The horrific sobbing of the red headed woman on the floor was akin to the euphonious melodies of a symphony. Her ragged gasping breaths played like Beethoven's 5th or Mozart's 40th, a most wonderus noise. Voldemort was content to submerse himself in the sounds of a women who had her spirit crushed.
No hateful words, no vile comebacks, the mudblood simply lay there. The spit fire known as Lily Potter was gone. In her place was a broken women bound by a simple Petrificus Totalus, crying over the loss of her pathetic husband.
The fool had actually had the gall to point his wand at him. So the dark lord felt obliged to demonstrate exactly how he had gotten the title, which was why the blood traitor was currently decorating the kitchen…and dining room… and living room… it was truly amazing what a few cutting and exploding curses could do to a human body.
Voldemort could almost sigh in unabashed pleasure. Extinguishing life was one of his greatest enjoyments. For he who had transcended mortality, it only seemed right for him to become death personified.
And then there was the pleasure of crushing those who stood against him.
The couple had defied him three merlin damned times. Along with the Longbottom's they had been an annoying thorn in his side for way too long. So having Bella tasked with handling the other unsavory couple, the dark lord took it upon himself to end the Potter line once and for all. And he was doing a spectacular job of it, if he did say so himself.
He was broken from his self-congratulatory thoughts, by wailing. Wailing completely different than that of the witch of the floor. Wailing of a baby. Voldemort's smirk turned into a full out malicious grin.
"Ah yes, the Potter spawn" He drawled, voice oily, serpent like. His every intention creeping through.
The dark wizard actually took a step back in shock when, like someone adding tinder to a dying flame, The Potter skank actually sat up, a renewed fury behind those emerald green eyes.
"Don't you dare touch him, you bastard!" The bright witch spat, putting as much strength and contempt into it as physically possible. Her lips pulled back in a viscous snarl. Looking every bit, the witch who had proudly defied the most powerful dark wizard since Grindelwald.
Though momentarily surprised by her outburst and sudden mobility, a simple check proved that the spell was indeed still active. Annoyed at the suddenly willful witch, the death cheater decided he would do more than simply kill the boy.
A curious part of him had always wondered how an infant would react to some of his nastier curses. It had always been a somewhat coveted thought of his, if the raw unformed magic of a newborn would affect any of the dark arts. The implications of it sent thrilling chills down his back. If it bore any fruit, the dark lord could significantly cut down on the cost of creating a new horcrux. The last one had nearly left him bed ridden for a week. Fully intrigued with the concept, Voldemort's decision was made.
"Don't worry one pretty little red hair" He whispered, delighted in the shiver of revulsion that went through her. "What I have planned doesn't require any physical contact" Voldemort nearly buckled at the look of utter horror on her tear streaked face. After he was done with the child, there were a few carnal desires Voldemort could use the mudblood to satisfy. Licking his lips at the thought, the red eyed wizard decided on the easiest method of testing his theory.
Raising his wand, tip pointed at the child standing in his crib. The Cruciatus curse seemed to fit ideally here. One of the three known unforgivables and it didn't cause any visible damage. Without giving the child's mother a second thought, he acted.
"Crucio" The word was said with such flair one would think they were watching a stage performance.
The effect was immediate, the child's wailing changed. Gone was the soft cry of a baby. The sharp rise in octave and volume conveyed exactly how painful it was, his tiny limbs bending in impossible ways as he writhed in utter agony. His blue-green eyes wide and unblinking, moving frantically in all directions. The only sound louder was the obnoxious shriek of the boys' mother.
Under normal circumstances, Voldemort would take great pleasure in her screams, but not now, now she was interfering with research. A quick silencing charm later and his focus was once again on the writhing infant. He couldn't discern any noticeable difference in the curses actions, but perhaps a few more trials were necessary.
"Crucio" If possible the child's screaming got louder.
…
"Crucio" His tiny hands clawing at everything around in a desperate, crazed frenzy.
…
"Crucio" His screaming turned into a shredded gurgle, the infants throat finally succumbing to the viscous onslaught.
…
"Crucio" There was no crying… no anything…
Voldemort was sure he had killed the infant. Either drowning on his own blood or from over exposure to the Cruciatus curse. He had seen it happen more than enough times when he… disciplined some of his followers. In all honesty the child had lasted a lot longer than he thought physically possible. Most grown men could hardly handle three curses back to back. There were definitely gate ways opened up with the experiment. Now he just needed to run couple controlled trials…
Movement from the crib brought those thoughts to a halt.
Making three cautious steps forward, The Dark Lord peered over the edge. The last thing he expected to see was a baby starring back at him calmly, a baby who had suffered the Cruciatus curse five times. Unmarked and looking incredibly uninterested in him. As if he hadn't just been in excruciating agony moments before, though the red face and small amount of crimson fluid decorating the child's mouth was a clear give away.
"How interesting" He muttered to himself. This was definitely something to look into in the future, for now he had a bloodline to end. "Such a shame you were born a Potter" Voldemort raised his wand at the infant who seemed to focus to an almost frightening degree on The Dark Lord. "You would've made a valuable test subject" He finished, something akin to regret coming into his voice. The results had been beyond his expectations. No matter, he had plenty of resources.
"Avada Kedavra "The words were said with a reverence of an act he held dearest, that instant when the luminescent glow was extinguished and he stood as the sole holder of life. To be the bearer of that outstanding power. A god among ants. Yes, this curse was truly a perfection of all things wizardry.
Well… other than him of course.
A strangled cry of "No" came from his right, Lily Potter had somehow managed undo his spells and had thrown herself in front of the curse. How she managed it he didn't know, nor did he care all too much. The end results would be the same. He almost sighed, foolishness at its finest, to throw your life away for something else. How wizarding culture had survived this long, run by fools like this, The Dark Lord couldn't fathom.
A pity… Severus had been very adamant in keeping the mudblood alive. Oh well, there were plenty of other specimens he could use.
The second the life stealing green light hit her there was a blinding light.
A flash completely unlike that of the killing curse.
A rich golden-orange hue, as if to mock the deathly green energy with its contrast.
Voldemort knew no more…
Petunia Dursley was a caring mother, loving wife, and all around good neighbor.
The fact she even allowed the freak offspring of her sister to live in her home with her husband and wonderful son spoke volumes of her kind character. Not that she liked the child, far from it. She despised the boy with every fiber of her being, every day he was here was another onslaught on her perfectly normal life. But she couldn't kick him out, the magical freaks had forced him on her, threatening her.
So when the letter came from that freak school, the same one her perfect sister went too, Petunia cried tears of absolute joy. He would be gone… and they'd never see him again if she had her way.
The second the boy was out of the house the horse faced housewife planned to take her family and move far, far away from privet drive. He would be that bearded freaks problem from now on.
Perhaps somewhere warmer? The Isles of Scilly always seemed lovely. Nice and quaint. And Vernon's company had an office there, if she were correct. Never having to be exposed to those disgusting monsters again was sure to have Vernon packing before the papers were even finalized. That was for later, for now… Petunia had a few real-estate related calls to make.
She ignored the small part of her mind that whispered her fears.
About how the child had not once cried, no matter how hard Vernon had beaten him.
About how he would never raise a hand against anyone else. Even though her sweet Dudley had come home frequently with scrapes and bruises complaining that the boy had attacked him.
About how a few times, when Vernon was at his worst, his hauntingly green eyes, eyes so much like her sisters, would pin Petunia down with a look that she couldn't describe.
About how the child barely spoke two words, let alone complete sentences. And when he did speak it was always in that horrific growl. If the freak's schoolwork hadn't been so exceptional, she would've been sure he was touched in the head.
About the occasion Vernon had found a cassette player along with tapes in the boy's cupboard. When her husband had tried to get rid of them, claiming he stole them, the room suddenly came alive… every fixture exploding, the electronic fire place catching actual fire, and Vernon, her generously large husband being pushed into the far wall.
In the chaos, the boy had grabbed the tapes and ran back into the cupboard.
They never spoke of that incident.
About how maybe… maybe her family wasn't perfect… maybe she was just a vindictive sister and Vernon was just an abusive man.
Petunia couldn't dial the real-estate agents number fast enough.
The richly soft cello playing only enhanced Hogwarts: A History. Yo-Yo Ma was truly a gifted musician, but even he couldn't make the dreadful book tolerable. Harry could barely make it past the first chapter before he'd forget what it was exactly he read. He was currently on his fifth iteration of the damned introduction when his uncles angry snapping voice cut right through Bach's Cello Suite No. 1.
"What?" Harry asked, his gravelly voice boarding on a sigh. The book was really starting to piss him off, and hearing his uncle complain about another ordinarily mundane faucet of life was not something Harry wanted right now.
"I said grab your things and get out, boy!" He spat with as much venom as he could muster, apparently the obese man caught his tone. Not like it'd change anything, Harry had long given up on considering the Dursley's family. He'd barely consider them people, but the ten-year-old didn't want to cross that line. There was… something… something about that thought… a feeling he couldn't quite place.
Like the first time he did magic…
Where he would be taking a step somewhere he could never return from.
Pushing this suddenly dark train of thought from his head, he grabbed his trunk and stepped out onto King's Cross. The smell of burning rubber along with a joyous "Good Riddance" from behind him were all the clues Harry needed to know he was on his own.
He was on his own…
He was Dursley free…
The small smile Harry wore was the only indication that he felt like he won a lifetime supply of chocolate. Not like he needed to win anything, he reminded himself gently, unconsciously placing his hand on the pouch full of coins tied to his belt loop. The green eyed boy could buy enough chocolate to last ten life times.
Taking approximately two and a half steps forward, the bespectacled boy stopped mid-stride when with a sudden sense of dread, Harry realized he had no idea where to go.
Odd… he could've sworn he read about it in his letter… only to realize that his letter was currently in Hogwarts: A History, having used it as an impromptu bookmark.
A book that was currently in his Uncles car…
Cursing the damned book and its author into the lowest pits of purgatory, Harry set out to find someone to ask… groaning a moment later when he realized he couldn't ask ordinary people "Hey, do you know where the entrance to Hogwarts is?" That really couldn't go over to well.
Not that the ten-year-old liked the thought of talking to so many strangers… whenever he did, Harry would always get pitying looks and people questioning what happened to his voice. With a deep sigh Harry tried to recall anything about the directions he was given…
Go to platform something something and go through something before Eleven O'clock…'Great' Harry thought morosely, first day at being a wizard and he was already mucking things up. Best course of action was to walk around until he spotted someone "wizardly".
Good thing his Uncle was in such a rush to have him out the house. The orange glow barely peeked over the horizon, he had plenty of time to find his way, for now… Ma was demanding his attention, almost as if the artist was personally insulted for being interrupted.
Putting his headphones on, stopping only for the briefest of moments to move the unruly hair that dared to defy the musician, Harry took off down the edge of the platform, in no real hurry.
His feet beat against the concreate, breath coming in ragged. Skillfully avoiding colliding with innocent bystanders in his pursuit. He was late. Four hours of searching and he couldn't find one person dressed in robes or carrying a wand around. It wasn't like Harry was expecting someone dressed like Merlin, but at least some indication they were magical wasn't too much to ask.
Hagrid has practically screamed 'magic', his large size supernatural.
He had seen a mob of red heads, all dressed in knitted clothes. They had a "wizardy" feeling about them, but Harry had kept his distance from the loudly arguing family, old habits coming in hard.
Something he now regretted immensely. The green eyed boy had spent the last thirty-five minutes running between platforms, desperate for any kind of lead.
Harry was seriously considering just screaming "Hogwarts!" at the top of his lungs until he got a response.
Just stepping onto platform Nine, hope blossomed in his chest… or his heart exploded, it could've been either at this point.
He thought he saw a familiar red cover. The same shade of red he was cursing hours before.
"Dad" Harry could hardly hear her over the roar of the station. "You've been dragging your feet all morning, I'm late now" Staring down at his watch, Harry hurriedly move towards the bushy haired girl. It was ten till, not exactly late, but the young wizard was hoping she was headed where he thought.
"Okay, okay, I get it." The tall brown haired man stated, hands up in surrender. "My daughter doesn't give a lick about her elderly father" Resting the back of his hand on his forehead, he sighed dramatically.
Harry actually thought he was kinda funny. But judging by the furrowing of the girl's brow and the way she crossed her arms, she was anything but amused.
"Elderly? Hardly, you just turned thirty" The young girl, hopefully a witch, put hands on her hips.
"My spirit is old!" The man countered, sounding affronted.
A loud snort snapped Harry's eyes to the brunette, she seems genuinely amused now. Lips curled in a gentle smirk. They shared a look, and Harry had the sudden feeling he was being left out of some very personal conversation. He was less than five meters away, but he might as well have been five miles away from the father and daughter.
"I'll miss you, daddy, tell mum that I love her and I'll promise to stay safe." The small girl wrapped her father in a big hug, as if trying to convey something in the act. Harry found himself looking anywhere but the duo sharing a clearly intimate moment.
"Ok sweetie, give em' hell" Her father's eyes had gone shiny. With one last squeeze, he stepped back, allowing the brunette to move away and stand right in front of a pillar. Ignoring the odd act for a moment, Harry found himself with the man directly above him. Sweater vest inches from Harry's face. The bespectacled boy went for broke, desperate for his answer. Try his best to clear his throat, he steeled himself.
"Excuse me sir, you wouldn't happen to know anything about Hogwarts would you?" He asked, wincing at the rough sound his mouth produced. Voice sounding much too harsh, even to his own ears. Like a rusty screwdriver hitting a chalk board.
The curly haired man looked taken aback for a moment before answering. "Blimey, you've a voice on you, don't you?" The question was rhetorical, but Harry could still feel his cheeks heating slightly.
Grinning sheepishly, the man coughed into his fist, clearly uncomfortable.
Not that he was the only one…
"Ah, you said Hogwarts right? Lost are you? My daughters actually attending, she's right over the…" The man pointed at the pillar the girl was standing under, only to falter slightly when she was nowhere to be found. With a muttered "magical rubbish", the man sighed.
"…Was right over there… Just walk into that magic pillar… thing… and you should be there." He was making comically vague gestures with his hands, as if it explained everything.
With a small grateful smile, Harry set down his trunk. "Thank you, sir" Wincing only slightly this time, not minding as much about his horrid voice. The man just seemed so open. Not hiding anything behind false pretenses. The green eyed boy found him easy to talk too.
"Please, sir makes me feel like an old fuddy-duddy" Harry didn't know what a "fuddy-duddy" was, but by the way the kind man stuck his tongue out and screwed up his face, it wasn't anything good. "The names Dan, Dan Granger" Sticking his hand out in introduction, that large smile still on his face, the young wizard felt obliged to respond in kind.
"Harry, Harry Potter" Being jostled slightly by the man's fervent handshake, Harry found himself with both of the man's large hands on his shoulders, being gently pushed toward the pillar.
"It's been a pleasure Harry and I truly mean that, but if you don't hurry you're going to miss that train" The ma- Dan. His name was Dan, had been so helpful, Harry couldn't just leave without saying anything. No one had been so nice to him. That trip to Daigon Ally had been eye opening. Everyone was concerned with The-boy-who-lived, only sucking up to him because of what happened with that evil man. No one had actually held a conversation with him, Harry, like that before.
No one since the kind old lady who lived down the street…
Eyes feeling unsettlingly warm, Harry quickly said what he needed too. "Thank you Dan, for everything"
With a gentle push Harry was in an entirely different station.
"No problem Harry, the pleasure was all mine. Good luck…" Dan replied in a hushed tone, the boy had something about him… like Dan was looking into the past.
He had seen the look in the boys eyes many a time in the mirror. And judging by how the dentist hadn't seen anybody with the child he knew at least some of his doubts were founded. So he wished the boy luck, it seemed like all he could do… He doubted the boy heard him, but that was all part of the magic thing he didn't get.
With one final look at the child eating pillar, he was off. Whistling a jaunty tune, Dan headed towards his car. Plans of heading to the practice and telling his wife of their daughters farewell words filling his head… along with his meeting of surprisingly well-mannered boy with an interesting voice.
Perhaps they'd close the practice down today… Dan wasn't really in the mood to work and he doubted his wife was either.
Both Granger girls put up a tough front, acting like the departure was nothing. But he knew his wife, Emma would probably dip into the wine tonight and have a "Good cry". His daughter would be fine. She was tougher than both her parents.
Perhaps a date night would help ease the sudden gap…
Maybe he'd get lucky tonight…
With Hermione's packing and goodbyes taking up the better part of two weeks, it'd been a rather long time since his "second-in-command" had been on active duty.
With visions of his wife lain bare under him, legs entwined with his own, bosom heaving in ecstasy, begging for more, he pulled onto the free-way.
All melancholy thoughts behind him, eager to get to the women who had stolen his heart and save her from the horrible confines of the office.
Staring out at the station, parents waving goodbyes to children they adored, he felt detached. Almost like looking at an old painting, so abstract and twisted, he would never quite understand its beauty. But he didn't need to understand it. Harry had himself, that was enough.
It had to be…
A roaring whistle sounded, signaling their departure.
Headphones in hand, he leaned back onto the cushioned seat, sinking in slightly. Casting off the shackles of the muggle world, had the green eyed boy felt lighter.
A new beginning, a new life.
Boisterous symphonies filled his mind and Harry, he allowed himself a relaxed smile.
His journey as a wizard had just begun.
Hermione sighed, saying goodbye to the elder Granger had been surprisingly hard… or not so surprisingly. She held no delusions about the outside world, children were mean, viscous things.
The bushy haired girls parents had been her rock, her one place she was excepted no matter what. She was different… Her teachers said so many times. "She's so gifted!" or "She's years above her classmates!" Were common phrases she heard. And when she turned the living room blue, her parents just added that to the list of things that made her special.
Hermione didn't want to be special…
She just wanted to be like everyone else, not asking so many questions, or knowing so many things. She just wanted to be a girl who had friends… friends who cared about her, whether or not she did last nights homework. Friends she could share interests with.
But she didn't care about clothes or hair… Hermione liked books, she liked how they felt in her hands. So fragile, the weight of so much knowledge resting in her hands was comforting.
Like the mind of another person nestled snuggly in her palms. Sharing the information accumulated over lifetimes of experiences.
The musky smell of a piece of literature older than her more than ten times over.
She loved to learn… New knowledge was like a fine delicacy the witch could never get enough of.
She loved it so much… she just wished it didn't alienate her peers.
Wished it hadn't caused her such turmoil…
Finding out she was a witch was like a saving grace…
Hermione could be different in a way that other kids were too. She didn't have to be "Know-it-all-Granger". She could be just another witch.
She could fit in…
She could have friends…
That pudgy Neville seemed nice enough… when he wasn't going into hysterics over a lost toad. She had even spent a good twenty five minutes looking for the creature. A true test in futility if she ever saw one. What were the odds of finding the amphibian on a train this large? Infinitesimally small.
Hermione had left the boy back at the front of the train when he started blubbering about some "Gran" going to kill him.
Deciding that learning about the incredibly vast and unknown world of magic took precedence over "Trevor" she was off. But as she walked down the isle, rows upon rows of cabins filled, people laughing and playing games with friends, the witch felt something akin to longing. Maybe she could've made friends if she had gotten on earlier..
Finding a vacant cabin near the back, she opened the rosy red door, grumbling about overly-clingy parental figures. Hermione jumped slightly when, instead of the cabin being empty, she was met with the sight of hair, so much like her own, wild and unruly. The black haired boys head swayed to a music she couldn't hear. Glasses folded neatly in lap as fingers, strong and surprisingly nimble, danced in the air. Moving with a fervent grace that left her mesmerized. It was like watching one of the many symphonies her parents took her too. She could practically see the notes dance in the air as digits played unseen keys.
Piano…
Beethoven's Diabelli Variations…
It had only felt like a moment. One instance of her observing something fascinating. Like looking at the cover of a new book.
So many mysteries hidden within…
But when fingers stilled and green eyes locked onto hers, Hermione suddenly felt very self aware.
Being caught staring was bad enough, but the bushy haired girl could feel her mouth open. Slack jawed and basically being caught gawking was not how Hermione wanted to start her new life.
And the boy…
He just sat there and stared!
The brunette could feel the blood rush to her face, like a freshly lit fire, spreading rapidly.
"What?" She snapped, cursing how soft and fragile her voice sounded. Hermione was never good at talking to new people, especially when she was uncomfortable.
And this boy had certainly made her uncomfortable, with how his green eyes seemed to pierce her core, staring right through her. She saw hands move, hands that were previously frozen in the air, to the boys lap. Grasping the pairing of glasses, he put them on.
Eyes focused behind round glass and Hermione found green eyes locked onto hers.
Then he shrugged!
Feeling a minor headache coming on, the witch decided to just pretend the whole thing never happened. "Mind If I sit here?" She inquired, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. Hermione had expected a "yes" or a "no", some kind of verbal response to the question.
But the boy just shrugged again!
Plopping down louder than what was socially considered polite, she decided to ignore the rude boy and focus on the charms book Professor McGonagall had recommended.
Two hours… two long hours into the trip and Hermione was about to pull her hair out. The boy hadn't tried to engage her at all. She read the charms book several times, until she had it memorized. The boy just sat there in silence, staring out the window at Scotland's vast greenery.
"My names Hermione" She blurted out, voice much too soft for her liking. Green eyes snapped away from the window and she found herself pinned under the boys gaze, like he was analyzing her worth. Weighing every iota of her being.
But then he still didn't say anything.
"Y-You know it's only proper m-manners that someone introduce t-t-themselves when given a n-name" She wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Months of visits by the speech therapists washed away, by what? One boy whose stare unnerved her a bit? Hermione stared at clench fists, her grip white knuckle on the book. Her eyes felt hot and she suddenly wished she were home, home with her parents, away from the world that had so clearly rejected her.
And then he spoke.
"Sorry" The wild hair boy growled, his voice shockingly gruff. " My names Harry" The newly named Harry finished, his tone polite. He raked a hand through untamed locks. She couldn't be sure, but through the tangled ebony hair she thought she saw the peeking's of a scar on his forehead.
Harry Potter? The name sounded familiar. But she put the thought aside for now. She had other questions to get answered.
"What took you so long to reply?" She asked bitterly, Hermione Granger did not enjoy being made a fool.
That was apparently the wrong way to go about it because the black haired boy flinched slightly and brought a hand up to his suddenly pink face.
"I'm… not used to talking very much." He seemed to contemplate deeply on each word. "A lot of people… find my voice… off-putting" The way he finished that, looking so uncomfortable, it relaxed her a little. At least she knew he wasn't being rude now.
"I don't think it's that bad" She said quickly, her voice was stronger now, something Hermione was pleased about immensely. " I actually find it kind of nice… in a tempestuous sort of way" She said without embarrassment, sure the compliment would go over his head, like it would many others.
But he grinned at that. A pleased light entering his eyes, even as her own widened in shock. He'd actually understood that?
Maybe wizarding kids were smart like her as well.
"Your Dan's daughter… right?" Whatever he would have said, talking about the elder Granger was last on the list. Hermione stared at him in what could only be described as horrified shock. How could he know her dad? How did Harry know her dad? Did her eternally unfiltered father mention something he shouldn't of? Oh god! What if he showed baby pictures? Or told him that she cried at the end of sleeping beauty every time it was on. Or…
Further disparaging thoughts were put on hold as the same gruff voice broke through her thoughts.
"Um… Something wrong?" He seemed worried, like he thought he did something.
"N-No… No! It's nothing, I was just a little shocked you knew my dad" Her reply seemed a tad stiff, she was a tad stiff…
"Yeah, I met him right after you went through the pillar." His voice smoothed slightly, not by much but some of the sharpness faded. Hermione privately wondered if he just wasn't used to talking a great amount.
His voiced warmed, gruffness mixed with smooth joy, a vocal combination she definitely did not find "off-putting". "He really helped me out, I probably wouldn't have made it here if it weren't for him." The sheer amount of gratitude came off him in palpable waves. What had her father done to get that kind of response? She'd have to ask him in one of her letters. "…and he's pretty funny too" Harry ended quietly, more of an afterthought than anything.
Instead of vehemently disagreeing with the statement like she'd usually do, Hermione actually thought about her dad…
How he'd play pirates with her when she was little. Dressing up in elaborate costumes to entertain her on Sundays. How he'd, voice comically animated, read to her at night.
Pigs and Wolf's coming alive.
Fairy Godmothers saving the beautifully misunderstood girls.
Love being found on the inside, rather than through superfluous means.
"Yeah" She spoke equally quiet. "He really is" Who'd knew it'd take leaving home to make Hermione Granger admit her dad was indeed, funny.
Not that she'd ever tell him…
Dan Granger smashed the brakes, car swerving to an unsteady stop, the sound of outraged vehicles turning into a haze of disparaging noise. Automobilist throwing out profanities, letting him know exactly what they thought of his driving. He was sure to get a ticket for that brazenly illegal move…
But none of that mattered.
For the dentist felt like he just won a war…
A mean, nasty, ugly, war.
A war of attrition…
His daughter had just said he was funny. Dan didn't know why, but he was sure of it.
Sirens and flashing lights made themselves known, but Dan just cackled. Like a man unburdened, he greeted the uniform wearing man eagerly, bouncing in his seat. Almost daring the servicemen to try and hinder his good spirits.
Em was so not gonna believe him.
Movement of the boy caught her eye.
Left…
Right…
Then left again…
There was a definite sway in his moments, moving by the slightest of margins, always returning to his point of origin, like a waltz. Orange caught her eye and Hermione found herself staring at headphones, nearly hidden beneath the boys unruly mane. Had he had those on the whole time? What was he listening too?
Any further observational inquiries were halted abruptly, when a person with strange slicked back hair, opened the compartment door.
"Ah there you are Potter." His voice was snobbish, like they should be grateful he was even here. "The names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Stating it grandiosely, his posture disgustingly confident. She knew his type, the popular ones, not caring what they said or who they hurt. "I'm sure you're aware of the social classes, it wouldn't do you any good to stay here."
Hermione did not like the boy.
"There's room in my compartment, you should join us" The blonde boy continued, completely ignoring her. "We'd certainly be better company than a filthy mudblood" A sneer punctuated the last word and despite herself, Hermione flinched slightly. Mudblood? The brunette had read about that term, it was out dated, derogatory, equivalent to some of the nastier slurs used in older times.
Hermione definitely did not like the little xenophobe.
Glancing sidelong at Harry, she noticed his frown. Like he had tasted something foul, green eyes almost glaring.
"I doubt I could find much better company" She jumped, Harry's rough voice, a voice she had heard moments before, was in a full blown growl. "But thanks all the same" Crashing waves, punctuated by lighting. So unlike earlier. What had caused the change?
Apparently she wasn't the only one shocked. Almost as if he'd been struck, the blonde boy took a step back. Face an emasculant shade of pink, he bit off a retort. "Fine Potter, have fun slumming it" He gave her a pointed look at that. She held her head up high, refusing to bend.
Hermione didn't know why, perhaps it was because someone had stood up for her, but she felt a little bit stronger. The prat turned to leave " Be careful Potter, with that attitude you won't be "The-Boy-Who-Lived" for long". With that morbidly ambiguous warning he left, his pace just a little too quick to be considered nonchalant.
The-Boy-Who-Lived? That was the title in that wizarding newspaper. Of the boy, no older than a newborn, who defeated the horrible dark wizard, at the loss of his parents.
During her trip to Diagon ally, curious as she was about the wizarding world, bought an Issue of The Daily Prophet. It had been fascinating, seeing images move of there own accord, words shifting as she read. Though her amazement was dampened slightly by the amateur writing in most of the articles. The column on Lycanthrope mating patterns had her bubbly with intrigue, that was until she realized it was an overly elaborate personality test.
Whoever this Rita Skeeter was, she certainly had a lot to learn. Too many clearly biased sources, all opinion, hardly any actual facts. But that wasn't the important thing to remember.
Hermione worried her lip, searching her near eidetic memory for the relevant information she so thirstily sought.
Potter!
Was it really him?
Harry Potter… this boy sitting across from her, he was a celebrity. He had saved the wizarding world almost a decade ago, just returning to the public now to attend Hogwarts.
He was basically royalty from the way the newspaper had weaved it. Only being surpassed by the likes of the highest in wizarding culture.
And he just sat here, putting up with an obnoxious girl whose buck teeth and horrid hair made her look beaver-esk. A light shining so brilliantly next to mundane blandness.
Suddenly feeling very humble and more than a little self concise, Hermione made to move cabins, intent on giving the wizarding wonder his own space. Putting her hand around the leather strap of her satchel, attempting to make a hasty retreat, she was stopped from further movement by the same gruff voice Hermione was quickly finding herself liking.
"What's wrong?" Headphones resting around his neck, he leaned forward slightly, eyes covered by a mess of bangs.
N-N-Nothings wrong M-Mr. Potter, I-I-I was just g-going to g-give you s-s-some privacy." Words jumbled together, making it hard to even stutter out a reply. Hermione wasn't ready, not for this.
"Did I… did I scare you?" He questioned, face unreadable. That same gravelly voice subdued, almost resigned. "I didn't mean to… it's just… what he said… really got under my skin, ya'know?" Green eyes almost pleading, he wanted her to stay? Why? She was so… so uninteresting compared to him. Hermione wouldn't have anything of value to say.
"It's n-n-nothings like t-that" Trying her hardest to suppress the embarrassing verbal tick. "Its just… your Harry P-Potter" Hermione finished, expecting that too be enough.
But the boy shrugged a thrice damned time!
"I'm just… Harry" The warmness was back, like the warm breeze after a storm. "And besides… It'd be a little embarrassing if the company I was boasting about so proudly, just up and left." There was a hint of mirth filtered in, bits of sunshine poking through turbulent clouds.
He smiled, and Hermione felt herself smiling back.
Taking the boats across the black water had been an experience. Incandescent flames, burning gently above the abyss. It was something out of a fairytale…
But everything was a fairytale now.
Hagrid had welcomed him warmly, large hands flailing around in excitement. The giant man had been Harry's very first encounter of magic, a world unknown to him. And the great mass of beard explained things to him in the barest of contexts, allowing Harry to form his own opinions of wizarding society. Something Harry appreciated immensely, he could trust Hagrid. So he had rode the small fairy with him, Hermione at his side.
The girl was looking at everything, wonder evident on her face. Brows furrowed, like she was trying to figure out the puzzle of the luminescent orbs floating above the mysterious dark liquid. The brunette was just like him, raised in the muggle world. Only to be thrown into a brand new life.
A magical life.
They docked and Tchaikovsky drowned out everything.
He had so little time. The romantically wondrous sounds softening the harsh steps of students, eager to find out what house they'd go too. Harry would have been equally enthusiastic, but he could hear Tchaikovsky slowing down.
Dying
Students were herded and Harry followed, ingraining every single note, every sound, desperately. The score was quieting... slowly but surely.
He saw a hat, moving of its own accord. Raggedly stitched mouth, singing unheard lyrics, lyrics Harry had no interest in learning. The pace sped up, almost fighting the gentle lull of eternal slumber. It was captivating, in its own twisted way. How life shown brightest before death, a flame, giving off one last brilliant show before extinguishing.
There was a pause in the music Harry hadn't remembered being there. It was so abrupt that Harry barely heard an older professor call his name.
"Mister Potter?" Accent a thick Scottish. "Perhaps you'd care to be sorted this day?" Her tone giving no illusion of what she thought about his opinions on the matter. Nodding dumbly, eyes not quite focusing on her, he followed the gaping path other students left. Harry didn't know what to make of the situation, what was he to do without his melodies? Of notes telling life stories in hushed whispers?
The music was gone from Harry's world. And in its place was magic.
A trade he hadn't been entirely too sure was equal.
When a wet palm seemed to touch his mind, Harry's focus was solely on the magical object covering his hair.
"Ah, yes, yes, quite the interesting one you are. Its been so long since I've sorted a Potter" The hat seemed to be speaking directly to Harry's mind. Cold, moist digits dug into his brain, almost scooping out information.
It unnerved him more than a bit.
"Such darkness, a mind razor sharp, you'd make a proud Slytherin." The cloth infiltrator mumbled almost to himself. Which was exceedingly strange considering the voice was still in his head. "But that thirst for knowledge, you want to know so much, almost too much, Ravenclaw might be a better fit." It felt like his mind was dripping, almost shuddering in revulsion, he really wished the thing would make up its mind… Or his.
"Oi! You don't rush certain things boy." The head wear grumbled, personally insulted.
A mumbled "Sorry" later and the telepathic hat was off again.
"Now that heart of yours… Merlin boy what happened?" The question was rhetorical, as the hat continued on, uninterrupted. "So fragile… but not quite. And it's size… Hufflepuff might suit you." Ice cold fingers dug in deep, and teeth clenched. His thoughts squeezed together, a jumbled mountain of memories hitting him full force.
Of days in the school yard, punching his cousin, getting his gangs attention, so that they'd leave the nice girl with a limp, alone.
Staring defiantly in his Uncle's eyes, refusing to bow even an inch.
Of days spent in the warm company of the women who opened his world.
Clenching his eyes shut at the onslaught, he felt airborne, nauseous. Too many contradictory thoughts swimming in his head, fighting for dominance.
And just as soon, the hand was gone.
"Bravery of fire, burning through everything, much done before you were aware." The hat sounded borderline melancholy. "Your not making this easy, boy" Though words scolding, the object sounded entirely too pleased. "Honestly, any house would do you justice, where is it you want to go boy?" It's tone gentle, coaxing almost.
But where did Harry want to go? None of the houses looked any different, well… except for the general air of smugness wafting off the Slytherin's table. Not there. Especially with that blonde prick glaring at him.
Ravenclaw was for the scholastically inclined, if the hat was to be believed. Maybe there? Familiar bushy hair grabbed his attention, lip between her teeth and an almost anxious expression on her face.
"GRIFFYNDOR!" The hat's shout had nearly deafened him. What the hell? Why had the hat picked so suddenly?
It seemed almost smug before hands removed the strange headpiece. He shook his head. Deciding there was no use in deciphering the decisions of a magical hat, he moved to sit at the Griffyndor table. Murmuring greeted his arrival. People talking about "The-Boy-Who-Lived", boasting about how he was 'obviously' going to be sorted into their house. It 'only made sense' for him to join the house of the brave. Like it was some personal accomplishment for them.
He was already tired of it.
"Harry" A voice from his right drew his eyes, Hermione. "Are you…" She trailed off, unsure. "Are you OK?" The witch finished, eyes studying the table. He nodded, though she couldn't see it.
"I'll be fine." Voice a whispered croak.
She looked up at him, unconvinced.
They had discussed many things on the journey here. Favorite foods to most adored authors. Finding a shared love in the classics had been delightful, from Mozart to Beethoven to Ma to Tchaikovsky to so many others. Discussing their differences in play style, where they grasped inspiration from.
He honestly had never had such a pleasant time with someone his age, no one around him seemed remotely interested in learning the differences between an A sharp and a B flat. But this girl, she gave articulated responses to his questions. Adding insightful opinions, like how she thought Bach's integrated use of other cultures in his music helped influence change.
When she questioned the headphones, he told her of his dependence on the art, how the melodies helped soothe his mind. It was the first time Harry had said it out loud, a small insignificant weight lifted. But Hermione seemed troubled by his confession.
Almost guiltily she explained how in Hogwarts: A History, it told of the castles old magic, how it prevented 'muggle technology' from functioning within its walls.
She went on to explain her theory of why it was, of magic feeding on the electricity, treating it as an element of nature.
Harry hardly heard her, so enraptured by the thought of his world being quieted. There was an almost panicky feeling in his chest. But he squashed it down ruthlessly, he could handle this.
It was hardly the worst thing to happen to him.
She gave him an 'are you sure' look and Harry nodded. Hermione nodded back, just before the Headmaster gave an incredibly boring speech. Drowning out the rambling elder, he jumped slightly, when food, all a hearty variety, was laid before them. Though he supposed 'laid' wasn't quite the right term, considering how it just appeared without so much as a pop. Curious.
He'd look into how that was possible, a few laws of physics pushing themselves to the forefront of his mind.
But that was for later, grabbing a turkey leg slathered in gravy, he dug in. Eager to fill his much wanting stomach.
He chose to ignore the red-headed beast sitting across from him, mashing the cuisine into his face, like the boy had just discovered what food was.
Well… at least the meal was good.
Dumbledore peered discreetly over his half-moon spectacles. Watching the young Potter eat his meal, ignoring Molly's son. He had hoped, by casting a minor forgetfulness charm on the boy's letter, that he would meet the Weasely's, asking for help. Trying to help the young orphan establish friendships with the more upstanding pureblood families, an idea he was particularly proud of.
But the boy hadn't asked. He had avoided the red-headed family like the plague. Something that worried the warlock deeply.
The boy was so reserved, Harry seemed almost… reclusive. He hadn't asked anyone for help, just walking around for hours.
Something Dumbledore felt partially guilty about..
He was about to go out and greet the boy, seeing as he was going to miss the train. But Harry had talked to a muggle! Acting friendlier than he had seen him all morning. Thank Merlin the man had a child attending, his quick movement had Harry making it. A relief to the old man.
That did bare the question, why had he been so closed off before?
Perhaps it was his muggle relatives to blame? The aged wizard had known how the Dursley's despised anything magic related, Minerva had told him well enough. While he wouldn't call them "The worst sort" he knew they would have reservations about raising someone so different. It was only human nature, to be wary of the unknown.
That was why he mentioned the security having Harry would bring the house. How they would be safe as long as the boy lived there.
It had worked well enough, Harry was still there after all. But maybe they hadn't been as open minded as he had hoped? The green eyed wizard was nothing like his parents, seemingly fading into the background. Containing none of James's energetic charisma, or Lily's friendly attitude. The boy was guarded, like he was expecting an attack on his person. Did he not know how safe Hogwarts was?
Grabbing his chalice full of pumpkin juice, he took a swig of the bitter concoction, eager to get the suddenly bad taste out of his mouth.
The-Boy-Who-Lived would need to be watched over... too many lives depended on it.
A week into classes and it was like Hermione had never left the muggle world.
Ignoring all the obviously magical aspects, it was like someone had put her life on replay. None of the other wizarding kids were like her, they didn't care about books. Well the Ravenclaw students did, but that was all they cared about. If it wasn't about class the house rarely interacted with other students.
The classes, for some unknown reason, had been strictly Griffyndor and Slytherin, and seemed to be staying that way for the foreseeable future.
Trying to get the houses with the most animosity towards each other to reconcile, perhaps?
It certainly hadn't worked so far. Malfoy, and his two bumbling lackeys, had been on a mission to try and terrorize anyone they thought was an 'easy target'.
Try, being the operative word. Whenever they would corner a student, Harry appeared, like a knight of old. Looking more imposing than a ten-year-old should be capable. Things had never quite come to blows, but Hermione was sure if it did, Harry could handle himself.
Most of the house seemed to share her thoughts, though for different reasons. The brunette couldn't take five steps without hearing something about The-boy-who-lived. About how he had stood up to two Slytherin prefects, defended a maidens virtue, along with other dramatic tales of heroism. She was sure he liked the attention, but every time Harry heard something about his title, he would grimace and walk away.
Odd…
Putting her books down, careful to be as quite as possible, lest Madam Pince lecture her on proper library etiquette. The avian mimicking librarian was quick to anger, always scolding someone for mistreating the literature. Hermione cared for books as well, but Madam Pince took proper book care to an unhealthy level.
Finding her research topic with practices ease, she went about collecting notes on the different levitation charms. Eager to compare them with her texts on brooms. The flying cleaning equipment had caught her interest immediately, watching the sports team soar, so high in the air, so free. Hermione wanted to experience the wonder of flight, having never been airborne before.
Her aeronautical related thoughts were put on hold when, like a shadow, Harry appeared, looming over her.
Scrunching down slightly in reflex, she regarded the boy wearily. Minus the one instance on the train, she hadn't held a conversation with the boy. Harry had always seemed just out of reach, walking around solitarily.
Though the green eyed boy had remained elusive, the brunette had quickly formed a general consensus about most of the student body. No one talked to Hermione Granger without wanting something. Whether it was help with assignments or to poke fun at the bookworm, everybody had a motive.
"What?" She hissed, voice nearly inaudible. It was a library after all.
He took a half step back, seemingly aware of their position. Face a focused mask of thought, the green eyed boy raised a brow at her, almost questioning her inquiry.
But he just shrugged.
"Just curious" Voice a hushed rumble. He had a small smile on his face, entirely too pleased in her opinion. "What cha reading?" His eyes roved over her research, and her hands instinctively covered the open pages.
"N-Nothing" Great, she was stuttering again. Couldn't she have one place where she could relax?
"Nothing, huh? Neat" He had sat down across from her, hands behind his head, green eyes borrowing into hers. Willing her to answer his question. She felt her cheeks heat slightly, thoughts coming in disarrayed, making it impossible to speak.
Hermione didn't know how to handle him…
Harry seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil, either that or he just chose not to comment on it. Tilting his chair back, the wild haired boy sighed. "I'm not gonna bite, you know" He muttered, eyes studying the high ceiling.
If Hermione didn't know any better, she could've sworn he sounded the tiniest bit upset.
"Levitation charms" She blurted out, wincing when she heard the harsh shushing noise the Librarian made in retaliation. "I-I'm studying levitation c-c-charms" The brunette explained, whispering the words carefully.
Instead of questioning why she was studying something they wouldn't cover for at least two months, or poking fun at her. The green eyed boy simply nodded, content with her answer. What did he want exactly? His behavior was odd to say the least. The boy was just so random at times.
Movement in her peripherals snapped her to attention, Levitation: And How It Benefits You was moving across the table, into Harry's hands.
"W-What are y-you doing?" Had he come to mess with her after all?
Harry simply shrugged again. Much to her growing annoyance.
The boy opened the book to page one. Not looking up, eyes reading the information at an impressive pace. He seemed satisfied, just reading the book, sitting across from her without so much as a word of explanation. The bushy haired girl really didn't know what to make of him. Was he interested in studying? Had he come looking for help? He hadn't asked any favors. And he certainly didn't look like he planned to come here.
Sighing, the brunette pushed the mounting puzzle that was Harry Potter from her mind. She would ignore the enigma for now. Picking up where she left off in BroomWorks, Hermione immersed herself in the crafting magic section of the book.
All the while, a small unnoticed smile graced her lips.