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Chapter Text

Archie hated his name. 

Harry found this rather stupid, because all their friends and their friends' families had ridiculously wizardish names, too. In fact, except their father, he didn't know anyone else with as plain a name as Harry. It wasn't even short for anything. He'd thought his father had named him, so that they would be matching - James and Harry, utterly boring. But no, his mum had named him Harry Charles Potter, the second name for her own muggle father and the first simply because she liked the sound of it. Or so she said. Harry often wished he had a more wizardly name, like his brother, Archibald. That sounded serious, at least. And no one took Harry very seriously. 

They should. He was older, after all. He was already eleven years old. It was a mere two years difference, but those years felt like an eternity. Archie was too slow, too loud, too much for Harry. He was also his brother, so naturally he was stuck with him.

"I want to go too," Archie told him, as if Harry didn't know.

"You can't," he said, for what must've been the nine hundredth time. "You aren't old enough."

"I don't want you to leave yet," he told him.

"I'm not," he said back. "I've only just gotten my letter, you know."

"Play with me," he demanded. "Aurors and Dark wizards!"

"I don't want to," Harry said.

"Play with your brother," his dad said from the head of the table, not looking up from his paper. "Could do with some good up-and-coming Aurors."

"I don't want to be an Auror," Harry told him.

"Well, maybe your brother will carry on the family tradition," he looked up to wink at Archie. "It's not all about you, you know." This was directed at Harry.

"Mum, I don't want to play. I want to read."

"You always read," Archie said.

"I do not," Harry lied. He was often in a book, but sometimes he wondered if this fact had anything to do with avoiding the endless energy of Archibald.

"Or break stuff," Archie continued, evilly. "Read or blow things up, that's all you ever do -and you never play with me anymore." Harry ground his teeth.

"Archie, if you want Harry to play with you maybe don't provoke him," mum said. 

"What's provoke?"

"When you're trying to make him mad," she told him. 

Their dad snorted aggressively at something in the paper, before flipping the page loudly.

"Anything?" She asked him, attention switched.

"Concerned citizens," he said mockingly. "It's rubbish what Rita gets away with these days. That Act needs to pass, and all she can do is stir up discord. Some people never change, but now some of those same have a platform. She's gone and painted the old families with the 'victim' brush. Please."

"Sounds like her," Lily said, with a matching snort to his earlier one.

"Play with me," Archie said, no longer interested in his parents. 

"No," Harry said, a little harsher.

"Come on, you're going to leave me for ages and ages!" His mum shot him a warning look. She had this great sense for when Harry was going to get mean. He hated it.

"...Fine. But I want to be the dark wizard this time."

Lily and James interlaced their fingers and watched their sons get up from the table, one rather reluctantly.

"They're growing up," she said softly.

"I remember my first year at Hogwarts like it was yesterday," James said fondly. "Though, I'm not sure where Harry will sort."

"Ravenclaw," Lily said. "I'd bet money on it."

"No bet," James said.

"Only because I'd win," she said, leaning in for a lingering kiss.

Harry and his brother Archie lived in Potter cottage, a home that had been in the family for just about forever. Their mother often fondly called the place 'medieval', and it was. It had only two floors (and a large greenhouse on the land), with rooms which were all closed off by doors - like in a time when heating had to be conserved. The first floor had a large, obtrusive suit of armour in the sitting room that Harry did not like at all. (Apparently he had used to cry when he'd see it as a babe, but it was a Potter heirloom. It stayed.)

From the sitting room you could reach the hall, which was very tall and narrow (the ceilings of the first floor were nearly four meters), and without any natural light, except when the front door was open. There are many other details that could be told about the Potter cottage, but it isn't too important at the moment, because the only thing one needs to know is that there aren't many places to hide.

It was nearly the first of September now, and Harry was indulging his brother in what he hoped to be his last game of hide and seek. Maybe after Harry came back for the holidays, Archibald will have grown out of his love for playing games and have grown into his stern name.

One can hope.

Harry glared at the suit of armour, his own personal ritual. "Hate that thing," he muttered under his breath. Now that he had exhausted all options (there were so few in Potter cottage), he knew his brother could only be hiding in one place. Their father's office.

It was totally off-limits. Not because dad was so very secretive or strict, but because they hadn't really studied any magic or could use spells.

Firstly, it was disrespectful and intrusive. Secondly, father's office was filled with magical knick-knacks and cursed objects - and because they couldn't tell the difference they were to leave the room well enough alone. Harry had snuck in a few times, of course. It was irresistible. He'd gotten in loads of trouble, but almost gotten away with it once. That was only because he'd already stolen his father's invisibility cloak. After his dad had a roaring laugh and gave him a pat on the back for his troubles, he was, once again, in loads of trouble.

He figured his dad was right - he needed to learn more spells before he could deal with investigating the office. Not for safety, really, but to be undetected at least once. To really have time to look around.

Harry was, truly, a grand snoop.

Anyway, Archie must be in there. Therefore, Harry must go in to look for him, because he was his big brother and had to watch after him while mum was out. He would have to thank Archie for the small opportunity one day, when he understood it.

The door was never locked, but he knew time was limited before his mum was here. She (and his father, though he was at work) would've been alerted as soon as Archie went inside. Mum was at Alice's house, but she would be coming back now because of Archie setting off the alert, and wouldn't be pleased. At least it wasn't Harry's fault.

He slid inside. "Archie," he called out. "Where are you? You can't hide forever," he said spookily. He heard a giggle.

Behind the grey cabinets.

He reached around with a hand and Archie shrieked. "Stop it, Harry!"

"Found you," he said leaning over and leering. Now that that was done, he began to look around the office. Archie stood and dusted himself off.

"We aren't supposed to be in here -" he began.

"Well, you're the one who hid in here," Harry interrupted. "I was just finding you."

"Don't snoop," Archie said. "Dad'll be mad if you do again. What if you break something again?"

"Won't they be mad I had to come in here looking for you? I mean, mum's on her way back early for certain - because you've snuck in here and set off their intruder charms."

Archie shifted guiltily. 

"It's not mum's fault you got into a fight with Neville and didn't want to go to Alice's," Harry said as he began to peer into the drawers of a promising looking dresser. "You came in here on purpose to get her to come home."

"Whatever," Archie said grouchily. "Neville's a twat."

"Don't say I taught you 'twat'," Harry said as he picked up a Fear Funnel. Those were really banned for muggle baiting.

"I won't," Archie said stoutly. Harry almost believed him. Archie was starting to get over his snitching age. He only tattled on Harry about fifty times this summer, which was thousands times less than before he'd got his Hogwarts letter.

"Alice is mum's friend, it's not fair to make her come home just because she'd got a friend and you don't."

"I've got other friends - more than you," Archie said, swinging up to sit on dad's desk.

"I wouldn't want any friends like yours," he shot back. He'd come across a drawer of what looked like Dungbombs, but he was fairly certain weren't.

"Whatever," Archie said again. "Are you going to write me at all? When you leave?"

Harry eyed him. "If you like."

"Tell me what the Sorting is?"

Harry laughed. "If I've got to wait, so do you."

"But the Shacklebolts told Angie, and she won't tell me!"

"Well, bully for them."

"You really are such a snoop," Archie told him. Harry rifled through a collection of old arrests accompanied by photos of Sirius and his dad, in increasingly ridiculous poses with their captures.

Harry didn't pay Archie any attention and began to put everything he'd touched back. "Heard that? Mum's home. Let's go. And say sorry for ruining her afternoon, would you?"

"Whatever," Archie said mulishly.

Harry had pocketed the Fear Funnel.

The Hogwarts Express left at eleven o'clock, and that meant a large breakfast and party before taking the Portkey. Not everyone could get a Portkey to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but with Archibald Potter coming along, the Potters did.

"Smile, smile," Sirius insisted, camera held out. "It won't kill you, Harry, I promise."

This, unfortunately, did manage to get Harry to smile a bit more naturally and less like he was being held at wand-point (he was, practically!). Sirius crowed with success as he captured that; James and Lily at Harry's shoulders, the new owl, and Archibald who had been beaming the whole time anyway. From the excitement alone, you would think it was Archie going to Hogwarts this year and not Harry.

"It's okay to be nervous," his mum told him as Sirius showed Peter the photo results.

"I'm not," Harry said.

"But it is okay," she pressed. "It's a big school - lots of new people - "

"Not all of them!" Archie said. "Tell Fred and George hullo for me."

"The Weasleys?" Harry asked, as if there was any other pair of Freds and Georges they knew.

"Obviously," Archie rolled his eyes. "Show me!" He went to Sirius, and his mum pulled him in for what seemed like the millionth hug this morning. She squeezed so tight he started to taste the breakfast sausages again in his throat. 

"Mum," he said. "I'm alright. I'm excited, really."

"Me too," she said, though her voice was a little thick.

"We should probably get going," Remus said. Harry possibly liked Remus the best of all his parents' friends, because he was just a tad too awkward and yet everyone loved him anyway. Harry wasn't the best with people either, but unlike Remus, people didn't tend to find it charming. Harry had an ease for unnerving people, instead. Still. Awkwardness united them. Remus also didn't charm Harry's eggs to bite him back, unlike some other people visiting today.

"Merlin's ba - " Sirius glanced at the kids with a sly smile as he stopped himself. Archie laughed. "Nearly eleven, isn't it? Remus is right." Lily raised an unimpressed brow at him as James went for the Portkey.

"Here it is," he brandished a large, rusty tire spoke. "Thank you, Pete - Sirius - Remus, for joining us."

"Auspicious occasion," Remus said warmly. 

"Wouldn't miss it," Peter said, looking rather wistful. "I can remember our first train ride like it was yesterday."

"Let's hope that Harry's isn't nearly as memorable," his mum said crossly, though a soft smile was taking over her features. "Alright, alright, Sirius don't trash the place while we're gone. Boys, hold on."

As the Portkey began to work its magic, the last thing they heard of Potter cottage was Sirius. "That was one time, Lily, and you've never let it - "

Harry nearly landed on his arse, if it wasn't for Archie catching him. Cheeks burning, he brushed his brother's hands away. He hated Portkeys. He'd much rather have Apparated, but it wasn't allowed at all on the platform. The portkey had already been such a grand allowance, because, after all, Archie Potter needed to be safe. Archie Potter was very famous, after all, as the dawning realisation on the other families' faces told. A few brave people began to make their way over, even as the train hooted impatiently - gleaming a furious red that Harry rather liked, and their dad stonily moved forward as if to barricade his sons from the masses.

"Write us as soon as you're all settled," he told Harry. "Don't be afraid to make friends, and especially watch out for old McGonagall. She's a brilliant teacher, but very strict indeed. Won't do to be on her bad side, you hear?" He hesitated and looked to Lily, and they shared something inscrutable. 

"We love you very much," his mum said, nudging Archie.

"Yeah, loads," he stuck his tongue out at Harry who rolled his eyes. 

"Love you, too," he said to mum.

"Maybe try and socialise on the ride," she offered as advice, as his dad put his trunk onto the train. "It's a long one after all, and it could be nice to have friends in different houses, before you've sorted."

His father came back for the end of that. "And Harry, well..." They shared another look. "Try not to antagonise Professor Snape. He's your potions master."

"I know," Harry said. "Percy mentioned he's terribly strict." There was something they weren't mentioning and he waited.

"He's a bit..."

His mum interrupted dad. "He's an old schoolmate of ours. He is terribly good at holding a grudge, and well... do your best, love, but don't take it personally if he's..."

"Unfair?" Dad offered.

His mum tried, but seemed to be unable to find a better word than that.

"But it's been ages since you've been in school," Harry said. 

"We're quite sure the... animosity... lingers." His mum held his father's arm. "After all, he is also in the Order."

"What?" Harry said. "He's an Order member? Who isn't in the Order at this point?"

"Death Eaters," his dad said, and snorted. "Usually."

Harry laughed along at that. It was funny, Death Eaters in the Order of the Phoenix. The train whistles three times and he knows it must be time to go. "Hug your brother." And under motherly command he does.

"Try to make some chat," his mum said again as he stepped into the train hall. "Maybe find Percy?"

"Will do, mum," though he was not going to look for Percy Weasley. Sure, the older boy was studious, but they had nothing else in common but a dislike for playing games with the other boys.

"And try not to blow anything up," his dad said cheekily, but there was an undertone to it that reminded Harry of his latest outburst.

"I'll try," Harry said, a tad glummer.

He had the luck of an empty compartment just two doors up, and slid over to the window. He could still seem his family there, his father sending evil looks to anyone daring enough to try to approach them. He wondered if he would end up missing life at Potter cottage, even if he would be back in a few months for the hols. The train jolts and Harry makes a tentative wave that his dad and mum answer enthusiastically. Archie it seems, has already lost interest in Harry now that he was onboard. He was instead craning his neck around dad to see the rest of the platform.

Maybe he will miss them, a little. But he was pretty grown up, so not too much.

Chapter Text

He was eternally thankful to have kept one book out of his trunk, instead of having to root around in the luggage compartment for something to do. Harry wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been on the Hogwarts Express, but it already felt like an age. The straight back of the benches were uncomfortable no matter how he sat, the window was whistling slightly and he couldn't tell where that was coming from - and he actually was, just a little, nervous.

Sitting alone on the long ride gave him too much time to think about school.

The brown and beige (it might’ve been white once) pattern of the bench cushions across of him distracted him from the words on the page. Each time he tried to focus on Vexing Hexing! (A sure ‘fire’ way to incite rage), the subtle patterning would draw his eye again. And then his mind would wander... each scenario more horrific than the last. Firstly, that he would be denied from Hogwarts, which was ridiculous. Harry had done accidental magic. A bit too much, really, if anyone were hard pressed to ask.

Then he would imagine being sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius would never come by the house again and his father would be very upset about that. But he knew that was ridiculous as well - all they said of their schooldays was long in the past. His mum in particular thought that House rivalry is stupid and childish. Sirius was childish, to be fair, but Harry had some faith in him.

He also imagined another horrible possibility - perhaps the realest - and that was that everyone would watch him because of who his brother was, and what their family was famous for. Harry knew this wasn’t ridiculous. After all, his brother had killed the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was only a year old. A freak accident, maybe. But still, it had happened, and Harry was now released into a world that had so carefully dogged their steps his entire childhood.

He didn’t want to talk about Archie. It seemed all other kids wanted to talk about was how cool Archie was. They couldn’t help it, they just gravitated to him. Maybe it didn’t help that most of the kids from his parents’ friends were younger than him, closer to Archie’s age, but still. Even Fred and George, who would be in his year, didn’t care much to talk to him.

This was a secret of Harry’s. He wasn’t sure if Archie was just more famous and likeable than him, or if really he was just no good to be friends with. He’d taken with tutors like most wizarding kids did, and hadn’t connected with much of anyone in those small groups.

But, he decided, being alone was better than being bothered about his little brother.

And as if his thoughts had come to life, the compartment door began to slide open.

“Hey there,” said the intruder. “Who are you?” Harry felt a little affronted, if it weren’t for the boy’s absentminded tone.

“I’m Harry,” and this is my compartment, he didn’t say.

“I’m Lucian,” he said, holding out a hand to shake. Harry stood and did so. “Lucian Bole. If you call me Lucy I’ll string you up from the Astronomy Tower in your pants.”

“What year are you?” Harry asked, vaguely impressed by the threat. 

“Going into my first, you?”

“Me too,” Harry said, eyeing Lucian Bole skeptically. He wasn’t just tall, but rather large in all directions. Harry wouldn’t say fat, he’s just got a lot. A lot of himself. That’s all. If a brick wall could be an eleven year old child, that would be Bole. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly sprouted some lonely hairs on his chin already this year.

“I know, I’m as big as a Yeti,” he rolled his eyes to Harry’s staring. “Just as strong, too. Only thing is I haven’t got white fur all over.”

“Can fix that,” Harry gestured to his book with solemnity that had Bole narrow his eyes at him. 

“What house you going for, Harry?” He asked, again very airy like he’d been when he first opened the compartment door. Standing awkwardly in the middle of his compartment, Harry sat back down and gestured for Lucian to do the same. Maybe this boy was feeling a bit awkward, too.

“I don’t know... depends on how we’re sorted, I guess.”

“I know how,” Lucian said smugly.

“Do not,” Harry said.

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

Their riveting conversation was interrupted. The compartment door opened once more, and the girl doing so instantly starting talking. “Don’t be angry, Luce, Graham just wanted to ask. It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

“Well he shouldn’t have,” Lucian said back, his large face twitching. Harry watched the back-and-forth with interest. He did so enjoy knowing that which wasn’t really his business.

“Well he did, so get over it,” the girl said. Then she eyed him. “Hello, you are?”

“Harry,” he said. “You?”

“I’m Lucinda.” He looked between the two of them. “Lucinda Nott, we aren’t related we’ve just got terribly similar names. Our parents likely thought it was funny. My mum's his godmother and his dad is my godfather.”

“Right then,” Harry said.

“Lucian is hiding,” Lucinda told him.

“I am not,” he said. And Harry believed him, of course, or else he might be strung up from the Astronomy Tower in his pants. It was... just something in Bole’s eyes.

“You are not,” Harry said.

“This is my new friend, Harry,” Bole said crossly. Harry nodded to Lucinda and that was that. Harry had made his first friend, who hated silence and really liked Harry’s Vexing Hexing!, and they spent the rest of the ride trying out the spells on unsuspecting students, and when the other wasn’t looking, each other.

Most of them didn’t work too well, or at all, but still, it was terribly fun. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, were all the way at the front of the train, and Harry even said hello. It wasn’t so scary to be social with the hulking Bole at his back, whispering ideas of spells they couldn’t really cast yet.

“Who’s Graham?” Harry asked as the sky gave way into blackness outside the window. They had grown tired of traipsing around and had retired with an assortment of chocolates and candies to the compartment again.

“Montague,” he said. As if that would explain anything. “We were all under the same tutors growing up - Lucinda, Graham, me, and Miles. I mean it switched around, depending, but I’ve known them a long time.” He shrugged as he fiddled with a wrapper. “He’s just doing what his dad says, like usual.”

“Do you not like his dad?” Harry hedged. 

“I don’t care,” Lucian said. “It’s just... it’s stupid rumours and his stupid dad wants him to ask me if it’s true. Graham can shove it.”

“You can dangle him out a tower,” Harry offered. 

Bole snorts. “Yeah.”

“...So, what rumours?”

Bole glared venomously at him.

“Never mind.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if this was actually the start of being friends with someone, but it was alright. He wasn’t thinking about the cushion patterns or how horribly awful the Sorting could go. It was frightening, but talking about it with Lucian made it sort of exciting as well. 

Lucinda returned shortly after the announcement was made: they would be pulling into Hogwarts Station shortly. Hogsmeade Station was one stop further, and only ten minutes to go. Harry had only been to Hogsmeade four or five times before. It was amazing.

“Good you’ve got your school robes on,” Lucinda said as she came back in. “You know, I saw a boy with muggle clothes on in the hall, told him to change right away and he laughed at me... laughed... Oh, can’t you ignore how Graham's been, Lucian?”

“If he can ignore his father,” Bole said.

“I don’t know anyone who can just ignore their father,” Lucinda said. “That’s silly, Luce. He was only asking. Everyone wants to know, don’t they?”

“Everyone can piss off,” Lucian said.

“Oh, alright then,” Harry said.

“Not you,” he said. “Obviously.”

“Why not him?” Lucinda sniffed.

“Because I haven’t the foggiest what you all are talking about,” Harry said. “I imagine.”

“Yes, exactly,” Bole said. “Very nice, that.”

“Well if you don’t know, you will soon enough,” Lucinda said ominously, and left.

“You’ve got to tell me,” Harry said solemnly. “Else someone else is going to anyway.” The train lurched into the station and whistled three times as they disembarked. 

“It’s just rumours,” Bole insisted. “It’s all because my dad supported some stupid Ministry Act and now people think they can just make up lies about us. That’s what they do.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“People like Graham’s dad,” he said. “I guess.”

The students flowed from the train onto the platform and over the bridge that wound itself above, a stone aid to the sea that they made up. The owls set to the sky, likely for some evening hunting before heading to the castle themselves. 

“Firs’ years!” The thickest accent Harry had ever heard in his short life boomed over the station, and suddenly he wondered why he hadn’t noticed that man right away. He stood as tall as two - or maybe three - of Harry’s father. He held a lantern in his hand that was larger than Harry’s head but looked terribly dainty in his grasp. His mouth was dry.

“What is that?” He asked Lucian.

“The largest man I have ever seen,” he said.

“I think he’s calling for us - first years,” a boy with slick black hair said. He was one of the boys from the compartment that Lucian had left, Harry thought. It wasn't Graham though, not likely, because Lucian was actually speaking to him. If Harry had to guess, Graham was the tan boy with long hair, who was shooting looks at Lucian every other word he said to Lucinda beside him.

“Follow me - come ‘ere, move along!” He was beckoning them... not over the bridge where the majority of students seemed to go, but instead towards a dark wood.

“I’m not going in there,” Lucinda said from behind him.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Lucian said.

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

The woods were really dark, and they did indeed go inside... slipping and stumbling in the night led only by the swinging light of the giant man’s lantern. 

“He’s the groundskeeper,” someone said. Maybe to him, maybe to the group at large. “My mum says he’s an alcoholic who lives in a hut by the Forbidden Forest.”

“Why’s it forbidden if we’re not meant to go in?” Harry muttered. 

"Calling it that," the boy with the slick black hair said. "Now I've got to see what's the matter with it." Harry nodded sagely, although he realised after doing so no one could see him all that well.

They stumbled so far that when the woods opened up again the dark waters nearly captured the first students behind the groundskeeper, not realising he had waded into the lake and thus gotten a bit shorter too.

“No more than four to a boat!” He boomed, and Harry imagined the trees shivered from it.

He’d ended up with a girl, Lucian, and that boy with the slick black hair from earlier. “Hi, I’m Miles,” that boy said. “You are?”

“Harry,” said Harry. “And you?” He asked the girl. She looked at him in a way he couldn’t describe.

“Have you got a family name, Harry?” She asked. “Mine’s Richmond, Viola Richmond. And I know you - Bole - and you - Bletchley. So what's your name?”

“Potter,” he said, and he did indeed get a reaction out of that.

“No, you aren’t!” Miles exclaimed. “I did read that Archibald Potter had a brother,” he told Lucian, as if Harry wasn’t right there next to him.

“Has,” Harry corrected. “I’m not dead."

"Brill," Miles said.

Viola Richmond is really staring now. She scoffed at Miles and asked Harry, “Aren’t you a half-blood then? Your mum’s a muggle, isn’t she?”

“No she isn’t!” He exclaimed. “She’s a witch.”

“A muggleborn but a witch, Vi,” Miles said, still looking at Harry as if Archie was going to pop up from behind him. 

“Good as muggle,” she said. “They can’t even brew a potion right, isn't that so, Potter?”

Harry stared at her. “My mum works part time at an apothecary. She makes potions.”

Viola scrunched up her nose and said, “Ew. They let - ”

“What’s he like?” Miles interrupted their moment. “Your brother? Does he really fly around everywhere without a broom like in those children’s books?”

Before Harry could say ‘no, my brother is a very normal, annoying sort of brand of brother’, Viola was scoffing again. She did this a lot, it seemed.

“The Dark Lord could fly with nothing but magic, Miles. Not the kid of some mudblood,” she shot a look at Harry. “It’s insulting for you to say that.”

Harry felt something terrible happening in his fingers. A latent fear arose in the back of his mind. He hadn’t even made it to the castle yet. He couldn’t break anything here except for the boat but that would be dire indeed. All the same his magic didn’t listen to logic; he was getting angry. Something was going to have to give.

“I think it’s a crying shame they let the muggleborns in Hogwarts,” Viola was saying. “I suppose you can’t help what your father gets up to, really, but imagine coming out mixed - " 

Without a single sound of warning, Lucian Bole threw Viola Richmond into the glassy, black waters.

She came up far too fast for Harry’s liking, sputtering angrily. “What the hell, Bole? I guess the rumours are true, then, aren’t they - about your fil- “

And still, Harry had no idea what these rumours were, but he leaned precariously over the edge of their small, rocking boat and pushed her head under water as hard as he could. He looked at Bole, too.

“You really would string me up, wouldn’t you?” He asked, struggling against Viola as she pushed against him. 

“Dunno,” Bole said, a bit wide-eyed as Viola finally was up for air. Harry felt the anger, the magic in his veins, subside after this. That was good. He didn't really want to blow up the boat.

They’d fallen behind the others. She was hiccuping and looking at them like they'd just killed her bunny or something. "My mum's a witch," Harry repeated. 

"Okay," she said, as if he was the problem.

“Row,” Harry commanded her as they helped her back in. “You’re not just sitting back and talking shite this time.”

She still looks ready to argue, a simmering anger, older than both of them, in her eyes. But she takes her oar this time and they row along to the others around the bend. Hogwarts is upon them in all its glory - but Harry keeps a wary eye on the girl they’d dumped in the water in case she’d return the favour.

“And don’t talk about my mother,” he said for added effect, in case the point of his involvement in that wasn’t clear. He didn’t know why Lucian had dumped her over the side, except in a solidarity with Harry (which he greatly appreciated). Whether or not this was true was irrelevant, their bond had deepened into actual potential.

It was really nice that Miles knew how to dry clothes and hair. Harry only knew the charm for drying hair, and he'd never tried it himself. This helped to hide the evidence of their scuffle quite well. As they docked at a lichen covered boathouse, Viola nearly fell back in the water trying to scramble out first. She muttered something nasty under her breath, Harry was sure before ducking into the crowd.

"Reckon she'll tell?" Miles hedged.

"Why do you care," Lucian said. "You didn't do anything."

"She called my mum a mudblood," Harry said. "I don't care if she does tell." This wasn't entirely true, but he hoped it impressed the other boys anyway.

Miles and Lucian walked with Harry, blissfully the topic of his family left behind. He especially noticed Lucian hadn't asked a thing about Archie. Much appreciated. Lucinda came back to them.

"Viola told me you lot tried to drown her," she asked, looking a little too excited at the prospect.

"Did not," Harry said. "She's a filthy liar who fell out of the boat."

"She wasn't helping to row and was calling Harry's mum names," Miles added. "He told her off. Vi needs to learn to stop running her gob." Regardless of blood purity politics, calling someone's mum names was death in the world of eleven year olds. Lucian and Harry sent Miles an appreciative look at his seamless lying in their name.

"Sorry," she said to Harry. "Vi's been... different, since the trial. Her gran's really strict, I heard."

"Okay," he said. As if that mattered or meant anything to him. Miles explained as they lined up inside the Great Hall.

"Her parents were sent to Azkaban in April, I think. Or a little after that. They were caught smuggling stuff to prisoners in Azkaban." 

"Cool," Lucian said.

"I hope it was my dad that arrested them," Harry said. 

Miles snorted. "I mean, maybe it was."

The line shuffled forward as more names passed under the brim of what had to be the world's dirtiest hat. "I'd like to be together," Miles said bravely, as he went up (he was Bletchley, and that meant Lucian (Bole) was shortly after).

"That'd be great," Harry said, stomach turning. "As long as Richmond isn't in my House, I don't care."

"R's after P," Lucian said. "I'll ask Merlin for you."

She turned and glared at them from a couple rows up. Perhaps they were louder than they realised. 

"What're you looking at, lake monster?" Lucian said. A couple others laughed, but Harry just glared as Lucian was called up. 

Both Slytherin.

"He's Archibald Potter's brother," Viola Richmond was telling just about anyone who would listen. "Mum's barely even a witch - " She had to be joking? She had to be. How could someone be so foul, and not learn from the consequences of it? He tried his best not to get angry, but he was angry, as everyone began to see him... watch him in the line as the news spread among the first years... a Potter was here.

But just Archibald Potter's brother.

When Harry eventually moseyed up to the Hat himself, he had something very strange happening in his head. He sort of wanted something - something he thought (knew) was a bit selfish.

"SLYTHERIN!"

He joined Miles and Lucian, and all three cheered inappropriately when Viola Richmond got sorted Gryffindor.

Chapter Text

It was only once Harry had claimed his dorm bed and crawled into it, that he began to actually wonder if he would be in any trouble for dunking a girl into the lake. It seemed, in the dark of the night, sheer luck that had been on their side. She'd been horrid, he reasoned. And continued to be, even after being dunked.

As an eleven year old boy, it was hard for him to understand that being dunked underwater may perhaps encourage someone to be nastier. This couldn't possibly occur to him (unless he experienced it himself). It was the folly of most eleven year olds: empathy.

"Lucian," he whispered into the dark canopy. "Lucian."

"What?"

"...Reckon she'll tell?"

"Dunno."

"Okay," Harry said back, and that was that. They tried to get some sleep, and eventually the excitement of everything that day had brought overwhelmed their youth.

Harry yawned and bundled the blankets around himself. He thought, despite being in Slytherin, his parents would be happy for him. No matter the jokes Sirius would make about his House, they would be happy. He was happy to be here - some small fission of pride was burrowing itself inside him already. And most importantly, he hadn’t broken a single thing. His magic had been so wonderfully well-behaved - being in a new environment didn’t seem to exacerbate... anything.

He didn’t need to have an accidental magic episode at Hogwarts. It was his fresh start, where no one knew that even last week he couldn’t control himself when Archie wouldn’t give him back his wand. He’d let him hold it for a second - and then the little twat wouldn’t give it back - and it was his - 

And then it happened again, and Harry made things go boom in Potter cottage. It was humiliating, so close to leaving for Hogwarts.

But he felt it would be alright. Nothing should’ve worked out as well as it did today, and it did all the same.

It had only been a night, but Harry had a good feeling about this year.

The next morning, absolutely no one woke up on time. It was only due to one of the boy Prefects banging on the door that anyone jolted from their deep, content sleeps. Marcus Flint got so mad that he threw his pillow at the door, but this lacked any oomph because it was, after all, a pillow. And he had to march over and pick it up again, which was a bit funny to the other boys. 

It seemed in the bathroom they were all in competition as to who could get in and out as fast as possible. They'd done some introductions last night, talked a little, and slept in the same room. Essentially none of them really knew each other, so they naturally bickered like old siblings.

"Shove over," Terence said to Colin, who was indeed purposefully trying to block him from the sinks.

"Won't," Colin said. Colin Cresswell had a decent bit more experience with siblings than the others, being one of five Cresswell boys. This made him top of the pyramid so to speak.

"Harry," Miles asked easily over the chatter. "Say, do you look anything like your brother?" 

He scoffed, low in the back of his throat, "No."

"Never seen the Dark Lord's defeater in person, have you?" Flint asked Miles. "It was a bit of a letdown if you ask me."

Harry laughed, and this was like permission for all the others. Brushing his teeth and looking into the mirror, Harry knew his words to have been true. He and his little brother didn't look alike, not at all by his estimation. 

Archibald was tall for his nine years, and he wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses just like their dad did, over his brown eyes. He had wild hair too, sticking in every direction and impossible to cut or control. It still managed to look pretty cool, though Harry hated to admit that.

Harry, on the other hand, had green eyes like their mum. He didn't need glasses - in fact, he had incredible eyesight. His hair had barely any life to it. Sure, it was black like his father's, but that was the only similarity. Perhaps it curled a bit at the ends if you squinted. But, it was their faces that really set them apart. Archibald had a square-set jaw and thin mouth, whereas Harry had a dangerously narrow chin and cheekbones encroaching on his under-eyes. He had his mum's mouth too, fuller and prone to emoting. Archibald had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks - Harry was pale as a ghost and only ever burned. So no, he didn't see a resemblance between them at all.

"What's up first?" Lucian asked at large, pulling on his jumper over the standard white button-up.

"We've got Defence," Harry said. "Which ought to be brilliant."

"Duelling," Flint grunted. But it was an excited grunt, Harry thought.

"Yeah, I hope so," Miles said.

Breakfast was an excitable affair; Harry had brought Vexing Hexing! with him to show it off to his new dorm mates, and it worked a charm. "How'd you get your parents to buy this for you?" Cassius Warrington asked. "My mum's afraid for me to learn hexes outside of school."

"I got it from my parents' room. Dad's got loads of his old books, never noticed."

"Ach, my mum locks up everything. House is like a museum," Cassius complained. “Pass the eggs.”

With high hopes and devious plots, the Slytherin boys hiked their way up to the Defence classroom - getting turned around three ways, and knocking over one (1) suit of armour. The entire time, Graham Montague sulkily lingered behind them. Lucian was still ignoring him, and Graham was too moody to try and insert himself into the group. The last bit of their adventure was when Miles got himself stuck in a trick step before the Defence corridor, and they needed a sixth year Gryffindor to help pull him out.

“It aches,” Miles told them proudly.

Class was awful. They’d sat down as quietly as eleven-year-olds can manage and watched the woman at the front desk flip through her papers as everyone filed in. They had this class split with the Gryffindors, unfortunately. Harry and Viola sought each other out with narrowed eyes and sat as far away from each other as possible. Lucian cracked his knuckles, and Harry appreciated his input even though Viola was too far away to hear that.

And while it was bad enough to have class with the Gryffindors, the class itself was a complete letdown. There was no duelling or even any spells. They spent nearly two hours listening to a 'safety with wands' lecture. The only person Harry saw taking notes was Montague, and when Graham noticed he was looking he scowled at Harry and covered his paper with his arm.

As if Harry wanted to look at his boring safety notes.

And even though the class was long, droll, and very awful, Harry was enjoying himself. He had somehow, seamlessly, become socially accepted in his year. Again, he was unsure if these people were his friends just yet, but so far it did indeed seem that simple.

"Luce," came the now more familiar voice of Lucinda Nott, whom Harry had met on the train and so on. She was also in Slytherin. "Talk to Graham yet?"

"No," he said.

She rolled her eyes, and so did the girl next to her - one of those twins, Harry thought.

It was a bit annoying to have trekked halfway across the grounds to the Defence classroom and then have to go all the way back to the dungeons for Potions. The only saving grace was that they had Potions with the Hufflepuffs, so that meant goodbye to Viola Richmond and the other Gryffindors. And after Potions was lunch hour, which Harry was already craving. "So what was it? What's the big thing?" He asked Lucian.

Lucian shot him a look. "It's nothing."

Harry did not want to be in the dark any longer, and as they huddled outside the closed door to the Potions classroom he decided to go and ask Graham Montague about it later, when no one would see him talking to the boy. He didn't want to risk his newfound belonging in 'the group', but Harry was a snoop. He just had to know.

The door swung open silently but still a lot of people jumped - one would expect a big bang from such a sudden movement.

"Well? Don't lurk," came the voice from above their heads. "Find a seat." This was their Head of House, Professor Snape. He taught Potions, obviously. Otherwise it would be quite strange that he would find himself in the classroom at that exact time, sneering down on a slightly cowed group of eleven year old children. 

Professor Snape cut a... figure. He was very tall (or maybe the children were very short, it was hard to tell for them at this age), and had long, thick hair as black as ink. It looked shiny, a bit wet, and the style of it did nothing to lessen the sharp angles of his face and striking nose. It was slightly crooked, like a punch that didn't heal right, and his mouth seemed to be pressed into a permanent look of dissatisfaction. He had very dark eyes, pointed brows, and a ghostly pallor. Harry, upon really looking at him for the first time, did not find it strange that such an unfriendly looking man could be labelled 'unfair'. He looked terribly stern, outside of just looking plain frightening.

Although he couldn't be all that bad - being part of a semi-to-very public vigilante group. Right? Right.

"I will not waste my time or breath to induce interest in this class. Interest is meaningless. Talent is potential. Effort is paramount." He peered down at his subjects, looking vaguely ill. "Colour me surprised if just one of you has what it takes to be a master of the Art." A pair of Hufflepuffs across the row from Harry and Lucian began to straighten themselves up and thusly so did Harry and Lucian on example.

"I will provide correction, and your books... a somewhat passing form of instruction. If you feel the need to ask questions, attempt not to. Working through your own mistakes will make up a large amount of your time in my class." He sneered again, or maybe that was Snape's idea of a smile? Not encouraging. "And I can assure you... you will make many, many mistakes." No, definitely a sneer, that.

Harry was wary, because just yesterday his mum and dad had warned him about this Professor. But on the other hand, with a mum who worked in potions, he thought he could survive the class. She didn't just work with potions, she liked it. That meant managing to incorporate one million and one anecdotes about potions into every conversation ever.

They were going to make the Boil-Cure, which Harry was relieved by. So far, so good. It was a fairly simple potion, though he quickly learned that Lucian was not to be trusted with the slicing, dicing, cubing, or crushing of any of the ingredients. "You just put them in the cauldron," Harry said quickly, taking away the mortar and pestle. "I'll tell you when."

Snape liked to hover it seemed - like a great spectre of doom, he loomed over each cauldron making snide remarks or even worse, small sounds of derision that provided no directions as to what was about to go wrong. Harry didn't know if it was his parents' words influencing his perception or just the reality, but he imagined that Snape lingered longer and narrowed his eyes more when he was hovering over Harry and Lucian's cauldron.

"I suppose you thought it quicker to add the dried nettles ground, did you? And now I see more of a turquoise than green... you realise precision is a necessity, not a choice, Mr. Potter... don't you?"

"Lower your flame lest you set fire to your robes, Mr. Potter," he added as he swept by again. Without understanding Snape's tone, and general demeanour, these comments may sound helpful to the unexperienced. But Harry was wary. Although the Professor was far harsher to the Hufflepuffs, Harry did notice that he was the only Slytherin that Snape made any commentary on - excluding Marcus Flint, who had managed to actually sprout something from inside his cauldron. That was too extraordinary to ignore. 

Still, in the end, Harry bottled what he thought to be a pretty good (at least passing) vial of Boil-Cure. When he brought it up to the front table, labelled neatly with both his and Lucian's names, Snape scoffed at him but did nothing else.

There was something there, Harry was sure, but it wasn't as horrific as he'd feared. Or his parents had feared for him. But the fact remained, Professor Snape was a bit scary.

"And if we've got a problem, a larger one - " Cassius was saying as they left for the Great Hall, stomachs rumbling.

"We don't go to Snape," Terence said. "He hates to be disturbed, that's what the prefect Murk said."

"He's our Head of House," said one of those twins from earlier. Harry thought one of them was named after a flower? "He's meant to help, you know."

"Well go ahead, knock on his door at the wrong hour and see what potion you end up in," Miles said. "You know, he was on trial with my uncle, back in the day."

This was great gossip. "Oh," she gasped. "What'd he do?"

"I dunno," Miles said. "He got off, didn't he? My uncle on the other hand..."

"I'd hope he's innocent," Harry said. "Else what is he doing here?" As much as the Order of the Phoenix was an open secret… Harry was pretty sure he shouldn't go around announcing that Professor Snape was a member of said group — so it was probably safe to trust he wasn't some master criminal.

"Getting off doesn't mean they're innocent," Lucian said rather wisely.

Chapter Text

The first day at Hogwarts School passed quickly, and found the first years all together again at dinner and then headed back to the House. Harry decided he'd better write home - or else he would never remember - and simply sat down at the sofa already collecting some other first years and leaned over the writing table .

Harry was unsure of what to say. He'd never been away from home in this respect - semi-permanent - at most he'd spent a night at the flat with Sirius or Remus, but his parents were usually there. And his brother, of course. Can't forget him.

So this made the task of writing them a letter feel a bit stilted.

I'm in Slytherin, and yes, I've already made friends. Made a bit of chat, if you can believe it. Hogwarts is as splendid a castle as you've ever described it.

Was he supposed to tell them how the inside of the Slytherin commons looked? How the curved ceilings towered in warm light, and the fireplace was adorned with writhing stone snakes? Harry felt it was almost wrong to give away what was now his, solely his. A sanctuary of sorts. The home away from home. But then again, his mother had described to him the windows on the far wall in here, showing the depths of the Great Lake. It was not much of a secret then, and if it ever was than it was broken long before Harry had a chance to covet it.

I've had Defence, Potions, and Herbology just today. It's the first day. I had thought Defence would be more interesting, but I did hear from other groups that Charms lets us actually practice some magic. Potions was fine, though Professor Snape is tough. I can't say much of it besides that. He's my Head of House too, but even the others are wary to go to him for help in any way. I haven't seen Professor McGonagall yet, only at meals I suppose. Herbology was good. Lots of dirt. I think I will get used to Hogwarts.

Harry was beginning to realise he didn't have much to say.

The prefects have been very helpful - the fifth year ones. I think the upper year prefects have other jobs around Hogwarts, like mum used to do patrolling about and whatnot. I'm not entirely sure. I like our dormitories, except that someone snores and I thought people only did that once they were old. 

I hope everything is good at work and at home.

Love,

Harry

That sounded about right, he thought. It was personable, wasn't it?

He heard a snicker from over his shoulder. "Love, Harry," a voice mocked.

"Shove off, Colin," Harry said, hastily folding his letter over. "And nice work in Herb - wasn't it you that lost us five points?" He carefully put his letter in its envelope and tucked it into his robes.

"Beginner's luck," Miles said. "Didn't you say, Colin?" Miles was still sour that Colin managed the pantsing charm they'd been practicing earlier that evening, while he couldn't even get the belt to twitch.

Colin rolled his eyes so hard he flopped back down into the sofa with the effort. It wasn't the prime location in the commons, they were sequestered more over by the drafty entrance hall. The most vaunted seats in Slytherin were arranged by the huge fireplace, of course, which had a large, curving leather sofa and floor cushions and three armchairs. These were all seats dominated by the upper years, something they learned pretty instantly. Stinging Hexes were very motivational, and no one would be stupid enough to retaliate against an older student with so much experience.

The girls in their year were all in their own sort of gang, but here in the undesirable corner they all meshed together regardless of gender. 

"Did you try to drown Viola Richmond?" Asked Reagan Mulciber. She was friends with the twins too, like Lucinda, but had spent all day glued to Adelaide Murton. 

"That's a strong word," Harry said, quite over the murder accusations. "Drown."

"She's horrid ever since she got passed off to her relatives. Terribly rude, isn't it, to snub you?"

"Because of my father's title?" Harry snorted. "I think he'll live a long while yet. No worries."

"Well, more so because she might've checked if you were the sort to drown people on first offences."

"Good way to ensure there isn't a second," Lucian said.

"No one was drowned," Harry sighed. "Little rumourmongers. Mind you, how can you check that sort of thing if you haven't made a first offence? Offer up someone else? And it was Lucian that pushed her over, let's be clear."

"So you did!" She crowed in success. The fist pump was as attention-drawing as the loud exclamation. Harry and Bole bowed their heads down as other Slytherins looked up irritably at the noise. 

"Did not," Harry denied.

"Too late," Reagan told him. "And besides, she's a Gryffindor." She shrugged. "Still, you're crazy."

"Nice," Bole said to Harry as Reagan turned away. "Smart."

"Shut up," Harry said. "Let me see your Defence scroll, I can't stretch this assignment for another two inches of parchment..."

He managed, in the end, but only just. It was the most boring thing he'd ever written, and he couldn't even bear to read over it again to look for mistakes. "She'll get what she gets," Harry said of the Defence Professor.

By the time they had all shuffled off and up the stairs to their dormitories, Harry'd forgotten all about posting his letter. When he was undressing for bed it fell out of his day robes and he looked at it, appalled. He was already a day late writing his parents and he was still full of energy. The night was young and the breeze from the small balcony doors was warm. He bit his lip, considering the idea. He had already made up his mind. Harry slipped back into his oxfords, and buttoned his cloak again over his clothes. Miles rolled over on his bed, curtains still open. 

"What are you doing? " He asked, in a loud whisper.

"Nothing," Harry said. 

Lucian, from his other side, had sat up. "I'm not tired," he told Harry in that same loud whisper.

"We can all hear you," Graham Montague said at full volume. "Don't lose us more points, like Colin." Even though none of the boys were talking to Graham, a wave of snickers passed through the room at the reminder of Colin's point loss.

"I just forgot to post my letter," Harry said.

"Do it tomorrow," Graham snapped, and closed his curtains angrily. This lost some of its effect because they didn't close all the way right away, and he had to repeatedly yank one side of the grey cloth over and over. Lucian and Harry choked a bit on their laughs, and it didn't help imagining how red and embarrassed the other boy must feel from the other side of the room.

"Well," Harry whispered, much quieter than before.

"Let's go," Lucian said, already tying his oxfords back on.

Miles was watching them from his bed. Harry paused. "You want in?" He asked.

"Yeah," Miles said, nearly shyly. He peeled out of bed with his shoes still on and ready. As they snuck down to the commons they came across their first problem: upper years. There were still lingering students by the fire, laughing and sharing drinks over a few, large open tomes.

"Just be very quiet," Harry said, as if the other two hadn't figured. They crept, and crouched, along the far wall from the fire. The shadows hung here, not as thickly as Harry would've liked, but the upper years seems utterly unconcerned with anyone else being in the commons. They made it out of Slytherin with ease.

The walk to the Owlery was fairly without incident. Making it across the grounds was a bit terrifying. Every shadow that danced across the grass and stone was deceptive, and Miles was very convinced all of a sudden about the stories his aunt had told him about monsters hunting the grounds at night. Still, they made it to the singular tower in one piece. This is where it became difficult. They were not alone. The echo of footsteps and faint voices came from the narrow stairwell, and they all exchanged looks.

"I'll go," Harry said. "That's what we're here for. I mean if it's just students it could be fine, as long as they aren't in Slytherin they won't know we're first years and therefore breaking curfew. And one of us in trouble is better than all three."

"You just want to see who's up there," Lucian accused, without malice. Harry did. 

He walked very slowly and carefully, and it felt like an age before he reached the first owl landing. He saw rather than heard two figures, and nearly gave away his position entirely as he felt warm breath at his back.

"Miles," he hissed.

"Sorry, I would rather be up here than down there," he shuddered. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to try to move closer," he told Miles.

Miles shrugged uneasily, and followed him.

Suddenly it was like they had broken through some barrier and sound reached them. Standing behind a row of nesting boxes, Harry and Miles began to hear the hurried conversation.

"The earliest they'll be able to deliver is November," a boy said.

The other kicked the ground. "I knew bringing in Neri was stupid, that girl's completely absentminded. No offence to Gemma's choice in friends but really, that doesn't mean she can handle this."

"Do we have enough until then?"

"Maybe end of this month," the other said sourly. "At best. We were really relying on that mongrel twit and look where it's gotten us."

"Square one, Snape's office."

"No," the other boy said sharply. "Not yet, that's too... no." Miles squeezed Harry's shoulder and got really close to his ear to whisper barely,

"That's Thaddeus Nott, he's a fourth year," with no little awe. "He's... scary."

"Maybe your father," suggested the other boy but like lightning a bolt of red hit his knees and he howled, collapsing. 

"Hilarious, Jugson," said Nott. "Be more of an idiot."

"Sorry," he said from the ground, gasping. "You arse." Nott laughed as Harry and Miles exchanged twin looks of fear and finding it impressive. What hex was that?

"Leave the rest in the same place, in the dorm. And we'll figure it out, Jugs. Don't worry yourself." Nott reached out a hand to help up the boy he'd just hexed. The boy took it without hesitation, and the two of them laughed. Laughed together.

Harry had never seen such a strange interaction.

"Do you think she got cold feet?" 'Jugs' asked. "Neri?"

"Doesn't matter," Nott said. "She's jeopardised the supply."

A moment of silence was shared between the two.

"Yeah," Jugson said. "She did." His voice was hard. Nott raised his wand again, but he frowned in the moonlight. "What?"

"Nothing," Nott said finally, waving it. "Or we'll see."

The two left side by side. Miles and Harry didn't move for forever.

"I hope Lucian had the good sense to hide himself," Miles said shakily.

"What was that about," Harry said to himself. Miles eyed him. 

"Not much of our business, was it?"

Harry mailed his letter, and again, they made it suspiciously easily back to the castle main. They were extra wary of the common room, knowing that Nott could still be lingering around, having filled Lucian in on the way back. But only one girl was there, sleeping on the curved sofa by the fire, book open across her lap.

Sleep came quickly after all the excitement, but Harry dreamt strange dreams - of falling from the sky, and the visage of Professor Snape shaking his body awake after he'd hit the ground - but he couldn't wake - he could barely make out the Professor's face as he passed out.

The morning dawned cold and gray.

"I want to know what's in the dorm," Harry said to Lucian as the others dressed. "Maybe there's a clue to what they're up to."

He nodded to Harry, and Miles sucked air through his teeth but didn't argue.

They decided on right then, during today's breakfast - when everyone would be gone to eat. Harry and Lucian lingered behind, while Miles went on with the rest looking quite nervous for the two of them. Harry figured his state of mind around Thaddeus Nott would be a liability.

Again, like the night had began yesterday, their journey to the fourth years boy's dormitories was surprisingly easy. Harry was going to snoop, and Lucian would keep watch as they agreed. But Miles' warning and general fear was catching, and Harry's partner in crime was getting antsy with each moment they lingered.

Lucian was hovering by the door nervously. "Harry, hurry up," he said. "I can't just duel the way out of here if you don't hurry."

"I'm trying," he said. "Oh, look, someone's left theirs unlocked." The last trunk, at the furthest bed, in fact. The lock was open, in fact there wasn't even a lock. The trunk had a small latch and nothing else to protect it. Harry made a silly mistake and didn't think about how else it maybe be protected. He took both hands and lifted the lid open.

He squinted. He couldn't make out any of the contents - and he leaned forward for a better look.

"Argch!" He squeaked as he felt an oomph to the back, like a forceful wind and he tumbled awkwardly into the trunk. Before he could sit up all the way, the damn thing snapped shut, pressing his head and hands down inside.

It was really dark and it smelt like shoes. In a bad way.

“What gives? Let me out!” Harry banged on the lid to no avail. His ears felt muffled in here, like sound was as far away from the inside of this trunk as light was.

Maybe Lucian had left him behind, as he got no response. The minutes ticked by, stifling and again... shoe-scented.

Maybe he was going to die in here... but he heard something. The door! Accompanied by feet heavier than any of Harry's year mates - he would know, he spent a lot of time listening for his parents' footsteps on the stairs so he could stay up late, versus his brother, and he could even tell apart Sirius, Peter, Mary, Alice... 

Voice that were distinctly not Bole's wafted into the dormitory.

“Definitely not...Snape... first day back...”

“Not my fault Neri... I told... the gillyweed...”

There was a shuffling sound, and something was moved. Picked up? From the floor. Harry strained his ears in the dark of the school trunk. He held his breath until they began to speak again.

"More than enough for the first week," the voice had gotten closer and much clearer, and Harry nearly jolted hard enough to give away his position.

"Snape's stores are too limited, it's not worth getting caught and the whole thing blowing up because Neri couldn't manage her part."

A pause. 

"So, she's out?" That was definitely a girl's voice, Harry realised.

The boy snorted. "if she isn't, she'll have to really make it up to... well."

"I've got the Ravenclaws on me already," the girl said, in an equally good mood. "What's Neri's problem, isn't mine, alright? She messed up."

"And you messed up by suggesting her to -"

Harry squinted in the dark, as if that would help him decipher the sudden silence better.

With a click that made his heart lurch, the trunk banged open - the lid slamming against the bed behind it and the light of the room burning into Harry's unexacting eyes. Above him were two very unimpressed faces, with wands withdrawn. 

Harry couldn't think of anything clever to say, and felt rather trapped despite the lid now being open. Instead of thinking of something - anything - he blurted out, "But girls can't be in the boy's dormitories!"

Thaddeus Nott was looking down on him in ill-concealed surprise and no small amount of anger. "So, what did you hear?"

"I didn't hear anything," Harry said indignantly. "I've been stuck in a trunk, bit hard to!"

"Sure," the girl said. Harry thought her family name was Farley, he'd seen her in the commons with older girls, hanging around the Quidditch team by the fire. "And what are you doing in a trunk?"

Harry tried to not look suspicious. This was hard to do in his current predicament.

"I just..." he started weakly. 

"Lucky thing you didn't think to check for a cursed trunk, did you, firstie?" She sneered. "Not too clever, now."

"It was you," Thaddeus said, with calm certainty. "At the Owlery, wasn't it?"

"No," Harry lied.

"Yes it was," Thaddeus then did a most unexpected thing; he smiled. "Quite the little sneak, aren't you?"

Harry was unsure. The older boy's voice was now inviting, and his face crinkled around the eyes a little, like when people were happy. But Harry knew that laying inside a trunk under the wand of an upper year was not a good place to be.

"You must be a first year," the girl said, Farley. "Looks new to me." She looked less friendly, but then again she didn't look like anything. Harry couldn't tell a thing about what she was thinking by the look on her face.

"You have a name?" Nott asked.

"Harry Potter," Harry said. He might as well have signed a death certificate by the way that Farley's face darkened.

"A Potter kid," she hissed. "Nott!"

"Relax, Gemma," he said. "Look, Potter, what were you doing in here? Be honest."

"Nothing," Harry said. He was panicking, he had no idea what to say.

"I think," Nott said, still smiling. "That you heard us at the Owlery, didn't you? Someone was there..."

Harry's mouth was dry. There was nothing he could say. He was so very dead.

Farley looked even grimmer. "I can get Marius - " she told Nott. "He could... fix the kid - "

"No need," Thaddeus said. "Isn't that right, Potter? You aren't going to tell anyone anything, are you?"

"I'm not a snitch," he said bravely. "Not that I heard anything worth repeating, as is."

"Heard enough to snoop in here," Farley snarled. "It's a bigger risk than breaking into Snape's," she pleaded with Nott. "We can't let him go."

Who was still smiling. "Well, Potter, you have to make a promise. So we know we can trust you, you know. Hold out your arm - slowly, if you will. I recommend not trying to hex me."

"I wouldn't," Harry said solemnly. He knew that would be very stupid, and both of the upper years laughed at him. His face burned.

"Good," Nott said smoothly. "Oh - and Opercula Molu - you little sneak!" Despite it all, he sounded friendly and even a bit proud.

Harry screamed as his knees went the wrong way.

Most of the boys were together on the couch as Harry and Lucian retold their tale (at least, what parts Harry could tell), starting at the owlery sneaking.

They'd just gotten to the part where they decided to break into the fourth year dormitory, and Harry was stuck in the trunk when a boy and a girl walked in chatting. It was Thaddeus Nott and Gemma Farley.

"Oh, terribly funny," Miles said. "Nott didn't catch you." He snorted. "You're still here, after all."

Lucian had such a solemn look on his large, square face that Miles frowned.

"You are joking, aren't you? I'm surprised Nott didn't kill you. It was a stupid idea- and none of our business - "

"I ran when I heard people on the stairs," Lucian shrugged in a way that said he was sorry for Harry, but happier for himself.

"Well," Harry began, "he did curse me -"

"You two are mad," Cassius said, looking impressed.

"And not an ounce of wit between them," exclaimed Flora Carrow. (He'd finally figured out which was which - Flora had curly hair and her twin Hestia had pin-straight). She had been sitting at the couches with them, but reading rather intently. It seemed she was listening, too.

"I'm terribly witty," Harry said with no small amount of outrage. "And now I won't be telling you anything." He waved her off.

Flora rolled her eyes. "I don't want to know anything that makes Thaddeus Nott curse me. That's not clever at all."

The boys all turned stoutly away from her and huddled, and she sighed and got up to leave. "Idiots," she said, loud enough for them to hear.

"Oh whatever," Cassius said. "So, what were they doing in there?" He got elbowed by Terence when he started sniggering. 

Harry flushed at Cassius' idea. "I can't tell either way," he said solemnly, kind of enjoying the singular attention he was receiving. "Not that, Cass, gross... but I swore an oath after they caught me." This got him a round of awe-inspired looks.

"Wicked," Flint said.

"Yeah," Harry said airily. As it was, Nott had just walked in the commons with Marius Malfoy, the fifth year boy prefect, and Ismelda Murk, the fifth year girl's prefect. He actually looked at Harry, and gave a one fingered wave before turning away. 

"Really wicked," Flint said, echoing the thoughts of all the boys present. It was almost worth the knee-reversal hex and the oath he'd swore over a secret he didn't really understand.

Chapter Text

Enjoying the mild fame from his association to Thaddeus Nott, Harry had a good week. Due to the small, magically binding oath he'd swore to the elder Nott to not speak of anything he'd overheard, he was also afforded an excuse to not explain this sudden connection to such a famed upper year in any trouble-inducing detail. Lucinda Nott was quite cross with Harry and Lucian for not being able to explain why her older brother was involved with them... and what her brother was involved with at all.

However, Thaddeus did not account for Miles Bletchley to have also been present at the Owlery. So there was a bit of information that escaped that oath, and Miles was able to hold onto his free will to spread that on. Not that he did: he was fairly frightened of Thaddeus. 

Lucinda's brother had a reputation for being as dark and dangerous as their family was and was only a fourth year. He'd been in trouble in his second year and nearly expelled for fighting - which apparently everyone knew but Harry, because they all shared similar tutors. His sister, Lucinda, was fairly unconcerned with those rumours.

"Miles," she said at lunch once. "You love a good story, don't you? A villain or a hero! You're being such a child. He's my brother and there's nothing to be frightened of - unless you go spying on him for whatnot." Harry couldn't fully disagree. Miles had, from the first moment he'd known Harry's name, been very interested in the 'tale' of the Boy-Who-Lived. Miles loved a good tall tale. He loved the idea of adventure, but was rather fearful (in an excitable way) when he happened upon it.

Outside of this affair, it was still a school. Class was fairly uneventful - Harry was a dab hand at nearly everything, it seemed, except being humble. It was only just when people would ask him how, and he finds this to be quite stupid. Simply do it! Magic!

Professor McGonagall was very strict, but Harry even rather thought she liked him despite it - nothing like the snide, vague comments his own Head of House would make in Potions. 

"Well done, Mr. Potter," she told him, which is practically gushing praise, when he got the matchstick-to-needle on the first try. "Ten points to Slytherin for excellent wand work and a keen ear in class."

But there were still people like Viola Richmond, who seemed hateful for no reason (at least no good reason, as Harry had never met them). Many of these students comprised of upper year students, even in his own House, who would make small comments that burrowed under the skin. The worst was, he really didn't think he was even meant to hear it. It was so... off-hand.

The half-blood spare Potter. Son of a mudblood. Small, weak thing... family's all messed up, his brother... the famous one for murder. After all, not all were against the Dark Lord Voldemort. Or more aptly, their parents weren't.

Luckily, his own year didn't seem so prone to these thoughts (excluding Richmond!). Lucian went as far as telling off Peregrine Derrick and Easton Avery - both second years and Derrick already on the Quidditch team - on a Thursday in the library. They'd been talking about how the Potter spare wasn't meant to be in Slytherin, and how it was proof that Hogwarts was falling apart under Dumbledore. The typical spiel, really, though Harry didn't know what Headmaster Dumbledore had to do with his Sorting.

"I don't know," Lucian said loudly from their table. "From where I'm sitting, I think you lot should be resorted." Peregrine Derrick actually stood up, fast, and made as if to come over and give Lucian what for. Instead, with Easton tugging at his robes, he settled for saying back,

"Ah - Bole, isn't it? No wonder you two hit it off," he said. "Mudborn," the boy spat.

On another note, Harry was having ill luck cornering Graham Montague - who hovered between prideful and sulky. He'd begun a hesitant friendship with Warrington and Flint, but avoided Harry as he was clearly quite tight with Lucian (who the boy was really avoiding). Harry didn't blame him, he thought if the two talked then Lucian may beat him up. He was still very much angry for whatever line of questioning had happened on the train.

"We were friends," Lucian explained in the barest of detail. "We grew up together." He shouldn't have questioned me, Lucian didn't add.

Betrayal was a hard thing to heal and all this amounted to was Harry still being in the dark about something... something to do with Luce. For the meantime he was worming his way in with Cassius instead of directly to Graham, and was finding much more luck. Cass wasn't a fan of Colin, and after Colin had spelled Harry's curtains to trip him one morning the two were compatriots in victimhood. 

Having loads of brothers can make one quite awful, clearly. Which to some extent Harry understood, already at his limits with the one brother he had.

Things passed in terribly regular manner, very little opportunity for trouble, and Harry found himself dedicating a sickening amount of time to Potions study. Still, Professor Snape was determined to not be pleased by anything. Though he'd expected worse due to his parents' warning, it rankled. He'd even gotten to practicing brewing alone - and had promptly burnt the skin off Miles' forearm, turned his own lips a worrying shade of blue, and burnt a hole in one of the wood tables in the abandoned classrooms. All of this was an accident, of course, if that wasn't clear. And since brewing unsupervised was banned until sixth year (which was still required to take place within the potions labs), when going to Madam Pomfrey the boys thought up some of the worst lies to grace the halls of Hogwarts.

It was nearer to the end of September when the weather took a dramatic turn for the worse - the golden crisp autumn of Scotland was veering towards an unforgiving winter. The typical group were picking at their food on a late Saturday morning - in fact, the thirtieth, the last September day of the year. Reagan and Flora were arguing over a History of Magic essay which everyone was trying to block out. It was Saturday... it was no time for schoolwork, and the weather looked so promising according enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. As these sunny days had become sparser, they became more coveted.

"Oh look, you've a letter back," warned Lucian.

"I hadn't noticed," Harry said, picking the envelope by one corner out of his porridge. The bird that had flung it down was long gone.

This was maybe the sixth or so letter from home, not including a short letter from Sirius directly that told him to be careful with Death Eater children but otherwise was very congratulatory. He even offered to get Harry a new Cleansweep that summer for the following year's tryouts. It was transparent, but Harry didn't say so, that Sirius wanted to prove he didn't care what House Harry was in or which team he would play for. Not that Harry wanted to even play for the House team.

Dear Harry, it began.

We're very glad to hear you're enjoying Hogwarts, still, and that the rest of the classes have posed no problem. No that we truly thought they would. And Professor Snape does indeed seem stayed by the fact you are a member of his House. You know, your mum is still cross she guessed Ravenclaw wrong (Archie is still terribly sad it wasn't Gryffindor - he's already got his eye on the red and gold).

We'll see if we can find anything on that Bryson-Keller theory - but I hate to say that if you haven't found anything more in the Hogwarts library, it's unlikely we'll find anything. Transfiguration was your dad's favourite class and best by far, but he was much more for the practical than the readings.

Harry thought to himself perhaps, unless the books he wanted were in the mysterious and alluring Restricted Section. But he wasn't entirely stupid. He had heard enough of what those books could do to an unsuspecting or not-trained-enough wizard, and would unfortunately have to quell his interest in the hidden books until later.

Archie misses you! You should write him. 

This was a bit of a parental command, more like. Harry bit back a sigh.

"You know," Miles says conversationally. "I reckon if you asked you could get a Restricted Section pass. You've charmed the pants off McGonagall, at the very least."

"I don't think McGonagall would do that," Harry said. "And I'm not sure I feel like picking up the wrong book and going permanently blind, no matter how tempting. Which is exactly why she won't give a pass to a first year. And Miles? Stop reading over my shoulder."

"You're the one that opened it at breakfast," he shrugged and reached over for more sausages.

Harry was starting to see why snoopy people were so terribly annoying, and pushing his porridge away - already tainted by the crash landing letter from his parents.

The letter ended similar to the rest of them: wishing him well, saying they knew he would do well, and the reassurances that if there were any problems in Slytherin because of his family (his brother, his Auror father, his muggleborn mum) that he could go to a Professor about it anytime. There was ' no shame in asking for help '. Except there was, and Harry also read between the lines of ' don't bother asking Snape '. Not that he would, even though he's Head of House, but Harry wouldn't be asking anyone for help just because of stories about his family. It was ancient history, and it wasn't him. HE was his own person.

It was easy to reconcile when his own dormitory lacked this political element.

Colin launched some beans at Cassius, which unfortunately was spotted by McGonagall. He got two detentions clipping Venomous Tentacula under Sprout's supervision, but the others worried this wouldn't dampen his penchant for trouble making - it might end up inspiring, according to the look of slight awe on Colin's face while McGonagall prescribed him that.

After seeing Colin out on the grounds heavily invested in 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, the boys began to discuss this worrying new development on the way out of lunch. The morning had been spent wading into the Black Lake, which was icier than ever as the seasons shifted. But under the weak sun the students braved each other as far as they could go off the shores from the greenhouses. A couple elder students, maybe paired with Warming Charms or whatnot, dove from the boathouse dock across the viaduct, also drawn out by the clear skies.

Harry and Lucian had found a more worthy opponent in Peregrine Derrick since that Thursday in the library, some weeks ago - after all he wasn't a girl, no matter how awful Viola Richmond was, they couldn't absolutely hammy her the way they could against Peregrine. Inspired by the most truthful rumours about what they did with Viola, Lucian and Harry tag teamed the older boy - Harry could hold his breath very long underwater, and Derrick had screamed - certain it was a grindylow's spindly fingers wrapping around his ankles. 

All in all, a lovely morning, despite Derrick and his friend Avery trying to drown him back in retaliation.

The afternoon plans of trying to break into greenhouse five were interrupted by Lucinda Nott running after them, stopping Harry in his tracks by grabbing his robe sleeve. "You," she said crossly. "I've got something for you, because apparently I'm an owl."

"Cheers," Harry said, taking a carefully folded parchment out of her hand.

"What's it say, then?" She asked. "I couldn't unfold it, it kept biting me - must be charmed for only certain people to read - " Harry leaned back from her.

"Then you're not meant to read it," he guessed. 

"It's from my brother," she protested. 

"Ask him then," Lucian said.

"Come on," Lucinda said. 

"No," Lucian very maturely stuck his tongue out at her. They refused to even open it in her presence, fearing the shadowy presence of Thaddeus which lingered over the whole exchange. Once his sister had flounced off irritably, Harry began to unfold.

The note read as follows:

You have been sworn to secrecy on the words in the dorm... but if you want to know more, take a look into the book bag of Neriani Shafiq. If you're still curious, come see me and I'll give you an answer in exchange. She tends to leave her things about in the commons, easy pickings.

"Exchange for what," Lucian murmured. "An answer in exchange for what? What could he want?"

"Who cares," Miles said. "Don't do looking about that girl's stuff. She's an upper year too - fifth year, I think. I really don' t think we should get any more involved." He looked right at Harry. "He already hexed you and made you swear a secrecy oath, there's no way this means any good."

"Right," Harry, who was quite curious, said slowly. "But what happens if I do say no?"

"Nothing," Miles said uncertainly.

"Or something," Harry thinks aloud. "I imagine saying no to Thaddeus Nott isn't too bright either..."

"Cool," Lucian said. "So we're on a mission, are we?"

Miles was gnawing the inside of his cheek but was also alight with energy. "He just said to look," Harry said. "That's nothing."

Thaddeus' interesting note couldn't have come on a better afternoon, and this was clearly no mistake.

It was surprisingly good weather all day, and not to be wasted - thusly everyone would definitely be outside. It was prime time, so to speak, to carry out Thaddeus' strange bidding. Suggestion? Harry wasn't able to parse out what exactly Thaddeus had him looking for - yet naturally Lucian and Miles were right behind him for it. Even though one was more hesitant than the other.

Trooping down back into the dungeons on such a day was a slight travesty, and Miles was adding his excitable, nervous commentary to the trip back. "I don't want my knees to be reversed - do you know there's a spell to wrap your intestines around like bows inside your stomach - or the one that makes you cough up your lungs, literally - "

"Afternoon," came a smooth, awfully familiar voice. It was Professor Snape, emerging from the stairs. Miles stopped talking with his mouth open, Lucian and Harry exchanged a fervent look. It was beyond hope that Snape hadn't heard Miles, and Harry dearly didn't want to be sharing a detention with Colin Cresswell and those Venomous Tentacula. It sounded a recipe for disaster... the only hope was Snape's unwillingness to dock points from his own House. But right now, at the mouth of the dungeons, there was no other House to take the fall for the Professor's sharp tongue.

Snape's face twisted into something unrecognisable; if Harry were more gullible he'd have called it a smile. Snape didn't do those.

"And why are we inside, on such a warm afternoon?"

It took all of Harry's strength not to respond snidely, 'well I don't know why you are, sir...', but he managed it.

"One may think you are, up to something," Snape said delicately. Eyes darting between the three boys, he stood between them and the dungeons. It was not an avoidable question.

"No, sir," Miles said obediently, thinking quickly. "We were just... getting my gobstones set, sir."

"A task that requires three sets of hands, naturally," Snape said drily. Harry felt his dark eyes bore a hole into Harry's skull. "A task that would have nothing to do with a blossoming antagonism with one of my second years, is that right?"

Each eleven year old affected a look of confusion - to be fair, the Professor could be referencing a few things. But most thankfully it didn't sound Nott-related. Which would be eerie if he knew of that. Snape raised a disbelieving brow.

"Such innocence," he said. "Yet I heard the most curious tale from Mr. Derrick... suspicions... " Harry nearly rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe the older boy went and tattled when all they did was give him a scare for being a prat.

"Derrick's a foul liar," exclaimed Lucian.

Snape whipped his head to face him, "Do not take that tone with me, Mr. Bole, or you shall not enjoy the consequence."

"Sorry, sir - I meant, he's prone to making things up, sir."

Snape looked briefly to the ceiling, but Harry found nothing up there to catch his attention. Once he looked down again, he sniffed. "We shall see. Hurry on."

They did as bid, cheerful that Snape was not omnipotent as to know that they were on their way to carry out Thaddeus' plots.

Chapter Text

Running into the Head of Slytherin was a tad unsettling, even for Harry and Lucian. Miles was surprisingly unfazed.

"How is it you're more frightened of Thaddeus than of Snape?" Harry asked in a high whisper, as if said Professor would return.

"Well, Snape... he's a Professor, isn't he? He's got more to lose than Thaddeus if he gets into trouble."

"I don't think Snape would take it too far," Harry said. "But that doesn't mean he wouldn't make us miserable."

"Thaddeus would make us hurt," Miles argued. "He has already. And you haven't gone to a Professor, have you? Because maybe it wouldn't be fixed. Maybe it would get worse. If Snape cursed you and you told, I reckon he would be in trouble. Thaddeus already got away with nearly killing a kid in his second year - they're less likely to give chances to Professors I'd bet, because they're adults."

There was some logic to Miles' words. That was the way of the world of teenagers and adults, after all. Harry wondered at what age you became responsible for your actions so fully.

The common room was deserted - a rare sight. The sound of voices did echo down from the halls and stairwells to the dormitories, but time was of the essence and they paid it no mind. It was unfortunate that Neriani wasn't the only Slytherin to leave their books, bags, and scrolls about the commons. "There's three of us," Harry said. "We'll split up and search."

"And how will we know it's her stuff?"

"What if someone's bag is jinxed against thieves?" Miles interjected.

That... was a good point. Much like the trunk in the fourth years' dormitory had been intended to trap someone with sticky fingers.

We'll just look around stuff," Lucian said. "Try not to touch it unless we know it's this girl's stuff."

Miles mumbled something under his breath but they split up as agreed and began to oh-so-casually inspect the spread belongings. Harry in particular was enraptured by the title peaking out of a blue bag - Blood Cursing and You!, but figured anyone with a book like that in their possession wasn’t likely to take well to him looking at it. This was a grand amount of common sense for Harry’s standard, no matter how tempting it was.

Harry felt drawn to the most popular seats by the fire, and he now he slinked over with a purpose. Empty of the top students, he glanced over a scroll of parchment on the Draught of Living Death and its development history, and then twitched - like something had buzzed in his ear. A fly, or something.

He felt it again, persistent, and swirled around. Nothing. Now he heard a slight pattern to it - and it wasn’t buzzing. It was like steam escaping, and his feet inexplicably drew him to the low embers of the fireplace. He stared down into the coals, wondering if that was what he had heard - sizzling wood - when he heard them.

“Stone and fire, flame and rock, find us warming in the stalk,” overlapping with, “In the water, in the grime, lost inside,” and small but most numerous renditions of “Mouse! Mouse! Rat flesh and fresh!”

With something like dawning horror, Harry’s gaze rose from the embers to the enormous mantle overhead. The writhing stone snakes, at this proximity, he saw had little stone forked tongues too. And they were hissing, like in English except that serpents did not speak English. He wondered if maybe this was a Slytherin house enchantment - it did seem on par, didn’t it -

“Harry,” Lucian’s voice broke through. He started abruptly. “Thought you were going to step into the embers for a minute there... I’ve found it.”

And so Lucian had.

The bag itself was plain, and was identified by it’s open flap with the upside-down embroidery of Neriani Shafiq’s name in it. There were a few slim scrolls of parchment which they first carefully levitated out - interspersed with glancing around the commons surreptitiously in case of anyone joining them in the quiet. One of the scrolls, of the same parchment as the others and no defining difference, bit Lucian. He hissed and shook his hand.

“I reckon that’s it,” he said. “Can’t open it without a nibble.”

Harry tried it, and then also was left nursing his fingertips. “Can’t open it at all. But I bet that Thaddeus can - he must want me to bring it to him, and that’s the exchange for more information!”

“Why would he send you to get it?” Miles asked, rather intelligently. “Isn’t this all a bit complicated? I mean, clearly he knew that the bag was going to be here, why didn’t he get it himself?”

Harry shrugged, getting up from their kneeled position on the floor. “Dunno, but I’ll ask.”

Miles looked worried as ever at that declaration, but he must've had some interest in all this because he didn’t bother to argue. The sun was still strong in the sky, and they returned to a warm afternoon on the grounds, scroll in tow. Lucian began bickering with Miles over last year’s Quidditch World Cup of Scotland v. Canada as Harry wondered idly over what secrets the upper years held from them. They got the shock of a lifetime seeing Professor Snape perched on a stone carved bench in the sun, leg crossed over the other, and lazily flipping through what looked to be a potions periodical.

“Didn’t think he wouldn’t melt in the sun,” Harry said. "Huh."

“There goes the vampire theory,” Lucian sighed. 

“I think they can go in the sun,” Miles said.

“No,” Harry said, continuing on their walk. “My dad says they can only go in the sun for a few minutes before they start to rapidly decompose.”

“Cool,” Lucian said. They did watch Snape a little bit longer but with no signs of decomposition starting, and no desire to draw the man's attention, they left the courtyard.

"Look it's the groundskeeper," Harry pointed out. And indeed it was, in the distance at the edge of the marshes was a stone-and-wood hut, and outside of it in a large pumpkin patch stood an even larger man.

"What does he do?" Miles wondered. "Tend pumpkins all day?"

Lucian shrugged. "Macnair said that Dumbledore keeps him on to help with the Forest - all sorts of dangerous beasts in there that a, er, larger man can handle better."

"Walden Macnair?" Harry asked, surprised. 

"Yeah, he's got a daughter in seventh year, I think. Hufflepuff."

Harry frowned. "I've heard of him - from my dad. He mentioned something about an arrest, ages ago, and... and Macnair killed people." What Harry really meant is that he had read about Walden Macnair in his father's office files of past arrests.

Lucian looked at him very seriously. "It's probably because he was a Death Eater."

"Hey," Miles said. "Don't say that."

"It's true," Lucian argued, meaty hands in his pockets. "Everyone knows he was, at the very least, even if he was clever enough to not get put into Azkaban. I mean, nothing against your Uncle, Miles."

"I barely knew him," Miles looked uncomfortable. "It's just - " His eyes darted at Harry.

Harry rubbed his arm. "I know there's a lot of Death Eaters... ones that didn't make it out of Azkaban time, and those who did. But just because my dad does something or... or your dad does something... doesn't mean anything about us."

"Mhm," said Lucian unconvincingly.

"We've got..." Flint trailed off. "Another scroll for Charms... reckon I'm not doing that... Zoe - "

"No," Zoe Accrington said from down the bench. "He knew last time. You can't just copy me word for word." 

"Murton?" He groaned.

"No," Adelaide said primly. "No way, Marcus."

"Pass the jus," Graham asked at large, but only Cassius bothered to slide it his way. 

"You're pretty good at Charms," Harry said to Cassius. 

"And you're pretty good at Potions," he retorted. Harry blinked in surprise. "What - just because Snape doesn't like you much doesn't make you worse at it. Clearly you're trying to... well."

"It does seem like Snape's not too fond of you, Harry," Lucinda told him, as if he hadn't noticed. "I wonder why that is? He tends to like us more than the Hufflepuffs so far in class, except you."

"Have you met?" Lucian asked. "I mean you said your mum works at an apothecary, and he teaches potions so..."

"No, I haven't... I haven't met him before." Harry got out. "He didn't get on with my parents I think, it's not my fault."

"Well, you're brill at potions," Lucinda told him. "I'm sure he'll get over it."

Sharing a dark look with Miles, Harry was not too sure that Snape was the type of person to 'get over it'. And any chance of that happening was ruined by the next day.

As dinner wrapped, satiating as always, Harry manoeuvred his way through the rushing flow of students to catch up to the fourth year Slytherins - more specifically, Lucinda's brother. Miles lags behind, and Lucian had gone on with the other boys caught up in chat.

"Thaddeus," Harry called out. Indeed he, and three other boys, turned to face him. Nott jerked his head, and the others left him behind - looking at Harry with the faint exasperation of any teenager dealing with annoying kids.

"Hello again," he said pleasantly. 

"I've got it," Harry said meaningfully, patting his robe pocket.

A lazy smile crawled across the older boy's face. "Very good." Harry pulled out the scroll and warned him,

"It bites your fingers if you try to open it." 

Nott didn't look surprised by this. "I'll just need your blood," he said calmly in the din of the Great Hall emptying.

"What?" Harry said.

"I'll do it right here," he moved closer. "To open it, after all. I would use my own, but the damn thing would disintegrate if I touch it before releasing the enchantment."

"How you do know that - and why do you need my blood?" Harry hissed.

"I know because I taught her this trick," he told him easily. "And I need your blood to undo the enchantment- nothing else."

Harry had gotten a lot of lectures on willingly providing bits of yourself to other magicals - consent gave things more power.

But he was always eleven so, "Okay," he said, and bit his tongue when a sudden cut, no larger than a paper cut, appeared on his wrist. 

"Hold the scroll to it," Thaddeus told him impatiently, wand out. Harry did so, suddenly hyper aware that blood magic was happening in the middle of the Hall, with thousands of potential witnesses.

A string of incomprehensible muttering came from the other boy, and then without further warning he snatched the scroll from Harry's hand. Nothing noteworthy happened, but Thaddeus crowed in success. He didn't open it right away and Harry frowned.

"What's it all about?" He asked. Thaddeus smiled, that lazy upturn of his mouth and he turned as if to walk away -

"Hey," Harry went after him. "Hey! I got that for you, didn't I? You said you'd tell me - I'd know more. What's going on? Why couldn't you just get that yourself if you weren't going to tell me anything anyway?" Nott had stopped again and looked at him in consideration. But in the end, his eyes flickered to the Head Table, which was now also emptying, and says nothing more. Harry stood there in the moving crowd, being elbowed, for a moment longer in frustration as Miles slunk back over to him. 

"It's like you like having your knees reversed," he told Harry.

"And the price for that should be some answers," he said firmly. "I did spy on him - first by accident - but the second time... sure, fair. I was in the wrong and I got caught. But we were even, and now he's gone and asked for my help. He needed me, for some reason. My blood, too. And I'll find out what it's all about," he told Miles. "I will."

This disappointment was not the final problem of the night. September ended with a bang - namely, it ended with Viola Richmond.

"Come on, Reagan," the Gryffindor was saying to Mulciber in the stairwell as they walked up. "Aren't you even a little upset - oh." Viola spotted them. "Speak of the Lethifold and it shall appear."

"Richmond," Harry greeted, which sounded more like 'go for a swim'. The girl seemed to be collecting most of the first year Slytherins around her, for whatever nefarious purpose. Lucian was looking quite grim next to Colin Cresswell as part of this posse. "What do you want?"

She scowled and flipped her hair. "You know, I know your classmates better than you do. I mean, you and your brother... your tutoring was so very private, wasn't it? You didn't see much of anyone, like we did."

"Whatever, Richmond," he made to walk past.

"It's a shame they let you in here, still, and we've all got to put up with it. They should've kept you locked away," she said. "Let me guess - Order of the Phoenix members and their kids only?"

"You don't know anything about me or my life," he snapped at her.

"I know that you're a bunch of muggle-lovers, and you've got no place at Hogwarts! You people lock up the good people and get to walk around doing whatever you like and none of you - " She whirled on her old tutor group friends, all the people Harry had been getting to know the last month "None of you say anything? You act like it's no big deal. His dad arrests us, his mum isn't even one of us - and his brother is a killer from the start - "

"He was a baby," Harry argued. "You know what? I bet that the Dark Lord just went and blew himself up - by accident - and how is any of it my fault! I think your parents probably went to Azkaban just to get away from you! "

She screamed and dove her hand into her pocket for her wand in a flurry of movement, but Harry was faster. His wand was in her face before she could cast anything.

"Don't," he warned and she snarled.

"Shut up," she hissed. "You- you - you son of a Squib - and the rest of you for f-fucking letting him... letting him be..." She lost her words, her face turning red. Harry looked at his year mates, and with unease found a sea of slightly frowning faces. They looked unsure, and Harry felt a twinge in his chest. 

"It's not my fault what my family is - I haven't done a thing wrong and you can't even prove my brother did anything, he's normal - it's just a nice, fancy story for stupid reporters that makes even stupider books for kids. And if that's what people want to think, fine, but it's stupid. He's just a normal brother, and you're just a normal twat," he said. "My dad does his job - and my mum is a WITCH," He shouted. "Leave me alone and stop talking about me, you're obsessed!"

Even Miles has made some space between them, and no one was adding anything.

No one was agreeing, necessarily, with Viola, but no one was helping Harry either. He'd thought they were all getting on well, but maybe he had different expectations of friendship than his dorm mates. He looked to Lucian, his first friend, but the boy didn't move to help him this time. Harry wondered why he had pushed the girl in the boat in the first place then, if he didn't stand up for Harry now - he can't remember the exact conversation now -

In his distraction, Viola attacked. "Rictumsempra," she cast, and Harry bent over unnaturally fast at his middle, swallowing snorts and laughs. And then, though the charm hadn't worn off, his anger wouldn't let him wait. See, Harry made things go boom - it gathered in his arms and like a tremendous wave, Viola was blasted upwards and backwards into the air - landing further up the staircase after giving everyone a good show of her underthings. Left behind was nothing more than a chipped stair. It seemed that Hogwarts was more boom-protected than Potter Cottage.

Being children, as they were, seeing underthings was incredibly funny. So despite all the tension from that earlier exchange, everyone began to laugh as she slowly sat up, rubbing her head and her skirt still blown up around her middle. Though looked quite dazed, she got the gist of it fast and yanked her skirt down. 

Everyone was pretty sure she would flee in embarrassment - hot tears were (likely unwillingly) sliding down her red face. But she didn't. She marched back down the stairs to a panting Harry, and absolutely decked him in the face.

With her fist. 

And it hurt. Girls can fight, he thought incredulously. His dad had completely lied!

Harry reeled and pushed her away from him as she looked as though she would do it again. Her tears began to turn to sobs as she stumbled back and finally, finally fled up to wherever Gryffindor Tower was.

That night in the dorm was an awkward one. Not even Colin started any troubles - which, considering how annoying he was, must've took enormous effort. Harry couldn't stand it very long. Standing in the washroom and getting ready for bed with everyone brought it all to a head.

"Do you think I'm some sort of..." Harry paused, a few of the boys stopped what they were doing and eyed him. "Do you think I don't belong here?"

It's Flint, boy of few words, who surprisingly speaks up. "You're not your family," he shrugged. "But family does matter."

"Blood matters," Montague said snidely from the counter. "But that's not all, of course," he amended when Cassius shoved him. "Look, do you care about our parents and what they've done?"

Harry didn't know who's parents had done what, but he did know how he was supposed to answer. "No, course not."

"There," Graham said tiredly. "Then it's all set."

"What do you think?" Colin asked curiously. "Harry - what do you think about dark magic?" 

"Shut up, Colin," Higgs said warningly. "Shut it."

"I..." Harry hesitated. "I don't know, I mean. I don't know any, dark magic."

"Obviously - but do you think using dark magic is evil? Or do you think that tradition is? Because your family - " Colin went on. Higgs pushed him and Colin shut up and shoved him back. As they began to tussle, Harry shifted awkwardly in front of everyone.

"I mean. I don't, er, it's not a problem," he said weakly. He didn't know what to say. He'd never talked about... any of this. He felt out of depth in a way his classes didn't challenge him. "Isn't it not.. good... well. I..."

"Can we just go to bed?" Graham said irritably. 

"My mum gets potions from your mum," Flint told him when they were turning off the lights, real quiet, some time later. "I know she's not a muggle or a squib or... she's a witch."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Er, thanks, yeah."

He nodded, like he had said something very magnanimous.

Despite talking it out, it doesn’t feel like the problem had been fixed. More like it was like a leak, taped up, but the pressure was still there. Waiting, pushing, and inevitably going to break free. Harry’s lack of argument for or against anything seemed to stay the flow, but one day that may not be enough. And for the first time, Harry saw that maybe the stray words about him, about politics, about his father, about his brother... about his mother... maybe they mattered. In a way much more immediate than he’d considered. Viola hated him, there was no doubt. But it seemed she wasn’t the only one who cared about that stuff, and it was quite likely Bole wasn’t the only one who liked him but... it seemed even his first Hogwarts friend was hesitant to step up beside him. As if it tainted him, somehow. And Harry hated how he couldn’t blame Lucian, and how he wasn’t sure that if he was in Lucian’s place he would step up beside him like that.

The next day, it was finally time for Harry to face the music of assault. The fifth year boys' Prefect, Marius Malfoy, came to fetch him, bright and early on that Sunday morning after; it was officially the first of October, and far chillier than the fair weather before. 

"Mister Harry Potter," he said. "Professor Snape wishes to speak to you about an altercation that occurred after dinner last night. Some allegations have been made." It was telling how none of the other boys made fun of him for getting in trouble - last night had dredged up some awkward feelings in the dorm.

Harry dressed hastily, and combed his hair, all while Marius stood at the doorway picking his fingernails. When Harry sidled up to him, the boy left without a word, gesturing for Harry to follow.

"Am I in a lot of trouble?" Harry asked at length.

“I don’t really think I’m your judge,” he said politely. "Only the messenger."

The walk felt really long, and Malfoy was clearly keeping pace for Harry's shorter legs.

"You should be more careful in your choice of association," he said conversationally, out of nowhere as they made another right turn in the dungeon corridors. "I can't imagine your parents would be too happy with your exploits. Stealing is frowned upon at Hogwarts."

Harry looked at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Stealing," Malfoy repeated calmly. "And then... snooping isn't always a crime, I suppose, but that too is a skill that brings more trouble than good. Wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, unnerved.

They made it the rest of the way in silence, and when they came to a stop at Professor Snape's office, Malfoy didn't knock right away. He turned to Harry fully, so much taller than he was, and looked down.

"Well done, either way," Malfoy told him as they stood in front of the door, a small smile dancing around his mouth. "Much appreciated." Harry's mood perked up a bit. 

"Wait - " He said quickly. "So, you're in on it, too or - "

"Ah ah, Harry," he said. "Secrets are meant not to be spoken. You should have learned this- "

The door swung open so quickly, it was like there had never been a door at all. Snape stood right there, and Harry couldn't help his flinch at the revealed proximity. Malfoy didn't budge, but inclined his head respectfully. "Professor," he said evenly. 

"Mr. Malfoy," he greeted, eyes narrow. "You are dismissed."

With another incline of his shiny blond head, Marius pivoted on his heel and left him abandoned to their fate.

Snape stepped aside. "Anytime today," he gestured him in impatiently.

Once Harry had taken a seat and Snape had rounded the back of his desk, the inquisition began. The harsh cut of Snape's narrow face looked like it could've been carved from stone in the low light, and Harry hoped dearly what Miles said about Snape 'having to be careful about getting fired' or something was true. Because even though he was an adult, and adults have more consequences, right now Snape looked like the sort of man who got away with stuff.

"I find myself surprised," he said evenly. "Mr. Potter, that you have managed to control yourself for... an entire month." His mouth twisted. "Formidable."

"Sir," Harry began.

"And then I hear a story from a young girl, about an incident involving another young girl, a Gryffindor one? The victim was too prideful to ask for help, perhaps, after you launched a public humiliation, was it? Though our witness was unclear on the specificities, she was very clear that it was you."

"Professor, I didn't - "

"In front of many witnesses I can still yet ask," he continued blithely on like Harry had never spoken. "But here I am... out of some lingering generosity for," his eyes sought upward, "a member of Slytherin house, I decided to ask you what has happened." He peered down his nose. "Interrupt me one more time, Mr. Potter and I will personally see to it that you are scrubbing toad guts for the next week."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Silence crept over them slowly, and Harry began to realise that now he was allowed to speak. "There was - an incident, sir. The girl, she, er, she started saying things in the - to my year mates - just lies and - "

"Ah, so some innocent girl had offended your delicate sensibilities - "

"Innocent," Harry cried. "Professor - "

"Shut your mouth," Snape snarled, like a beast of some kind. It transformed his face - the rage - into something truly terrifying. He snapped his neck toward Harry, away from his casual perusal of his ingredients wall, and it took him all he had not to jump back in his seat. "Detention, beginning tomorrow at 8 o'clock with me. Potter," he went on, punctuating each word with malice. "What did you do?" 

The accusation in his tone was so solid Harry couldn't think of a defence - he heard something in Snape's voice, that he already decided him to be guilty. It wouldn't have mattered if Harry was innocent. Snape was certain. He'd made up his mind, hadn't he?

Harry slumped. It was clear also that Snape was allowed to interrupt him, if he so pleased.

"I didn't throw any hexes or curses or spells or do anything, sir, I swear that - she just, fell back," he said lamely. "Sometimes, sometimes my magic does that. I didn't mean for anyone to even laugh at her, even if she was saying horrid things about me and my... I didn't do anything, not on purpose and... I've been trying to stop making things... breaking..." He trails off. "Sometimes my magic does that," he repeated. "And she hexed me, and punched me, and I didn't do anything at all. That stuff just happens sometimes. It always has. I didn't attack anyone, sir. I really didn't."

Snape was frowning when he looked up, and he moved to seat himself behind the desk instead of standing at one side.

Harry could scarcely believe it - did Snape believe him ?

"Very well," he said shortly, as if he was displeased by Harry's truthfulness. All in all, Harry was surprised he wasn't being strung up by his thumbs like that caretaker was always muttering about to himself.

Then, of course, Snape did have to torture him somehow, by pulling out a fresh parchment and writing tools.

Snape flourished his quill like a weapon - and in his hands it likely could be - and they began to recite some of the worst words Harry had ever heard.

"To whom it may concern," he began. "Your son - Harry Potter - has been thoroughly warned on this occasion to keep his violent tendencies in check. He has been caught in an act of magical aggression towards another student - " Snape paused here and looked up at Harry with consideration, who by now was appearing quite ill, having realised what his Head of House was doing. He smiled, a nasty curl of his lips, black eyes glittering. With a wave he corrected himself. "Aggression towards a female student," he emphasised. "We believed it pertinent to contact his parents at such a time, as it is of great concern to Hogwarts School when students come to start their education with such... tendencies in their magic. Your correspondence is expected promptly, regardless of what punishment has already been meted out. When you do, further information can be discussed on both ends." With another fast scratching, which Harry assumed to be him signing off, Snape snapped his fingers and the scroll rolled up and vanished into thin air.

The silence was heavy with the harsh reality: Snape had just told him off to his parents. 

It was broken most curiously by, "You need to learn discipline." Snape told him, expression still unfathomable. "Self-control. Although you say you didn't 'do' anything, you did. It happened. You wanted it to, at the least you wanted something to happen - I imagine for her to go away - and your magic attempted to fulfil that desire."

"Yes, sir," Harry said carefully.

"And when one is on thin ice - like yourself right now - it is good to stay out of trouble, wouldn't you agree? Learn to not let your emotions rule your magic. If such an occurrence reoccurs, I will not hesitate to employ heavy punishment,“ He told. It sounded so calm. Harry couldn't say anything except,

"Yes, sir." He didn't doubt the man.

"So, perhaps you'd like to share what illicit activities you have yourself 'in on' and, if I may be so bold, in over your head on, Potter," Snape said, in that same eerie calmness. Harry frowned in confusion before he realised what he was referencing.

"What - you were listening at the door!" Harry accused, with a tad too much outrage. He'd halfway stood in his seat, before slinking back down with a pointed look from the Professor. "I - sorry."

"Perhaps you were being exceptionally loud," Snape said smoothly. He didn't deny listening in.

"It's nothing, sir," he said stoutly.

"It cannot be nothing," the Professor drummed his fingers once, in quick succession. "What on earth would drive you and young Mr. Malfoy, of all people, to discuss... nothing?"

"I don't know him, sir," Harry said, heart beating but his head feeling clear than ever. "He's a prefect, and he'd just walked me down to you. We only talked about... Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" He repeated, faintly. Dangerously. "Really?"

"There's a betting pool," Harry blurted out, as if he was confessing something. "I know it's not, erm, probably allowed..." He looked down at his laced brogues and tried to look very contrite over his lie. Though he did think it was a good one for last minute thinking.

The silence was, again, loud.

"Gambling is not forbidden at Hogwarts," he said finally. Harry glanced up, unsure. "Mr. Potter, is there anything you would wish to tell me?" He didn't believe it.

“Nothing, sir,” He said. He couldn't choose a different lie now. It was far too late.

“Lying is no aid to you,” Snape hissed. “Be truthful.”

“I don’t know what - I can’t tell you anything else,” Harry said. And this, was the truth. He could, actually, tell Snape enough to set him on the trail of who it was if not what was said. But he didn’t, and that was that. "I just don't have anything to tell you at all, sir."

“Dismissed, Potter,” Snape said curtly, by all appearance quite over him. “On your head, be it.”

Chapter Text

Harry did have detention, for one whole week - but not for accidentally blasting back Viola (or for actually intentionally pushing her underwater, thank Merlin that Snape didn't know about that) - but for interrupting the Professor.

"He wrote my parents," Harry moaned. "They specifically told me to be careful around Snape, and they still haven't written me back. They're meant to meet with him... about my accidental magic."

"Sounds about right," Miles said. "And your parents likely have good instincts. Mostly, I'm glad you didn't tell him about Nott." Like usual, they all skirted the topic of Harry's uncontrollable magic. Harry hadn't elaborated, and nothing had really happened except that small incident with Viola.

Harry straightened. "I'm not an idiot, Miles. You were right when you said that Nott getting in trouble could mean worse things for me. He's a kid too, they'd give him more chances to change."

"He won't change," Miles said darkly.

"He seems to be doing smashing anyway," Lucian said. He was picking at the flaking arm of the leather chair he had dragged over to their table.

The three boys were commandeering one of the many abandoned rooms in Hogwarts - this one appearing to look like a mix between a classroom and a plush office. Either way it was in total disarray, and they only chanced upon it through Lucian punching a handsy suit of armour. An afternoon spent on testing the entrance revealed that twisting the armour's arm back until it touched the wall, would open the door. But by the time they figured it out, Lucian's knuckles were smarting.

"Reckon he's practicing dark magic," Miles said.

Harry scoffed, but Lucian laughed. "Course he is." This was incredible to Harry, who equated dark magic to criminals that his dad threw into Azkaban. 

"I - really?" He said, astounded.

Miles and Lucian looked to him in a strange way. He couldn't decipher what it meant until later: they had looked at him like an outsider.

The week passed, he survived, and then his parents came to the school. Once Harry had finally gotten a reply from his initial letter of awkward apology, he hadn't opened any of the many he'd got back. He was too afraid to open them - and in Hogwarts it was easy to ignore letters from so far away. It was a nasty shock to be invited once more to Snape's office and find the unhappy faces of his mum and dad. They did their best trying to explain Harry's history of magical 'outbursts', but from what Harry could see, most of this conversation was held before he'd been called in. His dad was stood by the door, and his mum sat perched on one of the chairs - like she unsure if it would come alive at any moment and bite her. Snape was leaning against his desk, but Harry was not fooled by the man's deceptively calm pose.

They didn't like each other, he simplified. That was clearly true from body language alone. His dad never spoke to Snape directly, and McGonagall was there too. Like a mediator. Having the Professor that liked him most witness his behaviour management was a bit humiliating, but she was quite kind about it. In the end, he was sort of glad to have her there.

"It's not the most worrisome display of magical outburst I've yet seen, young man," she told him. 

"Control is everything," Snape demanded. "Yet seen - that can be changed - " McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and some silent conversation seemed to pass between the two teachers. 

"Professor Snape," she said crisply. "I do not find these two situations to be comparable, and if I did I would certainly have more to say on the subject. But nipping it early on seems applicable here. Mr. Potter - no, James, I mean the younger - I think we can work out some exercises for your magical outbursts. What say you?" Though he hadn't really understood the undercurrents of what they had been talking about, Harry nodded. He understood the last bit of it, at least.

The matter of bullying was an even touchier subject, and Harry was nearly sweating at the idea of anyone finding out what happened on the boats. He felt lucky to be considered more of a victim here, really. His shoulders began to scrunch up with embarrassment as Snape insisted he needed to be more 'impenetrable', and McGonagall interrupted him to tell Harry he should never be afraid to talk about altercations with fellow students. "We are here to help," she said, and Harry didn't miss the small flicker her eyes gave to Snape. 

His mum and dad walked out with him, all said and done.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. 

"You didn't write us back," his dad said.

His mum looked at him, through him, like she always does. "Did you even open them?" She asked knowingly.

He shifted on his left foot. Shook his head.

"Harry," she held a hand to his chin. "We always will love you, support you, and stand by you. We exist to do just that. Please don't shy away from us. Just a little over a month away from home doesn't make us strangers."

Something odd choked up Harry's throat - and the weirdest thoughts crept over his mind. Like well I'm not important like Archie Potter, and I sorted Slytherin I'm sorry, and I can't even keep accidental magic under control and I think my classmates like dark magic but I just want to study and have some friends and yet I can't help myself and I think I'm going to get in more trouble because I stole things and I got cursed and I made a vow and I'm a bit scared but I won't ever admit that to no one and I want to be someone important sort of -

"I know, mum," was all he said. That lump in his throat kind of made his eyes sting. "I was just embarrassed. And... it was a girl." He remembered something - "Dad, you said girls can't fight!"

"Did not," he claimed to his wife. "You just shouldn't fight them. It's not proper to. They can hex just as mean as anyone, though, Harry. Ask your mum." He swung an arm around her, lifted her up, and twirled her about - she laughed as he put her down on his other side. 

"Archie loved your letter," his dad went on to say. "Though he's still disappointed in your lack of Hogwarts Quidditch knowledge - " Harry twitched. 

"I told him, it's not like first years can join. We haven't even had a match yet!" 

Before his parents left the school altogether, via Apparition from the far gate, his father pulled him aside.

"I don't care what it was at the end of the day," he said solemnly. "You're my son, I've got your back, but Harry... if there's something going on, with your classmates... or if anyone gives you real trouble... I know about those Richmonds. It's tough to hear, but family matters. That girl hasn't got much of a chance. It all starts early, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," he said dutifully. His dad cracked a smile.

"Ah, don't give me that. You sound like a trainee."

"I don't want to be an Auror," Harry reminded him cheekily. 

Dad let his smile fade. "You do need to get a grip on this- this magic, but I have faith it'll come in time. Just work on self-control. Hard thing to ask of a kid," he muttered to himself.

"McGonagall was talking like she'd seen it before," Harry hedged. "So, it's not like I'm the only one."

"No, but you're nothing like... that," his dad insisted.

"What is 'that'?"

"Nothing important to you," his dad said in that one tone, the one booking no argument.

"But what if I am like... that?"

His dad frowned briefly. "You aren't, Harry. And remember, keep an eye out. Keep yourself under control, but keep an eye out. I'm sure the Richmond girl isn't the only one who disagrees with where you come from and that's nothing to be ashamed of. Those people," he hardened. "they should be ashamed of what sickness they pass onto their children."

"Okay, dad," Harry said. "I think mum's waiting on you now." She had indeed finishing talking with Professor Vector.

His hair got a rough ruffle. "Hate when you do that," he muttered.

"Lucky you didn't get my rat's nest hair," he laughed. "And Harry? Don't you ever ignore our letters again." With a final stern eye, his parents left Hogwarts behind.

As if he could smell latent guilt and mild personal crisis, Nott materialised to lure Harry back into troubling territory just the next morning.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "Attacking girls' underthings?"

"I didn't want to see any underthings," Harry said tiredly, having heard this accusation a few times for a laugh at the library or Great Hall.

"Alright then," Thaddeus said, unperturbed. "Onto more interesting topics, if you will."

Harry eyed him sideways. "Like what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." This made Harry a little more cross, because he would indeed like to know.

He said nothing.

"Close with Lucian Bole and Miles Bletchley - though the Bletchley boy is a bit of a coward, at least Bole stands up for himself. Shame about his father, if one puts any stock in rumour."

"Which rumour is that again?" Harry hedged with some interest.

Thaddeus had an air of surprise to him now. "Well, didn't your good friend talk about it? I was hoping you could confirm or deny for me."

Harry shifted awkwardly.

"Not so good friends then," Nott hedged back.

"We are too," Harry denied. 

"Bole doesn't put his trust in you," Thaddeus said. "Careful, for someone so young." Harry didn't point out that they were all kids - Thaddeus included. "Do you trust him?"

"I trust all my friends," Harry said uneasily. Conversation with Nott never went where he thought it would, and he was still smarting from the last interaction they had with that scroll.

“Don’t,” he said, much easier. “Trust is not so lightly earned... not any trust worth having.”

"I don't think I should trust you," Harry said. Rather bravely too, he thought. There was no sign of displeasure on Thaddeus' face - but there never was. He was implacable as rock. Except when he had cursed that boy in the Owlery, and when he caught Harry in the cursed trunk. Then his face came alive and the eyebrows danced, and his teeth shone.

Now he just sighed. 

"Well, that's the brightest thing you'd said thusfar. I thought you were rather thick after the scroll."

Harry reddened. So what if he thought Thaddeus would share it with him? He'd done all the work after all, it's not his fault the older boy was so secretive. 

"So, would you like to know more?" He goaded.

"Know what," Harry said crossly. "This could all be quite dull, for all that I do know."

"Not hardly," Nott said. "You just have to do me a little task. Prove that I can trust you enough to involve you. Or would you think me stupid? Stupid enough to tell you whatever you want just because you want to know?"

Harry was beginning to hate being tested. What was he really going to prove?

And how much did he really want to know what was going on?

"I made an oath," he said testily. 

"And that's wonderful," Nott soothed. "But it wasn't unbreakable, was it? Just a bit of pain if you did break it, and really you agreeing to it was more symbolically important than anything. This task... it puts you on the same level as us."

Harry understood this but...

Oh, what did it matter. Nott had him dead to rights. He felt a rush of something (importance) when he spoke to people like Marius Malfoy, Gemma Farley, or Thaddeus Nott. He helped with something (he stole something) - and this was likely not a much harder task, right? Then he would be more important to Nott. Then he would be on the same level.

Harry couldn't put it to words in his own mind, but the truth was that he wanted to impress the older boys and be important to them. 

"I want you to put something in Professor Snape's desk for me," Nott had gone and said, like it wasn't completely insane.

"What is it?" Harry said sharply. 

"A small drawstring pouch," Nott replied, just as quick.

"Why?"

"It's going to help me fix a lot of problems."

"How?"

"By dealing with Professor Snape."

"What'll happen to him?" Harry braved again. "What does it - do?"

"You're acting like we'll kill him," Thaddeus sighed. "Have a little sense of adventure - or at least common sense. I have no reason to want to kill Snape." Harry had in fact never thought that, but it was worrying that Thaddeus so quickly jumped to denying murder. "I just need something from him. Alive, actually. You'll know all of it, if you succeed. And be wise enough to know what a refusal at this point would gain you." His eyes narrowed in clear threat.

Harry thought he understood quite well. "Will I ever really know the truth?"

A wry smile twisted his mouth attractively. “The less you know the better - at least until it’s too late,” he said. "So, after," he promises.

"It won't hurt him?"

"No," Nott scoffed. "Hurt Snape? I'm not mad."

Harry wasn't sure this was a fair assessment of Thaddeus' mental state.

"Three o'clock this coming night, in the commons, you'll meet my friend. And you'll take that little pouch and put it into the left side of Snape's desk - listen carefully or on your head be it - the middle drawer on his left, it's the only one not cursed."

"How am I meant to do that?" Nott shrugged.

"Up to you. Get creative. Or fail, and face the consequence." Harry had the feeling that he could no longer back out, and so he accepted with a mix of confusing emotion.

Feeling rather plucky and overly aware of himself, Harry honed in on a distraction from his impending task that night. He returned to a goal he'd made some weeks ago and still hadn't solved: figure out what Lucian had fallen out with Graham over. Nott had reminded him of it so sourly. The opportunity was sudden as he stalked the boy (with Cassius Warrington) down to the Quidditch pitch. There seemed to be the beginnings of a practice in the works. Graham went right for the stands on the far side, while Cass was roped into a tussle with an older boy - likely that cousin of his on the team.

Cassius was avidly discussing something (Quidditch) with that berk Derrick and some other current players when Harry made his way past, to the stairs Graham had took up. A couple reservers were circling the pitch lazily. One daring flyer was doing pull-ups from his broom midair. This was impressive enough that Harry needed to pause, and take it in. Show-off.

With Cassius occupied, this left Montague alone and vulnerable on the stands - sitting and reading through a playbook. Harry crept up on him easily, but before he could say a word the boy had whipped his head about to glare at him.

"And what do you want?" He snapped. "I'm busy."

"Well, I'm Harry," he said.

"Yes, I know, obviously," Graham eyed him. "You do know we sleep in the same room?"

"I was in fact wondering if you did - you've never even spoken to me, as is."

"Didn't take the hint?"

"Look, I've got to know." Harry said frankly. He'd gotten enough of an understanding about Montague by living in close quarters with him for nearly a month and a half. The boy liked direct. "Why don't you talk to the rest of us? What happened that all of everyone knows but me?"

Graham Montague stared at Harry and bit his lip with indecision. 

Finally he closed his book and Harry slid eagerly onto the bench beside him. "I asked Lucian to tell me the truth and he wouldn't," Graham said angrily. This didn't surprise Harry - as he had already learned how Montague favoured direct honesty. "His dad is an oath-breaker and went and knocked up a muggle - and that baby's meant to be Lucian. Then - " Here Graham paused, like even he thought the next bit was too horrid to say. "Then when his wife found out, he killed her. After it all he wrote Lucian up as a pureblood on the registry and said he was born of his pureblood wife, but really he's the bastard from muggle." Graham spat. "So I asked, because we have a right to know - and Lucian went and raged on me for wanting the truth. And then everyone takes his side because he's a fright when angry."

Harry swallowed. "If his dad killed someone - that's horrible - "

"He's a Bole," Graham shrugged. "Not so surprising, that - " Harry blinked.

"So what else could you - you're not... you're not fighting because you think he's got dirty blood?" Harry crinkled his nose.

"No! He'd be no worse than you if it were true," Montague shrugged. Harry blinked incredulously at him. "It's not to do with blood, all right? It's to do with lying. If Lucian's dad is a big, fat liar, then who wouldn't want to know? That's not my fault! And I'm not saying it's Lucian's either... But my dad won't talk to the Boles anymore, and I needed to know... if me and Lucian could still be friends."

The truth was far less interesting than Harry had anticipated. It was all so petty! And all of this came down to parents.

"Well you shouldn't go bothering people about things their dads did," Harry reasoned. "Did you try saying sorry? Imagine how Luce would feel finding out that his dad might have killed his mum, er, or wife... or anybody really."

"Why would I say sorry?" Graham sad snootily. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Look," Harry went on hesitantly. "Not to pick on your technique or anything, but it looks like you're only getting along with Cassius right now. You could change that by trying to explain yourself. Else how will Lucian know what you meant?"

Graham didn't say anything.

"Oh, why do I bother," Harry said gustily.

"We only play nice with you," Graham said suddenly. "Because your dad is an Auror. Sure, you're alright, but you'd be no better than dirt if they weren't afraid of what their families had told them about yours. Your parents cursed half our families working for Dumbledore's little group, and we won't forget it."

Harry's face burned. Sometimes he understood how this boy's directness tended to alienate him. "We've talked about how family doesn't - "

"Oh, please! They've gone and passed that Registration Act now haven't they, more restrictions on the personal lives of witches and wizards."

Harry felt cold at the change in direction in the conversation. "What are you talking about?"

"The - the thing that means that the Ministry wants to monitor all wand use, all the time, everywhere? Your mum and dad said it's for muggle protection - like that's going to make us like them any more! It's not right!"

"That's not true, that's - they can't," He said, sounding more confused than convinced. "And my parents aren't politicians."

He stared at Harry. “I mean... a bunch of people made it - wrote it, I mean. But your parents... they’re figure-heading it. They’re the face of the Act.”

Harry felt strangely left on the wrong foot.

“I thought you’d know,” Montague said with an odd lilt to his voice. “But I guess... I guess no one wants to talk to you about it. Could set you off, or you'd go and tell your parents just what 'certain' families think.”

“They can talk to me,” Harry argued. “I just... It’s not like my parents tell me anything, alright? It's just work, isn't it.”

“You can read the papers,” Montague argued.

“Yeah,” Harry conceded. “But that’s not how you learned about it, is it? Like everyone else, your parents teach you things about this stuff. How was I supposed to know what's going on in your heads? They all can just talk to me!”

Montague was still looked at him strangely, like he was a particularly gruesome blob in one of Snape’s preservative bottles. “And your parents don’t. Don't talk to you about... about these things.”

Harry picked at his sleeve. “I guess not.” He didn’t add, I didn’t know they were supposed to.

"You really aren't prepared for the real world, are you?" He sniffed.

"We're just kids," Harry said. "Don't be so... so dramatic."

"Sure," Graham shrugged. "But this is Hogwarts School. Best in the Isles. Maybe all of Western Europe, really. The best of the best go here - we network, we know each others' families. It's more than just kids going to school. We have to keep up the family name while here, too. And it matters if our parents think stuff or don't get along. I need to represent my father well."

"Well, if you want to do that," Harry snapped, standing. "Maybe stop sulking around always, and say sorry. You're representing yourself as a big prat." 

He had to address some of this new information however, while carefully sidestepping that nasty business about Luce's dad, during the class study group that evening.

"It's just politics - which my parents don't even - my da's an Auror. My mum sells potions, and if the idiots in Wizengamot want to act like my parents have got a thing to do with their decisions - "

"But of course it's influential," Higgs argued. 

"It's not like - "

"I mean it's the Act itself people care about, and yes - your parents are unfortunately attached but let's focus on what really matters - they're taking away basic rights! Monitoring our every spell..." Lucinda went on.

Harry felt this had nothing to do with him or his parents, and frankly that's all he wanted addressed in the first place and Cassius picked up on it.

"You're a Potter too," sighed Cassius. "Of course you wouldn't care - your brother blew up the most famous dark wizard in the world while still in his cradle, and you lot have the greatest political sway in the whole of England, but, of course, you don't care about politics."

"He wasn't in a cradle," Harry snapped. "Mum was holding him when - and you know what, you don't know anything about my family!"

"And you don't know anything about mine!" Cassius shouted back. It was much louder than the rest of their conversation had been, and it drew eyes easily. He quickly sat again and turned pink.

"Do you lot have a problem with me?" Harry gestured at the first year Slytherins at large. Silence met him, much like he had thought. "I don't think you do. But you keep looking at me and assuming things just because of what my name is. I don't do it to you!"

"Maybe you should," Graham said snidely, clearly and evenly from the left.

"Shut up, Graham," Bole said stiffly.

"Make me," he mumbled rather insincerely. (Bole was indeed a very big and scary boy for his age).

"Sorry if you feel like that Harry," Flora told him sincerely. "We're just listening to what our parents talk about, and well, don't you think this is wrong? The Act? Don't you?"

"Sure," he hedges. "But I know I like you lot just fine. And anything your folks think or do won't change my opinion. Politics aside. Those things haven't got anything to do with us."

"Hear, hear," Miles said heartily, quite over it all. "Now can we all get a move on with this essay?"

Harry actually talked, one-on-one, with quite a few of his classmates later after. It was better than the first conversation that night in the dorm - even though it was complicated topic for a bunch of first years to navigate, they did their best to get on as young children more easily do. But the thing is, politics in the end... had very much a lot to do with this families. Perhaps not yet, but they would. A conversation only can do so much.

Regardless and unaware of the future, having gained some courage from this talk, Harry slept early. And when the time came in the late hours... Harry woke from his sleep ready to face his next test at Thaddeus' hands. Or whoever's hands it was that he was to be meeting in the commons. A somewhat embarrassing measure of pride was worming its way through him, though he had no idea that's what it was called - and certainly no idea what he had to be proud of.

The commons were pretty dark, empty, and cold. It was a while he was stood there, wishing he'd worn more than just socks on the slick, icy floor.

After that indiscernible length of quiet (too quiet) time, the shadows finally melted around the frame of a tall, blond man. Boy, still. Barely. He stepped forward into the light of the fire, and the shadows seemed to pull at his shoulders. 

It was Marius Malfoy who had first happened upon Harry's nervous wait.

"Er," Harry said, rather intelligently.

The prefect moved closer, and Harry tried to think of a good reason as to why he was just stood here in his jammies without a book or any purpose whatsoever. In the end, it didn't matter.

"Would do you some good to be more careful," Malfoy told him, that strange smile staying on his face. But despite it all, Harry felt somewhat at ease with the older boy. Mores then Thaddeus, who had only proven himself to be authoritarian and impressively dangerous to the eleven year old. It was easy to listen to Marius, and even easier to see why he was made Prefect. "I've been hearing things, you know. Age doesn't really matter to Thaddeus. He prefers results and proof."

"He's very... direct," Harry offered, unsure of what he could really say about the older boy he didn't know much of - and not any of it good.

"Certainly, and it's a quality he pulls off admirably. Not all can do so." Malfoy waited patiently, for what Harry didn't know.

"Sure," he said back. "Definitely, but um, I can see why you're Prefect."

"I'm quite positive that even if offered the role, Thaddeus would decline it." Malfoy shrugged. "I find it no particular pain."

"That's good." Harry was struggling to continue this conversation, though he was at a loss of what else to do. "Are you very good friends?"

Malfoy frowned a little, as if in thought. "I would suppose so. Though I find myself closer with family than anything else. Outside of that, I imagine Thaddeus and I could be considered quite good friends."

Harry thought of Sirius. "Some friends can be as good as family. It's not just who you're born around."

Malfoy blinked. "Well, yes. That too - though I don't think I am so close to Nott to claim that... I have seen examples of such. It's very admirable. A wise outlook that many people don't manage to broaden their horizons to." He actually went and grasped Harry's left shoulder, which didn't feel condescending or uncomfortable. It felt very manly. Like a man hug, but not a hug, if you will.

Harry cleared his throat. "Thank you."

"You're very polite," Malfoy told him, releasing his shoulder. "I believe last time I met your father - just this very summer as a matter of fact - he said nothing at all to me, but managed to mention in my earshot that Lucius Malfoy had managed to produce an heir as big of a boot-licker as him."

"He doesn't know you," Harry said automatically. "And my dad wouldn't - " He faltered. It did sound like something his dad would say of a Malfoy and he'd sound stupid to deny it. "I mean, he's got opinions on stuff. Very strongly. He's mentioned your family before, from the Wizengamot, though he usually doesn't go to those things with grandfather. Sorry," he cringed.

"Family is so very important," Marius said cryptically. "Beginnings and ends." He turned to face the fire, the light dancing across the contours of his face, young and sharp. "You should be very aware about Thaddeus," he said abruptly. "He's all about results, I believe I've already said."

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, quite honestly.

"I have a brother," Marius smiled beatifically. It was warmer than his other smile, it was personal. "He's about two years younger than you - we are over seven years apart. I have learned how easy it is to guide someone younger than you. They don't see the road you do. Age does matter, no matter what Thaddeus thinks."

"But you aren't going to stop it, are you?" Harry said nervously, aware again that Malfoy was a prefect after all.

"No," Marius said. "You have free will. Now you have a little more information to make informed choices. You are aware and warned of risk - aware that others see it for you, too. Older others. People who know Thaddeus and more of the situation than you. There will be risk of you denying further involvement - and perhaps just as much, if not more, risk if you continue this way."

"Why won't you stop this? If you care?"

Marius raised a brow as he turned back to face Harry fully. "Because you are not my brother, Harry Potter." His hand went into his left breast pocket, and came back out with a small drawstring pouch of purple silk. "I believe you know what to do with this - if you so wish, that is."

"It's you," Harry said blankly. That should've been obvious, really, the commons was abandoned at the late hour of three in the morning on a weeknight. Yet Malfoy had wandered down and over to him and started talking about Nott - of course he was the messenger. A Prefect has the most right to be up and about at night.

Malfoy didn't bother answering, only further outstretched his arm.

Harry felt as if a lifetime passed while he raised his own to grasp the surprisingly heavy, but malleable, sack. Then it was over, and Malfoy was melting away into the shadows, likely to sleep. Harry stood there for a moment too long with his hand dangling the baggie, and once he realised so he hastily placed it into his trouser pocket.

His legs feeling oddly like jelly, he sunk into the foremost armchair by the fireplace. He was already so keen on claiming these prime spots when the time came - the implied respect and influence of sitting at the centre of Slytherin commons enthralled him.

The fire began to dim, as if its eternal flame were going into slumber. The embers glow in the hearth, heat remaining and emanating all the same. Harry felt the plush seating swallow him as he sunk into it further. He knew he should get up, but the whispered tongues of the stone snakes lulled him into sleep.

Chapter Text

He woke with a jolt from a warm, dreamless sleep. This alone made him wary - his mind was very active in the night. With weary blinks, he takes in a tall form.

"Morning," Murk greets. "This doesn't look like your dormitory, does it?"

Harry's brain took a pause - where was he - and why -

"Sorry," he managed, but it come out as more of a question. He straightens up and feels the disorientation slid off him like water a duck.

"Off with you," she said. "Don't do it again, Potter." He lifted himself from the plush chair and let his feet hit the ground again.

"Thanks," he said.

The prefect stared at him. "What for?"

Harry shuffled off dutifully, feeling the imaginary weight of that pouch in his pocket. When he crawled into bed to pretend he'd never left it, he didn't see Lucian watching him through his own curtains, frowning sleepily.

It was a simple plan. Didn't make it any less nerve-racking. 

He's spent enough time trying to study enough potions not to get Snape after him, even more now that he'd gotten in trouble with his Head of House. This lent him a bit more insight into how to avoid an accident in class. Conjointly, this could teach how to create one.

"You alright there, Harry?" Lucian asked, looking at him odd. Harry tried to even his stiff gait. Maybe he was being incredibly obvious, and Snape was going to know as soon as he walked into class. "You look tired."

Oh, is that all, Harry thinks. "A bit, yeah."

"Didn't sleep much," Bole said gruffly in question.

"I guess," Harry shrugged.

Miles piped in. "I nearly cracked my head open in the baths trying to go wee in the night."

"Don't say wee," Lucinda said from behind them. "That's so gross, Miles. And childish."

He rolled his eyes as they all came to a halt outside the class door. Harry started wondering if he was breathing strangely, or if his pockets looked uneven, but he was plunging ahead like... like...

Like an idiot?

The dungeon seemed more suffocating than Harry had ever remembered it. The splutters, gurgles, and pops of the various cauldrons around the room had him on edge, enough where he was sure that Snape had noticed his jumpiness.

Which certainly didn't help.

But the plan went on, because Harry was really rather stubborn. It was unfortunate that Lucian, his first friend at Hogwarts, was going to pay for this, but it was a necessity. His cauldron was second closest to Harry's, so it was possible but not very definite that Harry would be called the culprit of this diversion. Additionally he had the protection of Lucian being his friend. Why would he ruin his friend's potion in such an innocuous way?

After weighing his lion fish scales, Harry watched Lucian bring his potion to a boil. As Harry spent so much time compensating for Potions class in the library, he knew if he added lavender now it would be undetectable but the result easily deciphered. 

Lucian was about to have the equivalent of 'healing' tar cling to his face and robes until the school mediwitch fixed him up.

Harry hesitated, and his chance was slowly boiling away. Soon Lucian would have to lower it to a simmer, and then the results would be far more explosive than Harry wanted. 

He had to do it now.

With a deft hand ready, he eyed Miles next to him, who was diligently slicing Gurdy root, biting his lip for concentration, and then tossed the tightly bundled square of diced lavender over his friend to Lucian's cauldron. He saw it hit the rim, never moving his head over to watch completely, and only straightened his eyes when he saw it fall into the boiling potion.

The window would be short now.

"Professor - " Lucian called out, voice enough of a panic that he dared call for their Head of House. "I don't know what's wrong - " A blast of white sludge burst into the air, and a chorus of young screams erupted too. Snape hurried over with his wand out, but he too had stepped back initially as the potion seemed to gain a life of its own. Miles was cowered under the desk and no one, not even him, commented on Harry crawling away towards the front of the room.

The sludge beast spat lungs of tar out to rising screams of terror. Harry couldn't afford to watch and only prayed for enough time. He was in the open now, past the front row and at the side of Snape's desk - if he came back around he would see Harry cowered here without reason.

But he did have a reason - one he fished out of his robe in the form of a small drawstring pouch. Carefully, he slid open a drawer that was thankfully silent and placed the thing inside - making now to crawl back to his own desk. He made it as far as first row - as Snape attempted to shield himself - but also the students - to get close enough to investigate the sludge fountain. With a yelp, Harry found himself victim of his own crime. The weight of the tar was more than he'd expected, and a bit hotter too. The books had insisted on a cooling effect, but over all while not harmful ... not very helpful either. It was terribly hard to remove and very difficult to control the brewing of. As showcased now.

It had hit him square in the chest, and a bit of his neck, and he hissed in surprise.

He looked up, instinctually, and from some distance he locked eyes directly with Snape. He quickly looked away. It wasn't so strange that he might've moved away from the exploding potion. Snape had no reason to suspect him of anything, and indeed he left class with a salve like every other student, unquestioned by the dour Professor. 

No reason to suspect him of anything, except for the fact he was guilty.

His job was done and he felt no lighter for it.

"Lucian's just awful at potions," Lucinda said to Harry cheerfully, her own salve still smeared on her chin. "I wonder if he could take some pointers from you, what with all the time you spend on potions study."

"You notice that?" Harry asked, surprised.

She looked at him oddly. "Of course. We study together all the time."

If Harry was truly hard-pressed, he simply couldn't tell you a single thing that Lucinda liked to study. He considered her for a moment as they walked on, and later in the day - as the adrenaline wore off - Harry saw the elder Nott, and gave him a small jerk of the head.

Despite the strange calmness that now enveloped him (that it was over), nothing washed away the confused squirminess in the pit of his stomach. He'd been in trouble with Snape once, albeit barely, and the Professor held him to a harsher standard than the other students. Even if, as a Professor, he couldn't do much to Harry - Harry imagined he wouldn't be terribly pleased with whatever it was he'd done.

Why was someone like Thaddeus more intimidating and, well, important than a Professor? When had that happened?

"Today would be nice," Miles said, elbowing Harry. "Are you still in there or did the dementors get you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Despite the popular idiom, being distracted in your own thoughts- not answering- didn't mean your soul'd been sucked out.

"What?" He asked.

"Did you say something to Graham?" Mils repeated shiftily, emotion dancing around the upturn of his lips. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at that. "I mean - we spoke once. Barely."

"I'm just saying," Miles shrugged, with that irritating look of smug knowledge. "We've all given it a go. He's not listened since summer. Must've been you."

"Could've been something else," Harry said, one hand absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, someone else."

"Thanks," Miles said. "Since I know Lucian won't ever say it. Tough Protego, he is."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, er, thanks. Maybe."

Miles patted Harry's shoulder - a gesture he'd likely stolen from the adults in his life, a facsimile of manly appreciation.

Sleeping in his own bed that night, everything having gone without consequence, Harry was not expecting to be woken again to the vision of another peering over him. Certainly not Thaddeus, which made his heart skip a beat.

"I did it," he said. "I did! If it didn't work - " The older boy put his hand up as if to stop Harry in his tracks, even though he was laid up under his sheets still.

"I was thinking about what you said," he told him. "A bit of consideration. You've got the spirit, methinks," Nott whispers, and even that is as harsh as the rest of him. "Didn't you want in, Potter heir?"

He put on his weekend day shoes, brogues, and Nott flicked his wand impatiently to tie them neatly. In the cold, draughty halls the torchlight had an extra element of ominous as it flickered across the rough-hewn stone. It whispered to him, this is very stupid turn around and go back to bed

But he did not.

He wanted in, and the dangerous upper year was being strangely forthcoming. "It was fortuitous, that you were not in a position to refuse me, being in potential trouble yourself. And it was most necessary that the one to take back what Neriani had took didn't know what they were looking for. She's a clever little hedge witch - works with emotional crutches in wards-based spell-less magic. Her things are cursed with Intent." He glanced at Harry. "Not that you're likely to understand how complex that bit of crafting is. Point is that you, little Potter, meant her no harm and so could bring me back my scroll without a scratch or an alert. If I or any of my, dear friends, tried the same... well."

Harry didn't know what to say to this forthcoming attitude that Nott had adopted. Each step he wished he'd put his socks on, the cold leather providing little warmth to his toes. But he was inspired soon enough. The winding paths they'd taken, unfamiliar to Harry, suddenly fell into a hall he knew quite well. In fact, that door ajar on the left, that would be the Potions classroom. Nott's gait doesn't slow, but Harry lags a step, then two, and through that halfway open door he sees in the greenish-gray light of the classroom the slumped form of a man in robes at the front desk.

His breath catches in his throat, the sound of realisation enough to catch Nott's attention. And irritation. Harry made towards the door but Thaddeus grabs his arm. His face is still, but his voice is light and calm.

"What're you doing?"

"Snape's - he's - what's wrong with him?" Harry's brain was catching up with him. Nott didn't look surprised. Harry had done this.

"He's preoccupied," Nott leered.

"Is he dead," Harry asked.

He hadn't even thought the words before they spilled out. But Nott didn't hesitate to answer, nor was he upset. "Relax. The sleeping mist you planted is enough to keep him down for a good while yet."

"Can it..."

"Kill him? No, the mist can't do that," Nott said. Harry was just adept enough at reading between the lines to know that meant it could do other things. But when Nott, who still had a vice grip on his arm, pulled him to move on, Harry didn't budge.

"If he's out, can't I check if he's breathing?"

"Get too close, you'll be passed out, too. Good luck explaining what you were doing in Snape's classroom after hours when he was drugged." Nott laughs to himself, before focusing again. "You're in, or you're out. And out, Potter, has a lot of consequences for you, doesn't it?" His eyes drifted to the slumped over Professor.

"Yeah," Harry said, teeth gritted. Nott released his arm before Harry could try to wrench it away. "What is this, then?" He was thinking, thinking, thinking. Why would he need Snape out for the count? It was all rather obvious in retrospect, when it wasn't feeling like a muggle spy book. "You're stealing from Snape because you couldn't get the supply for something - someone let you down, wasn't that it?"

"Point to Potter," Nott said drily. "Come along, now."

The bout of courageous questioning had faded from Harry. He didn't glance back as they moved into a door that Harry had never seen before. In fact, he'd bet it was typically never there.

The other side of the door led to a room resembling the library at Hotchkinson's. He was one of Harry's father's colleagues at the Auror Office. His house was as tall and thin as the man was - and this storage room had the same lean height (something close to 7-8 meters) and precarious feeling to it, with it's narrow shelving and only enough space to walk sideways through.

Nott didn't go far from the door, which had closed itself, and a small cloud of faerie light followed them into the dust. He procured a small satchel of red leather from his inner robes.

"What're all these bits for?" Harry asked lightly, his tone now far less accusatory than he'd let it be earlier. He tried for nonchalance, but Nott was far better at this game than a first year.

“Business,” Nott said airily. “And a bit of fun. But mostly business.” Harry recognised only two items to be of any import. Both, he knew, were magical venoms by the way they were encased in black, reflective vials. That was the safest storage method, and the most important things for a kid to learn to avoid in a potions laboratory. His mum showed had him that. What potion did Thaddeus need that for? He wondered... but overall, Harry had a good idea of why Thaddeus wanted those ingredients. Venoms have a limited application, to his knowledge, even in conjecture with other ingredients in potions. And he thought he was quite right, after all he’d seen and heard.

Why did he come along? Could he really just not help himself?

Whatever Thaddeus was doing, it didn’t look like it was very legal. And by that, Harry didn't mean school trouble. He meant his-dad-the-Auror sorts of trouble, and he wanted no part.

"Slytherin," James sighs, still mourning his first son's sorting, in a muted manner. "Times have changed, haven't they?"

Lily, his wife of a lifetime, looks distant. "It was about time, wasn't it? The Slytherin of our day was a battleground."

"The world was," he said.

Their grandfather clock thudded ominously, an inevitable march in a circle.

"Sometimes, you know, it feels like it never really ended. But the day I can take tea across from Snape, as adults, proves otherwise. Something ended. In me, at least."

"I know," Lily said, a hand going to rest on his chest. "I know just what you mean." His hand rises to hold hers there, a motion as familiar as breathing, and they watch the clock face tick, the fire flickering in reflection over its crystal glass.

Chapter Text

Harry felt he was beginning to see how people may think he's a bit, well. In the thick of it, to say the least.

Look what he'd, mostly willingly, gotten mixed up in. The days carried on and still, Professor Snape did not return. Harry went to the hospital wing once, to try and see if he was there - but there was no indication he ever was. A teacher was gone - and he didn't want to think about what that meant- and Nott now had deadly poison on hand. It didn't altogether paint a great picture of Harry. No he hadn't meant to really hurt that girl, but he had. He hadn't meant to hurt Professor Snape, but he likely had. And now, whatever happened because of how he'd helped Nott further... he hadn't meant to hurt anyone right? But he will. He will, and Harry will have to shoulder some of that responsibility. 

Weighty things to be thinking while working on your Herbology essay, as his little study posse was.

It had been Derrick's second year class - yes, the same prick who'd tripped up Harry and his friends, and they'd returned the favour to - that had found Snape. They'd dramatised the tale for a little while, but without any information (or any gore) it didn't make for good gossip in the Hogwarts rumour mill. Still, it had helped people's minds drift away from Harry's altercation with that Gryffindor twat of a girl nearly completely. That, at the very least, was a positive from the whole mess.

"I wonder which student finally snapped," Harry heard from a row over in the library, followed closely by loud laughter that quickly cut off. No one wanted to deal with a Pince speech. She was half-Librarian, half-guard dog. Against sound, so be it.

"Do you think they'll reinstate Potions? New Professor?" Miles wondered aloud. "Or are they waiting to see if Snape pulls through?" He simply could not escape his own choices, Harry thought. Terribly unfair.

"How would I know," Harry said, head bent over his Charms scroll.

Miles hummed to himself, leaning back in the chair as far as it would go, knees locked under the table. "Least it's good for you, Lucian."

"What's that?" He said crossly.

"You're horrid at potions," Miles said lightly, head tilted to the alcoves above. Bole made to swipe the last two legs of Miles' chair out but he jolted himself forward with a solid thunk against the wood floor before he could. "Hah!"

Lucian narrowed his eyes at him, but that thin gaze shifted to Harry quickly. "Yeah, I blew up my cauldron, didn't I?"

Harry chewed his cheek. "Mhm. Have any of you got three examples of Grecian air charms? I'm missing two, still."

Lucinda butted in from the girls' side of the table. "I'll swap mine for yours, I have the body odour - "

"No," Harry sighed. "I've got that too."

"Where were you the other night?" Bole asked gruffly. "You came back and woke me up."

"What night?" Miles asked. 

"Night before Snape was found," Lucian said.

"Oh, yeah, I was doing him in," Harry scoffed, heart leaping. "Fell asleep in the commons again. No one woke me up this time."

"Bet it was Nott," Miles said meaningfully. Lucinda threw a quill at him.

"My brother didn't kill anyone," she hissed, face white and drawn. "You're not funny."

"Lucinda, wait - " Flora made to grab her wrist but Lucinda wrenched it away, and with all her things gathered in her arms, stormed off. 

"Well done," Bole said.

"He's not dead," Harry said weakly. Because that thought hadn't even occurred to him. That was criminal. That was evil. Killing a person - killers went to Azkaban. His father's job was made to find really bad people like that.

Harry knew what he had to do. He had to tell the truth. He hadn't meant to do anything like- like that, and if he was honest surely he wouldn't be in any Azkaban-flavoured trouble.

The classroom emptied out at a glacial pace. Harry made a show of falling behind his friends to go get his book back, but he still had to wait as the rest of his classmates fled out of earshot.

Fred and George Weasley, redhead twins from Gryffindor, were the last to leave, and then it was just him and Professor McGonagall. She was Deputy Headmistress, and he had no idea where the Headmaster's Office was.

"Mister Potter?" She startles slightly upon seeing him lingering in the empty room. "Can I help you?" Harry's throat feels unbearably tight.

"Er - is Professor Snape alright?" He blurts out.

Her face doesn't give anything away, but one eyebrow does jerk. 

"He's just fine. He'll be back before you know it."

"Oh," Harry felt a weight he hadn't known was there lift off his chest. "That's good."

"Quite. Don't you have Magical Theory, Mister Potter?"

Harry felt his moment was slipping away, and he honestly wanted to let it. He wanted to keep it all to himself - Snape was 'just fine' after all. He cleared his throat and definitely meant to say, I do, Professor, and make his escape, but what came out instead was,

"I did it." For a moment he isn't sure what he said, if he said anything at all.

"Excuse - what on earth do you mean? I assure you, Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall looked a bit like she was going to laugh, "you didn't manage - with an Acceptable - what happened to your Professor was a case of workplace safety disregard. I heard about a slight potions mishap in your class, yes, but that's nothing to do with this."

Her dismissal was helpful to Harry, it made him somewhat indignant. It made confession easier. "No," he said emphatically. "It was me - I put that stuff in a drawer in his desk. A powder. I thought it was to make him sleep - "

As disbelief made way for belief on McGonagall's face, she transformed into a hawk-like countenance, watching his every word.

"No -" Harry choked. He tried again, that was the tricky things with oaths about things you don't really understand. "I can't - I did it, because... because - not..." He could say the word, not. He had to think, that's what he wanted to say. As soon as his mind moved towards Thaddeus Nott, in the dark of the corridor, his throat convulsed.

"Enough," McGonagall said, looking alarmed. "I will ask, you will try to indicate yes or no - are you speaking of an upper year, is that what you want to say?"

"Yes," Harry burst out easily. He could apparently answer things like that.

"I see." She swept past him with purpose, wand out and a silver cat, much like her Animagus, slide from her wand tip. She spoke to it like a person. "Find Thaddeus Nott." It seemed to release a silent meow before bounding off through the air and the wall nearest.

"Potter, this will warrant contact with your parents. Again. I know you must be aware of this, and for your bravery in coming forward, I can commend you. Regardless, you have hurt someone. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Professor," he said quietly. "Not- I didn't think he was really hurt, of course, I wouldn't have..."

She let out a sound too short to be a sigh. "I imagine not. Do you think this excuses it?"

Harry knew the answer to this one, but didn't much want to give it. He looks down at this feet, and shuffles them a bit.

The cat returned, less glittery and bright than it had been when it left, but it hissed in a voice much like McGonagall's, "Ruined Courtyard. Alone," before fading out of existence. Harry had felt somewhat warmer with its glowing distraction. Now with it gone, he felt the cold seep back in.

"You'll be working under Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said to him. He still had trouble meeting her eye. "You'll be serving four weekends in the dung, Mister Potter, where you can think plenty about how our actions can hurt others even if that's not what our goal was. I will attend to Mister Nott's detainment, and the spell you're under will be addressed in the Hospital Wing, tomorrow. If you do not come to Madam Pomfrey, she will find you."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said hoarsely. She made to leave and Harry began to follow her - but when the turn into the dungeons passed them by and Harry remained on her heels, she spun around.

"Go to class, Mister Potter," she warned.

"I - " He licked his lips. "I want to know why - "

"The why is none of your concern, Mister Potter, and frankly if not for your age and sudden application of good sense, you'd be in a spot of trouble yourself."

Harry thought he was in trouble, what with a month of mucking out Care of Creatures stalls, but clearly they had something much worse in mind for Nott.

And as she left him behind in the corridor, he wondered... how had she known, so quickly, it was him that Harry meant?

Returning to the dormitory, his loosely-worded confessional and Nott's disappearance having made its rounds around the House through dinner - Lucinda was very, very quiet for it all- was a small relief.

Kicking his shoes away once the laces had been sufficiently yanked upon was satisfying, but the itch of incompletion lingered. None of it was ever any of his business, but Harry felt as though that door - that gargoyle grinding away into a staircase he wasn't invited to walk - represented something like his father's study had growing up, but to his Hogwarts self. 

'None of his business', but he wanted to be part regardless. He wanted to know.

Laid on top his sheets, he wondered if his behaviour could be likened to his own brother, to Archie, to someone he'd found to be a total hanger-on. Always ruining Harry's fun - well, no. He's not really like that. Or maybe to Nott he is. What does it matter?

It doesn't, he knows. But he still wants to know. 

"We could play a round gobstones," Lucian offered into the tired silence. The other boys had trouped together to play a chess tourney in the commons but Harry hated chess and Miles hated games. Lucian didn't want to play with Graham.

"I'd rather die," Miles said. "You always win."

"You always lose."

Harry snorted and sat up, wriggling his feet. "I'll play."

"Oh, good," Miles sighed. "A willing sacrifice."

"Harry's good at that," Lucian said.

"Fuck's that mean?" Harry snapped back, leaning to see into Lucian's side of the dormitory. 

He shrugged. "At least you didn't take the fall, in the end. Nott's a prick, and clearly desperate. I knew you had something to do with that stupid Snape stuff. I knew he did."

"Oh come on," Miles leapt in. "You weren't interested at all? What Nott's been up to?" 

Lucian seemed to fall silent, and Harry was unsure if he was meant to still play gobstones with the other boy or not. But he shifted and got himself out of his own bed, shoes still on. He came over to lean against the nightstand separating Miles and Harry. 

"The Notts are broke," he said flatly. "Down and out, not a Galleon to the name. I'm not Graham, I'm not a gossip, and I don't get involved in other people's messes. But, you're my friend." Harry felt a frisson of pride to hear this said aloud. "So you ought to know - they're absolutely done for, the Notts. No wonder Thaddeus is up to stealing and dealing... his old man's sick, half the family in Azkaban - responsibility of his House, at the very least his sister, and little brother, falls on him."

"What'd you mean, done for?" Harry says in a quiet voice. 

"They'll lose everything," Lucian said. "If this final last settlement goes through to the Ministry, they'll likely lose the house. Ever since the war they've been fighting to keep anything, but after the old lady of the house died... Ministry was ready to seize it all."

"Where will Lucinda go?" Harry asked.

"Dunno." Lucian said, mouth twisting.

"Fuck," Miles breathes out.

"And if I'm honest, Thaddeus knows he won't get the money he needs, even from his little side business," Bole finished. "It won't be enough for the settlement payout, not in time, so likely the Snape thing was a bit... personal. He might as well, you know?"

"He's got a problem with Snape?" Miles asked. "Well, he's not a pleasant fellow, I guess..."

"Rumours about his joining with that militia group. The Order from Phoenix, I think. And someone ratted out the Notts. They weren't caught, they were named. Snape was given a pardon in a closed hearing. Must've driven Thaddeus mental knowing it could be him."

"That's..." Harry thinks to himself, that Lucian was actually quite clever for putting it all together like that. And again, unwanted sympathy and a pull to Thaddeus courses through him again. He's got two younger siblings, it'd be like if Harry suddenly had to be taking care of Archie - if his parents had been arrested, or died - it was difficult to fathom. "Did you know this the whole time? I mean, that he was selling potions?"

"No," Lucian said. "I was curious, though, like both of you. I just thought to write my dad. He figured it pretty quick, and it all makes sense to me. 'Clarity is the path to success' and 'honesty breeds honesty'." His heavy brow rests in Harry's direction at the end of this, and he looks like he's looking for a response of some kind. Harry feels his neck prickling oddly. 

"Your dad's pretty clever," he offers.

"He knows a lot about a lot of people," he corrects. "And can guess the rest. It gets boring, he says."

"Pattern recognition," Miles stretches with a yawn. "Like what Flitwick said in class."

Throughout their game of gobstones, which Harry does lose quite badly, he wonders uncomfortably if Lucian knew for certain he'd been the one to mess up his potion in class.

'Honesty breeds honesty', well.

The words stick in Harry's throat. He'd done enough confessing today.