The Revised Chronicles

Of

Those-Who-Lived

Prologue:

The dark-haired man threw the small gate open, glancing past the house to the dark sky. It was one o'clock in the morning on the first of November. The little cottage sat quietly in the lane. He barely had time to think; he was too frightened, too scared as he pounded on the front door.

A light flicked on upstairs. The man kept pounding until the locks on the door were open and he stared into the hazel eyes of his friend.

"Sirius!" James rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "What is it, what happened?"

"You have to get out!" Sirius gasped. "Peter's gone."

"Gone?" James backed up, ushering Sirius in. He looked across the yard, wand held loosely in hand. Shutting the door quickly, he demanded, "Was he taken?"

Sirius forced the answer past his numb lips. "I was just at his house. There was no sign of a struggle. You have to leave. I think the Fidelius Charm is gone."

"James?" Both men turned to stare up the stairs. James' red-haired wife cradled their sleeping son close to her chest, frowning. "What is it?"

James had to cough before he could speak. "Peter is gone. There was no sign of a struggle, and the Fidelius may be down. We have to leave. Now!"

"Leave?" She came down the steps briskly. "The… What happened?"

"It looks like we found the traitor," Sirius spat, "and he's tried to hand you over."

Lily's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but someone else pounded on the door. Sirius and James exchanged looks.

"The other wards are still up," James answered, "but the door…"

Sirius didn't move from watching the door. "We need a way out. They must have followed me here."

"Where?" Lily demanded. "Where do we go?"

Sirius glanced quickly at James.

"Potter Manor," James answered. "It's the safest place after this. It's safer now without the Fidelius. Get upstairs! Sirius, do something to that door and the stairs and follow. I'll start taking down the wards so we can get out."

Lily pressed her lips shut tight and hurried into the hall. James found her in the nursery, looking through the toy box one-handed.

"What are you looking for?"

"The emergency Portkey. It's gone."

"Lily... Peter knew," James answered regretfully. "He knew, and he would have taken it or disabled it. Especially if he was going to leak our location."

"How are we getting out, then?"

"I'll take down the wards and Apparate. Just stay behind me."

Lily turned on him with a glare. "I am not in need of protection –"

"I know that, Lily, but Harry is." James grabbed her shoulders. "Protect our son, Lily. For me."

Lily took a deep breath and nodded. Hitching her son on her shoulder again, she smiled wanly as Sirius came in from the hallway. The front door smashed, and firecrackers began to go off in earnest.

"James, the wards!" he gasped.

James nodded and closed his eyes, his wand held loosely in his hands before him. Lily kept a hand lightly on his shoulder, watching the window while Sirius kept his eyes on the door. It was a long minute, with men cursing and explosions of all kinds coming from the front room. Sirius was layering spells on the door as they waited; within a few minutes, James brought his wand up and a brush of cold went over their skin – the wards were down.

James' hand closed on hers as he turned towards her, but before he could – in that same second – the crack of Apparation announced two men, eager to kill. Sirius hexed them in the seconds before the tight tunnel of Apparation took her away. She struggled for breath through the tight press of travel as she clutched her son tight.

Coming out of it, she staggered in a large foyer. The marble floor shone, the windows were shaded against the night, and a house-elf popped in with bright, wide eyes.

"Master Potter! How good to see you, Master Potter; how can humble Findley help you, Master Potter?"

James smiled, his eyes distracted. Sirius appeared five seconds later, holding his left arm close. James spun and smacked the back of his head.

"What were you thinking, Sirius? You were supposed to follow immediately!"

Sirius gave his friend a weak grin. "Had to keep them from wrapping a hand around your ankles. It took me a minute to get a spare moment after that."

"Idiot!" James snarled. "I'm not losing another friend because you can't take the time to think straight! What if Voldemort had shown up? What then?"

Sirius pushed James off and glared back. "I'd have kept at it until I could be sure you were away safely before I high-tailed it myself! You're as good as my brother, James, so don't you argue –!"

"Boys!" Lily screamed. They ground to a halt and stared at her. Lily tapped her foot impatiently. "You have almost woken Harry. I am tired, scared for my life, and in a strange house. There are people who need to be informed; Sirius, everyone thinks you were our Secret-Keeper – you have to go tell Dumbledore before someone else finds Peter gone and panics. Now, I, for one, want my bed and my husband. If we are indeed safe, then I would like to take time to avail myself of both. You may continue this argument when the sun comes up, but until then, I think both my son and I would like to sleep while I try to come to grips with having my life upended once more."

James deflated immediately and stepped away from Sirius to pull her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Lily, I forgot."

"I think I can survive." She sniffed softly. "But I need you, James. Just hold me."

"Sirius, do you want to stay in one of the spare rooms before you go? Just send an owl to Dumbledore – you know how to encrypt it."

Sirius murmured an agreement and addressed Findley, the elf, before leaving. James held Lily a little tighter.

"It's your first time back here, isn't it?" Lily asked softly. "You haven't been here since your parents died."

James nodded against her shoulder. "It's hard, but only to be expected. It's just... it's been two years." He buried his head closer. "Two years, and yet…"

"I know," Lily murmured. "I know." Her own parents had died around the same time, in a car accident. His, at least, had just grown old. The timing, however, left much to be desired – they had been engaged, then, but not married. The war had forced their hands to move on in spite of it all.

James laughed softly. "And here we are, in our great… what did you call it?"

"Great draughty house built to rival Hogwarts?"

He laughed even louder. "It's not that big!"

"How am I going to keep an eye on my son in this place?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "He'll start getting lost as soon as he can walk!"

"That's what the house-elves are for. We have three here." James grinned again. "Merlin knows I had to be found by them more than a few times."

Lily tried to smile and failed. "I don't like it." Her lips trembled.

James brushed a hand over her cheek and smiled faintly. "I'm sorry, Lily. We have to be safe somewhere. This is the only place I know. We'll make it work, I promise... and one of these days, Voldemort will be gone."

"If only," Lily muttered, running her hand through her son's hair. "If only."

Dumbledore had told them her son was the one who might – only might – be destined to defeat Voldemort. It was all he said he could tell them, but that they had to go into hiding to keep them – him – safe. They had to defend themselves. They had to fight back.

They had.

Look where it had gotten them.

Lily quietly followed James upstairs, humming softly to her son, who was sleeping quietly in her arms; he had slept through it all.

Chapter One:

"Nanna, c'mon! You'll see me at Christmas!" Harry Potter gently pulled his sister's hair as he smiled down at her. "As if I'd choose school over you!"

The little black-haired girl scowled at her brother. Harry gave her a brilliant grin and shoved her shoulder gently. She punched him back and scowled. "You'd better come home, or I'll –"

"What?" Harry grinned. "Steal the socks I left behind?"

Before she could retaliate this time, Harry slipped away and grabbed his father's sleeve. Harry grinned; he really liked seeing his dad in his Auror uniform – even better was having him there on Platform 9 ¾. While the Ministry were still concerned about possible Dark Magic attacks, nothing had happened for nine years. Harry doubted anything ever would, but if it meant he could have his father see him off to Hogwarts, he was all for it: the Ministry gave all Aurors with Hogwarts-aged children the morning off to see their kids on the train before coming in to work. The uniform was optional, but James always wore it, and so did Frank Longbottom. Frank's wife, Alice, usually did not.

The Longbottoms hadn't arrived yet, however, and Harry was getting bored without his best friend. He could only tease his sister so much.

"Dad, can you get my trunk onto the train now?"

James grinned down at him. "Sure, where do you want it?"

"Nearest the front as possible!"

James scanned the cars and frowned. "It's pretty full… There we go! Right in the middle!" Grinning, his father burst into a sprint behind the cart, shouting at the crowd to move to let him get right up next to the train. Harry ran after him, grinning and dodging a few irate people in his father's wake. Coming around his side, Harry jumped to the steps and swung up inside.

He cracked heads with another boy his age. Harry hung onto the wall and slid down to his knees, swearing, as the other boy fell backwards. The boy kicked him.

"What the Hell were you doing, you idiot?"

Harry straightened his glasses and punched the strange black-haired boy's knee in return. "You're the one who was bloody hiding! What are you doing in my compartment?"

"Your compartment?" Black eyes bored holes in his skull; his accent was pissing Harry off. He was definitely not British. "I was here first! Get the Hell out!"

Harry stood up and stomped his foot. "Fine! Be that way, you bloody arsehole!"

"Harry!" James called. "Stop that right now. The next compartment down is empty; you don't need to pick a fight."

Harry sent another glare at the other boy and stalked out and around to his father. James frowned at him.

"You don't need to pick a fight, Harry. You didn't know he was there. Be more careful next time; accidents happen."

Rubbing his forehead, Harry nodded. His head was getting a little sore.

James pulled his wand and tapped him on the crown, frowning. He smiled slightly. "Just a bruise, Harry. No harm done."

Harry grinned. "Mother would say it's because I've got your hard skull."

"Your mother may very well be right." James gave him a wide grin. "Does this compartment meet your needs, then?"

Harry jumped up and turned the corner more cautiously to look inside. "Yep. No strange brats hiding in here."

"Alright then, slip aside while I haul up your trunk. You only put in enough books to make that a touch hard."

Harry grinned and skipped out. "That's because of Neville, Dad, not me. If he'd put all his books in his own, even his dad wouldn't be able to lift it alone."

James grinned from lifting the trunk. Harry eyed him and laughed.

"Dad, you're lying! Mother made my trunk feather-weight, didn't she?"

"Nope." James slipped up the steps and stowed the trunk before sticking his head out the window and winking. "I did it. Like a feather-weight charm could best me."

Harry grinned and made a note to ask Neville about those charms when he arrived. Neville knew way more about spells than he did.

He noticed immediately when James straightened and ducked back out of the compartment. He nodded to the wrought-iron entrance, and Harry turned and burst into a grin. He took off at a sprint through the crowd, darting between people's legs until he reached where his mother was still chatting with a woman he didn't know, Nanna standing at her side. Just beyond her, he darted into a circle and then moved to tackle his best friend.

At the last moment, Neville took three quick steps back, and Harry ran smack into his godmother's knee. Alice Longbottom quickly regained her balance and glanced down. Recognizing him as he grinned sheepishly up at her, she mussed up his hair before he could escape. He scrambled away in time to back into Neville. Neville swatted the back of his head and grinned.

"What was that for?" Harry whined.

"Trying to tackle me. Do you have a seat? Where is it?"

Harry stuck out his tongue and ran for the compartment, being sure not to mistakenly try the one ahead. Neville shouted at his father and followed, seeing where Harry was going and running ahead of him to leap up the steps. He ran into the inside door and rattled it, laughing.

"Nice, Harry! This is awesome!" He spun around to grin at him, blowing sandy hair out of his face. "We're going to Hogwarts!"

"Yeah, yeah, fish boy."

"I am not a fish!"

"Says the kid who turned all the koi blue!"

"I didn't turn them all blue!"

"He is right, Harry." Frank came up behind him and quickly added, "Shoo." Harry moved to the inner door quickly and let him pass. Once he'd hefted the trunk up – Neville's wasn't under feather-weight – Frank turned and shook his finger at Harry before winking and adding, "He turned them several colours other than blue as well, remember?"

"Dad!" Neville objected and ran out the door after him. Frank raced to hide behind James as Neville ran circles around him, easily keeping pace with his father.

Harry hung out the door to watch, grateful again that Neville was going to Hogwarts with him. He'd been scared for years that Neville wouldn't join him there, no matter what his parents said. Harry had been plainly magical since he was two years old; Neville hadn't shown magic until he was eight. His extended family had been miserable about it, especially once his siblings had both shown magic before him. He'd been scared he'd be going to school without his best friend.

Now, he was scared about different things.

Shrugging off the thought, Harry ran up and tackled Neville again under his own mother's nose. Lily picked them both up by their shirts and glared. "Behave, both of you! Enough horsing around; you'll be falling asleep on your dinner plates at this rate!"

"Yes, Mum," Harry piped up.

"Yes, godmother," Neville repeated, hiding a grin.

Harry elbowed him; Neville elbowed him right back, snickering. Frank looked up with a sigh and then beamed.

"Hey, it's the Weasleys!"

Harry straightened and ducked behind Neville. Alice eagerly waved down Molly, and a flurry of movement through the crowd preceded Ron racing forward. Neville sidestepped at the last moment; so did Harry. Ron caught Harry's sleeve and hauled himself to a stop, nearly pulling him over. Harry tugged free and grinned at him.

"Haven't you done that enough?"

"Nope," Ron grinned. "You've nearly fallen four times now."

"Stop it!"

"Nope."

"I said stop it!"

"Knock him off his broom already," Neville ordered.

Harry gave him a wounded look. "If I try that, he'll just use you as a shield."

"So?"

"You fall off your broom enough times without my help."

Neville still shrugged, grinning. "I repeat, so?"

Harry stepped back and smacked the back of his head. Lily put a hand on their shoulders and then hugged Harry.

"Enough, boys. Go show Ron the compartment and get up there. We'll be seeing you off soon enough."

Harry sighed and waved Ron towards the compartment, James picking up his trunk and waving him forward before discreetly adding a feather-weight charm. Harry glanced back from the door in time to see Frank direct a comment at James and get a rude gesture in return as James lifted the trunk one-handed.

With Ron present, the compartment was full of boyish energy and three trunks in the overhead compartments. James dusted off his hands and hugged Harry once more; Alice had caught her son on his way by. Ron stepped down to see off his mother, while Neville waved out the window. Harry hesitated before doing the same, hanging out to his waist to wave at his father. James came quickly over to haul him close enough to peck his cheek and ruffle his hair.

"Careful with the window, son. Don't need you falling out."

Harry grinned. "Just practising being a Gryffindor."

James grinned wickedly. "Too true. Make me proud, Harry."

Harry forced a smile. "I intend to."

IIII

They chattered about their Diagon purchases until the witch with the trolley came, thankfully giving Harry a break from answering questions about Hedwig, his new owl. She had been a birthday present gotten while they were at Diagon: a pretty snowy owl that Ron was openly jealous of. Harry just shrugged it off – who was he going to write to? – and finally managed to alter the conversation onto Neville.

"How did you talk Melanie into staying home?"

"Mother already had Emmeline Vance over watching Connor, so she just threw Melanie in as well; she was going to be going straight to work anyways after seeing me off. She was one of those chosen to look into the Gringotts break-in, remember? They're having a Hell of a time getting any answers out of the goblins, even with her actually being polite." Neville rubbed his forehead. "I think she's been yelling at Dumbledore non-stop, says it was a vault of someone he knew that had apparently been emptied on his word."

"Weird." Harry shrugged. "So is that why they brought Aurors in, because it had something to do with Dumbledore?"

"Far as I can tell."

Ron shrugged, stealing a Chocolate Frog from the pile beside Harry. "Bill says the goblins don't like working with wizards."

Neville laughed. "Judging from the temper my mother is in, that's true. She's been a right terror for the past few weeks; Connor hasn't left me alone, trying to find something to do." Neville glanced at Ron sidelong. "How's your new wand?"

Ron grinned. "I can't wait to try it out! What about yours?"

Neville drew his from the holster at his side and tucked it behind his ear, leaning back casually. "It's pretty good." He glanced at the door and didn't speak further. Harry fingered his own up his sleeve. He and Neville had gotten the holsters from their parents. They were made to go on the forearm, but could just as easily hang at the waist – especially since their forearms were still too small for the much longer wands.

Ron's eager face turned to Harry, glancing at his holster. Harry made a note to mention it to his parents; he felt uncomfortable when Ron kept looking at his things zealously. He'd rather nip the complaint in the bud, as it silenced Ron faster than trying to argue him down when he wasn't feeling up to it. Harry smiled thinly at Ron and tilted his head back, remembering…

"Curious, how very curiousI think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things terrible, yes, but great."

Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. Ollivander had given his parents a long, searching look before speaking those words, and Harry had felt his heart tighten. The similarities were poppycock, of course, maybe something – small.

But it ended there.

There was a commotion out in the hall; someone yelped, and Harry heard a voice he hated on instinct shout,

"Watch where you're going, mudblood!"

Neville was already on his feet, but Harry was the one who pulled open the door, wand in hand, to glare up the corridor. As he'd expected, Draco Malfoy's blond rat-like head was glaring at a bushy-haired girl their age, his two thick-headed goons beside him: Crabbe and Goyle. Harry had run into the three often enough at Ministry functions. They didn't get along.

"I wasn't the one who bumped into you!" the girl objected. "I wasn't trying to get in your way!"

"You're trying to go somewhere you don't belong," Malfoy drawled. "Maybe you should just get off the train!"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy!" Harry snarled. "Before I hex you!"

Malfoy turned to glare at him and sneered. "Oh look, it's Potter. Did daddy come to see you off to school, all decked out in scarlet?"

Harry matched him look for look. "Did your dad have time to show up, or was he too busy licking Ministry boot heels to spare the time?" Harry raised his wand. "At least my dad has a real job!"

Malfoy opened his mouth, his own wand coming up when the door of the compartment next to them slammed open. The black-haired boy Harry had run into at the station poked his head out, snarled wordlessly and ducked back inside.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You, wake up!"

Harry could see, just past him, a young woman with curly, dark hair. She appeared to be asleep, but she was wearing a Gryffindor robe and a red-and-gold Prefect pin. Someone out of sight kicked her seat and she came up with a snort.

"What is it?" she demanded.

From the corner of his eye, Harry glimpsed Malfoy also listening to the byplay carefully. When Harry glanced over to try and hear the rest, however, Malfoy sent a hex his way. Quickly, Harry ducked – someone behind him swore as they got hit with the spell.

"Enough!" The black-haired girl leaned out of the compartment door to glare between them. "If you two don't go your separate ways in five seconds, heads will roll!" Glancing past Harry, she pointed a finger. "You! Weasley. Tell your brother about this so I don't have to. He can level the punishments. Now scat. I was sleeping!"

The girl was gone abruptly, and the young black-haired boy stuck his head out again. Malfoy, red in the face and angry, snarled, "Great, more mudbloods who don't know their place. My father will hear of this!"

The boy blinked at the comment and tilted his head. "Like I care, milkface! Come up with a new insult; that one's pathetic and weaker than dried clay. Go pick your fight somewhere else, or I'll wake the Prefect again!" He slammed the door shut hard enough to make the window opposite rattle. Draco's face was scarlet as he sneered and stalked back up the corridor. The bushy-haired girl he'd first lit into was still staring, startled, at the door that had just slammed shut.

Harry spoke up. "You okay over there?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "What was that all about?"

Harry grimaced. "Are you muggleborn?" She nodded cautiously, coming over. Harry made a face; Neville elbowed him from behind and stepped up, smiling. Harry bit down a rude comment and leaned against the doorframe as Neville spoke – Neville was better at explaining than he was.

"That boy was Draco Malfoy; he's a spineless little Flobberworm who thinks because his family is noble he can walk over anyone who isn't, especially muggleborns – that's what he meant by 'mudblood'. He's one of a bunch of arrogant toe-rags with such idiotic delusions, but me and Harry here are the nicer people who don't care. Harry's mother is muggleborn, in fact, even though his father is probably more noble than the Malfoys."

"Nobles?" The girl raised her eyebrows.

"Well, sort of." Neville scratched his head. "That's what we like to call it, but I don't think it's anything to do with the Queen. Our Ministry mostly coordinates with the Prime Minister, rather than the Monarchy, but our Ministry has its own nobility and history too." He held out his hand. "Neville Longbottom."

The girl smiled. "Hermione Granger. Are your parents the Aurors mentioned in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts?"

Neville nodded and turned pink, reclaiming his hand. Harry reluctantly offered his own. "Harry Potter."

Her eyes lit up. "Pleased to meet you."

Before she could ask, Harry added, "Yes, my father is James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, from the same book." Like he didn't know that.

Neville pushed Ron forward, fortunately distracting Hermione, with her gleaming eyes, promising far more questions than Harry wanted to answer, especially right now. Hermione turned to Ron, and he turned bright red as he offered his hand. "Ron Weasley."

"Pleased to meet you too." She turned back to Harry and Neville, but a look at Harry's face silenced her. She gave him a tremulous smile and offered, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, then?"

Harry nodded, managing a smile. "Sure."

She nodded as well, and Harry retreated back into the compartment, shutting the door with relief. Neville offered him a liquorice wand, which he took and chewed irritably. He hated all the notoriety his parents had. It meant he had to keep answering questions about them this and them that. He was tired of it, and he'd lived with it his whole life!

Ron hesitantly offered, "So, are you both thinking we'll be in the same house as her?"

"She's probably a Ravenclaw," Neville shrugged. "She sounds like someone who looks for books first, you know."

"Good company for you," Harry offered caustically.

"Stop biting my head off."

"Make me."

Neville pulled his wand down from his ear and hexed him. Harry fought down the sniggers of the tickling charm to cancel it and threw the same spell back; it was blocked and rebounded to mark a black spot on Harry's trunk. Harry's friend just stuck his tongue out in return. Harry stood and fished inside his trunk for a book, pulling out his robes while he was at it. The other two boys stood up after him and did the same. Changed, Harry threw himself onto the seat and began to read, mirrored by Neville. The owl gave a soft cry, and Ron reached out to pet her, staring out the window at the darkening sky as they waited to arrive at Hogwarts.

IIII

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a thinking cap!"

"So we just gotta try on the hat!" Ron whispered from beside Harry. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry tried to smile, he really did, but it didn't want to come. His hands were feeling sweaty, and his legs trembled; if he could have been anywhere but the front of the Great Hall, he'd have gotten on his knees and hidden. This wasn't the kind of Sorting he wanted. Wrestling a troll he could probably have managed, but having his mind read made him feel sick.

He'd been hiding himself for three years now. He didn't look up the line at Neville; his best friend knew he'd be feeling nervous. It would probably only make it worse to be near him, though. Neville hadn't had any patience with his fears for a few years now, or the entirety of the ride on the Express.

Maybe if Neville got into Ravenclaw he could try for that house. Well, if the Sorting Hat could be talked around, at any rate.

Harry watched the Sorting, and he grew steadily more nervous. "Granger, Hermione" went into Gryffindor after a minute. Neville took a few minutes to get sorted himself, but he ended up in Gryffindor in the end, looking a little shocked. Harry grinned and clapped eagerly. That worked for Neville. He'd enjoy being in Gryffindor.

Malfoy went into Slytherin before the Hat even settled on his head. Harry's stomach dropped. He focused on watching the other students get sorted, most of the kids he knew from the Ministry.

"Potter, Harry."

Swallowing, Harry slipped the hat over his eyes and waited with bated breath.

"Ah, what a clever little boy you are!" a small voice whispered in his ear. "You are very quick, with such a ruse –"

'I'm not going into Slytherin!' Harry thought hard and loud at the hat. 'I'm no Slytherin!'

"You know very well what you are –"

'I'm not going!'

"A house doesn't decide who you are, Mr Potter," the hat responded indignantly, "your house is where you can become your best with your own qualities." The hat mumbled for a minute, and then stopped. Harry could guess what it had found. "Now hating your house, however, is indeed a struggle, but you may very well grow into it –"

He couldn't go into Slytherin. 'Anything! I'll do anything to stay out of there!'

The hat hummed thoughtfully, and finally said, "Well… we might have a deal. If you promise me one thing."

'Sure.' It wasn't like he could be re-Sorted, anyways.

It felt like the hat sighed into his ear. "I've heard the list, Harry Potter, and I know something about the next boy and his history. You would do well to become the friend of the boy Sorted after you. Perhaps then you can get over your fear." With another sigh, Harry felt the hat straighten. "Mind you, Potter, always remember, your house should have been Slytherin."

Harry couldn't breathe until the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Staggering to his feet, Harry hurried to join Neville and the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table. He sat down and quickly turned to see who would be called next. Just who was it so important he be friends with?

"Prince, Alan."

Harry's stomach tightened as the black-haired boy he'd run into on the train sat on the stool. He remained there for about a minute before the hat called out, with damning certainty, "Slytherin!"

The boy went to the Slytherin table and paused, looking across the Hall. They locked eyes for a long moment, bright green with hard black. The Slytherin sneered and dropped into a chair, out of sight. Harry settled back, ignoring Neville's question as he frowned.

Alan Prince did not like him.

As far as Harry was concerned, the feeling was mutual.

IIII

Hogwarts reminded Harry of Potter Manor – just with a lot more to it. Turns and hallways continued for a long time without any identifying characteristics of where one might be. Harry got so hopelessly lost after Herbology the first day that he, Ron, and Neville didn't make it to their next class until it was halfway done. After that, however, he did a fair bit better, getting to classes only a little bit late as he figured out where they all were.

Astronomy was every Wednesday, late in the evening. Herbology was a pain – Neville was a natural at potting and repotting, trimming and feeding the plants, in contrast to Hermione's textbook knowledge. He let her answer the questions, as he finished the work first, much to Harry and Ron's annoyance.

History sent him to sleep, only to be woken by Neville's book finally falling on his arm as Neville also succumbed halfway through the class after Hermione had stopped poking him. Flitwick was ecstatically happy to have them in his class, alert and curious (especially after they'd all napped in History the period before).

Going into class with McGonagall, it didn't matter what you'd been up to before then – her presence made them all sit up straight and keep silent. Harry eagerly watched her come in; his father had loved her class. He couldn't wait to see how well he'd do. He got a thrill of excitement at her introduction; when Neville leaned forward and put his hands flat on the desk, he knew he'd felt the same.

By the end of class, however, Neville was poking his matchstick irritably, as it still hadn't done anything. Harry felt a little better seeing that. Hermione was the only one in class to have made a difference in her match. Neville wandered out thoughtfully as Harry hurried to get to work on the homework to see if it helped matters any.

Defence left him sick with disappointment. The class had smelled bad, and Quirrell had been scared of his own shadow. Harry suspected he'd learn more having Neville tackle the books with him than listening to Quirrell go on about nothing.

Friday morning, Harry was at the table, poking his food as Ron and Neville debated their week so far. He caught Prince coming in to breakfast, his books in his arms and his chin up. It was easy to guess why; Harry had spotted him a few times this week, and each time, he'd had a shadow in the form of the last boy to be sorted: tall, black Blaise Zabini. Harry vaguely knew him: his mother was notorious for something he couldn't remember, and Zabini had always been as arrogant as Malfoy. That he was stalking Prince couldn't be good, and it appeared Prince agreed in that regard. He stubbornly started breakfast without paying any attention to Zabini sitting next to him at all.

"Harry, I have bacon and I'm not afraid to use it."

Straightening, Harry pinned Neville with a glare. "What?"

"Potions. Slytherin. And a double class to boot." Neville gestured expansively. "Snape is friends with your mother, right? Does that mean we get any leeway?"

Harry snorted. "What, you think Snape might like me because of my mother? He hates my guts; I'm too much like my father. The only people Snape favours are his Slytherins."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us," Ron groused. Harry smiled at him to avoid the uncomfortable look Neville sent his way.

It wasn't long before Harry pulled Ron away from the last of his breakfast to make their way into the dungeons. They got lost, entered the wrong classroom, and finally found the one in question. Snape was already at his desk and quickly froze them with a glare. Harry met him look for look and got a short snort for his efforts.

"How excellent to see the children of our Aurors getting off to such a… prompt… start."

Harry ground his teeth, looking around. Most of the desks were full and, to boot, they had an uneven number of students in Slytherin. The only people sitting alone were Hermione and Prince – neither of whom he was eager to sit with. Snape also glanced around.

"Weasley, Longbottom... would you join Miss Granger? Mr Potter, you can work with Prince." A short glance to the other black-haired boy made Harry grind his teeth. Slamming his bag down, Harry sat back and crossed his arms, furious. Of course he'd feel sorry for the Slytherin brat! Never mind him, stuck with some –

"Potter!" Prince hissed. Harry glanced up from his fuming and raised his eyebrows. "Put your stuff in order! I'm not going to lose a grade because I'm stuck with an incompetent fool!"

Irate, Harry dumped his stuff on the table. Prince hissed under his breath before Professor Snape cleared his throat, sparing Harry a hot glare before returning his attention to the front. Harry felt a pinch at the mess; as he listened to Snape take the register, he organized his things so he could find them.

With the register done, Snape stared across the class and commanded all attention. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His eyes ended up scanning deliberately past Harry and towards the Gryffindor side of the classroom. Harry stifled his desire to snort and glanced over at Prince – he took a quick second look. Prince was staring at Snape as though he were something bizarre and crazy.

"Potter!" Harry jumped and turned to stare wide-eyed at Snape. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Added what to what? Harry blinked for a moment and then glanced at him leerily. He'd probably read it somewhere, but it wasn't clicking. "Something for the stomach?" he guessed. Wormwood was for stomach ache, right?

Snape snorted. "Clearly you have not read your books at great length." Harry bristled; he had so! "Longbottom, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Under his breath, Harry answered, "The ingredients cabinet."

He thought he might have heard Prince stifle a laugh.

Neville, however, took only a moment to think it through and then smile. "Stomach of a goat, sir. It's a hairball."

Snape's sneer lowered a hair. "Indeed. It will save you from most poisons, as well. Potter!" Harry's head snapped up and he glared. Snape only smiled thinly. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Was he going easy on him suddenly? "Nothing, sir. They're both names for aconite." He smiled slightly. "It's highly poisonous, too."

Snape fought his lips and kept it to a glower. "Very good." He moved back to his desk and barked, "Why are none of you copying this down? Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood creates a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Bezoars and aconite are not toys for first-years to play with."

The lecture continued, and they came around to working in pairs to create a simple boil cure. Harry went to get the ingredients – Prince had asked politely – but he dropped them down hard. Prince's lip curled.

"Don't break the damn things! Merlin, Mary, and Mordred." He pushed a bowl in front of Harry and glanced up to his face. "Crush the snake fangs. I'll start the potion." He stood and reached for the nettles on the far end of the table. He was so small he barely managed. When he sat back down, he glanced at Harry's work. Harry stuck out his tongue and ground the pestle harder, watching him add salt to the water and stir it with one hand while weighing the dried nettles with the other.

Prince spoke up and startled him. "They need to be finer. Stop getting distracted."

Harry pushed aside his interest in Prince's work and ground the fangs hard against the bowl.

They worked together for the potion, Prince asking him to prepare the ingredients as he added and stirred and doing parts himself when his hands were free. Harry refused to be impressed with how deft he was; if he could do it himself why didn't he? Harry stopped when Prince asked him to stew the horned slugs and hissed, "Why do I have to do it?"

Prince glanced up from adding the porcupine quills and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't ask to be your partner!"

"I didn't ask to get stuck with you either, Prince! Stop ordering me around. If you're so picky, why don't you just do it all yourself?"

"I'm supposed to be working with you –"

"Well I don't want to work with a spoiled rotten brat!" Harry shouted.

The students nearby looked up quickly. Harry heard Snape start in on him, but it had nothing on Prince's flush of anger. The Slytherin growled, teeth bared and grabbed a bowl from beside the cauldron to toss it straight in.

A plume of grey smoke roared out of the cauldron and splattered against the ceiling. Harry staggered off his chair and fell backwards, his eyes and nose stinging in the thick, grey fog.

"Damn you, boy!" Snape snarled. "Stay in your seats!" There was a pause, and then Snape growled, "Evanesco." The smoke disappeared, and the class began to straighten themselves out, some coughing or wiping at streaming eyes. Prince had also fallen out of his chair and was tentatively blinking his eyes, his hands hovering carefully. Tears streamed down his bright red face.

Snape stalked up to their table and glared at Harry. "Move!"

Harry didn't argue, quickly stepping aside and scrubbing at his eyes, which were beginning to water as well.

"Stop that, Potter," Snape ordered as he hauled Prince to his feet. He released Prince near him and moved to point by the door before snarling and turning.

"Longbottom, Weasley. Go with them to the hospital wing. Prince can tell her what happened; one of you is to come back with the supplies to abate this for the entire class. The other will remain with these two and keep them in one piece. Go!"

Harry didn't argue after the first order. His things should be fine. When Ron and Neville hesitated, Harry growled, "C'mon!" He pulled open the door and moved into the hallway, but his vision blurred behind his glasses. He paused, and Neville came up and put his hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?"

"Can't see. My eyes keep watering."

"So do mine. Hey, Ron!"

They looked back. Ron was waiting impatiently for Prince, who had staggered against a wall, coughing. Harry frowned. Prince had been right over the cauldron: at fault or not, he'd have gotten a face full of that smoke.

Harry glanced back at Neville for only a second before walking back to him. Ron made a disgusted sound as he passed, but Harry ignored him to grab Prince's shoulder.

Prince tugged away. "I'm fi –" His answer was lost in another fit of coughing. "Stupid students," he whispered, once he could breathe.

Harry pulled him up anyways. "I'm not taking forever to get to the hospital wing because you can't walk," he informed him. "And Snape would kill me if I left you behind, so c'mon."

Neville came up on Prince's other side without asking and took that arm. Prince tried to pull away and dissolved into coughing and swearing again before he submitted and let them help him keep his feet.

It was a good thing Harry had quickly made note of where the hospital wing was. Once they reached the Entrance Hall, he could direct them right there. Madam Pomfrey scowled at them immediately.

"My word, you took some time. Sit down, sit down, what's wrong?"

"Snape said Prince knew." Ron glared at the boy.

Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, and Prince coughed again before answering, "Threw lettece teeth in early. There," he hacked again, "was probably a contamination of hen's teeth too, or it wouldn't be so caustic." He dissolved into coughing once more, his hands hovering fitfully near his eyes. Harry dropped his hand from rubbing his own. Prince appeared to know what he was doing with potions and their accidents. It wasn't like it was helping.

Madam Pomfrey swelled with indignation. "Well then!" She disappeared into her office.

Ron looked around and then hollered, "Professor Snape wants some for the whole class!"

"Keep your voice down!" the nurse yelled back.

She came back a few minutes later and glanced between the four of them. "Now then, do either of you have sore eyes?"

"Sort of," Neville answered. "Harry's the worst, he was sitting with Prince so they both got it bad."

"I don't," Ron answered. "My throat's just sore."

"Hmm." Pomfrey sorted the box and pulled out three phials to show them. "These for the eyes, if they're watering. This," she pulled out a second, "to be drunk for the throat. Professor Snape will know how to apply them. If you have only a sore throat," she tilted out some of the phial into a cup and handed it to Ron, "drink that and then be off with this."

As Ron tossed back his treatment and grimaced, Madame Pomfrey wet a cloth and handed it to Prince. "Wash your face with that – thoroughly!" She wet another and Harry accepted it. "Same for you. Mr Longbottom?"

"I'm fine, really –"

"I can see you're not, Potter. Shall I wash your face for you?"

Harry quickly pulled off his glasses and did as ordered; he wasn't five! He could wash his own face. He moved to put it down, but Pomfrey caught the cloth and his glasses and quickly ran it over them.

"Hey!"

"They may recontaminate your face. Better to wash them – there." He couldn't tell through the blur, but Pomfrey seemed to do a spell. "Much better."

Putting his glasses back on, Harry waited and watched Madam Pomfrey measure out three cups and pass them around. Neville was looking indignant as he tossed back the potion; Harry accepted it and drank it just the same. He had to choke a moment before it went down, but soon it was done and his throat felt much improved. He heard Prince thank Madam Pomfrey quietly, but by the time Harry was looking for him, he'd already moved out the door. Harry and Neville thanked her themselves and followed.

Harry watched him stalk up the hallway ahead and sneered. "Didn't even say thank you for getting him here. Git."


A/N: Hello again peoples, and here is the start of the revision of Those-Who-Lived. Several characters have been changed, and most of the text itself, too. I hope you enjoy it!
Expect another update in roughly two weeks, and there will likely be some extended delay betwixt years. I hope you can survive, you know?

Edit: Posted a re-betaed version of this and chapter two, done by Sweetflag from Perfect Imagination.

Fire & Napalm