AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Written for The International Wizarding School Championship Round 4: Divination! Very AU.

Story Title: Hogwarts: A Histor-tea

School: Mahoutokoro

Theme: Neville as the Boy Who Lived

Main Prompt: Teacup [Object]

Other Prompts: "You know, I didn't see that one coming!" he/she gasped. [Speech], Ron Weasley [Character]

Year: 4

Word Count: 2985

On October 31st, 1981, Lord Voldemort appeared outside of a small, nondescript house in Muggle London. He raised his wand, but it wasn't the Potters who died that night. How Neville Longbottom had managed to survive was lost on everyone, including the boy wonder himself. Less than an hour after Lord Voldemort had been presumed dead, Bellatrix burst into Diagon Alley and killed every witch and wizard within reach—drowning in rage, cackling as they dragged her off. Lily and James Potter were among the victims.

Many of the strongest opposers of the Dark Lord died in that alley. The wizarding world mourned their deaths, but, while the press and the public focused on the boy who lived, a smaller miracle occured. Harry Potter, the only child of James and Lily, remained unharmed. It was pure luck, they said, that Harry hadn't been there that day, and those who knew the Potters liked to say that his parents had purposefully left him at home. No one knew for certain, though.

Harry had been left that night with his favorite—and only—babysitters: Uncle Pads and Uncle Moony. Uncle Peter had disappeared under mysterious circumstance. While most of the wizarding world forgot his name as the death tolls rose, the two remaining Marauders had their doubts about his death. None of it mattered, though, because Peter was gone and so were Lily and James. They were just… gone.

Tiny, one-year-old little Harry had sat between his Uncle Moony and his Uncle Padfoot as they got the news, and he'd tugged at their sleeves with concern when they'd begun to cry. His uncles had been drinking tea, mixing firewhiskey into their cups as they cried on the floor, and little Harry had always wanted to be like Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony. They gave him some—minus the firewhiskey, of course. It was out of his sippy cup and it was non-caffeinated because Remus refused to give caffeine to a toddler—we're the adults now, Pads, we have to act like it. That night was the first time that Harry drank tea.

He grew up with Pads and Moony, who affectionately called him mutt—half because of his hair, they said, which could never be tamed and half because Harry liked to joke that he'd been raised by wolves. Honestly, Pads, if anyone here behaves like an animal it's you. Moony had become a professor—Defense Against the Dark Arts, because he figured that he was already cursed, so one more didn't really bother him—and Sirius had come along because the two were inseparable. Sirius had had the day job of watching baby Harry.

There had been rough times, such as the teething incident of '82 or the diaper issue with the house elves, but it had worked out. They hadn't always known what they were doing, of course. Their first week there, Remus had panicked, demanding to know what would happen to Harry during the full moons, but while he and Sirius had argued, Harry had slipped away. Wobbling with the effort, Harry had grabbed his little plastic teacup and given it to Uncle Moony. It made Harry feel better, so he'd had hoped that it would help his uncle. He hadn't expected Moony to start crying, and he certainly hadn't expected the three of them to go through four kettles worth of tea that day. But, when he'd gone down for his nap, his uncles had looked remarkably better so he reasoned that he'd been successful.

Harry James Potter grew up in Hogwarts. One night a month, baby Harry was given to his babysitter: a quiet, graceful little tabby cat that occasionally transformed into a woman. By 1983, a toddling little Harry could be seen making faces at the portraits or following Mrs. Norris through the halls, occasionally pulling her tail. But, no matter where he went, he always carried his teacup. It was small, and an off-white kind of plastic—nearly indestructible, which was good for a toddler, everyone said. The cup was how he made friends, at first. He had tea parties with the paintings—especially that one on the third floor where the ladies were already having tea—and he filled his cup with milk from the kitchens to coax Mrs. Norris into letting him pet her. Sirius always watched, smiling.

Harry knew the ghosts, and was friends with Peeves—which still amazed everyone, even Peeves himself. By the time he was four, he was known among students and staff for having parties with the ghosts where they drank imaginary tea. Sir Nicholas always managed to get real tea, somehow. He loved to pour it through his body and let it splash all over the ground, being sure to always act incredibly shocked by the mess that little Harry ended up in a fit of laughter. Flich hated it.

Harry spent his summers at Hogwarts, too, because Remus and Sirius lived there year round. During those long, empty summers Harry was usually free to explore the castle, given that Sirius watched him on the map, and could pop up if Harry so much as stepped wrong. Despite loving his uncles, Harry was constantly searching for friends. The tiny mop of black hair—just like Prongs, his uncles said—managed to sneak into the kitchens and surprise all of the house elves with a tea party. It had worked for most of the paintings and ghosts, he thought, so why not? After being scolded for making a mess, the house elves had joined him and, within two weeks, Harry knew each of them by name. They started leaving hot pots of tea in his rooms each morning, and learned which kinds he liked best.

By the time Harry was six years old, the moving stairways obeyed no one else. By seven, Remus could have sworn that the castle was making secret tunnels just for Harry, because he could never, ever find him. When his Godson popped up in a vat of cookie dough one day, Sirius had to physically restrain Remus from hexing the castle itself. After a particularly difficult game of hide and seek, Uncle Moony had banned him and Sirius from the castle for the day. Thus, whenever he and Pads were banned, Harry would always find himself on the Quidditch pitch—it's in his blood, Rem, honestly it's not that dangerous. He practiced for hours at a time simply because he could. Sirius liked to tease him because he always tied his teacup by the handle around his broomstick before taking off, but he swore it was for good luck. Besides, what if he needed to make friends?

There weren't really other children around the castle, which Remus constantly fretted about. Honestly, Pads, most of the boy's friends are either dead or painted! He had a point, so they arranged a few visits. They got some younger siblings of students already at the school, mostly, by coaxing the families up to visit their students on the weekends. Harry didn't mind as long as he had his teacup.

The family visits, though chaotic, were how Harry met Ronald Weasley. They were fast friends, but mostly because Harry knew all the secret passages through the castle and the entire Weasley clan—Arthur included—were fascinated by him. He showed them how to have tea parties with the ghosts, though Percy offended them. Everyone loved to see how his teacup handle fit into all the locks and all the doors like a key, no matter where they went in the castle—Remus still couldn't explain that one, even if he tried.

Harry made his own map long before Sirius showed him the Marauders', and it was definitely not because either of his uncles left him hundreds of tips and clues. His map, however, was on the one thing he never went anywhere without—his teacup. It was still the same cheap, muggle plastic and it still looked fit for a baby, but he managed to convince Aunt Minnie to help him charm it. The cup looked like real china, even if it wouldn't break like it. Harry loved the way it glistened and gleamed in the light, but his uncles loved the way it never shattered if he dropped it. But, hidden among the flowers and curls of delicate designs on the china, lay his map.

Harry had done wandless magic before, of course, but his absolute favorite act of rebellion had been stealing Sirius' wand and creating the map. His Uncle Pads had been conveniently very distracted by the book he was reading, though little Harry had never stopped to question why his godfather, who despised classical literature, was suddenly so absorbed in that moment. They definitely were not helping him, of course. Just to be safe, Harry created a phrase to activate the map and he made sure to choose something neither of his uncles would ever be caught dead saying: Sirius Black has lame hair. With just those five little words, his teacup would come alive, showing everything in detail—better detail than the Marauder's map, Harry thought—until he could see every inch of the castle. When he was done, he would simply say: I'm home.

By the time Harry turned eleven, he could not have been more excited. Harry had watched every sorting ceremony that he'd been old enough to understand, and he'd had hundreds of long conversations with the sorting hat. Really, there weren't that many other talking objects in the castle that could entertain him during the summers… But he held his breath anyways as the hat settled onto his head.

"Ah, yes. Brave and daring, a bit reckless if I do say so myself. We all remember the tapestry incident, of course, or that time with the giant squid. Loyal, too, especially to that tea cup. A hard worker, though you must have gotten that from Professor Lupin, I'm sure, and intelligent too. Why, I remember that argument we had… It was over an Aspen blend of tea, you know, and you argued that no one should ever live forever. Rare for a five year old! Quite a few clever tricks, too. I sense ambition. You can be very devious, though, when your goals involve your friends and family—or a prank, no?"

The hat mused for what felt like hours. Eventually, it called Dumbledore and McGonagall over and argued in hushed tones with them. Harry ended up being declared a member not of Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, not of Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but of Hogwarts. He was given color changing robes—which he usually kept as a pearly shade of white, to match his tea cup—and entrance to all the common rooms. Harry chose to live in Gryffindor, though, because that was where Ron had been sorted. He could wander between the houses, and he often did.

Wandering like that was how he managed to befriend Cedric Diggory, who offered to tutor him on Seeker strategies when he caught Harry using his teacup as a key to nab one of the first year brooms. It was also how he met Hermione—a Muggleborn girl, sorted into Slytherin. He'd been surprised at first, but, after talking to the hat, he understood the decision. No one was more driven than that girl, regardless of blood status, and, if anything, it only seemed to push her further. She outshone everyone, and Harry found her annoying. After she'd agreed to help him pass Potions, however, Harry had learned to value her loyalty and they had soon progressed to study sessions—over tea, of course.

Harry had also managed to meet a pair of Slytherins named Theo and Blaise, who quickly bonded with him over Quidditch. They were both purebloods. But, they were eleven, and they were good with a quaffle so Harry didn't really care what they thought about blood purity. Blaise liked that Harry could get into the locker rooms after hours, and that he could get practice snitches whenever he wanted by simply asking his teacup where Madame Hooch was. Theo loved that he'd enchanted it, and they quickly became friends with Hermione as all three of them tried to figure out how Harry had done it.

He met Pansy, and subsequently her fiance. Harry had nearly done a spit take when he'd heard this, of course, but Sirius had quickly explained the idea of pureblood arranged marriages, and thus Harry had met Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin pair was mean, at first, but it was Harry that they came to after their first fight. Growing up with Remus, Harry had learned that chocolate and tea could fix anything, so he made his favorite blend—which was rather wasted on Malfoy, in his opinion—and he'd made them talk. It was slow going, but they'd gradually gotten better. Blood purity became less and less of an issue as they started spending time together. Soon, they were arguing about tea and whether or not Draco trusted Harry's lavender picking skills—which he did not—rather than who was deserving of basic human decency.

Harry had met quite possibly his favorite person, aside from his uncles and Aunt Minnie, by the lake one day while talking to the giant squid. Luna, a Ravenclaw girl, had very quietly asked if he could introduce them. He'd held a tea party, of course, because that was his go-to for making friends and Luna had loved it. She continued the tradition every Sunday, even if Harry couldn't make it, and invited Hagrid too, along with other creatures from the forest if they so happened to have time to spare.

Of course Harry knew Neville Longbottom—everyone did—but he'd managed to become friends with him, too, after serving a detention for Snape. The man hated them both, though Harry knew his was because of his uncles. He never understood why Snape hated Neville so much, but he knew that tea could fix everything, even nerves, and Neville had a lot of nerves. Honestly, the boy was jumpier than Moony after he and Sirius got back from the joke shop.

But it was okay, because Harry never minded that he stuttered or bumbled his way through conversation. Besides, Neville hadn't grown up drinking tea. He cringed and called it leaf-juice, but ultimately caved to peer pressure and, before long, he was drinking it as often as Harry. They both loved cinnamon, he knew, but Neville didn't like citrus—what kind of monster didn't like citrus?

Neville loved to tell Harry, over their favorite blend of Earl Grey, that his gran would never have let him do half the things that Sirius and Professor Lupin had allowed, but Harry usually just smiled and filled their cups again. Everyone loved to hear stories from when Harry was little. It became a routine, and even Pansy and Draco started coming to their weekly tea dates with Hagrid and Luna by the lake. Harry loved to slip salt into Draco's tea when he wasn't looking, but he also loved picking herbs with Luna and making their own blends that even Pansy had to admit were good. Hermione often tried to do homework during their meetings, but she'd get draw into his stories eventually.

"Tell it again, Harry! Tell it again!" Ron grinned at him over a heavily sweetened cup of raspberry tea. His best friend loved the story of Harry's great escape, and especially loved exaggerating the parts where he, Fred, and George had helped plant a smoke bomb in Professor Snape's office. He told it almost every time, but the redhead never seemed to get bored.

"Get the the best part!" Harry laughed, but drew out the details even more and emphasized every little thing just to annoy the Gryffindor. He exaggerated how long he'd waited and planned. As they poured more tea, Harry wistfully detailed the struggle of hiding his plans from his uncles, and how hard it had been to keep it from them.

"Get to the point, Potter!" Pansy glared, but sipped her tea so Harry merely smiled. Her and Draco were always the most annoying, but he was growing tired of this particular story for the day so he relented and rushed through the details.

"And then… you'll never guess what happened! Any guesses?" He paused, waiting because they all knew the story but he was feeling dramatic. Luna raised her hand.

"You found the Yeyitrites in the dungeons?" Harry was not even going to pretend to know what those were, but he smiled and shook his head.

"No… any others?" Draco glared at him. The blond's cup was empty, which meant his patience was probably running low as well, but Harry felt invincible as long as he held his teacup so he merely smiled.

"Any guesses, Malfoy?"

"You set off the smoke bomb on yourselves and got caught by Snape and McGonagall?" Harry dropped his jaw, and made the most disbelieving expression form on his face.

"You know, I didn't see that one coming!" he gasped, feigning a hand dramatically against his forehead. "Who here thought they would see the day that Draco Malfoy actually listened to my stories?" No hands went up, but Harry just laughed. Even if Draco pretended to hate him—Merlin, even if Draco really did hate him—he knew that their little tea parties would continue.

Maybe they were a mismatched group, and maybe there were more than a few fragile relationships—not that Harry would name names, of course, but Pansy and Blaise were an accident waiting to happen—but he didn't mind. He held his teacup and traced one of the flowers.

None of them really seemed to fit together, and yet they all were here, sipping the brew that he and Luna were affectionately calling Hogwarts: A Histor-tea. Draco sneered and said it was stupid, but he still drank it. Even if the blond was rude at best, his attitude always seemed to improve ever so slightly whenever Harry filled his cup—everyone's did. Chocolate and tea really could fix anything.

Thanks for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!