to see it, then he'd expect them to obey his rules too, especially when they were reasonable in nature.

"Sorry, Draco," Bulstrode murmured. She didn't seem particularly contrite, but she backed away from Harry immediately all the same, reclaiming her leather covered seat without complaint.

Pushing the eventual conflict with Bulstrode from his mind, Harry moved forward to the table to stand opposite of Draco as the blonde teen began to speak. "Unsurprisingly, I'm sure, I asked Goyle to bring you here for reasons beyond Bulstrode's innate desire to fight everyone in the vicinity."

Laughing lightly, Harry nodded. "I'd assumed as much."

"I think it's fair to say that you and I have a mutual understanding, wouldn't you agree, Evans?" Draco cocked his head lightly to the side, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"There haven't been any issues between us so far," Harry agreed, not even having to exaggerate.

The blonde Slytherin smiled, and Harry couldn't tell if it was fake. "I concur, and to speak honestly, I'd prefer to keep our relationship on its current trajectory."

That suited Harry just fine. The less people he had to worry about cursing down the line, the better in his book. He smiled at the serious teen and said, "that works for me."

"Unfortunately, however, it has become quite apparent that my relationship with your brother, and by extension the majority of his social circle, is not as cordial as I might like."

In spite of his best efforts, Harry burst out laughing at what could only be described as the understatement of the century. "Yeah, Daniel hates your guts, mate."

"I am aware," Draco stated dryly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw both Theo and Millicent try to stifle their own laughter.

"And you want to change this?"

"Very much so," Draco said earnestly, or at least seemingly so. "Despite your brother's beliefs to the contrary, I have nothing but respect and gratitude for both him as an individual, and your family as a collective."

It was Harry's turn to stare at the other teen through narrowed eyes. This was not a topic he enjoyed having brought it up in conversation, especially not with people whose intentions he couldn't quite read.

Seeing the vexation on Harry's face, Draco raised his arms placatingly. "I'm being genuine, Evans. The death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named freed my father from the Imperius curse, and by extension saved the lives of myself and my mother as well." Draco lowered his hands but met Harry's narrowed gaze evenly. "I have accepted that your brother and I shall never be friends, that bridge was burned when we spoke on the train, but at the very least I have no desire to be his enemy."

"And you want me to be an intermediary?" Harry guessed.

"Something to that effect, yes," Draco confirmed with a slight nod as he gestured to the papers scattered on the table before him. Harry moved around to gain a better view and saw what looked like a floor plan, with an assortment of different tables, a list of names, and various notes. "I'm hosting a little event next weekend, and I would like to extend an invitation to you, your brother, and two other individuals of your choice."

"Daniel won't come."

"I was hoping you would be able to convince him otherwise."

Harry didn't answer immediately as he looked at the documents. "A poker tournament?" Harry hadn't been aware the game had made its way into the magical world.

"Not a tournament, no, but five tables of eight will be set up as the primary entertainment for the evening." Reaching under the table, Draco withdrew a deck of cards that he'd been carrying in the satchel he always seemed to have close at hand. Harry was impressed when the teen began to deftly shuffle the cards. He wasn't quite on the level of the professional dealers, but he had more skill than anyone else Harry had seen in person.

"Is poker a popular game in the magical world? You seem pretty familiar with it."

"It is," Theo's rough voice answered from the couch, proving that he was actively listening to the conversation even if his demeanor suggested otherwise.

Though, the ragged teen's contribution to the confirmation was not the most useful seeing as he did not elaborate further on his statement. Thankfully, Draco was ready with a brief history lesson. "Prior to the advent of the Statute of Secrecy, there were a number of gambling card games that magical society enjoyed alongside muggles. The Spanish game known as Primero, the Persian game of As-Nas, or even the French's Brelan."

Harry hadn't heard of any of the aforementioned games and was genuinely quite impressed that Draco had all of them available to reference off the top of his head.

"Magicals quite enjoyed the relative simplicity of the game, with it being a mental game as much as a game of cards, but it especially caught on after an American wizard from Texas invented the two-card variant," Draco continued, unknowingly shocking Harry with the knowledge that Texas hold'em was invented by a wizard. "I take it you have some personal experience playing?"

"Only in some friendly games where the stakes were borderline non-existent," Harry paused briefly, "well, that and the strip version I played at a party last year," he finished with a grin.

Goyle snorted, though Harry thought he was just disguising a chuckle, but even Draco seemed amused. "Well, we won't be betting with our clothes, but it's good that you at least understand the game."

Poker was a game that Harry considered himself to be utterly average at, but he had never played when actual money was involved, so he was probably worse than he thought. "What's the buy in?"

"Given the economic status of those I plan to invite… three Galleons," Draco said, a quill finding its way into his hand. "Should I mark you down as being able to attend?"

The buy in was surprisingly high for school kids, but Harry supposed that someone like Draco would only be inviting those who, like himself, would be able to afford it without issue. "I'm in," Harry confirmed, "but I can't guarantee Daniel will be attending. I can try to convince him, but you two really got off on the wrong foot."

"Well, if he is able to join us, then hopefully it will allow us to be neutral towards one another, or perhaps acquaintances down the line."

"Level with me," Harry said, folding his arms as he met Draco's eyes. "Why are you so intent on making nice with my brother instead of just avoiding him all together? Hogwarts is a big place and you're in different Houses, there's almost no need for you all to ever interact. So, what angle are you playing?"

The atmosphere of the room subtly shifted with Harry's question. Goyle, previously lounging lazily suddenly seemed more alert, Bulstrode more on edge. Only Nott seemed apathetic to the probing question. Draco leveled a discerning stare towards the lone Gryffindor before closing his eyes briefly. "It's a matter of perception, Evans. My father is heavily involved in both business and politics on a local and international level."

Harry nodded along, not surprised by that revelation in the slightest, another byproduct of his research into the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

"As is to be expected of anyone that reaches his level of status and influence, my father has his fair share of enemies in the world; the type of enemies that would jump on any opportunity to attack my father and discredit his reputation." Draco shuffled some of the papers on the table and slid a copy of the Daily Prophet to Harry. "That is from last week."

Harry glanced at all of the obvious headlines, but nothing jumped out at him in particular. "What am I looking for?"

"Page 5," Nott's voice once again chimed in. Following his directions, Harry found an opinion piece on Daniel, filled with conjecture on how his formal return to the wizarding world proper would impact the conditions of their world.

"Your family is referenced in this?" Harry asked, not bothering to read the article in depth at that moment.

"Not by name, no," Draco answered. "However, the supposition of the author is accurate, your brother holds a great deal of social and political sway, even if he is not aware of it."

It took every ounce of willpower Harry had to not grown at that statement of fact. It was irrefutable, but no less moronic in his eyes that Daniel had such power at his disposal for something that happened when they were just infants. "So, you want to course correct your relationship with Daniel before it becomes publicly known that he has a bitter feud with the heir to the Malfoy name?"

"Correct," Draco confirmed, there was steel in his voice. "To this day there are many who judge the Malfoy name because we were victims during the last war; because some of our extended family chose to side with the Dark Lord!" Draco slammed his fist onto the table, the bangs of his hair falling forward over his brow. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him lose is composure. "I refuse to allow my family name to be slandered by our enemies over what is little more than a damn schoolyard feud!"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. A small part in the back of Harry's mind told him that he should still take the Slytherin's words with a grain of salt, but he actually believed that Draco was being genuine.

Breathing deeply, Draco took a moment to fix his hair and regain his poise. "My apologies for that outburst, Evans. I take my duties to my family very seriously, and sometimes I get caught up in my emotions."

"No harm done," Harry replied, he'd gotten the answer he wanted after all. "So, tell me more about the event itself. The when, where, who, etc."

Seeing the obvious subject change for what it was, Draco seized on the opportunity. "The event will be next Saturday. The games begin at midnight, though you're welcome to arrive early. Hors d'oeuvres and drinks of all varieties will be served throughout the entirety of the night. No live music, unfortunately, but I assure you there will be a wide variation of tracks played over record, as quality of a one as money can buy."

Harry didn't doubt the claim. Magical phonographs allowed for surprisingly good audio quality given that the muggle world had moved on to cassettes years prior and had even recently evolved again to CDs. But that was just how the magical world was. At a glance they seemed ages behind the muggle world in practically every field, but upon looking closer you'd realize that while indeed very different, magic technology and methods were a fair bit more versatile than first appearances would suggest. Well, such was the case for everything but visual recordings, long distance projection, and space travel. In those three areas, muggles were clearly ahead of the curve.

"And the location?" Harry inquired, noting how that very important detail had been left out.

Draco smirked. "You and all other attendees will be informed of the location on the day of. To mitigate the chance that Filch or one of the other teachers learns of our intentions."

A smart decision, if also a somewhat annoying one. "But you do have a location in mind, right?"

"Rest assured, Evans, that I would not be extending invitations if I did not."

Harry was impressed. In a little over a month Draco had secured his own personal, secret room, and had located another room to serve as an event hall that the Hogwarts staff would not be able to find and break up.

"Who else are you inviting?"

"Worried you'll stand out, Evans?" Bulstrode taunted, that same predatory glint in her smile.

"Me? The scion of House Potter? Please, I'll fit in just fine," Harry called back, honestly not concerned in the slightest with his rapport with the other attendees.

"As amusing as I'm sure it would be to toss Evans into a room filled with nothing but Slytherins," Draco started by addressing his fellow House mates before returning his gaze to Harry, "there will be individuals from each of the four Houses in attendance. I am looking to foster connections with multiple individuals, not the Boy-Who-Lived alone."

"But I don't get to know who just yet, do I?" Harry probed once more, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Consider it a surprise."

"Fine," Harry acquiesced, petulantly dragging out the word like the annoyed teenager he was. "Dress code?"

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing of the sort, just don't come dressed in rags."

"I think I can manage that," Harry laughed, having far too much pride to ever dress poorly ever since he'd come into some money.

"Glad to hear it," Draco walked around the table to shake Harry's hand and politely gesture towards the door. "I hope to see you, your brother, and whomever you choose to bring in attendance on Saturday."

"Looking forward to it," Harry replied, waving a hand in farewell to the rest of the Slytherins. "See you all around."

Bulstrode leapt to her feet. "Don't forget about our duel, Evans! You're going to fight me whether you want to or not!"

Harry lazily raised his hand without looking back. "Time and place, Bulstrode. Time and place."

The stone entryway closed behind him the moment he exited the secret room. I need to find me a room like that, Harry mused. Prior to his conversation with the Slytherins, he had intended to head back to the common room and enjoy some simple R&R with the other Gryffindors, but his priorities for the day had changed. Despite having just left it for the day, the library seemed like a good place to find some books on dueling. Even if the odds weren't in his favor, Harry had no intentions of making his fight with Bulstrode an easy affair.

OoooOoooO

"Alright, I think I've got it all worked out."

"You finally finished over there?"

"What do you mean, 'finally?'"

"Wood, it's almost two in the morning, and you've been muttering about incorporating Potter into your chaser formations for the better part of the last six hours."

"It's that late?!"

"Now you understand why I used the word 'finally.'"

"Merlin, I had no idea it was so late… what are you still doing awake?"

"I'm studying advanced Charms theory."

"You're one of the best in our year at Charms and you're still studying… what does that say about my chances on the Charms O.W.L?"

"You'll be able to get an A without issue, Wood. I'm studying because I need an O. Professor Loriss almost never allows someone into his Enchanting class unless they've gotten an O on the Charms O.W.L."

"High bar…"

"That's the N.E.W.T electives for you."

"I thought you said you wanted to go into the administration side of the Ministry. Why do you need to take those classes?"

"They demonstrate a certain level of magical and intellectual competence… or in other words, they look excellent on a résumé."

"Hell of a system we have, truly."

"I honestly don't mind; I enjoy the subject material. I may not use most of these concepts in my day-to-day life as much as some other professions, but I enjoy having the knowledge all the same."

"Knowledge for the sake of knowledge… Remind me, why aren't you a Ravenclaw? Oh, right, you're a Weasley."

"I'm going to ignore that jibe. Besides, it's not solely for the sake of knowledge. Though the circumstances in which I could do so are limited, every single one of the classes in Hogwarts could come into play while working for the Ministry."

"How so?"

"Alright, take Enchanting. I earn a N.E.W.T in the subject. It's not a Mastery, but I at least have some level of competence in the subject, and can engage in topics pertaining to it, right?"

"Right…"

"Now, suppose I'm working as an Undersecretary in the Department of Magical Transportation, specifically the office of Broom Regulatory Control since that's a field which you are tangentially connected."

"Okay…"

"Bear with me for a second. Now, as you're well aware there are different laws pertaining to the different classifications of brooms."

"Yeah, racing, leisure, heavy load, etc. It's a pretty long list."

"Exactly, now suppose a patent is submitted for a new type of broom. It's still a flying broom, but the specifics of what its capable of differ from other types, which means it needs its own set of regulations. With a N.E.W.T in Enchanting, I would be qualified to study the broom from a theoretical perspective to determine its function and potential based on how the enchantments interacted."

"Which you could then use as a reference point for determining regulations alongside the physical test itself, I get it."

"Exactly. It's a hypothetical circumstance, but enchanting is a very broad field with a lot of potential applications. It's knowledge yes, but knowledge that could very well prove useful."

"You've put even more thought into your future than I thought…"

"I told you, Wood, I'm going to make sure the Weasley name is known across the world."

"Minister of Magic?"

"Ideally, yes."

"Well then, Minister, I look forward to the day when you can have tea with the Captain of the English National Team following their World Cup victory."

"Let's make sure it happens then, Wood. Not a dream, but a promise."

OoooOoooO

"Let me get this straight," Daniel began, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, "you want me to break curfew to go to an underground poker event that is being hosted by Malfoy of all people?"

"Yep," his dumb, crazy, utterly bizarre brother responded, popping the 'p' for emphasis.

"This confirms it, you've lost the plot, mate."

Daniel was still trying to process the mind boggling, secondhand invitation that he'd just been handed. Draco bloody Malfoy wanted to bury the hatchet between them, and his idea for how to do so was to invite him to break roughly fifty school rules in one evening. The worst part was that Daniel actually wanted to go. Against his better judgement, an evening spent drinking and playing poker sounded pretty damn fun. Daniel had played the game for fun on numerous occasions since it was one of his dad's favorite pastimes, and he would love to test his skills with some actual stakes involved.

The only issue with the entire scenario was it was Draco bloody Malfoy hosting it all! Daniel knew that it was possible for a kid to not be like their parents, but the moment he'd seen the guy step into his compartment, a sneer on his face as he looked down at everyone else around him, Daniel knew he was an arrogant prick just like his father. Lucius Malfoy deserved to be in Azkaban, Daniel believed that with every fiber of his being. He'd seen the way his mum and dad had raged when the results of the trial were announced in the Daily Prophet. They'd had the same reaction when Richard Avery, Hayward Nott, Warren Crabbe, Garret Goyle, and many others were all exonerated by claiming they were placed under the Imperius curse. It was a travesty of justice, and an insult to all of the people they had victimized. And now the children of those Death Eaters were at Hogwarts, many in his year. It was all so fucked up.

"Who all is going to be there?" Daniel lowered his hand to look at his brother. The two of them had managed to snag a couch near the main hearth on one of the upper levels of the common room. Naturally, they were both speaking in rather hushed tones.

"I'm not sure exactly. I tried to ask, but Malfoy was playing things close to the chest," Harry pulled one leg onto the couch. "Which I honestly get, if I was planning this thing, I wouldn't want any info to slip out."

"And did you ever stop to think that maybe it's all a set-up to get us in trouble? And that by not providing any names we wouldn't be able to confirm with others whether it was real?" Daniel knew his brother was incredibly intelligent, but he was also impulsive beyond belief. There was a high likelihood of him being tricked for no other reason than he didn't stop to think, but only because not thinking was more fun.

Harry opened his mouth in protest but then paused, seemingly having an internal struggle. "I admit, I did not consider that possibility, but c'mon, that would be an extremely elaborate plan just to have us lose some House points and get detention for a week."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not even saying that's absolutely what's happening here, but it really wouldn't be that much effort. Plus, I could see Malfoy doing it for the schadenfreude alone."

Harry sat in silence for a few moments, idly twirling that same Galleon between his fingers as he gazed upwards. "I hear you, but I still think we should go."

And there's his impulses getting the best of him… "So, even knowing it's likely a set-up just to get us in trouble, you still want to go?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

Harry smiled brightly. "Because it'd be fun!"

Somehow, his brother's enthusiasm for the dumb and insane was downright infectious. Daniel started to laugh, having no argument against the simple logic that regardless of if the poker event was real or not, sneaking around the castle after curfew would be fun. "Where's Neville? You're convincing me and I need a stabling influence in my life right now."

"Even Morals McGee can't say no to this. Go ahead and get him, I'll shut down any arguments he has to make," Harry started to stand up but stopped himself halfway and leaned back in to whisper. "Oh, but make sure that if you tell him that he's your plus one. We'll assume we're not getting tricked and keep it under wraps, deal?"

"Deal," Daniel agreed without hesitation, the two brothers both rising to their feet. He was almost certain that Malfoy was pulling something, but he'd hold on to that minuscule possibility of the contrary as long as he could. "Who are you bringing as your plus one?"

As if on cue, Harry flipped the golden coin into the air and caught it on the back of his wrist. "Heads I invite Ron; tails I invite Lav."

"That's how you're deciding?"

"Well, I was leaning toward Ron, but this keeps things fair." Harry removed his hand and smiled down at the gold coin. "Fate has chosen the youngest Weasley son on this day. 'What's meant to be will always find a way,' right?"

Daniel had absolutely no idea what his brother was referencing. "Is that meant to be a quote?"

"What? Oh, yeah, just a line from this American song that released back in… March? I think? Or was it February? April? I don't fucking know; song isn't worth remembering aside from that line anyway."

The eclectic and varied knowledge his older brother had accumulated never failed to surprise Daniel. He genuinely didn't understand the way Harry's mind worked. "Alright, so you grab Ron, I'll grab Nev, and we can explain the situation to them too, okay?"

"Solid plan, brother mine," Harry murmured around a yawn before falling back onto the comfortable sofa. "Damn, I'm tired. New plan, you find both of them and bring them back here while I take a nap."

"I would rather lobotomize myself with a broken broom then do your share of the work while you napped." Daniel had never been more serious about anything in his entire life.

"I can see you feel very strongly about this," Harry said, making no move to rise from his prone position. The stinging hex aimed at Harry's leg was more than earned. "Git… I should have never taught you that spell," he grumbled, massaging away the light pain as he rose into a seated position.

"I'll meet you back here," Daniel remarked with a laugh, not waiting for a reply before walking away to search for his other brother.

Finding a lone individual in the Gryffindor common room wasn't a very difficult task. Given that they were all Gryffindors, most students had very little respect for keeping the noise and commotion to a minimum; so more often than not, those doing the searching would walk floor to floor shouting the name of whoever it was they were looking for. This happened roughly once every hour. Daniel was trying to be a bit more discrete given that there were certain individuals he did not want to attract the attention of. Geoffrey Hooper, for example, was a nice enough bloke at first, but he made a habit of obnoxiously bitching about every little thing in the world. Anyone stuck in his presence for more than a minute would be forced to listen to his complaints about anything and everything he could think of.

Then there was Rose Waxen… Daniel wasn't sure what to think about her. On one hand, he really did like the girl. She was a lot of fun to be around and to talk to, and in general he enjoyed her company; on top of it all, she was super cute too. Unfortunately, the girl seemed to have unilaterally decided after their first night that the two of them were a couple. For weeks she had scarcely left him alone despite his polite requests that she do so. Clingy girlfriends weren't a new concept, but given that she wasn't his girlfriend, Daniel thought her behavior was downright ridiculous.

The entire situation was made all the more complicated given that the two of them had slept together their first night at Hogwarts. Neither of them had been quite so drunk when they started losing their clothes to blame the experience on the alcohol, but looking back, Daniel really wished they had clarified their intentions before jumping into bed together. Losing his virginity night one of Hogwarts was an experience worthy of song in his mind, but the responsible part of his brain thought it would've been better for Rose if he'd turned her down. An awkward but necessary conversation was going to happen sooner or later, but he was trying to avoid it as long as possible. Not the most mature response, but he didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings if he could avoid it… undoubtedly a fool's hope at the end of the day.

Daniel was taking his experiences as a lesson to not date girls enamored with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. It wouldn't be fair to Rose to imply his damned title was the only reason she had an interest in him, but he would be lying to himself if he denied that it was likely a contributing factor. Daniel knew that he would never be just another teenager at Hogwarts. The story of his life would always hang over him whether he liked it or not. Going forward, he would just have to ensure he was a bit more discerning about who he let get genuinely close to him. He didn't want to come across as some sort of elitist prick, but he also didn't want people only interested in his fame to hang onto him like parasites. So far, none of the Gryffindors he had befriended had crossed the line where he would call them parasites, but he thought it was a good thing to bear in mind all the same.

Luckily, he was able to find Neville studying at one of the many tables scattered throughout the common room. "Of course you're stuck on potions," Daniel teased, claiming the seat opposite of his adopted brother.

Throwing his quill down in frustration, Neville leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't make sense why I can't brew anything right! I follow all of the instructions perfectly, but not one of my potions has been at even the level of Acceptable! And because of that, I get assigned more essays than anyone in the whole class!"

Daniel tried not to laugh at Neville's predicament, he really did, but it was just too funny not to. Everyone at the top of their class in potions had tried to diagnose what was wrong with Neville's brews: Hermione, Harry, Trinity, Daniel himself, Parvati, everyone, but they still couldn't figure it out. Neville had even gone out of his way to request a prefect watch him brew the simplest potion in their first-year textbook. Amira Barret had been positively dumbfounded by why Nev's extraordinarily simple draught for curing boils instead was a caustic brew that caused anything it touched to burst into purple flames. Amira had been so shocked, she went and fetched Professor McGonagall to share the tale. The Professor had seemed sympathetic to his plight but could offer no advice beyond speaking to Professor Snape. Advice that every Gryffindor within earshot promptly snorted at.

Once it was firmly established that Nev could make the weirdest potions in the world on accident, it became something of a game to the others in their year. Every potions class the other students would all start taking bets as to what his abomination of a potion would actually do. The results so far had been so varied, that no one was even close to being right. Though, Harry had taken it upon himself to start snagging samples of all the potions Nev royally messed up, those that he could safely acquire that is.

The worst part for Nev was that he genuinely understood the theory behind potions. Even Professor Snape understood that and had proven as much when he went on an insult laced rant wondering how Neville could show such passable results on quizzes and essays – 'passable' when translated away from Professor Snape lingo bordered on being a compliment – but still manage to butcher every brew he happened to lay his fingers upon.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said around his fits of laughter, "I really am."

Neville pulled out his wand and cast a quick measuring charm on his parchment. There were plenty of Professors that had students use notebooks for essays and just used word count as a standard counter for length, but Snape preferred to use the length of the parchment as a criterion. And Merlin help anyone that tried to write oversized lines. Snape would burn your essay on the spot and fail you if he thought your writing was too large. "I still need another four inches," Neville grumbled.

"What's this essay on?"

"The various uses of the Bouncing Spider as a potion ingredient," Neville said around the simple spells he was casting to shift the ink on his parchment and restructure his writing. "I've already covered the juice, fangs, legs, and eyes in standard potions…"

Daniel leaned back in his chair, idly tapping his wand against his chin, a bad habit from what he'd been told, but not one he'd been able to stop just yet. "How about the dried variations?"

"Thank you, Daniel!" Neville declared happily, eagerly flipping open a book that Daniel didn't recognize, most likely one from the library.

"How long do you think it will take you to finish? I had come to find you for a reason."

Neville hummed as he picked up his quill. "Ten minutes? Twenty? Give or take a few?" He seemed to weigh it over in his mind before continuing. "Make it thirty, actually. I have to finish writing it, perform spell checks, check for grammatical errors, you get it."

"Yeah, I get it," Daniel agreed. "Well, come find me on the upper floors near the hearth when you're done. Harry and I want to talk to you about something."

"Will do," Neville said, already turning his attention back to his essay.

Daniel was the first to arrive back at their designated meeting spot by a fair margin. With nothing else to do he pulled out the advanced DADA textbook he'd checked out from the library. It was mostly a theory book on the nature of counter curses and the difficulties in applying them. None of the subject matter would likely show up in his first-year curriculum, but he was at the top of the class in DADA already, so he had no qualms about reading ahead.

Many people assumed that Daniel must have had some manner of special instruction prior to entering Hogwarts, but his mum and dad really hadn't taught him that much. Compared to muggle-borns he had a lot of extra knowledge, but his greatest advantage over everyone else was little more than some extra defensive and offensive spells in the event that violence broke out. To cast those spells, he had to be a bit ahead in theory and practice, that was true, but it wasn't like he'd been trained since he could walk. Frank and Alice had been determined to give their sons as normal of a life as possible given the circumstances. Daniel was a competent student because he was studious and genuinely tried to apply himself. That was the big secret of his success.

It was actually annoying that people assumed he had prior schooling and training when his results weren't even that spectacular. Granger was ahead of him in theory and Harry seemed to master spells more quickly than anyone; but no one implied they were anything other than gifted students of magic. Though, it actually was a bit odd that they were both so skilled given that neither of them were aware of magic until a few months prior. Students raised in the muggle world being prodigious was not an unheard-of phenomenon, but that wasn't to say it was the norm either.

Daniel did not have to wait too long before he was joined by both Harry and Ron, the two of them were caught up in their own discussion and only briefly greeted Daniel before continuing.

"I mean, I guess we could find a place to practice, but why are you so eager?" Ron asked, claiming one of the cushions for himself.

Harry sat upon the arm of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he held his chin in hand. "I just think it would be really useful. Plus, it becomes part of our curriculum starting next semester, so getting a leg up could only help us."

That little detail was enough to clue Daniel in that they were talking about dueling. He didn't question his twin's sudden interest in it. Harry was a mercurial individual with eclectic interests. Any given day he could show up to the common room ranting about Merlin knows what and it would just be another day sharing a House with Harry Evans.

"Alright, I'm in. Hell, I'll even ask my brothers if they have any tips for us, including the ones not at Hogwarts. You've never met my brother Bill, but he was Head Boy his seventh year, and he won some amateur dueling tournaments before he graduated." Ron smiled proudly as he recounted the achievements of his older sibling. "And that's just Bill, the others are bound to know some things as well."

Seeing the opportunity to possibly mend a broken bridge even further, Daniel interjected himself into the conversation. "You know, Harry, if you're interested in dueling, I happen to know of two licensed aurors who might be able to give you some tips."

"Bloody hell, are you joking?" Ron asked, sitting up with interest blazing in his eyes. "Aurors don't participate in dueling tournaments, but they're the best when it comes to combat! How do you know them?"

Harry's face had gone blank at the mention of Frank and Alice. Daniel knew his mum had been sending Harry letters, but from what she had mentioned, he hadn't replied even once. That was about what she expected given how the reunion had gone, but she'd admitted that she had been hoping for more. The theory Daniel had was that Harry wanted to open up to Alice but was too stubborn to do so. At the café they'd seen the real Harry, the one that was angry but also willing to listen and engage with her, even if it was only in relation to the stories she told about their dad; but when they were separated by time and distance, the embittered and hurt side of him took center stage. It wasn't exactly the informed opinion of someone who had studied psychology, but he was confident in it all the same. Daniel knew it wasn't his place to force his brother to accept Alice back into his life, even though he absolutely thought he should, but that didn't mean he couldn't provide gentle encouragement now and again.

"My mum and dad, the Longbottoms, both became aurors during the war," Daniel explained, "and I know they've taken the tests to maintain their license even though neither have been active duty for some time."

"Wicked," Ron's amazement was plain to see. "If they could give us some tips about how to train, that'd put us head and shoulders above everyone else in our class, maybe even our year!"

The two twins met one another's eyes as Ron continued to talk in the background. Daniel knew it would be hard for his brother to ask for their help. He'd very pointedly gone out of his way to be entirely self-reliant since re-entering the magical world; but if he wanted their advice, then he was going to have to write to them himself. Maybe it was a tad selfish on his part, but Daniel wanted his entire family to get along. Harry was an odd bloke, but even in the brief time he'd known him, Daniel had truly come to see the guy as his brother… Hell, he loved him. He didn't think it was wrong to want to see his brother by blood grow closer to his adopted family.

"I know it wouldn't be quite the same as having them instruct us in person, but you'll write to them, won't you Daniel?" Ron eagerly asked.

Daniel was about to answer in the negative when Harry cut in. "I'll do it, Ron. I'm the one that wants help after all."

There was none of the fierce anger present in his voice that Daniel had heard that day in The Nook. Impassivity wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was an improvement over rage.

Ron seemed to pick up on his friend's demeanor as well. "You sure, mate? You don't have to if you don't want to. Seriously, no pressure." Daniel respected how quickly Ron was willing to back off the entire idea given Harry's apprehension. He was a good bloke.

Harry waved off the redhead's concerns. "No, no, I'll send them a letter. You're right on the money about the quality of advice they might be able to offer. Still shoot your brother a letter as well. I imagine a curse breaker has to have some pretty esoteric knowledge available to share."

The two best friends became embroiled in their own conversation once more, politely choosing not to pull Daniel into it once he made his intentions to keep reading clear. Even while reading, Daniel noticed the subtle, piercings glances Harry kept directing toward him. Apparently, he'd offended his brother with his prior suggestion. Damn… Fortunately, his twin had enough tact to save what would likely be an argument for another time and place.

By the time Neville arrived, Harry and Ron had jumped between six separate topics, and Daniel had made it halfway through another chapter in his book.

"Sorry that I took so long," Neville apologized as he snagged an unused pillow and fell onto the thick rug in-between the sofa and the hearth.

"No worries, Nev, Snapes essays are brutal," Ron assured him.

"Even I won't make fun of you for running late with that as your excuse," Harry agreed, a small grin in place. Harry and Neville couldn't help but tease and heckle one another every time they were in the same vicinity, but in the weeks they'd spent as Housemates, Daniel thought their banter had become more friendly and less pointed. They weren't best friends by any means, but there was far less heat in most of their interactions. It was a welcome change.

"Small mercies," Neville mumbled before shaking his head and rising to a seated position, though still on the floor. "So, what did you all want to talk about?"

Daniel was prepared to explain the situation in a calm and rational manner, outlining his thoughts on the entire scenario before asking Neville and Ron for their opinions. Harry, on the other hand, had different plans. "Saturday night, poker event hosted by Draco Malfoy. You in or out?"

"What?" An eloquent and entirely understandable response in Daniel's opinion.

"Are you in, or are you out?" Harry repeated his question, the same smile present on his face.

"I'm in," Ron declared, leaning back into the couch after realizing the important parts were settled in his mind. "I'm still not convinced that Draco isn't a slimy git, but I love poker so I'm in!"

Daniel had to make sure the guy knew what he was agreeing to. "There's a three galleon buy-in, Ron."

"I'm out." Ron's tune changed rather quickly.

Harry threw a pillow at Ron's head. "No, you're still in. I'll pay your buy-in, and in exchange you can pay me back a bit if you win. You aren't allowed to say no."

"I guess I'm in then," Ron laughed, launching the pillow back.

The sound of Harry and Ron repeatedly tossing the pillow at one another combined with their laughter overrode the silence of Neville's deliberation until he spoke. "I'm in too."

"Really?" Harry and Daniel's said in perfect unison, their voices practically melding into one.

"Yeah, really," Neville confirmed, his eyes flickering between them.

Daniel was left with his mouth agape as Harry whistled. "Mister Goody Two-Shoes himself consenting to breaking a dozen school rules in one go?" He then wiped away a fake tear and leaned forward to clap Neville on the shoulder. "I am so proud of you."

"You're not going to show up just to snitch, are you?" Ron asked, just as taken aback by Neville's decision as they were. Daniel didn't think Neville would pull something so underhanded but given that he was normally pretty rule-oriented, he didn't begrudge the other teen the question.

Neville recoiled ever so slightly. "Do you all really think I'd do that?"

It was Harry that answered him with a little half-shrug. "I mean, I could see it. I'd hope you wouldn't, but…" He trailed off; the unspoken thought still understood by all.

"Huh." Neville seemed taken off guard that their perception of him had such behavior as a possibility.

Daniel wasn't sure if it was hurt present in his adopted brother's eyes, or just shock, but he was going to help him out of it either way. "Neville isn't going to snitch on anyone, right Nev?"

"Of course not!" He declared, rising to his feet. "If I thought you all were being especially stupid, then I might try and stop you, but I'm not going to lie about coming and then tell a teacher!"

A smile lit up Daniel's face. Neville could be a bit uptight now and again, but the guy valued loyalty a hell of a lot more than he valued any rules. That was just one of the reasons Daniel loved him so much. "Never doubted you for a second."

"I like this version of you, Nev," Harry remarked, now looking up at the tall, standing teen. "Where have you been hiding him for the past few months?"

"He's been here the whole time, you just happen to bring out the worst in people," Neville replied, chuckling as Harry pointed at his heart and mouthed the word 'ow.'

Daniel took it upon himself to metaphorically sober them all up and remind everyone of the potential outcome where Malfoy was just looking to get them in trouble. Only to be followed by Harry's counter arguments as to why he didn't think that was the case. It had taken them a needlessly long amount of time, and the route was utterly nonsensical, but eventually Daniel thought they had all arrived at a place of equal information dissemination.

"You're right, that is a possibility," Neville murmured, stealing the seat Harry had temporarily vacated to get some water.

"Doesn't mean it's a likely one though," Ron said, chin cupped in hand. Daniel and Ron weren't that close, but after a month of knowing him, he'd realized the teen really enjoyed staring into fire while trying to puzzle things out in his head.

"I, for one, think it's well worth the risk."

Daniel couldn't keep the amusement out of his sigh. "So you've said, Harry. Four times now."

"Just want to make sure you're all aware."

Ron hummed lightly. "Suppose we were caught, what would our punishment be?"

"Our House points would probably enter into the negatives," Neville supplied.

"But no one cares about House points in Gryffindor, so that really doesn't matter," Harry countered, adding a mark in favor of attending the supposed event.

"We'd all get detentions for sure," Daniel added, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Have any of you all had detention yet?"

"Not in Hogwarts, no, but in the muggle world detention really isn't so bad. Boring, but that's about it." Why was Daniel not surprised that Harry had gotten detention before?

Ron jumped back into the conversation and said, "Fred and George have gotten detentions loads of times. There's no way it's that bad. Plus, this outcome is predicated on the idea that we get caught. Just because it's fake doesn't mean we can't get away."

Clapping his hands together, Harry gestured towards Ron with a self-satisfied smirk. "See? Worth. The. Risk."

"Seconded," Ron didn't hesitate. Daniel doubted he'd ever been swayed not to go.

"I third that."

And just like that, Daniel as the sole one not to cast a vote. He was pretty happy the others had elected to go. From minute one he'd been interested in attending, real or not, because it seemed like it would be fun; but he would have been remiss in his job as a friend if he didn't point out to that they could, and likely would, get in trouble for going.

The three teens all looked at the lone man left in anticipation. "I've always been in favor of going," Daniel said, eliciting a mix of laughter and snorts from the others.

"Well, with that settled," a mad glint had entered Harry's eyes, "all that's left is to plan how we're going to get past all the roaming teachers, prefects, and that bastard Filch…"

As Harry launched into a crazed scheme involving the liberal use of fire and flour, Daniel couldn't help but wonder if scenarios like these were the types of shenanigans that his dad, James, had gotten up to when he was at Hogwarts. Alice didn't like to talk too much about the Marauders – the name James and his friends had claimed for themselves – as a whole because of Sirius Black's inclusion, but the few stories she had shared spoke of impossibly dumb stunts, plans that didn't have a single ounce of coherence, and a level of sheer dumb luck that was matched only by their drive to have fun. Daniel had no idea if the quartet of himself, Harry, Neville, and Ron was anything like his dad's, but at that moment, he felt a sense of kinship with his long-deceased father like he never had before.

Hope we live up to your legacy, Dad… Daniel did not speak the words aloud, he didn't have to. A small part of him knew that somewhere, somehow, James Potter was looking down on his two sons with pride.

Chapter Text

“I used to wonder why I was a ghost, but as the years have gone on, I’ve come to realize that maybe I stayed on God’s green earth because there were more people in need of my help. Every time a young Hufflepuff comes to me for advice and can walk away with their head held a little higher, I truly feel that I’m in the right place.” -The Fat Friar to a young Pomona Sprout in the Hufflepuff common room. September 1948.

Chapter 13:

Harry Evans gazed up at the large congregation of owls with a heavy sigh, the expunged air from his lungs woefully visible before rapidly fading away. The Owlery was situated in one of the castle’s stupidly tall towers, but for some ungodly reason, it was exposed to the open air during the entire journey upward. Hogwarts was pretty damn drafty at the best of times, but the slight bits of magic built into the main walkways of the school meant that it wasn’t unbearable; a fact that would apparently remain true even when winter well and truly arrived, or so Harry had heard from older students at least. These protections apparently did not extend to the damned Owlery.

Luckily, it was still only the early days of October, so while there was a fair bit of chill in the wee hours of the morning, the days remained relatively comfortable… which was exactly why Harry was convinced the Owlery was cursed with foul, evil, loathsome magic. It was way too fucking cold on those stairs. There wasn’t a random wind coming off the Black Lake. There were no random frost elementals trying to find a new home. Nothing. And yet, somehow, by the time Harry reached the top of the tower, his teeth were chattering, his fingers were numb, and ice was forming in his unkempt hair. The conditions had been the exact same when he delivered letters in September, and he’d be willing to bet that they’d be the exact same come May as well. A quiet vow of revenge was sworn that day. The one who had supposedly cursed the Owlery would not know until it was too late, but Harry Evans would make them pay.

The hoot of one of the many, many nocturnal birds drew Harry away from his thoughts of painful revenge. As if the arduous campaign to even reach the blasted birds’ roost wasn’t bad enough, the whole purpose behind Harry’s visit had him pissed off. Tucked away in his book-bag was a letter that he really, really, really did not want to send.

“It’s already written, I’m bloody well up here, no point in backing out now you fucking coward,” Harry told himself for what felt like the fiftieth time. 

Ever since Daniel had suggested writing to Frank and Alice for advice, Harry had been annoyed. He was just barely mature enough to admit that he had mixed feelings when it came to his godmother and her husband. On one hand, he genuinely did not hate Alice for the choices she'd made; but on the other hand, he was still fucking pissed that she'd made said choices in the first place. Part of Harry wanted to keep the woman at arm's distance and just move on from her, while another part of him was vaguely curious about the woman who'd been his mother's best friend and raised his brother as her own. Harry's heart was a tangled mess of thoughts and emotions, and he was about ready to set it all on fire just for simplicity's sake.

"Goddamn, I'm pathetic." Harry shook his head and lit another fag. He'd gone through four smokes and half a bottle of Ogden's just writing the damn letter, and now he needed more chemicals flowing into him just to send the damned thing. Ron had seen his frustrations with trying to write it and like a good friend had reminded him he didn't have to, but no, Harry was determined not to let a fucking piece of parchment covered in ink beat him.

The worst part was that he didn't even understand why he was so reluctant to send the letter. Ron had asked him if it was related to not wanting their help, but that wasn't it at all. He'd already accepted Alice's help and advice in a dozen different ways, from stories about his father to potions for cleansing his lungs. The redhead's guess was a good one, but Harry was almost certain that something other than pride was at play. Whatever it was that Harry was feeling at that time – whether it could be called an emotion, one of the seven deadly sins, or some other nebulous concept based around feelings – it had a ferocious grip over him that refused to let go. The only reason he had even made it this far was his own damn stubbornness had forced him to do so. Well, the alcohol and nicotine helped too.

Try as he might, though, Harry could not bring himself to take that final step towards victory and hand the letter off to one of the Hogwarts owls, but nor could he walk back down the stairs and admit defeat. Stuck between two choices with nowhere to go, he simply sat down, his ass meeting the cold stone as his back leaned against the wall. With his cigarette held firmly between his lips, Harry flicked his wand into his hand and muttered some warming charms onto the stone floor, the stone wall, anywhere that he could cast the spell to provide a modicum of warmth. The charm was relatively simple to cast on its own, but there was a bit more complexity involved when cast on living creatures, hence the lack of charm applied to his own person. Flitwick had 'suggested' that the first-year students not attempt to apply it to themselves just yet since burns and frighteningly high fevers were an extremely common side effect of casting the spell incorrectly, but Harry was confident he'd have it down after his next private practice session. The diminutive professor hadn't been lying in saying that it was tricky; but being able to feel your own magic remained a most advantageous ability.

An unspecified but quite large number of charms later and the ambient temperature of the owlery had risen to a level that bordered on being comfortable, at least to anyone sitting low and on the heated floor, up against a wall like Harry was. The air wasn't quite as biting when it wasn't hitting him directly. The downside to not being miserable and having relatively decent conditions was that they allowed him to just remain seated, pondering over his conundrum, neither sending the letter nor discarding it. In his quest for comfort, he'd found door number three, aptly named it limbo, and decided to walk through it.

The warming charms should have lasted for ages given the sheer volume of how many he'd thrown out, but they required recasting every now and again; the confirmation of a curse on the owlery was both validating and annoying. The entirety of the Owlery might as well have been drawn up from the frozen lair of hell given how frigid it was. The original architect, the one who cursed it, or whoever was to blame for the miserable conditions must have been reading about Cocytus and decided to use it as a source of inspiration when constructing the owl's home. Harry chose to ignore the fact that that The Divine Comedy wasn't written until the 14th century and yet Hogwarts was clearly older, he was more focused on literally every other aspect of his life than the details surrounding the pervasive condition of the Owlery. At least the owls themselves seemed to not give a fuck about the temperature either way. Not a single one of them had reacted to the vast differences in the changes to the climate that impacted their home. Lucky bastards.

Harry didn't have even the faintest idea of how much time had passed in the bird's den before he heard a pair of footsteps ascending the tower's stairs. Vaguely curious about who he was about to encounter, another smoke had found its way into his lips. A faint wisp of acrid air trailed off the end of the little cylinder as the melancholy teen rotated his head to look at the newcomer.

"Speak of the devil and he doth appear," Harry murmured, somewhat shocked to see Professor Flitwick in the flesh after recalling his lesson just a few… minutes or hours prior, he wasn't entirely sure which.

"Mister… Evans? I must say, I did not expect to see you up here, nor did I expect to hear you calling me a devil," the professor's words seemed more curious than anything, which Harry appreciated greatly.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean anything by it, I only said it because I was thinking about your lesson just…" Harry trailed off for a brief second before collecting himself. "I was thinking about your lesson earlier, and I was also thinking about concepts related to hell. So, I thought it was just an odd coincidence to see you up here, hence the phrase."

Professor Flitwick chortled, as merry and cheerful as he always was. "No need to apologize, Mister Evans, that is a rather serendipitous occurrence." He raised one arm aloft and almost immediately a slim, mottled brown owl swooped down onto the cloth covered appendage. "If you don't mind my asking, which lesson were you thinking about?"

"Tuesday's lesson, sir, specifically when we covered warming charms."

"Aha, I should have guessed given how liberally you've applied them up here," the short man winked at Harry as he passed his letter to the owl. "They are all expertly cast, by the way. Five points to Gryffindor."

While not a humble person by nature, the compliment from one of the world's foremost Charms masters made Harry rub the back of his head, almost bashful at the praise but not quite crossing that threshold. "Thanks, sir," he said, meeting his professor's eyes with a grin in place. The points were a nice thought, but as a student of Gryffindor House, he couldn't care less about them if he tried.

"I can only presume that you plan to try your hand at using this charm on organic matter next, yes?" Professor Flitwick seemed genuinely curious, and his tone was utterly devoid of disapproval.

Harry nodded his head, there was no purpose in lying when practicing spell work wasn't against school rules. "Yeah, I was going to put some time in tomorrow, most likely."

"I see, I see. Well, if there was any first-year I believed ready for such spell-work it would be yourself, Mister Evans. However, if I may offer some advice…" He barely waited for Harry's immediate and emphatic 'please do' before continuing. "Before you cast the spell on yourself or any living creature, practice on water. While still inorganic, from a chemical standpoint, there is a remarkable amount of water within humans; plus, you can judge the effectiveness of the warming charm by easily testing the water's temperature. Warming charms and heating charms are a bit different in intent, so the water shouldn't heat up too much, but you can use it as a gauge."

Harry thought it was an ingenious piece of advice, but the explanation confused him. "Does the chemical structure impact a charm's efficacy, Professor? I know transfiguration is greatly affected depending on the base material or state of matter, is the same true of charms?" None of the books on charms that Harry had read had made mention of such concepts, but for all he knew, it was just very high level and thus not relevant to a first-year of his level.

Professor Flitwick seemed ecstatic at the question and almost began to bounce animatedly. "Excellent question, Mister Evans! And the answer is yes, but only on occasion, and not to a great degree. As you might imagine, it depends on the base material. For example, the warming charm when applied to a rock versus a human. I didn't just recommend you avoid practicing it just yet because of the side-effects, but also because the spell will take differently to living creatures and their complex structure. Doubly so if they're a magical creature since the innate magic of the creature will interact with the charm!"

"But it's not exclusively a difference of organic vs inorganic, correct?" Harry clarified, having removed a quill and notebook from his bag to jot down a few quick notes.

"Correct, that was just one example of many. Certain charms could also take differently to differing types of rock, though the discrepancies would be far more subtle, again, magical properties aside."

Another question popped into Harry's mind. Magic was just too damn interesting. "How come this isn't covered in the first-year curriculum?"

"Simple, Mister Evans," Flitwick answered, a sage smile in place, "because while a charm's efficacy can be affected, by in large the charm will still be applied. Contrast this with transfiguration where, if the materials involved aren't considered, the spell would simply not work at best, or at worst, it could result in dire effects."

"So, having us wait to cast warming charms on people was more about not wanting to give Madam Pomfrey extra work rather than any complex magical theory?" Harry couldn't help but laugh even as he finished his query.

"I would be lying if I said that line of thought had not crossed my mind," Professor Flitwick agreed, joining in on the laughter. "There are many complexities to casting charms that you will learn more about in later years, including efficacy based on material, but I would say that most of them are of comparatively little consequence until you get to enchanting. With enchanting, the minute differences are of utter importance."

"Huh, thanks for sharing, Professor, it was interesting."

"My pleasure, Mister Evans. I am first and foremost an educator, after all. A title I would not have if I did not love the role." Professor Flitwick was about to make his exit when he stopped, turning back to look at his student with a discerning look. "I apologize if I am overstepping, Mister Evans, but I would be remiss if I did not ask… Why are you sitting up here all by your lonesome?"

The words to politely shut down the professor's inquiry were on the tip of Harry's tongue, ready to be thrown out into the world when he stopped. Professor Flitwick was, presumably, as neutral of a party as he could find in Hogwarts without consulting random students. A teacher from a different House, a House that neither his parents nor godmother were a part of either. There wasn't any harm in sharing with the man since he'd asked.

Harry lazily held the letter up in the air, having removed it from his bag before placing it within his usual black sheepskin coat with gray fur, he was very glad that Hogwarts did not force students to wear their uniforms unless attending classes. Even though it was only Wednesday, Harry had finished his classes in the early afternoon and promptly changed into an outfit he was more comfortable in. The uniform wasn't unbearable once he ditched the tie and unbuttoned some of the odd buttons here and there, but it still wasn't his favorite way to dress.

"I'm just up here debating if I actually want to send this, Professor," Harry said, taking a small drag immediately thereafter. No one of authority had questioned his bad habits since he entered the school despite not trying to hide it, so he wasn't about to let the smoke go to waste just because he was talking to a professor.

Flitwick looked curious but with a hint of concern at the disheveled teen. "I see, and would you mind sharing who that letter is for?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, Harry mused, no point in stopping now. "It's a letter for Alice Longbottom, sir."

Understanding passed over Flitwick's features. "Ah, in that case far be it of me to pry any further, I apologize if my queries were rude or presumptuous."

Harry wasn't offended by the man's questions given that they were respectful in nature, but his reaction to the letter's would-be recipient was another matter entirely. "Are you aware of my familial situation, Professor?" Harry asked, and though he tried to keep it out, a slight edge had entered his voice.

Rather than getting upset that a student would take such a tone, Flitwick seemed, if anything, more sympathetic. "Not of any of the details, Mister Evans, however, it is public knowledge that the Longbottoms raised your brother while you grew up in the muggle world. From there, combined with your melancholy over the letter, it is rather easy to infer that there are some personal issues between yourself and Mrs. Longbottom."

Harry snorted at the Professor's phrasing but it quickly turned into a resigned chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you could say that… nice deduction."

"You were not trying to keep it a secret," Flitwick countered lightly.

The young teen didn't really know how to reply to that. On some level he must have wanted to share more because the professor was right, he was practically wearing his issues on his sleeve. Harry thought he was cagey about his emotions, but clearly that was just self-delusion. Fuck it. "What do you think, Professor? Should I send it?"

Flitwick considered Harry for a moment before drawing his wand, in the blink of an eye he'd cast warming charms at both of them, thrown a cushioning charm where Harry sat – he'd still yet to look those up – and conjured himself a small, cushioned chair. "Well, I couldn't possibly answer that for you. Even if I had all the necessary context, which I do not, then I would still not be able to make that determination as I am not you. The question, Mister Evans, is do you want to send the letter?" The stress he placed on certain words cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Harry sighed and let his head fall back against the magically softened stone. "That's the problem, I do, and I don't."

"Why, and why not?" Flitwick did not hesitate to ask the simple but probing question. Or questions, in this case.

"It's complicated…" Harry said, knowing full and well that it wasn't that complicated, he was just emotional and not thinking clearly.

"Let us look at it this way then," Flitwick began, gesturing toward the letter. "Why did you write it in the first place?"

A few seconds of silence passed before Harry shrugged, he couldn't think of a reason not to share the broader contents. "I asked for some tips on dueling and magical combat in general."

Flitwick's mustache quirked upwards as he smiled. "Both of the Longbottoms are very well respected aurors, it makes sense why you would think to ask them for advice."

"I know, and I bet they wouldn't mind offering some, it's just…"

"Just what?" Flitwick gently encouraged.

Harry stilled, finally realizing exactly why he was so reluctant to send the damn letter. "I don't want to have to ask them for help," he murmured quietly, barely even heeding the fact that he was still talking to Flitwick, whom he had never even spoken to outside of classes until this moment. "I never needed Alice's help before. Never."

"And now?"

"I still don't need it!" Harry stated, his voice not rising in the slightest, but it was noticeably colder. "I've done just fine without her so far! Alice hasn't helped at all! I don't need her help, but…" He trailed off, looking askance in frustration as he stuck his smoke back in his mouth.

"But now, you find yourself in a situation where you want her help, and it galls you to have to ask for it from someone whom you've never relied on before." Flitwick recapped Harry's thought processes and emotional turmoil almost perfectly.

"Something like that," Harry muttered. Turns out it's a pride thing after all. Fuck.

Flitwick smiled genially and then rose from his chair, wordlessly vanishing it from existence. "Well, Mister Evans, I have full confidence you will make the right decision for you."

"That is supremely unhelpful advice, sir," Harry joked, a bit surprised that the professor was leaving without offering more sage wisdom.

Flitwick chuckled as he turned to make his exit. "I don't think you need advice right now; I believe you need to make a choice about the type of man you're going to be, but something tells me you were already aware of the difference." With that final parting comment, the Head of Ravenclaw winked at the young Gryffindor and walked down the stairs.

Harry ruminated on the professor's words for quite a long time, and he actually kept track that time. Over half a dozen students had made the frigid trek up the tower to send letters or parcels, all of them happily pausing when they noticed the ambient temperature change, and all of them also casting questioning looks at the strange first-year just sitting against the wall. A few individuals even asked Harry if he was okay, to which he assured them that he was before falling back into contemplative silence.

"What kind of man do I want to be?" Harry repeated once he was alone once more, rolling the galleon he'd received on his first visit to Diagon Alley in between his fingers.

In spite of the fact that Harry knew he was probably needlessly overthinking things, he couldn't help but ruminate on Flitwick's final comment. The simple question gained more weight and complexity with each passing moment of contemplation – it wasn't an easy query to answer because as much as some insisted otherwise, the world wasn't a black and white place. Harry knew he'd already done a lot of bad things in his life, but he knew he'd done a fair share of good stuff as well. Good, bad, or even the neutral answer he'd given Tom months prior were all blanket statements with no real meaning – a child's conception of objective morality. People were just people. Some did good things one day and bad the next. There was no singular trait by which to define anyone, let alone a 16-year-old guy in his first bloody year of Hogwarts. Harry didn't have to decide the entire direction of his life right then and there, he could change his mind down the road regardless of whether he sent the damn letter… Despite that ounce of logic that had wormed its way into his brain, he couldn't shake the idea that his choice would establish some manner of precedent, even if just to himself. Not something immutable or set in stone, but still a decision on which future ones would all inevitably be based upon. Ultimately, it was just a matter of whether he wanted to keep Alice at arm's length as he had, or whether he wanted her to be a part of his life?

Another question came to Harry courtesy of his rarely used but no less effective conscience, that traitorous part of him that only reared its head on rare occasion. Do you really want to hold a grudge against her for the rest of your life because she made a mistake 15 years ago? Harry scoffed at his own mental phrasing, an objectively gross minimization of what had actually happened. The act of separating twin brothers after the death of their parents and only informing one of said twins of their heritage and native culture could not simply be glossed over as a nothing but a mistake, even within the confines of his own mind.

The more important aspect was the simple question of whether he wanted to hold a grudge? Did he want to keep ignoring her letters, put on a smile in public, pretend he didn't hold a grudge, and act cordially for the sake of Daniel? Or did he want to take that first real step toward burying the hatchet? Fucking hell, I almost agonized this much over whether or not to even meet the woman… Harry mused, though, that just went to show the value he placed on actually asking Alice for help.

Harry had thought of himself as essentially a loner for as long as he could remember. He had friends but no one he could share everything with. He'd had his foster family, but he didn't think they truly understood him, even when he had tried to explain how his mind and heart had worked. There was always an unspoken gap between him and those around him that he'd never been able to breach... Now, he had someone actually trying to bridge that chasm, and he was passive in the face of it? If he wanted to, all he had to do was extend a hand, show that it wasn't just a one-sided effort, and not resist the bond that might form. But did he even want to? Was it just about him?

"Fuck me, I'm going to regret this," Harry murmured before raising his arm upwards in the exact same way he'd seen the other visitors to the Owlery do in order to send a letter. A small tawny owl swept down from the rafters to land on his cloth-covered, outstretched limb. The bird's talons gripped his arm rather tightly, but it never came anywhere close to wounding him. "Deliver this to Alice Longbottom." The magic of messenger owls was as much a mystery to Harry as it was to others despite his ability to sense magic, but like everyone else he knew that you had to inform the owl of who the recipient was some way or another.

The owl blinked at Harry and then was off, soaring away into the distance. A small part of him hoped that somehow the bird would lose its way and be unable to deliver the letter, but it was a foolish hope. Every single witch and wizard in Europe relied on magical owls to send messages, and they would not do so if owls were not both a fast and reliable method of communication. In less than 12 hours, that letter would be delivered to Alice no matter what he did.

"Hope you're happy, Daniel," Harry bit out, clicking his tongue because he knew his little brother would be. Guy was a bloody Hufflepuff in disguise and he didn't even try to hide it. "Bleeding heart little shit."

Harry would never tell him as much, but his brother was pretty much the only fucking reason he was putting forth any effort when it came to his relationship with Alice. How could he not try when his only brother practically implored him to do so? Not that Daniel was so self-centered as to actually beg him to play nice with the Longbottoms, but Harry could see the unspoken desire clear as day. Who wouldn't want to see their only living, non-incarcerated family members get along? It was such a wholesome wish that he couldn't shit on it completely, not even as the cynical older brother who was wont to do so.

Lost in his own melancholy, Harry did not have any specific destination in mind after descending from the Owlery. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go to the common room. Another hour or two and maybe he’d be able to face Daniel’s happy face, or maybe Ron’s conflicted one when they saw he’d sent the goddamn letter; but until then, he’d rather just walk through the corridors of Hogwarts and see what he could find.

Harry had already decided to follow Tom’s advice on a few occasions so far during his stay at the aged castle, but not as frequently as he might have initially hoped. While it was quite enjoyable walking the halls and searching for hidden rooms, doors, and secret passageways, it also took time. The first month of classes wasn’t difficult to get through, but it was an entirely new experience to Harry. Not only was he still brand new to the concept of studying magic, but he was in a new place, surrounded by new people, trying to adjust to his new reality. As much as he wanted to explore, he couldn’t very well ignore his classwork or disregard the idea of a social life to do so. Hogwarts would still be ripe for exploring even if he failed to devote every waking moment to wandering around.

Finding interesting magic throughout the castle was one of Harry’s goals, but ever since he met with Draco, he realized it wasn’t his most pressing, immediate goal. Harry wanted a cool room of his own; a place in the castle that was hidden from others, a place that only he and his friends would know how to access. There was little doubt in his mind that someone had told Draco about the existence of the chamber that he’d made his own, but given that his personal status as a sensor, Harry thought he might be able to actually find one by himself.

Trying to sense in Hogwarts was simultaneously the easiest thing in the world as well as an exercise in futility. Magic. Was. Everywhere. The presence of the arcane was so ubiquitous that Harry could feel it literally every moment of every single day. Unlike in Diagon Alley where he had to focus to find various sources of magic, in Hogwarts, it just was. Like every other sense, it didn’t turn off. He didn’t have to focus, it was a natural byproduct of his being. This had allowed him to get very comfortable, very quickly with using his new sense in a broad manner, conversely making any effort to delve deeper into a given magic that much more difficult.

Harry had tried to explain it to Ron using another analogy, likening it to the idea of trying to identify a single scent in a busy kitchen. In a busy kitchen there are so many different things being cooked, so many raw ingredients and spices at play, that identifying any singular one was that much more difficult. Not impossible by any means, but still a complicated task if you didn’t already know what was being prepared, or in Harry’s case, what magic had been used. Harry had no trouble sensing a transfiguration spell when it was cast around him because it was both familiar and he could feel it taking place; but if he were asked to walk around the castle and find the lone item that had been transfigured it would be a far more arduous endeavor.  

Trying to find a secret room for his own use was going to be a herculean task, that much was undeniable, but Harry was absolutely determined to make it happen. He loved hanging out in the common room, he loved his dorm room, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he had a place that others didn’t even know existed.

Harry had taken up the habit of walking through Hogwarts with his fingers idly trailing over the walls. The book on Sensors that he’d purchased from Ollivander had mentioned that there was a great degree of variance in how individuals could sense magic, and one of the variations that Harry had found worked for him was that touching an object allowed him to discern any potential magic within with far more ease. Hogwarts was gargantuan in scope, so Harry doubted that his method would yield results quickly, but he could at least assure himself that he was looking.

Abruptly, Harry stopped, his breath catching in his throat as his hand stilled over the stone. Never had he felt such life from magic, but likewise it had never felt so wrong. It was a horrific, yet beautiful paradox interwoven together. Utterly pure and genuine whilst also being an abomination against nature. By all rights it should not exist, but to destroy it would be a crime. Harry recoiled, wrenching his hand away from the stone as if burned. He took a few steps back and gazed at the wall, utterly unsurprised when a ghost materialized out of it.

“Well now, I’ve had many reactions to men grazing their fingers over my chest, but none so odd as yours, my friend,” the speaker purred. The ghost was of average height with a lean build; dressed in tight breaches, a loosely threaded shirt, thick cuffed boots, and an extravagant short robe on which innumerable designs, shapes, and emblems had been stitched. Their features were sharp and masculine, but even while floating the way they carried themselves had a distinctly feminine edge. “It’s fine if you’re not into me, but you needn’t act disgusted at the mere thought.” They winked at Harry, clearly having him on.

“Sorry…” Harry said, trailing off as he stared at nothing, still distracted by what the ghostly being had felt like. Do all souls feel like that?

“Oh, relax, darling, I’m only teasing you,” the ghost laughed lightly, but it carried absolutely no ill will. “I know that touching ghosts isn’t that pleasant to the living. We’re cold, a bit unnatural, nothing like we were when alive,” they huffed dramatically and leaned against the wall. “My skin used to be so soft and warm too…”

Harry started speaking without even consciously realizing it. “It wasn’t cold… it…” He raised his eyes to look at the ghost. “How do you exist?”

The ghost looked confused for a moment but then understanding dawned in their eyes. They crossed their arms over their chest, one hand rising to tap a single finger against their lips. “Oh, I see… you’re a bit different, aren’t you, hon’?”

“The magic keeping you here… it shouldn’t be possible!” Harry stressed, looking at the ghost with wide eyes that bordered on fearful.

“And yet, here I am,” the ghost said, bowing in front the shell-shocked teen. “Caelyn Tealeaf, at your service.”

“Caelyn,” Harry began, speaking slowly but forcefully, “how are you still here?”

The ghost cocked their head to the side and mimicked stepping closer to Harry, though their body remained hovering over the surface of the stone floor. Only an inch separated the boy and the ghost, the fae being forced to look up to maintain eye contact. “You’re asking questions I cannot answer, my little Gryffindor.”

Harry refused to look away. “Cannot, or will not?”

Caelyn floated backward and reached forward as if they were going to tap Harry on the nose, the spectral limb stopping only a hairsbreadth away from his skin. “Use your imagination,” they said slyly, winking at him as their spectral body began to fade.

“I’m going to find out the answer, Caelyn” Harry declared at them as they slowly vanished from his sight.

“I hope you do, dear, I really hope you do.”

Their parting words chilled him, though he could not say why.

Harry knew that ghosts were actually the souls of dead individuals that remained tied to the world, not just imprints left behind. Every magical that had studied ghosts agreed on that point, but no one was quite sure how they remained on the mortal plane. There wasn’t a ritual conducted to keep them tethered to the earth; there seemingly wasn’t any reason for them not to pass on. Magic that dealt with the soul was an entire field unto itself. Not inherently dark, but there was an undeniable weight to such magic. The entire subject was extraordinarily complex, far beyond the capabilities of most wizards or witches to ever dip their toe into, let alone delve in completely and truly comprehend.

Whatever magic was at play to keep ghosts from passing on was beyond Harry, but he could feel that it was wrong. There was no other way to describe it. The soul was pure in every sense of the word, Caelyn Tealeaf was pure, but the soul remaining past the body’s passing was wrong. Harry was loathe to call it dark in nature given his unfamiliarity with such magic, plus, it certainly didn’t feel malicious or evil in the same way as the Aswang wand he’d held in Ollivander’s shop… but even that wand hadn’t carried the same uncanny effect as what he had felt from the ghost. The Aswang was evil, but the ghost should not exist.

“Just another thing to research,” Harry said quietly, mentally adding ghosts and souls to his very, very long list of magical subjects to investigate.

Magic kept finding new ways to shatter his expectations. The more he learned the more he was convinced that magic was only limited by one’s imagination. A thought that, if true, was as equally incredible as it was terrifying.

OoooOoooO

“What do you want?”

“I… I wanted to apologize.”

“Why?”

“Because as much as I hate to admit it, Malfoy was right. I fucked up on the train. I should have never left you alone.”

“Wasn’t your job to watch me. Wasn’t anybody’s. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

“You may not want our help, Theo, but we promised your sister we would.”

“Then apologize to her, not to me.”

“I already did.”

“Then that’s that.”

“It’s not, but you won’t acknowledge it either way, so I guess we can move on…”

“You have something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course, you do. You’re never this fucking awkward unless you have serious shit to discuss.”

“It’s about Malfoy.”

“What about him?”

“He’s a cunt.”

“So are you. So am I. What’s your point?”

“It’s different with him.”

“Doubt it.”

“It is, Theo. No one else keeps blackmail material on everyone they meet, including their so called ‘friends.’”

“He doesn’t use it unless you give him a reason to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

“Doesn’t it? I know how to kill you. I don’t because you’re my friend, because you haven’t given me reason to. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. The magic you know… yeah, it’s fucked up, but it’s also just knowledge. You didn’t acquire it specifically to deal with friends in case they piss you off. That intent matters and you know it.”

“Then don’t piss him off.”

“You shouldn’t have to tiptoe around your friends, Theo!”

“I don’t.”

“Maybe you don’t, but everyone else does.”

“And you didn’t even consider the reason why I don’t have to? Use your fucking brain, Blaise.”

“Malfoy likes you more than everyone else, that’s the merlin-be-damned reason.”

“Playing the idiot because he stepped all over your pride doesn’t suit you.”

“Watch it, Theo!”

“No. Open your eyes, Blaise. Forget everything you think you know about Drake and start over. You’re trying to have an enemy when you don’t need one. You’ll lose.”

“You don’t think I can beat Malfoy?”

“I know you can’t. Neither can I.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? He’s my friend.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t screw you over the moment it suits him.”

“If you knew Drake, you’d know that’s not true.”

OoooOoooO

“Why do we have to get all dressed up? I thought you said there was no dress code?” For the second time in as many minutes, Ron was bitching about Harry’s recommended wardrobe for the evening. An odd change of pace since it was usually Harry that was doing the bitching, which he would if his planned outfit was in anyway considered formal attire.

“There isn’t a dress code, but we still want to look at least fairly nice,” Harry said as he did a half twirl in front of the mirror. Given the hour and relative temperature, he’d decided to go with a darker pair of jeans, a simple black shirt, and his sheepskin coat. “And I’m telling you, if you wear the jumper that your mum knit, you’re going to stand out.”

“It’s a quality jumper!”

Harry wasn’t about to deny that. Hell, he kind of wanted one for himself. “I agree, but that still doesn’t mean you should wear it tonight. Throw on that shirt and that vest, trust me.”

The red head grumbled but followed Harry’s advice without further protest. The two of them still had a bit of time before they were set to meet Daniel and Neville in the common room to head to Draco Malfoy’s little party under the moonlight.

Earlier that day, a small note had found its way into Harry’s pocket. He hadn’t seen where it came from nor even when it was placed there, but it had a location, general guidelines to reach said location, as well as a specific time in which they should leave their common room in order to avoid Filch or anyone else wondering the halls of Hogwarts that late in the evening. Daniel had apparently received the same notice. Harry was once again genuinely impressed by the Malfoy scion. The level of planning he’d put into this evening went well beyond what he’d expected. To have different routes to the location starting from the respective common rooms meant that Malfoy had not only acquired accurate information as to where each common room was but had even gotten his hands on a patrol schedule for those sections of the corridors.

“Alright, how do I look?”

Harry stepped away to brush his teeth and throw a breath freshening charm at himself but paused to look over his shoulder. “A right sight better than you did before, that’s for sure,” Harry laughed before appraising his friend. “I’d say pull the sleeves up a bit, swap out the belt, and you’re good to go.”

The two of them finished getting ready with only the sound of the wireless in the background. Harry was rather enjoying a cover of Depeche Mode’s single, “Stripped”, once again offering a mental thanks to all the half-bloods and muggle-borns that chose to ignore muggle copyrights, when Ron interjected with a somewhat awkward cough.

“So, I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, but I, um,” Ron paused and rubbed the back of his neck, “I wanted to say thanks.”

“What for?” Harry asked, looking himself over in the mirror post-shave to check for any razor burn. A force of habit more than anything. The enchanted razor he’d bought in Diagon Alley hadn’t failed him yet. Still, it was in the back of his mind to look up some charms to help with shaving in case the enchantments ever started to fail, a likelihood given the relative simplicity of the item combined with the lack of runes.

“Inviting me to come with you tonight, covering the cost of my buy-in for the game. I would never receive an invite on my own, and even if I did, I would never be able to afford it… so, thanks.”

In a rare moment of consideration, Harry chose not to tease or make fun of Ron for his heartfelt thanks. The youngest Weasley son was still grappling with lingering insecurities over his family’s financial status, so Harry knew that it had to have been hard for him to drop the joking atmosphere they usually maintained whenever the topic of money was brought up, and instead offer his genuine appreciation. Ron was right though because Harry didn’t care about what it was costing him at all. Three galleons were a drop in the bucket compared to what he had at his disposal, even less when you considered the passive income he was generating from interest. Having his best mate along for the evening was more than worth the cost he’d pay to get him into the event.

“Anytime, mate,” Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “Night wouldn’t have been as fun without you.”

The two friends once again fell into an easy silence waiting on the hour of their departure to arrive. Harry decided to read one of the books he’d checked out from the library on magical combat. The book was written by a woman named Tatiana Degtyaryov, a Russian magical soldier before and after the war with Grindelwald in the early-mid 1900s. She was undeniably brilliant, but her approach to combat was decidedly different than many others. Common practice was to block the majority of enemy spells with a variety of shield spells. Whether it be the whole-body protection spell Protego, or the easier to cast but more difficult to employ variation, Averto, it was a simple fact that most people utilized shield spells more often than not. Tatiana Degtyaryov, on the other hand, preferred a style more centralized on dodging, with various charms and enchanted items complimenting her ability to physically remove herself out of the way of spells in order to have a more offensive style. Neither method was objectively superior to the other, but from a theoretical perspective, Harry’s preferences were more in line with the famous Russian soldier, tactician, and later author. He was very curious to see which style the Longbottom’s preferred to use for themselves.

The scratching of Ron’s quill in his notebook and the sound of the wireless was interrupted by a loud groan from the red headed teen. “Which subject has frustrated you this time?” Harry asked, amused at what had already become a constant dynamic between them.

“Herbology and its four-hundred-thousand plants no one bloody well cares about! Honestly, I don’t know how Neville can actually enjoy this shite.”

Harry actually shared his friend’s sentiment on Herbology. Both of them were well aware that the various plants had their uses, but that didn’t mean they actually enjoyed having to take care of them, or even worse, write essays on how to take care of them. They’d both finished the separate essay they had to write on Moonleaf, its principal use in restorative draughts, how chewing on the leaves could help alleviate aggression, and a whole host of other attributes it possessed; but Ron still had to write a short essay on how to actually tend to the plant itself.

“I’m with you there, mate. I know it’s Sprout’s subject so she’s passionate, but I really wish we could just spend less time on the practical aspects.”

Ron raised a nonexistent glass in Harry’s direction. “Hear, hear!” He then threw down his quill and closed his notebook. “I’ll finish this bloody thing tomorrow. I’m done for now.”

“Don’t blame you, mate,” Harry responded before casting tempus. “We’re close enough to the time that I think we can head downstairs though.”

“Finally!” The exuberant declaration was accompanied by Ron rising from his chair and stretching his back. “Poker, drinks, food! This is going to be a fun night, Harry!”

“Assuming the company is good,” Harry hedged. Malfoy’s guest list likely included people that would still be fun, but there was a chance they would be boring compared to the Gryffindor enthusiasm that the two friends had embraced.

No party was currently ongoing in the Gryffindor common room, but it was still almost Eleven on a Saturday night, and that meant it was raucous to say the least. Music could be heard on every level, not loud enough to be overbearing, but still very clearly present. Scattered all around the hearth people were drinking alcohol, potions, or trying their hand at any number of odd substances. Other students were more benign in their entertainment, playing various games of both the magical and non-magical varieties. One level was entirely devoted to Quidditch and the positively brilliant adaptation to the wizarding wireless that allowed for real-time, magical projections of the matches happening around the world; though they couldn’t record any footage at all, it was strictly a live feed. Harry hadn’t even known of the invention his first month in Diagon Alley given that it had only been on the market since this past February, and they were exceedingly expensive on top of it; but Hogwarts apparently spared no expense when it came to entertainment. Their rickety school brooms would just have to remain rickety for a few more years, students had Quidditch to watch!

On the top level of the common room, one large set of windows was left free and clear for students to fly in and out of on brooms. The older students would usually take turns flying out of the Hogwarts grounds, apparating to muggle London, and ordering copious amounts of take-out that they would then bring back within a spatially expanded container. Pizza was apparently the most common thing to bring back, but any given weekend all manner of foods could be found in the common room. Gryffindor was not a charity though, everyone who wished to partake had to cough up their fair share of coin. Naturally, Harry had joined in every single time.

Apparently, it was an open secret that if you could find the kitchens, then the House Elves would be more than happy to provide any and all food you wanted, even catering for an entire fourth of the school. The issue, however, was that the entrance to the kitchens constantly changed. No one had ever been able to find the entrance more than once aside from the Weasley twins, but even they couldn’t find it whenever they desired too. So, while always a consideration, no one in Gryffindor relied on the House Elves for their weekend plans.

The most amusing aspect of Gryffindor House in Harry’s opinion was how little everyone cared for the rules. He wasn’t even remotely concerned with anyone stopping him from leaving the common room even though curfew had passed because students did exactly that all the time. It was downright normal for students to lounge around in the corridors immediately around the common room. Hogwarts was too damn big for the limited patrols to catch everyone, so some Gryffindors considered it worth the risk to enjoy a bit of time away from the loud and rowdy common room. And no one would even dream of stopping them since they were already resigned to losing the House Cup anyway. Harry thought the entire culture within his House was beautiful.

While walking to the ground level where the duo had agreed to meet up with Daniel and Neville before leaving, Harry’s attention was briefly stolen by a group of older students enjoying a hookah that stood at least six feet high, and all of the vapors were purple despite the scent being near identical to cannabis. “I have to know…” Harry whispered to himself, knowing his words would not reach his friend’s ears, subsequently leaving said friend confused when Harry made a beeline toward the tall, Indian device and the group of students taking turns smoking from it.

The first one to notice Harry’s approach was a dark-skinned guy with dreads who couldn’t have been any older than fourth year. Noticing him, the older teen raised a finger in Harry’s direction as a smile came to his face. “You’re… you’re Potter’s brother, yeah? Yeah, what was your name, shit…” The guy trailed off as he snapped his fingers a few times. “Evans! That was it!”

“Right in one,” Harry confirmed, reaching forward to clasp the guy’s hand. “You’ve got me beat though?”

“Lee Jordan, my man,” the now named Lee said, leaning up from his place on the couch to meet Harry’s hand halfway. “Fred and George mentioned you, said you were friends with… Hey! There he is! Little Weasley! How’s it going, man?”

Unnoticed by Harry, Ron had followed behind him, a smile in place. “I’m doing alright, Lee. Merlin, how baked are you?”

“Not as much as I want to be, probably more than I should,” Lee laughed as the hose was passed back to him and he took another hit. “Merlin, I love this stuff.”

Harry seized upon the opportunity with an eagerness he could not hide. “I came over here to ask you about that. I’ve smoked weed before, but it’s never been purple. What is that?”

A knowing smile came over Lee’s face as he passed the hose along to the cute girl to his left. “This, my new friend, is a specialty mixture between a magical strain of Northern Lights, and yes, magical strains of cannabis exist,” Lee must have noticed that Harry’s eyes had lit up in pure joy, “mixed with a bit of this crazy ass drug called Purpura.”

Harry didn’t consider himself a student of Latin, but you couldn’t be a magical in Europe without picking up on at least some of the language. “Doesn’t that just translate to purple?”

Lee once again snapped his fingers and pointed at Harry in a single motion. “Damn right it does. No one knows anything about it beyond the fact that if you smoke it on its own, you’re asking for some absolutely crazy shit to go down. But, if you cut a bit of it into some Northern Lights, then it’s just the recipe for a good time.”

“How crazy is crazy?” Ron asked.

Lee didn’t get the chance to answer before Ron and Harry alike were flanked by a familiar pair of tall, red-haired twins. “‘How crazy is crazy,’ he asks,” one of the twins, Harry was not about to guess which, began speaking from his right. “Crazy as in one guy in Ravenclaw took the stuff last year, got higher than the astronomy tower and half of his body was invisible for almost a week.”

The other twin immediately picked up once the other finished. “Or the girl in Hufflepuff who was speaking in tongues for two days straight.”

“Don’t forget the girl that swore she had two simultaneous consciousnesses running for a few hours.” Their alternating method of speaking continued.

“Nor the poor bloke who said his legs were too heavy to lift for the better part of a week despite everyone else lifting them with no issue at all.

“And no one can guess what any given hit will do.”

“Crazy. Shit,” Lee capped off their rapid list of anecdotes with a shit eating grin.

Harry was beyond intrigued by this drug, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to try a drug that could cause him a lot of potentially irrevocable harm. “And no one’s died?”

“That’s just it, Harrykins,” the twin next to Ron said, moving to claim a seat on the couch near Lee, “not a single soul has overdosed, passed away-”

“Or suffered long term damage from the odd effects,” the other twin finished before finding a seat of their own.

“George is right,” Lee piped up again, though how he could tell the difference between the two twins was absolutely beyond Harry’s understanding. “There was actually this huge investigation into it because its effects were so damn noticeable. M-sec’s narcotics division studied the shit out of it, trying to figure out what it was, how it was made, the whole works.”

“And it’s actually safe?” Harry asked, somewhat amazed that it drew the attention of law enforcement but was still a legal substance.

George snickered as he shrugged. “Safe is a strong word, but-”

“It at least isn’t dangerous enough to be illegal,” Fred continued for his twin. “If it was evaluated as being too dangerous it would be labeled as a protected substance-”

“And then M-sec wouldn’t hold back with cracking down on it.” The twins were seamlessly picking up where the offer left off when speaking. The level of synchronicity between them was downright fascinating but the more Harry paid attention, it was a bit eerie as well. It was like seeing two bodies connected via the same brain.

Ron then leaned in and said in a hushed tone, “wait, have you two tried it?”

Fred winked at his little brother conspiratorially. “Haven’t tried it ourselves just yet-”

“But you might say we’re a bit curious,” George said, smirking widely.

“Trying to get some of it straight isn’t hard, but it bloody well isn’t easy either,” Lee said, tapping a finger to his nose. “You’ve got to know the right people if you want be sure it’s the real stuff.”

“Ahhh,” Harry understood the dilemma. “No one knows where its manufactured nor by whom, so the dealers are limited in number, right?”

“Ding ding ding, give the firstie a prize,” Fred laughed, falling back into the cushions, and then taking a drink of a clear liquid that Harry was willing to bet was not water.

George gestured between the two friends and raised an eyebrow. “Where are you two chaps off to this evening?”

“Midnight rendezvous with a pair of lovely ladies from another House?” Fred teased.

“A moonlit tryst with some nymphs in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Underground dueling circuit?”

“New initiates in a vampire cult?”

Harry was genuinely impressed by how many alternative ideas the two twins were able to come up with on the fly.

“None of the above, gits,” Ron interjected before the two could rattle off anymore admittedly interesting ideas. “We’re off to play some poker with some people from other Houses.”

Fred and George shared a look that hinted at hidden knowledge and a smirk that screamed amusement. “Poker?” George voiced, a questioning lilt accompanying the single word. “Did he just say poker?”

“By George, I think he did.”

“Knowing you, Ron, we should have known.” George’s damnable smirk was still in place so it was hard to tell, but Harry would swear his knowing tone spoke to a not-so-hidden secret involving Ron and the popular gambling game.

“Hey, Harry is the one that invited me,” Ron defended himself.

“Wise move, Harry,” Fred said, nodding approvingly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron in question. “You good at the game or something?”

“I’m pretty decent, I guess.” Ron rubbed the back of his head as if he were being bashful, but his confident smile was far more telling.

“‘Pretty decent,’ he says,” George scoffed.

“And Bill is pretty decent at runes.”

“And Charlie is pretty decent with dragons.”

“And Percy is pretty decent at being a prat.”

“Come off it,” Ron interjected. “I’m really not that good…”

Even Lee seemed to find Ron’s statement a gross misrepresentation if the wry look he was sending his way was anything to judge by.

“Which is it, Ron?” Harry asked his friend, suddenly far more excited at the prospect of how the gambling that evening would go.

“Just wait, Harrykins, watch our little brother play and then you’ll see,” George told him, chuckling as he reached over to claim his drink from a nearby shelf, wand in hand to presumably check to see if it’d been fucked with.

“‘Pretty decent,’” Fred scoffed, repeating the statement again, somehow with even more sarcasm than his twin.

Harry slung an arm around Ron’s shoulder and began to turn him away. “Speaking of, though, we don’t want to be late. Long walk, have to make sure we dodge Filch, you understand.”

“That we do,” the twins chorused together. “Have fun.” There was an air of mischievousness to their parting comments, but that was most likely just the twins being the twins rather than some sort of forewarning.

A series of farewells from Lee and the red-headed duo followed the two friends as they made their exit. Harry was about to suggest they locate Neville and Daniel, but they were both already in place and had seen them coming.

“Hope we didn’t make you wait long,” Harry greeted them cheerfully; he was in such a good mood he even spared Nev his usual quips.

Neville shook his head as Daniel spoke up. “You’re good, we haven’t been waiting long. Besides, we have a few minutes before we’re supposed to leave anyway… assuming we should follow the exact timeline given to us by bloody Malfoy, of course.”

Harry and Ron both audibly groaned. “Not again,” Ron muttered.

“You’re not seriously still going on about this being a set-up, are you?” Harry practically pleaded with his twin.

“Seriously? Not really, no. I just think it’s something worth bearing in mind.”

The sheer amount of anti-Slytherin bias his brother harbored was bloody ridiculous to Harry. The Sorting Hat was a pretty damn impressive magical artifact, sure, but allowing it to be the sole arbiter of someone’s character was too much. “If Malfoy has gone through this much set-up just to get us in trouble, then he’s bloody well earned it as far as I’m concerned,” Harry grumbled, eyeing Neville. “Are you on the conspiracy train too?”

“Not really, no,” Neville declared, surprising everyone in the group. “Not this time, at least. I do think Malfoy is a ‘slimy git’, as Ron put it the other night, I kind of hate his guts, and I think he has ulterior motives for inviting us, but I doubt he’s just going to all of this effort just to snitch us out to Filch.”

“Thank christ for small mercies,” Harry mumbled, doing little to hide his annoyance toward his brother’s nervousness.

Daniel wasn’t a stick in the mud by any stretch of the imagination, but he definitely had some peculiarities when it came to what he would and would not do. The guy would dive towards the ground on a broom without so much as blinking; but ask him to go to a party with some Slytherins and suddenly he’d get cagey. Bloody annoying is what it was… though at the end of the day, there was nothing else to do but chalk it up as Daniel being Daniel.

Upon exiting their common room, the quartet decided to go ahead and start following the wonderfully specific directions that had been provided to them. The twisting corridors of Hogwarts became fairly familiar to navigate after living in them for so long, but few would ever describe them as easy. Even with a step-by-step guide that included various identifiers to ensure they were on the right path, it was still a convoluted set of turns, twists, staircases, and secret passageways to follow. Harry had reviewed the written guide multiple times already in order to try and ascertain where in the castle they would be, but Hogwarts was tricky. The idea of floors, wings, and cardinal directions could only go so far when the castle shifted, moved, and did its damnedest to not make sense.

“Alright, so, step three is to make a right up here and then follow this corridor past the Defense classroom until we reach a wooden door that’s supposed to be a broom cupboard,” Neville read the directions from the slip of paper in a hushed tone.

Even while trying to be quiet, Harry found it eerie how much their voices seemed to carry and echo around them. Hogwarts was bustling with life during the day, with paintings and students alike making noise everywhere. At night the halls weren’t completely silent, but there was a rather stark contrast.

“I know that cupboard,” Ron assured the group. “I opened it hoping it was a bathroom but all I found was this Ravenclaw bloke about to have a nervous fit.”

“What about?” Harry was curious.

“Didn’t stick around to ask. Guy looked a bit mental, really.”

Harry adored Ron’s way with words.

“You know, if you’re going to sneak around the castle after curfew, you might want to lower   voices; maybe learn a few charms to help with noise.” The group of first-years were brought to a standstill as they rounded the corner to see the bearer of the voice that had pierced their conversation casually leaning up against the wall. The lone individual was dressed in silver and green robes, with a shiny badge embossed with the letter “P” fastened to their lapel. Harry didn’t recognize the guy, but an upper year Slytherin Prefect stumbling across a group of Gryffindor first-years was bound to make his night.

“Ah, fuck…” Harry sighed, looking up at the ceiling in annoyance. He had been way too cocky after receiving some carefully outlined instructions.

“Caught before we even got close,” Ron said, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “How do Fred and George get away with this so often? We can’t even make it fifteen bloody feet without getting caught.”

Neville wasn’t stunned into silence, but he was facepalming rather dramatically. “Should have seen this coming, honestly…”

“What’s our punishment?” Daniel asked bitterly, seemingly the most pissed off in the group if his tone was any sort of judge. This was not going to help his vendetta against Slytherins in the slightest.

The finer details of the Slytherin prefect’s eyes were impossible to discern given the low light, but Harry imagined they were dancing with mirth right about now. “Nothing, Potter.”

Not a single one of them expected that answer.

“Wait, what?” Daniel was the most vocal in his surprise.

At that, the Slytherin snickered. “There is no punishment, Potter. Now, run along.” The prefect mimed a running motion with his fingers as he shooed the group away. He was being dismissive, but there was no derision in his tone, nor even any condescension.

“You’re letting us go? Just like that?” Neville asked, clearly confused himself.

“Just like that,” the Slytherin responded easily.

Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ron was already turning to walk away, his hands in the air and a disbelieving smile on his face. Harry was right there alongside him. He had been impressed by Draco’s set-up before, but now, it was on a whole different level.

“Why?” Daniel couldn’t help but press for more answers. He seemed absolutely stunned by how these events had unfolded, putting more emphasis on that single word than Harry had ever heard from him.

The Slytherin’s demeanor did not appear to be hostile at all if his tone of voice was any sort of indicator, so Harry decided that his brother’s questions couldn’t hurt and decided to join in with his own. “You’re on his bloody pay-roll, aren’t you?”

The Slytherin’s gaze flicked over toward Harry. “Something like that,” he answered vaguely.

“Wait, you mean Malfoy told you to let us go?” Daniel’s voice rose sharply, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. His head was on swivel, looking back and forth between Harry and the prefect as he waited for an answer.

“Shhhh!” Neville shushed his adopted brother and clamped a hand over his mouth. “You’re being too loud, Daniel.” The Slytherin’s opening remarks had hit home with him, at least.

“Commendable,” the Slytherin nodded at Neville, “but at least for tonight, you don’t have to worry about making noise.” Despite his assurances, the prefect’s words were still rather quiet.

“What about Filch? Won’t he hear us?” Ron had stopped when it was clear the group wasn’t moving on just yet.

“Filch has already retired to his quarters for the evening. Rumor has it that a potent sleeping draught may have found its way into his regular nightcap.”

“Mrs. Norris?” Ron asked, increasingly amazed the more the Slytherin prefect spoke.

“She is currently preoccupied trying to escape a rather specific section of a corridor that has been runically warded to prevent any living creature from exiting it.”

Holy fuck, they trapped the demon cat! Harry screamed internally.

Daniel’s mouth was hanging open at this point. “What about the other teachers?”

“Changes to the patrol schedule are rather common and funnily enough, only prefects are on patrol tonight.” Moonlight shone through one of the windows, clearly illuminating the Slytherin’s satisfied smirk.

“And the paintings?” Harry asked, almost giddy as more and more of the setup for the evening was revealed. He only knew to ask about the paintings thanks to Lav, since she’d been told by an older student that there were a number of paintings that Filch had recruited in his endeavor to catch misbehaving students. Few paintings apparently went out of their way to snitch though. Most of them would just answer questions if asked but generally refrained from volunteering free information.

The Slytherin eyed Harry once more. “Those that might have caused problems have been preemptively charmed to sleep.”

Harry’s respect for Draco was skyrocketing the longer this conversation continued. The guy had planned and accounted for every fucking detail to ensure those he invited wouldn’t get in trouble. He hadn’t even bragged about his preparations either, the only reason the quartet of Gryffindors were learning so much was because they asked questions and were lucky enough to get answers. Slytherins were said to be cunning, and so far, Harry thought the reputation was bloody well deserved.

““Wicked…”” Harry and Ron said in unison, exchanging amazed glances right after they did so.

Even the Slytherin seemed fairly amused by their reaction. “If you want to know more, ask Malfoy.” He once again used his hand to shoo the group away, though they actually complied this time.

“Well, thanks,” Ron offered as a farewell, leading the quartet away, though he received no reply.

At first, no one in their group said a word after gaining a bit of distance from the Slytherin prefect who had remained silent in the shadows behind them. Harry was too busy contemplating the logistics of all that Draco had planned. Obviously, he hadn’t discovered everything about Hogwarts and how it operated on his own, but the fact remained that in only a few short weeks the Malfoy scion had managed to find older students who were willing to share with him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t an adventurous way of doing things, but goddamn was it effective. The blonde teen was downright calculating in a way that Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from any other peers their age.

Ron was the first to break the silence. “I’m not about to start singing his praises in the Great Hall or anything, but bloody hell…”

Daniel nodded slowly. “Yeah, even I have to admit, that was bloody mental.”

In a bout of childishness, Harry threw his little brother into a loose headlock. “See, what’d I tell you? Now, will you not worry so much next time?”

“I never said I wasn’t going to come! Skepticism is healthy!” His voice was muffled against Harry’s jacket, but the words were still audible.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, releasing his younger twin.

“Still, how do you think he pulled it off?” Neville was the one who posed the question, but all their eyes turned towards Harry.

He was so proud they thought he would have answers. “Honestly, I could give a guess, but there are way too many potential factors at play to say for certain.”

“You mentioned a pay-roll earlier?” Daniel had seemed the most surprised, so it made sense he recalled that little detail.

Harry shrugged. “That was a guess too. Malfoy could’ve paid that Slytherin off with gold, but he also could have done a hundred other things to secure his help. I think the fact that he organized it all is more impressive than how he got any single individual to assist him.”

“I suppose there would be a lot of logistics involved with that,” Neville agreed.

“They even got Filch with a sleeping potion!” Ron reminded the group. “How many people do you think that involved?”

“Who can say?” Harry was only half listening at this point, having returned to studying the written instructions to make sure they were on the right path. “Ron, you remembered that broom closet, do you remember the tapestry near it too?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Damn.”

Fortunately, the written instructions were detailed enough that the four friends were able to follow it without much difficulty, even when it took them through portions of the castle none of them were familiar with. There were quite a few twists, turns, and secret entryways they had to go through, but eventually they arrived at the correct destination, or so they assumed anyway. The final entryway was hidden behind a large painting simply titled “A Lady in Green”, which featured an absolutely gorgeous woman in an exceedingly risqué green dress.

The painting must have heard them coming because she was already looking at them with a sultry smile when they got close. “Password, loves?” Her voice bordered on being downright enchanting. It was hot, but specifically in a femme fatale kind of way. If she was actually alive Harry would consider her a risk to flirt with, but he’d probably do it anyway.

“Ad Victorem,” Harry answered the woman. Though it was a minor detail, they’d all agreed to let him give the password since he was the one to initially receive the invitation.

“Have fun,” the portrait of the gorgeous woman teased, winking at them before opening in a very similar way to the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor common room.

The sound of experimental rock music that Harry had heard hundreds of times was the first thing he noticed. “Holy fuck, is that Pink Floyd? Like, actual Pink Floyd, not a cover?” The fact that Harry couldn’t quite tell was perfectly okay in his mind.

“Who’s Pink Floyd?” Daniel asked, casually stepping on Harry’s heart in the process.

“Why must you hurt me, Daniel? Why?” Harry held his fist over his chest and looked to the ceiling as if in anguish, but he was too eager to waste a lot of time on theatrics when the party sounded like so much fun, so he quickly pressed on and stepped inside.

Daniel followed immediately on his heels. “Are they the band that’s playing? Should I know them?”

“Your musical education starts tomorrow, brother mine.”

Behind the portrait was a very short stone passageway that opened onto a rectangular, second-floor balcony, overlooking a large room the likes of which Harry had not seen at Hogwarts. The entirety of the floors and walls was made out of polished black marble with gold inlay. The ceiling was like a miniature Sistine Chapel, an absolutely stunning piece of artwork clearly themed around Hogwarts itself, with various scenes reflecting different founders. Large, spiraling pillars made from the same black marble lined the perimeter of the room, pillars that the second-floor balcony was built around. Decorative, iron wrought torch sconces from which purple fire danced within provided more than enough ambient light to the room. Numerous crests and tapestries were tastefully situated around the walls, once more themed around Hogwarts itself.

On the ground floor, arranged into the shape of a pentagram, Harry saw the poker tables set up and ready for play. They were large tables, having to sit eight players apiece plus room for the dealer; they were made of a stained wooden base but with a black velvet top as opposed to the green Harry knew was standard. On one side of the floor there was a full, modern European bar that appeared to be built into the room itself. The countertop was made from what appeared to be a dark, polished stone material; Harry couldn’t tell if it was more marble, onyx, or some other finished stonework. The bar was lavishly decorated with Grecian-Roman designs, featuring a lot of dark colors but with subtle elements of gold. The back wall was lined with shelves stocked full of fine wine and alcohol; a collection of booze that just screamed ‘expensive.’

Harry turned his gaze back onto the second floor and saw that the balcony circled the entirety of the room. At equal intervals throughout, there were dozens of different entryways leading to stone corridors exactly akin to the one he and his friends had just walked through. It suddenly made sense to Harry why they hadn’t encountered any other guests during their walk through the castle, everyone had been given a different route.

A quick estimation revealed that there had to be around fifty-sixty people in attendance between those who were either on the ground floor or watching from the balconies. If his math was correct, which it was, then it seemed that not everyone would be participating in the evening’s entertainment. Harry could see that one of the tables was already full, the participants seated and with their poker chips in front of them. The large, decorative clock situated on one of the walls told them it was getting closer to midnight, so it made sense that some people were eager to play.

“Well, well, you did end up coming. I must say, I wasn’t completely convinced you would,” the voice of Draco Malfoy pulled the group of four from their study of the large hall.

The patrician teen was dressed in a green turtleneck worn underneath a black peacoat, complete with fitted, charcoal gray pants and matching suede shoes. Harry was once again reminded that the Slytherin teen put more effort into how he presented himself than any other person their age.

Draco had initially addressed Harry, but he then turned his eyes onto the remaining Gryffindors and nodded to them each in turn. “Potter, Longbottom, Weasley.”

Each of them returned the nod and offered their own simple reply, but there was an undeniable tension in the air, even from Ron. Harry couldn’t even blame his friends for their reactions. The reputation of the Malfoy family was simultaneously squeaky clean but also tarnished beyond repair, depending on who you asked, of course. The three Gryffindors had no doubt spent most of their lives hearing about how some families were inherently more evil and wicked than others. Not a good ideology to peddle towards children, but in the wake of a war that had wrought the entire nation, it was, relatively speaking, an understandable one.

Given that he wasn’t the type of person to let the awkward atmosphere pass by unnecessarily, Harry decided to make things even more awkward for his companions. “Man, you all really don’t get along, huh?”

He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over Draco’s features, but if it existed at all, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “An unfortunate reality,” Draco said quietly before stepping closer to the four Gryffindors with an outstretched hand, “but I don’t think it has to stay that way.”

Daniel met Draco’s eyes without flinching but made no immediate move to take his hand. “Water under the bridge? No hard feelings? You expect me to buy that?”

Draco smiled cordially, but on him, it might as well have been a smirk. “I would only expect you to buy if I were selling anything, Potter. This isn’t a sales pitch, it’s a gesture of goodwill between friends.”

“We’re not friends,” Daniel responded coolly.

“I suppose I can’t deny that, but I don’t think we need to be enemies. Do you?”

There it was. Draco had said almost the exact same thing to Harry when they met in his private room. The Slytherin was desperate to make amends with the Boy-Who-Lived. Daniel may not have understood the reason why, but even he had to realize that there was a reason Draco was extending an olive branch.

“So, you invite us to your party and we just, what, ignore everything your family has ever done?” Neville’s voice didn’t rise in pitch, but there was venom laced in his words.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a brief moment before understanding dawned on him. He retracted his hand, but his gaze never strayed from Neville’s. “You’re referring to the crimes committed by my aunt and cousin, I presume?”

“You fucking know I am!”

The conversation had taken a far more serious turn than Harry had expected. He was aware of Draco’s aunt and the horrible things she had done, how she was responsible for the torture and death of Neville’s grandmother, but he had not realized such a topic would come up that night. A quick glance at Ron showed he was of the same mind, both of them wished they could be elsewhere at that moment.

“Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black are both serving life sentences in Azkaban,” Draco was speaking slowly, but his voice was firm. “I do not begrudge you your… distaste towards my family given the undeniable connection we have to such horrid individuals, but,” the edge Harry had heard once before in his tone made its presence known, “I would appreciate it if you did not insinuate that the crimes of those murderers belong to my mother, father, or myself.”

Harry was genuinely impressed when neither Neville nor Daniel backed down. A wand served as an effect simile to a weapon in their world, and there was no denying the fact that Draco had a presence to him; the way he had phrased his statement may have been veiled in niceties, but it was a threat. Harry had seen other people in his life cower before armed teens who didn’t even hold a candle to the Malfoy heir. Gryffindors had stones, that much was undeniable.

“Your father has his own list of crimes,” Daniel accused.

“My father was exonerated on all counts, a victim of the Imperius curse,” Draco countered, his eyes narrowing.

“How convenient for him,” Daniel bit out.

Draco snorted derisively. “Looking down on an innocent man because he’s not in Azkaban? Is that how it is, Potter?”

“Everyone knows your father isn’t innocent, Malfoy,” Neville jumped back into the conversation. “If there was any justice in this country, he’d be rotting in prison.”

“Justice?” Draco scoffed, and though he was shorter than Neville, he looked down at him like he would an insect on the ground. “Spare me your hypocritical diatribe, Longbottom. My father was cleared under the justice system your family helped build in this country. You don’t want justice, you want vengeance, petty and misplaced as it is. Pathetic.”

A wordless snarl escaped Daniel’s lips as he flicked his wrist, his wand shooting into his hand, Draco’s following suit not even a single heartbeat later. Both of their wands were still pointed to the ground, but Harry knew how quickly that could change.

“You have no right to call him pathetic!” Daniel glared at Draco, his hand twitching, his desire to cast a spell clear to all who were present.

“I invited you here looking to bury the hatchet between us, but if you want a fight, I’ll give you one.” Draco’s stance shifted subtly, his body slightly angled, the grip on his wand light and easy to maneuver. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Daniel’s positioning change as well.

“I’m sure you’ve just been waiting for the opportunity!” Daniel responded, green eyes glaring furiously from behind his glasses.

Harry wanted to speak up, to remind Draco of why he invited the Gryffindor quartet in the first place, to try and pull Daniel back to that light-hearted, slightly awkward state he usually existed in. Instead, he did nothing. In another life, perhaps, Harry would have stopped them; maybe he would have been there beside his twin, defending the honor of an adopted brother; but at that moment, in this life, that wasn’t Harry. Their fight wasn’t his, and so he stood back and did nothing.

“Is this really okay?” Ron whispered next to him, his wand at some point having made its way into his hand as well. “You’re just going to let this happen?”

“It’s not my fight,” Harry replied tersely.

“He’s your brother!” Ron’s voice was hushed but passionate.

“It’s not my fight!”

Ron shook his head, he looked… disappointed. “That doesn’t matter, mate. You help your family. That’s just what you do.”

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance, the standoff in front of him was still slowly escalating as the two continued to trade barbs. “Daniel’s not purely in the right, why would I take his side?”

“I didn’t say you had to fight alongside him, I said you had to help him.”

Harry wasn’t sure there was really a difference in this scenario. “I shouldn’t fucking have to.”

Ron shrugged, his eyes still riveted on Daniel and Draco, the two now having attracted other onlookers as the tension mounted. Everyone on the second floor was glued to the confrontation, with even those on the ground floor taking notice of the fight about to break out. “Maybe not, but you’re brothers, so that’s just what you do.”

Harry’s gut reaction was to deny that Daniel was in any way his responsibility, but he begrudgingly held it back. There was some truth to Ron’s words, or there at least should have been. By all rights, he should just step in between Daniel and Draco, deescalate the situation enough to send his brother back to the dorms, get the Slytherin host a drink, and continue on with the evening. So, why didn’t he? It wasn’t like he hadn’t already done things he otherwise wouldn’t have if not for Daniel. Without his little brother’s influence, Harry would have never reached out to Alice. Never. So, why was he so reluctant to get involved in this way?

I don’t want people to only associate me with him… I want to be more than the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived…

Harry made jokes, he laughed about his brother’s popularity and his own bit of a fame as a byproduct, but underneath the thin veneer of humor and apathy, he desperately wanted to stay out of his brother’s shadow. He’d resolved to himself back in Diagon Alley that he wouldn’t let others think of him as lesser than his brother, but whatever emotions were dwelling within him went beyond that initial sentiment. Above all else, Harry wanted to be seen as his own person. Reality was a cruel beast; he would always have some people who associated him as little more than the forgotten sibling of the Boy-Who-Lived, that much was inevitable… but if he got involved in everything Daniel did, if he made a point to always be around to help settle the battles that Daniel found himself in, then people would never see him as anything else but a fixture in Daniel’s life. Harry wanted to be more than ‘Daniel’s brother,’ he wanted to be Harry.

How could he possibly explain that to others without them assuming he’s nothing more than a spiteful, jealous prick? Lingering insecurities they may have been, but they were still valid emotions he was within his right to feel… or that’s what he thought, at least. Maybe others would disagree, but they weren’t him; they had no way of truly understanding his circumstances nor the thoughts he had as a result. No one has any right to judge me because of my choices! Harry clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palms. Even if that thought was true, even if no one could blame him for the way he felt, he knew it didn’t matter... At the end of the day, could Harry really claim to be a good brother if he walked away from Daniel every time the guy needed help?

“Last warning, Potter, lower your wand, now!”

The Slytherin’s ultimatum pulled Harry out of his reverie. Daniel and Draco were still standing a scant six feet apart, both wands in position to cast whatever spells they had at their disposal, which, after getting to know them better, Harry guessed was a fair few. He and Ron had stepped off to the side, near the railing that overlooked the main floor of the extravagant room. Neville stood just behind Daniel, his face was a clear indicator of his anger, but unlike his adopted brother, he seemed to be wrestling with those emotions, an internal struggle waging within him.

“You first, Malfoy,” Daniel spat at his opponent.

Fuck… Nothing else for it then, Harry mused bitterly. He sighed heavily as he pushed himself off the railing. Ron’s approving gaze wasn’t a motivator, but it didn’t hurt either. I’m going, you git, I’m going.

There were a million things he’d rather do than get involved, but sometimes, life didn’t give you a choice. He had just resigned himself to stepping in between the two would-be combatants before they could start flinging spells when, at the last second, he was spared the need. In a twist that Harry would have never expected, Neville, of all people, had been the one who had physically interjected himself directly between the two teens. The guy who had first escalated the conversation into a state of conflict was also the one who was trying to put a stop to it. He had a hand around Daniel’s wrist and was forcibly looking him in the eye.

“Move, Nev,” Daniel growled.

The taller teen didn’t budge an inch. “Let’s go, Daniel.”

“Fuck that.”

Their voices then fell too a volume too low for Harry to make out. Part of him wanted to join their hushed conversation and learn why Neville backed down, listen in on what might make Daniel follow suit, but he’d lost that right when he let Neville be the one to stop the fight. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help now. Harry was the only one among the muttering onlookers to step forward, and he moved right past his twin without even acknowledging him.

“Nice work, Nev,” Harry murmured quietly, clapping the taller teen on the shoulder as he crossed behind him to stand in front of Draco. The Slytherin had lowered his wand so it wasn’t pointed at Neville’s back, though he still had it at the ready.

“Evans,” Draco acknowledged, his tone tense.

“You two just couldn’t help but make a scene, huh?” Harry asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“I did not start this!” The blonde teen seethed.

“No, you didn’t.” Harry was not going to argue that point. Neville had escalated the argument, and Daniel had drawn his wand first. If anything, Draco’s patience was to be commended, not that Harry was about to be the one to do so.

Draco’s wand vanished from his hand, his stance returning to a neutral position. “It won’t matter,” he muttered angrily. “The rumors may be mixed, but public opinion won’t be in my favor.”

Harry could not deny the simple statement of fact. Draco may not have been reviled by everyone, but there was no way he was going to beat out the damned Boy-Who-Lived in a popularity contest.

“You could have stepped in sooner,” Draco accused, but there was no heat in his words.

“Probably,” Harry agreed, glancing over his shoulder briefly to see that his brother still had not sheathed his wand nor stepped away, but Nev hadn’t moved either.

“But you didn’t.”

“I did not.”

Draco snorted. “Hell of a conversation, Evans.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m trying to give you space to think.”

At that, Draco sneered. “Too late, Evans. The people I invited tonight are those I don’t have connections with already. I can’t manipulate or control what they tell others, not yet.”

Harry chose not to dwell on the very interesting choice of words from his Slytherin companion at that moment. “No one has left yet; you still have time to change their perception.”

Draco’s eyes focused on him to the exclusion of all else. “And how the fuck would I do that? The damage has already been done.”

“Invite them to stay at the event,” Harry said simply, inclining his head behind him towards his still furious twin. “Be public about it, raise your voice a bit. Let others see that despite what just happened, it’s already water under the bridge to you.”

“Doing so will make me look weak.”

“Is that worse than the rumors that you almost dueled the Boy-Who-Lived at your own party before he stormed out?” Harry honestly wasn’t sure which result would be worse for the guy, but he could at least help him establish his options.

“It will be worse for me personally,” Draco said, shaking his head, “but it will be better for my family…”

“Which one do you value more?”

Draco scoffed and walked past him. “Do you really have to ask?”

With that action, Harry didn’t need to at all.

Draco’s confident stride towards the two Gryffindors, one of which had been ready to curse him not moments prior, grabbed the attention of everyone watching. A single clap of his hands kicked off his gambit. “Well, gentlemen, I think we can all agree that was a rather shameful display.” His voice was raised, not to such a degree that it was obvious he wanted everyone to hear him, but just loud enough that plenty of people could. “If my mother had seen me behaving in such a fashion, she would have quite a few choice words for me, I’m sure.”

A bit of self-deprecation could go a long way in diffusing tensions, but based on the Slytherin’s words, Harry could easily imagine how this would not do him any favors when it came to the internal politics of his House. Slytherin was known as the Snake Pit, after all.

Daniel seemed like he was about to respond, but a single glance from Neville silenced him completely. The Longbottom heir replied in a voice that was best described as forcefully calm. “Agreed, Malfoy. It should have never gone that far.”

“You have my thanks, Longbottom. Cooler heads prevailed solely thanks to your intervention,” Draco said, nodding at the teen respectfully. There wasn’t any hint of a blisteringly fake smile plastered on his face, no one would buy such falsehoods. His words alone were his weapon of choice for this battle.

Neville didn’t respond, but he did return the nod, his face impassive even as Daniel continued to glare. Harry genuinely wasn’t sure what was going through Neville’s head at that moment.

“Well, I do understand if you wish to leave after such hostilities, but should you wish to, I invite you to stay for a while.” Draco’s delivery was perfect.

“Wait, what?” Daniel finally spoke, his words overlapping with Neville’s own.

“Why?”

Draco took their suspicion in stride, chuckling lightly, though he didn’t try and hide the lack of true humor in it. “Despite our differences, I did invite you two this evening. No spells were cast by either of us, and so I see my invitation as still being in affect.” Draco swept his arm over the hall with a wide, grand movement. “I imagine you’re about sick of my company, rest assured, I won’t trouble you after this, but please, feel free to stay and have a few drinks, enjoy the atmosphere, play a bit of poker if you’re so inclined. No pressure, you’re more than welcome to leave, I just wanted to inform you that the offer is still on the table.”

The moment Draco had finished his little speech he stepped back from the duo, once again nodding his head respectfully before turning his back on them and walking away. The gesture was subtle, but Harry thought it was quite meaningful that he actually turned his back on someone he was ready to duel just minutes prior. There was a way to interpret such an action as weak, but Harry thought it would help sway the opinions of others that maybe Draco and Daniel weren’t mortal enemies.

As if the entire confrontation had never happened, Draco returned to greeting his other guests and engaging them in conversation. No doubt he’d be dodging questions about what had just gone down all night, but Harry was certain that he was adept enough to handle that by his lonesome.

Harry strode back toward Daniel and threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “Let’s talk, yeah.” He wasn’t asking.

With Harry on one flank and Neville on the other, they ensured Daniel had nowhere to escape to as they walked him over to the section of the balcony that Ron had claimed for them. Harry wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. He couldn’t very well give him a lecture against fighting, nor about losing his shit. Still, he knew he wanted to say something because he was pretty fucking annoyed. Annoyed at himself, at Daniel, Neville too for that matter, hell, even Draco could easily find a place on Harry’s shit-list.

Before Harry could say anything, he was beaten to the punch once more, though this time by someone different. “What the bloody hell was that all about?” Ron asked them, his hands in the air in puzzlement. “One minute you two are fine, we’re all impressed by everything Malfoy set up, and the next you’re bloody well tearing into the guy like he cursed you in the Great Hall!”

“Nev?” Harry accused. He was glad that Neville had gotten control of everything by the end, but he’d been the one to light the fuse to begin with.

Neville offered a half-hearted shrug and rubbed his eyes with the palms of both hands. “I don’t have a good reason for getting pissed off, so if you’re looking for a justification, I don’t have one.” He wasn’t trying to defend himself, which, in a way, was its own form of defense.

“I just want to know what set you off at that moment?” Harry genuinely wasn’t sure why Neville had gotten so angry at first.

Neville casually waved his hand toward Malfoy. “It’s just who he is. When he was talking to us, he had this… expectation that we’d just agree to let bygones be bygones. To him, it was predetermined that we’d agree to forget the past month of insults and move on.”

Harry looked at his friend quizzically. “And you have a problem with that?”

“It’s exactly the same shit his father pulled, just different in scale,” Neville responded, his bitterness was plain to see. “When Lucius Malfoy claimed to be under the Imperius curse he just expected the world to comply, to clear him of his crimes. The arrogance pisses me off.”

The quartet fell into an uneasy silence. Neville had admitted his own fault, acknowledged that his actions were ultimately just done in the name of self-satisfaction, and had no real justification for them beyond that. There was no point in harping on him further, but in the same vein, no one could really begrudge him for those reasons. A third party could have easily castigated their general immaturity, but that wasn’t really something Harry could do without coming across as a hypocrite. Or maybe he could, and he just didn’t care enough to give a lecture. His thoughts were a bit of a jumble as to how he should respond or even if he should.

Ron was the one to continue the conversation, inclining his head toward Daniel. “His insults set you off, yeah?”

Daniel’s reply was resolute. “I’ll have a go at anyone that tries to call Nev pathetic.” The guy had absolutely no regrets.

“Why’d you two even come in the first place?” Harry asked confusedly. He’d tried to parse together why the two guys who might as well have been the co-heads of an anti-Malfoy club would accept his invite at all. They hadn’t even made it one conversation without being damn near ready to deck the guy, but they’d apparently planned on making it an entire night? It was ridiculous.

Daniel shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “I thought he might not act like a prick the entire time?”

“He tried to shake your hand and you all went off,” Harry deadpanned.

Neither of the two guys had any response to that. Annoying prats.

“Alright, well, I think I’m done baby-sitting for the evening,” Harry announced, casting an appreciative look around the hall. “I came here to have fun, and I refuse to let your petty rivalry get in the way of that.”

“Hear hear,” Ron’s lingering annoyance was clear, but he followed up his words with a mock toast before turning to the brooding duo. “You two going to stick around?”

Daniel scoffed. “Fat chance of that. I don’t know why Malfoy offered to let us, but I’d rather just go.”

Neville, notably, didn’t immediately answer.

“Well, I think you all should stay,” Harry offered. He wasn’t sure if he genuinely thought they should, or if he was trying to help out Draco in his own way. “Free drinks and all, plus, there are a lot of really cute girls here.”

Harry’s final reason to stay wasn’t even a lie. Roughly half of the attendees were women, and as was usually the case with magicals, they were all pretty damn attractive in his eyes.

“Fair point…” Daniel murmured, his voice trailing off as he watched a gorgeous brunette on the first floor, a girl Harry recognized.

Parkinson, Harry mused. The exceedingly bitchy but no less attractive Slytherin had never quite exited his thoughts since they crossed paths in Diagon Alley. He still hadn’t spoken to her since then, but they’d both caught each other staring on more than one occasion. It was almost like an unspoken game between them.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood though, not right now at least,” Daniel finished, recollecting his wits.

“People watch if nothing else,” Harry remarked, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to stylishly mess it up even further. “Watch Ron and I take home the pot.”

“You think you’ll win?” Daniel asked, pulling his attention away from the girl in a little black dress.

“Of course, I will,” Harry lied. In reality, he had very little confidence in his ability to win it all but practicing his bluff couldn’t hurt. “Whatever you do, just keep your distance from me for a while, I’m still pretty pissed at you both.” He didn’t give his brother nor Neville a chance to respond before he started to walk away alongside Ron, but neither of the two boys tried to stop him.

Harry was glad to see that Ron didn’t seem to be mad at him. Apparently, the fact that he’d even been willing to step in and help Daniel was enough to assuage Ron’s judgement.

“You really think you’ll win?” Ron asked him, a smile dancing at his lips.

“No doubt at all,” Harry lied once more.

“Sorry, Harry,” the redhead said, eyes fixed forward. “You aren’t winning shite tonight.”

“Ohhh?” Harry cupped his chin with his hand, a cheeky smile in place, the tense mood falling to the wayside in the face of amusement. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”

“You paid my buy-in, so you’re going to make money either way, but you aren’t winning.” Ron didn’t even sound boastful; it was like he was talking about the chances for rain after it was already raining.

“Battle of pride then,” Harry offered. “No gold on the line, just our egos.”

“You’re on, Evans.”

The two friends made a beeline toward the bar upon descending the circular stairwell that led to the main hall. While there were plenty of familiar faces among the crowd of people, and even some faces that Harry could put names to, only a very select few of the guests were those he could call friend, with one in particular being someone he had not expected to see.

“Lav?” Harry called out the name of one of his best friends since entering the magical world with no small amount of surprise.

“Harry!” Lavender Brown, acting as the exceedingly lively and active girl that she was, did not hesitate to turn away from the guy she’d been talking to and dash over towards Harry. Fortunately, the abandoned guy seemed more amused than annoyed, and took the sudden cessation of conversation in humorous stride.

Lavender was dressed in a pair of flared blue jeans; a solid black, halter, cowl-neck top; complete with matching square-toe heels, and a velvet choker. The blonde was wearing her hair down but with a notable side flip. In a word, she was gorgeous. Though, after knowing her for over a month, Harry thought it was safe to say that gorgeous was Lavender’s go-to brand, and she simply wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here!” She immediately saddled up to Harry, latching one arm in the crook of his own while her other hand clutched her drink. The drink in question bore a striking resemblance to a Buck’s Fizz, making him think it likely was one, though perhaps under a different name. “I thought I saw your brother and Draco about to hex each other’s bits off, but I didn’t see you!” She squealed happily. “Okay, this night is going to be SO much more fun now.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, genuinely sharing in the exuberant girl’s sentiment. Ron was his best mate, but Lavender had such life to her, it was hard not to have a great time just being around the girl. “Who’d you bring with you?”

Lavender raised an eyebrow at him confusedly. “No one? I asked Draco if I could invite someone else, but noooo~, apparently that would be too many people.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be here, but come on, no plus ones?” The girl stuck out her tongue and pointed inside her mouth, miming throwing up. “Mister prim and proper knows how to plan, that’s for sure, but he should really come to me for notes on the finer points of socialization.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at her assertions but he then closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he knew he was in for a fun bit of placation as soon as the girl on his arm realized that he had been able to invite a plus one and used it to invite Ron without even mentioning the event to her. She’d gotten an invite on her own so he doubted she would care too much, but still…

“About that…” Harry began, inwardly tensing up.

“Hmm?” She looked up at him with big brown eyes before suddenly noticing Ron’s presence. “Ron!” She squealed happily again. “Sorry, I’ve had like, way more than one of these already,” she held up the drink in her hand, “and I didn’t even notice you!”

The smiling but bemused redhead took it all in stride. “You’re okay, Lav, you look great by the way.”

Still clutching onto Harry’s arm, Lavender performed a quarter turn to show off her outfit and figure after receiving the compliment. “Thank you, thank you. I’ve been waiting to wear this top for ages; I had to wait because there’s no waaaay my mum would ever let me wear it.”

“Well worth the wait,” Harry added. “Ron’s right, you do look amazing."

Lavender smiled brightly, murmuring her thanks once more. “So, how come you two received invites? I got mine thanks to Daddy being so awesome, but what about you two?”

Once again, Harry prepared himself, this time via a sigh. “I was about to mention that… we got an invite, singular.”

“Huh?”

Ron nodded along. “I’m, uh, well… Harry invited me to tag along.” Despite initially stumbling over his words, Ron chose to finish his confession in one rapid go.

Lavender still looked quite confused, so Harry chose to explain. “Draco invited me to try and serve as an intermediary to my brother, but he gave both of us permission to invite others, likely to try and make Daniel more comfortable.” Harry was trying to finish his explanation before Lavender could get her feelings hurt. “I couldn’t decide who I wanted to invite between you and Ron, so I, uh, I flipped a coin and trusted fate…” He trailed off for a second before quickly adding an apology. “Sorry for not inviting you.”

Harry loved to tease and be flippant towards everyone and everything, but even then, he generally sought to avoid hurting his friends’ feelings. Of course, as was the norm with Harry, whenever he tried to be a good person, life had a way of making him feel like an idiot. Lavender did not look hurt at all, nor did she even appear to be sympathetic to his apology, instead, she seemed to be holding back fits of laughter.

“Let me get this straight, you were so worried about my reaction to you not inviting me as your plus one, that you’re apologizing about the results of a coinflip?” She failed to stifle her amusement after that rather short recap.

Upon seeing the girl’s laughter, Harry felt like that was more than enough punishment for him. “Given your reaction, I’m going to say I was concerned. Past tense. It’s gone now.”

“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” Lavender tried to hide her smirk behind her drink. She failed miserably.

“Yeah, he was pretty torn up about it,” Ron lied, boldly turning on the one who invited him.

 “Bite me, Ron.” Harry’s arm was still attached to Lavender’s, but he liberally used the other to give Ron the good, ole fashioned two-fingered salute; he then made a beeline for the bar, the giggling blonde keeping pace with him easily.

“Your apology was so sincere though,” Lav continued to tease him before letting up a tad. “Honestly, I really do appreciate it.”

“Hear that, Harry?” Ron called from behind him, claiming an empty seat at one of the poker tables that currently only had a single other occupant in the form of a tall, male student with dark hair. “The time you spent agonizing in the mirror wasn’t in vain after all!” The redhead, on the other hand, did not let up on his teasing.

“I need a drink,” Harry muttered, eyeing the blonde on his left. “Maybe two.”

Lavender ceased her laughter, leaning into Harry slightly. “You know, if you really did feel bad, next time you get a single extra invite to something fun, you could always just mention it to me and then flip a coin. Maybe I would have gotten my own invite like tonight, and there won’t be any worries.”

Harry could not deny the simple logic in her plan. Despite her well-deserved reputation as being fun, flirty, and flighty, Lavender was one of those girls who had a genuine sense for people and how to interact with them. Bless her.

“Alright, alright, next time I get an invite to a midnight poker tournament, I promise to at least consult you about it before flipping a coin. Deal?”

“Deal!” The blonde winked at him.

There were a number of different leather padded seats arranged around the bar; Harry did not hesitate to claim two of them for himself and his companion. Lavender immediately ordered another of what was already in her hand while Harry ordered a Dark ‘n’ Stormy for himself. He was momentarily concerned that the bartender wouldn’t be familiar with the name, but they made the admittedly simple drink perfectly. Either the combination of ginger beer and rum had crossed the cultural divide, or the older student serving drinks was familiar with the muggle world; whichever the answer, it wasn’t that important to Harry at that moment.

“So, you mentioned that your dad was the reason you got an invite?” Harry knew that Draco was looking to foster connections with a number of different people who were all fairly high on the social ladder, but he hadn’t questioned the specific criteria.

“Mmmhmm,” Lavender nodded in the midst of taking a drink, though whether she was actually savoring the taste was up for debate. “Daddy actually owns and operates one of the larger suppliers of potions ingredients in the country, and his business is still growing.”

Harry’s eyes went wide; he’d known the girl was a pure-blood, but not of her familial status. “How did I not guess that you were a rich girl?”

“We’re new money,” Lavender said shamelessly. “Daddy’s business only really took off during the war.”

When in the midst of chaos… Harry mused to himself, wetting his lips via his beverage of choice.

Other people could argue over the ethics of expanding your business ventures thanks to the casualties of war all day long, but Harry had little concern for such an endless debate. The fact of the matter was that Lavender’s father displayed excellent business acumen and had done well for his family. Hell, if her father played his cards correctly, the Brown family could very well find themselves elevated to the status of a Noble House in the coming decades. It made perfect sense why Draco had seized the initiative and invited Lavender before their name was firmly established.

“Might as well enjoy the perks,” Harry remarked, rising from his seat, and offering his arm to his blonde companion once more, barely sparing the action any thought.

“Right? I mean, imagine missing out on all of this?” Lavender gestured to the room at large as she hooked her arm into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

To any onlookers, they would likely be mistaken for a couple, but both of them were already used to fielding such assumptions at this point. Their fast friendship and general comfort with one another had already led to a fair number of questions and rumors as to the nature of their relationship, but neither hesitated to maintain that they were friends. Close friends, to be sure, but friends all the same.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure why the friendship he shared with Lavender hadn’t taken a more sensual turn, but it was clear that neither of their thoughts or feelings for one another trended in that direction. He didn’t have any objection to Lavender on a physical level by any means, so it wasn’t like the idea of sleeping with her turned his stomach, but the fact remained that he did not view her in such a light. Whether that would always remain the case he couldn’t say, but he didn’t care to dwell on such thoughts. Lavender was one of his best friends, that was what was important. 

The intertwined duo returned to the same table as Ron, bringing the number of individuals already seated up to seven, though that number was likely about to increase to a full eight. “Not going to drink?” Harry asked his friend, who had thus far remained sober.

“Not yet,” Ron murmured, eyes flickering between those who would soon be his opponents. “I want to get a measure of the other players first, you know?”

Harry did know, but he also didn’t care. He wasn’t invested in recouping his buy-in to that degree. Though, he did understand why Ron might feel differently, even though he hoped his friend understood that he wouldn’t be upset if he walked away without winning a single knut.

“You’re taking this more seriously than I thought.”

Ron chuckled but deigned not to respond, turning his focus toward studying the other occupants, inadvertently pulling Harry’s attention as well. Aside from the three Gryffindors, there was an eclectic mix of students at their table:

In the first chair, and also first to the table, was the tall, dark-haired man with chiseled features and gray eyes. An attractive bloke, even by Harry’s heterosexual judgment. He was likely in his fourth or fifth year, but Harry thought it was honestly hard to tell. In the second chair there was a blonde boy with thick features who Harry vaguely recognized from the Sorting Ceremony on their first night. His name escaped him, but he believed the guy was a Hufflepuff. The third chair was claimed by an attractive girl who appeared to be of heavy Asian descent and around his own age. Harry didn’t remember her from the first night though, so he assumed she was either a second or third year. He could be wrong, but he tended to remember faces pretty well.

In the fourth, fifth, and sixth chairs sat Ron, Harry, and Lavender, respectively. A trio worth paying attention to in Harry’s book, but he turned his gaze over to the girl who had claimed the seventh chair as her own. She was a rather petite girl with pretty blue eyes and long black hair; beautiful did not even begin to do her justice as a descriptor, but even more so than her appearance alone, her demeanor was what Harry found utterly enthralling. Definitely fourth year or above, Harry mused internally. She did look older than eighteen by his judgment, but her confidence said more than her features ever could.

Harry leaned over to whisper into Ron’s ear. “Hey, don’t make it obvious, but check out the girl in the seventh chair.”

Ron snorted, his eyes not moving away from the pile of chips he’d just received in exchange for three golden coins. “You mean my toughest competition?”

A lone eyebrow rose in surprise. “You can tell?” Harry asked, somewhat amazed.

“I could tell the second she sat down,” Ron murmured before nodding resolutely. “No doubt about it, that girl’s dangerous, Harry, mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” Harry said, but his mind was already elsewhere as his eyes turned back towards the apparently dangerous student.

Either his staring was a bit too obvious, or she was a bit too perceptive, because the very girl he was looking at met his gaze without a shred of apprehension and a coquettish grin on her lips. The fact that Harry did not immediately look away must have impressed her because she winked at him before turning to organize the chips that had just been placed in front of her. Just like that, Harry had a new goal for the night: At a minimum, he was going to befriend the hot, older girl from god knows which House.

Though it took a herculean amount of effort, Harry was able to shift his focus over to the final occupant of the table. In the eighth chair sat an older, relaxed looking male student with long, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. The man was dressed in casual clothes, but the pin he wore on his lapel still gave him away as a Ravenclaw student. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but unless he was a hustler, Harry didn’t think he’d be much of a threat to Ron. It was obvious the way he was fiddling with his chips; it spoke of unfamiliarity more than anything else.

Having examined the entirety of the table, Harry immediately found his attention drawn back to the girl whose presence had so far dominated the table. He didn’t quite cross the line into gawking, but it wouldn’t take a genius to notice how she almost always seemed to remain in his line of sight.

“See something you like, Harry~?” Lavender whispered into his ear, her lips quirking into an amused smirk.

“I’d be lying if I said otherwise,” Harry confirmed her suspicions shamelessly and without contest. “How about you? I noticed you keep glancing at mister tall, dark, and handsome over there.”

“Oh, him? That’s Cedric Diggory.”

Harry hid a smile in his drink. “Should’ve guessed you would know his name.”

Lavender had firmly established herself as the absolute queen of gossip among the first-year Gryffindors. Harry had a running bet with Fay that said reputation would spread to all years before Christmas, and all Houses by their third year.

“Name? Harry, I know his entire life story.”

Harry decided a quiz was in order. “What’s his astrological sign?”

“Virgo.” The answer was immediate.

“Damn, you’re good.”

“Aren’t I?” Lavender preened happily, taking a sip of her drink as she did a little dance in her chair.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Harry asked, rolling one of his chips along his fingers.

Lavender put her hand up in the universal sign for ‘stop’ as she shook her head. “Not for a loooong time. I need to thoroughly scandalize my mum a few more times and make sure everyone knows I’m not allowed to wear a white dress before I settle down with a nice boy.”

It was the fact that he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not that did it for him. “Just as... long as… I get an invite,” he said around his fits of laughter.

“Invite?” Lavender almost seemed affronted. “Harry, right now you’re in the running to be my maid of honor. You’ll be in my wedding no matter when it is.”

A warm smile spread across Harry’s face as he pulled Lavender into him for a hug. “That was actually sweet of you. I take it the alcohol is to thank?”

“Kinda,” Lavender said, her voice only slightly muffled. “I am a pretty affectionate drunk.”

“Noted,” Harry replied, releasing the girl as she smiled up at him. “So, since I’m in your wedding, I have a few questions: Number one, will I be wearing a dress?”

Lavender shook her head in the negative. “I did consider it for a little while, but I thinnnk I settled on not doing it?”

The questioning lilt in her tone combined with the way she dragged out the word ‘think’ led Harry to believe the decision had yet to be fully determined. Whichever choice she settled on; he would comply. Even when discussing a hypothetical wedding, Harry knew that it was tantamount to illegal to argue with the bride.

“Question two, indoor or outdoor? Fair warning, if it’s outdoor and there’s wind, my hair will be literally impossible to control, even with the use of magic.”

For a brief moment Lavender seemed rather dubious of his claims, but all it took was a flick of her eyes to his untamable locks before understanding settled over her features. “That does look like a tough customer… Regardless, it will definitely be outdoors, but it will also be a destination wedding in Greece, sooooo,” Lavender shrugged a bit. “We’ll just deal with that when the time comes.”

“Oooh, Greece. Very nice.”

“I know, right?” Lavender agreed as if she wasn’t the one to bring it up in the first place.  “Daddy’s been there before on business and oh my gooood, the pictures he brought back were gorgeous. I fell in love right then and there and I just knew- oh, oh, we’re starting!”

The dealer pulling out a brand-new deck of cards and adroitly shuffling them for all to see brought a rather swift end to the two friend’s conversation. Lavender may have been tipsy, but even she seemingly wanted to treat the game with a fair amount of seriousness. Not that Harry disagreed, he may have wanted to flirt with the girl on the other side of Lavender, but he wasn’t about to throw away his chances to earn a literal pot of gold in the process.

The moment the first card was dealt, Harry’s evening became a delightful mix of alcohol, cards, and the wonderful sound of chips falling in a pile.

Chapter Text

"You don't think I want to help? You think I'm okay with what that monster is doing?! Of course, I'm not! How could I be…? I'm sorry, Dumbledore, I really am, but my answer is no. I just… I can't risk my family's safety for anything." -Arthur Weasley to Albus Dumbledore after being invited to join the Order of the Phoenix. February 1970.

Chapter 14:

Harry tossed another chip onto the pile with a self-deprecating laugh. The amount he had to spare were few in number at this point, but he wasn't going to lose all hope until he was completely derelict.

"Running a bit low there, eh?"

Harry turned his gaze to meet that of his best friend and the smug grin he was flashing. "Maybe so, Weasley, but I'm not out yet." The hand he'd been dealt wasn't a bad one, an ace-diamond, suited, certainly something he could work with depending on what made it to the table.

Ron, who was boasting a pile of chips noticeably larger than anyone else currently seated, gestured around the table with one hand as the other played with his chips. "No, but most of them are. Folding before the flop like that? I mean, I get it, but I just don't fold. It's so boring to fold, you know? So, I decided a few hands ago: no more folding."

A good-natured chuckle escaped the lips of Cedric Diggory even though he was the first one to give up on the hand. "If you'd seen my hand, Ron, you'd fold too."

"Nah, mate, you folded without even knowing what you had. Just like I don't know what I have yet. We'll see after the flop. Could be anything, could be nothing. We'll see." Ron responded easily even as he called the bet Harry had made.

Ron was more talkative and more confident than he ever had been before in the months that Harry had known him. While normally not quiet or shy by any means, the freckled red-head did not go out of his way to call attention to himself unless he was having another bout with Granger over any number of subjects. He was just Ron, an average bloke among the population of Hogwarts. That normal personality might as well have been another individual entirely when contrasted with the confident and brazen persona he displayed with a pile of chips in front of him and two cards resting under his fingertips.

From the moment the game had begun, Ron had been unrelenting in his play. He didn't win every single hand, the game of poker wasn't designed in such a way for that to be feasible, but it was undeniable that he was winning more than anyone else at the table. Even more so than the bets he made or the bluffs he told; Ron took over the table through his method of playing the other players as much as the cards themselves. The way he bantered and interacted, mixing quips and jokes with insightful comments on how others played. Noting every little detail of their own attempts to bluff and calling it out for all to hear. There was an element to his style that was almost disrespectful, but it was so damn effective that no one could rightfully call him out on it.

Harry was well aware that he was not immune to the effects of Ron's play. The little jibes and comments made him second-guess every single move he made. Though only on the scale of a single game of poker, Ron was exhibiting a master-class of social insight and manipulation. The youngest Weasley son had skill when it came to the mechanics of the game itself, accurately assessing his hands and what he can do with them relative to what everyone else possesses… but poker was popular precisely because it had a wonderfully human element to every single round of play… and somehow, Ronald Weasley was the best at the table.

By all rights, it shouldn't have been a surprising turn of events. Harry had seen firsthand Ron's grasp of strategy when playing chess or discussing old wars during History of Magic. The guy had the mind of a tactician, and today it was on full display.

"And let me guess, once the flop comes out, you're going to raise?" Ernie MacMillan, the blonde teen whom Harry had initially barely recognized, decided to join the conversational fray even as he called the bet himself, keeping the number of active hands at four.

"Me?" Ron pointed to himself dramatically. "I'm just following Harry's lead here, right Harry? What are you playing with over there? You got the makings of a straight? A flush? High card at least, right?"

Harry didn't even try and school his features. He wasn't the type to bluff by giving away as little information as possible. Sometimes, it was better to lean into the accusations. "You catch a glimpse of my cards, Weasley? Or are you just guessing every hand until you've covered them all?"

A hearty chuckle escaped the teen's throat as he rolled a sickle between his fingers. "If I keep guessing, one of them is bound to be right, yeah? Bloody good strategy if I say so myself."

"Only because you have an infinite number of guesses that don't affect the outcome of the round." The lovely girl by the name of Cho Chang sitting in the third chair chimed in. "If your incorrect guesses brought upon you an element of consequence, your strategy would be a rather poor one, no?" The second year Ravenclaw had spent half the evening making doe eyes at mister tall, dark, and Hufflepuff, but the other half she'd spent engaging everyone at the table in surprisingly pleasant and intelligent conversation. Though, it'd be a lie to say her efforts weren't still focused on Diggory.

"True, but in the end my guesses don't hurt me." Ron countered, tapping his fingers against the table, signaling his intent to check. "Who am I kidding though, right? It's not strategy, I just love to talk when playing games. Ask my brothers, all I do is talk. Talk, talk, talk-talk-talk, I never shut up. I just can't help myself."

"I wonder why," the since identified girl that Harry would likely see in his dreams, Rae Lawson, accompanied her comment with a small giggle as she rested her chin in her palm

Goddamn, she's cute, Harry mused, turning his gaze away as the flop came out - a Seven, King, and Nine of spades flush draw. A pair with an Ace high was a pretty decent hand by Harry's estimation, even with the cards on the table being risky to play against.

"See, Cedric? What'd I tell you? Never know what you might have. Flush, potential straight even. Over two-million combinations of cards, you'll miss a lot of them if you fold too early," Ron addressed the older Hufflepuff, but his sage wisdom was offered to all within earshot… wisdom he'd likely abandon if his hand was total shite. "What will it be, MacMillan? You going to go the way of your Housemate or are you going to bluff and stay in?"

MacMillan raised an eyebrow confusedly. "What makes you think I'd need to bluff?"

An exaggerated shrug was Ron's only reply. "Same reason I think you'd have already raised if that flop had done anything for you. Maybe the turn will give you more than what you've got, I'm guessing a pair, but you'd be relying on the table too much to give you that extra edge."

"Raise, 100." MacMillan declared confidently, one finger running along the edge of his drink as he stared down his competition.

"Bluffing to prove to me that you can bluff," Ron taunted, calling the raise. "I respect it, I respect it. What about you, Harry?"

"Call," Harry said simply, tossing five chips into the center of the table. Rae, the fourth and final active player of the hand didn't hesitate to match the bet, her perfectly manicured nails pushing a small pile forward.

"Four for four, I like those numbers, let's see the turn then!"

The 10 of diamonds was drawn and placed face-up alongside its brethren. Harry did his best to not let his features shift, but the way Ron's gaze was fixated on him made it damn near impossible to keep a straight face. The red-head's grin was almost infectious in this setting.

"Not a good draw for you, huh?" Ron queried, pointing down towards the freshly placed, double digit card.

It was almost maddening how every little comment he made forced everyone else to consider how they would respond, or even if they should reply at all. Ron wouldn't even have to pay attention to the words that exited their lips, the simple act of forcing others to think about whether or not to answer had value. Whether said answer would be truthful, the specific choice of words, even the inflection in which they were delivered could just further increase the redhead's gains, but they weren't a requirement. The moment those treacherous thoughts made themselves known; Ron had already succeeded with his distraction.

The truth of the matter was that Ron was correct in his assessment, it wasn't a very good card at all. It contributed absolutely nothing to the potential hands he could make while further opening the potential for someone else to complete a straight or pair higher than his own.

"Check." MacMillan saved Harry from his silence by announcing his next move.

"Check, huh?" Ron mused. "Sorry lads and lady, no free cards this round. I'm going to take a chance and make some money. That sound good to you? Taking a chance!" He punctuated his words by slamming his chip laden hand down onto the felt. "200. What say you, Harry, ye bastard of ill repute?"

Harry couldn't hold back his genuine fit of laughter as he rotated in his leather backed chair to look at his friend. "Ill repute? Ron, if you've been hearing rumors about me and not sharing, we're going to have an issue…"

Ron shook his head while placing his hand over his heart dramatically. "Honestly, mate, I haven't heard anything…" A large, crooked grin split the teen's face. "I have been spreading quite a few though."

A loud guffaw sounded from Harry's lips as he threw in his chips to call. "I can't wait to steal this pot from you, Ron." A wise man would have probably folded, but Harry wanted to take the risk that he could steal a hand off Ron when the bloke was trying to win.

"He goaded you, Evans," Rae Lawson taunted as she slid her cards back to the dealer.

Harry raised his glass in the Slytherin's direction in acknowledgement, winking as he did so. If said action drew more attention to his eyes, eyes which received regular compliments from girls, well, that was okay in his book. "Oh, of that I am quite aware… but what's a little bit of money when weighed against the chance that I actually get to take him down a peg?"

Rae laughed but still shrugged her pale shoulders, barren aside from the lone strap on either side that held up her low-cut black dress. "And if he wins the hand? All the satisfaction is his to covet and you're left with less to play with for your next attempt."

"True, but maybe I just don't care about the overall results that much," Harry said, speaking truthfully to both himself and the table. Despite his previous bet of pride with Ron, he couldn't care less whether he was able to beat his friend in a game of poker. Even with the amount of money involved, it was nothing more than a game to him. Win or lose, Harry would be okay, as would everyone else at the table. "Besides, Ron needs a victory in life more than I do right now. Isn't that right, Ron?"

"Damn right it is," Ron agreed instantly, drawing laughter from everyone who had bothered to listen. Harry wasn't sure the guy had even heard the question, but he appreciated that even when in his element and trying to rob the table of their money, Ron still had the instinctual reaction to just agree with the random question. It was why he was Harry's best friend.

"Down to us three, lads," Ron said, gesturing to the table cards. "River is going to decide it all. You didn't raise the turn, MacMillan. Still feeling confident?"

MacMillan took a sip of his own drink even as he nodded. "Just wanted to give you a false sense of security, Weasley."

Ron wasn't given a chance to respond before the fifth and final card was placed face up for all to see. The three of diamonds would've been great for Harry had the potential for a flush existed, but that was stomped out with the flop. All he was playing with was a pair of nines, which didn't leave him confident as to the final results.

"400," MacMillan called out, sliding more of his chips toward the ever-growing pot.

"Ooh, another bet," Ron murmured, fiddling with a small stack of chips in his hand but cutting it in half before reassembling it completely. A repetitive motion that allowed him to do something with his hands. Not surprising at all for anyone who knew Ron, the guy was often a bit fidgety in class. "I'm guessing that you have Jacks or Queens, right? Jacks or Queens with a spade?"

The small smile that worked its way onto MacMillan's lips was telling.

"Ah hah! I got him! You're laughing! Jacks or Queens with a spade! I guessed it!" Ron's exuberance was downright infectious.

"I'm laughing because that's the fifth guess you've made this hand," MacMillan countered, not making any real effort to fight back the smile since he'd been called out on it.

"We covered this already, weren't you listening? I love to guess, it's so much fun when I get it right…" Ron paused as he deliberately counted out a pile of chips. "And since I'm right, let's see what you all make of this! Raise to 800."

If Ron was correct and MacMillan really did have pockets Jacks or Queens, then there wasn't a chance in hell for Harry to beat it. He could try and bluff his way out, but given that he hadn't raised once, they'd likely see right through him. Even though there was a part of him that wanted to see if Ron was blowing nothing but hot air, it just wasn't worth it to keep going in on such a large pot.

"Fold," Harry said, tossing his cards away, deliberately ignoring the smug grin Ron sent his way.

"What happened to taking him down a peg?" Rae Lawson asked from the other side of Lavender's chair, the bombshell blonde having stepped away to grab herself another drink.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say, the river card wasn't very kind to me."

"Rarely is," She laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. An action that caused Harry to notice the earrings she wore, a strange black gem with a green sheen situated on the end of a thin silver chain. At a glance, he had never seen a gem quite like it.

"How callous of you, laughing at my financial losses like that," Harry teased, miming wiping away a nonexistent tear as he slumped backwards in his seat. "How will you ever make it up to me?"

The older girl smirked and pointedly met his gaze before taking a long drink from the rim of her glass and letting her tongue dart across her lips. "Use your imagination, Evans, I'm sure something will come to you."

Never let it be said that Harry didn't have a very active imagination. "I'll hold you to that, Miss Lawson," he said quietly, his confident smile overtaking the faux frown he wore before.

"Oh, so formal," she teased. "Call me Rae, everyone else does."

"Then you can call me Harry," he replied in turn, though their flirting was cut short by Ron's exuberant exclamation.

"I have a King," the redhead declared happily, flipping his King of Diamonds for all to see, his two of the same suit almost an afterthought in the face of the pair that won him the hand.

"Fucking hell, I should have run for the hills when you called my hand," MacMillan grumbled good-naturedly as he flipped over his pocket set of Jacks with a lone spade, the exact hand Ron had guessed. "Seriously, it's bloody scary how many times you've done that tonight."

Harry quietly agreed with the chip bereft Hufflepuff. Ron's ability to guess hands was downright uncanny, so much so that his mind could not help but wonder if the redhead had a latent talent for the esoteric mind-reading ability that Tom had possessed. The chances of that were borderline non-existent since Ron did not seem to display the talent in any other aspect of his life, but still, magic was a peculiar beast… for all Harry knew, his best friend might have been tapping into elements of the arcane beyond either of their understanding for the sake of a bloody card game. Or he could just be obscenely skilled at poker and how to read people and the conditions of any respective hand. There didn't have to be anything supernatural about Ron's skill, he could just be that damn good; the more he thought about it, the more inclined Harry was to believe such was the case.

"I didn't believe the rumors your brothers peddled about you, but I can admit I was wrong not to," Cedric Diggory nodded at Ron, a small grin on his lips. "You're a right talent at cards."

Ron waved off the compliment almost bashfully but didn't go so far as to deny it. "Thanks, mate, but I still wouldn't believe shite my brothers tell you. Especially the twins. Couple of gits the two of them are. They'll offer you one truthful statement to lull you in, and then lie to your face for three years straight."

Cedric laughed uproariously at that, his sudden motion almost knocking the drink out of Chang's hand. "Sorry about that, love," he remarked to her, smiling in a way only guys that looked as good as him could before turning back to Ron. "That does sound like Fred and George."

"You Weasleys are a unique lot, no one can take that away from you," Robert Hilliard, the student in the eighth and final chair, long since having introduced himself as a sixth year Ravenclaw, chimed in with his own bit of commentary on the redheaded brood.

"You know my brothers?" Ron asked, a questioning lilt entering his voice.

Hilliard shrugged. "It's hard not to know of Charlie Weasley after his stint as a Seeker, but I've also come to know Percy this year… We're both prefects, so we've patrolled together," he added after a brief pause.

"Fair enough, I think I'll take 'unique' as a compliment then."

"You should," Hilliard laughed, "I meant it to be one."

As the table settled in for the next hand, Harry made a quiet vow to himself. He wasn't going to win it all, but at the very least he wanted to beat Ron's hand when the guy thought he couldn't. Galleons be damned, he was chasing that hint of satisfaction above all else. Everyone else was tertiary, at this point, he was playing his best friend. Well, that wasn't quite true. If he could keep flirting with the hot, older Slytherin girl, that would be a nice touch to the evening as well.

OoooOoooO

"Evening, Tom. How have you been of late?"

"Minister?! Well, I'll be damned, it's been a long while since you came to my old establishment. Wouldn't call it evening though any longer, we're well into morning by now, aren't we?"

"Too true. 'Morningcap' doesn't quite have the same ring to it though, does it?"

"I won't argue with that. What can I get you today, sir?"

"Oh, let's see… I'll have a spot of Dragon Barrel Brandy, neat, if you don't mind. Oh, and a water for Miles here. Chap refuses anything but water when on protection detail. Won't even drink tea."

"Coming right up, sir. But what brings you here so late, or early, as it were? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

"Not at all, not at all. I'll spare you the cumbersome details but suffice to say, I just finished up a very, very long meeting between myself, Madame Prickle, she's the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, two representatives from the Wizengamot Administration Services, Lucius Malfoy, and Baxter Rich, the Head of the Centaur Liaison Office. When we were done, I just needed a spot of brandy, and I wasn't quite ready to go home yet."

"That's a lot of important names there, sir. I can't say I understand the weight on your shoulders, but I hope you're all able to get it worked out. Here's your brandy, and your water, Mr. Stone."

"Ah, thank you, Tom. I'm sure everything will work out in the end, but the process can still be quite stressful. Your decision to run this old pub was a wise one. Spares you from the endless migraine that is politics."

"I don't think I would've had the brain for politics even if the Leaky Cauldron wasn't my calling, sir. Mind if I ask if you're going for re-election in a few years' time?"

"I absolutely will be, yes indeed. I may gripe and moan now and again but serving as this nation's Minister for Magic is the greatest honor of my life. I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

"Well, sir, you can always count on my vote. You've done right by me and mine since your time in office."

"I appreciate that, Tom. I really do. That's enough about me though, how have you been?"

"I've been doing well, actually just got back the other day from a trip to Berlin."

"What was the occasion?"

"An autumn festival that's held every year in Tiergarten, an old park in the city. I've got some distant family that live in the countryside, and we try and meet up every once in a while. Well, this time I made an event of it as well. Got myself a little booth set up and spent the weekend serving ale and an order of my beef stew to anybody with the coin."

"Sounds like an excellent way to spend the weekend. If life permits, I might have to look into attending next year."

"You and the missus would love it, I'm sure. Good food, drink, live music, and so many other little events I couldn't even begin to keep track of 'em all."

"Are children allowed to attend?"

"That's right, I forgot your grandkids might want to go. During the day-time, absolutely. Lots of fun things for them to enjoy. At night, it gets a bit rowdier, but that's to be expected once the drinks begin to flow and the girls let their hair down, so to speak."

"Merlin, I wish I'd known a week ago. Do you know how long it's been since I did something just for the fun of it?"

"I'm guessing a fair bit?"

"To say the least. I do love my position, but I would be lying if I said it didn't take its toll."

"Your job is a lot more important than mine, sir, but you can't lose your life to work. You should take one evening this week and go catch a game of Quidditch. Puddlemere versus Ballycastle is the premiere match this week. Second and Third place duking it out for a chance to catch up to the Magpies. It's supposed to be a good one."

"Tom, were you aware that Puddlemere is my favorite team?"

"I may have read the articles of how you enjoy attending a game or two of theirs when your schedule permits. For the upcoming match, I'd bet you could get some nice seats, enjoy a pint or two, and cheer on young Benjy to catch the snitch since there isn't a chance of the chasers scoring too many on Dexter Marsh."

"Benjy is a bright-spot, to be sure. I was surprised when the team announced him. Just a kid fresh out of school hailing from Indonesia. I would've never expected it, but Merlin, that kid can fly."

"Truer words were never spoken. Tis a damn shame he can't participate on the British National team, but if his home country picks him up, I might just have to support them in the World Cup too."

"I would love to see that happen, but we'll have to see. I must say, you're a canny one, Tom, trying to tempt me to take some time off... I don't think my secretary would have kind words for you if she knew."

"Well, with all due respect for your staff, sir, sometimes a man just needs an evening of relaxation to get back to work the next day, focused and recharged. That's one of the lessons the old owner of this old place taught me. Work is good for the soul, but you need rest too."

"You're a wise man, Tom."

"I don't know about that, Minister, but I do my best."

OoooOoooO

Harry stared at the retreating form of Rae Lawson with a mixture of curiosity and lust in his eyes. The sashaying of her hips and clinging of the fabric on her ass ensured he would watch her leave no matter what, as it was a sight anyone with an interest in the fairer sex would be loath to miss… but even beyond his sexual urges, her parting comment had piqued his sense of intrigue. Ever since his first comment made in her direction, their casual flirtations throughout the night had continued with both of them becoming progressively bolder, giving Harry the confidence to eventually imply they should go somewhere private with their drinks. Her response, however, surprised him.

"As tempted as I am to say yes, Harry, I'm afraid I can't tonight. I'm sure we would have fun together, but… when opportunity knocks, I can't help but open the door."

Harry could still feel the lingering impact of her soft, teasing kiss upon his cheek, an action that hinted of what was to come without promising anything. Cheeky minx. Whenever he'd been turned down in the past, irrespective of the reason why, he had simply shrugged his shoulders and moved on for the evening. But this time, with this girl, his mind kept circling back to a single question: Just what opportunity did Rae Lawson see tonight that she couldn't pass up? The question lingered in his mind, but in spite of his pondering, Harry didn't have the slightest clue as to what she would be doing with the remainder of her evening. Their flirtations had revealed very little about her as an individual beyond her overwhelming confidence, so he couldn't even begin to guess her motives or goals - the possibilities were simply too numerous in number.

The arrival of a heavily inebriated blonde falling into the chair to his left before her hands encircled his neck and her head met his shoulder was more than enough to distract Harry from his thoughts on Rae Lawson. "Harryyyyy," Lavender Brown, one of many resident drunk girls and guys of the party, did not raise her head as she fixatedly looked across the room with a pout.

Harry, bemused with her sudden arrival but not displeased by it, maneuvered himself so one arm encircled the girl's shoulders. Honestly, he should probably get her back to the dorms before she crashed completely, she was getting pretty damn close to that point. "What's up, love?"

"My boyfriend… he's leaving with another girl!" She was indignant as her hand vaguely pointed towards either a throng of roughly twenty people or an empty doorframe. It was impossible to tell which.

It took him a brief moment to process the utterly insane comment that exited his friend's lips. "Lav," Harry said dryly, "unless something has changed in the last thirty minutes, I'm pretty sure you don't have a boyfriend." Though, if he were being honest, it wasn't impossible that the gorgeous girl had ensnared a boy in that timeframe. Even then, he was willing to bet a sizable portion of Ron's winnings for the evening that she was just being dramatic.

Lavender looked up at him, her brows furrowing as she poked him in the side. "We!" One poke. "Talked!" Another poke. "About!" Third times the charm. "This!" A fourth and final poke impacted his frame before she settled her head back onto his shoulder.

It took a moment for Harry to wrack his brains to even have a clue as to what Lav was talking about, and then, it hit him. "Oh my god, you're talking about Cedric bloody Diggory, aren't you?"

"Maaaaybe…"

"Lav," Harry began, sighing as he rubbed his eyes. He was not drunk enough for this. "You do realize he's not actually your boyfriend because you think he's hot, right?" The love and affection he felt towards Lavender Brown was genuine, but Harry had a very simple rule when it came to dealing with drunk people… he needed to be drunk as well, otherwise, it was just tiresome.

"Well, duhhh," Lavender responded sullenly. "But he could have been…"

"Still could be," Harry countered, mentally debating if it was worth it to order another drink – hell, shots would suffice.

"Nuh uhhhh, he left with that cute girl, Cho. They're going to go back to his room, have great sex, and that's me out of the running…" Lavender sat up and looked at Harry with her big doe eyes. "I wanted to have great sex with him…"

For the first time during this conversation, Harry could relate to the girl's woes. He'd wanted to have sex with Rae Lawson. Unfortunately, neither of them was going to get any action that night. "You could always jump his bones tomorrow." Cedric hadn't struck him as the type to bed multiple girls in the same week, but hey, he could be wrong. Regardless of what happened later in the week, Harry offered a mental salute to Cedric for leaving with Cho Chang on his arm that evening; Lav hadn't been exaggerating, the black-haired girl was seriously cute.

"That does not~ help me tonight, Harryyy!" The drunk girl once again punctuated her sentence by poking him in the side. It didn't hurt at all, but on principle, Harry was about to start poking her back.

Honestly, it was probably for the best that Lavender didn't have anyone to sleep with tonight. Even though he was well aware of her proclivity for casual sex, she was drunk enough that he'd be an absolute piece of shit friend if he let her walk off with someone. If she'd already been drinking and flirting with a single guy from the night's onset, that'd be one thing, but at this point, she was far too gone to make a responsible decision. "You know what will help you?" Harry asked, adjusting his head so he could look down at her.

"Dick?"

That almost brought him up short, but he powered through admirably. "Sleep," he countered. "Think about it, your four-poster bed, thick blankets, more pillows than necessary. Sounds good, right?"

"But no dick?" It shouldn't have been possible to say those words in such a cute way, but with her big eyes and downright pouty lips, Lavender Brown found a way.

"Not tonight."

"My bed is really comfy…" Lavender murmured, now sitting upright and only swaying minutely.

"Atta' girl, let's get you back to it then." Harry leapt to his feet, having to steady himself on the bar. Maybe he'd had a tad more than he thought. "Oi! Weasley!" He shouted, waving his arms to get the attention of his financially focused friend.

Across the room, Ron was busy cashing in his chips for magical gold. 24 galleons was a sizable sum of money for most people, but from what Harry knew of the bloke's finances, it was more than Ron had ever held in his hands. "We leaving?" He called back, scooping the coins passed to him in a velvet bag that one of Draco's helping hands for the evening had so generously provided. With his money secured, he jogged over to them, nary a stutter in his step. Ron had enjoyed a few drinks, but unlike Harry and Lav, he'd kept himself in a decent state so as to win it all – a strategy that had proven fruitful in the end.

"Lav's plastered, and I'm about two…" Harry shook his head. "I'm about one good drink away from joining her." One drink was a quite lot for a lightweight like him.

Ron nodded, "time to get her back to the dorms then. C'mon Lav, let's go."

"Carry me?"

Harry snorted. "Don't you dare, Ron." Lav was spoiled enough already by them, she did not need to be carried all the way back to her bed. Besides, she wasn't quite that far gone – the functional part of her brain was just fucking with them.

"Nice try, Lav," Ron laughed, wagging his finger in the air, "but I have a little sister, I'm used to the games you women love to play."

"Ugh, fiiiine… it was worth a shot…" Lavender grumbled, already in motion towards one of the many exits from the large hall. "Byeeeee, Dracooo! Thanks for inviting us!" Her rather loud farewell attracted numerous pairs of eyes, some even more drunken than her own, but most importantly, her efforts succeeded in gaining the attention of their patrician host.

The normally poised and carefully controlled features of the Malfoy scion morphed into an amused smile as he raised his hand aloft and called back to them. "Glad you could make it, hope you all enjoyed yourselves." Whether the blonde teen was inebriated himself or if he was just playing to his audience, Harry wasn't sure, but he was impressed that the guy chose to mimic Lavender in her method of saying goodbye. Draco's propensity for neatness and composure put him on something akin to a pedestal on most days, but even if that was his preferred ground to stand upon, it was the little moments such as shouting a farewell across a crowded room that reminded the average person that he was still human. Given that Draco's goals for the evening were to curry friendship with a host of people, Harry would guess that it was all a carefully controlled act.

Fucking Slytherins, he thought to himself. The House of the cunning was enshrouded in so many lairs of falsehood and deception in the name of their internal power struggles, Harry could only guess how mentally exhausting each day might be. If he had been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, he was certain he would've played the very same games that Draco and his cohorts were, but with hindsight, Harry was rather pleased with his placement with the crazy bastards of House Gryffindor. The average student wearing red and gold simply didn't give a rat's ass about what their housemates got up to. It had been expected, but the fact that almost no one even bothered to question why a couple of first-years were leaving the common room past curfew spoke to a level of disinterest that was almost hard to rival. Of course, he was generalizing, there were plenty of individuals who broke the classic mold while still being Gryffindors too a tee, but it was an undeniable that the majority of Gryff's were birds of a feather.

"Okaaaay, but that doesn't make any sense… like, at all – at all, at all!" Lavender had one arm raised aloft while the other draped around Ron's shoulders. Harry had tuned out from the initial part of the conversation, but it wasn't hard to guess that the inebriated girl was protesting one of the many hands in which Ron had beaten her. "Youuu," she waved her hand in his face, "had nothing… Nothing! And you raised, even though I'd raised twice. Two times. Two. Times. That, Ronald Weasley, does not make sense."

The redhead in question shrugged. "I knew you probably had trips, so all I had to do was bluff the flush. I let you hang yourself, really. Should've have been a bit more suspicious going into the final card."

"Please~, I'm nowhere NEAR good enough to beat youuu. I'm just say-AHH-" Lavender had made the mistake of trying to walk almost sideways without allowing her less than sober brain time to focus and subsequently tripped – only her firm grip latching onto Ron's neck preventing her from fully impacting the stone floor.

"You two good?" Harry asked, unable to fully hide the amusement that tinged his words, fully aware that he himself was one bad step away from joining her in the display of sure-footedness that served as a wonderful ode to the values of sobriety.

"I'm good! I'm good!" Lav responded, overriding Ron's contrary assertion as she released the vice-grip she had on him and adjusting her shirt before continuing her sentence like nothing had happened. "Anywho, all I'm saying is that there was noooo way for you to rationalize that RAISING – not calling – RAISING was smart. I do not believe you at all."

Ron, having recovered from the attempt on his life, laughed almost as loudly as Lav's passionate denouncement of strategy. "Poker isn't always about who's smart. Half the game is bloody intuition that comes from reading the players."

Lavender's face scrunched up. "That's reallyyyy similar to how Daddy conducts his business stuff whenever he meets with clients or partners."

"Blimey, you're serious?"

"Yep!" Lav chirped happily, the ends of her hair bouncing in concert with her excited little movements. "Told me himself that was the most important part."

Harry could absolutely believe that the youngest Weasley male would have an aptitude for business given how adept he was simply reading people… but he also thought that such a skillset could be applied in numerous different fields and areas of study beyond banal enterprise. "That's a bloody useful talent to have, Ron. You could do a dozen different things with it, though. I mean, some aurors are decidedly more oriented towards investigation than others." Harry paused for dramatic effect. "Auror Ronald Weasley, future Head of the DMLE. A nice future awaits you."

Ron hummed noncommittally. "I mean, being an auror could be interesting, but once you reach the level of Head Auror or Head of the DMLE, it's more of a political position than anything else. You should hear some of the shite Dad says about it all. I mean, he's only the head of a Sub-Division and he still has to deal with a lot of it."

The trio continued their conversation as they slowly made their way back through the ancient halls and corridors. Whether by circumstance or design, they didn't come across anyone else during the journey. Harry had half expected to run into another Prefect standing guard, but given the hour, it made sense that most of them had returned to their own dormitories for the evening. The idea of being a prefect once he reached his fifth year was an intriguing one in his mind. They were carefully selected by the teachers, but the encounter from a few hours prior demonstrated quite clearly that they weren't all teacher's pets who refused to step a toe out of line. The competition to become one was quite intense, though. From what he'd gathered, it was a title that looked very good on employment and apprenticeship résumés.

The hour was quite late by the time the trio reached the dorms; late enough that it was beginning to be more appropriate to say that it was early. Still, Harry didn't feel tired at all. The alcohol in his system was present but fading, however, the evening itself had been electric. Physically, he was exhausted, but mentally, he could not have sunk into slumber even if he tried.

"Manus Aureae," Ron declared to the sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady. Why portraits needed to sleep was beyond his understanding, but the vast majority of them did so.

The portrait of the Fat Lady groggily peered one eye open, yawning dramatically. "Who is this time? You lot have been trickling in and out all night without reprieve. How is a girl supposed to get her beauty sleep if you all keep waking me up?"

"Sorryyy…" Lav said, somewhat abashedly. "There was this party that we got invited to, soooo…"

The Fat Lady smiled down at them, rubbing her eyes. "It's quite alright, dearie, if I wasn't prepared to help out with students breaking curfew, I wouldn't have agreed to be the Gryffindor portrait. In you go, go on."

The portrait swung open allowing the trio entry into their common room, their whispered thanks trailing them as they passed through. "She's an awesome portrait," Lav said, yawning widely herself.

"Agreed," Harry murmured, casting a glance around the first floor of the common room. It was fairly quiet by this hour, in fact, everyone he spotted was dozing comfortably, though he could hear pockets of conversation coming from above. Unfortunately for him, his perceptive skills were proven to be rather poor not a moment later.

"And just where have you all been all night?!" Of all the people Harry had been expecting to greet them, it had not been Hermione Granger dressed like she's ready for bed, sitting in a high-backed chair with her legs crossed and a cup of tea in hand.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" Ron recoiled. "Why're you still awake?"

"Why am I still awake?" Hermione repeated the question imperiously. "I should be the one asking you that! Better yet, I should be asking why in the world you three were out of the dormitories until past four?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Morgana's tits, Granger, why do you care~?" She dragged out the final word and started walking away without waiting for an answer. "You wouldn't be so annoying if you didn't pull shit like this!"

"I'm trying to stop you all from getting into trouble!" Hermione's affronted reply trailed after the blonde.

"Well, I never asked you to! Merlin, it's like you're being possessed the by the bitchy spirit of my mum." Lavender started ascending the stairs to her dormitory. "Night Harry, night Ron, see you two tomorrow!" It was almost impressive how tonally different her words were depending on who she addressed.

"Lavender!" Hermione stamped a foot in frustration. "Why won't she listen?!"

"Why the hell should she?" Harry asked, also somewhat annoyed that one of his housemates thought herself in a position to lecture any of them. He claimed an empty seat and fell into it. "You're not in charge, Granger, get that through your head already. Goddamn, you need to let loose again like you did the first night of term, you were much more fun then."

Hermione huffed. "This is not about me!"

"The hell it's not…" Ron muttered, but the brunette ignored him.

"Do you all not care that your records here have a direct impact on your futures?!"

"Oh my god, Hermione, no one gives a flying fuck if a couple of teenagers break curfew!" Harry was officially sick of her grandstanding.

"Yes, they do!" She countered, throwing her arms up in the air. "I've talked to McGonagall about careers in the magical world! Do you know how much of what you can qualify for is based off our time at Hogwarts? How much of that is based on letters of recommendation from teachers and staff rather than just grades? Do you think McGonagall is going to write you a personal letter when you spent seven years making her life difficult?"

Ron groaned loudly. "Granger, McGonagall has been the head of the House since before we were born. Do you really think she's going to hold our futures hostage because we broke curfew? Besides, we weren't even bloody caught!"

"But you could have been!"

"And I could trip on the stairs and break my neck tomorrow," Harry said, rising to his feet. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to use the damn stairs."

"That is not the same argument, and you know it, Harry." Hermione's persistence was a sight to see, but he was done entertaining it.

"Ask me if I give a fuck," Harry stuck his cigarette into his mouth. "I don't even know why I'm debating you. Your opinions could not possibly be of any less value to me."

The acerbic comment made her recoil slightly. "You don't have to be so mean…" She shrunk into herself. "It's not like I went and told a teacher, I just want you all to think before you get yourselves into trouble over something that doesn't matter…"

"Congrats on not being a snitch," Harry snarked. "Gold star, really. Bare fucking minimum accomplished."

"I told you he wouldn't want to listen to what you had to say," the voice of Daniel cut into their conversation with ease as he and Neville emerged from the upper floors. "Should have just let him be."

"Thank you, Daniel!" The words his twin shared may have sounded callous on the surface, but Harry genuinely appreciated his brother for realizing that he absolutely hated when people tried to tell him what to do or how to behave. Hermione may have been operating out of concern, but he didn't care in the slightest. She should have just stayed in her lane and left him alone. "Where were you, anyway?"

"Waiting just upstairs for you to get back," Daniel replied.

"I take it Miss Wannabe Junior Prefect here already gave you the third degree?" Harry asked his brother, ignoring the sounds of outrage his title prompted.

"We talked, yeah."

"And you agreed with me!" Hermione responded indignantly.

Daniel shook his head. "Not true, I said I understood where you were coming from, there's a difference."

Neville chose that moment to interject himself as well. "A game of semantics doesn't solve anything. At the end of the day, Hermione, you can believe whatever you want, just as I do, but as long as it's not hurting you, people can behave and act however they wish."

"What if he was destroying his body through dangerous drugs?" Hermione countered. "If you care about someone, as their friend, you shouldn't stand by and allow them to engage in self-destructive behavior!"

"Holy fuck. You did not just compare breaking a few school rules to a fucking heroin addiction…" Harry was officially done engaging with her and the asinine metaphors.

"It was a hyperbole to prove my point," the frustrated girl explained. "I'm not saying you all can't do as you wish, I just want you to think about your lives after Hogwarts and ask yourself if breaking the odd rule or two is potentially worth your futures…"

"I am so fucking over this conversation," Harry didn't wait before marching back towards the exit of the common room, Ron's footfalls trailing after him, the two friends in concert with one another.

"You two are leaving again?" Hermione's cry of surprise was like music to his ears.

"Obviously," Harry drawled, trying his best to emulate the bored and condescending inflection of a particular Slytherin.

"And rather than returning to your dorms, you're leaving just to spite Hermione, aren't you?" Neville couldn't have sounded more resigned if he tried.

"You're goddamn right I am." Harry didn't care how 'self-destructive' he was behaving. He was annoyed, and that meant he was going to be petty. "If she wants to try and give me a fucking lecture, I'm going to let her see the results. Congratulations, Hermione, your efforts have had the exact opposite effect!"

"Oh my god! You're unbelievable!" Hermione's propensity for everything that was 'Harry' had apparently been reached as she stormed out of the room right behind him, a sighing Neville and Daniel following after her.

Harry ignored the surprised noises from the Fat Lady and kept walking into the moonlit corridors. "Oh, I'm the unbelievable one? You've been on our case since the moment we stepped through the bloody portrait." The cigarette in his lips was lit a moment later.

"Well, I'm sorry that my concern was such an affront to you! I'm sorry that it was past four in the morning, and I was worried something may have happened to you!" The girl could not have sounded more sarcastic if she tried.

On an intellectual level, Harry was well aware that Hermione really was acting with decent intentions in mind, but he simply didn't care. It was presumptuous of her to think she needed to act on behalf of other people, and even if her heart was in the right place, no one had asked her to act like a self-righteous goody-two-shoes.

"That apology doesn't sound too genuine to me…" Ron murmured

"Agreed," Harry said. "Apology not accepted, now bugger off already."

Hermione's offended squawk of protest mixed in with Daniel's and Neville's calls to not be mean. Harry dutifully ignored them all, but that did not deter Hermione from continuing her tirade. "All I'm trying to do is help, and all you can do is act like a complete arse!"

"I don't think it's an act…"

"Not even remotely helpful, Nev," Daniel sighed. "Harry, Hermione, can both of you just drop it so we can go back to the dorms?"

Harry scoffed, rounding another corner without care or concern for where he was going. "I'm sorry, did I ask you all to follow me? Last I checked, Miss Prim and Perfect and the stick that she keeps up her ass came of her own damn accord."

"Oh, don't mind me at all," Hermione's sarcasm was rising in proportion with her anger, apparently. "I'm only following you to ensure you don't get yourself expelled, or even worse, killed! Apparently, you have no idea how to do that without my help!"

"I think I'm doing just fine, actually, and I haven't needed you to hold my fucking hand once."

It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "Oh, please, you both got detention for two weeks during the second week of term because you couldn't follow even the most basic of instructions. And this is after the train ride here, where you almost fell off the roof because you just assumed there were wards to prevent your moronic selves from falling! Or you, Ron when I stopped you from adding Mugwort into a potion meant to alleviate boils!"

"Nothing would've happened…"

"It could have exploded!"

Harry came up short at the basic recounting of incidents in which he and Ron really hadn't exhibited the soundest judgement. Not that he was about to admit to such a thing out loud. "Why do you even bloody care if we get ourselves hurt or expelled? Just let it happen, save yourself some stress and save us a goddamn lecture from an annoying harpy!"

"Why do I care? I usually try and care about my friends' wellbeing but forgive me if I was mistaken and we were never friends at all!" She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Hermione Granger was morally uptight know-it-all, a self-righteous stick in the mud, and all around difficult to deal with person… but damn it all, she didn't deserve to be brought to tears because a couple of inebriated ass-holes mouthed off at her because she over-stepped. One glance toward Ron revealed that he thought the same. Hermione had been lecturing them both, but Harry was the only one responding with any real causticity. The redhead hadn't been kidding when he previously explained how familiar he was with being lectured thanks to his mum. Molly Weasley was apparently a force unto herself, though, after raising seven children, that was probably to be expected.

"Fucking hell, Granger, we are friends, okay?" Harry ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face the angry and clearly hurt young woman. "I'm sorry for insulting you and being 'mean,' all right?" He knew his apology sounded hollow at that moment, but it was true all the same. Hermione's lack of immediate response prompted him to continue. "You don't deserve to have me bite your head off because you were concerned…"

"Then-" Hermione began to speak, but she was cut off before she could finish two words.

"However!" Harry continued, pointing his cigarette in her direction. "That does not fucking mean I'm about to listen to you and your suggestions for how I can live my goddamn life!" There wasn't a single person on Earth who he would tolerate telling him what to do with his existence.

"So, you're going to keep breaking rules and putting yourself at risk for no other reason than its fun for you?"

Harry took an extra-long drag before he replied. "Right in one." Was it immature of him? Maybe. Did he care? Not at all.

"You're unbelievable," Hermione remarked, pinching the bridge of her nose. "But I'm sorry too… there were a million other ways I could've confronted you all without raising my voice when it was past four o'clock in the morning."

"That is a way more amicable conclusion than I was expecting," Daniel murmured into the silence that had begun to take hold.

"I just didn't want to see her start crying, I'd feel bad if that happened," Harry countered, pausing to cough. "I still think she can be bloody annoying. Honestly, how do you know how to say the most innocuous words in the most obnoxious way?"

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't hide the smile that formed on her lips. "Well, I still think you're the most uncouth halfwit in our year. I know you have a brain, but honestly, how do you manage to go through life without using it?"

"You two are acting like a pair of siblings, you know?" Ron joined in the conversation from his place against the wall. "The bickering, the insults, it's just like me and Gin."

"Please, any sister of mine would be way less boring."

"And any brother of mine would have far more dignity."

"Yep, just like me and Gin."

"What a nice… happy… conclusion you've all elected to reach!" The voice that echoed out from the darkness brought a chill to his spine. It was barely a whisper yet still clearly audible to all. "Dear students, out of bed, but do not fear, do not fear… for Peeves would never peach…"

Peeves… The name accompanied visions of a throat torn asunder, phantom blood spilling from the slice. Of all the things that he'd already encountered at Hogwarts, Peeves the Poltergeist was undeniably the most disturbing.

"Show yourself, Peeves!" Neville was the first to speak, raising his voice as he called to the shadows.

"Show myself? Show~ myself? The little Gryffindor wishes to see me? Silly little lion, I'm already here, together we can have a party! You just have to use the eyes in your head. Find me quickly, little lion… we wouldn't want you to end up… dead."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. There was no way Hogwarts would permit such a malevolent being to walk its halls unimpeded, he knew that, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose all the same, the rhythmic pounding of his heart increased in speed. He was afraid. "You aren't allowed to hurt students!" The words sounded from his lips before he knew they were his.

"Students out past curfew? Students out of bed? Oh dear, oh dear, I wonder, how many a tear will be shed?" The jester's disembodied voice taunted them from every angle all at once.

"We should leave," Daniel murmured, gesturing back the way they came. "I don't think Peeves can actually hurt us, but we shouldn't take that chance…"

"Surely Mr. Filch or one of the teachers will find us if we yell, right?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide as she glanced around them.

"There are no teachers on patrol tonight," Ron replied, licking his lips nervously. "And Filch… bloody hell, Filch was drugged asleep…"

"HE WHAT?!" Hermione did not react to that information well.

"Now's really not the time, Hermione," Harry said, wand held aloft. He doubted any spell in his repertoire would be of any use against a goddamn Poltergeist, but something was better than nothing.

"Oh, oh, oh, they put the Caretaker to bed, oh what does that mean? Naïve little students, that's right where the Caretaker wishes to be! Walk the halls he does, each and every night! Walk the halls he does, none aware of his fight!"

The words of the jester may as well have been gibberish for all the meaning they held to Harry. He had no doubt they were far from nonsensical, but the bloody jester obfuscated the purpose behind the words in riddles and rhymes. One experience, and suddenly he understood why everyone hated the Poltergeist.

"What's he talking about?" Daniel asked. "Peeves? What do mean, 'his fight?' Peeves!"

"Save it, Daniel, you're not going to get an answer from this cunt…" Ron looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him.

"Ron? Your brothers share stories about Peeves?" Neville must have noticed the redhead's intensity too.

"Yeah… they shared a few," Ron's voice was like steel. "Bastard clown may not harm students physically, but he can bloody well fuck with your head to the point where you may end up in a Healer's care… Fred and George of all people warned me about him."

The mad cackle of the ghastly jester suddenly resounded from right behind them. From the shadows, he emerged. In the daylight, Peeves was simply odd. Whimsically dressed and speaking in rhymes, the poltergeist went about his business sowing chaos without care or consideration for whom he involved. Plenty of people found him unnerving, especially when he spoke of matters he should have no knowledge of… but as the five friends were figuring out, at night, his aura changed. The playful glint in his eye that teased and taunted had become crazed and demented. The smile he always wore, playful and conniving, had turned wicked and sinister. The bells that once rung with sounds of merry sounded cold and ominous. "No one to stop me… no one to intervene. Silly students, silly students indeed..." The high-pitched tenor of his voice suddenly fell. "You never should have broken poor Peeves' routine…"

"Run…" Harry wasn't sure who said the word, but the impact was immediate as all five teens broke into a sprint away from the maniacal form of the spectral jester. Terror was all he felt at that moment. Why? That question wasn't one he was certain he could answer, but it was undeniable, he was scared. At that moment, the fucking jester terrified him more than anything he'd encountered in his life. Unbidden, the image of Tom sitting across from him without a smile on his face forced Harry to amend his mental designation. Peeves scared him almost more than anything he'd encountered in his life.

"RUN LITTLE STUDENTS! RUN FAR AWAY! IT'S NOT A FUN GAME IF YOU DO NOT PLAY!"

Peeves' shout reverberated around inside their heads, the magically formulated sounds proof of Ron's warning as Harry stumbled into the stone wall, his hands uselessly clapped over his ears. There was nothing physical about invading one's mind, hell, he'd bet there wouldn't be any permanent damage either… but as the volume mounted, he wished for nothing more than it just to stop. The whisper that was a shout in his mind was invasive, every word an irritable itch that he could not scratch, a fragment of pain that failed to hurt but would not go away.

"I'M GOING TO GET YOU! I'M GOING TO WIN! I'M GOING TO GET YOU AND PEEL OFF YOUR SKIN!"

With a roar of frustration laced with a healthy dose of panic, Harry pushed himself off the wall, furtively ignoring the feeling of Peeves' touch upon his fingers and bent down to hoist Neville to his feet. Next to him, Daniel did the same for Hermione. "Come on, get up! We've got to either lose him or keep going until he gets bored!"

"That's the key! He gets bored easily, just keep running!" Ron confirmed, taking the lead as he sprinted away.

On and on the quintet ran, the macabre voice of the poltergeist invading their thoughts with each passing step. Every reflection Harry looked in to, Peeves glowing red eyes glared wickedly back at him, forcing the black-haired teen to leap away in fright. That omnipresent, malicious smile that decorated his twisted face nothing but a cruel mockery of the joy and humor that jesters were supposed to elicit. Hermione shrieked of fingers on her spine that writhed and wriggled like snakes, while Ron roared about spiders that crawled in his hair. Daniel wouldn't stop asking who was screaming, but Harry heard no one but themselves.

"RUN, RUN AWAY, STUDENTS, YOU BETTER FLEE FAST! BUT PEEVES HAS TO WONDER… HOW LONG CAN YOU LAST?"

The sick fuck enjoyed the chase. Peeves the Poltergeist clearly knew exactly how far he could push the boundaries of the torment he wrought unto unsuspecting students. Fear and psychological trauma must have been perfectly within his purview because he wielded it with extraordinary finesse that could only be gained through experience. Even knowing the rough limitations and framework in which Peeves was allowed to operate, his sheer presence was nothing short of terrifying. The effects were magical, of course, there was no way magic wasn't constantly seeping into them and twisting their perception … but that awareness did absolutely nothing to stop the torrent of fear that threatened to consume him completely.

"Turn right up here!" Daniel's voice called out; the sense of urgency not hidden at all by his labored breathing.

"What's to the right up there?" Hermione asked frantically.

Harry knew… how could he not when he'd spent so much time debating on whether or not he should enter. "The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side…" His words were more ominous than he had intended.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHERE WILL YOU HIDE? WHAT DOOR ARE YOU SEEKING? WHAT HAVE YOU EYED? IT DOES NOT MATTER, FOR WHEREEVER YOU GO, PEEVES WILL STILL FOLLOW YOU – THIS! THIS, I KNOW!"

"FUCK OFF!" Ron roared, still leading the five Gryffindors with his lengthy strides. "Dumbledore had better have been lying!" With that final comment, spoken aloud to the world as if it were a prayer, he leapt up the stairs two at a time, putting distance between himself and the others. With a heavy grunt of exertion, he pushed on the door. "It's locked?! Are you bloody serious?!"

"Let me!" Harry shouldered his way past his friends. "Alohomora," he intoned the spell as he tapped the tip of his ebony wand against the iron keyhole. In an instant, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. "Inside! Now!"

"NOOOOOOO! FOOLISH STUDENTS! WHY MUST YOU ENTER THERE? PEEVES CANNOT JOURNEY INTO THE PROTECTED LAIR!" Harry didn't even have time to ponder the poltergeist's words before a shadow passed over the ajar doorframe behind them. Peeves, visible in his corporeal form, was floating just above the ground, a strangely somber smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Escaped you have, from poor little Peeves… joyous students, with your thoughts and your dreams. Enjoy yourselves, in the abandoned halls… but be mindful of shadows lest they wriggle and crawl."

The pervasive aura of fear had seemingly faded… the question of 'why', however, was potentially a much more frightening conclusion. Unaware of the thoughts running through his brother's head, Daniel snarled at the translucent jester, waving his arm angrily. "Oh, now you want to be helpful? Shove it up your ass, you sick bastard!"

Peeves chortled, the bells on his feet jingling as he danced in the air. "Peeves is always helpful, we were having fun – before the game had started, Peeves told you to run…"

"I cannot believe Hogwarts would let something like you roam freely! I will be telling a professor about this! I refuse to believe you're permitted to terrorize students!" In the midst of her righteous anger, Hermione apparently forgot that the only reason they encountered the fucked-up poltergeist was because they broke the rules and left the common room after hours.

"Curfew is curfew, a rule is a rule… Peeves always listens to those set by the school."

Harry sighed, loath as he was to admit it, the ass-hole had a point. "There's no way the school doesn't know about Peeves, Hermione. If you tell someone, all you'll do is get yourself in trouble."

"Right in one, right in two, there's no one to tell and nothing to do!" Peeves may have bemoaned their escaping him… but it was obvious the strange non-being enjoyed Hermione's dilemma. "Farewell, now, students, enjoy your trip inside… try not to join the list of all those who've tragically died." Peeves' demented cackle was the last sound they heard before the door slammed shut, leaving the five Gryffindors shrouded in darkness.

OoooOoooO

"The hour grows late."

"Is that your way of telling me to leave?"

"It was meant to insinuate that I will soon be telling you to leave."

"And here I thought you remembered my insistence on social niceties."

"My choice to forsake them was deliberate."

"Which means you remembered it in the first place. How sweet. You really are quite fond of me, aren't you? I should remind you that I am a married woman. I could never reciprocate your feelings."

"Your words ring hollow given that you're currently in another man's bed."

"What can I say? A woman has her needs… I suppose I should thank you for satisfying them."

"Do not waste your breath. I do not thirst for your words of affirmation as others are wont to."

"Oh? Such confidence! Wherever do you get it from?"

"Your actions speak far more than your lips ever could. You would not continue to seek out my company were it not superior to that which you could find elsewhere."

"Maybe I just enjoy the familiarity. We've been meeting like this ever since our final year at Hogwarts…"

"The clandestine nature has remained the same."

"Does that upset you?"

"On the contrary, it is to my preference."

"Mine as well… but I can't deny that I quite enjoy our trysts. They take me back to the days before I was married and a mother. A fantasy of days since passed…"

"Spare me your faux tongue."

"How cruel! A vulnerable woman is spilling her heart to you, and you respond with such vitriol?"

"I am who I am… and I know you prefer me this way to any sort of feigned kindness."

"I don't recall ever saying as much. How can you be so sure that your perception of me is accurate?"

"Over twenty years of familiarity has led to a number of insights into your personality… I would be a fool to not see through the façade you portray to the rest of the world."

"Are you a fool?"

"No, I'm not."

"I suppose I'm an open book then. My secrets laid bare as my naked flesh?"

"The masks you don to peddle falsehoods and sow deceit are still effective, even against me, but I've seen the real you on enough occasions to discern when you're being honest."

"And what of right now? Am I being honest at this moment?"

"Only in your lust."

"An impressive observation…"

"If I recall, I said before that the hour was growing late."

"You did…"

"And still you're continuing?"

"I am…"

"Your husband will miss your presence."

"We both know he does not care… Besides, this is your fault for getting me in the mood again… Take responsibility."

"I denigrate the lies you cloak yourself in and it only serves as an aphrodisiac…"

"I won't apologize for who I am. Will you?"

"Never."

"Good, now fuck me."

OoooOoooO

Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out…

The words were a mantra. A technique to slow down, stop, and think. To allow the mind a moment's reprieve before calmly assessing the world as it was, not as he wished it to be. The ability to think rationally before acting was the first thing Draco could remember his father teaching him. He was only five when the lesson was first imparted. Lucius Malfoy had been a dutiful father, but not a warm one. The man was kind, but before he saw his son, he saw his legacy. Before him, Abraxas Malfoy had been the same way, and his father before him. Each successive generation worked to secure the dynasty of the next. Lucius spared his son no pity, but nor did he offer any cruelty. Draco had long since accepted his family for what it was… to be honest, he valued it. Love was an abstract concept that meant a dozen different things to a dozen different people, but if asked, he would say he loved his family.

Most people would not understand why he harbored such feelings. His father was stern and distant, the type of man who many would assume inspired no joy… but Draco saw the glint of pride that shined in his eyes when their gazes met. Draco heard the words of whispered approval when he successfully learned one of his father's lessons. The long hours his father poured into his work was for their House, but it was also for Draco. The rest of the world need not understand the intricacies of their bond, he knew it was firm with or without the approval of plebians.

The dedication his father had for the Malfoy name was something Draco had internalized the moment he truly understood it. Their name was to be respected. Above all else, the Malfoy legacy must endure. Nothing else was more paramount than that fact. Before they were Malfoys, before they adopted the moniker the people naively assigned them, they were Montmorency, one of the oldest and most prominent families in the region of France from before France even existed. Others could lay claim to lineages that dated back further, but in the modern day and age, none stood higher than the Malfoys.

With his wits gathered, Draco stepped into the Slytherin common room with a self-assured purpose that he was confident none his age would be able to match. The structure of the Slytherin common room was magnificent. From the moment one stepped through the door, they were confronted with a semi-cylindrical balcony that allowed one to gaze down eight stories into the heart of the common room – a large, open, area with dozens of tables of various sizes, leather sofas and armrests, and black marble hearths aglow with green fire. The dark-stone walls were lined with tapestries and art-work, each portraying the majesty of Slytherin House. Each floor had a balcony that mirrored the one on top, each with its own fair share of furniture and places to rest. Each floor was dedicated to one year, with hallways branching back away from the balconies that led to the dorms themselves. The top floor belonged to the first years, with the floor directly above the common room belonging to the seventh years. There were stairwells that connected the floors, but when they were able, most students elected to ride the large, black slab of black stone that magically floated up and down between the floors. Only about twenty students could comfortably stand on the magical stone at a time, which normally wasn't an issue… however, at the start of each term, when students poured in from the feast and it was impossible for everyone to ride, it was a sign of one's status in the House whether or not they were forced to walk. By far the most impressive aspect of the common room was the wall of glass that stood from floor to ceiling opposite of the balconies. Whereas other Houses overlooked the castle or the grounds, Slytherins were granted the privilege to gaze out into the majestic waters of the Black Lake.

Each of the four common rooms had gained a nickname over the millennia they'd existed. The Gryffindors had the Lions' Den, the Hufflepuffs the Badgers' Nest, the Ravenclaws rested in the Eagles' Eyrie, while the Slytherins resided in the Snake Pit. Though his time at Hogwarts had so far been brief… Draco thought the name perfectly suited both the design and culture of the infamous House.

As befitted his year, Draco's room was on the uppermost floor. Another perk of being a Slytherin was that he did not have to share his living space with anyone else. Salazar Slytherin had valued his privacy too much to ever part from it, and thankfully, he believed those in his House would share similar traits. The mere thought of sharing a room with anyone, even his closest friends, was enough to turn Draco's stomach. How anyone could possibly stand not having total control of their bedchambers was a mystery to him. Built into the room itself was a series of enchantments that allowed students to set their own passphrase to unlock the otherwise normal, wooden door frames. Any other defensive measures that may be desired were up to the students to set themselves, but the facsimile of security was some measure of comfort to those who were not keen on the notion of all their belongings being available to anyone who happened to be walking by.

With purposeful strides, Draco allowed his feet to carry him towards Theo's room, the sharp rap of his heels upon the stone the only audible sound in his immediate vicinity. Given the lateness of the hour, it would be reasonable to assume that most of his fellow students were already asleep for the evening, but he knew his friend better than anyone. The notion that Theo had already sought relief from the waking world was laughable. For someone who hated almost every moment he spent awake, he had a propensity to avoid sleep wherever possible.

Draco did not know what to do with Theodore Nott. He'd always had a peculiar, macabre gloom that seemed to hang over him, but even through that, it was obvious that Theo had been happy… but ever since the death of his brother, the man was a shell of his former self. Even worse, he turned towards narcotics and substances to dull his pain and null his emotional turmoil. Draco would never forget the moment when he realized how little his friend cared about his own life.

The Malfoy and Nott families had been allies for long enough that Draco enjoyed a relative amount of freedom to be able to visit via floo so long as he sent advanced warning. What was to be a day in which he tried to cheer up his friend and get him back to a state of normalcy in the wake of tragedy was instead a horror story in of itself. The image of Theo laying upon the floor with his skin as pale as the moon and bulging, purple veins; his eyes, bloodshot and wide open but staring at nothing; and white foam streaked with red spilling from his lips was a sight that scared Draco more than he would ever admit.

Theo's survival from that incident was considered a miracle. No one else was home when Draco stopped by to visit. The house elves that the Nott family owned had been ordered by Theo to leave him be until he requested them once more. Had Draco not found his friend and summoned the house elves for aid, Theo would have never made it to St. Mungos, he would have died on his bedroom floor. Officially, it was labeled an irresponsible accident on Theo's end due to him experimenting with potions beyond his capabilities to brew. Technically true, but the complete and utter apathy Theo expressed after the fact clued Draco into the reality of the situation. The 15-year-old boy truly had not cared whether he lived or died. Lillian Nott, Theo's younger sister, was the only other person to really see how far-gone her older brother was. Only a few weeks after the incident she practically begged Draco to help her keep an eye on her only living sibling. The promise he made that day was one he intended to keep no matter the cost.

The password to enter Theo's room exited his tongue as a whisper the moment his fingers rested upon the handle. An Arabic phrase, when translated to English meant 'whatever is forbidden is desired.' Draco did not know a single word beyond that phrase, and he had no clue why Theo had selected it as a password, but once it was shared with him, he made sure to commit it to memory. Though, even if he had forgotten the exact words, it would not have mattered as the door was unlocked. That was just like Theo. Unless he was out of his room, he held neither care nor consideration for who entered.

The unmistakable sounds of sensual moans, grunts, and flesh pounding upon flesh and the pervasive scent of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sex greeted Draco's senses the moment the door swung open. Naked as the day they were born, Theo had his female companion for the evening, a second-year Hufflepuff girl if he was not mistaken, bent over the bed, one hand reached around to aggressively grip at her breasts while she moaned around the fingers he'd stuck into her mouth. Regrettably, this was not the first time Draco had seen his friend in an inappropriate state of dress.

Theo had a distinct lack of shame when it came to almost anything, but it was most noticeable to others in regard to nudity. Even compared to most British wizards and witches who enjoyed their secular society, Theo was that much more apathetic about others seeing him in a state of undress. He often claimed it was a result of his mother being German and her cultural influence upon him, an explanation that did make sense in a vacuum, however, given that Draco had never accidentally seen Katrin Nott nude, he was more inclined to believe it was a trait specific to Theo rather than a genetic disposition. Given this lack of shame, it was no surprise that Theo barely acknowledged Draco's presence with a sideways glance before continuing with his pleasurable activity, his grunts and groans never ceasing. The Hufflepuff girl, Draco could not recall her name off the top of his head, had a reaction to his presence that was a bit more surprising as her face flushed that much more, and her erotic noises increased in volume. If the position the duo was in was any sort of indicator, it perhaps shouldn't have come as a surprise that she would get off to an audience, but still, the sexual deviancy on display forced a brief moment's pause from the normally unflappable teen.

"Theo," Draco said plainly. "When you're finished and if you're still sober, come find me, I have some things I'd like to discuss."

A murmured and breathy response from Theo mixed in with the sounds of the girl's ecstasy as Draco vacated the room without delay. While no stranger to sex himself, his desire to see his best friend continually engage in the act was completely nonexistent. Unfortunately for him, his memory was impeccable, so he was going to have to live with the fact that he now knew what his best friend looked and sounded like while fucking. Wonderful, Draco mused, pinching the bridge of his nose as he allowed his feet to carry him back towards his own room.

Ultimately, Theo's reliance upon muggle cigarettes, alcohol, and sex was vastly preferable to the magical drugs he previously elected to consume. Substance abuse was destructive no matter what form it came in, but there was more of an immediate danger to consuming potions or magical ingredients with the express purpose of getting high. Their effects were… less consistent than alcohol, less reliable. Combine that with Theo's talents at mixing his own and they became downright dangerous. Theo was a borderline genius when it came to brewing potions, but it wasn't out of fondness for the subject, merely experience. It had been almost two years since his brother's passing, and he'd spent much of that time absorbed in the need to drown out his own sorrows. Draco was just thankful that Theo was receptive to the rather harsh conversation they'd had the night they arrived at Hogwarts… reminding Theo of a reason to stay alive and in control of his own thoughts hadn't been that difficult, but it hadn't exactly been healthy either… all it took was reminding him that if he was dead, he wouldn't be able to murder his own father.

That was a bridge that Draco had already accepted he was going to have to cross someday. The desire for revenge was the only thing that drove Theo to keep on living. Everything else was simply a distraction from his own thoughts until that fateful day arrived. Draco knew that Hayward Nott was guilty of murdering his oldest son, Alexander. From what Theo had described, it hadn't been entirely intentional, but Hayward's drunken rage and final spell to send his wandless son careening over a balcony could not be dismissed as an accident either. The two men had hated each other for years. Alexander wasn't a perfect individual, but he wasn't his father, and he wasn't afraid of making that fact known. Hayward, however, had his pride, and confrontations between them weren't uncommon. The relationship between father and son was always doomed to end in a dramatic fashion, but no one could have predicted such a quick, violent end.

Theo had adored Alexander. The two were as close as brothers could be, even with the sizable age difference. The moment he had died, he took a part of Theo with him. In the wake of his death, after Theo had been forced to look upon his idol's cooling corpse and hear his killer spread words of falsehood and cast aspersions upon his mental health and acuity… a part of Theo broke, and Draco knew it would never be fixed.

Someday, Hayward Nott would die by his son's hands… that was practically a foregone conclusion. Draco's goal was to ensure that Theodore Nott didn't die in the process.

The self-appointed goal was one he hadn't shared with anybody, not his father, mother, or even Theo himself. The only one who could even begin to guess the lengths Draco would go to for his best friend, his brother in all but name, was Lillian Nott. The tear-stricken girl had begged him to help keep her brother safe and Draco had sworn that he would do so. Lillian Nott could have never approached him for aid at all and he still would have gone to the ends of the earth to see Theo kept safe… but in the wake of her pleas, he decided there was nothing he would not do on behalf of his friend's life… Nothing. There was no magic involved in his oath, no Unbreakable Vow, not even something as simple as him staking his family name upon his word… there was nothing but a simple promise between a girl who loved her brother and a boy who loved his friend.

With thoughts of a dreaded future running through his mind, Draco entered his own room with a sigh as he removed his peacoat, turtleneck shirt, and shoes, carefully placing each of them in their appropriate locations, a coat-rack, dirty clothes bin, and closet, respectfully. After a long day of preparations followed by a long night of playing host, he was just glad to finally be back in a place of relative safety and privacy at last. The image he put on display for others was not a lie, but it was more polished and more refined than what he generally wore in the sanctity of his own room, a space that was entirely his own. The satin sleepwear he decided to don following a quick shower was just a reflection of that. The buttons on his shirt were only fastened halfway up; his hair, while not dripping, was noticeably damp; and his bare feet slapped against the carpeted stone floor. At that moment, he was still very much Draco Malfoy, with all the poise and confidence one would expect from that name, he was simply more casual and less guarded.

By and large, the evening had been a great success. There were certain bumps in the road that he wished he could've done away with, such as his spat with Potter and Longbottom, the emotional imbeciles… but there was also Peeves' terrorization of Marietta Edgecombe on her way to the event that he wished would have not occurred. Despite Draco's best efforts to the contrary, the annoying poltergeist had decided to indeed make himself known as a problem. As for Edgecombe, the idiotic girl had naively chosen to blame Draco for her troubles, never-mind that it was one of the prefects he'd arranged to have stationed throughout the corridors that rescued the girl from the poltergeist's attention. The loss of her friendship was rather irksome as he had hoped to establish friendly connections with all his attendees... Her mother was a rising name within the Department of Magical Transportation, expected to be the next Chairwoman of the Floo Regulation Committee, while her father was a published if not famous Master of Arithmancy. Edgecombe was by no means a household name in Britain, and he would survive the lack of her friendship without issue, but even still, he would've preferred to be able to count the girl as one of his associates. Instead, he's left with a bitter girl who, if her reputation is accurate, would not hesitate to spread rumors about him. Some preventative measures would have to be taken, perhaps in the form of his newfound friendship with Cho Chang, or perhaps he could rely on Pansy, she was rather adept at social manipulation… regardless, that was an issue to resolved after he got some sleep.

Life at Hogwarts was a tad different than what he was used to growing up. Every need he had was met, but unlike at home, the House Elves that served in the castle did not exist to serve his every order and command. He could not, for example, request food in the early hours of the day and expect it to show up – a pitcher of water, however, was always available no matter what the hour of day. Draco had quickly realized that if he was willing to make it himself, that it was well within his right to acquire tea leaves and blends, as well as the proper equipment to brew a pot so that he might enjoy his favorite pastime from the comfort of his own room.

Long before coming to Hogwarts, Draco had considered himself something of a connoisseur of the drink. The various types of teas from different regions around the world was not small in number, and though he rarely made it himself, he'd always been diligent about researching the proper temperatures each individual blend required, along with how long each should be allowed to steep, and even whether any sweeteners were recommended to help balance the flavor profile. Translating that knowledge into a physical habit had become as integral of an aspect to his habit almost as much as the act of consuming the vaunted liquid.

In no small part thanks to a magical kettle that allowed one to set the temperature its contents were to reach, Draco was putting the finishing touches on his tea of choice for the night despite the late hour, a Magnolia Bark blend, when he heard a knock at his door. Assuming it to be Theo, Draco did not waste any time in moving to the door. He had to fight the urge to let his eyes widen as it wasn't Theo on the other side of the door, but Rae Lawson. "Lawson," Draco greeted neutrally. The reason why she had chosen to visit at such an early hour was unknown to him, but a quick glance at the rather short pair of shorts she chose to wear combined with her lack of bra underneath her top spoke volumes about her intentions.

"Draco," she said, a smile springing to her lips. It looked real, but it had arrived too quickly to be natural. "Might I come in?"

There it is… Draco mused, unsurprised that the girl's first move was to get inside his chambers. Too obvious, Lawson. Without so much as a word Draco took a step back to allow room for the girl's entry. She made a show of offering her thanks with a small giggle and a glance off to the side, but once again, to him, it was too fucking obvious.

"Oh, did I interrupt you making tea?" Lawson asked, gesturing to the steaming pot and the mug he had set out.

"I had just finished," Draco replied, offering a hint of a smile that did not reach his eyes. He walked back over to grab a second mug, the two were part of a set of four, simple in design, but made of the finest quality porcelain. "Care for some?"

"I would love some, thank you." The perfect amount of inflection to convey thanks that seemed genuine and interest that seemed sincere. On another day and in another setting, he could have easily fallen for it.

Draco took his time preparing their drinks. Even though his attempts to peacefully settle down had been encroached upon, he would not do himself nor his admittedly unwanted guest the disservice of serving poor tea. It simply wasn't in his nature. "Careful, it's hot," he warned, placing a mug upon the table adjacent to the seat the girl had claimed on his bed.

Lawson gripped the handle with her perfectly manicured nails and held it up to her face. "It smells delicious. What's the flavor?"

"Magnolia Bark, an herbal blend." Oh, she really was good. The flushed smiles and slightly awkward small talk while they danced around why she'd knocked on his door at such an hour. Rae Lawson knew exactly what she was doing, she'd simply chosen the wrong target. Lucius Malfoy had taught his son everything he knew to prepare him for his future… and Narcissa Malfoy had done the same.

"I can't wait to try it."

"I hope it's to your liking…" Draco was done playing games. The night had gone on too long, his patience had worn too thin. "While you're enjoying it, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"Umm," Lawson brushed her hair behind her ear, a nervous smile taking center stage as she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. "Is it… is it not obvious?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as his voice gained a distinctive edge. "That's the problem, Lawson, it's too obvious."

"W-what?" The young woman appeared genuinely taken aback but he was not fooled in the slightest.

"Shall I walk you through where your plan went wrong?" Draco asked pointedly, rising to his feet to loom over the seated girl. If it came to magic, she would be able to overpower him in an instant, but neither of them was reaching for their wands for a reason… this fight had absolutely nothing to do with magic. "Smart move to capitalize on my invitation for my party by coming to my room long after it was finished. If I had to guess, you had some sort of detection charm on the first-year's corridor – some manner of spell to alert you as to when I returned to my quarters. From then, it was just a matter of timing."

Lawson's girlish smile had fallen to the wayside as she watched him impassively. For the first time, Draco thought he had finally met the real Rae Lawson. A pleasure to meet you, Rae.

"You would come into my bed, probably fuck me until my heart's content, and then use my newfound infatuation with your body to secure yourself not only a better position within this House, but potentially even the future. You're too smart to think I'd ever marry a Half-Blood, but there are an infinite number of potential avenues in which the Malfoy name could help you outside of Hogwarts." Draco began to laugh mockingly; he knew he was right. With a smirk dancing on his lips, he spun the chair in front of his around and lowered himself down. A moment later, his tea was in his hand. "You probably thought it would be easy… you're an incredibly beautiful woman, after all, there isn't a single boy at this school, let alone a first-year, who wouldn't consider themselves downright lucky to have you in their bed, right?" He shook his head. "Under normal circumstances, even I would not have objected… but you underestimated your opponent."

"How?" It was the first word she'd spoken since he began his derisive tirade. Draco appreciated that it was effectively an admission of guilt; there was no point in her continuing her charade lest she insult him further.

"Everyone looks at me and thinks 'that's the son of Lucius Malfoy,'" Draco placed a fist over his heart proudly. "It's a badge of honor, but it's only half the picture. Far too few people remember that I'm also the son of Narcissa Malfoy née Black." Draco wouldn't deny that he took after his father far more than his mother, but the love and respect he had for her could not be understated. His mother may not have had titles or positions of authority that compared to her husband, but Draco was very well aware of how that was a deliberate choice on her part. A matter of desire, not ability. There wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that if his mother desired titles or respect from the masses, then she would have it.

Lawson sighed heavily; a seemingly genuine sense of bitterness laced in the exhalation of air. "Fuck."

Draco nodded, a hint of smugness shining through. "'Fuck' is correct. She taught me how to see through facades exactly like the one you just wore. If I am being honest, your performance was executed almost perfectly. The little gestures you made that pulled my attention towards wherever your heart desired; the fake smiles and blushes you allowed me to catch a glimpse of before you turned away, feigning a demure persona; even your choice of attire, both modern and revealing without being immediately apparent that your primary interest was sex, and still covering up enough in order to stimulate my imagination… were I a less ignorant of the type of person you are, I would have undoubtedly fallen for your ploy without a second thought, and we'd already be in bed with me counting my good fortunes…" A predatory smirk came to his lips. "But I'm not so naïve."

Lawson kept her features blank, her tea finding its way back onto the table from whence he had placed it. "I suppose you're not… but this doesn't give you any hold over me."

"You don't think so?"

"The worst you could do is spread rumors about me… but that wouldn't be the first time someone accused me of whoring myself out." Lawson traced the slim shape of her body with one finger. "Most of the time it's been from other girls who are jealous, or foolish boys who think I'm a 'catch.' None of their efforts accomplished anything, and nor would yours if you try the same."

"We've already established I'm not like most of our Housemates, Lawson," Draco punctuated his verbal riposte with a sip of tea.

Lawson shrugged. "The court of public opinion doesn't know that. All they know is that you walk the part of being a good little boy for daddy. Malfoy is the name everyone respects in this House, not Draco."

She thought he would be rankled by petty insults? The truth, in this instance, was not so formidable a weapon as to make him react out of turn. He was in his second month of his first year, no one had any reason to respect him at that juncture. In time, however, they would all come to know how incorrect their presuppositions were. Hogwarts was a seven-year institution – there was ample time for his classmates to realize the full weight of his worth.

"So, with that said," Lawson rose to her feet; her confidence swelling in the face of his silence, "I think I'll be leaving now."

"No," Draco said firmly, stopping the young woman before she could take a single step.

"No?" She parroted back at him, clearly confused.

"You heard me." Draco inclined his head towards the vacated bed. "Have a seat and enjoy your tea. We're not done talking just yet." Despite the thorough castigation he'd just laid upon her and the response she offered in turn, he was adamant that they were going to talk then and there.

"And if I should just walk out?" Lawson had yet to take a single step, but she was still challenging him all the same… that would not be tolerated.

Draco allowed his voice to lower an octave as a spark of annoyance flared within him. She did not have ignorance as an excuse to try his patience, not anymore. "Then you would be making a very foolish mistake, and in spite of your presence here in my chambers in the first place, I don't think you're a fool, Lawson, but by all fucking means… Prove. Me. Wrong."

The whole reason Draco had taken the time to invite Lawson, a Half-Blood with no important name, titles, or finances to his party in the first place was that damn near everyone capable of critical analysis agreed that she was fucking impressive. Draco had only had the time to piece together whispers and rumors since he arrived at the fabled castle, but the pervasive sentiment around the Slytherin House was that the upstart half-blood was someone worth watching. Her grades were stellar, but anyone could secure good grades for themselves if they weren't abject fools. No, the reason Rae Lawson was turning heads in the Snake Pit was due to the subtle almost intangible way she had continually outmaneuvered any and all would-be problems. Half-bloods were not a unique existence within Slytherin, but aside from the rare, acknowledged bastard from a noble family, half-bloods were nothing more than average students who quickly learned that it was best to keep their heads down. Lawson had scorned this advice and almost made a point to continually elevate herself within the House notorious for playing power games and placing intrinsic value upon social status.

Not so much as a single emotion flitted across Lawson's features, but following a rather poignant pause, the fourth-year reclaimed her seat on the bed. One cream colored leg was crossed over the other as Lawson tilted her head to the side, one hand reaching out to reclaim her tea. "I'm listening."

"Glad to know I was not mistaken," Draco said, allowing the warmth of his drink to wash over him. Despite their placement near the dungeons, the Slytherin dorms were still kept at a rather comfortable temperature, however, given the sun's absence from the sky and the time of year, it was only natural that a bit of chill would seep in. The still steaming liquid did wonders in fighting off the cold's tender touch.

Abruptly, the door that connected his room to the rest of the dorms swung open to reveal the lithe frame of Theodore Nott. The pale teen was dressed in loose pajama pants and a black robe that bounced against his ankles, but he had chosen to forgo a shirt or shoes, as was his habit. Just like Draco, he had failed to fully dry his hair post shower, though the indicator that he had bathed was a welcome one given his previous activity. A lit cigarette was raised aloft as he lazily stumbled inside. "Alright, Drake, here I am, what'd you… want…? Theo's words trailed off as he finally noticed Lawson sitting on the bed. "The fuck?"

"Hey, Theo," Lawson smiled, by Draco's estimation a more genuine smile than what she'd offered him, and leaned back on to her forearms, the natural contours of her body on full display. Draco couldn't help but let his eyes be briefly drawn to her before he gathered his wits.

"It's Nott to you," Theo grunted, ignoring the flirtatious undertones of her greeting entirely. He gestured between them leaving a trail of smoke in the air. "You two about to fuck?" He asked as he sagged against the wall, his cigarette back between his lips. "Cause I'll…" he coughed into the crook of his arm twice. "I'll go. If I'm not needed, I'm not sticking around."

"No, Theo, you can stay," Draco interjected before the disheveled teen could take so much as a single step. "Lawson's intentions are no longer of a sensual variety."

Theo hummed, his eyes flitting between the two. "'No longer', huh?" He then walked over the to the tea-set Draco still had sitting out and poured himself a cup without even bothering to ask. Sometimes, his friend's absolute rejection of anything that could be described as social skills was frustrating, but Draco put up with more from Theo than he would anyone else.

"Like I was saying, Lawson, you're no fool," Draco repeated.

Lawson waved her hand towards Theo. "We're continuing this discussion now?"

"Don't mind me," Theo's voice was jumbled around his cigarette, "I already know anyway." He spilled a little bit of tea on his hand, mumbled profanity mixed in with his grunts of annoyance. "Fuck."

Draco ignored the barely sober antics of his friend as he pressed on. "Before we'd ever spoken, I saw that you were clever, and you've forced many people in our House to take note of that as well."

"Do your compliments have a point? Are you fishing for a way to get me to fuck you still? Because if so, save your breath, that ship sailed already."

Draco rolled his eyes. The real Lawson had a bit more bite to her than what she normally allowed to be shown. "Keep your childish taunts on a leash, I won't stand for further insults, not when I'm still trying to do you a favor."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "A favor?"

"A favor," he confirmed. "Your attempt to establish a connection between us tonight was ill conceived in terms of its execution, but the idea is one in which I support without reservation."

"Obviously, that's why you invited me to your little party in the first place."

"Oh, yeah, Drake, so fucking obvious," Theo's rough voice and even rougher commentary was improper but frequently well timed.

Draco began to chuckle derisively. "Oh, you have my motivations all figured out then?"

Lawson shrugged lightly, dutifully ignoring the condescension of her two House-mates. "What better way to make new friends then to invite a bunch of rich kids to a party? Eventually those friends will be in positions of power and will be able to help you out since you all have been 'close,'" she used her fingers to mime air-quotes, "ever since first-year."

"Correct, but only partially so," Draco said. "You think I'm only looking out for myself, but you've forgotten that quid pro quo is not intended to only flow in one party's favor. 'Something for something,' as the saying goes – an exchange. As for tonight, a favor for a favor."

Lawson scoffed. "And what favor did you do me beyond giving me the chance to lose three galleons? I know that to one such as you, that's a negligible amount, but not all of us have as much disposable income as you."

"Shouldn't have lost then…" Theo muttered, punctuating his blunt statement with a long drag. His tea forgotten, he collapsed backwards onto the rest of the bed not occupied by Lawson, his eyes fixated on the four-poster drapes hanging above him. Draco would have to arrange for the scent to be removed from his furnishings the next day.

"Do you truly not know?" Draco asked, ignoring Theo completely and genuinely taken aback at her ignorance. He knew she had focused her attention on her peers within their House, but surely, she was at least aware of some of the people he had chosen to invite that evening?

"Know what?" She asked, her confusion mingling with his surprise.

"Unbelievable," Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "You aren't aware of just who it was you rubbed shoulders with all evening, are you?"

"Kids of rich and important people, I'm sure."

"Merlin…" Draco could not help the surprised exclamation even as Theo began to cackle uncontrollably. "Genuinely, I thought better of you, Lawson. I did not expect you to be so shortsighted."

Blue eyes glared in his direction as she lunged to her feet. "You have no idea the lengths I've gone to since I got sorted into this fucking House! You think I'm being shortsighted?! Every single day I'm in this castle I have to think about what comes next! I have to plan for everything, every action some goddamn blood purist might take against me! And you two, entitled brats who has been fed with a silver spoon since the minute you were born, think you can judge me?!"

The outrage was expected, but even still, Draco's movements mirrored Lawson's as he stood up the moment she thought to insult him once more. Behind the raging young woman, he could just make out the focused, angry eyes of his friend as Theo slid his wand into his hand. Most things that could be said about Theo washed over him without receiving an ounce of his care or attention… but sometimes, comments about his life at home hit a nerve. A truly angry Theo was a dangerous man to cross. People who viewed themselves as having nothing to lose tended to not pay attention to consequences – individuals such as that did not care what they wrought. With a subtle movement of his fingers, Draco signaled his friend to back off. The look he received as a reply bordered on furious, but he relented all the same. As unstable as he was, Theo tended to listen to him for better or worse. There was a time for magic, and there was a time for words… the latter would suffice in this instance.

Draco had a variety of caustic remarks at the tip of his tongue that were just begging to be released; a dozen different ways he could slander her name and annihilate her reputation within a fortnight already coming together in his mind… but before a single syllable could pass from his lips, he paused, as the intensity of Rae Lawson's indignation met him head on, he could not help but recall a conversation he'd had with his father when he was but a boy years prior; a child earnestly listening to the wisdom of his elder in a room lit only by a low burning hearth:

"Draco, to be the Patriarch of our House, to be the future head of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, is to find success in everything you set out to accomplish."

"Everything?"

"Everything. This does not mean you will not encounter failure in your life, but every time you do fail, you will learn and emerge better, smarter, and stronger for it."

"Is that what sets us apart from others?"

"Indeed. Other, lesser individuals accept failure as the end of the journey rather than an obstacle to overcome. Mediocrity is not their sin, sloth is."

"But we are not better than everyone else in every way, right?

"Not inherently, son, no. There are many others who are able to do many things that I am not. Accepting our limitations and knowing how to succeed in spite of them is also the mark of a Malfoy."

"I… I think I understand?"

"You either understand, or you do not. Which is it?"

"I understand."

"Good. Ignorance is the beginning state of mind for any intelligent being, but only those who are content to wallow in it deserve our ire. Those who seek to learn, to grow, to prosper, they deserve our respect… and those who seek to topple us, they deserve our attention."

"People wish to harm us?"

"Of course. At any given moment, there are thousands of eyes who look upon our family with scorn, envy, hatred, and longing. Some of these eyes belong to other Noble families, others to members of the common rabble without a single galleon to their name. Draco… do not underestimate any of these people."

"They're that dangerous?"

"Potentially. I don't know, and neither do you. We are ignorant of their capabilities, son. All it takes is one moment of arrogance in concert with one enemy who is better than us in one way, and all that our ancestors have built, that I continue to build, and that you will take to even further heights, could come crashing down around us."

"I won't give them the chance!"

"I know you won't… because you're a Malfoy, and you will succeed."

Draco looked upon the visage of Rae Lawson and knew immediately that his father would not have acted as he did. Her ignorance was not a sin, as he would say, if anything it was an opportunity for him to enlighten her to the possibilities she had at her fingertips – an opportunity to solidify the bonds of friendship he had sought to create. The moment he denigrated her ignorance to her face was the moment he failed… it was time to learn from it.

Breathe in… Breathe out… Draco made another small movement with his fingers that prompted Theo to shrug and place his cigarette back in his mouth. Non-verbal communication was an important skillset for anyone to possess, and though it was embarrassing to admit, the two of them had practiced when they were younger. Draco allowed his attention to shift solely to Lawson; his eyes met the fierce glare of a woman who had nothing, who was nothing, who despite her position did not balk in front of him. There was a fire inside of her. "Fair point, Lawson," his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know the life you've led, just as you don't know mine…" There was no audience in his chamber he needed to impress, there was no one he needed to convince of his goodwill, he would not apologize, but that did not mean he could not rectify the situation.

"And yet, you want to judge me…" Lawson said icily before scoffing. "It's clear neither of us have anything friendly to say." She turned to glance at Theo. "So, are we done here?"

They weren't done with one another, not by a long shot, and he was about to prove it. "Cedric Diggory," Draco began, "is the oldest son of Amos Diggory, current Lead Investigator in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and favorite to be the next head of the entire Division." Lawson looked perplex by his sudden pivot, her eyes narrowing in consternation, but she did not interrupt him. "The Diggory family is quite well established, with their House earning the status of Noble and their gaining a seat on the Wizengamot following the late Eldritch Diggory's tenure as Minister of Magic in 1747. As for Cedric, even though he is just a third-year, he already has the respect of everyone in Hufflepuff, and is considered a leader among his peers while also perpetually being at the top of his class in academics."

"Cedric was at your table, huh?" Theo raised his head slightly before snorting. "Fucking Puff."

Lawson still stood between the two boys, her head on a swivel as she turned to look at whomever was talking. Whatever was going through her mind was a mystery to him, but she hadn't stormed out of the room, so he would continue without hesitation.

"Cho Chang," Draco declared, he was going through the names in the order that they sat at Lawson's table. He'd made certain to memorize who spoke with who throughout the entire evening. "A second-year in Ravenclaw and a deft hand at potions, she is the granddaughter of Shi-Kuo Chang, an international businessman who was born in China but has spent almost half of his life living in Britain and is viewed as a de facto ambassador to China." He had done meticulous research on everyone he could over the previous month and a half. Hogwarts was a golden opportunity to make connections and he refused to waste it. He sent out owls with missives and requests for information multiple times each day, and he would continue to do so if it meant the Malfoy family's position was made that much more secure. "Shi-Kuo was instrumental in helping to establish friendly ties between Britain and China during the war in the 40s, and his eldest daughter, Cho's aunt, received an Order of Merlin second class for her work in defending the English Channel from Grindelwald's forces as they tried to encroach by sea from the mainland. Cho's father, the second oldest child of Shi-Kuo, married a daughter of the Fawley family back in the 50s, and has since taken over a large portion of his father's enterprise."

Draco was well aware of the Chang family history because his father had been doing business with them for decades he was born. The Chang family were not the richest family in the world, but their continued success in the business sphere over the course of hundreds of years made them very good business partners to have. The opportunity to befriend Shi-Kuo's granddaughter was not one Draco was going to overlook.

Lawson slowly sat back down; her gaze pensive as she cupped her chin in one hand. "I was not aware of either of their family's positions…"

"Chang's aunt is an interesting woman to read about if you enjoy history," Theo murmured, reaching out to dispose of his ashes in the ashtray that was a permanent fixture in the room for exactly one person to make use of. "She hand-crafted this runic array that would launch canon balls further than any spell could reach. Difficult to aim, but destructive as hell."

"Ernest MacMillan," Draco continued on without giving Lawson time to respond further, "first-year Hufflepuff student and second son to House MacMillan, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who were previously chiefs of Clan MacMillan, a Highland Scottish Clan that has called these isles home since before the sixth century." The MacMillans were a comparatively quiet family in the political sphere, but their influence and pedigree were second to almost none. They were also considered the foremost experts on druidic magic alongside House Selwyn. It was curious that the two families found themselves on opposite sides of the previous war. "Who has been on these lands longer, Theo, your family or the MacMillans?"

"Probably them," Theo grunted. "The Notts have been here since the days of the Anglo-Saxon settlers, back when we were called Knot, with a 'K', but I don't think we arrived until around year 700 or so… I'm not fucking sure, ask my sister, she's the one that cares about that shit."

"Your family has been here for that long?" Lawson sounded almost awed. The average witch or wizard knew that the Noble families were all old, but few appreciated just how ancient they were. Even with the increased life-spans of magicals compared to muggles, to have a single line continue for well over a thousand years was an impressive and rare feat.

"We're not the only ones," Theo replied. "Who's next, Drake? Even I'm curious now."

"Ronald Weasley," Draco had not even invited the youngest Weasley male, as Theo knew, but even still, his family was quite well known. "Sixth and youngest son, but still a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and either he or one of his siblings will inherit the head seat of House Prewett through their mother, Molly Weasley née Prewett. The family does not boast many finances, but still find success in a number of different fields. The current patriarch of the family is the head of sub-division within the DMLE; the oldest son, a former Head Boy at Hogwarts, works for goblin clans in Egypt; and the second oldest son, who graduated just last year, was a prefect and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and is now working in one of Europe's most premier dragon sanctuaries after declining offers to play Quidditch professionally."

The Weasleys were a known name in the magical community, but they weren't always the most well-respected. They were old and their blood was pure, that much at least most Noble families offered credence to, but they'd never made the same headway into politics or gained the same level of financial assets that many other Houses had. Despite that, the most recent generation was garnering quite a bit of attention because of the undeniable strides they were making in the magical community.

The goblin clans in Egypt did not regularly work with human curse breakers, let alone those who were straight out of school. Likewise, talented seekers were rare to find, and if the rumors were to be believed, Charlie Weasley turned down multiple offers to pursue his passion of working with and taming some of the most dangerous magical creatures in the world – a task that was extraordinarily difficult and complex according to every expert on the subject. Then there were the siblings who had not yet graduated… Percival Weasley had already made Prefect and was tied for the top position in his class alongside a muggle-born girl in Ravenclaw. Early estimations had him as a front-runner for Head Boy in two years' time. The Weasleys did not wield the same influence that other Houses did, but to underestimate them would be the height of foolishness.

Lawson actually began to laugh, though there was a hint of resignation in it. "You don't need to explain the Weasleys to me… I should have known not to underestimate Bill Weasley's little brother. That family isn't normal."

Draco had almost forgotten that it was Ron, of all people, who had taken the pot at his table. "That's right, Weasley is the one that scooped the galleons right from under your nose."

"How the fuck did that happen? You let a Gryff kick your ass in a game of lies?"

Lawson shook her head. "He had all of us on the backfoot from minute one. Honestly, I'm not sure I stood a chance against him."

That information was filed away for a later date. In the shadow of Evans, it was far too easy to overlook the tall redhead, but apparently, he was deserving of some degree of attention. "Are you starting to see the picture?" Draco asked the girl, finally reclaiming his own seat after pouring himself another cup. "Do I even need to fully outline why the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived might be a good person to befriend? Never mind that he's the heir to House Potter."

"He's the heir? Not his brother?" Her surprise was understandable given that almost no one even knew he existed until he showed up at Hogwarts.

"Evans is the heir," Theo confirmed before beginning to chuckle lowly. "That will be a fun shake-up in the Wizengamot in a few years time."

"And we can't forget his other friend, can we?" Draco interjected smoothly. "Lavender Brown, the only child of William Brown, who owns and operates a potions ingredients supplier company that has seen over 20% growth every year since 1972." The Brown family was one of the few names his father had expressly encouraged him to try and befriend before he departed for Hogwarts. The sheer amount of money William Brown had generated for himself was staggering. The Browns were nobodies, but good business sense and a few risky gambles had paid off in spades. Draco had no doubt that William Brown would see his House reach Noble status within ten years.

"No need to explain the final person to me, I know about Hilliard," Lawson said, waving her arm through the air. "The Arithmancy prodigy who already managed to secure himself an apprenticeship with one of the world's foremost masters on the subject. A woman in Hungary if I recall."

"That's correct," Draco confirmed. "Emise Kocsis is highly regarded all over the world, let alone in Europe. Robert Hilliard gained her attention to such a degree that she offered to teach him before he even entered his sixth year. What does that say for Hilliard's potential?"

Students such as Robert Hilliard were part of the reason why Hogwarts enjoyed its reputation as one of the best magical schools in the world, if not the best. Draco had read the article that detailed Hilliard's accomplishment, and proper credit was given to Professor Vector for not only recognizing his talent but cultivating it and entering him into a thesis competition from the mainland that was normally reserved for students who were about to graduate. Hilliard had won the entire damn thing. In another school, his talents could have been wasted… but Hogwarts was different, and the entire world recognized that fact.

"A bit more than just the kid of some important bastard, huh, Lawson?" Theo apparently could not resist the jibe.

"That's everyone who was at my table, Malfoy… so, go ahead, finish your sales pitch." Lawson's choice of words was harsher than her tone.

Draco was more than happy to oblige her. "I've been at Hogwarts a little over a month, and I was able to put you at a table for hours with all of those people. Each one of them is another connection, another potential friend who can help elevate you beyond your station. Just imagine what I can do in seven years, Lawson. Just imagine who I can introduce you to outside of this castle. You don't have to like me… but I am a very good friend to have." Draco knew he had swayed her the moment their eyes met. Ambition was a hallmark trait of Slytherins, and he would be able to see its telltale glint shining from within her from a mile away.

"A favor for a favor?"

His father had taught him that it was always better to have a friend instead of an enemy. People were always willing to work with their friends in the name of mutual satisfaction… and if they ever stopped being friends, well, that was when the Malfoy habit of collecting blackmail material on anyone and everyone they knew came in handy. Draco would make as many friends as benefitted him… but he would place his trust in almost no one.

"An equal exchange."

"Friends it is," she said, extending her hand towards him. "The name's Rae Lawson, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Draco allowed a smile to flit across his face. That was the exact same line she'd used weeks prior when they first introduced themselves. "Draco Malfoy, likewise."

Chapter Text

Author's Note:

Hey all, been awhile, I know. So, the reason this chapter took so long to come out is that I spent the last 6 months traveling for work, non-stop, literally living out of hotel rooms every day of my life. Fun, rewarding, but very, very time consuming. Combine that with school (still took 9 credit hours last semester) and I just didn't have the time to write. But, that's done now, and I'm getting back into writing again, so chapters hopefully won't take 6 months to come out. I know, I've said that before, but still.
Oh, and along with this chapter, I also re-wrote chapters 1 and 2 as I said I would per the last author's note. Broader story content didn't really change, but I had to go back and rewrite those two chapters because, quite frankly, they sucked. That's all of the re-writing that I'll be doing though, so every chapter from here on out should just be new. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Cheers.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I fucking hate students…" -Phineas Nigellus Black to himself while drinking his third glass of wine in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. March 1899.

Chapter 15:

Hogwarts was a very, very old castle. Depending on where within its aged halls and corridors one went, it wasn't uncommon to find areas where the light didn't touch, where cold drafts wormed their way through, where human footfalls were never heard. By all rights, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side shouldn't have fit that description at all, but somehow, it felt creepier than any part of the castle Ron had yet been to by a wide margin. At the start of term, Percy had gathered all the Weasley brood together and warned them to take Dumbledore's words seriously. The prefects weren't given any more details on why the corridor was off-limits, but Percy wanted to make sure they understood how genuine that warning was. Fred and George weren't often known for listening to rules, but even they seemed to think the situation wasn't a joke… not that they were going to stay away completely, but they at least agreed to not treat the warning frivolously. As he stood there in the darkness, Ron finally understood why.

"Lumos,", Harry's voice cut through the silence as his wand lit up the corridor with a warm, almost fire-like glow. Immediately thereafter, everyone else echoed him to provide more ambient light.

Neville, who was still breathing deeply, made eye contact with each of them. "Is everyone alright?"

Before Ron could even hope to reply, Hermione beat him to the punch. "No! No, I am not alright! How could anyone be alright after dealing with that absolutely vile excuse for a ghost?!"

Honestly, Ron kind of agreed with her. It was an unspoken rule in the Weasley household to not share too much about Hogwarts before attending since half the fun was in experiencing the school personally, but even still, Ron had heard tales of Peeves the Poltergeist… and none of them even remotely compared to the nightmarish monstrosity that the five friends had just encountered.

"At least he left us alone after we came here," Daniel murmured, turning his head to look down the shadow filled corridor. "I'm going to guess that Dumbledore set a rule that he's not allowed in this part of the castle…"

"We're not supposed to be here either! This corridor is forbidden!" Hermione was, once again, not incorrect.

"I'll take being here over enduring more of Peeves' bullshit," Ron muttered, fully determined to never have a run-in with the poltergeist again… at least not one of that variety. There had to be a way to not get on Peeves' bad-side or else Fred and George wouldn't have gotten away with even half of their antics.

Harry nodded along. "Agreed, good call on coming here, Daniel."

The younger Potter twin shrugged. "Just figured it was better than endlessly running through the halls."

"Anything to be away from the fucking cunt of a poltergeist," his brother replied.

"It's a good thing you knew how to unlock the door though," Ron added, still somewhat amazed his friend pulled that off.

"And where did you learn how to do that? Unlocking locked doors is not a charm covered in any of our first-year textbooks," Hermione, as might be expected of her, had decided to temporarily forgo her outrage over where they were to grill Harry over magic that he knew but not her.

"I was wondering the same thing myself, actually," Neville chimed in. "My dad used that spell after we lost the key to one of my trunks a few years back, but he deliberately didn't mention where he learned it…"

"You all should spend some more time browsing the second-hand shops in the side-streets of Diagon Alley, you can find a lot of interesting stuff in there," Harry replied noncommittally.

"Such as?" Hermione pressed.

"Such as 18th century edition spell-books that are covered in stains and missing half the pages…"

"Wait, so that's that ratty old book you keep browsing through?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, no, it's one of those ratty old books I keep browsing through. I think I have five."

"Brilliant," Ron said right as Hermione made a noise that he wasn't sure how to define.

Harry continued talking without acknowledging her. "That particular spell was called the Unlocking Charm, but I prefer its nickname, 'Thief's Friend.'"

"Of course, you would," Neville sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"Hey, it bloody well helped this time," Ron defended his friend without hesitation. Shady spell or not, it saved their asses… though, Ron was going to have to borrow that book soon. If he learned an unlocking charm that was capable of unlocking locked doors in the school, he could probably sell that info to Fred and George, no doubt those two blighters would shell out for it… assuming that they didn't already know it, of course. Which, the more Ron thought about it, he would bet quite a few of his newly gained galleons that they were already masters of how to break into places they weren't supposed to.

"Fair point," Neville conceded, "now that we're in here though… what do we do?"

"Obviously, we wait as long as it takes to be sure Peeves is gone, and then we leave the same way we came in." Hermione's plan was simple, safe, and about as boring as possible. Ron had other ideas.

"We're already in here, right? So, let's explore some." Ron was definitely unnerved by the atmosphere, but it didn't hold a candle to the shit he saw with Hank.

"Oooh, that could be fun!" Harry agreed, throwing an arm around his brother. "You're in, right, Daniel?"

Daniel paused in consideration. "I mean, we could see what's here while we wait for Peeves to get bored."

Hermione looked positively affronted. "I'm sorry, have you all just forgotten the small detail that this corridor is out of bounds to those who do not wish to, and I quote, 'die a very painful death?'"

Harry pointed his light down the corridor and cast a spell variation Flitwick had taught them the previous month, "Lumos Jactius." The light on the end of his wand was propelled forward, a little ball of light traveling in a straight line down the darkened hallway before eventually fading away. "Looks safe to me."

"We'll turn around at the first sign of danger, okay, Hermione?" Ron said placatingly, already walking forward. The prospect of discovering what the danger of this corridor was before his brothers was an enticing one.

"Besides," Harry added, following immediately on Ron's heels, "there's no way us, a couple of first years, are the only students to investigate this corridor, and we haven't heard any rumors about students getting seriously hurt, going missing, or dying. Clearly, Dumbledore's warning was hyperbolic.

Ron didn't disagree, but he couldn't deny the way that his skin crawled the longer he was there, the way the walls themselves felt like they were watching him… something wasn't right with this corridor. Whether it was deadly or not, there was a reason why the staff had warned the students away from this part of the castle. The old headmaster was fond of his games, that much was common knowledge… but he wouldn't have lied about this. The rest of the staff wouldn't have complied this seriously with something that was just a joke. No, there was a reason this corridor was forbidden, of that, Ron had no doubts. Still, it didn't hurt to verify. "Do you sense anything odd, Harry?"

A pensive look crossed over his friend's face as he closed his eyes and placed his palm along the weathered stone. "I do… but I'm not entirely certain how to describe it. This doesn't really make sense, but it's almost as if…"

"As if what?" Daniel pressed, stepping up to join them.

Harry opened his eyes and nervously glanced around them. "Almost as if the magic is characterized not by what's there… but by what isn't there."

""And what isn't there?"" Hermione and Ron asked the question in concert with one another.

A grim smile came over Harry's features. "Light."

"Light?" Neville questioned; his brows furrowed together.

"Light," Harry confirmed. "Like I said, it's bizarre… when I sense magic it doesn't manifest in terms of sight or color, it's this esoteric sixth sense that I have to constantly interpret and translate into words, and that doesn't always work too well. Sometimes I can describe the intent, the way the magic works, or how it makes me feel… but other times, it's like this… where I get an impression that can only be described with vague metaphors."

"And this lack of light is the only information you can discern?" Hermione asked as she gripped her wand tightly.

"No… I can also tell you that we're pretty much swaddled in various types of magical wards, enchantments, and spells… there are so many of them and they're so interconnected I couldn't even begin to tell you what they do… but they're everywhere."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Detection wards… there is no way some of those aren't detection wards."

"Harry tells us the magic permeating this corridor is metaphorically devoid of light and your primary concern is that we'll get in trouble?" Daniel raised an imperious eyebrow at the despondent girl. "Priorities, Hermione, priorities."

"Plus, this corridor isn't technically off limits to students who don't mind dying," Harry said cheekily, pulling his hand away from the stone wall.

"I honestly have no idea how to respond to that," Neville remarked, and he wasn't the only as Hermione had been stunned into silence while Daniel just looked disturbed.

Ron shrugged, once again leading the charge as he kept walking. "If we're already going to get in trouble, we might as well see what the big secret about this corridor actually is."

"Weasley understands!" Harry's exuberant comment accompanied the sounds of rapid footfalls as he caught up to his friend. "Besides, I don't know about the rest of you… but I'm now even more interested in finding out what kind of magic causes the corridor to feel this way."

Neville and Daniel exchanged glances and had some sort of silent conversation before following after Ron and Harry. "In for a penny," Neville said quietly. "Come on, Hermione, better to stick together just in case.

"I cannot believe you all, this behavior goes far beyond reckless!" The lone girl of the group's words of protest fell upon deaf ears.

Conversation between the quintet fell to the wayside as they journeyed deeper into the corridor. With each passing step that feeling that something wasn't quite right grew more prevalent. The temperature continued to drop, the light from their wands didn't seem to reach as far, the shadows encroached beyond where they should… to Ron, it felt uncomfortable, but he couldn't imagine what his best friend was feeling. Harry's skin was pale as his eyes frantically scanned all around them, shivering despite the sweat that built upon his brow… his wand held aloft in a death-grip. Ron wasn't the only one to notice these changes.

"Harry… let's turn back, come on, we don't need to go any further." Daniel placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, but it was immediately shrugged off in a way that bordered on violent.

"I'm fine! Let's just keep going…"

Ron met the concerned gaze of the Boy-Who-Lived but didn't say a word. Harry looked like utter shite, but the guy was stubborn to a fault, and ultimately, that was his choice. If worst came to worst though, Ron would drag his friend back to the entrance kicking and screaming; Harry was better at magic, but Ron was physically bigger, and he'd fight like a bloody muggle if it meant his brilliant but stupid friend didn't hurt himself out of stubbornness… he hoped this corridor didn't drive them to that point.

"No paintings, no suits of armors, no tapestries… this corridor is lifeless…" Hermione's words were barely a whisper, and the words came out even quieter than they should have.

On and on the five friends walked. The distance they covered was limited; their strides slow and heavy, almost sluggish as they continued to press ever onward. Then, they saw it. A 20-foot-tall, heavy, black iron door covered from top-to-bottom with intricate carvings of hundreds of nude people; many of them contorted into twisted positions and shapes... and they all looked like they were in pain. It was simultaneously the most horrendous, yet beautiful door, if it could even be called such, that Ron had ever seen. "Fucking hell…"

"We shouldn't be here," Neville's words echoed the sentiment they all felt. Simply looking at the macabre faces crying out in agony was enough to send chills down the spine and set teeth on edge… stepping closer to it was akin to pushing through thorny vines with bare hands.

"Then let's leave… please!" Hermione's pleading voice washed over them, but she was ignored as Harry stormed ahead.

"No! I refuse to prove him right! I'm not a fucking coward!"

"None of us called you one…" Daniel said, confusion superseding the unease.

Harry's pace didn't slow at all. "Not talking about any of you!" He practically snarled, each syllable venom as it dripped from between clenched teeth.

Ron had no clue who Harry was refuting, but the words to ask died on his tongue as his best friend reached the disturbing display of human suffering and placed his hand upon the iron monument. The effect was instantaneous. There were no visual signs or indicators, no obvious displays of magic… but they all knew something was wrong when Harry began to chant in a voice that was not his own.

.

"P̵̲̭̙̼͛͊̑̅͗̆̑̔̀̓̇͌̍̚ę̵̫̩͇̪͎̻͍̟̿͂̀͜͜ŗ̷̢̨͇̯̬̖̼̩̫̳̯̠̍͜͝ ̸̥̹̌̓͌̎̄͛̀̆̋́͝m̷̡͓̙̦̯͆̐̑̓̊̇͆e̵͔̦̤͔̱͚̞͎͛̂̽̽̊͋̅̊̓ ̸̢̢̧̨̛͖͚͇͒͆̈̄́̎̂̓̈́̽̕̚͜͝s̶̛̤͙̹̜̗͓̥̫͔͂̿̊̍̍̐̈͛͐̋͒̚͘͝i̵̝͆̉͋̆̅̃̎̉̿̿́͘͝͝ ̴̢͇̦͔͈̗̫̳̪̳͑̅̏̃̇͗̉͌̈͛̉̈̔́̕v̵̳̤̦͙̗̟̥̖̳̜͗̌̅̓̄͆͘a̷̧̨̝̥̭̮͖̰̲͉̩̱̩̒͌͊͋͜ ̸̨̛̫̗͕̩̱͖̦̪̹̘̞̣̾͗̾̽͌͘͘̚ͅn̸̹̝̩̟̰͖̪̋͛͛͗͗͋͌͌̽̌͒͂͘ë̴͈̗̫̯̲́͆̿ ̸͍̬͎̮̂̍̈͑͊̊͜l̸̲̋á̵͙̜͖͌̃̉̇̚͜͠ ̸̡̢̧͇̹̖̘̱̲̠͚̖͆c̶̡̨͓̮͉̮͕͖̪̰͇̦̟͌̏̒̂̾̾̿̋͛͌͝i̴͕̠̖̿t̴̨̺̼̤͛͌͌̄̆̏̀̓̈́͂̍̆͘͝ţ̴̳̣̺̼͙̙͓͖͙͚̰͕̿̋̎̃̓̉͛̓̍̉̾̃͑͐ą̸̭̬͈͈̀̒̇͂̏͆̐̓͝ ̸̛̯̩͓͖͒d̴̡̡͔̣͚̞̻͖͈͚̣̭̐ͅò̶̢̘̻͖̤͊͜ͅl̶̰̫̻͍͈̖̹͒̃̅͊́̽̓͌̔̄̈́͠e̵̡̢͈͕̤̯̠͙͔͒̄̂̔̊̈͊̏̃̋͑͜͠͝n̸̛̠̫̗̯͕̂t̶̡̻̜͕̩͎̞̮͂̇͊̂̚e̵͕͇̪̣̬͓͓̜̍̈̐͛͋̏͊̊͒͌̈́̚͘͜͠͠,̵̡̡̜̺̬̭͚̩̗̗͓͎͉̖̎̀̀̇͌́̇̌̎̂ͅ

̵̭̠͉͖̪̈͛̊́̍̾̃̍̎̀́͆̚

̴̡̛̝̠̖̙͉͎̞͖͔̱̇̀́̂̂̾̀̕͜P̵̢̨̧̧̛̛̰̱̝̮̩͔̳̔̈́͛͛̔͆̌͆͑́͝ḛ̸̢̢̻͓̬̥̹̖͍̱͓̅̒̊͌̌̌̍̎̊̌̌́̕ͅř̷̢͉̯̪͔̟͈̺̥̀̈́̑̈́̓͗̕̚̕ ̷̳̍͒̅̕͝m̸̞̪̟̞͉͍͉͖̆è̵̳̻̘̲̪͓̫͈͍͇̭͑̉̓͛̑̓͑̕ ̶̛͓͕͎͕͕͔͇̟̼̖̎̅͒̓͐̾̀͆̈́͋̈́̌͘͝s̷̨͔̦̝̘͔͗̀̇ͅḯ̵̛̥͓̣̤̜̭͌̀̾̓̾̅̎̅̕̕͝ͅ ̵͉̱͇̮̖̹̮̳̭̙̈́̈́͑̏͂̔v̷̨̱̣̞̖̰̣̳̥̼̠͎̘̦͒̿̑a̸͕̤̞̅̀̕ ̴̨̛͚̹͓̬͚̯̫͈͎̎̑̾̾̎̂̂̚ň̸̩̺͍̼̄͂̊̈́̓̈́̕ȩ̴̡̧̠̳̝̺͇͚́̂̿̌̈́̄̿͊̕ ̴̨̡̢̭͈͇͕̬̤͚͔͓͔͋́̄̅͛͒̓̽̉͘͠ͅḽ̶̊̋̈́̋̏̓'̴̨̬͉͈͈͚̃̒͛̃͌́̿̒͑̓e̵̢̘̒̒̆̀̃̈́͘͝t̵̛͓̿̒̒̍́̾̾̎̕t̵̢̧̯̝͖̣͙̘͌̄͑̈́̋̏́̽͝é̸̩̰͍̹͆͗̚̕͠ͅṟ̵̡̰̖̖̖͈̭̞̺̱̫̺̖̱̐̈́̑̄̍̿͂̒͂͑͝n̶̬̏̓̂̀̍̎͌̆͒̒̍͊̚͝ó̵̟͍͚̤̱̣̺̟̹̰̤͈͍̬̭̀͐̄̃̔͋̔̒̒̏̑̋̂͝ ̴̞͖̥̖͔̝̲͉͈̪̗̟̭̘͆͐̇̍͂́̈́̚͜d̴͖̟͓̝̆̅̈́̈͐̄̔̈́͒̎̈͜ó̵͓̳͕̞̤̙͂̓̉͂̀̈́̔̓͌͘͜l̸̨̡̹͇̠͇͇̫͔̞̻͌̿̈́͜ǫ̴̨̢̜̹͙͖̩͚̫̮̑̅̃͜͠r̸̡̻͎̜̩̺͈̎͘ͅę̷̪̤̤̞͕̗̗̼̘͋̎̌̍͌͊̒́͛̀̚,̶̧̛̾̑̀̈́̒̏̾͋̃

.

As one, Daniel, Neville, Hermione, and Ron surged forward to help their friend.

̷͙̓

̴̢̥̋̈̃̓̈́̎͘͜͝ͅ

̶̡͕̗̹̺͈̗̝͎̃̇̓̎͗̚͜G̵̫͎͆̊̑̂̆͌̂i̴̢̝̮̹̊̌̌̏̀̕ȕ̶̙ş̴̣͙͚̄͜t̴̡̖̘͕̦̹̝̊̔̌̿͊̐͒͆̌̀̈̚͠i̵̗͇̬̬̳͒͌̈́̀̊̾̃͋̾̀̒̋̈́́̄ͅz̵̨̢̦̣̫̟̫̫̣͖̰̳̥͐͋̉̅̍i̵̛͙̖̟͒͗̐̾͋̒͝a̶̘͇̖̠̯̙̼͔̻̠̼͈̗͐̾̾̏͆̐͆͘͠ ̷̪̮̼̠͓̪͔͊́̆̓͑͆̍̇̈́́͂̇̄̍͝ͅm̶̨̺͈̬̫̩͎̱̤̖̻̜͎̫͎̂͊̍̅ö̵̗́̐͛s̵̢̨̧̺̬̭͈̱͎͙͈͐́s̵̩̖̭̋̆̃̇̂̊̀̚͝ȩ̷̢̯͇̼͉̰͗̉͌ ̸̦̩̪̻̭̄̉́̀̾̈́͜i̵̢̨̯̼̗̮͍͗͂̂͑̓͝l̵̲̅͂̏̈̌͛́̈͗͗͝ ̷̧̧̨̦̬̘̮͕̰̫̎̂̚m̷͉̝̮̈̈́̇̀͂ǐ̸̢͎͙͇̦̫̠̊͗̈͋̌̽̃̌̚͘̕ŏ̸̧͖̜̮̑̌͝ ̴̢̢̧̥̼̼͖̘̗̙͐̉́̿̆̾̓̅̓̑͐ȃ̴̡̧̟͉̮̤͉̤̻́͑͒̃͗̉̕͜͝ḷ̷̛͍̥́̅̒́̑̈́͐͝t̵̠̏̊̍͛͑͑̂͋̈̓͝ő̷͔͓̺̉ ̵̢̛̛̘̳̠̈́͋̀͛͊́̅̿̓͘͠ḟ̷͉̖̭̮͇̹͛͊a̶̧̛̮͖̤̺̯̭̗̫͇̣͂̌̋̽̈͊̈̃̀̕̕͝͝͝ẗ̷̢͇̟̗̻̪̜̭̥̟͙̀̊̽̉́̽͐͝͝t̵̮̗͐̊́̆̏͂̇̚o̷̧̗̱̻͇̻̝͖̙͕͛̀͋͗̊̆̐̑̋͋̈́͋̚͘͜͠ṙ̴̨̧̧̹̜̜̘͎̬͉̯̼̳̣̙̓̇̂̐̏̈́̚͠ȩ̷̢̳̥̬̺̪̺͉͔̇͘:̵͕̝̼̙̆

.

They tried to wrench his hand from the door. They failed.

̶̧̳̫͚̰̳͎̹̜̯̪̱͌̓͗̋͝

̴̯͉́̇̊́̌͆͝f̷̬̘̰̤͓̖̫̒͊͌̏̈́̀͌̊͒ͅͅe̴̡̲̔́̓̑̀̓͘͠ͅc̸͕͕͚̑̈́͑͌̊̃̔̄̍̍̂͘̚ḙ̷̢̨̟̪̟̭͓̔͒̕͝ͅm̶̧̨̼̻͉̥̥̤͈̥͓͓̜͛̈́̒̄̕̚į̷̗͚͍̲͇͎͖̹̫́͊̋̉͐̔̅ ̷̮̯̲̪̝̋̌͒͗̀͌͛̍̚͘͝͠l̵̡̧̬̰̉̓͆̈ą̵̲̭͚̩̳̪̝̄̃̐̅̿ ̴̧̨̦͕̮̰͔̙̰̞̀̕͘͜d̴̪̙̻̞̺̭̙̍͗̍̃̀͌̽̐̐̋̀͌͒̚͝ͅi̵̼͋̇v̸̢̱̺̜̺̜̾̊͝i̵̛̤̋̑̎̃̑́͌̏̽̔́̀̅͝ṋ̷̡̻͔̳̦̝̖̇͑̒̅̚͜ͅȧ̵̧͔͕̤̩̟̘̥͖͚͉̬͚̭́̿̆͛͛͛̿͂͊̀̌̕͝ ̸̛͓̫͈͓̺̗͓̫̖͕̬̙͙͖͕̓͗̐̍̓̅̃̇͒̆͝͠p̶͉̲̠͎̋̓͋͂̄̊́̎͛̊͛̇̚͝͠ơ̶̪͙̪̯̝̬̼͇̪̲̲͎͈͌̓́̇̑̋͂̎̉̽̕̕͜͠ͅt̴̞̜̝̮̲͠e̶̢͖̝̩̻̥͓̟̣͎̩̪̬̖͆͑͛͑ͅs̷̗̰̪̖̬̣͋̎̔͛̄͋̐ͅț̸̜̬̒͊͊̑̂̂͋̍̅̇̀̈̂͑͝à̶̡͉̪̝̤̫̭̲̲͈͒͛̑ț̷̰̝͎̃̈́́̉́̍͝e̶͔̖̟͂,̴̻̥̖̲̭̱̠̱̮͈̙̈̾̍͗͆̃̀̅̂̉͆̂̇̆͘͜ͅ

̴̡̜̳̰̲̠͉̤̦̎̿̃͂́̆̽͘̚̕

̴̧͔̞͔͚̹͖̠̺͙̙̟̗̃̿͌͠l̵̰̩͖̗̠̫̹͔̗̺̄̒͐̈́a̸̟̰͎͕̬̳̯͍͎̒́͝ ̶̱̬̖͓̗͉̩͋͌̌̅̋͋̄͛̓͐̈́͂͝͝s̵̡̘̖̞̓̒̋̐͌̀̀̃̐̌̒͊͂̚̕o̶͎̹̭̠̱͖͓̝͍͋̈́̉̈́̿̃̀̃͌̄̀̔̆̚͜͝m̴̢̻̯̳̜̳̳̩͍̝͉͚͙͔͓͒̓͐͐̔̈́̍̽̀̐̽͝m̶̢̬̤͓̼͇͉̜̔̄a̸̡̢̮̲͓͍̼̩̫̥̹̍̈́͗̽̆͆͑͑̅ͅͅ ̴̛̙̯̣̞̼̙͓̠͉̅͒͊̐̈́̂̕ͅs̴̯̟͎̺̈͐́̍a̶̦͕̮̖̫͗̈́͑̿̊̂̐̋̽̚͜ͅp̶̼̲͊͆͆̐͗̒͋̈̓̍̄̾̉̕i̷̧͎̭̝͍̻̝͇̪̞̗͇̼͕͍̒͊̿͗̊̐ę̸̠̜̖̗̘͗͊̔̿͜n̶͚̺̽͗͒̊̈̀͜z̵̢̙̟̜̞̞̰̖̯͈̩͍͔̑̒̇̾̈̚͜a̷̢̛̞̪͛́̆̓̇̒̏̋̀̿̀̂̚͘ ̶̢̣̼͕̠̮̣͇̭̰͖̼͈̭̄̉̈́̐̄͆̀͋̄͛̋̓͒ê̶͙͚͚̤̤̞͍̔̅͊̃̐̀̕̕ͅ ̶̧̨̘̟̙͇̘̇'̶̮͑̀͌̈̎́̆̿̌͂̐̂̓l̸̡̨̥͈̪͙̞̦͇̺͌̏͂̔͋̊̍͛͂̕̕͝ ̶̧̳͙̥̺̩̝̬̣̈́̒̌̈́͆̂̃̀̓̀͒̀̚͘ͅͅͅp̴̻̞̂̂r̸͔̤̬̀́i̵͉̮͛m̷̧̨͖̰̟̝̣̻̭͔̲̺͖͎͒̑̊͌͑ǒ̸̡̻̠̺͗́́͒̄̐̕͠ ̶̢̧̨͚̘͔͍̊̓̂̔̃̈̋͝ͅḁ̶̡̨̲̤̰̠͔̹̤̰͇̑̔͜͠m̶̯͌̓̇̊̆͑̈͑̏͐͑̈́̕͠͠o̶̰̭̯̤̪͉̟͙͛̅̃̓̔̋̊͐̕͘͜͠ŕ̴̼̹̘̠̆̍̆͆̓́̓̓͘͘ȩ̵̡̱͇͔̭̘̝̱͔͇͜͝.̸̗͖͉̝̔͌͐͒̈́͑͛͜

.

They yelled, they screamed, they raged… but Harry kept chanting.

.

̷̢̧̬̝̺̰̝̱̳̺͖̝̺̳̫̌͂̅͑̃̚̚D̸̖̃̐̇̀̉̍̕̕͝͝ỉ̴̛͙̻̠̥̎̆̃̎̏̀̒̾̾͐͝n̸̗̜͇͚͉͑̊̒̑͐́͐͛a̶̧̗̹̰̫͎͕̙̎̽̿̌̾̉̈́̓͜͜n̶͎͓̔̍̿̉̏̂̑͌̚͝z̷̧̩̗̻͍͖̩͙̹͓̋̀̅̇̃̓ĭ̴̛̗̣̙̬͔͈̈́̐͐̋͋͌̂͆̕͜ ̶̥̻̤̟͔̦̻̑͜ͅa̸̰̥̗͇̎̌͊̄̑̇̃͐́͑̄̎̕͝͝ ̷̨̥̮̔̇͆̈́͒͆͜ͅm̷̟͇̤̲̭͔̬̠̱̫̄̇̌͜į̸̳̝̠͚͋͂͊̌̀͘ ̴̟͔̪̈͐̎̀̚n̸̼͔͕̯̲̖̱̰̭̮͇͕̩̣̕͜ŏ̶͔̥͇͇̥̤̹̜͓͂͆̈́̈́̉̀̚n̴̬̖̖͇̰̼̯͋̀͗͋̑͋̿̊̌̆̏̑̚͠ ̴̨͚̻̮̗̰̘͔̣̄̍̇̔̇̒͜f̶̰̣̭̙̟̖̜̄͗͑͠u̶̧̠̝͈͉̻̤͙̳̤͓̥̽́͋͆̄̓̊́̿̋̌͘̕͝͝ơ̴̮̤̻̦̺̘̜͒̂͐͆̿̇͗̓͐͊̄͂͝͠ŗ̵̺̜̜̩̯̬̠̣̬̞̜̜̲̆͊̆͛̀͛̈́̾̚͠ ̵̳͙̙̗͑͛̽̆̀̀̅͛̉̆͠c̴͔̥̄͌̓͋̔̑o̷͉̝̪̮̪̟͓̘̯͕̓͆̒̿̂̾͠s̸̨̾̈́̏́̂͊̏̉͠͠ẻ̷̢͕̣̭͎̯̻͉̏̽̿̏͛̿͑̽̊̀ ̴̛̙̗̻̜̗́͋̆̈̏͋͐̌̿̀̋̏͂̚c̵̢̡̧̨̭̯͕̦͖̘̲̝̬͔͔̃͌͊̊́͑͒̈́́͆͗r̵̤͉̜͔̤̲͎̹̗̩͚̜̒̈́̈́͗̀͑͒̔̏̎͗͘͝e̷͓̙͎̮̟̘̤̩̝͓̓͊͊͊́̈́̄̉̃͒̕͘͝͝ḁ̵͂̍̓́́͑̈̈́̚̚t̶̼̙̥̣͖̝͖̫̼̀̈́̌̽̈̎̃͌͑͂̃͝e̴̝̜͇̞̮͓͖͊̃̔͆̓̓̅̃̄̓͆̒

̴̛̬̝̫͓̃́̽̈́̎̎̀͘̚ṣ̷͖̪̻̪̗̦̆͐̎͝ͅe̵̛̯͚̝͒̇̂̊̓͊́̾́̉͐͒̊͠ ̴͖̝̯̜͙́̑̏̒̈́̓̄̓́̕͘͝n̶̩̳̦̘̖̂͑̇́ô̷̧̡̧̬̘͎̹̥̣͙̂̌͘n̶̛͕̜̟͚̲͖̈́̔̿̒̑̒͐̒̚͘̕̚͝ ̴̘͚̖̜̪̙̰̜̦͎͚̦̾͑͌͜͜e̶̠̹͕͕͈͈̎̈́̅̒̂̈́̆̕t̴͚͚͉̹͈͖̼̰͈̜̿͐̌͐̈́̐̈́t̵̢̧̲̲͚͖̤̝̂͂́͛̇̂͐̂̾̃̊̿͋̐̀ę̴̻͙͔̮̜̘̬̺̱͍̰͚͆͑̈͒̎̌́̾̆̇́̈́͌̚͜͜͝ṙ̵̨̡̨̯̲͔͎̥̫͕̳̼͎̮̯̏̋̈́n̸̨̛̛̯̦͚͖̘̯͂̒͂̈̾̂̾̈́̃̔̇͘͝è̵̢̹͉̟͉͈̉̃̋͠,̸͎͕͕̥̮͓̙̽̓̿̔͌̚͜͜ ̶̧̛̖͍̤͔̲̹̊ẽ̶͙̮̮̒̋ ̸̛͎̤̥̱̲͎̣͇́͜͝͝į̷̧̰̹̳̠̰̻̦̣̐͋́͒͋͛͆͘͘͜͝ŏ̸̘̉͝ ̷͎̖͛̌̎͛̏́͂̍̈́̐͗̓̊̂̈́e̷̳͇̻̲̝͕̳̐̒̇͋͋̂͋̈́̎͊̚̕͠t̵̨̗͖̩̘̙̺̩͆̈́̓́̈͊̑ͅͅt̷̨̨̟͚̺̩̯͓̤̘̭͑ë̴̩̪̬̩̬̗͚̭̖̜̮̱̰͓́̄̈͋̍̽͊̓̍ͅr̶̛̛̖̣̘̲̲̲̖̲̖̹͕̩̞̬̊́̄̓̎̋͗͋̈́̃͂͘ͅn̶̨͇͈̗̠̰̯̳̣͉̪̩̙̆̿͂͂o̷͙̣͑̅̅̄̒̍̕͠͝ ̶̡̡̧̦̦̳̖̫͚̙̲͙̯̺̩̄̉͆͒͒́̆͊̎̿͐̕d̸̨̢̛̺͍̥̜̯͆̈́̌̈́́̀̕u̷̢̨̢̢̘̱̪̠͕͎̲̳͍̦͛̾̐͂̌̽̆́̂̈́̌ͅr̵̮̀̍̋̀̀̆͊o̵̰̞̫͛̅̍͆͊̐͐̆.̶̧̢̯̦̗͕̹̣̼͈͔̩̀͊͜ͅ

̷͈̼͇͚̄̍́̋̂̊͂̌̇͂͘̕͜͝ͅ

̶̘̲̮̫̌̃͌͌̆̂̔̾͑̿͝͝͠L̴͈̦̐̑͊͐̅̓̎̈́̔̀̀̿̃̅̚ą̷̢̢̭͔̪̙͈͕̬̰̊̎̅͐̌̅͋ś̶͙̒̒͛̇̋́͂͆̈́̋́c̵̥͍̺͇̱͖̏̏͛̅͌́̏͊̑͘ͅi̷̡̨̪͖͎̝̤̖̟̫͎̥͙͚͓͘ả̵̢̛̙̳̮̘̠̼͈͚͂͐̍̃̈͗̒̍ͅt̴̢̧̡̗̪͖͙̹̤͚͇̀e̶̫̊̎̊̓̊́͆̑̓͘̚͝ ̶̱̩̭͓̩̖͕̬̟̭̖̂o̷̢͔̦͙̰̟̬͎͇̜͇̪̟̫̗͌̂͌͊ḡ̵̛̪̫̠͚̰̬͎͍̥͈͐̊͗̆̓̓͜͝͠͠n̶̡̢̥͉̘̭̦̤͍̖͕̱̼͕̑̄̏̅̈̽͑̃̐̏̈͑̀͘͠ͅi̵̖̗̖͔̦̰̯̫̻̩̣͊̂̉̊̑̉̆́͂͂̇͘͝͠ ̴̬̼̠̱͎̮̮̰͇̖̦̫͋̔͐̚ͅs̷͔̻̬̤͍̟̪̦̗̥͍̰̾́̀̈̏̆̇̚ͅp̸̨̨̦͚̬͉͍̲͔̐͜e̷̮̪͇̪͚̠͖̘̰̍̉̀̎̅͗r̵̰̼̞̺̩̀̒͋͘͘͝ä̶͇̞͈͓̗̳̩͈̥̖̅̃̈́̊̔̓̌̾͘͘͝n̶̳̺̣̣̟̉ẑ̷̮͚̝̲͇̝͇̺̫͋a̴̡̡̧̱̰̩̬͈̦̯̓͑͗͂̾͊͒͑͝ͅ,̴̦̦͐̌̃̒͋̍̿̀̚͠͝ ̶̰͕̅͒̿̃̈́̕v̷̖̯̽̐͆ǫ̸͕̖̞͎̣̝̋̊̾̎̄͑́͘͜͜í̶͕̟̌̒̈͑̆́͛̌̃̿ ̷̡̛̖̳̣̣̦͍̦̗̩̑͛͗͆͌̿̌̋̋̒̚͝c̴̼̈́̌́̌͋̎́ḩ̸͕̝͔̮̻̺̝̙̻̳̟̣̔̊̀̇̆̀̋̚͠'̸͍̳̓̀͆̍̂̆̒ē̸̡̡̏̽̋̔̋̀̑̀̈͘ͅn̸̦̞̺̮̾̉͒̒̿ţ̸̮̮̺͈̩̤̰̠̱̯̥͈̾ř̶̢̠͇͍̮̖̳͈͑̌͋͑a̸̜͖̳̬̘͉͙̘̣̗̹̲̖͊͑͋͗̈́̆͒́͌̋͜͝ͅṭ̴͖̹͖͚͔͍̮̹̀̾̈̽̑̆̓͛͝e̵̛̤͇̦͉͇͎̗͖͍̫̫͕̒̈́͋̂̃͆̉̽̏̈́͒̋̀̕͜"

.

The chanting ceased…

The five friends fell to the ground in a panicked heap…

And the black iron gate slowly began to open.

The quintet of first years were silent as the sound of the iron dragging across the stone reverberated around them, but it was the presence of what rested behind the magical door that had them gripped in fear. Towering from floor to ceiling was a sight that would haunt Ron's dreams for years to come. A great shadow from which no light could escape… it took on the form of a monstrous three-headed hound, with three pairs of rolling, red eyes and three sets of dagger-like teeth. The serpent that served as its tail wiggled and writhed as it spat venom onto the ground below. Power and terror seemed to become it in ways that nothing else could, a living incarnation of shadow. The demonic beast was silent and still; through lens of crimson, it simply watched… a statue observing the naïve children who had dared to intrude upon its domain.

The blanket of stasis that settled over them was broken by sheer happenstance as Neville tripped forward, the position he'd inadvertently stopped in no longer conducive to keeping still. He didn't go far… just a couple of steps toward the open door to regain his footing, but it was enough for the creature to decide against simply watching the prey that so brazenly presented itself.

The stillness that gripped the air, the silence that blocked out all but the sound of one's heartbeat… in an instant, those conditions which had been pervasive, a byproduct of the magic in the air, suddenly felt prophetic. The calm before the storm. A warning of that which was to come.

The beast howled.

Ron had been scared when his brothers transfigured a spider into his bed… he had been scared when Peeves had chased them through the moonlit halls… but nothing compared to the bone-chilling horror of the beast's howl. Forevermore, he would have a new perspective on what it meant to feel fear.

As one, they fled. With Peeves, they had yelled, raged, and pulled one another along… scared teens, but still ones who believed danger was not in the cards. From the beast, they simply ran. Every ounce of thought and energy put into gaining distance from the six red eyes that watched them from afar.

Ron had heard it said that it was possible to be too frightened to move… but he'd just been convinced that it was nothing but an old wives' tale. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave… but bravery in the face of that creature was foolishness; he would have done anything if it meant putting distance between himself and the three-headed beast from hell. Anything.

Their flight from the beast did not end when they exited the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side, following Neville's lead, they kept sprinting, but Ron had no memory of it. He had no memory of racing through the corridors, returning to the common room, nor the way the five friends took refuge inside the room he and Harry shared. Ron did not remember the inconsolable tears that Hermione shed, the way that Daniel curled into himself and flinched at every flicker of the candle, nor the way Harry refused to stop frantically pacing, drinking shot after shot, all the while ranting at a nameless individual, wondering when the laughter would come back. While Ron's friends broke down around him, he sat there, catatonic to the world; stuck in an endless cycle of his own thoughts. A waking nightmare from which he couldn't escape.

Carved into his memory with a rusty blade was the moment the beast howled.

Ron relived the bone-chilling horror of that moment over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

Ron stared with vacant eyes as the sun rose to its zenith, but he didn't move from his place on the floor, huddled in the corner. In the back of his mind, he recognized someone crouched in front of him, calling his name, trying to get his attention, but the words were garbled, incoherent… as if he were underwater and all he was hearing was a faint echo, the blurry figure in front of him indiscernible to his addled eye.

Suddenly, his vision was jerked to the side, his arm barely managing to catch his weight before he fell to the floor. The stinging pain on his cheek brought the world back into focus, the ringing in his ears replacing the never-ending bay of the demonic hound. A shadow fell over him as Neville crouched down to his level. "I think that did the trick."

"You slapped me!" Ron accused, the first words he'd uttered in Merlin knew how long; his lips were dry, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

"Sorry about that," Neville murmured seriously as he inspected Ron, placing the back of his hand against the half-prone teen's forehead. "Only way I could think of to jolt you out of that trance you were in. I was getting worried about you."

The fact that he was right to worry was something Ron did his best to conceal. It was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed to not flinch and recoil at his own thoughts. The howl of the beast was still there, scratching at his mind like a rusty nail… it made him nauseous… it scared him.

"How're the others?" Ron asked, pushing himself to his feet, swaying briefly before accepting Neville's wordless assistance in helping him reclaim his balance. Apparently, he wasn't hiding his lingering symptoms as well as he thought.

Neville gestured to Ron's own bed where Hermione and Daniel were both sound asleep. "Both of them dozed off hours ago. They were really shaken up, but they'll be okay… I think."

"And Harry?"

The taller teen sighed wearily. "Harry was… I don't know, I have trouble dealing with him on good days, you know?"

The lack of definitive answer telling as Ron suddenly found the ability to focus on something besides his own fear. "Talk to me, Neville, come on, how was Harry?"

"You all reacted differently," Neville began, the poignant pause spoke volumes as he ran his fingers through his hair, "but while you three were tired, Harry had energy, and plenty of it… he was drinking quite a bit of liquor, I tried to get him to slow down but he refused; he was talking almost nonstop about things that, at least to me, made no sense at all; he couldn't sit down or be still, he paced back and forth around the room without ever slowing down… he was downright manic."

"Where is he?" Ron's voice was stern and his question direct; he was grateful to Neville for apparently watching over them all, but his best mate wasn't the most stable bloke around on the best of days, and if he needed help, then damn it all, Ron was going to help him.

"I'm not sure," Neville said honestly. "Hermione was still awake and crying when he left the room. I tried to follow him, but he went straight out of the common room. I didn't want to leave her alone to go chase after him when I knew he wouldn't listen to me. This was awhile ago."

In spite of the perfectly rationale explanation, Ron was still annoyed, though he tried not to let it show. "Thanks," he muttered, probably more curtly than he intended, but at that moment he cared little for manners; his best friend took priority.

A quick tempus spell was cast as he walked out of the room, revealing that it was a quarter until two in the afternoon. The weariness that accompanied well over 24 hours without sleep was surely going to set in soon, but the spike of adrenaline coursing through his system would be more than enough to carry him forward for the time being. Fortunately, Ron knew exactly how to find his friend.

The Weasley twins were not exactly creatures of habit, but Ron had spent more time in their company than any of his other siblings, and he could confidently say he knew them almost as well as they knew each other. The twins were energetic, lively, far more inclined to go do something rather than sit around and do nothing… but even then, the pair of them were not boundless in their reserves. Long before they'd ever attended Hogwarts, they'd carved out a pattern for themselves, on Sundays, they slept in. Every other day of the week was a coin toss as to whether they'd sleep at all, but on Sundays, they rested. They were so bloody consistent in this, even their mum had accepted it as just the way things worked. On Sunday mornings, she didn't even bother to assign the twins chores because she knew they'd never get them done; she never made them breakfast either. On Sundays, Fred and George were dead to the world until over half the day had passed, at a minimum.

So, when Ron walked into their dorm room without even bothering to knock, he wasn't the least surprised to see the curtains still covering the windows and the twins still buried in their blankets. "Fred! Hey, Fred, wake up!" Ron wasted no time in shaking his brother by the shoulder trying to pull him from his slumber; he might be annoyed at first, but Ron was certain that he would understand that his little brother wouldn't wake him on a Sunday without a damn good reason... hopefully. "Fred!"

"Mmmnn…" Fred's noise of complaint sounded from his closed lips before he tried to roll back over.

"Fred! I need you awake, it's bloody important! Wake up!"

A loud groan followed the shifting of weight as the half-asleep teen pushed himself onto his arms. "Ronnie? The hell do you…" He paused to yawn and stretch his arms. "Want? It's still early." Fred sat up and rubbed one eye while the other scanned the room. "You woke me up instead of George? Bloody git."

"You were the one who was less likely to hex me on instinct," Ron said unapologetically.

"You, little brother, may officially consider my generous restraint a thing of the past. Next time, you're getting hexed, jinxed, and bewitched."

Ron shelved that threat for another time. "I need your help really quickly, then you can go back to sleep. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Fred sighed but met his little brother's eyes without hesitation. Say what you will about the Weasley brood, they were loyal to their own. "What do you need?"

"The night before we boarded the train, you and George told me that you had a way of finding anyone in the castle."

"That we did."

"You weren't full of it, were you?" Ron had to make sure, it wouldn't be the first time the twins lied to him under the guise of a practical joke.

Fred studied his little brother intently. Many people made the mistake of assuming the lackadaisical and free-spirited persona the twins displayed meant they didn't know how to take things seriously… but at that moment, Fred's gaze was downright calculating. "You don't tell a soul about this, understand?"

"Not a single soul." Ron would keep his word, upon that he was resolute.

With that affirmation, Fred wasted no time in swinging his legs off the bed and marching over to George's bedside table. "Clavem Aperi," he intoned clearly while tapping his wand on the drawer, but the following words he whispered so quietly that Ron couldn't hear. A moment later, the drawer opened on its own, and Fred pulled out a large wad of folded yellow parchment. "Round two," he said before holding his wand against the paper. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Immediately, black lettering and designs began to spread over and around the parchment, forming words and shapes until the messaging was clear.

"A map?" Ron asked, amazed that his brother's possessed a map of the supposedly unplottable castle.

"Aye, Ronniekins, a map, but not just any map, this one's a tad special."

Roughly a dozen questions flooded through Ron's brain, but he refused to give voice to any of them; he hadn't the time to interrogate his brother on how they'd acquired this magical artifact, how it worked, nor the multi-layered series of protections they apparently had to hide it. Right then and there, he needed to find Harry.

"So, we're trying to find Harrykins, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, we had a… hell, let's just say our night took a turn for the worst and now I need to find him." Unbidden, the sound of the beast's howl returned to Ron's psyche, his clenched fist and shudder unable to be fully concealed.

Fred raised an eyebrow, evidently concerned even as he unfolded the map. "Care to share the details?"

"Later," Ron bit out, the pain from his nails digging into his palm helping him to regain some measure of control. "For now, just listen to me when I tell you to stay the bloody hell away from the third-floor corridor on the right side."

Fred whirled around; the map forgotten as he met his brother's hardened gaze. "Ron," the lack of nickname was telling, "please fucking tell me you didn't."

The memory of six redeyes just watching them as they fled was almost enough to make Ron vomit. Eyes that, while not as intelligent as humans, were calculating. Eyes that knew exactly how much terror they wrought. "How much did you and George see in there?"

"We saw the giant iron door and rightfully turned heel and marched our asses away from it! You didn't?"

"Harry didn't." Two words were more than enough.

"Bloody fucking idiot," Fred muttered, shaking his head as he touched his wand to the parchment once more. "Harry Evans." The map then folded and unfolded itself in a dozen different ways before settling on an abandoned room on the sixth floor, Harry's name next to a set of footprints pacing inside of it. The room wasn't too far away, but nor was it exactly close.

Ron grasped his brother by the shoulder. "Thanks, Fred, seriously. I owe you for this."

Fred returned the gesture without hesitation. "Damn right you do, Ronniekins, but you tell us what's hiding behind that door later and we might just call it even."

"I can tell you, but you won't understand… not truly."

A shrug was his reply as the conscious twin began folding the map back up. "Maybe, maybe not, guess we'll find out. Now, go help out Harrykins, I'm going back to sleep. We'll talk later after I fill Georgie in."

"Right, thanks again," Ron said before rushing out of the room, ignoring the Housemates he cut off or bumped into as he ran.

Maybe his fervent concern for Harry was unfounded, but after living with him for a month, sharing classes together, spending most of their free time together, Ron was certain that he knew his best friend… and nothing about his best friend's behavior as they approached the terrifying iron gateway made sense. Until he was proven wrong, he was going to worry. If that meant pissing people off as he dashed through the castle, then so be it. That was a small price to pay for his friend's well-being.

OoooOoooO

"Ah, Hagrid, is it safe to assume all is well now?"

"Aye, Professor Dumbledore, sir. I'm glad yeh called me. Always good fer Fluffy to be given some treats an' the like after he does a good job."

"Well, I will be the first to say he earned them this night."

"He's a good boy, Professor, best guard dog in the whole world, I'd say."

"A tad superior to the dragons the goblins of Gringotts are rumored to employ."

"Bloody Gringotts… anyone who knows those creatures knows they aren't good at guardin' anythin' tha' isn't their clutch. Dragons aren't meant teh be underground, never flyin' through the sky."

"Having studied dragons quite thoroughly myself, I'm inclined to agree, alas, neither of our opinions hold much sway with that particular clan."

"Anyway, do yeh have any idea as teh who opened Fluffy's door?"

"Presently, I believe it was only a group of students who managed to push past their better judgement and lay a hand upon it; I dare say they underwent quite the ordeal upon seeing our rather large friend on the other side."

"Bunch o' misfits, didn't they hear yer warning at the feast?"

"As a former student yourself, one who was rather fond of treating rules as naught but suggestion, I'm sure you can understand the rebellious spirit that may take hold among youth, hm?"

"I can't be arguin' tha' I suppose."

"Both of us were Gryffindors, Hagrid, we are indeed, birds of a feather, as they say."

"Still, the students really ought teh be more careful. Fluffy's a big sweetheart most o' the time, but I set him teh guard that room, an' he'll do that no matter what. I don' want teh see any students gettin' hurt or killed."

"Students at this school are curious by nature, but I am confident none of them are foolish enough to try and cross Fluffy's domain. The door alone has been quite the deterrent, and I believe that today is evidence enough that the sight of a Cerberus is enough to ward off even the most foolhardy."

"Terribly misunderstood creatures, Cerberus are, Professor. Difficult ter train, no doubt about tha', but I've had Fluffy since he was a tiny little pup. Raise 'em right an' yeh won't find a more loyal friend."

"I have complete faith in both you and Fluffy, Hagrid. I would not have entrusted you with such a difficult task if I did not."

"I appreciate it, Professor. Like I tol' yeh before, there's only one way teh get pas' Fluffy if yeh aren't walkin' with me, an' I'm the only one who knows it."

OoooOoooO

Ron approached the previously abandoned classroom that his best friend had taken refuge in completely out of breath and far more disheveled than when he'd left the common room. In the course of his fervorous trek through the castle, he'd forgotten that one had to be careful when going through the passageway located behind the tapestry of the shirtless man lest the Cornish pixies that called that passageway home decide to have some fun. The little blue blighters were mischievous rather than dangerous, but bloody hell were they annoying.

Ignoring the small scratches that now decorated his hand, the redheaded teen knocked the bottom of his fist against the wooden door. "Harry, it's me, don't bloody curse me when I open this door, yeah?" Without waiting for a reply, Ron pulled on the latch, giving him a clear view into the room.

Outside of the pervasive presence and scent of liquor, he hadn't really been sure of what he would find Harry doing. Ron wasn't an idiot, he knew his best friend drank more than he should, he knew he had his fair share of issues he needed to work through… but he hadn't crossed a line that marked him truly unstable or a danger to himself, so Ron didn't push him. In the back of his mind, he thought this incident might be what pushed him over that line where things could be ignored, especially in light of the fact that Harry was acting strange during the lead-up. Ron could barely even remember the exact words his friend said, but he was so single-mindedly driven, practically obsessed, with not turning away from the iron door… something had been wrong with him, even then… no, it would not be a surprise in the slightest if the unstable teen had started to crack. Instead, he was greeted by a sight he hadn't expected to see.

The warm, ambient glow of dozens upon dozens of candles of varying sizes, each flickering this way and that, forcing the shadows to dance with them. Heavy, black curtains had been pulled over the window so that not even a single ray of sunlight could shine through. All the desks and chairs that were no longer in use had been haphazardly shoved and piled onto one side of the room, leaving the rest of it open and clear aside from the large blackboard left against the opposite wall. A dozen different books lay open and sprawled across the ground or leaned up against the wall; none of their titles were visible, but each was a thick tome with weathered, discolored pages. Two stools were next to the blackboard, upon which was placed a quarter-full bottle of some kind of dark liquor, likely rum given Harry's tastes, a half-full carafe of what Ron believed to be coffee, and an empty mug right next to it.

Then, there was Harry. The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was still dressed in the clothes he wore the previous night, but much like the teen himself, they looked wrinkled and run down; buttons were undone, sleeves carelessly rolled up, the coat he usually treated with such care tossed into a corner. A lit cigarette was held between his lips, the smoke rising from it joining that which was produced by all the candles. The ebony wand he normally kept safely in its holster had been tucked behind his ear, while his hair, normally left loose and wild to fall over his eyes as gravity willed it, had been pulled away from his face and tied back. A lone book floated gently in front of him as he used chalk to draw upon the blackboard.

All over the blackboard were erratic notes and diagrams that, at a glance, seemed almost random, but the more Ron looked, the more he could make out a controlled chaos in the pattern. At the center of it all was one name. "Who's Elan Morin Tedronai?"

The chalk in Harry's hand stilled as he looked over his shoulder. "Not sure, that's the problem."

Ron took that moment to study some of the surrounding scrawls on the chalkboard. There were names of humans, names of spells, names of books, runic arrays that he hadn't a clue as to what they meant, but he would guess they included at least three different languages. There were notes on illusions, poltergeists, time-magic, creatures of shadow, compulsions, protective spells, mind-magic, on and on the notes went. Why Harry would be interested in some of these topics was obvious given what they'd just gone through… but Ron couldn't even begin to make heads nor tails of how it all connected to the name of one man.

"What is all this, mate? Why's this bloke so important?"

Harry paused, one hand rising to grip the cigarette while the other snagged the bottle of rum to his side before he took a large swig. "Aren't you sick of it, Ron?"

Of all possible answers, Ron had not been expecting a question to be fired back at him, not one so random, at least. "Sick of what?"

"Sick of feeling lost, ignorant, pathetic?" Harry scoffed malignantly. "Sick of feeling like every bloody thing we run into is beyond our capabilities to handle? Aren't you sick of every goddamn magical being getting inside your fucking head?" A long drag punctuated his statement, his hard gaze not leaving Ron's for a single second. "I'm over it, Ron. I am done with having other being's magic control my fucking thoughts and feelings. I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT!"

The knowledge that Harry had a temper wasn't anything new… it was downright normal to be pissed off after the night they'd just had, but this was different. The truth was that, at that moment, Ron didn't understand his best friend at all. "Honestly, Harry, no, I'm not sick of it. I'm not happy about what happened last night at all," Ron was forced to pause as he relived the beast's howl once again, the memory alone enough to make him shudder, "but, come on, we're in our second month of term as first-years, mate. It sucks, but we're supposed to be ignorant right now, that's the norm."

"Fuck that," Harry said, pointing to the scattered books he'd procured. "I was allowed to pull all of these from the library, and all Pince cared about was making sure they were returned undamaged." He bent down to pick up a thick tome with pages covered in symbols beyond comprehension. "Ancient runes isn't offered as a class until third-year, neither is divination, but Pince let me check out this book on Oracle Bone Script, a form of runic magic dating back to the ancient Chinese, most commonly used for pyromantic divination, but its applications are too numerous to count."

"Why do you even have that?" Ron muttered quietly, but his question was ignored.

The book on magical languages almost older than memory was placed back on the floor and exchanged for a different one. "This," Harry said, holding up a thick, dark blue tome, "is a book on esoteric defenses against hostile magic. Some of the spells in here aren't taught until our O.W.L year, others are never taught in these halls. Once again, Pince let me check it out."

Ron sighed. "Look, mate, I get it, alright?"

"Do you?" Harry challenged.

"Harry, I get it." There were no other words he could say.

At that, his best friend sighed before he took a step back; he ran his empty fingers through his hair while taking another drag. "We both know you're the furthest thing from a fool, Ron, so please don't play at being one." His voice was noticeably calmer. "The simple fact is that unless it's a book in the goddamn restricted section, there isn't a single fucking topic we're 'supposed' to be ignorant on. Hogwarts offers us virtually unlimited resources free of charge. In this castle, ignorance is a goddamn choice!"

There was no denying that he was right, but even still, he wasn't being entirely fair, especially not to himself. "You're right, mate, okay, you are, but you've got to cut yourself some slack. You only learned about magic, what, three months ago?" Harry nodded silently; his green eyes narrow but no longer alight with anger. "Three months, and you're already near the top of our class, and you're learning more every day."

"It's not enough."

The standards he set for himself were downright absurd. "There are only so many hours in the day. Yeah, there's a lot of shit you don't know right now, even more shit that I don't know, but we'll learn." Ron stepped forward and gripped his best friend on the shoulder. "For now, we're alive, yeah? That's good enough given what we went through, right?" If Harry truly believed they should have already read through half the library before Halloween in their first year, then he really had lost the plot.

"Do you know why I lit all these candles?" Harry asked suddenly, once again countering Ron's question with one of his own.

With the way the shadows writhed and moved from the candlelight, Ron thought he had a guess, but he chose to let his friend explain anyway with only a small shake of his head.

"I kept jumping at shadows. Just walking to the goddamn library, I recoiled more times than I cared to count." Harry played with the flames, his fingers dancing among the scorching light. "Didn't matter that I knew that fucking dog was still on the third-floor corridor, I was terrified of my own shadow."

"So, you surrounded yourself with them." The logic was obvious, but Ron still didn't have a clue as to the connection it had to their magical ignorance.

"And it fucking worked," Harry explained, his voice barely above a whisper as the bottle rose back to his lips. "It worked, but here's the thing, I'd bet every galleon I own that if I saw that beast again, I'd be just as scared as I was the first time."

Ron shrugged, the reality of the world not bothering him as it did his friend. "Mate, no shit. That creature was bloody terrifying. Anyone would be scared to see it, that's probably why Dumbledore warned us not to go to that corridor in the first place."

"And that doesn't fucking bother you?" Harry snarled, throwing the now empty bottle against the wall, shattering it to pieces. "How does that not bother you?!"

Ron didn't answer the accusatory question immediately. With a calmness he wasn't sure was real, he walked over to the decimated remains of the glass bottle and pulled his wand from the pocket in his robes. "Reparo," he said clearly, the shards of crystalline sand magically reforming before his eyes. Magic could fix a lot of things, but as Ron turned back to look at his friend, he was once again reminded that it couldn't fix everything.

"Harry," he began softly, "what's this about, really? No bullshit, no posturing, talk to me."

At first, Harry showed no reaction beyond the same, hardened glare he'd held since Ron entered the room; the same glare he'd likely worn ever since he stormed away from Neville. Then, like the strings on a puppet after they'd been cut, he broke; with crestfallen features, he leaned up against the blackboard before sinking to the floor. The dwindling remains of his cigarette were crushed against the stone before he stuck another one in his mouth, lighting it with a single mumbled word. The silence between them stretched on but Ron waited. One minute. Two. Five. Patience wasn't often a virtue applied to the youngest Weasley male, but he'd wait for this. 10 minutes passed before turning to 15. Another cigarette was lit and then, finally, Harry spoke.

"I feel like I'm in over my head. As if I'm drowning in an ocean."

"How so?" Ron asked, finally claiming his own seat on the floor adjacent to the troubled teen.

That same galleon he always kept on him was in Harry's hands, idly being rolled between his fingers. "Wave after wave keeps falling over me… every time I get a break, a gulp of air, another one hits. I can swim, but I can't escape. I can't get away; the waves just keep coming."

"Break it down for me, mate. What's drowning you?" Ron appreciated the metaphor for what it was, but he wanted to understand what had actually set his friend off.

"I keep trying to push myself. I want to know more, see more, do more, I want to explore not just the world, but magic… and each time I try I'm reminded of the dangers of this world. I'm reminded of how bloody insignificant I am."

"And last night was just the most recent time?"

Harry nodded. "That fucking dog, Peeves, Hank… but it's not just about those big moments when we're left dealing with shit we can barely comprehend… that auror, Savage, hell, even Ollivander when I was just trying to get my damn wand!"

Ron hadn't even been aware that Harry had an encounter with an auror, and he'd never heard of anyone having an issue with Ollivander before. "What'd they do?"

"They did whatever the fuck they wanted because they could!" Harry jumped to his feet; the dejected exhaustion replaced with what could only be described as righteous fervor. "Ollivander had no bloody need to read my mind, but he did it anyway. He handed me a wand made from a creature that feeds off of pregnant women for no other reason than to see how I'd react!"

The mental picture of the old man with white hair and wide eyes that seemed to see everything around them all at once came to mind, and suddenly, the visage of Ollivander didn't seem so innocent. Ron didn't doubt his friend's accusations at all.

"Savage was trying to prove a point to me, but rather than just using his goddamn words he chose to hit me with half a dozen spells, fuck with my head, paralyze me before apparating us away! His lesson had to include a display of power because that's just how this world fucking works. And everyone, whether they realize it or not, has just embraced that as a part of the culture. Power, above all else, is what's important."

Ron shook his head. "Don't you think that's a bit far? I mean, I don't blame you for being upset at that shit, but magical power isn't everything, not by a long shot."

"Isn't it?" Harry challenged before pointing at the door. "Just look at our school. Sure, we're tested on theory a lot, but practical exams are worth far more to our overall grade, and I know for a fact that's how our O. are graded as well."

"Well, yeah, being able to actually cast spells is important."

"Exactly!" Harry clapped his hands together, a smile that didn't reach his eyes on his face lightly obscured by the smoke trailing from the corner of his mouth. "That's exactly my point, Ron. You can study your ass off here, memorize and explain every ounce of magical theory there is, but no one will give a shit if you can't cast the spells."

Ron understood where he was coming from, but he didn't think it was a fair statement to make. "Our entire world is based around magic, mate, casting spells matters. It's why no one wants to be born a squib, they don't fit in."

"That just reinforces what I'm saying, but fine, another example then, what about Dumbledore?"

"What about him?" Ron was once again confused.

"After he beat Grindelwald, do you know how many positions of authority he was offered? Minister for Magic, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump," Harry was counting them off on his fingers, "and that's just the big ones. Never mind that he turned down most of them, at least for a time, they were still offered!"

"Dumbledore's brilliant, and he'd just beaten Grindelwald, why wouldn't they?" Ron wasn't the type to hang up a poster of Dumbledore in his room like some people were, but the man was an absolute legend for a reason.

"You're proving my point!" Harry laughed, the cigarette in his hands raining ash on the ground as he reveled. "The man was a teacher, a soldier for a couple of years, obviously brilliant at magic, and because of that, the entire world offered him positions of power, leadership roles, political offices where he'd be expected to both legislate and adjudicate!" A long drag was followed by a poignant pause. "No one cared if he would actually be good at the jobs, they only cared that he was better with a wand than anyone else."

"All they cared about was that he was the most powerful," Ron repeated the final sentiment in his own words… a sentiment he couldn't deny as anything but fact.

Harry nodded slowly. "It's the way this world works. You grew up in it, it would be practically impossible for you to recognize that while being passively exposed to it since you were born."

"Do you have a problem with it?" Ron questioned, temporarily shelving the realization about the world and his changing perspective to the wayside in favor of getting to the heart of why his friend was so upset.

"Ten years from now I won't mind at all. Right now, I fucking hate it," Harry said bitterly.

Ron chuckled in spite of his best effort to the contrary; the honest double standard catching him off guard but still undeniably funny. "Bit hypocritical, mate, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't care, it's how I feel. Right now, we're nothing. Anyone with a wand and a few years education could do whatever the hell they wanted to us, and we'd be powerless to stop them."

"A tad scary when you phrase it like that." The more Ron thought about it, the more he came around to his friend's point.

"I should have realized it sooner," Harry kept talking, ignoring Ron's statement completely. "I should have realized it when I was almost fucking killed my first day in Diagon Alley."

"Wait, what?" Ron was jolted out of his reverie in an instant. "What the bloody hell is up with all these stories you've never thought to mention? What do you mean you almost died?"

Harry snorted. "I guess I never did mention it to you, did I?" The gobsmacked look Ron leveled at him was entirely deserved. "Anyway, so it was my first day in the magical world, all I'd done was walk into the Leaky Cauldron and have a chat while I drank my butterbeer. Then, I go into Diagon Alley and I…" Harry's words tapered off, his mouth still agape as he suddenly appeared confused. "I went into Diagon Alley and I…" Again, he stopped speaking.

"And you what?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

Whispered, unintelligible words came from Harry's lips as he cupped his mouth.

Ron sighed. "Couldn't understand any of that, mate, go again."

Harry slowly lowered his hands as he turned towards his friend with a thousand-yard stare. "I can't say."

"What do you mean you can't say?"

"I can't say." A strange noise escaped his throat, a spot of laughter that died before it could fully form. Again, the same words were repeated. "I… I can't say."

Ron was starting to feel unnerved. "Focus, mate, what do you mean you can't say? Just spit it out."

"Ron." Harry was calm, but it felt unnatural, forced… a veneer of control hiding the chaos within. "You're not listening to me." He surged forwards, grabbing the redhead by the shoulders and holding him firmly at arm's length. "I am trying to tell you what happened, but I can't! Do you hear me? I! Can't! Say!" Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Harry's grip loosened as he stumbled backwards. "I can't say… I can't say… WHY CAN'T I SAY?"

Magic was all Ron had ever known… but even he wouldn't deny that it could be terrifying.

Chapter Text

"Lesson number one: Caution. Before the purpose of the artifact is determined, the magic identified, you assume the worst. Even if you see a customer holding it with their bare hands, you do not follow suit. In this business, trust no one but yourself, you understand?" -Caractacus Burke to a young Tom Riddle on his first day of work. December 1945.

Chapter 16:

Horsham, England was a truly forgettable town. Reference books would enjoy calling attention to its long history and deserved status as a market town, while locals would, with fondness, make note of its rather reputable breweries. The truth, however, was that Quirinus Quirrell had rarely visited a place that left so little of an impression. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, there were far worse towns and cities that a muggle could choose to reside in, but he could not fathom the rationale of a new resident actively choosing to move there. In a way, that explained why his contact had elected to meet with him there.

The plot Quirrell was an unwilling participant in had necessitated his involvement in certain activities that, were he not a pawn of Voldemort himself, he would have never dreamed of participating in. Among those, was the solicitation of a world-class thief. Quirrell was not entirely unfamiliar with the broader criminal landscape thanks to his time spent in Belgium, but he'd never been personally involved with it outside of his capacity with law enforcement. Sure, he'd gone down into Knockturn Alley on a handful of occasions, but the infamous district of magical London was, at the end of the day, still a functioning district, with a functioning economy and full-time residents calling it home; the admittedly seedy district even had children who were raised there not being afraid to walk the streets.

All in all, Knockturn Alley's reputation was well earned. Common perception labeled it a hive of scum and villainy, but that descriptor wasn't entirely accurate. It was true that both outsiders and incompetents had very legitimate reasons to fear walking among its dark, twisted streets if they were not prepared, but it wasn't as if every stone brick was steeped in foul, nefarious magic, nor was it an entirely run-down district steeped in poverty. What set Knockturn Alley apart wasn't its financial or material condition, but a fundamental difference in ideology separate from the average magical being in Diagon Alley.

In Knockturn, werewolves, hags, vampires, and all manner of darker, less socially acceptable creatures could be found, and yet, there were also plenty of rich, old, powerful families who shirked society's slowly changing positions on the morality of magic regularly walked the streets or named it as their home. Witches and wizards who wanted less oversight from the ministry, those who wanted to make illicit deals in shadowed corners, to them, Knockturn Alley was where they belonged. The analogy he'd provided a muggle-born student years prior was that it bore similarities to muggle neighborhoods known to be under the control of various criminal organizations such as the mafia, gangsters, or even cartels. Plenty of people existed in those spaces without fearing for their lives every second, but someone ignorant, an outsider who did not belong, it could be dangerous if they weren't careful.

A foray into Knockturn Alley did not even begin to compare to the contacts Quirrell had been forced to make in the preceding months. On the surface, hiring a thief to steal a magical artifact might seem a simple task. There was no shortage of fools willing to commit illegal acts for the promise of a few galleons, but fools would be useless when trying to steal an item as rare and well-guarded as the Philosopher's Stone. No, for an item such as that, the deft touch of a master was paramount. A thief who was so adept at breaking the law that the Ministries of the world had files listing their accomplishments but had neither name nor face to accompany their resumé. Unfortunately, witches and wizards with that degree of talent weren't the types who accepted clients who waltzed in off the street.

Over the summer months, Quirrell had gone through a very, very extensive process to get in contact with a broker, a middleman who could help him arrange a meeting with someone who possessed the skillset he required. To even learn of this broker's name required acts that would earn him a thirty year stay in Azkaban if anyone ever found out. Eventually, as a result of his own talents combined with Voldemort's knowledge and rather painful tutelage, he managed to secure an agreement with a woman who only ever gave her name as Jade. An Irish woman, if her accent was to be believed, and someone who definitely knew how to make an impression, but more importantly, she was someone who could put him in contact with his thief.

His meeting with Jade was an interesting experience though. A year prior, Quirrell would have never thought he would be the type of man to grow accustomed with making business deals while being waited upon by a vampire's enslaved thralls. Realizing after the fact that the establishment was owned by Kilian Vonnegut, a vampire who was actively being hunted by the ICW had helped cement his opinions of Jade… she was not a woman to be taken lightly. Quirrell knew that had he not been possessed, he would have never found himself in such an environment, but even still, he was simultaneously proud and frightened of just how easily he adapted himself to fit into it.

In the end, Jade had complied with his requests, promptly arranging a time and place for him to meet with his contracted thief, a man who was known simple as 'Eladio.' Beyond assurances that Eladio was extremely skilled, Quirrell knew nothing about the man, but turnabout was fair play, because no one knew anything about the identity he'd assumed. Quirinus Quirrell was too well known to be publicly seen making friends among the criminal underbelly of the world, but Sebastian Lowe was a complete unknown. Spells to mask his appearance had never been his specialty, but he was more than capable of ensuring that his true identity was properly concealed from prying eyes.

With quiet confidence in his step and the pale moonlight shining overhead, Quirrell approached the designated meeting place. Neither late nor early, his punctuality was right on the mark; a trait that had been a mainstay in his life ever since he was a boy. Voldemort dictated his actions, but Quirrell took solace in the aspects of his personality that remained decidedly him. A small victory, a hollow one, but still something he cherished. The location itself was a random muggle pub, temporarily closed for reservations as the owners refurbished and touched up the bar and dining area. Not the type of locale that he would have personally chosen, but as far as clandestine meeting locations went, it suited such a purpose well enough.

Avoiding the front door entirely, Quirrell walked down a small alleyway, stepping over the puddle that had formed from the recent rain. With a wave of his wand that bordered on dismissive, the door was unlocked and opened, immediately allowing the sound of upbeat, music to reach his ears. Despite having spent a limited amount of time on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean, even he was able to identify a salsa track when he heard one. The lively, energetic rhythm, the heavy use of brass and percussion that made anyone listening want to get up and dance. The musical style native to the islands of the Caribbean were a treat to listen to, but for the life of him, he had no idea why he was hearing it at that moment.

White lights, ceramic-tile white walls, polished concrete floors, and stainless-steel appliances caught his eye upon stepping into the building. The catchy salsa track and Spanish lyrics more audible with each passing moment, along with a voice that was very clearly singing along.

"Baile bien, aquí el que baila gana~ – Pa'que vuelva la próxima semana~" the distinctly male voice sang animatedly, perfectly matching the flow of the song without missing a beat.

Quirrell stepped around the corner and finally caught sight of the singing and dancing man. Eladio, for who else could he be, wasn't just enjoying the music, he was cooking. On the stovetop a large pan sat, but his attention was focused on the grill where he used his tongs to flip a cut of meat. On the counter lay a cutting board and knife, the remaining portions of a lime, onion, and tomato plain to see next to a bowl of peppered salsa. There was a small pile of freshly cut herbs resting alongside a number of spices that could not be identified from a single glance alone, with what appeared to be corn tortillas sitting on a nearby plate.

"Pero baile bien, aquí el que baila gana~ – Pa'que vuelva la próxima semana~" he continued to sing and cook, oblivious to the world around him. It was by far and away the oddest first impression someone had made on Quirrell in memory. Before he could announce his presence, Eladio turned around to grab a spice with a large smile on his face, only then realizing that he was not alone. "Ohh! Hey! You're here!" Eladio glanced at the clock on the far wall and said, "right on time too, right on time."

Eladio was a tall man seemingly at the cusp of middle aged, with tanned skin and the first sign of wrinkles and crow's feet playing around his eyes. His hair was black, with patches of gray around the temples and crown, cut short and styled to be slicked back. To compliment his large smile, he had a thick, bushy mustache and a small soul patch. Dressed in a fitted blue dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up, a pair of trim black slacks, an eye-catching belt, and leather shoes. Eladio spoke with a thick, Hispanic accent, but the defense professor was not enough of an expert to say whether it was from South or Central America, though he was fairly certain the man did not hail from Spain. Eladio was certainly a confident and striking figure, though he was far removed from what Quirrell's initial expectations had been.

"I hope-" Eladio started to speak once more before catching himself and flicking his wrist, his wand appearing in his hand; a casual wave causing the music's volume to lower enough that while still clearly audible, conversation could at least be heard over it. "I hope you are hungry, my friend, because I made more than enough for the both of us, and let me tell you, it turned out magnificent – baile bien, aquí el que baila gana~." Even in the midst of talking, he still continued to sing, his steps light and his hips moving.

"I take it you're Eladio?" Quirrell asked, already certain of the answer, but still insistent on making sure.

"The one and only," he laughed, "but please, just call me Lalo, all my friends do."

Quirrell stepped around the large, central island. "Jade did not use that name."

"I guess that says a lot about my friendship with Jade, no?" Lalo's grin returned in force as he pointed his finger. "Ahh, but me and you, Sebastian Lowe, I am convinced that we can become very good friends."

Whether the man's friendliness was genuine or a carefully fabricated act, Quirrell couldn't quite tell. "We only just met, but you're already so certain we can be friends?"

Lalo clicked his tongs together before grabbing a flank of skirt steak off the grill. "I like to think of all my clients as friends."

"And why is that?"

"Makes the business we conduct a tad more personable, no? Adds a bit more fun to the job, to life." Lalo gestured to the meat. "The food is almost done, but I am going to let that sit before cutting it. My grandfather taught me that a good steak must be allowed to rest before it is sliced open, and let me tell you, that is a good steak. I let it marinade for hours before you arrived. Mmm! You are going to love it, I am certain."

Even if his friendliness wasn't entirely a façade, the way Lalo moved about the kitchen, singing, dancing, and casually preparing a meal while they talked was remarkably effective at disarming the tension that frequently accompanied clandestine meetings. Anyone would find it difficult to consider the man a dangerous threat while he was animatedly cooking dinner. Quirrell appreciated the tactic for what it was, but he was still there for a purpose.

"What did Jade tell you about the job?"

Lalo paused his warming of the tortillas to look over his shoulder briefly. "She did not mention much, mostly because she did not know very much. You saw to that, no?"

"I value discretion," Quirrell said seriously.

"I guess that explains why you are not wearing your own face," Lalo waved his own finger around his features cheekily. Quirrell was fairly impressed that he noticed the illusory magic so quickly but did not immediately reply. Lalo shrugged lightly before continuing. "Do not misunderstand, I have no issues with you hiding your real identity. It is normal for people like us to value a bit of what's the word, ah, anonymity."

"And yet, you are not wearing a disguise." Quirrell countered.

"I have no reason to hide, my friend. My face and my name are both the ones given to me by my mother the day I was born, may her soul rest in peace. I am proud of my identity, to hide it away would be a shame." Lalo smiled earnestly but Quirrell did not believe that a single word he spoke was entirely honest.

"So, why did you accept the job?" Quirrell asked, eager to progress pass pleasantries and get to the heart of why he was in a muggle kitchen at two in the morning.

Lalo set out a pair of clean white plates. "One simple reason, my friend, you let it be known that the job would involve breaking into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He began to chuckle. "To steal something from under the nose of the Albus Dumbledore… Sebastian, how could I say no to an opportunity like that?"

Quirrell narrowed his eyes, suddenly far less enthused with his new business partner's attitude. Confidence in one's skills was essential, but it was far too easy for it to cross the line into arrogance. Anyone who treated the skills of Albus Dumbledore as a frivolous challenge was doomed to fail… of course, Quirrell was not banking his plans on the idea that the man would succeed, but even if he failed, it was imperative that the theft be at least moderately successful. Every ounce of information Quirrell could gain on the rest of the defenses, the de facto challenges the rest of the Hogwarts staff had designed, was of extreme value; never mind that it would be invaluable to witness firsthand how Dumbledore reacted to a genuine threat. Plus, if Eladio pulled off a miracle and managed to steal the Stone… his reputation for not screwing over his clients was well established, according to Jade, and that would mean Quirrell would have the Stone in hand by the month's end. No matter the result, it was a victory.

"You are aware of all that entails, correct?" Quirrell asked, skepticism heavy in his tone.

Lalo grinned wickedly. "Of course, I am, my friend. How could I not be? In my line of work, the protective wards of Hogwarts are legendary. The fact that one who is not student or staff can only enter the grounds if they are invited in? The way in which the barriers cannot be passed except at certain locations such as the front gates? The sheer level of protections that blanket the grounds?" Lalo brought his fingers to his lips and blew them away with a kiss. "Beautiful wards, my friend, beautiful. Millennia old defenses of that caliber are too enticing for a man like me to ignore."

As a professor, Quirrell had more insight than most on the level of protection offered by the wards of Hogwarts. Lalo was correct in both of his assessments, with that need of an invitation being the most critical element that was even more complex than most realized. They weren't absolutely infallible, nothing was, but there was a valid reason that the wards considered to be damn near impregnable. Numerous governments around the world had attempted to replicate them but to their great dismay, they had always been unsuccessful.

"Fortunately, entering the grounds will be the least of your concerns," Quirrell said, simply watching as Lalo began to cut the meat.

"Ohh?" Lalo seemed even more intrigued, his knife hand stilling for a moment. "How about you start at the beginning and tell me what it is I will be stealing for you?"

The time to share details had indeed arrived, but Lalo had no need to know all of them. "The item I wish for you to steal is a crystalline stone, small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand."

"A curious item to wish to steal from a school," Lalo remarked, his lips quirking upwards. "I wonder why it is there in the first place… Ah, but it is not really my place to know what exactly it does nor why it is in Hogwarts, am I correct?"

"I'm glad you understand," was Quirrell's simple reply.

Lalo began to set up the plates, tortillas on each, placing cuts of grilled, marinated steak onto them. "Nature of the business, if it is something I need to know, then you will tell me, yes? Speaking of, given that this is happening in less than two weeks' time, I am guessing you have a plan to get me inside the school?"

Quirrell nodded, leaning back against an empty counter, and folding his arms. "I have a method, but the details will be left to you."

"Do share, my friend."

"For the past 12 years, Rolanda Hooch, the flying teacher in charge of quidditch at Hogwarts, has had a Halloween tradition with one of her oldest friends. The two get together and enjoy a night of drinking and catching up together." Another example of why Voldemort truly had struck gold in possessing the former Muggle Studies professor. Quirrell had long since been aware of how Hooch liked to spend her Halloweens. The two of them had talked about it numerous times over the years they'd worked together. How many hours had they spent talking over meals while they shared the same table? To exploit the knowledge he had of her personally, to exploit that friendship to turn both her and her innocent companion into victims repulsed him on a level he would not be able to put into words… and yet, he had not hesitated to formulate such a betrayal into his plans. Truly, he would earn his place in hell.

"Ah hah, and I am guessing that this Hooch journeys beyond the gates to receive said friend?" Lalo questioned, his hand rising to his chin. "If I intercept the friend beforehand, use a few charms to alter her mind, lure Hooch past the gates, voila, just like that she's vulnerable to my spells. It would be simple to have her invite me in."

"Not simple," Quirrell countered. "In order for her to be able to invite you in, her mind must remain uncompromised. Her invitation only has value if it truly comes from her."

Lalo paused, acquiescing with a nod of his head. "Not simple then. But let us revisit that point in a moment and continue as if I have managed to gain access to the grounds." The master thief continued to talk, seemingly both to himself and the only other individual in the room. Without interrupting his train of thought, he returned to his preparation of the meal, sprinkling tomatoes, raw onion, and a small amount of peppered salsa over the meat. "If my entry to the school depends upon these women, then I assumed that I will not be able to wait until the castle is asleep. Hm, perhaps a distraction could help in that regard? I have experience with trolls, I could use them again… no, too difficult to arrange on such a short notice. Ah, maybe ogres?" Lalo suddenly looked up from the plates and met Quirrell's eyes. "Sebastian, tell me, are you aware of if the Hogwarts wards apply to magical creatures of low intelligence?"

"In order for the wards to apply, the creature must be intelligent enough to conceptualize an invitation, and all that entails. I do not imagine that would apply to ogres." Quirrell was well aware that it did not apply to ogres given their intellectual prowess or lack thereof, but it didn't hurt in this context to be a little vague. Though, he wouldn't deny that he was mildly impressed that Lalo would take such variables into consideration.

Lalo nodded, turning back towards the food, and chopping the remainder of the lime in half to form a wedge. "In that case, I believe that ogres would work well. A few ogres running around in a school would work rather well as a distraction, I think. Might be a bit of a risk for the students, but ah, Hogwarts has feasts on Halloween, no? If the students are at a feast, then they will be fine, no harm done."

Ogres were far less dangerous than trolls, but if one happened upon an unsuspecting student, there was no denying that said student would suddenly find themselves in very serious danger. Quirrell wanted to strike down the man who would even consider loosing ogres upon a school with contempt… instead, he remained impassive, for his will was not his own.

"So, where in the school is this item?" Lalo asked, squeezing a bit of extra lime juice atop what had clearly turned into carne asada. "Hogwarts is a rather big castle, no? I don't think it would be to either of our benefit if I waste time in an irrelevant location. Perhaps I will be breaking into the headmaster's office?"

Quirrell dispelled that illusion immediately. "No, the crystal you are to steal can be found in the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side… guarded by a Cerberus."

Lalo froze completely, his eyes going wide. "You are kidding me, right? This is some kind of joke you English are fond of?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Quirrell asked, his eyes narrowed, his lips a thin line devoid of amusement. He'd had many months to process the presence of the Cerberus, but it still brought him naught but ire and rage. The infamous guard-dog of Hell was not a magical beast to be trifled with… it was the type of creature that all magical beings with an ounce of sense considered dangerous.

"Now that, is crazy… it is no wonder you wished to hire me. A Cerberus?" The shock was replaced with intrigue as a smile returned to his face, his hands sprinkling the chopped herb atop the food. "Cerberus are tricky to get past… very, very tricky."

"But you can get past one?"

Lalo stepped over and clapped Quirrell on the shoulder with his clean hand. "I assure you, my friend, I can get past one." He nodded resolutely before turning away. "Now, let us eat and discuss further details! The herb I added on top is cilantro, I looked all over for epazote but could not find it fresh, and as my grandfather always said, 'epazote that is not fresh is epazote that is not worth eating!'"

The two discussed the details of the upcoming heist for hours, but at the end of it all, Quirrell's main takeaway from the evening was that Lalo the master thief had missed his true calling as a chef.

OoooOoooO

"I cannot believe you."

"What did I do this time, love?"

"Oh, don't even try and play innocent with me, Aurora. I can tell with just a glance; you stayed up all night again last night!"

"My field of expertise is astronomy; little known fact about studying the stars, but the night sky is rather integral to the process."

"Very clever, but you and I both know this habit of yours is indulgent and irresponsible."

"I guess that makes me an indulgent and irresponsible woman. I appreciate you loving me anyway."

"You're a professor now, which means the students will look to you as an authority figure."

"Probably a mistake on their part, if we're being honest."

"Your quips aside, showing up to class with dark circles under your eyes after pulling all-nighters is hardly a good example to set for them."

"Spare me, Septima, please. If anything, the students will relate to me more because I'm as tired and inattentive as they are."

"Are you sure that's a comparison you want to be making?"

"Ease up, love, I stayed up all night because I was conducting research for my book."

"Oh. Your book on black holes, or what not?"

"My book on the impact of black holes on divination magic and rituals, and whether it's a variable we're still learning how to properly account for and judge, or if it's actually the chaotic and destructive factor many assume it to be, yes."

"You'll have to forgive me; I never really took well to astronomy."

"You're missing out, I don't claim to be a master at arithmancy, but I did get a N.E.W.T in the subject, there are quite a few interesting ways in which our two fields interact."

"I don't doubt it, but I am quite content to keep my attention focused on this planet, not ones that are Merlin knows how many miles away."

"I am now determined to force you to read my book once I publish it."

"Now, that just seems pointless."

"Even if we discount what you will gain from being pushed outside of your comfort zone, can I not value a friend and colleague's opinion on what will be my first published manuscript?"

"When it's not a subject I care about?"

"You need to expand your intellectual horizons anyway. Reading a book that's not centered around numbers isn't going to hurt you, love."

"I reckon that depends entirely on the book."

"Not every book about the stars is literally cursed."

"I beg to differ."

"The more you try to talk your way out of this the more convinced I am this will be good for you."

"How did our conversation turn into a lecture on my reading habits?"

"Karma for trying to critique my sleeping habits. You should know better by now."

"This is why I prefer numbers to word play."

"I know, love, and that's exactly why I'm going to force you to read my book."

OoooOoooO

On most days, Daniel could be described as a pretty easy-going guy. Fun to chat with whether the topic was magic, quidditch, or anything in between, all around, just a good bloke who most people couldn't possibly have a problem with. but when he wasn't, he worried too damn much.

"Last time I'll ask, I promise, but are you sure you don't want me to come too? If you want to be alone, that's fine, but with it being the first time you've gone, I just…"

Harry raised his head to look at his concerned younger brother with a smile he really hoped looked real before turning back towards tying his boots. "I appreciate it, seriously, I do," a strained sentiment, but still a genuine one, "like I said though, you don't have to worry about me. I was always going to go, with or without you. I asked just in case you wanted to come, but you have your tradition, you don't need to break it for me."

The two twins were currently alone in Harry's room on a Monday evening after a sizable day of classes. Most of their friends were in the common room either doing homework or killing time before dinner, but Harry had something he needed to take care of before he could enjoy whatever meal the house elves of Hogwarts had seen fit to make.

"Yeah, it's a tradition, but one that started before you could be a part of it," Daniel countered, shaking his head. "Doesn't feel right for me to keep it now that you're here."

"Then we can come up with a new one together… but for this first time, I'll go alone. It feels right. Besides, you know how moody I can get. I'll be no fun that evening at all," Harry laughed, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. He stood up and pulled on his coat, patting his pockets in satisfaction.

Without warning, Daniel stepped forward and enveloped his brother in a hug. The two of them had hugged before, but having only met a few months prior, neither of them tried to awkwardly force too many acts of affection or 'brotherly love." At that moment, Harry was certain that Daniel had never been so earnest in his emotions for his estranged twin. No more words were exchanged between them as Daniel pulled back. They didn't need to say anything. A mutual, unspoken understanding existed, and that was enough.

Harry waited for his brother to vacate the room before he let the warm smile he'd forced onto his features fall from his face. Nothing that he said had been a lie, nor were the emotions behind the words, but in the wake of all that had happened, a few days before the anniversary of his parents' murder, it was impossible to feel at ease.

Just over a week had passed since the five friends had the misfortune to discover what resided on the third-floor corridor, but the memories hadn't even begun to fade. The immediate shock and fear had lessened, no longer were they leaping at shadows or frightened by the thought alone, but in some ways, they'd been distant. With Neville, someone whom Harry, begrudgingly, considered a good friend, he'd barely shared more than a single conversation with. Cursory comments and polite greetings were exchanged without reservation, but their quips, their banter, neither of them had seemingly been in the mood to engage in such a free and relaxed manner. Harry had made sure to express his genuine thanks to the guy for watching over all of them, a role that he personally had been in no position to assume, but that was it. The taller teen had reacted better than any of them the day of, but it was clear that he wasn't immune to the terror inflicted upon their psyches. Doubtful that anyone would be without some form of mental protection.

Thankfully, Daniel had bounced back to a sense of relative normalcy at a pretty quick pace. On multiple occasions Harry had caught him jumping a bit much when someone entered his peripherals, but all in all, his demeanor wasn't impacted after the first couple of days. Still, Harry hadn't confided in him like he did with Ron… if only he didn't feel guilty because of it.

Brothers were supposed to support one another, but whenever he thought about sharing his fears and woes with Daniel, he always refrained from following through. It was frustrating, not feeling that implicit desire to share everything with his brother… to not have that sense of trust that he could tell him anything. The truth of the matter was that while he and Daniel got along well, very well, by all rights, they hadn't really hit it off in the same way he had with Ron. Harry cared for Daniel, that much was undeniable, hell, if pressed, he'd probably say he loved the guy, but the dynamic they shared together didn't seem that powerful when compared to the fast and easy friendship he'd formed with his best friend. He knew that he was likely just overthinking it, but still, it bothered him. Harry wanted he and his twin to be closer, but at that juncture, they weren't. The sad reality was that he simply had to accept it for what it was, while hoping that over time, their bond would continue to deepen. They'd only known one another for a couple of months, they had the rest of their lives to grow into a proper pair of brothers. A logical rationale, but not one that satisfied him.

With Hermione, while Harry acknowledged her as a friend, their misadventures together still hadn't pushed them over the line of being good friends. Even still, he had made a point to check on her to make sure she was okay. Thankfully, she was, but in the process of assuring him of as much, she'd made sure to bitch and rant about his 'moronic recklessness' for touching the door in the first place. His defense of his spirit for adventure fell on deaf ears. Her subsequent questions on why he felt compelled to prove someone wrong were ones he didn't even attempt to answer.

Tom and the magical bullshit he'd inflicted upon Harry was a topic he barely even wanted to think about, let alone talk about with Hermione. The revelation he'd had while talking with Ron was one he was still reeling from. The Sorting Hat had been unable to see his memories of Tom, but something about hiding himself from intrusion into Harry's mind felt more defensive in nature. Magic that prevented Harry from even speaking of the man, magic that manipulated the free will he'd enjoyed all his life… magic such as that felt far, far more insidious.

Harry had spent quite a large amount of time since then testing just how much freedom he still enjoyed when it came to sharing his own memories. The boundaries were rather nebulous, but with Ron's help, he had managed to uncover that the conversation topics covered with Tom were able to be shared, but any information pertaining to Tom himself was sealed away completely. Harry could tell Ron that he got a rather particular gold galleon while in Diagon Alley, but not who gave it to him. Suffice to say, Ron no longer questioned why Harry was so intent on pushing the bounds of his magical education.

From the moment he'd learned of magic, he'd been dedicated to the notion of excelling. What at first had just been a desire to not be overshadowed by his twin brother, had tempered, and grown into a fervent desire to uncover the secrets of the arcane. Curiosity, he'd always had in spades, but his experiences had morphed it into something more.

Unfortunately, the limitations of the human body meant that there was only so much time in a given day that Harry could devote to delving into the depths of what magic had to offer; plus, despite his fervent desire to not remain a pathetic and ignorant child, he didn't want to sacrifice the rest of his life on the altar of knowledge. Half of the fun of exploring Hogwarts, the grounds, magic in general, and later the world was the people he got to do it alongside. If he shirked his friendships just to study magic, it wouldn't be anything but a hollow endeavor.

Neither fanfare nor intrigue accompanied Harry's journey through the castle, at least nothing beyond the standard, daily excitement that Hogwarts had to offer, such as the talking paintings, suits of armor with distinctive personalities, and for a sensor, the ever-present weight of magic. It bordered on tragic how quickly he had grown used to such wonderous displays of what the vast majority of the world viewed as impossible. Magic was still magical to him, there was no doubt about that, but it was such a pervasive part of his life, his normal had forever been changed. Inevitable, but still a rather morose realization. Though, perhaps it was an unfair assessment. After all, no one would consider one of Hogwarts most well-traveled corridors to be the pinnacle of excitement, even on his first day of term that much had been true. At the end of the day, he just hoped that he died while still able to think that he absolutely loved magic.

Harry arrived at the door of McGonagall's office and had to take a deep breath to steady himself before knocking on the door. The prospect of speaking to McGonagall outside of class didn't have him nervous in the slightest, every professor in the school had office-hours in which students were free to call upon them without notice. Hell, most professors didn't even stick to those specific hours, and were more than willing to engage with students as long as they weren't busy with something else. Instead, Harry was mentally preparing himself for what he feared might be a conversation in which he'd have to talk about himself in ways he rarely felt comfortable doing; a sensation that was only heightened by McGonagall knowing the details of his personal history beyond the normal bounds of what a professor would.

"Might as well get this over with," Harry murmured quietly before rapping his knuckles against the aged wood and undoing the latch. "Coming in" he called, opening the door without waiting for a reply. He was just assuming that if she'd been busy, the door would've been locked.

Despite her strict countenance, McGonagall really wasn't as much of a stick-up-the-ass as his initial impressions had assumed. The Deputy Headmistress had a no-nonsense policy when it came to her classes, for sure, and from what he'd heard, she enforced school rules with an iron fist, but she wasn't an annoying stickler for perfect decorum at all hours of the day. Harry wasn't quite so bold as to refer to her by her first name, nor parade about her office like he owned the place, but at least with students of the House she was head of, she didn't seem to mind familiarity, comfort, and even friendliness in her interactions. Little aspects of her personality and teaching style that explained why most students seemed to have a fairly high opinion of the woman.

The room itself was rather warm, both in atmosphere and temperature thanks to the large, welcoming fire that burned in the fireplace against one wall. Scattered around the desk and shelves but still in an organized fashion were various books, rolls of parchment, quills, and a single patterned container that looked like it might contain biscuits. There were two photographs hanging on the walls, but aside from one in which a younger version of McGonagall was smiling in the arms of a man, he did not recognize the moving figures inside. Behind the desk itself sat McGonagall, in all her usual prim and proper glory, though she was not wearing her signature pointed hat, which had been placed on a stand near the door.

Upon his entry, the deputy headmistress looked up from the stack of parchments in front of her, presumably assignments she had to grade, and said "Mr. Evans, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She gestured to the chair in front of her desk for him to sit in.

Harry wasn't going to beat around the bush more than necessary. "Hey, Teach, I was hoping you would sign something for me."

"And what is it you would like to me sign?" McGonagall asked, looking at him over her glasses.

"A permission form to leave the Hogwarts grounds outside of Hogsmeade weekends, likely would be out until the next day."

McGonagall folded her hands together. "Not a very common request, but not an impossible one by any means. When would you like to make this excursion?"

"October 31st."

"On…Halloween…" McGonagall's mouth fell open. "Oh," she said, her voice quiet.

Harry nodded quickly, reaching into his bag to remove the rather official looking parchment. "I've already filled in the dates, my name, the reason, and when I can be expected to return on November 1st. All I need is your signature and help arranging escort so the gate so I can leave the grounds." The 'reason' he'd listed was nothing more than 'personal,' and he hoped that would be enough.

The parchment was passed along, the professor scanning the document quietly before sighing deeply, the type of sigh to come from someone who had lived through more than their fair share of tragedy and loss. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you would make this request."

"Will you approve it?" He couldn't tell if she was fishing for more conversation on the subject, but he wasn't going to oblige her that easily.

McGonagall met Harry's eyes; unreserved sympathy apparent. "Yes, I will sign this, and prior to the feast starting on Thursday, I will walk you to the gates myself."

Harry almost sighed in relief but barely managed to hold it back. "Thanks you," he said earnestly, "it means a lot."

"I…" McGonagall paused, collecting herself before continuing on. "I know it's not my place to ask this, but I would be ashamed of myself if I did not. You are planning to visit your parents' graves, aren't you?"

"I am," Harry said curtly.

"And you're going alone?" The pity she had for him was understandable, but he hated it.

"I am," he repeated.

"Have you ever visited their graves before?"

Harry was done entertaining the barrage of questions. "Does it matter, Professor? Will my answer change whether you sign that form?"

To her credit, McGonagall did not seem offended by his retort… hell, if anything, she seemed even more sympathetic. "No, Evans, my answer will be the same no matter what. If you would like, I will sign it this very second to affirm as much. I only ask because I know that visiting a grave can be… difficult."

The slight hitch in her voice was telling, and though Harry was not going to ask, that didn't stop his eyes from automatically flicking over to the picture of her younger self in the arms of someone, followed by a rapid glance to her folded hands. No ring was present.

Unsurprisingly, given how perceptive she was during her classes, she noticed where his eyes had been drawn and held up her hand. "My husband died 19 years ago. Much like your parents, a victim of war."

Harry knew he wasn't the only person who had lost family during the war with Voldemort. The fighting hadn't escalated to the levels it had during the war with Grindelwald, but it was still a nation-wide conflict in which everyone at least knew someone who was affected. "So, you understand," Harry said simply.

"I understand better than some, but worse than others. We all deal with loss differently, and I wouldn't dare to presume that what you've gone through is analogous to my own suffering. But I know how difficult it was for me to visit where my late husband's ashes were buried, and I just want to make sure you're truly okay with going alone…"

Truth be told… he'd rather he didn't have to go at all, but that wasn't an option. The choices others had made for him had prevented him from ever going before… it was high time he fixed that. "I need to go alone. It's fifteen years too late, but I need to visit them. I wouldn't feel comfortable with someone else there, not for the first time, not when so many others have already had the chance to pay their respects."

Harry would never fully be able to describe exactly why, but despite his explanation not making sense, he felt like McGonagall understood him. Emotions were impossible to qualify to any real degree. By their nature, emotions weren't rational, and nor were the people who experienced them. The thought processes he had gone through realizing he didn't want company the first time he visited his parents' graves was beyond both reason and explanation, and yet, he would swear that his Transfiguration professor understood him even more so than his best friend did, more so than his own brother. Of all people, Minerva McGonagall understood.

"Alright then, Evans. I will meet you at the front gate of the school at four o'clock in the evening, sharp, on Thursday."

"Thanks again, Professor."

"You don't have to thank me, not for this."

OoooOoooO

"Lucius! Have you seen what they're trying to pull?"

"I have."

"A new muggle-protection act! Co-signed by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office!"

"I am aware. I received an advanced copy of the submitted proposal before it was processed."

"It's an outrage! That fucking blood-traitor has gone too far this time! If this goes through, there will be legislation for mudbloods next, mark my words on that!"

"Hayward. You will mind your tongue while within the offices of the Ministry."

"No one else is here but us, you can drop the façade."

"I was not asking."

"… As you say. I still think you're far too cautious. No one is listening in on the private offices of Wizengamot seat holders."

"It is not about whether someone is listening in on us that matters, it's about reinforcing good habits. It is not wise to use such words in the current political climate. As a fellow victim of the Imperius curse, you would do well to not cast any more negative aspersions on yourself."

"I will bear that in mind, but can we get back to what's actually important here? The whole reason I came to talk to you is because this act is dangerous for us!"

"Indeed, it is."

"You seem entirely too unconcerned. With the way it's written-"

"I am well aware of what is at stake should this act be voted into law, however, that does not mean we need to fall into a panic over what is clearly a scramble to recoup political ground after their last failed attempt."

"That 'failed attempt' was signed, Lucius! Those blasted mud – those muggle-borns got what they wanted! For months they were allowed to practically tell every muggle they pleased about magic! You advocated for a measured approach, and it almost backfired on us. We got lucky that things weren't worse!"

"I do not believe in luck, Hayward. Neither should you."

"What are you talking about?"

"That which you have attributed to luck was, in reality, deliberate design. I spent a great deal of time and effort laying the groundwork to allow that motion to pass precisely so it could fail in practice."

"Ohoho, I know full and well that you had something to do with that muggle brat, what was he? A cousin? Nephew? Whatever his relation to the muggle-born, that kid running his mouth and forcing Obliviators to get involved was too much good fortune for your hands not to be pulling the strings…"

"Exactly, and because of my involvement, that attempt has not been replicated until now, almost three years later."

"I still believe you need not have bothered, never mind the risks if your plan had failed. You could have just squashed the motion to begin with and saved us all the trouble."

"It's about controlling public perception. By not opposing the bill, I reinforced the image I've been careful to cultivate for over a decade. Once it came to light that the new law was dangerous, I capitalized on the new socially acceptable stance and spearheaded the movement to have the law rescinded."

"All that effort just to earn the approval of some people who will never matter?"

"The value of optics is paramount. I presented myself as a moderate, allowed the pro-muggle faction of the Wizengamot their perceived moment of victory, their time on the pedestal, only to ensure they fell further than where they had started."

"I won't deny it worked that time, but you play with fire because you place too much weight on the opinions of the masses. What is their pathetic mewling compared to the voices of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Nott, Rosier, Black… of Malfoy?"

"And what of Gaunt?"

"We are not the Gaunts."

"No, we're not, and I won't let us become them. The world is not what it used to be. I do not intend to allow the Malfoy name to fall into destitution clinging to the ideals of a lord who died 15 years ago."

"Those ideals were once yours too."

"And in many ways, they still are… but they are all secondary to the legacy of my house."

"You're willing to sacrifice everything our ancestors stood for? Everything that we fought for? That we bled for?"

"Nothing is more important than what I leave behind for my son. Nothing."

OoooOoooO

With an exhausted sigh, Harry allowed the book he'd been holding to fall upon his chest as he reclined along the red tinted couch, taking up multiple cushions for himself and paying no mind to the chorus of chatter and conversation that was pervasive in the Gryffindor common room. One hand reached up to rub his eyes, the heaviness that had settled over his lids unyielding thanks to the many days in a row he'd stayed up far past when he should, reading about the wonderful, terrifying, fascinating, complex subject of magic. There was so much to learn, so many intriguing facets, so many clever methods of application.

The difficulties with studying or researching magic, particularly esoteric fields of magic, was that information in the magical world was neither recorded nor shared in the same way that it was in the muggle world. Harry had the benefit of growing up in the muggle world to make such a comparison, but for muggles, information was not only a free commodity, but it was also structured in how it was delivered. The concept of educational material with the inherent purpose of education was not a new one, but it was only in comparatively recent history with the advent of standardized, compulsory education that textbooks became the widespread method of learning in schools.

In the magical world, there were still textbooks, of course, but the nature of magic meant that once you got past the basics, studying it and by extension recording it for others to learn, was not often as formulaic of a process. Books on magic that fell outside of the textbook nomenclature were frequently far more personal; they were almost more akin to journals in how they were written, with the author's voice and personal musings clear on every page or hand-drawn sketches breaking up the words. Half of the books in the Hogwarts library reminded Harry of the cookbooks Beth had on her shelf, both the ones she'd bought from the store and those she had practically made by hand. Depending on the cookbook, the same dish could have innumerable different recipes, with slight differences in preparation or ingredients. Recipes didn't just come with a guide, they frequently came with a story, a history of the recipe itself, or a personal anecdote on how the author used it in their life. When Beth wrote her recipes, it was messy, a scrawl that was likely to have notes in the margins or scrawled out smudges from when she'd changed a measurement.

In the muggle world, high level studies and the advancements of various scientific or mathematical fields were often gated by not only knowledge, but financial investment. With magic, anyone with a wand could try their hand at inventing a spell or discovering something that no one had before. Research wasn't conducted by teams in lab coats with careful regulations, it was lone individuals, scrawling runes on a page lit only by candlelight. The entire culture of learning was inherently different even though elements of it were still similar at a glance.

Harry couldn't speak for other students raised in the muggle world, but he was personally far more fond of the magical world's approach to learning. The complete lack of rigidity felt far more natural to his sensibilities and the way he approached life and by extension his studies. Of course, that meant he had to accept that answers wouldn't always be easy to find. Elan Morin Tedronai, for example, continued to elude him. After the macabre reaction of the shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts, he'd expected it to be moderately difficult, but not impossible to even find a reference to the author's name… but he'd found nothing. The fact that the woman in the bookstore had recognized the name was sheer dumb luck to an almost improbable degree. The possibility that said woman had been Tom in disguise had crossed his mind, but the simple way to find out was to ask her when summer break rolled around. In the meantime, there were plenty of subjects he could pursue.

The current book that now rested on his chest was written by Jandice Barov, a woman who was a master illusionist before her death sometime in the 1700s. Barov had written numerous books in her life, but this one in particular was focused on examining the complexities of crafting illusions that subsumed all the senses rather than just a single one. To be honest, most of the content was beyond his ability to fully comprehend; the broader concepts he could at least understand at face value, but Barov lost him the moment she began to delve into the subject matter with any real degree of depth. He'd grabbed the book from the library on a whim hoping that something within its aged pages would give him insight or understanding into his first encounter with Tom, his recent revelation with Ron once more bringing that fateful conversation to the forefront of his priorities, but to no avail. As was often the case, however, his efforts weren't entirely fruitless. Along with gaining a tad more respect and frustration towards the auror, Savage, for the complexity of his spell-work when they met, he'd learned a great deal about illusion magic.

Illusions were considered to be the art of deceiving reality itself. Most experts agreed that illusions came in two broad categories: illusions that imparted a faux-sensation upon the world, versus those that imparted a faux-sensation upon the mind. Though it was abstract, both were still considered tangentially connected to mind magic, despite that classification being used somewhat sparingly. From what he'd been able to gather, mind magic was acknowledged in its existence but rarely delved into. Ask an expert and they'd say that illusions were related to the mind but would talk about them separately from a notice-me-not charm or memory-wiping spell, both of which also inherently dealt with the mind and how one perceived reality or recalled reality, respectively. His research thus far, albeit limited in scope, had left him unable to determine if mind magic was simply too broad of a classification to be useful, or if magical society had needlessly segmented what should have been a single, cohesive field.

Given the sheer number of mind-adjacent magics that could be manifested through charms, Harry had considered going to Flitwick with his questions, and was likely still going to as soon as he came up with an explanation as to why he was asking about magic that was far, far beyond the scope of his current year. Hogwarts as an institution set very few barriers for how far one could push themselves in regard to their studies, and honestly, Flitwick didn't seem like the type to pry into his students' lives unnecessarily, but it still didn't hurt to have a plausible story ready to go; a story that did not reference gigantic monsters in the forbidden corridor nor a blind man with natural legilimency, never mind the impossibly complicated and dangerous runic tattoos that covered his body.

In the meantime, he was left trying to reconcile the seeming importance of mind-magic with how few defensive measures were common. Shield spells for various curses, hexes, jinxes, physical objects, sounds, and even visuals were widespread in their usage, with differing varieties for different situations and spells, but esoteric spells or effects that defended the mind was apparently the opposite. Tom had provided Harry with the knowledge that occlumency existed but was a rare topic to be found in a book given the nature of said topic. It would be absurd to think that occlumency was the only manner of mental defenses that existed, even if it was the best defense against legilimency specifically. With that in mind, he decided to broaden his stance and search for information on mind-magic in general, with a specific focus on ways to either defend against or undo the effects of said magic.

This research had led to quite a few interesting books with more than their fair share of spells that were exactly what Harry was looking for. One in particular was an old Hebrew spell found in a compendium of codices that had no known author, which almost certainly meant they were ancient, even by magical standards. The physical copy in his possession was, of course, a translated version, the original manuscripts likely archived away somewhere or lost to time. Any piece of writing when translated into other languages naturally ran into barriers with trying to strike a balance between translating the literal meaning of the words themselves while also factoring in both the original author's intent and even smaller aspects such as cultural context. Simple in concept, but not always in execution. Trying to translate spells from other languages made the job both simpler and more complicated. With magic, intent was everything, so the intent of the spell in question was definitively the most important element to translate, but the art of spell-crafting didn't solely rely on intent or else there would be no need for incantations or specific wand movements. Harry didn't have the faintest idea as to who originally translated this particular codex nor the criterion they employed, but given that it was in Hogwarts, he trusted the curation process that the author of the assembled compendium had employed; it helped that he also rather enjoyed the notes and blurbs of context they had included.

The spell's incantation was lhazyr, a bastardization of two Hebrew words, likely formed from a methodology akin to how many spells in Hogwarts' base curriculum were a bastardization of words from the Latin languages – Harry had not done nearly enough study into the languages to determine if was actually a bastardization or rather a chicken or the egg scenario, but that was a subject to delve into at a later date. Lhazyr was a charm designed to both 'strengthen' and 'enlighten' the mind, but how exactly it did so was nebulous. What wasn't nebulous was that the charm had been crafted by a man who did not believe he was always looking at reality in the way it was supposed to be viewed. In addition to his notes on spell-craft, the man recorded his thoughts in a way that was almost poetic; his words bearing a strange similarity to one of the hymns from the Judeo-Christian book of Psalms. 'A false world, that is where I live. A mouth, I have, words upon my tongue, but I do not speak; eyes, I have, open to the world, and yet, I do not see; ears, I have, ready to listen and take in sound, but I do not hear; a nose, I have, but I cannot smell; with hands, I touch, but I do not feel. Mine perception is not born of that which is natural, but that which is created. I long to see what should be.'

The notes on the compendium went on to detail that while the charm is ultimately useful for strengthening one's perception, essentially increasing focus, retention, and helping to drown out unrelated thoughts, it did not help the unknown author's goal of lifting the illusion that had fallen over his life. Lhazyr was absolutely a charm that had made it into Harry's lexicon of useful spells, but the reason it had really caught his attention in the first place was because the man who invented it only did so after an encounter with one of the Tzadikim Nistarim. The Tzadikim Nistarim, translated from Hebrew as the "hidden righteous ones" were a group of 36 powerful wizards and witches who traveled around the world, performing acts of service on behalf of random people, supposedly in the name of justifying humanity to the divine, specifically the Judaic God. To the muggles, they were simply an interesting tidbit of Judaic mysticism, but in the unadulterated magical history, they were undeniably real. The curious part of their existence, however, was that no one was ever identified as actually being one of them. It was accepted as fact that there were 36 Tzadik Nistar at any given time, yet no one knows how that fact came to be known. Every scholar agreed that these individuals performed impressive feats of magic, and yet, details of their deeds are sparse and fragmented. Eyewitness testimony spoke of their presence and the results of the magic they'd performed, but no one could ever say who or exactly how.

The mystery of the Tzadikim Nistarim was still studied to this day, and while interesting in their own right, Harry was far more intrigued by the relative similarities in their ability to obfuscate their identities compared with how Tom had managed to hide the two of them within Diagon Alley, and later hide himself within Harry's mind. There were very apparent differences in the magics utilized, of course, and before assembling a thesis, he already acknowledged that he could be embarking down an entirely unrelated rabbit hole, but his gut told him there was some manner of connection to be uncovered.

"Fuck you, Tom…" Harry murmured, flipping the same gold galleon gifted to him by the man into the air before catching it in his fist. The impact that man had left on his psyche was downright absurd, but at the same time, he had successfully managed to motivate Harry to pursue that which he otherwise might not have. Gratitude was nonexistent, but in a twisted fashion, there was a part of him that appreciated his encounter with the blind man.

A flick of the wrist later and the familiar, comfortable ebony wand was in his hands. With neither care nor thought as to how it might be perceived by onlookers, Harry laid his head back on the cushion and pointed the tip of the wand against his forehead. "Lhazyr," he incanted carefully, ever so slightly twisting his hand in a counterclockwise direction. An ethereal blue mist wafted over him before dissipating into nothingness. He breathed deeply, blinking up at the wooden beams that crisscrossed above him as the pervasive sound of his housemates' voices faded into the background. The effects of the spell were… familiar. Far more muted, but akin to the stimulants Harry had experimented with on more than one occasion. Despite the cast of Grange Hill's best efforts to ward teens off from drug use with their musical rendition of the 'Just Say No' slogan, the message hadn't really stuck with him.

In a word, he felt focused. The impact wasn't dramatic or theatrical, it was just a basic charm, but his attentive if still mercurial nature felt less prone to distraction and outside interference. The creator had probably been seeking a way to peel back the layers of reality and perceive that which had been hidden to them, and instead, they'd developed a mild charm that would likely help someone who had difficulty focusing. Funny the way things didn't always go as intended. Magic may have operated on intent above all else, but that didn't mean that every spell or effect was producible or reproducible at will.

"This should come in handy," Harry said quietly, sheathing his wand in his holster before instinctively moving his hand to brush away his fringe before recalling that he'd recently started tying it back for convenience.

After almost an hour had passed, most of which Harry had spent reading, he began to notice the effects of the spell wearing off. Assuming the spell did not have diminishing returns the more it was used, it would prove incredibly valuable anytime he wished to study. Useful magic wasn't always flashy or complicated, simple charms sometimes did wonders.

"Tempus," Harry muttered, waving his wand in conjunction with his incantation to get the time. Dinner wasn't to start for another half hour, but he still decided to go ahead and make his way down to the Great Hall anyway. Given the layout of the tables and benches, there wasn't any seat that was better or worse, but he'd agreed to meet up there with Ron anyway, so it didn't hurt to go on down.

Lit fag in hand, Harry began his lengthy and complex though still relaxed walk down to where every student took their meals. A couple of greetings and acknowledgements were exchanged between himself and students he knew or had befriended in his time at Hogwarts, but he was content that none of them joined him in his descent through the castle. To be honest, he wouldn't have been the best company at that moment, his mind enraptured by all that which he still had to learn.

The contemplative reverie he'd been enjoying was brought to a sudden close while he was standing on one of the moving staircases, his hand on the railing as it slowly rotated around. A flash of blue light sped past his periphery, flying straight down the lengthy expanse before exploding against solid air and creating a floating, lightly glowing, blue discus. It had barely finished forming before a heavy black boot belonging to a male, upper year Ravenclaw student landed firmly against it, a wave of force pulsating outwards. Without hesitation, the student leapt off the discus before wordlessly firing what was presumably the same spell once more over 50 feet below him.

"Get back here, you fucking arse!" A woman's voice shouted from above, prompting Harry to look upwards and see another upper year Ravenclaw leap off one of the balconies and mount a broom mid-air before speeding downwards. Harry didn't get a good look at her face, but she sounded rather angry at the guy.

The fleeing bloke was last spotted crash landing on one of the staircases before sprinting into a connected corridor, but the girl he'd royally pissed off was hot on his heels. Harry had absolutely no idea what the guy did to provoke such a vitriolic response, but he offered a mental salute to his fellow man and wished him well in his escape.

After binning the ashy remains of his cigarette, Harry stepped into the Great Hall alongside the steady trickle of students who were also a tad early for the meal. He'd only been seated for a couple of minutes when what should have been a peaceful time to continue reading was interrupted by the rather shrill voice of Hermione Granger as she dragged Ron by the arm… and joy, they were making a beeline right towards him. This ought to be good, Harry mused; flipping his book closed and resting his head on his palm as he followed their approach with his eyes.

"Well, well, fancy seeing you two together."

"Come off it, mate," Ron said, extricating his arm from Hermione's vice grip before taking a seat opposite of Harry. "I had just finished that assignment for Binns when she rushes into our room, grabs me by the arm, and starts going off on finding you."

Hermione huffed and sat down next to Ron. "For the record, I was trying to find Daniel and Neville as well, but neither of them were in the Common Room. You," she pointed at Ron, rather aggressively in his opinion, "were just the first I came across, and I knew you'd probably know where Harry was. But now that I have both of you, I have to ask," she turned towards Harry, "do you know where your brother is?" The bushy-haired girl was still rather adept at speaking far, far too quickly.

"Daniel is at quidditch practice still. Wood is making the team practice late in preparation for their first game on Saturday. Opening match of the season, Gryffindor verus Slytherin… should be a good match."

Harry was really looking forward to watching some quidditch in person. The quality of a Hogwarts match wouldn't quite be on the level of the professional games, but it was still going to be loads of fun. The Hogwarts Inter-House Cup was a double-round robin event with games every other weekend between November and May, with points being awarded for a win or a tie. At the end of the round-robin, the team with the third most points would play the second place team, with the winner playing the first place team to determine who actually won the Cup. 14 games a year meant that there were enough that you didn't necessarily have to attend every single one, but a lot of students did because they were pretty much guaranteed to be a good way to spend the day.

Fortunately, Hogwarts followed the internationally adapted rules of Quidditch put into place back in the 16th century that added a series of necessary quality-of-life rule changes to the game. Little things such as increasing the speed of the snitch, said snitch not even being visible until at least 30 minutes of game-time had elapsed, adding a three second limit as to how long someone can hold the quaffle, and allowing seekers to handle the quaffle and operate as a fourth chaser. Before those rules, the game was a far duller affair, with some matches ending in less than five minutes because a seeker got lucky. Harry was more than content with the era of history he was born in that meant almost every quidditch game was hours upon hours in length, with some lasting far longer.

"Okay, and what about Neville?"

"Detention with Snape," Ron supplied, leaning forward to rest his head upon the table.

"What? What happened?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Did you not hear what he did in potions?"

Hermione almost seemed to pull in on herself ever so slightly. "No one told me anything, and I finished early so Professor Snape let me leave."

"Anyway," Harry continued, dutifully ignoring her ever so small shift in tone, "something went wrong with Neville's potion, as usual, and it ended up melting right through his cauldron."

"Professor Snape doesn't normally hand out detention for simply brewing a potion incorrectly," Hermione shook her head emphatically, "especially not when the ingredients we're dealing with are so volatile. There had to have been-"

Harry raised a hand, cutting the girl off mid-sentence. "I wasn't finished. Nev's potion didn't just melt his cauldron, it was infectious."

"Infectious?!" Hermione repeated, her voice rapidly rising multiple octaves and decibel levels.

"Yep," Harry said, popping the 'p.' "The fumes from his potion were super thick, and the moment they came into contact with another cauldron, the potion within started to put off the same fumes, melting through the bottom just like Nev's did.

"That's horrible!"

"It was bloody brilliant, that's what it was," Ron countered, a wide grin on his face. "I've never seen Snape so livid, but he couldn't grade any of our potions so he just let us all go."

Harry had been rather proud of his brew and had been only one step away from bottling a sample and turning it in, but he also didn't mind that Neville had ruined Snape's class. Though, he still had no clue how Neville had managed to brew a potion that caused such effects. Many people with ill intent throughout history had actively attempted to create magically infectious fumes that spread so easily, but with limited success, and fucking Neville Longbottom accomplished it on accident.

"Snape said he was going to have Nev in detention 'until the morning sun starts to rise,' so, I wouldn't expect to see him anytime soon," Harry added, sympathetic to his friend's plight, but also enjoying that someone besides himself or Daniel had to endure Snape's enmity.

"Well, that's fine, I can catch the two of them up later," Hermione shook her head as if to clear it of distraction. "The reason I wanted to talk to you all is that I figured it out!" As a punctuation to her words, she hoisted a heavy tome out of her bag an onto the table, a heavy thud resounding outward as it made impact.

"Figured what out?" Ron asked, nervously eyeing the exceedingly large book.

Hermione leaned in conspiratorially, the two boys immediately following suit as she began to speak, her voice hushed. "That creature we ran into the other night! It's a Cerberus!"

"A Cerberus?" Harry echoed, amazed that the guard-dog of the Underworld featured in Greek Mythology was a real creature… when he thought about the effects the beast in question had on he and his friends though, it made a lot of sense. "Holy fuck, I don't know why, but I didn't think it was real."

"How've you heard of this thing, and I haven't?" Ron asked.

"Muggles know Cerberus as a creature featured in Greek mythological stories, Ron, but it's actually a real race of creatures!" Hermione explained, her voice still rather quiet all things considered, but still surprisingly expressive in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, fucked up creatures," Ron said, lifting the now flipped pages of the book to read the front cover. "This thing doesn't even have a bloody title?"

Hermione smacked his hand to get him to let go. "Watch your language, Ronald. And yes, this book doesn't have a title, it's a copy of an untitled manuscript written by a man named Apollodorus, who I can only assume is the same Pseudo-Apollodorus responsible for the muggle Bibliotheca, the compendium of Greek myths and heroic legends. Honestly, how amazing is it that a famed but mysterious author in muggle history was actually a wizard?"

While that was a fact that Harry found interesting, especially since he'd already noted a number of other examples himself, it wasn't the most important thing at that moment. Though, he did appreciate that both Hermione and he had recently been reading from ancient texts that had no name. "The Cerberus, Hermione," he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Right, anyway, so this book is actually just a bunch of notes and musings that Apollodorus wrote down in his examination of the creatures and prominent magicals that wondered the lands of ancient Greece, of which there were many."

"That's not a surprise," Ron said. "This book is bloody massive."

"Well, yes, there were a large number of creatures and variants of creatures that he documented, but the length is also attributable to his rather verbose style of writing. Everything is written in extensive detail and his personal thoughts are often tangential and not very pertinent, but this was his personal notebook that was only published and copied long after his death, so I don't think you can fault him at all." For Hermione, the girl whose essays were often double or triple the required length, to remark on the level of details present in the book as 'extensive' said more than any other commentary ever could, and likely meant said details were beyond excessive.

"So, what'd he have to say about Cerberus?" Harry asked curiously.

"Quite a lot, with a number of details matching the muggle myths rather well."

"Guard dog of the Underworld still true then? I mean, it certainly fits." Harry wasn't that well-read on Greek mythology, but the twelve labors of Heracles had crossed his path.

Hermione's bushy hair bounced as she shook her head. "Yes and no, unlike the muggle myths, Cerberus was not a unique creature, but a race of them. Large, three-headed beasts of shadow that take form of a canine with a venomous serpent for a tail. Able to grow to incredible sizes, along with being incredibly intelligent, and possessing a passive, fear-inducing aura to anyone whom they view as a threat. They're dangerous, very dangerous, by modern standards, I think they easily earn a XXXXX classification."

"Morgana's tits… and we came face-to-face with one in our bloody school?" Ron's mouth was agape as he threw his hands in the hair before they were pulled back down by Hermione. "You know what else has a XXXXX classification? Dragons! Bloody fucking dragons!" The red head was on the verge of shouting by the end, but he was shushed into silence before continuing in a far quieter voice. "My brother, Charlie, works with them in Romania. Not just drakes, but actual dragons. You don't get a XXXXX ranking just by being dangerous, you have to be deadly in a way that a lot of creatures aren't. The way Charlie talks about dragons is crazy. He says they have this crazy intelligence that's different than humans but no less real." The insights that Ron was able to offer on the magical world thanks to growing up in it and having so many successful individuals in his family was always a treat to Harry. His best mate wasn't an expert on most subjects, but he had knowledge that a lot of other people lacked just by virtue of osmosis and the people he had been surrounded by for so much of his life.

"Maybe that's why we're still alive, Ron," Harry said quietly. "That Cerberus didn't do anything until Nev stumbled forward, and after it howled, it allowed us to run away... A beast doesn't do that unless it's intelligent."

"Not just intelligent, Harry, but trained," Hermione countered, her finger tapping against the book. "Cerberus are able to be trained if raised from birth… it's impossibly difficult, but possible, and when they're trained right, they're universally agreed to be the best creatures at guarding in the world…" She met Harry's questioning eyes, a grim realization reflecting back at him through her brown orbs. "Think about what that means, Harry… that Cerberus is guarding something."

Harry's mouth fell open, mirroring his best friend's as the implication of that statement set in. A single question reverberated through his mind. "What the fuck could Hogwarts possibly be guarding that would require a Cerberus to protect?"

Across from Harry, Ron ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced up towards the head table where the staff would be seated in the coming minutes. "No idea," he muttered softly, "but everyone on staff must know. I wasn't paying that much attention at the time, but none of them seemed surprised by Dumbledore's announcement at the start of term."

"That's true, they didn't," Hermione agreed. "I remember that night almost perfectly, and not one of the professors reacted in a meaningful way, I'm certain of it."

"I don't get it," Ron continued, only acknowledging her words with an incline of his head, "if this 'something' is important enough to require a bloody Cerberus, why would Dumbledore basically tell every bloody person in the castle? That doesn't make any sense at all if you're trying to keep something safe…"

Harry agreed with his friend's line of reasoning. "There's no way that Dumbledore couldn't just seal off that corridor so that none of the students can get in. For whatever reason, he wanted everyone to know that something was special about that corridor. Didn't just announce it to, built this huge fucking iron gate as well." He still couldn't believe the size and intricate design of that damn door.

"Actually," Hermione interjected again, "that iron gate wasn't Dumbledore's doing, it's a natural byproduct of what happens when a Cerberus is inside an enclosure with a door. Everyone calls it the Gates of Hell. Magically, a Cerberus impacts causality. By being behind a door, that door becomes the Gates of Hell."

Harry couldn't decide if that was better or worse, but it prompted another realization. "Wait, so that shit I chanted, is that normal too?"

The brunette shrugged in reply. "I'm actually not sure about that yet. I can tell you that passive aura of fear that Cerberus have is known to essentially seep out from behind the doors they guard, but nothing mentioned in this book at least references chanting upon the door being opened…"

"Besides," Ron added, "your chanting wasn't in your voice, but the language was Latin, not Greek." A stunned silence fell over Harry and Hermione as they turned to look at the red head who seemed almost oblivious to their amazement. "What?" He asked suspiciously.

"You... You recognized the language?" Hermione's words came out stuttered; her often unflappable mind failing her. "In the moment, you knew... you knew he was speaking Latin...?"

"Well, yeah, bit obvious when you're familiar with it. I grew up hearing mum and dad using it for all kinds of spells every day." Ron paused consideringly, "well, not exactly, obviously, but loads of spells are based on Latin, so it's close enough to pick up a feel for the language, you know?"

While Hermione looked like a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing as she grappled with the revelation that her redheaded friend was, in some ways, far more brilliant than she'd given him credit for, Harry was simply reminded to never, in any circumstance, underestimate a Weasley.

Chapter Text

“You might find it difficult to believe, but I truly do have my students’ best interests at heart. I enjoy certain benefits as a byproduct, but the relationships I foster, the soirees I host, they serve a purpose far greater than my own creature comforts.” -Horace Slughorn to Minerva McGonagall over a nightcap. January 1958.

Chapter 17:

Hermione Granger’s face was alight with wondrous joy as she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts on her way to the final class of the day. Even on a normal afternoon, Hogwarts was a place of excitement and intrigue, but on this day, October 31^st, it was positively thrumming with energy and activity. Despite what first impressions of her had led quite a few people to believe, Hermione absolutely loved holidays. New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, and of course, Halloween, she loved them all. For as long as she could remember, her mum would have decorations throughout the house, special sweets, festive music, and all other manners of delightful ways to celebrate the special occasions. Hogwarts, it seemed, was quite similar to her mum and had gone all out to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve.

Jack-o’-lanterns that moved and laughed floated through the air. Magical cobwebs decorated the corridors, sometimes blocking off passages entirely. Bats fluttered through the hallways; will-o’-the-wisps danced across the grounds; animated skeletons with rattling bones made themselves known at every turn. Corporeal ghosts, a constant presence at Hogwarts, seemed to have increased in number and even capabilities, almost as if the barrier between life and death had truly thinned. The suits of armor felt creepier, the archways, the iron wrought fixtures, every party of the castle felt like it had been aged, grown darker, inexplicably made to appear more gothic… and yet, none of it felt dangerous or insidious, but rather spirited and thematic with the seasonal celebration.

Of course, if there was a single class which could serve to cast a shadow upon her rather joyful mood, it was Potions with the Slytherins. Hermione had been rather aggrieved by the dour potion’s master since her very first class with him. Professor Snape was… well, if she was being honest with herself, difficult would be a benign description. No one would deny that the man was an unending well of knowledge on the exceedingly complex subject of potions, but few would in turn agree that he was an effective educator. He taught the subject matter to a proficient degree such that his students learned the material, but the passion for passing on knowledge that shone through in many of the other Hogwarts’ professor’s classes was simply absent from Professor Snape. Truly, it was unfortunate.

Then there were the other issues she had with the potion’s professor… while an objectively more minor concern, it grated on her to no end that he always seemed disinclined to call upon her to answer questions during his lectures. Common courtesy dictates that if you pose a question to a group of people, it is only polite to then call upon the individual who raises their hand to answer said question. Not to say it was the most satisfying of experiences when she was called upon. Hermione did not answer questions to receive praise, but generally speaking, being told that she was correct, or even being offered a simple ‘well done’ did wonders to validate all the effort she put into studying.

The ever-ongoing battle between Houses to win the House Cup was especially helpful in this regard. While the lack of effort from her fellow Gryffindors had successfully squashed any and all hopes of actually winning said cup, she still enjoyed receiving points as a form of recognition and approval from the esteemed staff. Therein lay the issue with Professor Snape, he did not award points to Gryffindors. Ever. The man was sparse with handing out points with all Houses, including his own, but at the very least he would, on rare occasions, award five points… but never to Gryffindors. On a day in which Hermione was feeling particularly bold, she’d even gone to the professor to inquire why he was so reluctant to hand out points to anyone (she had wisely refrained from calling attention to Gryffindors specifically). The ornery professor’s response had been a tad less than kind.

“Miss Granger, while I was quite aware of your propensity to seek external validation in order to satisfy an overwhelming desire to be recognized and praised by authority figures, I was not under the impression that you were so starved for approval that you felt the need to beg for House Points. This desperation, pitiable though it may be, will not be indulged in my classroom.”

Professor Snape’s words of censure had dampened her enthusiasm when in Potions, but she was still determined to do her absolute best to earn House Points for Gryffindor! Though, she wouldn’t deny the fact that it was somewhat discouraging that she was the only member of her House that seemed to care about the ongoing competition. On the first night of term, she had just assumed that the prefects were merely exaggerating, that Ralphy Howard was too much of a showman to resist hyperbole when the whole House was gathered before him… instead, he’d been correct; objectively correct, one might say. Plenty of her fellow Gryffindor students earned points, but rather than relishing them and striving to compete against the other Houses, they were gambled away as frivolously as they’d been earned. Gryffindor students had the most cavalier attitude towards rules that she had ever seen. While most of her Housemates did not go out of their way to break the rules, it was a pervasive trait that they simply did not care when rules were broken.

Hermione really did love being a member of House Gryffindor, but she would be lying if she did not admit to finding it difficult to fit in amongst her peers. She’d made friends, of course, but it was very clear to all that she was the redheaded stepchild of the group. A somewhat crass metaphor, but she was nevertheless reminded of it as she walked into potions by herself. In a class where most people worked with a partner on daily exercises, she had a propensity for working alone. A double-edged sword as she did enjoy completing the assignments of her own merit, but she was still human, and loneliness affected her just as it would anyone else.

Hermione took a seat at one of the tables in the front row and looked towards the chalkboard where Professor Snape already had the day’s lesson plan written for all to see.

“Four Sundew Petals, one pint of Bubbling Brookwater, two ounces of cloudberry extract, eight porcupine quills, 12 Sopophorous beans…” Hermione trailed off, her mind awhirl with numerical figures and estimations.

The cost of these ingredients would be affordable for the average magical family, but they certainly wouldn’t be purchased lightly, yet Hogwarts did not hesitate to use them for students to practice and develop their skills. Hermione made a mental note to delve deeper into just how Hogwarts was a financially sustainable institution when their tuition fees were comparably so low, but at that moment, a heavy cauldron and its future contents demanded her attention.

The empty tables and chairs around her were slowly claimed by her classmates. Lions and Snakes were forced to share physical space while studying what many would consider to be one of the more volatile subjects at Hogwarts… undoubtedly a recipe for disaster, a stark contrast to the Elixir of Euphoria they were all about to attempt to brew. The concoctions that Hermione had made in class had all been up to Professor Snapes lofty standards thus far, and while she wasn’t alone in attaining such a feat, she was certainly in the minority.

Brown eyes glanced towards where Theodore Nott sat, his unscrupulous appearance in stark contrast with his damn near perfect potions record. The boy was more uncouth than perhaps anyone else in the school, and that included her more rowdy Housemates, but his knowledge of potions techniques, ingredients, and theorems was second to none in their grade. Hermione could confidently declare that she was certainly in the top five and in the running for number two, but she wasn’t definitively the top in any class, just comprehensively near the top in everything. Neville dominated Herbology. Daniel was probably top of their year in Defense, but that was in part only because of how potent each of his spells were; in terms of technique, his brother and Malfoy were arguably better. Padma Patil had the edge over everyone else in Astronomy, while it was Harry who clearly held the crown in Transfiguration. History of Magic was still an important class, but the pride welling within was somewhat lessened given that it wasn’t one of the hands-on, practical subjects. A small smile flitted to her lips at the realization of how much magic had altered her perspective. In the muggle education system, history and chemistry were of equal value, the top marks she brought home to her parents, both deserving of celebration.  

“‘Elixir of Euphoria’, now am I missing something or is that just legalized E?” The question came from Harry, the dark-haired teen had leaned back in his seat, one arm thrown over the back so he could address another muggle-born, Dean, more easily.

“E?” Dean repeated the letter quizzically. The two were not keeping their voices down, so the embarrassment that might normally be present from eavesdropping was nonexistent.

“Yeah, E, ecstasy. The party drug, popular at acid house parties and raves?” The more Harry spoke, the more Hermione’s mouth opened. The audacity to discuss illegal drugs in the open, in a school setting was… well, it unfortunately wasn’t a surprise coming from Harry, but it was still incredibly inappropriate!

“Ohhh,” Dean said, nodding along. “I’ve heard of it but never tried it, really wasn’t my scene at home, you know?”

And that was why Hermione was rather fond of Dean compared to many of the other boys in her year who made hooliganry a main feature of their personality; his head was actually on straight.

“I wouldn’t mind trying some though,” a wicked smile accompanying the adventurous words that shattered her perception.

“Mate, it’s fucking wild. Your pupils get as big as serving dishes, and everything just feels good. Not just physically, but emotionally too, empathetically even. When it kicked in, everything felt enhanced. Every sensation in my body amplified beyond what I’ve ever felt before… The world just felt right.” Harry’s smile was akin to one of those smiles seen on people when they’re looking at old photo albums of fond memories from days gone by.

Hermione had never heard of the drug herself, but she made it a point to avoid such things and the people who partake in them. At least, she had before attended Hogwarts. The type of institution where, if Harry was correct, they taught students how to make such products inside the classroom.

“It’s not the same, Evans,” Nott murmured, having risen from his own seat to quietly move towards where most of the Gryffindors had grouped together. “Similar, but not the same.”

Of all the people to speak up on the difference between muggle drugs and magic potions, a pureblood from Slytherin would not have been at the top of her list, but she shelved that line of thought to continue listening in. For all the ethical concerns she had around such substances, the intersect between magical and mundane effects on the bodies was fascinating.

“You’ve tried both?” Harry asked.

“Nope, never even heard of E until now, but I know this potion,” Nott inclined his head towards the chalkboard. “This shit isn’t what you described. It’s an upper, for sure, can help you out when you’re having a downer of a day, but it’s misnamed, it’s hardly euphoric at all. The shit you’re describing… potions like that exist, fuck, they’re even built from the same foundation, but they’re a whole different breed.”

“But you’ve made this more potent variation?” Hermione’s words had leapt off her tongue before she’d even processed that maybe, she didn’t want to join in this conversation.

The standing scion of House Nott stared down at her with an expression that was difficult to discern but assuredly was not friendly as he took two long strides to close the distance between them. Never one to scare easily, Hermione did not break her gaze away from his sunken eyes held up by heavy, almost purple bags. “And why does that matter to you? You trying to score some?”

“No, and even if I did, I would brew it myself, thank you.” Hermione said tersely, eager to shut down his questions before they could continue. “I was simply curious, that’s all.”

“Then keep your fucking curiosity to yourself,” Nott bit back, his rough voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t even muster the energy to actually be upset and was just going through the motions. The rebuke still stung, though… she’d yet to have an interaction with any Slytherin that she would consider positive.  

“I’m curious too, am I also going to get told to fuck off?” Harry seemed to be on good terms with the disheveled teen, but his words were a proverbial gauntlet that had just been thrown.

Nott’s eyes narrowed slightly before he sighed. “Later, Evans. Later.” The words were uttered plainly before he returned to his own desk and slumped down into his seat, his eyes closing quickly as he laid his head down to rest on his arms.

Had Harry just stood up for her? Or was that just a tenuous moment between two people who clearly have a host of issues between them? Hermione honestly wasn’t certain, but before she could offer her thanks, Harry had already started a new conversation with Ron, this one too quiet for her ears to pick up on. As the class settled down and Professor Snape swept into the room to begin the lesson, she was once more struck by the discomfiting truth of her social situation at Hogwarts. The empty chair at her side saying more than any words of rebuttal from Theodore Nott ever could.   

Hermione’s attention shifted away from her personal woes and onto the complexity of crafting the Elixir of Euphoria. There were very few requirements to brew the potion outside of the particularities of the ingredients, a welcome change from temperature management or even stirring patterns which required far more care, attention, and finesse. The Elixir of Euphoria only necessitated that it be kept on a low simmer and stirred at least once every five minutes, beyond that, all one had to do was pay attention to the details of preparing the ingredients. Details such as ensuring six of the Sopophorous beans were cut horizontally while the other six were cut vertically, that the Cinderpetal stems had to be completely free of all buds or petals, or the opposite and that the Sundew Petals had to be stemless before being added in.

Some of Professor Snapes lessons were far more intellectually involved, necessitating knowledge of how certain ingredients interact with one another, magical properties that lead to certain effects, or even just sheer inventiveness; but this does particular lesson was more about task execution and following instructions than anything else, a skillset Professor Snape remarked was ‘woefully bereft among the youth.’

Hermione was nearing the end of completing her potion, cutting her porcupine quills into sixths irrespective of the length of the quill, when out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed a mistake unfold. Only a split second flitted by – a moment akin to trying to catch a glass after it just slipped from your hand.

“Pansy, wait!” Her lips moved before she even had time to register who she had shouted at.

In an instant, all the eyes in the classroom, Professor Snape’s classroom, no less, were on her. Some were confused and incredulous, others were judgmental and insulted, but none more so than Pansy herself, who gazed upon Hermione as if she were a cockroach on the ground. Hermione clenched her fist and dug her nails into her palm, but she did not shirk away.

“What the hell, Granger? Trying to get me to ruin my potion or something?” Pansy’s tone was acerbic, as always, but it seemed like it was laced with even more venom given who it was directed at.

“No, I-”

“What is it? Your own potion not good enough? Trying to lower the curve by distracting me?” Pansy barreled right over Hermione’s efforts to explain herself without hesitation.

In any other class, with any other professor, Hermione would have been afforded the chance to defend herself, but Potions was different. Professor Snape was different. “Pansy, I swear I-”

“Why are you even paying attention to me anyway? We’re not friends, we’re not Housemates! So, why are you staring at me as I try and finish this brew?”

Hermione’s nails dug even deeper into her palm.

“If you’ll just let me expl-”

“Miss Granger.” Two words was all it took to cut through all the noise of Pansy’s tirade and onlooker’s whispers. Professor Snape was suddenly looming over her, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, “I, too, am quite interested to know why you took it upon yourself to not only interrupt Miss Parkinson, but also disrupt my entire class? As Miss Parkinson has alluded to, I am certain your attention would be better spent on your own brew...”

Thankfully, even Pansy wasn’t bold enough to keep up her rant when the professor began to talk, and that meant she had an opportunity. “May I explain myself, Professor?” Hermione asked, biting her lip nervously and hoping that her voice was as strong as her will to defend herself.

“Speak.”

Hermione had to stop her jaw from falling as that single word reached her ears. Professor Snape was not a kind man and generally did not care about who was right or wrong, he simply blamed everyone for impeding upon his day. But this… this was a once in a blue moon opportunity. Steeling herself, Hermione took a deep breath and unclenched her hand. “My own brew for the day had entered into the stage where its color is a deep magenta and thus only requires a single stir in a given five-minute period, for ten minutes.”

Professor Snape’s eyes flickered over to her potion, which was still in the exact state she described, but he did not interrupt her, so she pressed on.

“I marked the time down immediately,” she gestured to the small numerical time she’d scrawled onto the corner of her notes, “and then knowing I had a few minutes, I looked around the classroom. That was when I noticed that Pansy was about to add the cinderpetal stems into her brew…”

“Go on.” A phrase of encouragement, but coming from Professor Snape’s mouth, it was anything but.

“There are buds on one of the stems, sir,” Hermione pointed to fiery red stems sitting next to Pansy’s cauldron and the small glowing black and orange buds that were starting to sprout.

Immediately, Professor Snape whirled around towards Pansy’s station, his eyes narrowing even further as he descended upon her with his robes billowing in the air. One pale hand snaked forward to snag a stem from its place in the pile before being held aloft for the rest of the class to see – the light catching the ever so slowly undulating orange bulb that was in its earliest phase of growth.

“Miss Parkinson,” the tall man loomed over the girl who seemed to have finally realized exactly whom had Professor Snape’s ire, “do you know why the cinderpetal stems are the first ingredient you are to prepare for this brew?”

Pansy wisely did not utter a single word and just shook her head. Professor Snape hated Gryffindors, but it’s possible he hated those he judged as foolish even more.

“No? A pity seeing as how it was included in your assigned readings last month but allow me to elucidate you all the same.” Professor Snape gently plucked one of the buds off the stem. “Cinderpetals are a rather prized flower due to their nature in full bloom. Fire burns within the petals, producing a hue that is quite spectacular to behold. However, their splendor is matched only by their volatility. When exposed to the right conditions, the petals of a Cinderpetal will detonate with enough force to collapse a small building. For a human leaning over a cauldron, the results would be… catastrophic.”

Pansy’s eyes, already wide from what she must have now realized was her own error, grew even wider and wet with unshed tears. The knowledge that serious injury or even death was so narrowly avoided would be enough to shake anyone, let alone a 16-year-old girl who’d spent her entire life sheltered from every sort of inconvenience and threat. “I’m sorry, sir, I-”

“Silence!” Professor Snape said, his voice dripping with venom. “That a student in my own House would so flagrantly ignore my instructions… Detention, Miss Parkinson, the details of which I will inform you of tomorrow.” The absence of a House point deduction was noticed immediately, but it was a miracle as is that a Slytherin was being punished in Professor Snape’s class, two miracles were apparently too much to ask for.

“Y-yes, Professor.” Never before had Hermione seen Pansy behave in a way that could be described as meek or contrite, but the brown-haired girl kept her eyes on the ground and her voice quiet as she fought to stop herself from crying… of all the things she thought she would feel upon the conclusion of Professor Snape’s reprimand, sympathy hadn’t made the list.

“As for you, Miss Granger…”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as her attention returned to the dour man. “Sir?”

“In spite of your efforts to mitigate disaster, your methodology and choice of action could have led to just that. Shouting from across a classroom when any other method of prevention would have sufficed... Five points from Gryffindor for reckless behavior.”

That’s not fair… As much as she wished to speak up in her defense, she remained silent. A balled-up fist was her only method of protest; her nails finding a familiar place in her palm. The old saying that no good deed goes unpunished proven true by a man who truly was just mean.

“Are you kidding me?” Daniel Potter suddenly spoke up, the injustice of the dual punishment, albeit a minor one, enough to spark outrage. “You’re punishing her for saving everyone? What was she supposed to do, sit back and hope Pansy saw her hand in the air?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn,” Snape’s voice was icy as he regarded the glaring boy. “The manner in which I discipline my students is not for you to criticize, Mr. Potter, and if hear another word to the contrary, then you will join Miss Parkinson in detention. Am I understood?”

The entire class held their breath as Daniel refused to respond, his determination unyielding. Hermione was certain that they were about to bear witness to a positively vile display from the acerbic professor, but the standoff was thankfully interrupted by Neville’s elbow impacting Daniel’s side. A wordless exchange passed between the adoptive brothers, but cooler heads prevailed. “Understood, Professor.” Daniel’s relent came through clenched teeth, but it was enough for Hermione to breathe out a sigh of relief. Gryffindor losing points because someone came to her defense was bad enough, if Daniel had gotten in even more trouble, the guilt would have eaten her alive.

“Good, now if you and your classmates are finished with disturbing my lesson,” Professor Snape rotated to address the entire class, “then you may all return to your brews. For your sake, I hope you all managed to stay focused and attentive. In spite of Miss Parkinson’s folly and Miss Granger’s breach of decorum, my grading criteria will remain unchanged.”

The remainder of the lesson passed without anyone daring to draw Professor Snape’s attention to them in any way that could be considered negative. Conversation, though usually still quiet in Professor Snape’s classroom and held to soft whispers, was noticeably absent. The Slytherins normally had nothing to fear from their own Head of House but even they had found themselves cowed by his uncommon display. Aside from the sounds that naturally emerged from their efforts to brew their respective potions, the only sounds that managed to reach Hermione’s ears was the occasional muttered expletive from some of the more colorful, and apparently struggling students; that, and the long, drawn-out sigh from Neville when his brew randomly turned a shade of bright pink when everyone else’s in the entire class was varying hues of green. A wonderfully benign outcome when weighed against some of the other incidents. Truly, if it wasn’t so detrimental to their classroom activities, Hermione was certain that Neville’s curse would be a magical marvel.

“I didn’t even do anything to it,” the boy groaned. “It just changed by itself…” Neville’s woes with brewing potions, though sometimes humorous, were an unfortunate constant for him.

When the bell resounded throughout the castle and signaled an end to their lesson, it was a welcome sound to all. Hermione had long since finished her brew, bottled it, labeled it, and placed it off to the side of the classroom for grading, but she still could not finish packing up her books fast enough. Halloween was supposed to be a day of celebration and merriment, and the dreary dungeons were anything but.

Hermione exited the classroom with a skip in her step and a determination to enjoy the rest of the holiday when a perfectly manicured hand suddenly snaked its way into the crook of her arm. “Let’s talk, Granger,” Pansy Parkinson said, her delivery sounding as if she was trying to be saccharine but couldn’t quite force herself to that extreme… With a sudden lurch Hermione was pulled into a corridor opposite the direction she and any other Gryffindors were heading.

“Pansy, please, I didn’t –”

“Shut. Up.”

Hermione recoiled as if she’d been struck. For all the social struggles she’d been having at Hogwarts, even the passive judgement from those who subscribed to blood ideology, she had never felt such animosity. In an instant, the memories of days she’d tried to leave behind came surging back. Jeers from the ignorant and taunts from the cruel. A time of her life that was best left forgotten, but the deepest wounds always take the longest to heal.

Two more corners were rounded before Hermione’s arm was finally discarded as if it were a piece of trash being thrown in the bin. Hermione and Pansy were not alone as the Slytherin was joined by two of her Housemates, Weiss Schober and Diane Carter. Hermione was familiar with these types of girls; far more than she ever wished to be, but familiar all the same. Once more, her nails found purchase in her palm as she leaned on a familiar habit for dealing with familiar people.

“You must be so fucking proud,” Pansy said, folding her arms and shaking her head. “I mean, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Five minutes without a teacher praising you was just too much to bear, is that it?”

The Slytherin’s words, barbed though they were, more disbelieving than hurtful. “You think that’s why I yelled at you to stop? Because I wanted Professor Snape, of all people, to praise me?” Hermione scoffed. “Pansy, I saw that you were about to get hurt! That you were about to hurt half the class!”

Pansy rolled her eyes, one hand finding purchase on her hip. “Who are you trying to fool, Granger? Those stems were laid out on the table the entire class, and you only noticed them when they were in my hand?”

Hermione threw her hands in the air. “Oh my god, Pansy, I noticed them in your hand because that’s when I was looking around! That’s it! There’s no conspiracy to get you in trouble or make myself look better!”

“And that’s why you shouted for the whole class to hear, hm?” Weiss interjected pointedly, her platinum blonde ponytail swaying ever so slightly as she shook her head. “Nope, I’m not buying it.”

Hermione had to resist the urge to stomp her feet in frustration. Accusations such as this weren’t just absurd, they were insulting! “Not buying it? Is it really so hard to believe that I just didn’t want to see Pansy get hurt? I’m not like you all, I’m not always just looking out for myself!”

“Not good enough, Granger,” her name rolling off Pansy’s lips as if it was a slur.

Girls like Pansy refused to exist in reality, no matter how often they had it thrust in their face. “What do you want, an apology? Fine!” Hermione’s hands did not ball up; they were alone in the corridors, and there was absolutely no reason for her to hold back. “I’m sorry that you got in trouble! I’m sorry that you were too busy staring at your own reflection to notice your mistake! I’m sorry that I did my work correctly and had a moment to notice you about to kill yourself! I’m sorry that all you Slytherins seem to hate that I’m a muggle-born who is actually good at magic! I’m sorry that you all hate the fact that almost every one of the teachers likes me! And I am sorry I’m at Hogwarts at all!”

Hermione took a deep breath after finishing her tirade. Months of pent-up frustration bursting forth in a single long-winded rant towards the girls who just happened to be the ones to push her over the edge. She didn’t regret a single word.

The reactions from the three Slytherin differed. Diane seemed somewhat shocked, her eyes wide and her position slightly further away than the others, as if she’d taken a step back sometime during the confrontation, but she was alone. Weiss, on the other hand, looked angry, seemingly affronted that a fellow student had dared to speak to her in such a manner. Pansy’s reaction was the most surprising and if Hermione was being honest, the most unsettling.

“Are you done?” Pansy asked imperiously, sounding as if she was bored just from asking. She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly as she took a single step forward.

Hermione didn’t answer the girl, simply holding her gaze as she continued to catch her breath.

Pansy chuckled lightly, a sound that could only be described as a mockery of genuine laughter. “Merlin, you had quite a lot to say. You’ve really been holding out on us, Granger. How long have you been waiting to say all of that, hm? A month? Two? Or were you scripting it while we were still on the train?” Pansy took another step forward before placing a single hand with perfectly manicured nails on her hip, the solid black color of her skirt contrasting against the polish.

“I will not apologize for speaking the truth,” Hermione stated plainly. The knowledge that she was chosen to be a Gryffindor for a reason pushing her ever onwards down the path of sticking up for herself.

“‘The truth,’” Pansy parroted, the derision evident in every syllable. “You actually believe that, don’t you?” She scoffed. “Unbelievable, you’re so caught up in your little fantasy of victimhood that you actually think we’re all just out to get you because you’re a muggle-born or because you’re smart?”

“I’m not asking for you all to treat me this way.”

“Oh, really? You think there’s just a conspiracy among the whole school to be mean to you? Slytherins aren’t the only ones who don’t like you, Granger… No one likes you.”

The cruel words, delivered so plainly and without inflection, found purchase, and Hermione recoiled ever so slightly. It was only a small movement, but it was noticed all the same. Snakes always struck when they smelled weakness in their prey.

“That’s why you always sit by yourself in class and why no one wants to work with you. That’s why you walk to class alone, why you eat lunch alone. The only times I see people even talk to you is during dinner, and even then, they’re just being polite.”

“I have friends…” The protest sounded feeble even to Hermione’s own ears as the Slytherin used her verbal knife to dig deeper and deeper into every last one of her victim’s insecurities.

“No, you don’t. I have Weiss and Diane with me, but you’re by yourself, alone. I doubt any of the other Gryffindors even noticed you’re missing, or if they have, I bet it’s out of appreciation because you’re not there to bother them.”

Pansy stepped forward again. The two girls were of similar heights, but it was Pansy who glared downward all the same, her confidence growing even further as her object of torment shrunk further in on herself.

“You think people don’t like you because you’re smart and you get good grades, but plenty of people are smart. Padma Patil is smart, Draco is smart, Bones is smart, Evans is smart, but they all have friends… You don’t.”

Please… stop. Hermione wanted to cry out and beg the barbs to cease, but she knew better. Years of enduring the cynical laughter of bullies had taught her to never ask them for anything… all it did was encourage their taunts. Pansy, unfortunately, needed no such encouragement.

“Everyone knows you’re smart, Granger, and no one cares. The real reason no one likes you is because you’re a stuck up, know-it-all little bitch, who thinks she’s better than everyone else…”

The silence that followed was telling. Hermione’s vision started to blur as she blinked, long and slow, too slow. Her breath hitched as she shifted her weight backwards, away from the one who could inflict such pain. The first tear was quiet, a lone glint trailing down her cheek, catching the afternoon light like it didn’t belong. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. Why would she? After all, it was only the first to fall.

Pansy smiled. A self-satisfied grin that truly looked at home resting on her features. “Happy Halloween, Granger,” she said, living proof that pretty things were often the most toxic.

The three Slytherins turned away, the damage done, their purpose fulfilled as they left the crying girl by herself. Weiss flicked her hair over her should as she cast a glance behind her. “Filthy mudblood,” she spat.

Hermione had known she would face difficulties being a muggle-born very early on with her introduction to the magical world. Professor McGonagall had warned her, she’d read all about the subject, she had arguments and statistics ready to defend herself… but none of that prepared her for the reality of what it felt like to be spoken to with such malice just because of who you were…

Swallowed by the cold, quiet, corridor, Hermione slid down the wall… the rough stone pressing into her back as she hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in her robes. Raw, aching sobs tore from her throat as the tears fell. She didn’t know how long she stayed there – only that she had never felt so alone.

OoooOoooO

“Weiss, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“You know what!”

“Come off it, don’t tell me you’re actually mad about me calling her what she is?”

“I don’t care what she is, you don’t say that!”

“Pansy… it’s Granger.”

“Not the point!”

“You both were thinking it too, I just said it.”

“I was thinking a lot of things, and I said a lot of things. I didn’t fucking say that!”

“Ugh, fine. What do you want me to do? Apologize to her?”

“Of course, not – wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Eventually, she’ll tell someone, and when she does, you can make sure everyone knows it was you who said it.”

“Oh, that is not happening.”

“I’m not kidding, Weiss. I’m not going to run the risk of my dad thinking I broke his one rule for me.”

“Not to say mudblood?”

“No, you daft moron! His one rule was to not embarrass the family! If he thinks I’m running around calling people that, I’ll be lucky to get away with a howler – so you’re taking the fall for your own bloody actions!”

“Oh… fuck. I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, I noticed that – you didn’t think at all.”

“I’m serious! My dad won’t be happy either!”

“Then you better start doing some serious damage control, because that’s not my problem.”

“You’re the only reason we cornered her in the first place!”

“I’m not kidding, Weiss. Drag me into this and I promise you; I’ll make you regret it.”

OoooOoooO

The heavy wooden door closed behind him as Harry walked out of the moderately packed tavern and into the brisk mid-autumn air. The thick, wool-lined coat warded off the brunt of the cold, but half a step into the lamp-lit streets and he already longed for the blazing hearth and warm mead available to him inside. A recently passed bout of weather had left the ground wet and leaves on the streets, but even still, in the distance, the sound of children’s laughter mixed with the occasional gleeful yelp. A Halloween party of some sort, likely organized for the kids so they could enjoy the night’s festivities. Candy would be swapped between small fingers while the adults traded their own kinds of treats. A pleasant evening for all so long as they kept warm, dry, and didn’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn that drew closer with every minute. The sun had long since set, hell, it had been dipping below the horizon when McGonagall, true to her word, had walked him toward Hogwarts’ southern gates that connected to the road to Hogsmeade.

“I will only ask this once, but are you certain you would not like me to accompany you to Hogsmeade, Mr. Evans?” McGonagall eyes were heavy with concern, but more than that, there was empathy.

“I’m good, Professor,” Harry replied evenly. “Besides, I’d hate to keep you from the feast.” They both knew he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the feast, but he was kind enough to lie, and she was kind enough to not call him out on it.

“Very well, then here is where I bid you goodbye. You have your note, should an M-Sec officer think to question you, though I doubt they will.”

M-Sec generally had their hands full with keeping the peace in the Muggle world this time of year. The barrier between worlds was thinnest on All Hallow’s Eve; magic flowed more freely, and wizards and witches all over the world used that as justification for all manner of activities – from light-hearted pranks to illegal rituals. M-Sec wouldn’t care about him at all.

“Technically speaking, you are not due back in the castle until Saturday, however,” McGonagall looked over her glasses at him, her concern still clear, “I do hope you will return before dinner tomorrow.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll do my best to.” That was all he was willing to offer.

“When you return, Mr. Evans, should you need anything, my door is always open. Lily came to me more than once, you know,” McGonagall’s voice faltered slightly at the mention of her favorite student’s name – a subtle crack, quickly recovered. “She just wished to share her thoughts with someone who was willing to listen, and I always was. I may not always be able to help, but I will be there, all the same. Hogwarts is a big castle, but you’re not alone.”

Harry muttered a word around his fag, and a small flame sparked from the tip of his wand. The rush of hot smoke and nicotine swirling into his system as he inhaled was the only reprieve from the torrent that was his thoughts. McGonagall said he wasn’t alone… Daniel had said something similar. No doubt, Ron thought the same. Hell, there were probably a dozen people back at that damned castle who would fiercely insist it… but at that moment, he was alone, and that’s how he preferred it.

“Godric’s Hollow…” the name slipped from Harry’s lips like a curse.

A place that he should have been able to call home, and instead he was a stranger – a specter walking its streets for the first time in fifteen years. To his right, a tiny copse of trees. Would he and Daniel have climbed them? Swinging from the branches, ducking under the leaves as they chased one another, pretending to be the heroes and villains of storybooks? To the left, a stream bordered by grassy banks and a small stone bridge. Would they have sprawled there in the summer, finding shapes in the clouds or playing in the shallows?

Every corner of the town was a life unlived. Every quiet fixture a memory that never came to be. Harry wanted to leave, even as his boots carried him onwards to the center of town.

Decorations were few – in the occasional window sat a carved pumpkin, its wicked leer and triangular eyes following him as he skirted the corner. Mercifully, the people were a different story – sparse, but not unfriendly. An elderly couple passed him by, a quiet nod their only exchange. Down the road, a small group of teens, roughly his age, maybe a tad older, piled into a beat-up, faded red Nova, a few bottles of Strongbow likely stuffed in the backseat. One of the girls, with dark messy hair and an oversized flannel, waved at him; no doubt curious about the boy no one in this tiny town had seen before. He gave a motion of his hand, barely discernible as a wave, but still an acknowledgement – all he offered before pressing on.  

Ahead, in the center of the town’s modest square, stood a stone statue; well-kept but clearly weathered by years of nature’s apathetic wrath. A writer of some sort, if the quill hoisted in the air and the spectacles perched on the end of his nose were any indication. Likely a local scholar whose name had once held importance to the area. Harry, normally a student of history, couldn’t have cared less… until the statue began to change.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as the rhythmic drumming of his heart quickened. Where once stood a man full of pomp and focus, there now stood a statue of four people: a man with glasses and untidy hair, a calm, confident smile playing on his lips; a woman with long, flowing hair and a gentle, playful look in her eyes somehow captured perfectly in stone; and in each of their arms, a baby boy – twins.

He stared, unwilling to look away lest they vanish.

The man and woman were familiar in ways that sent a chill down his spine – not just because he’d seen their pictures dozens of times, but because they spoke to memories he would never be recall yet were embedded in his psyche all the same. The infants in their arms left a pit in his stomach. Indistinguishable from one another in every way. One was him. The other – the one people would come to honor, to grieve, to mythologize – was the Boy-Who-Lived.

A shrine to a life that could’ve been his. A life where he grew up alongside his brother. Twins who should’ve been equal in everything. Raised in the world of magic. Raised by them.

Fate was cruel.

A bitter smile crept onto his lips as he turned away.

Harry wandered, a direction in mind but no particular plan or timeline as to when he would arrive. One cigarette followed the next as he left invisible prints upon the stone; dreading the moment when he finally reached his destination but unwilling to leave until he had.

Ahead him, the gong of church bells echoed, the turn of the hour marked for all to hear. The steepled towers rose above the surrounding buildings, a stone monument to the Catholic Church’s lingering dominance in the region. It reminded him of Hogwarts, and for a brief second, he felt a sharp pang of envy. He could’ve been there, surrounded by friends, tucked into a feast. Instead, he was in Godric’s Hollow. In the cold. Alone.

This entire fucking town was just a reminder of things that he’d lost.

Harry flexed his fingers to ward off the chill. “This is pathetic,” he muttered before resuming his march. Ignorance was no longer an excuse. He knew exactly where the graveyard was.

Situated directly behind the church, the garden of remembrance stretched quietly under the moonlight. Rows of tombstones, polished granite, worn limestone, and smooth marble, jutted jaggedly from the earth, each one marking a life that had passed. The stones varied in shape and size, some catching the light softly, others hiding amongst shadow, but each a testament to a single truth: these were monuments to absence – to lives cut short and memories torn away.

An ache settled over Harry as he stood before the home of the dead – a place built not for them, but to satisfy the needs of the living. Somewhere buried in that sea of damp grass and stone carved epitaphs were his parents. The weight of that emptiness pressed down on him as he pushed open the iron wrought gate, its pointed finials swinging inward to herald his entrance.

Harry walked slowly up and down the rows, reading the names and the words inscribed in their honor. Some names caught his eye: Abbott, like the Hufflepuff girl in his year. Dumbledore, sharing the surname of their esteemed headmaster. At any other time, he might have found intrigue in the way the magical world was so interconnected – instead, all he saw was the cold reality of time’s uncaring march.

Then, he saw it. Surrounded by flowers, wreaths, and other tributes, a lone headstone of white marble – easy to read even in the faded light.

In Loving Memory of James Potter & Lily Potter

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Harry had pictured this moment in his mind hundreds of times. To stand before the final resting place of his parents, the man and woman who had brought him into the world, given their lives so that his could continue on.

He had imagined the silence, the stillness, the reverence. The ache of loss. The weight of gratitude. The child-like comfort of finally, after so many years, just being close to them. He had imagined many things.

Rage was not one of them.

“Fifteen years…” Harry’s voice trembled – the words spilling out unbidden, drawn from a place he’d buried so deep he’d forgotten it even existed. “For fifteen goddamn years, you left me alone.”

All the years spent wondering why the other kids had a mum and dad when he didn’t.

The nights he spent crying after the Dursleys tossed him aside like trash.

The fears that had seeped into his bones, whispering that if he let himself care, then Beth would leave him too.

The envy he felt for the brother who had never wanted for warmth, care, or love.

The loathing he carried for everyone that had denied him the life that should have been his – the ones who had abandoned him to the world.

“Why?”

A single question, spoken aloud to the indifferent and unknowing remains that lay beneath earth and stone.

“Why did you have to die?”

Months ago, when he’d demanded answers from Alice, his anger had been explosive – loud and white-hot, perfectly in sync with the August heat. The inevitable result of fifteen years of pain finally given a target to strike, someone to hold accountable for the injustices of the past… but this was different.

“What was it all for?”

A question with an answer he already knew, but one he couldn’t help but speak aloud. Lily’s journals hadn’t revealed everything, they never would, but they had said enough. Some pieces had been filled in by Daniel, others left unclear, but the picture was unmistakable:

A young couple in their early twenties, fresh out of school, bright futures stretched out before them. The world was theirs for the taking – the good life in the palm of their hand. All they had to do was close their fingers around it… Instead, they let it go.

They turned back towards the fiery ruin of their homeland – a country wracked by terror and edging ever closer to civil war. Righteous fury. Noble resistance. The dream that good would prevail.

They fought.

Drunk on love, on hope, on the stubborn, reckless belief that what they were doing was right.

They fought.

Again, and again, they fought.

Fools. They should’ve known that the man they’d defied three times would come for them eventually.

“Was it worth it?” He whispered, voice sharp with bitterness. “Fighting for ideals? Dying for a cause?” Words meant to cut deep – cold and precise, like a blade slipped between ribs.

There would be no tearful apologies that night. No cries of regret. Nothing but the lament of a son left behind.

A thin stream of smoke curled upwards from the forgotten cigarette pinched between his fingers, the embers dimming in the wind. He didn’t notice – didn’t care. The late October chill had settled into his bones, not biting or unbearable, just there, numb and unmoving. A perfect reflection of everything else inside him.

“Did you think it was noble? Brave?” He laughed – a broken, joyless sound that echoed through the graveyard. “Was it brave to spite a mass murderer and make yourself targets? To bring the war into your home? Were the lives you helped worth more than your own?”

Harry slumped to the ground, the cigarette slipping from his hand and dying in the damp grass. He was eye-level now with the names carved into white marble – names he had longed to call out for in more than just his dreams.

“I needed parents, not martyrs.”

The words hung in the air, jagged and cruel, but honest, as time seemed to stand still. He waited. Hoped. Prayed – for a reply or a sign, something that even magic wouldn’t be able to explain. Some sort of answer to his questions, his accusations… a justification for the pain he’d never been able to escape from.

He leaned forward, one hand outstretched. The stone cold beneath his palm. Dew had begun to gather on the grave’s edge, and the scent of wet grass and fresh flowers clung to the back of his throat – sweet, poignant, and wrong.

“I know it’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice softer, eyes burning. “I know this isn’t what you wanted… but where do I go from here? How do I forgive people I never got to know when all I have are journals and other people’s memories?”

The wind died around him even as clouds crept across the sky and swallowed the moon. The light dulled and the shadows deepened. The dead offered nothing but silence.

Harry slumped backwards, the granite slab of someone else’s memorial catching him and holding him upright. A cigarette was retrieved, the darkness failing to impede the well-practiced ritual, and for a brief moment, the warmth of Prometheus’ gift to mankind illuminated the hallowed grounds of the departed.

He raised both hands. One for a drag, the other to rake through his hair. “I guess that’s that.”

Chapter Text

“On your feet, brother. We’re not done yet. If they’re so eager to see us fall, we’ll make them crawl over their own dead to do it.” -Fabian Prewett to his brother, Gideon while facing impossible odds. September 1975, the hour of their deaths.

Chapter 18:

“I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me in the next life, Mother. If a child comes to harm tonight, I won’t deserve it.”

Lalo, Cuban by blood, thief by trade, murmured the prayer aloud, a soft offering to the otherwise quiet night as he stood over the two unconscious women at his feet. The violence had been necessary, but distasteful. It always was. Still, it had helped purchase him passage onto Hogwarts grounds – no small feat, and enough to make him even more of a legend in certain circles.

Of course, the credit belonged almost entirely to the enigmatic Sebastian Lowe.

A curious one, that Lowe. Lalo had met plenty of liars and more than his fair share of pretenders, but there was something different about his client – something colder, more calculated. For all his pleasantries and polite conversation, he revealed nothing of himself and provided information that no outsider should know: the rhythms of the ghosts, the layers of the wards, the little habits of the staff, and the schedule of the students.

All to break into Hogwarts and steal from Dumbledore himself – a job that no thief in their right mind would take. Lalo had never been accused of being too sane. Curiosity and challenge were their own sins, and he had a particular hunger for both.

Sebastian Lowe was almost certainly an alias, but that hardly mattered. To Lalo, he was simply the client – the man with the keys to the castle and a map to match. It was thanks to him, and him alone, that Lalo now stood within the grounds, accepted by the wards.

The central problem had been simple to state, but maddening to solve: how do you trick a Hogwarts professor into inviting you onto the grounds when their mind must remain their own? Confundus Charms and every known derivative were dismissed out of hand, as were nearly all potions that tampered with cognition or will.

“It’s not about power,” Sebastian said, pacing, one hand curled into his robes, the other gesturing in rhythm with each word. “The wards can’t be brute-forced or loopholed with raw magic. They’re tuned to intent. Hooch must be fully herself when she invites you in – and she has to invite you as you are. Polyjuice, glamour charms, any of that nonsense? They’ll fail because in her mind, she’ll be inviting whomever you’re disguised as, not you.”

The solution, of course, came from Sebastian.

Lalo still didn’t understand how the magic worked – not really. Sebastian had called it Volontaen Reflectei, a magical concept more than a single spell, and one that sounded elegant right up until he tried to wrap his head around it. He’d followed all the instructions to the letter: gathered the correct reagents, spilled the right blood, cast the necessary preparatory magic, walked across the gated threshold only at the precise moment his target had. But the why of it all? That was another matter entirely.

Somehow, Sebastian had magically tethered him to a woman he’d never met, matched his very being to hers – not by force, but via resonance – and twisted a harmless invitation for drinks into a key that opened the gates of Hogwarts for one who was never meant to be there. It was subtle, old, and terrifying. The kind of magic that didn’t bend the rules of the world so much as whisper sweetly to them until they forgot what they were.

Lalo was used to clever spells and dirty tricks, but this… this was something else. He was a thief standing on sacred ground, wearing someone else’s reflection like a second skin, and the castle hadn’t blinked.

Where does a man even learn such magic? A question that would no doubt keep him up at night. Lalo knew that he was talented, cocky even, a necessary trait in his line of work, but he was also self-aware. He knew his skills and he knew his limits. This job… there was a very real possibility this job exceeded what he was capable of.

Worse still was the quieter, more dangerous question: Why did Lowe need help at all? The man had demonstrated his prowess from the outset. He’d provided everything – details, schedules, even the method of entry. So, why outsource the job to a thief?

“Am I just your patsy should things take a turn for the worst?” Lalo murmured, lips quirking upward. For all of Lowe’s pleasantries, that was the only explanation that made sense.

Even so, a job was a job, and Lalo was not the type to renege once a deal was struck. If he truly was just to be the fall guy, then he simply had to ensure they didn’t fail.

He turned away from the prone women and approached the three large wooden crates he’d hauled in, no longer buried under Disillusionment. Inside each container rested two sedated ogres, dull-eyed and chained, snoring as softly as thunder.

They wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Lalo smiled, grim, tired, but determined.

“Showtime.”

OoooOoooO

“Well, I’ll be damned. Is that you, Andromeda?”

“Cassiopeia.”

“Darling, it’s been ages since we last spoke. How have you been?”

“There’s a reason it’s been ages, Cass.”

“Oh, that whole banished from the family nonsense? Come now, dear, when did you ever know me to put stock in such things?”

“When you never made any attempt to reach out. You’ve still never met your niece. She’s 24 now, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering because I already know. If I’m not mistaken, young Nymphadora is tutoring under Alastor Moody right now. Smart girl. Lots of talent. Takes after you.”

“She also takes after her father.”

“I don’t doubt it. I heard she was a Hufflepuff, just as he was. Though, if the rumors aren’t mistaken, she’s far more akin to you in temperament. You always were so fiery, so passionate.”

“I need to get home. Goodbye Cass.”

“Before you do – are you free on Saturday? I’d love it if you’d join me for tea.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Now why would I joke about this? You’re family. Of course, I wish to have tea with my family.”

“How convenient that you waited until my father was dead to finally extend an invitation.”

“Cygnus was always a fool. Walburga too, for that matter – you won’t find me disagreeing with that sentiment.”

“And yet you never challenged them.”

“Challenge them? For what? Lordship of the House? Don’t be absurd, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Always quick to cast judgement, but never to back up your words.”

“I may not move overtly, but that doesn’t mean I simply sat back and watched idly.”

“So you say, but the results have been the same to me regardless.”

“This is an olive branch, dear. Take it.”

“You think tea will fix two and a half decades of neglect?”

“Of course, not. The past can’t be changed. All we can do is look forward.”

“Just tea?”

“Just tea.”

OoooOoooO

“Mrrn… I luhf Hawgwarts!”

A simple statement, spoken around bites of roast chicken, shepherd’s pie, and mashed potatoes drowned in gravy. Daniel was honestly surprised Ron could speak at all, let alone that he could understand him. Barely.

“Easy there, Ron. There’s more than enough food to go around.” Neville’s attempts to reason with the redhead were admirable, if ultimately futile.

“Ffflrrbthg!” Ron barked, a spoonful of honey-glazed carrots rising towards what could only be described as a cavernous maw.

“Absolutely not,” Fay said, grabbing his wrist before the orange vegetables could join the rest of the utterly mangled remains that used to be food. “Drink first.”

“Amm’oo muhrrghff?” he mumbled – utter, unintelligible nonsense to anyone with ears.

“I might as well be your mother. Now drink.” Nonsense to everyone but Fay, it seemed.

The drink, likely some kind of cordial, knowing Ron, was inhaled rather than sipped. The empty flagon slammed down on the table as he took a deep breath before exhaling slowly.

“I love you, Ron, but you’re disgusting.” Lavender was the only one brave enough to say it aloud, but all the girls were probably thinking it. The guys, meanwhile, were both disgusted and impressed. Especially Seamus, who looked like he might be tempted to try it himself.

“Blimey, can’t you all just leave a poor chap be so he can enjoy the feast?” Ron asked, casting a glance over the throng of amused faces.

“There’s no way the food tastes better that way,” Daniel countered.

Ron shrugged, refilling his cup with what was definitely cordial, blackberry, specifically. “All I know is I’m hungry, there’s more amazing food here than I’ve ever had in one place, and eventually the House Elves will take it all away. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to stuffing my bloody face now.”

There were a few good-natured jibes thrown his way, but no one objected aside from Fay, who remained insistent that Ron at least punctuate his gargantuan bites with enough drink to wash them down.

“Where in the hell is Hermione when I need her? I cannot be the only person in this Merlin-be-damned House trying to keep this idiot from choking to death!”

Daniel glanced up and down the table. “That’s a great question, actually. Where is Hermione?”

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her since Potions ended. He’d been in a foul mood coming out of the dungeons and hadn’t paid much attention to anyone, certainly not Hermione.

“Oh, did you not hear?” Parvati leaned in from her seat a few feet away. “Poor thing has been crying ever since classes ended – went off alone and apparently moved between abandoned halls, storage closets, and bathrooms to just be alone.”

“We tried to get her to come with us, but she refused to. Said to go without her and then she ran off to the fourth floor.” Trinity looked guilty for complying with her wishes.

“Is it because of what happened with Snape?” Daniel shot a glance toward the professors’ table. The man who seemed to take such pleasure in tormenting teenagers was calmly eating, not a hint of guilt on his face.

Sally jumped in, her bob-cut hair swaying as she shook her head. “Not Snape, but it was because of what happened in Potions.” Sally gestured to the far end of the hall where the Slytherins sat. "She was sobbing, so it wasn’t exactly clear, but I thought I heard her say Pansy’s name.”

“Pansy?” Daniel rose slightly from the bench, eyes scanning the sea of black, green, and silver until they settled on the girl in question – as gorgeous as ever, like a flower with venomous petals.

He wouldn’t put it past the acerbic Slytherin to have said something vile to Hermione. But for it to send her hiding in the bathroom alone during a feast? It would’ve had to be especially cruel.

“You with me, Nev?”

“Always.”

In unison, the two teens rose from their seats. None of the other Gryffindors tried to stop them – maybe it was because on some level they sensed the duo wouldn’t back down, or maybe they just wanted front-row seats to watch the inevitable show that would unfold. Either way was fine with Daniel, he hadn’t expected anyone else to join him. Even still, he was pleasantly surprised when Ron stood up as well, wiping his hands on a grease-stained napkin and rolling his neck.

“Awrrigh’… leh’sh doo dish,” he mumbled around the final bite before swallowing.

“Need some back-up Ronniekins?” One of Ron’s twin brothers, maybe Fred, maybe George, called out.

“We’ll be fine. Right, Daniel, Nev?”

Neville glanced over toward their quarry. “To chat with some snakes? Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t unheard of for students to fraternize with other Houses during mealtimes, even during feasts, but that didn’t mean it was a common sight either – especially not for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Eyes followed the trio immediately, heads on a swivel as people slowly but surely realized they were walking over to the table of their oldest and most bitter rivals. Conversations quieted. Silverware slowed. The collective attention of the Hall sharpened like a blade. Some students leaned in to whisper; others simply stared, waiting for the explosion.

“I do believe you’re at the wrong table, gentlemen,” Draco’s drawl cut through the tension and greeted the wayward Gryffindors the moment they arrived within speaking distance.

Daniel didn’t so much as glance his way. His eyes locked on Pansy. “Parkinson – what the hell did you say to Hermione?”

Pansy glared back, a small smile playing at her pursed lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Neville stepped forward, just slightly, but it was enough. Across from him, Blaise Zabini rose from his seat in kind. Rumor had it he was a hothead. Apparently, the rumors were true. To his credit, or maybe just to avoid escalating things further, Draco and his usual lackeys hadn’t budged an inch.

“We know you spoke to her after Potions today,” Neville said, his voice low and taut with anger. “And now she’s not at the feast. What the hell did you say to her?”

There was no bark in his tone, just heat, still simmering beneath the surface but inching closer to boil. Whatever words had been said hadn’t been a simple schoolyard taunt. Hermione would never have skipped a feast over something so trivial. No, something else had happened.

“She and I exchanged words, and yes, it was heated,” Pansy said coolly. “But I did not say anything so foul as to cause her to skip the feast.”

The emphasis was unmistakable.

 “Then who the hell did – and what did they say?” Daniel wasn’t asking.

Before Pansy had the chance to answer, or lie through her teeth, a deep, resounding crack echoed throughout the Hall. Every head turned toward the entrance. The great stone doors were ajar when only moments ago, they’d been shut. Then Filch burst through.

“HEADMASTER!”

The cry ripped from his throat, ragged and panicked. He clutched his mangled arm, blood trailing behind him in dark, uneven splatters. Shards of wood jutted from torn flesh, his robe in tattered shreds, one foot limp as he dragged it across the ground.

He made it six steps – Daniel counted them by reflex – before something massive slammed through the doorway behind him with a guttural roar and the Great Hall erupted into screams.

Twelve feet tall. Thick, gray skin. Arms like battering rams. A tree trunk gripped like a toy. Ogre.

The nearest students scattered instantly, plates clattering to the floor as they scrambled away from the raging beast. Daniel’s wand snapped into his hand. His father had taught him many things – but more than anything, he’d drilled one lesson above all:

“Do not let yourself be a victim, boys. Do not watch and hope the problem disappears on its own. Take action.”

The words echoed in Daniel’s mind, rising unbidden. His lips parted, the beginning of a spell forming – but he was too slow.

Dumbledore was already moving.

The old man’s hand extended, his gnarled wand fixed on the intruder. His eyes narrowed, gaze hardened – a man whose students were in danger, a man who would show no mercy.

In the blink of an eye, the floor transformed. A dozen stone rods surged upward from the thousand-year-old foundation of the castle, twisting like serpents, coiling around the ogre’s limbs. The creature roared, flailing as it was wrenched to a halt, its club frozen above the aged caretaker’s prone form.

The beast thrashed and raged, bellowing meaningless grunts and roars, but the meaning was clear – its fury unmistakable.

Students of all ages surged away from the restrained monster in a panicked wave, some screaming, others pale and wide-eyed. The sight of the beast was overwhelming, and the blood on Filch’s robes made it all the more real, and terrifying. The cantankerous bastard wasn’t well liked by any student, but he was still Hogwarts faculty, and seeing a member of the staff broken and bleeding on the ground shattered the illusion of safety that most thought the castle provided.

Reading about ogres in a Defense textbook was one thing, but seeing one in person, seeing the damage it could inflict on the human body was another thing entirely. Daniel didn’t know what their official classification was, but this one had to be XXX, at least. The kind of creature that average witch or wizard was told to run from, not engage.

“SILENCE!” Dumbldore's sonorous voice rang out, amplified with such force that some students clapped their hands over their ears, but it did what it was supposed to.

The Hall fell still, silent but for the ogre, still straining and howling against its bonds. The stone binding wasn’t too thick, but it showed no indication that it would crack or break under the beast’s fearsome strength. Clearly, Dumbledore had reinforced it – he hadn’t just restrained the creature, he’d created a prison.

Another flick of his wand and the ogre’s deafening cries fell silent. Some kind of silencing charm despite the fact that many magical creatures were naturally resistant to such charms. Albus Dumbledore, as always, didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of reality.

“I’m sorry for leadin’ it here, Headmaster,” Filch ground out, teeth clenched as he staggered upright. “Didn’t know where else to run, but this beast isn’t alone!”

Madam Pomfrey rushed forward from the staff table, all Healer’s instinct and no patience. “Lie back down this instant, you are in no condition to stand!”

“Out of my way, woman,” Filch snarled, moving her to the side – not cruelly, but with grim purpose. “I’m reportin’ to the Headmaster.”

Dumbledore was at his side immediately. “Then we’ll do both, Argus. Tell me everything. Let Poppy do her work.”

“Yes, Sir,” Filch exhaled as Madam Pomfrey helped ease him to the ground. “Four confirmed ogres… inside the castle. Likely more.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Big. Loud. Lumbering, but fast. Not just wreckin’ things – they’re huntin’. Tried to hit the kitchens. Tore through waste bins. One of ‘em sniffed out a bloodied bandage I dropped. They’re lookin’ for meat, Headmaster. Flesh.”

The Hall had fallen into a stunned hush. Even the first years recognized the weight of what they were hearing. This wasn’t just a report, it was a battlefield briefing – the type of thing normally delivered behind closed doors, and they had a front row seat.

For most of them, this was the first time magic had ever felt real. No longer just a means to make life fun or convenient. A macabre reminder that Defense existed to protect them from a world that was dangerous.

Dumbledore said nothing. He simply nodded, urging him to continue. The light that usually danced behind those half-moon glasses was gone – his gaze was ice.

“Hooch went to the East Gate, like always on Halloween – meeting that friend of hers. Neither’s come back. I haven’t checked the path yet…” He winced as Pomfrey pressed a bandage into his arm, then the report continued. “This isn’t random, Headmaster… they got in clean. They’re coordinated. Hungry.” A final breath escaped him, closer to a growl than anything approaching human speech. “Enemy action.”

Dumbledore rose, jaw tight, robes settling around him like storm clouds. “Well done, Argus. Rest now.” He turned to face the staff table, eyes scanning. “Severus. Go. Now.”

Whatever the order was, it required no elaboration. Snape was gone in an instant, slipping out a side door, robes billowing behind him.

“Minerva, take Silvanus and Aurora. Head for the East Gate. Find Madam Hooch and get her to safety.”

Professor McGonagall gave a solemn nod; lips pressed into a thin line. Her wand was already in hand.

“Filius, floors three and four are yours to clear.”

Professor Flitwick gave a crisp salute, surprising in its precision for a man of his stature but not for his reputation. The famed dueling master seemed ready, more so than anyone else.

“Pomona, take Bathsheda, Vector, and Thaddeus. Sweep floors five and six.”

Professor Sprout hesitated only a moment before squaring her shoulders. “We’ll find them,” she said quietly, her earthy warmth replaced by something steely.

“Quirinus, seventh floor. Move quickly. Once it’s clear, join Severus.”

Professor Quirrell nodded calmly, unphased by the extra direction provided for him.

“Cuthbert, head down to the dungeons. I do not believe them to be down there but check anyway.”

Professor Binns had been hovering protectively near the Ravenclaw table, but he nodded before his ghastly form sunk beneath the stone.

“I shall handle the first two floors myself.”

No one questioned the statement.

“The rest of you, stay here. Guard the students.”

A ripple of wands drawn, professors moving instinctively to the edges of the Hall.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore looked over his glasses towards the gamekeeper, damn near the size of an ogre himself. “Nothing gets through those doors. I’m trusting you.”

The large, kind-hearted man grunted and stepped forward, massive hands balling into fists. “I won’t let anythin’ get through, Professor.”

Daniel was almost in awe watching Dumbledore direct his staff like soldiers on the battlefield. The orders were swift, sensible, and received without question. This wasn’t the quirky Headmaster fond of handing out Lemon Drops, this was the wartime leader of legend, the man who had guided Britain through hellfire and come out the other side stronger.

For a moment, Daniel believed everything would be okay. The Hall was a mess, Filch was injured, hell, there was an ogre still trapped not thirty feet away, but the professors had their orders and were about to secure the castle, the students would remain in place until the all-clear came through, and most importantly, Professor Dumbledore was in control.

Then it hit him.

Hermione wasn’t there.

His throat tightened as a sinking weight settled in his gut.

She didn’t know. She didn’t realize the danger she was in.

“Hermione,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Ron heard him. Neville did too. Their eyes widened at the same moment.

“Hermione!” Neville roared.

All three of them bolted, sprinting towards the open doors. None of the teachers were prepared for their mad dash – maybe Dumbledore would have had his back not been turned. If they been anywhere else but standing at the end of the Slytherin table, they likely would’ve been stopped.

A voice rang out behind them – “Potter! Longbottom! Stop!”

The command was stern, sharp, and left no room for argument – but underneath it all was another emotion: fear. Apprehension. Anxiety from watching as three first-years charged headlong toward a deadly enemy that could fell them with a single misstep.

They ignored it, their feet pounding against stone as they left behind a chorus of confused voices.

Hermione was out there.

Alone. Unaware.

And if they didn’t get to her first… Daniel refused to let the thought finish.

He just ran faster.

OoooOoooO

“What was Potter talking about?”

“Not now.”

“Pansy. What was Potter talking about?”

“Nothing important.”

“You’re only a bad liar when you’re nervous. Answer the damn question.

“Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters. Once the dust has settled, everyone in this entire damn castle is going to be asking why Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom ran off to help a wayward student. You don’t think they’ll start asking why she was alone in the first place?”

“…Weiss said it, not me.”

“Said what?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Fucking hell!”

“I know, okay… I know.”

“No, you don’t, or you would’ve told me the second it happened.”

“I’ll fix it.”

“And how will you accomplish that? You think Granger’s just going to forgive and forget? You think the rest of the Gryffindors will? Potter? Evans? Their mother was muggle-born for fuck’s sake!”

“Weiss knows what she has to do.”

“She’s willing to take all the accountability?”

“She said she will.”

“Not good enough. I’m not leaving this to chance. Spread the word. Now.”

“Drake…”

“No, this can’t wait. Start the rumor. Control the narrative.”

“I already planned to…”

“Planned isn’t good enough. We start tonight. Carmichael was practically drooling over you last week. Use him. Chang will know about it within the hour. I’ll handle Brown. Potter was livid, so I doubt he’s the only Gryffindor who knows. As for Hufflepuff –”

“Tracey is friends with Abbott. They talk a lot.”

“Perfect. And that leaves Lawson for the teachers.”

“Lawson? Really?”

“She’s well liked and has years more credibility with the staff than we do. We can turn Weiss into a social pariah all we want, but if the teachers don’t buy it, none of it matters.”

“Her dad might pull her from Hogwarts...”

“That’s her problem. If she can’t handle the fallout from her own stupidity, then she never belonged in this House to begin with.”

OoooOoooO

Neville ran like he’d never run before. All the days spent playing tag, mock quidditch games where legs replaced brooms and he and Daniel had sprinted through the yard. Years of physical endurance training at his father’s insistence. Never before had he pushed his body as hard as at that moment. His legs ached, his lungs burned, but he knew he couldn’t stop – hell, he couldn’t even slow down lest that give him a reason to stop.

Keep pushing!

Paintings blurred past, suits of armor throwing up salutes and noiseless cheers weren’t even registered. Neville’s mind raced as fast as his feet. The fourth floor. That was the only hint they had to go off, but it was enough – it had to be.

“Where – are we – going, Nev?” Ron’s words came in ragged bursts, each one forced out between gasps, like he was fighting his own lungs just to speak.

“Fourth floor,” Daniel answered for him, voice stony and focused. “Trinity said she went off that way.”

Onward they ran. Hogwarts Castle was massive. Students got lost every single day trying to navigate its corridors. Even when sprinting with every ounce of strength, navigating the twisting hallways and moving staircases just took time. The one thing they didn’t have to spare.

“Hurry up!” Neville growled at the staircase – its movement between landings had slowed to a crawl. An expected behavior, but at that moment, an infuriating one. He wiped sweat from his forehead; eyes locked on the floor above. “We’re almost there.”

“We still don’t know where she is,” Ron said, drawing his wand. “I think we need to split up.”

“No way.”

“Hell no,” Daniel said at the same time.

“Think about it!” Ron snapped, the plea was delivered through frayed nerves.

They hadn’t had time to stop and think about where they were, the danger they were in. Instinct had taken over and they’d thrown themselves headfirst into the fire. This reprieve brought with it awareness. 12-foot-tall behemoths roamed the halls, and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

“We aren’t trying to fight a damn ogre,” Ron continued, “we’re trying to find Hermione and get to safety! All three of us know what we’re up against, but she doesn’t. If someone has to run into one of those things alone, better it be us than her, right?”

The logic was sound, but it was also too risky. Neville shook his head. “We stand a better chance at surviving if we’re all together. Together, we can confuse it with spells and keep it distracted. If we’re alone, we’re as good as dead.”

“Bloody hell… we’re fucked either way.”

The words were brutal, but honest. Mountain Ogres were dangerous, incredibly so – three first years, talented though they were, wouldn’t stand a damn chance of bringing one of them down.

For a moment, no one spoke, then the staircase groaned as the stone joints finally slid into place with a sluggish thud. One more flight, a few more steps and they’d be on the fourth floor.

Neville started forward but Daniel didn’t move. “Daniel, let’s go!”

Daniel wasn’t looking at him. He was staring off to the right, down towards the third floor. Neville followed his gaze and felt something cold settle in his chest.

The door. The one that was supposed to be locked. The one that led to a black iron gate pulled straight out of hell – a beast of shadow and malice lurking within.

That door was wide open. Not broken or swinging on its hinges. Just… open.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Ron asked, his voice quiet, the uncertainty intensified.

Neville was at a loss, but at that moment, Filch’s words came to him. “Enemy action,” he quoted. The implication hung in the air, creating more questions than it answered. Who was the enemy? What did they want? Why was Hogwarts involved?

A half-second pause, then Daniel pulled his eyes away. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Hermione first.”

Neville nodded, and their mad dash continued, but he knew that later, when they were safe, those questions would return, buried like a splinter in the back of his mind – small, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

That door shouldn’t have been open.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty corridors as they ran, only stopping to fling open doors and shout Hermione’s name into the darkness. So far, they hadn’t encountered another soul, living or dead. In a way, no news was good news… at least they hadn’t heard screaming.

“Keep moving,” Neville urged after another abandoned classroom was confirmed empty.

But then, he heard it. The sound was faint, a low rumble in the distance rolling through the stone until it reached his ears. He skidded to a stop, Ron and Daniel following suit. “You two hear that?”

A tense pause as they waited for the noise to resound again, then it came again, faint but unmistakable.

“Clear as day, mate,” Ron’s tone was grim as he lay down, one ear pressed against the ground. “It’s definitely on this floor…”

The footsteps, because what else could they be, were heavy but slow, almost deliberate in their control. Far different than the powerful but frantic and wild movements of the one that almost got Filch… Neville’s stomach dropped. Why is this one moving so slowly?

Once more, the aged caretaker’s report echoed through his memory: ‘They’re lookin’ for meat, Headmaster.’

It wasn’t wandering, it wasn’t lost, it was looking for food. Drawn to the scent of a man’s bloody bandage… of human flesh. Ogres were beasts. The type of creatures to operate more on instinct than intelligence. This one wasn’t on the fourth floor just for the hell of it.

“It’s hunting…” Wide-eyed, Neville felt his heartbeat quicken. “It’s moving slow because it smells something… it’s stalking”

Daniel didn’t hesitate. One second, he was beside them, the next, gone. No commands, no plan, no coordination – just the raw, reckless, and absolute determination to reach the ogre before it reached Hermione.

“HERMIONE, RUN!” Ron roared, hands cupped around his mouth even as they sprinted forward. A desperate plea that echoed down the corridor, but it felt too small, too late, as the steady thud of massive footsteps grew closer.

The sound was no longer distant. The rumble through the stone was close enough to feel. A war drum that shook the walls, vibrations rattling them to their core. The bend was just ahead, and likely the ogre as well. In that hall there was a set of lavatories – he knew because he’d had to duck inside after one of their Charms lessons to clean off the soot left on him from one of Seamus’ botched attempts to cast the levitating charm.

Hold on, Hermione!

Hold on? For what? All three of them had moved before they even had a chance to consider how they’d save her, they’d just acted. Thrown themselves into danger with no plan, no strategy, only instinct. A desperate need to rescue their classmate. Their friend. But what could they hope to achieve? Their repertoire of spells was pitiful, at best, and their courage was a fleeting weapon against such raw physical power… but they had to do something.

The trio turned the corner just in time to see the ogre. Larger than the one that crashed into the Great Hall – over thirteen feet of cracked granite skin and corded muscle. A massive, splintered club as thick as a lamppost gripped tightly in its hand. It smashed through the heavy oak door of the women’s lavatory, tearing a chunk of stone out of the frame as it barreled inside.

A guttural roar shook the hallway, full of rage and hunger.

And beneath it, panicked and terrified: Hermione’s scream.

They all rushed toward the destroyed doorway just as another crash rang out from within. The sound of wood splintering. Stone breaking. Porcelain shattering. The bathroom was a warzone. Half the sinks were gone, reduced to shards and twisted scrap metal. Water sprayed out from the remnants of the pipes still embedded in the walls, flooding the tiles and soaking everything in a thin, shimmering layer. Most of the stalls had been obliterated, their doors torn to pieces and scattered across the floor.

In the middle of the chaos, near the far wall, Hermione crawled backward across the slick floor – soaked to the bone and her eyes wide with terror… but alive.

The ogre loomed over her, its thick club dragged behind it, gouging a deep line through the tile with every step. The beast had found its prey.

Ron was the first to act. He’d arrived a split second ahead of the others, his gangly legs carrying him forward even as he skidded to a stop just outside the room. His eyes narrowed in concentration, wand jutted forward – none of the elegance Dumbledore had displayed earlier, but every bit of the determination.

“INCENDIO!”

A stream of red-hot flame erupted from the tip of his wand, engulfing the ogre’s midsection in fire and charring its flesh.

It howled. A guttural, pained bellow that shook the ruined walls and deafened all who stood too close. Then it turned, whipping its head around and fixing its baleful glare on the first year who dared stand in the way of its hunt.

Ron didn’t flinch.

Daniel was next. Without slowing, he slid underneath the arc of flame, shattered porcelain tearing through his robes and slicing into his legs as he skidded across the floor and put himself straight into the thick of the danger.

“Diffindo!” His wand snapped upward, a thin stream of light lancing toward the ogre’s eye. It missed by a mere inch, striking the creature’s magic resistant hide. The damage was minimal, but its ferocious roar proved it wasn’t immune.

Daniel was undeterred.

“Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo! DIFFINDO!”

Each blast flew toward the ogre’s face – not all of them hit the mark, and none of them struck clean, but they served their purpose – a mix of pain and rage caused it to focus on Daniel. A distraction. An opportunity, however brief.

With a thunderous snarl, the beast raised its club and brought it down like a hammer. Daniel barely rolled aside in time – stone shattered where he’d just been, razor-sharp debris exploding into the air and drawing blood wherever it struck.

Neville didn’t pass up the chance.

Every logical part of him screamed to stay back. That he’d die. That they all would die, smashed into a bloody pulp and devoured without care. But he saw Daniel on the ground, still prone from where he’d dodged the last attack, intensely focused on casting as many spells as possible at its head. He saw Hermione, trapped in the corner, wide-eyed, terrified. He knew that if he didn’t move, if he didn’t take action, none of them would walk away.

If I die, I hope I can make them proud.

Straight into the throng, he charged. Flames licked at his shoulders as he darted beneath the ogre’s hulking form – right below the club, raised high and poised to deliver death to anything caught in its path.

Neville struck first.

“FLIPENDO!”

A concentrated blast of concussive force burst forth, targeted directly against the wooden weapon just as it began to descend. Against the ogre itself, the spell would’ve been useless, but with its thick fingers still curled tightly around the club’s shaft, its arm was wrenched backward by the blast.

The beast reeled, the laws of physics working in the Gryffindors’ favor as it was thrown off balance by its own momentum.

“GLACIUS!” Hermione cried. Still backed into the corner, still soaked and shaking, with anxious tears spilling from her eyes, but not idle.

From the tip of her wand a howling torrent of frigid air poured forth and collided with the flooded floor, freezing the puddle beneath the ogre’s feet into slick, shimmering ice.

There was no traction. Its weight shifted. And with a furious roar, it slipped.

The crash was monstrous. Stone cracked, ice shattered, and debris flew in all directions as over two thousand pounds of muscle fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

Enraged, confused, but most importantly, momentarily dazed.

For half a second, no one breathed. Even the beast didn’t move. In that heartbeat of silence, it was almost possible to believe that they’d won. That they were safe.

The ogre’s eyes flickered open, and the illusion was shattered.

“RUN!” Neville screamed, fear, desperation, and adrenaline tearing from his throat like a curse.

Hermione didn’t hesitate, moving across the ice in a frantic blur, sliding and stumbling toward Neville’s outstretched hand. Their fingers met and he pulled her close, yanking her behind him and shielding her body with his own.

“I’ve got you, you’re safe,” Neville said. Simple words of assurance, but also a promise.

Still shocked, all Hermione did was squeeze his hand tighter. That was all she needed to do. In that moment, he swore that he would not let anything hurt her. Even if it cost him his life, he would keep his vow.

“Like hell!” Daniel snarled, fury flashing in his eyes as he pushed to his feet. Blood streaked the ice where the jagged porcelain had shredded his legs. He raised his wand once more and stepped forward, closer to the beast.

“Daniel, don’t!” Neville’s voice cracked, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

The ogre lay still. Its head exposed, its eyes blinking as awareness slowly returned.

Neville wanted to run. Daniel wanted to end it.

“DIFFINDO!”

A single streak of light, then a roar unlike any he’d heard before.

A sound so wild, so raw, it sent chills down Neville’s spine.

Growing up, their dad had taken him and Daniel hunting. Mundane methods, mostly. They’d used enchanted traps and magically reinforced crossbows to hunt all manners of beasts. A test of skill, a challenge, a way for a father to bond with his sons and get some useful magical reagents in the process. With those ventures came lessons – words of wisdom passed down not for pride, but survival. To keep them safe, to prevent a mistake from becoming a death.

Of all those lessons, one had always stuck with him:

“Always be careful when cornering a wounded beast.”

His father had said it with quiet certainty as he stood over the body of a dying Peluda that had thrashed and screamed even after its heart had stopped.

“The most dangerous thing in the world is a creature that knows it’s dying. Because it’ll fight without fear. Without reason. It’ll fight just to spite the end.”

The noises that Peluda made, that desperate, furious protest against death, it was the same as the ogre’s wounded cries – a beast who knew the end was near and would do anything to escape that fate.

It was going to rise again.

Neville’s blood ran cold.

“Daniel, please…” His voice broke as he turned, barely able to keep his gaze off the ogre. “We have to go. Now. It’s not going to stay down!”

“We can finish it!” Daniel growled, his stance unwavering – defiant to sense, consumed by the rush of battle.

“Move your bloody arses, we’ve got to go!” Ron had stepped forward to pull him and Hermione out of the ruined bathroom.

Neville pushed Hermione into his arms, then wrenched free. He moved closer to Daniel, to the danger.

“Think, damn it!” He grabbed his brother’s arm. “You saw what it took just to knock it down! If it gets back up –”

Another low, wounded howl cut through the room as the ogre clutched its damaged eye. The thrashing had stopped. The stillness was worse.

They were out of time.

Neville’s grip tightened. “Daniel… we’ll die.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Daniel’s jaw was clenched, eyes blazing with a storm of anger and frustration. Then, slowly, he nodded – a silent acquiescence. His wand stayed raised, fingers taut, but he allowed Neville’s hand to pull him back.

“Let’s go,” Daniel muttered, voice rough but resolute. “Quickly. Leave this bloody thing to the teachers.”

Neville let out a shaky breath of relief – he honestly wasn’t sure what he would’ve done had his brother not relented.

Together, they began to back out of the room. Wands held aloft, eyes still fixed on their fallen foe. Neville knew better than to turn his back on an enemy – especially one that was wounded, cornered, and still drawing breath.

Four steps.

Four steps. That was how far they made it when suddenly, the beast moved. There was no warning, no snarl, no signal of what was to come. Just a sudden gust of wind as it lunged forward and lashed out – its long, massive limb closing the distance in an instant and slamming into Daniel’s outstretched arm.

A sickening crack, felt more than heard, shattered through Neville’s thoughts as his brother’s arm was broken in half a dozen places – jagged, white piercing through skin and covering him in blood. Daniel’s body twisted with the force, a tragic mockery of the ogre’s own recoil when its club had been blasted away.

He crumpled wordlessly. The shock robbed him of any pained screams. His wand spun out of his hand, clattering against the stone wall.

Hermione’s voice cut the silence.

“DANIEL!”

From the corner of Neville’s eye, movement. A blur of motion.

Pure instinct, nothing more and nothing less, saved his life. He threw himself backward, hitting the ground hard, his head bouncing off the frozen tile as he skidded away. Pain exploded through his shoulder as it dislocated with a sickening pop.

The ogre’s clawed hand missed him by mere inches.

Neville’s vision swam, the breath knocked out of his lungs in a rush. He barely registered Ron’s shouts, the flashes of light, or the sudden heat of flames above him as he was dragged backward across the frozen tile. He tried to lift his arm, to help, to get to his feet – he cried out, the effort alone causing agony to flare in his shoulder.

Off to the side, Daniel lay motionless.

The ogre roared, pushing itself to its feet. One eye was closed, blood slowly spilling from the wound and staining its face red. With one clawed hand, it picked up the club.

Hermione’s hands gripped at his clothes, pulling him away from the ogre. Away his brother’s limp body. Away from death.

“I’ve got you, Neville! I’ve got you!”

“Run…” He croaked, urging the only two who could still do so to flee. To survive. They ignored him.

Ron stepped into his field of vision. Alone, but stalwart. He stood between them and the monster; wand gripped in both hands like a sword.

“Fuck that!” He growled, his voice low. “Diffindo!”

The spell hit the ogre’s neck, but it barely flinched.

“Incendio!”

Flames erupted forth, engulfing the creature’s face. It snarled, raising a thick, meaty hand to shield its eyes and swat at the fire. Then it charged.

“LOOK OUT!” Hermione screamed.

For a split second, Ron stood firm, unyielding, before at the last possible second, he dove to the side as the club came crashing down, shattering the floor where he’d just stood

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. Spell after spell flew from his wand. “Diffindo! Diffindo! Incendio!”

The severing charms all made contact, the flames licked across the beast’s skin, but they did nothing. Ron was buying them seconds with sheer will alone – the only one standing between them and certain death.

But he was alone. A first year.

It would take a hundred spells to bring the ogre down.

It only needed one blow to end them all.

“Hermione… run!”

Maybe it was selfish of him, but he thought one of them, at least, should get to live. The three boys, they’d all chosen this. They’d sought out the danger to save her. If she lived, maybe… maybe it’d all be worth it.

Hermione shook her head, tears dripping onto his cheeks.

“No!” She sobbed. Just one word, torn from her lungs. “Flipendo!”

The knockback jinx hit the ogre’s leg, right behind the knee. It barely stumbled before its head swiveled, locking eyes with Hermione.

“DIFFINDO! FLIPENDO! DIFFINDO! INCENDIO” Ron yelled the spells in quick succession, his voice cracking; each flash of light driven by the primal rage of someone desperately trying to keep his friends alive.

Neville gritted his teeth as he forced himself upright, his shoulder screaming in protest. His vision blurred, nausea bubbled in his throat. With a roar, he raised his wand at the advancing ogre, his charms joining those of his friends.

Their spells bounced off its hide.

They failed.

The ogre raised its club.

We’re going to die…

“Confringo Maxima.”

The ogre exploded into flames.

There was no howl of pain. No follow-up attack. The entire upper half of the beast’s body was simply gone – obliterated entirely, smoke still rising from its charred remains.

Behind them, in the ruined doorway, small but unshaken, stood Professor Flitwick. His robes flared. Wand raised. Eyes full of quiet fury.

“Sir, help… Daniel.”

A final plea, then nothing but darkness.

Chapter Text

“I don’t study for Herbology. I just walk in, flex, and the Mandrakes behave. It’s a dominance thing. Like with dogs or Ravenclaws.” -Cormac McLaggen to his friend, Carl Hopkins, shortly before a Herbology test. March 1991.

Chapter 19: