A Lightning's Tale

by Riddle Master 101

Harry Potter is abruptly thrown into a different world upon receiving his letter from Hogwarts. Danger stalks him at every turn, light and dark are locked in a constant, eternal battle, and weaving it all together is this substance called magic...

4. The Silence of Winter

Warning: Tiny, tiny bit of slash between the founders (Godric/Salazar). If you don't like that, it's fine. It is literally one line and you can just skip it, and it will never come up again.

Also: This chapter has some confusing POV changes which, I hope, are broken up with space dividers (it's failed before). Sorry if this causes any problems. Please let me know if the dividers are not working!

"Speech"

Thoughts

~Parseltongue~

*Mindspeak*

*Hogwarts*

---

Chapter 4

The days following 'The Troll Incident' (as Harry decided to call it) were surprisingly peaceful. It didn't take Harry very long at all to realize why—no one involved had said a word about what had happened. Naturally, Harry kept silent; it wasn't as if he had anyone to talk to anyway. The Granger girl also didn't say a word, probably because she was shunned by her housemates almost as much as he was.

The teachers weren't talking either, though that reason was rather obvious. It wasn't good for the school's reputation to have a troll wandering around and attacking first-years, and no help arriving until far after the situation required it. The direct result of all of this was simple: despite the rumor mill at Hogwarts (which rivaled that of a political campaign), no word of what happened got to the students, and thus the 'trick' of Halloween was quickly forgotten. Most people assumed the teachers had dealt with the problem.

Harry didn't mind the lack of recognition for his 'heroics' (stupidity) at all. He slumped back into his pattern without so much as a hitch, as if 'The Troll Incident' hadn't actually happened.

His professors, those who had been there that night, acted bizarrely around him for the first few weeks.

Professor McGonagall spent most of his first two transfiguration lessons sending him slight, pitying and grieving glances. She clearly felt bad for her words that night, but Harry did his best to ignore her. She was a fantastic teacher, and was very fair to the Slytherins (especially considering how Professor Snape treated the Gryffindors), but he'd lost some of his respect for her.

Professor Quirrell avoided him. At all costs. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but he wasn't going to object. The less time he had to spend in that man's presence, the fewer headaches he'd get (and the source of those mysterious headaches drove him nuts: nothing, pain relievers or the like, worked to stop them. And they vanished once he was clear of Quirrell's general proximity).

Professor Snape had taken to watching him…again. It was very subtle, and if Harry hadn't had an overdeveloped sense of paranoia, he would never have noticed. The man would watch him through every meal, every class, in halls when they passed each other.

Harry had looked up spells in the library that, when cast, indicated whether or not the castor had tracking charms on them. There was no knowing what lengths his professor might go to (and Harry had a feeling that the potions master had no reservations of doing something illegal), but he found nothing to indicate that Professor Snape was following him. Just…watching. It was utterly unnerving, especially because Harry had no idea why the man was interested in him, and thus he went out of his way to avoid his Head-of-House.

He had the oddest feeling that Professor Snape knew he avoided him, and that this piqued the man's interest even more. Harry resolved to do a better job slinking around the castle.

:~:

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. Harry was not appreciative. The dungeons were frigid (and there wasn't even snow on the ground yet), and he had to wear multiple layers of clothing in order to preserve a sense of warmth. He very quickly learned heating spells and applied them to the covers on his bed, his robes, and his cloak.

The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered with frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver-skin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun.

One would have thought that, out of all the Houses, Slytherin would be the least devoted to the game. After all, they were self-interested, haughty, and did not show feelings in public…but no, they were as die-hard fanatics as the Gryffindors, and the common room (normally quiet with only a faint hint of noise…usually from dueling) became a virtual maelstrom of voices arguing over teams, past games (professional and Hogwarts), players, critiques of the current teams, etc.

In fact, the entire school was fanatical about Quidditch.

The Gryffindors argued loudly—in shouting matches—during all the meals over various Quidditch trivia.

The Hufflepuffs, who should have been the most subdued (their team wasn't that great, and their House had the most muggleborns, none of whom knew of Quidditch before entering the magical world), were unbelievably loyal to their players, and turned out in droves when a game started.

The Ravenclaws, as a House, seemed determined to prove that they weren't just bookworms, and threw their normally level heads into the sport, creating complex strategies in an attempt to prove that knowledge was useful.

The Slytherins were nearly all purebloods (those not so pure hid it well) and had played Quidditch generation after generation, and thus argued, bragged, and compared their Quidditch playing ancestors…back four or more centuries.

Harry was not impressed. At all.

Although given the chance he probably would have loved flying (his year had never gotten off the ground again after that first disastrous lesson), and perhaps, under different circumstances, he would have been phenomenal at Quidditch, Harry had had too many bad experiences with sports in the past.

Sports had always been Dudley's field of expertise, as well as Dudley's gang's. They might have been thrown out of games left and right in gym class due to cheating and fouls, but generally not before they'd successfully beaten Harry to a pulp. Furthermore, Harry had never had the chance to play sports outside of school, as he had so many chores to do and his relatives would have gone nuts if he'd proved to be better than 'their precious Dudders' in anything.

All of this had forever cast a negative connotation on the word or idea of sports, and thus Harry had no desire to have anything to do with Quidditch. His reaction to the sport was noted by his housemates—and although they weren't talking to him, they were very puzzled over his lack of enthusiasm at the commencement of the Quidditch season. However, they never bothered to ask, and Harry didn't bother to explain.

Instead, he used the wondrous quiet that took over the castle during a Quidditch game to explore the castle and the library. (Unbelievably, almost all the teachers turned out to attend the things—but then again, he was fairly positive he was the only student remaining in the school, and no one noticed his absence).

Through trial and error, Harry found a trove of Parseltongue locked passages that twisted and wound all over the school, from the tallest tower to the deep dungeons. These passages occasionally connected to the regular secret passages which, apparently, also honeycombed their way across the castle.

This latter set of passages appeared to be well known, as Harry had almost run into both the Weasley twins and Filch when he was exploring one day; it had been a very near miss, and the only thing that had saved him was the Parseltongue activated wall between the different passage networks, which he'd managed to slip behind and close just in time. The direct result of this incident was his avoidance of the main secret passages. Consequently, he became very hard to catch when out after curfew.

Still, having more free time than any other student (they attended Quidditch games and practices, and actually respected curfew) allowed him to make marvelous discoveries. Deep in the dungeons, he found old, unused Potions classrooms, still stacked with ancient cauldrons and molding ingredients (and he definitely knew what he'd be using them for. A perfect place to practice brewing…without having to worry about blowing up the entire school—the Potions classrooms were warded against it). He found un-trodden wings of the castle, with dust so thick that it appeared no one had been there in years. These, in turn, led him to more unused classrooms, filled with the most fascinating objects (even if most of them were broken).

In an old part of the castle, Harry had found an ancient ghost. This ghost, although nearly incoherent and unable to hold a straight conversation for the world, proved to be a wealth of information and very entertaining. Harry couldn't rely on him to answer questions, but every so often in the course of his rambling dialogue the ghost would drop a gem of information about Hogwarts. Like: "watch out for that eighth staircase up from the Great Hall. It has a vanishing step half way up" or "You have to pace back and forth three times in front of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry in order to get to the 'Come and Go' room" (Harry was still looking into that one).

The 'gem' he was currently following was one related to the kitchens: "to enter the kitchens, tickle the painted pear". This was actually a lot harder than Harry had initially thought. For one thing, he hadn't realized just how many paintings had pears in them. Furthermore, many of the paintings got annoyed when he randomly went and tickled said pear. Secondly—he realized with a jolt—the kitchens could be in a part of the castle he hadn't yet discovered. This thought evoked a frantic search until he gathered his wits about him and sat down to contemplate the situation.

After a few minutes discussion with Sebastian (who stayed with Harry constantly after 'The Troll Incident') Harry headed towards the Great Hall, reasoning that the kitchens, since they prepared the food, would be somewhere in its general vicinity. Of course, the food was transported there magically—and thus the kitchens didn't need to be close by—but at least it was a starting point.

Harry spent an entire Quidditch match covering every square inch around the Great Hall—exploring side corridors, finding a few more Parseltongue passages, and discovering a handful of tiny rooms (no bigger than his cupboard) situated so that one could observe the Great Hall from a few floors up without being seen. Eventually, he wandered down into the lower levels below the Great Hall, and it was there he found an enormous painting of a bowl of fruit. It included a pear.

With great trepidation (other paintings had yelled at him…even if no human occupants could be seen), Harry tickled the pear.

To his absolute astonishment, it giggled back at him and revealed a handle. Grinning to himself, he slowly opened the portrait, stepped inside, and stopped short at the bustle of activity taking place before his eyes. What in the… he thought hazily, staring in disbelief at the small creatures racing around, chopping ingredients, slamming pots and pans, and generally causing a great deal of commotion.

Of course, they chose this moment to realize he was there.

The creatures around him froze, and then two of them hurried over.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" one squeaked at him, "We is delighted to see yous here!"

Before Harry quite knew what had happened, he was seated at a small table and a platter of sweets was plopped down in front of him. Tentatively, Harry accepted one and saw the creature, whatever it was, beam at him.

"Mr. Harry Potter be needing anything else?" the little being asked.

"Umm…" Harry stuttered, trying to phrase this in a polite manner, "Could you answer a couple of questions for me?"

"I is being delighted, sir!"

"What, exactly, are you?"

"I is a house elf, sir!" at Harry's completely blank look, the crea—no, house elf—decided to elaborate, "We is taking care of the castle and stuff."

"So…you do the cleaning, deal with food, and the like?"

The house elf nodded ecstatically.

"And, what is your name?"

"I is Snippit, sir!"

The house elf seemed completely astounded that Harry would ask him something like that. Harry, dazed and more than a little confused by the information, thanked the house elf for his (or her, he really couldn't tell) time and for the food. To his astonishment and slight horror, the little thing looked like it was about to burst into tears at the statement, but it managed to calm itself down and scurried off back to work. Harry chewed idly on a chocolate bar and contemplated the scenario playing out before him.

The house elves bustled around cooking and cleaning. In a different part of the kitchens, some appeared to be doing laundry, while others folded bed spreads and fluffed pillows. He watched, with no small astonishment, as a pot tipped over and soup began to spill out onto the floor. The house elf nearby snapped its fingers and the liquid halted, then rose back up and deposited itself in the now righted pot. Harry shook his head in bewilderment.

Watching the very organized chaos, Harry felt a small tingle of something in the back of his mind. Focusing on the emotion (which he couldn't identify), he finally realized that he didn't like this image of the wizarding world. The house elves reminded him too much of his time with the Dursleys—they moved with the same frantic hurry that he did in an attempt to get every chore done before his uncle came home and beat him to pieces.

He didn't think that the people in the castle would do that to these creatures, but the haste in which they moved made him unsure.

And if these house elves did all the manual labor, what did the wizards do? Did they just sit back and enjoy themselves (like the Dursleys), while letting these creatures work themselves into the ground?

~I don't like this,~ Harry hissed to Sebastian, ~I don't like this at all.~

~It's a different culture, amigo,~ his friend tried to comfort him, ~Don't make blind accusations without knowing all the details.~ Harry nodded in acknowledgement of what Sebastian had said, but still a feeling of foreboding worked its way into his mind. He got up and silently left the kitchens, not entirely at ease with what he'd found there.

Once outside the kitchens, he was able to calm himself a bit and return to his explorations. To his amusement, he found a 'snake' passage (as he'd taken to calling the Parseltongue passageways) directly across from the fruit bowl painting. Apparently, Salazar Slytherin wanted easy access to the kitchens, he thought to himself. The snake (which marked the entrance of the passage) was very poorly carved; anyone else would take it for an odd crack…but then again, this was Hogwarts. Odd cracks simply did not exist without a distinct purpose. Wizards, Harry concluded as he stepped inside, must therefore be blind and oblivious to the world around them if they missed so many obvious clues.

:~:

November grew colder and colder as the days passed. Harry took to wearing multiple layers and a scarf around his neck at all times (this had the convenient side effect of hiding bruises he got from bullying). The dungeons were frigid to the point where he could see his breath in the air, and Harry grumbled about wizards, magic, and still a lack of warmth.

"It isn't like there aren't heating spells," he groused to himself as he roamed around the lower dungeons. This area was highly unexplored, for the lower dungeons were a maze of passages and it was very easy to get lost. Sebastian had a great sense of direction and that was the only reason Harry had decided to wander around down here. Well, aside from the fact that no one, not even his Head-of-House, Filch, or Mrs. Norris came down this far, despite the fact that it was way past curfew.

"You'd think that the Headmaster, being the all-powerful wizard he is, would be capable of making the dungeons warm enough to live in, but no." More grumbling to himself.

To his utter disbelief and horror, the air around him suddenly grew warmer. He froze, not daring to move an inch, as the air continued to heat up, until he could feel the tip of his nose again. Then, the mysterious heat stopped.

Harry remained unmoving for quite a long time, but nothing stirred either behind or before him (or to either side, below, or above…he was paranoid enough to remember to check). He slowly staggered over to the nearest wall and slumped against it, sliding down to the floor and breathing hard.

What in Hell just happened? He thought frantically to himself, his mind crawling with shock.

~Amigo, are you alright? What just happened?~

~I don't know,~ he hissed back, ~Good God…Seb, did you see anyone…anything?~

~No amigo.~

Still reeling at the mysterious occurrence, Harry leaned his head back against the wall.

*Better?*

Harry shrieked (out loud, to his later embarrassment), causing Sebastian to unwind himself in a flash and turn into his enormous boa constrictor form.

~Amigo?!~

Harry, breathing quite loudly, searched frantically around to see where the…voice…had come from. He was hesitant to call it that, because it wasn't so much words spoken as an idea felt.

"Who…what…?" he croaked, unable to comprehend.

Soft laughter filtered through his mind, along with an image of a castle with four young people standing in front of it.

And suddenly, Harry understood. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to, and his mind was having a hard time trying to convince himself that he wasn't going crazy from sleep deprivation, but Harry did realize what was "talking" to him.

Hogwarts.

It wasn't possible, really. Hogwarts: A History said over and over that, although it was rumored the castle was half-sentient, it was incapable of thought or speech. Yet Harry had been presented with the evidence of both.

"Did, did you do this?" he stuttered, waving his hand in the warmer air.

*Yes*

~Amigo, who are you talking to?~ Sebastian asked in a worried voice. Harry supposed he was behaving oddly, as he appeared to be conversing with thin air.

~Seb, I think I'm talking to Hogwarts…~

~The castle?!~

~…~

Again, laughter in his mind. Harry—deciding in for a penny, in for a pound—asked:

"So, sir or lady, you can…talk?" He was rather unsure as to how to address the ancient castle, but he wasn't willing to risk being impolite.

A flurry of images and thoughts assaulted his mind, causing Harry to grip his head at the onslaught of a sudden headache. The images and thoughts suddenly stopped.

*Sorry*

Harry tried to puzzle through what he'd just seen.

"You can only use very basic words. You can't form sentences, though you can understand them. Instead, you communicate through feelings and images." He announced slowly.

A tingle of joy swept through him, and Harry felt him mind engulfed in what felt like a brief hug.

"And it appears," he continued with a sigh, "That it is you that's been the little 'voice' in the back of my mind."

*Yes*

~Umm…amigo?~

"And apparently, Sebastian can't hear you."

*No*

"Joy" he grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall again.

~Well, Sebastian, it appears as though I'm either going crazy, or I'm actually talking to a castle. Which, do you think, is worse?~

The image of the word 'crazy' appeared in Harry mind, surrounded by a big red circle with a line through it.

"Not crazy, hey? And I thought that was a muggle symbol?"

A new flurry of images of various people who appeared to be confused and delighted by the simplest bits of magic. Harry recognized a couple of them, including Hermione Granger.

"Ahh, you get muggle stuff from muggleborns. On that note, do you 'learn' things because you listen to all the students?"

*Yes*

Harry nodded thoughtfully, watching as Sebastian tried to absorb what he'd said previously.

~You know, amigo, it's rather difficult to follow a one sided conversation.~

~Sorry, Seb.~

~Not your fault.~

The image of a person saying "not your fault" (complete with sound) echoed through his mind at the exact same time. Harry blinked as a realization that should have struck him earlier finally hit.

"Wait, how can you understand Parseltongue?"

A new blizzard of images. They started with a young man who—surprisingly enough—looked somewhat similar to Harry, only older and appearing to be from the 1940's, based on his dress style. He hissed at a sink in a bathroom and it dropped down to reveal a large pipe. Another person, this time a young woman from a previous era (Harry didn't recognize exactly where her dress came from, but it was before 1900) conversing in hisses with a portrait.

More images, coming quicker and quicker, young men and women, boys and girls, throughout the ages, hissing at various parts of the school or at pet snakes. They blurred together, until Harry couldn't tell which was which, before suddenly stopping.

Harry turned this last image over in his mind. It was a young man, with startling green eyes, running his hand along the wall of the castle fondly as he strode down the corridor.

"Hurry up, Sal!" a voice echoed through the stonework, and the young man grinned, picking up his stride.

"Oh for the sake of grace, Godric, we'll be on time for dinner! Always thinking with your stomach," 'Sal' replied in a light, lilting voice, rounding the corridor and grinning at another young man, this one with a shock of red hair. The Founders, Harry thought with disbelieving awe, the very young Founders. He felt Hogwarts swirl with emotions regarding these two people.

"What took you so long?" Godric Gryffindor asked curiously, as the two headed down the corridor.

"I was just conversing with our Lady," Salazar Slytherin replied, running his fingers once more along the wall of the castle and making it clear who he was talking about.

"Sal, you know that Hogwarts, as a castle, is neither male nor female," Godric commented with a grin.

"Nonsense, such a beautiful castle must be female," Salazar said archly. The castle wall glowed briefly under his hand, and he turned a smug expression on his companion.

"Flatterer," Godric murmured, leaning over and kissing Salazar quickly, but firmly, on the mouth, before the two entered the Great Hall.

The memory ended.

"Wait," Harry said, reeling at the implications of what he'd just seen, "Wait, wait, wait. So not only were Salazar and Godric friends, like the Sorting Hat said, but they were also lovers?"

He felt the tingle just before Hogwarts sent images into his mind and his eyes widened.

"No! STOP! I don't want to see it!"

The tingle went away, and Harry sighed with relief. Crisis averted and potential scaring for life momentarily set aside. A thought jolted him and he briefly wondered how much…well…pornography Hogwarts had from watching students all the time. He quickly decided that he didn't want to know.

"So why do Slytherins and Gryffindors now hate each other?"

Hogwarts gave the mental equivalent of a shrug.

"May I call you 'my lady'?"

*Nod*along with something that felt like a hug.

Apparently, the castle liked the term. But then again, it clearly loved the Founders, and if the phrase reminded it of Salazar, well…

~Amigo, we're going to have to work something out. I can't keep missing out on half of this…fascinating….conversation.~

~Sorry, Seb. Give me a moment?~

"Lady, can I talk to you in my mind, instead of out loud?"

*Yes* followed by a series of arrows bending in different directions, all ending up pointing to a castle.

"But I have to direct the thought at you?"

*Yes*

"Is it possible for you to reply to Sebastian at the same time you reply to me?"

*No, sorry*

~Sorry, Seb. Hogwarts can't do anything about it.~

~Oh well, amigo. Just summarize the things when you're not talking to the castle.~

~Will do~

Harry rose from his position against the wall and began walking down the corridor once more.

*Lady,* he thought at the castle, feeling a tingle of joy that was not his own (apparently, it worked), *I really appreciate that you heated up the air around me, but when I go back up to the regular part of the castle, it's going to have to stop.*

*Why*

*I can't have anyone noticing that I'm a walking bubble of hot air. And although I complain a lot about how cold it is, if the entire dungeons suddenly warmed up without the teachers doing anything…*

*Oh*

*So…what else can you tell me about the Founders?*

:~:

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

The dungeons got steadily colder. Harry was thankful for Potions, because it gave him an excuse to be near a fire (he didn't dare compete for those prized places in the Slytherin common room, not while his housemates still weren't talking to him). He devoted hours of his study time to researching stronger and stronger heating spells in the library, in hopes that one of these mornings he wouldn't wake up half frozen, stiff with cold, with Sebastian nearly strangling him due to how tightly he wrapped himself around Harry's torso.

On one morning like this, Harry idly mused on what would happen if he got hypothermia. Perhaps the staff would finally put up heating charms, so he could have an excuse for Hogwarts to warm him…although he was getting closer and closer to just taking the castle up on its offer.

Classes were a waste of time. The students—first-years especially—babbled on and on about what the Christmas celebrations were like at their homes and what they hoped to receive as gifts. When the sign-up lists came around (for those who were staying at Hogwarts), Harry realized that he was one of the two Slytherins remaining behind. The other was a seventh-year who wanted to study for the NEWTs and didn't believe he could accomplish this at home. Then again, if Harry had had any other option, he wasn't sure he'd want to stay in the freezing dungeons either. Going to the Dursleys, though? Infinitely worse.

Harry wasn't looking forward to the holidays with the same thrilling enthusiasm as his classmates, but he anticipated that this year would be better than all previous ones (not that that was very hard). He would be able to spend nearly unlimited time in the library, after all. He really hoped to finish the Founders' Book on magic over the break, and to do that, he'd need a lot of quiet time to study.

So the month of December passed quickly for everyone in the castle. The students gossiped and chattered, growing more and more stir-crazy as the days went by. The teachers went nuts trying (and failing) to keep the students focused on the topic—well, except for Professor Snape: no one would dare gossip in his class. Hagrid brought in enormous Christmas trees to fill the Great Hall and Professor Flitwick spent hours charming Christmas ornaments onto them (Harry spent hours watching him, taking notes on what spells he used, and then practicing them. Not that he wanted to know how to make Christmas ornaments, but one never knows when a spell like that might become useful).

Before he knew it, the holidays were on them, and Harry was—for once in his life—happy and content. He had two friends to talk to (ignoring the fact that one was an ancient castle and the other was a snake), unlimited free time (it's not like curfew actually applied to him anymore), and nearly all of the students were gone (it didn't feel like he was being ignored when there was no one there to do the ignoring. The seventh-year really didn't count—he was, after all, studying). Yes, this holiday would be something special.

---

"Albus, you need to do something about this," Irma Pince announced as she walked into the staff meeting, three days after the students had left. The staff members were slumped over various pieces of furniture (with the exception of Severus, who simply didn't slump), thoroughly enjoying the lack of cretins in the castle—or at least, that's what the potions master had said upon arrival. After dealing with them for the past month, most of the staff was willing to let it side, if not completely agree with him.

"What's the problem, Irma?" Albus asked in that soft, omnipotent way of his—although the effect was rather lost around the candy cane he had in his mouth.

"It's Mr. Potter. You have to talk to the boy or something," the librarian said with a sigh, sinking into an armchair and gratefully accepting a glass of spiked eggnog from Minerva. Dear Merlin, two weeks until Christmas, and the Deputy Headmistress was already adding alcohol to the drinks—who knew what would happen the closer they got to that sugar-induced holiday? She shuddered at the thought of the remaining students on a sugar high. Then again, maybe it was best they were spiking things this early. "This is really going too far," she added.

The staff spent a moment blinking at her statement.

"What, did he do something?" Minerva wondered, in a tone reminiscent of James Potter's days at Hogwarts.

"Oh, no. The child's absolutely fine…I'm just a little worried about him."

"Why?" Poppy asked, looking as though she were itching to get her hands on him and tuck him into an infirmary bed for a week. She acted this way around all the students, but Harry Potter hadn't slipped up and gotten himself injured yet; thus, with him, she hadn't been able to fulfill this particular dream.

"Well…it's not normal, is it, for eleven-year-old boys to spend their every waking moment in the library? I mean, he's there when I open it in the morning and he leaves when I close it. He only takes breaks for meals, and not even that, sometimes. And it's not like it's just been the last three days, either," she added, seeing the disbelieving expressions on the staff, "He does it every weekend and whenever he doesn't have class. I don't mind the child being in there: he treats the books better than anyone else and is absolutely silent; why, half the time I don't even know he's there! But, well, he has absolutely no social life."

Silence. Severus sighed inaudibly. He had been observing the boy over the past month and had noticed what Irma pointed out—the child didn't have any friends. It was even greater than that: no one would talk to him at all. It was as if he simply didn't exist, outside of the class work he turned in. It was also, needless to say, not the expected image for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus had been more than a slightly startled when the little brat had signed up to stay for the holidays. No one willingly stayed in the dungeons (except for that seventh-year, but he had NEWTs and numerous, sugar obsessed siblings, it was understandable). Not for the first time, Severus wondered what the boy's home-life was like. The kid wasn't normal.

"Care to offer any insight into this problem, Severus?" the Headmaster asked, a hint of concern making itself known around the candy cane.

"None," the potions master replied, to the staff's astonishment. Severus always noticed something they had not. "The boy won't talk to me and I can't seem to corner him, no matter how many times I know he's out after curfew."

"So put him in detention for it and find out then" Sydney muttered, "It's not as if you're not dying to do so anyway."

"I can't prove it," Severus admitted, as though it pained him, "He's found some way to bypass the alarm on the common room."

"You put an alarm on your common room?!" Pomona demanded, incensed.

"If you had caught as many 'midnight rendezvous' as I have, you would do so as well."

"Please, if we could focus on the problem…" Albus attempted to return order while simultaneously trying to un-stick his candy cane from his beard.

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Minerva groaned, flicking her wand in his direction. The candy cane became un-stuck. Albus beamed at her.

"Why thank you, my dear. Now, we shall attempt to talk to Mr. Potter about his lack of friends and encourage him to interact with his fellow classmates. Irma, I'd appreciate it if you would shoo Mr. Potter out of the library after a few hours every day. That would do for a start. And Severus, my dear boy, please try to engage him in some form of conversation. Peppermint, anyone?"

"No thank you, Albus," Leonardo said, rising quickly and dragging Severus after him, followed by a snickering Sydney. At being called 'my dear boy', the potions master had developed an expression that somehow conveyed the possibility of assassinating the Headmaster with a quill. Not wanting to put Severus's creative genius to the test, Leo thought it was best to vacate the premises as soon as possible.

---

In hindsight, Harry realized that he should have known the holidays were the perfect time for the teachers to notice his isolation and decide to do something about it. They had no other projects to work on, and must have finally opened their eyes and concluded that socializing Harry Potter would be a fantastic holiday present.

Unfortunately for them, Harry was not appreciative of their efforts and unwilling to cooperate. Equally unfortunate, he had an intelligent snake and a sentient castle on his side.

Really, it was no wonder they failed in their goal so horribly.

The 'war' started the fourth day of Christmas Break. Harry was in the library, struggling through the Founders' Book, with a scroll of notes beside him (and 24 feet of that already taken up by miniscule writing). Thus, he was startled when the librarian, who normally left him alone, came over and insisted he go out and play.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pince, but I'd rather read." Harry said quietly. The librarian would not be deterred.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that I must insist you leave. It isn't healthy for a boy your age to spend all your time cooped up over a book. Now, shoo."

Right, because it's healthy to be beaten to a pulp by the upperclassmen and my relatives. Oh well…Harry was rather annoyed with her, but decided to leave without a fuss. Better to show that he was compliant with orders. It wouldn't do for them to think he had no respect for authority anymore.

Harry packed away his book, notes, quill, and (although Madam Pince didn't see it) his snake, who had taken advantage of a practiced heating charm on a chair and was curled up napping. With minor grumbling, Sebastian re-curled himself around Harry's torso under his robes and went back to sleep. Harry left the library quietly.

He was not surprised to see one of the staff (his astronomy teacher, as a matter of fact) patrolling the corridor directly outside. He waited until her back was turned, then snuck in the opposite direction as fast as he could, barely avoiding another professor coming down a perpendicular corridor.

Dear God, they really want to talk to me for some reason. So, a game of hide-and-seek it is. Pity that they don't stand a chance.

*My lady, I need a minor distraction,* he asked Hogwarts very politely; he wasn't sure that the castle wanted to be brought into this battle—after all, the staff did rank higher than him in the castle's hierarchy.

Hogwarts's mischievous laughter echoed around him, dissolving his doubt. Oh yes, the teachers had no hope of winning this game with the castle itself on his side.

Professor Astley—who taught Ancient Runes—suddenly tripped over what appeared to be thin air. Cursing Peeves, he turned and glared back the way he had come, allowing Harry to slide up to the wall and duck behind a tapestry.

Harry quickly hissed the password to the snake passage and slipped in. He listened intently to the corridor, and was rewarded for his efforts.

---

After looking around for the poltergeist, Sydney continued on his way to the library. The staff had elected that he speak to Potter first, as he had a rather easy going personality and, unlike Leo, didn't tend to put his foot in his mouth. He was a little surprised when he ran into Aurora.

"What are you—"

"Oh, Albus asked me to wait around out here and follow the boy when he left the library."

"Isn't Irma supposed to have kicked him out by now?"

"Why don't we—"

A new voice entered the conversation.

"Yes, and I did so. Aren't you two supposed to be talking to him, now?"

"You mean he already left?" Aurora asked in astonishment. She'd been paying rather close attention, or so she'd thought.

"Yes, just a minute ago."

Sydney cursed softly. That meant he was responsible for missing the kid too. Severus was never going to let him live this down.

"Thanks Irma," he said gloomily. The potions master had told him over and over that the kid was impossible to catch in the corridors. The librarian returned to her beloved books and Aurora and Sydney shared a hopeless glance.

"Right, you go this way and I'll go that way. Maybe we'll find him and Severus won't laugh at us too much."

They split up.

---

Harry stifled giggles at his professors' hopeless tone. To think, he was causing the staff at Hogwarts to run around the castle like mad rabbits looking for him. Well, it was time to hide in the one place they'd never expect him to be—after all, unless one was capable of using the snake passages, it was impossible to sneak into the library without Madam Pince noticing. She probably had a proximity ward on the door.

He crept along the passage and through two more to reroute to the back of the library.

*Any idea why the staff are trying to talk to me?* he asked the castle.

Hogwarts sent him a flurry of images, all picturing the staff with concern written on their features. It halted on an image of the staff room with the librarian commenting on his lack of a social life.

*You have to be kidding me. They're only doing something about that now? But it's been going on all year!*

*Shrug*

*And they think I'll talk to them?*

Another image, this one of Professor Snape saying: "The boy won't talk to me and I can't seem to corner him, no matter how many times I know he's out after curfew".

Point to Professor Snape, Harry thought. Really, the man was too intelligent for his own good. Harry would have to be really careful to not run into him in the future.

*And so now that my Head-of-House can't talk to me, they've decided to take it on themselves?*

Another image. This time, it was the Headmaster, saying, "My dear boy, the child simply needs a helping hand. I'm sure we'll work out all the problems and he'll be happily making friends before too long; I just need to find an excuse to invite him up to my office."

This proved to be too much. Harry slid down the wall of the passage, sticking his fist into his mouth and hurriedly casting a silencing charm on himself so he wouldn't alert anyone in the corridor. Then, he completely broke down laughing.

After he managed to recover, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he started back towards the library.

Thanks, my lady. I needed that.

Hogwarts wrapped him in a mental hug.

:~:

Harry set up his study area directly outside the door to the snake passage. If he had to make a quick get-away, he didn't want to have to twist and turn through the shelves. Hogwarts seemed to be doing its best to help him hide from the librarian, and the bookcases rearranged themselves into an impassible maze around his small study area. No one, student, teacher, or librarian, would be able to find him unless they were lost beyond belief. And even then, they wouldn't be able to get to him without knocking over a few bookcases. Yes, it was perfect.

Harry rearranged the table and three chairs to suit his needs, then cast a rather powerful heating charm on a cushion. He placed the cushion on a chair and Sebastian on the cushion. The snake woke up at the change of environment and demanded to know why they were back in the library, when they had so obviously been kicked out.

~Honestly, Sebastian, she told me to get out, not stay out! If her instructions could be interpreted differently than she intended, then she should have been more specific.~

He then proceeded to retell his 'daring escape' from the two teacher-stalkers. Sebastian was quite put out to know he'd missed it.

~Next time, amigo, wake me up!~

Harry agreed, before suddenly going silent. This part of the library was particularly dark (aside from his faint lumos spell), yet a flickering light—that of a candle—was approaching. She can't have found us already…but the light was too high up for it to be held by a person.

Suddenly, a candle stalked through the air over a bookcase. Harry's mouth dropped open, and he knew Sebastian wore a similar expression. The puddle of wax at the bottom of the candle formed two foot-like projections, which moved in over-exaggerated tiptoe strides through the air. Tiny facial features seemed to be molded near flame and, when it saw Harry gaping at it, a spindly arm (complete with five tiny fingers) detached itself from the stem and waved cheekily at him.

The candle settled itself down in an iron bracket on the wall, next to the snake passage.

Harry blinked in utter bewilderment. He distantly heard Hogwarts snickering at his reaction and rightfully concluded that the candles were moving over to him based on the castle's directions. That still didn't explain what just happened.

He'd been around magic for quite some time now. He probably knew more spells than any other first-year (and even a lot of the third-years), he could heal almost any wound he received, he probably knew more of Hogwarts than any other person alive…he'd seen unbelievable impossibilities (from the muggle perspective), from turning desks into pigs to flying on brooms. But never, never had he imagined that candles could not only 'walk' through air, but also appear to have a personality of their own. He gaped in shock.

It didn't help his state of mind when five more crept over the bookcases and situated themselves around his study area.

Finally, as the minutes began to drag on, Harry shook himself and began unpacking his notes and books once more.

*Thank you, although a little warning would be nice next time,* he told Hogwarts, while thanking the candles out loud. The castle snickered again, and Harry decided to ignore it in favor of getting more work done.

:~:

For the rest of the week, the intent game of 'hide-and-seek' that Harry and the teachers were playing escalated. It got to the point where he stopped going to the library altogether in order to avoid the inevitable ambush that waited outside the doors for him (well, legally at least. He actually spent most of his time in the study area Hogwarts had created for him in the library. But the staff didn't need to know that.).

He avoided the Great Hall like the plague, going so far as to skip two days' worth of food before Sebastian yelled at him and he remembered the kitchens.

Unfortunately for the staff, they were unaware of his second sanctuary.

---

"Arghhh! That little brat is impossible! And quit snickering, Severus, it isn't funny," Sydney complained as he stormed into the staff meeting. The staff didn't bother to ask who he was talking about—they were all here to discuss one particular individual.

"I agree, I've never seen such good evasive tactics before in my life. If that kid decides to join the aurors, he'll pass his stealth test hands down. I think the most I've seen of him in the past few days was the swish of a cloak as he sped around a corner. Of course, by the time I got there, he was out of sight again." Leo exclaimed, being the only person on the staff to find the challenge of catching the elusive Boy-Who-Lived entertaining. Everyone else was getting steadily pissed off.

"You know, Severus, when you said he avoided you and you couldn't corner him, I didn't really believe you…until now," Filius found the situation enlightening, and lamented again the fact that the child wasn't in his House. The boy must be using stealth charms, and with the freezing one he used at Halloween…the kid had so much potential. Yet, like the potions master, he couldn't corner the boy long enough to discuss it.

Severus managed to refrain from saying "I told you so" to the staff as they complained, but it was a near thing.

The Headmaster, he noted with utter annoyance, was sucking on another candy cane. Honestly, there were times that he greatly wanted to snatch that cavity-evoking stick out of the man's mouth and shove it—

"Severus," Minerva said, in a tone that implies this wasn't the first time she'd called his name. His eyes jerked over to meet hers, and she shook her head in slight disapproval, although he could read a similar longing in her eyes. How on earth did that woman always know what he was thinking about, especially when he was contemplating murdering the Headmaster? His Occlumency shields were up and everything. It was bloody infuriating!

"Now, now," Albus finally turned his attention away from the candy and to the discussion, "I'm sure that Harry will realize how much a long talk will help his mind…he'll come to us!"

Severus's eyebrows shot up. Minerva sighed—a long, much-put-upon sigh. Filius snickered. Some people shook their heads. Pomona decided to shatter the Headmaster's illusions.

"No, Albus, I don't believe that Mr. Potter will come to us. How long has it been since you seriously interacted with adolescents? They refuse to talk about anything that's bothering them…especially teenage boys."

"Hmm, well if you say so. We'll simply have to try harder. If things don't improve by Christmas, I'll invite him up for a chat. Now, would anyone care for a Pfeffernüsse?"

He proffered a basket of round biscuit-like-things.

"A what?" Minerva demanded, shooting a reproving glare at Rolanda (who was the current one responsible for keeping the Headmaster from acquiring new sweets).

"A Pfeffernüsse. They're very good." Albus sighed blissfully as he bit into one.

Severus left the room as quickly as possible, hearing Minerva and Poppy begin to rant at the Headmaster about cavities and the problems sweets tended to have on one's health.

He had a theory about Potter that he wanted to check out, and while the staff was otherwise occupied would be a perfect time.

---

Harry could have smacked himself as he walked through the snake passages (his main mode of transportation over the holidays) towards the kitchens. Honestly, he'd found the kitchens ages ago, and the house elves had practically forced food on him last time. He couldn't believe that he'd starved himself for two days before remembering this fact.

Although starved was a bit of an exaggeration. Really, at the Dursleys' he'd had it far worse. Still, it wouldn't do to keep avoiding meals, even in the name of research. And besides, sooner or later he'd have to make an appearance in the Great Hall, and he'd rather do it when he wouldn't have to worry about fainting from hunger.

He slipped out of the snake passage (although not before looking around to make sure no one was watching) and approached the fruit bowl painting. He tickled the pear and slinked inside, causing as little noise as possible. Good, the house elves haven't noticed me yet.

Harry glanced around, looking for a good place to sit, eat, and continue to do research. His eyes slid over a table in a dark corner and he frowned. Normally he would have sat at that one, as it was an easy place to hide and slip into the shadows, but for some reason, he didn't want to go over there. How…odd. He continued to scan the room, his eyes flicking over the spot a few more times, each time being diverted away. Well that's…interesting.

Moving in the opposite direction of the table, Harry eventually settled himself down near a different corner, one that was not immediately visible from the door. His movement attracted the house elves, and they bounced over, asking what they could get him. He didn't particularly mind the commotion—it helped distract from the fact that he was eyeing the corner again. Survival rule, number who-knows-what:

Trust your instincts. If they tell you something's off, listen to them.

Don't draw attention to the fact that you've noticed something odd.

After a few moments of very careful, very discrete observation, he reasoned that the 'whatever-it-was' wouldn't bother him in a room full of devoted house elves. Too many witnesses. So, eating the food said creatures had made for him, he returned to the Founders' Book and his research on magic. He briefly pressed a hand to Seb to warn him that they had company, and then proceeded to get to work.

---

Severus was actually rather impressed. The brat had managed to stay in the kitchens for a whole three minutes before being noticed by the house elves. He wasn't even sure he could accomplish that, though he'd never tried.

And then there was the fact that the little monster had noticed him. Well, the boy clearly didn't know what he'd noticed; he'd have high-tailed it out of there if he thought a teacher was in the room.

Severus, although initially surprised that his invisibility and notice-me-not ward appeared to fail when confronted by the brat, realized quickly that the boy couldn't actually see through the ward, he'd just noticed something was there.

The potions master had scoffed when the boy turned and walked away, apparently dismissing his misgivings. However, he caught himself as the brat—while conversing with the house elves—very subtly eyed the corner where he was sitting once more. If Severus hadn't been looking for it, if he hadn't been a spy who'd trained himself to find moves like this, he would never have noticed.

He sank back into his chair, watching as the boy pulled out a book and pressed a hand to his side for a moment. He wondered if the boy had managed to get injured.

His eyebrows rose as the brat pulled out a very thick scroll that was filled with writing, and he watched as the boy proceeded to read the book and scribble notes, all the while eating with his other hand. Ambidextrous, are we, Mr. Potter? And why hasn't this come out in class?

He continued to observe the boy for a long time…long after Potter finished eating, although the boy seemed reluctant to move. He's probably quite aware of the fact that the teachers are hunting him all over the school. Yes, better to stay where they defiantly won't look for you than risk being found. After all, who would expect a first-year to find the kitchens before Christmas?

Finally, noticing that the boy's notes appeared to have stilled and that he was reading the same page spread over and over again, Severus decided it was time.

And now, Mr. Potter, we need to have a little conversation.

---

Harry stared intently at the page in front of him. There was no way he was translating this right. He really wished he had his dictionary with him, but he'd forgotten it in his room. He blinked. Nope, there was no way this was a correct translation.

The Founders' Book was proving to be a fascinating read. The book started off with chapter after chapter explaining the basics of magic, including: current theories (well, of that time) of where it came from, how it was passed down from generation to generation, and how it actually worked in the body. As the Founders were from pre-1000, they didn't have the greatest knowledge on how the human body worked, but their theories on how magic flowed in the body and what it was tied to were very interesting.

Then there were three whole chapters dedicated to different types of meditation, along with detailed explanations of why a person would like one form over another. There was a section on mind-reading, how that worked, and the advice to simply avoid looking into anyone's eyes unless you were confident in you shields (though what they meant by that Harry hadn't found out yet).

There were more chapters on why Latin was the language behind most spells (it was the most widely known language at the time people began to write them down, and although the main language had changed since then, the spell itself had remained in Latin). Another few focused on why wand movements worked.

And then the book turned to wands: how they were made, how they differed from staffs, why the ingredients of a wand were important, and much more. The book discussed things Harry had never heard of in relation to real magic, like focus crystals and stones, holy water, the different effects of metals on spells and magic creatures, the power of religious symbols, etc.

It was utterly fascinating.

However, now Harry had finally uncovered a topic that he had enormous interest in, and which he'd been taught—his whole Hogwarts career—was impossible.

In Hogwarts, he (and all the other first-years) learned that exact pronunciation of a spell and perfect wand movement was necessary to make a spell work. Accidental magic, which happened on occasion with untrained wizards (read: children), was the product of magic reacting to intense emotion, and was thus fundamentally unpredictable. For an actual spell to work, knowledge of how to cast the spell was required. This concept was then drilled into the students' heads for the next seven years, and even more, if one decided to master in something. A wizard could get the general effect while botching one of the two necessities, but to get the exact result, said wizard must use the correct spells and movement. Harry had even read about people who could cast silently and wandlessly (like Dumbledore). However, they still had to think the spell they wanted to use.

The Founders' Book claimed that this was entirely incorrect—in fact, it was the most misunderstood topic in all of magic. People knew wizards needed spells to do magic. People knew wizards needed a wand to cast said spells. Very powerful people might be able to get away with not using a wand, but they still needed the spells, and it helped if they made the wand movements with, let's say, a finger or the entire wrist.

This chapter in the book, though, said that these were not necessary. The wand was there to entice a wizard's magic in the direction the wizard wanted it to go. It acted like a giant magnet, pulling the magic in a wizard's body down through his/her arm and expelling it out the tip in a single point of focus. If the wizard could figure out how to cause this effect without the wand (say, causing magic to flow to a point at the tip of a finger), then the wand was unnecessary.

Furthermore, spells really didn't matter. The words were just that—words. Translating them resulted in a series of commands, as if the wizard was ordering magic around. "Freeze" or "make hard" or "expel", etc. As spells worked in any language (another fact that Harry hadn't known before, but it made sense), Latin was unnecessary to make the spell work. Thinking a basic command would do and a wizard could do that easily enough in their own native language.

And why stop there? Why bother to think the word at all? Wasn't it the end result that the wizard wanted? The book argued further. And if words weren't necessary, then all a wizard needed was a clear idea of what s/he wanted. Let the magic do its work. Instead of saying a specific spell to get a specific protection shield, just shield yourself from whatever was coming at you at that particular time. Make it more specific as necessary.

The idea was absolutely fascinating, and held so many possibilities. Yet, it went against everything that Harry had learned so far. He'd never come across anything remotely like this. Therefore, he sincerely believed he'd translated the pages wrong, as that was the only explanation as to why everyone bothered to learn spells instead of meditation.

As Sebastian and Hogwarts assured him later, it was no wonder he didn't notice Professor Snape until the man was only five feet from him. Even as absorbed as he was, though, no one could get closer to him than that without setting off his sixth sense. That the professor had gotten that close spoke of the man's ability to move stealthily.

Harry jerked back from the potions master, sinking deeply over his book and farther into the corner, his eyes darting around warily. Professor Snape appeared to notice his reaction and instead of approaching the boy further, he settled down across the table from him. He stared at him.

Harry refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the table where the man's folded hands rested. His research on mind-reading came rushing back, and he had no desire to find out the hard way that Professor Snape was capable of reading his thoughts. He stared resolutely at the table, fingering his book nervously. Which, in hindsight, was probably not such a good idea.

---

The boy wouldn't look at him. Severus supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but he still (apparently) expected Potter to show some…well…Potter characteristics. And being a defiant Gryffindor and meeting everyone's gaze arrogantly was one of them.

Ahh, but this Potter is in Slytherin. Maybe for a good reason after all.

He had to admit, he had not expected the brat to react the way he did to his approach. He'd been convinced that the boy had given up on reading—no one read the same few pages over and over again, not for twenty minutes, at least. However, it was apparent that the Potter brat actually was focused on the text. He wouldn't have jumped like that if he'd noticed Severus's approach.

Come to think of it, the fact that the boy had noticed him before being spoken to or touched was rather surprising. It appeared that the brat had developed a sense as to when people were within arms-length of his person. And Severus really didn't like the implications of that thought. It wasn't something one generally found outside of Slytherin…and even then it was only in a select few situations, none of which were appealing scenarios.

And now the boy was staring fixedly at his hands. No, Severus didn't like this at all. Any other place on the table would have been fine, but to stare at his hands implied that the boy expected him to—

No, don't think about it. You might be reading this wrong, he told himself firmly, There's no real reason to expect the boy's abused. Just…little, tiny reasons all strung together. Well, that didn't help.

Unwilling to continue sitting there in silence (they'd been at it for at least five minutes), Severus decided to start a…conversation…of all things. He decided to focus on the book the boy was fiddling with nervously.

Merlin help me, I'm actually following the Headmaster's advice.

---

"What are you reading?"

Unfortunately for Severus, out of all the conversation topics that he could have picked, this one was the worst. Harry had long since decided not to tell anyone about the Founders' Book—not, of course, that he had anyone to tell anyway—and thus made the decision to stall for as long as possible. If the Professor dug further into the matter, he'd say it was personal and hope the man would leave it at that. Probably not, but it was worth a try.

"A book about magic theory," Harry replied uncommunicatively. Well, it was the truth…the book was called …An Complet Studaire of MagykTheoria. Just, not the entire truth.

"And what are you learning about?" a note of impatience entered the professor's voice.

"The necessity of spells and wands," or lack thereof, he added silently to himself, resolutely not lifting his eyes from the table. He could almost hear his professor sigh in exasperation at his answer. All books on magic theory stressed these necessities. Harry was literally giving him nothing to work with.

"And what, specifically, makes this book different from all others on the topic?" complete annoyance now filled his professor's voice. Oh, he so did not want to continue this conversation.

Well, Professor, he thought dryly to himself, It claims that the 'necessities' are not, actually, necessary. Rather revolutionizes magic, doesn't it. And just think, this was published how many years ago?

Harry didn't reply. His professor sighed again and leaned over, snagging the book from under his hand. Harry winced. He was never going to get that book back (well, and his palm was raw and skinned from tripping and skidding it along the stonework. He hadn't gotten around to healing it yet).

"A Comprehensive Description of Magical Theory," read his Head-of-House, to Harry's utter disbelief, "Not bad for a beginner book on theory, although I find it doesn't do the topic justice at all." He handed the book back to Harry, who was doing his best to mask his bewilderment. If the book was enchanted to not allow anyone else to realize what it was, he didn't want to alert them to the fact.

*Sorry*

Along with an image of a person saying "Should have warned you."

Now, the picture didn't exactly fit the situation (it was of someone blowing up a potion—or rather, the after effects of said explosion), but Harry got the general idea.

*Next time, that would be appreciated.*

He then realized he'd missed what the Professor had just said. Shit.

Hogwarts sent him another image—a replay of the scene that had happened a few seconds ago. While composing an answer to his teacher's question, Harry idly made a note to check out this particular feature of the castle. It might prove to be very useful in the future.

---

The conversation with Potter was getting steadily more bizarre. For one thing, the brat still wouldn't look at him, even when he asked him a question. And for another, said brat was still focusing on his hands.

This presented two ideas, both disturbing. Severus, despite his conscious effort to not believe it, was starting to think the boy really was abused. That in itself was not good, but he had a feeling that the fixed downward gaze was more than just shy, cowed behavior.

It was as if the boy was deliberately not looking him in the eye.

Which meant he knew about Legitimacy.

Which brooked the question of how in the name of Merlin did a first-year get into that topic?

Which led to the further question of how much did the boy know?

And why on Earth did he suspect Severus of performing it on him?

Not, of course, that Severus hadn't planned on it. Sure, it might not fit the Headmaster's idea of a perfect world, but it worked. Have a nice, unassuming conversation and drag out the necessary secrets out of their mind whenever they look at you. He'd done it to his Slytherins for years—though he had to be careful, as (although they might not be able to do Occlumency) most were purebloods and thus knew about mind-reading.

Potter, on the other hand, should have been easy. The boy should have met his eyes, if for nothing more than to respect a teacher when answering a question. The fact that he hadn't…

Severus resolved to read the boy's library check-out list the moment this conversation was over.

And speaking of books…why did the brat look bewildered when he read off the title of the book? If he hadn't had it in his hands, from the boy's reaction he would have assumed the book had an enchantment spell on the cover to disguise what he was reading. But Severus knew what enchantment spells felt like, and he knew there wasn't one on this book. Very, very odd.

Well, if he couldn't find out from Legitimacy, he might as well just ask what he needed to know. At least he could tell without magic if the brat was lying to him.

"Mr. Potter, would you care to explain to me exactly why you have been going out of your way to avoid every one of the staff…especially me?"

---

Harry went through a series of mental gymnastics attempting to compose a suitable answer. I'm sorry, but there's really nothing you can do to improve my life, certainly wouldn't work, and I really don't like adults at all, as the ones I know tend to beat the snot out of me, among other things, was a really, really bad idea. He decided to stick to the short, simple truth.

"I have no desire to talk to people."

This answer (or lack of one) seemed to irritate his professor, but to Harry's surprise, the man remained fairly impassive. If he'd ever dared to do this at the Dursleys, his uncle would have broken a bone or two by this point.

"And why, Mr. Potter, do you not wish to converse with the general populace."

Well, he certainly has an interesting vocabulary. Now let's see…if I answer "because none of them want to talk to me", then he'll assume I'm a whiny brat. If I say "because books, at least, can't hit me…" that's just a bad idea period. And it would probably be inappropriate to say "because so many lack my intellectual capabilities". And to fail to respond would imply defensiveness. Hmm, this guy is good…what to answer.

"Mr. Potter?"

"The question you should be asking is why did they take a sudden interest in me now?"

Silence. He let his professor mull over that thought for a while. It wasn't a bad way to answer—divert the original question while still sticking to the same topic, so it didn't look like he was diverting anything. He'd learned this tactic when dealing with primary school teachers. They had a bad habit of asking nearly the same questions, although theirs were more direct. (Why don't you have any friends? Or worse: Where did you get that bruise?).

Harry had learned from personal experience that the Dursleys really, really didn't like the social workers to come nosing around, so he'd learned to avoid, divert, deny, and outright lie if necessary—although he hesitated to use that last one. He had a bad habit of running into people who could tell a lie on sight.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, that is a fantastic question that I've asked myself these past few days. Why do you think that they're interested?"

Oh yes, this guy was good. He'd make a superb therapist. If Harry hadn't read a god-awful number of books on psychology, he wouldn't be able to fully appreciate what the man was doing.

Agreeing with me, telling a bit of truth about himself, willingly letting the conversation be redirected…why do I have a feeling that my Head-of-House (no matter what people seem to think of him) is the resident, unofficial dealer with child abuse?

"Perhaps because they have nothing better to do?"

Ok, maybe I shouldn't be that honest. That was a little too harsh.

---

Severus winced internally at the sheer cynical irony permeating the boy's answer. Oh yes, the staff's inattentiveness had definitely been noticed. He was rather impressed with just how well the boy had changed the topic of conversation; most people would not have realized it was being done. He had, but he let it slide. It was best not to press issues on first contact.

The brat, though, in his quest to avoid answering a troubling question had struck a rather serious note. The staff hadn't noticed anything was going on—or if they had (like Severus), they hadn't done anything about it until now, when there were no other students to worry about. Potter had a very legit reason to be cynical; he'd been shown that he was worth less than the other students, no matter how unintentionally.

And if the boy was capable of realizing this, then he was also capable of realizing that they ignored him despite his fame. And that would lead to the conclusion that even with his undeserved fame he was worth less than the others. Which begged the question of: if he didn't have his fame, would they even bother to try and communicate with him when there weren't other things to do? Oh yes, the staff had screwed up exponentially.

"That would make this situation rather aggravating, wouldn't it?" he gave the brat the benefit of the doubt and let some of his understanding bleed into his voice.

To his surprise, the boy actually glanced up, meeting his eyes for a split second, a slightly crooked grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, before he fixed his eyes resolutely back on the table and, consequently, Severus's hands. Damn, he's still doing it. Does he really think I'll hit him?

That spit second of connection was enough to catch the barest glimpse of the boy's thoughts. Unlike most teenagers (and pre-teens), Potter's thought process was highly complex, operating on multiple levels at the same time. Severus had no hope of make any sense of what the boy was thinking without longer eye contact, but he did brush up against the boy's emotions.

Wariness. Cynicism. A bit of loneliness. Severe Disappointment (and for some odd reason, Severus got the feeling that this disappointment was how Potter felt about the wizarding world). Pain. Distrust. Annoyance. Longing (for what, though, that was the question).And buried underneath all of this, in a very tiny corner of the boy's mind…hate.

The overall impression was of something that was once vulnerable (something that had once hoped) and now flat out refused to be.

It was more than a little disturbing.

He resolved to keep an even closer eye on the chi—the boy.

---

They fell back into silence. Harry knew, without a doubt, that Professor Snape had slipped into his mind. He resolved to learn how to stop this from ever happening again, and to not meet anyone's eyes until that point in time.

Well, that might not work. Although his uncle generally took any eye contact to be defiance, there were times when he wanted Harry to meet his eyes, especially when he—

Harry abruptly shoved the thought to the farthest reaches of his mind. Do NOT think about it, he ordered himself sternly, Not when there's a mind-reading professor sitting across from you!

"Perhaps," Professor Snape broke the silence, "If you are unwilling to tell me precisely why you don't wish to speak with anyone, would you be so kind as to explain how you manage to evade an entire school filled with professors looking for you?" Particularly me rang unsaid.

Harry grinned, he just couldn't help it. Oh, this guy was good. Very good. Almost made Harry want to congratulate him on his ability manipulate the human psyche. But then, that would let on to the fact that Harry knew what he was doing, and then the professor might change tactics. And he would become much less predictable.

"And lose my only escape routes?" he replied incredulously, innocently. His professor twitched slightly, as if repressing a snort of amusement and rose, wandering over towards the door of the kitchens. Harry watched him go with hooded eyes.

"Very well, Mr. Potter, have it your way. Keep in mind that if you don't talk to anyone before Christmas, the Headmaster intends to invent some excuse to invite you up to his office."

"I spoke to you."

"What makes you think I'll say anything?" With that, the potions master left.

Oh, he's very, very good. A warning, giving me time to prepare, followed by a 'why should I go out of my way to help you?' line, yet at the same time he implies that he won't share your secrets. I wonder how many years it took for him to develop the ability to do this…

Once the professor had cleared the premises, Harry allowed himself a small smile. He packed up his notes, book, and quill and thanked the house elves (and sent a few of them into tears, but he didn't mind so much this time. He'd researched them in the library and learned that they lived to work, and were not used to being thanked at all). He walked slowly over to the door, pausing just before opening it.

Harry pulled out his wand and proceeded to cast ten different spells on his person, smiling once more when he felt one of them dissipate the tracking spell his Head-of-House had placed on his being.

Wordless and perhaps wandless, I certainly didn't see it, he thought with amusement, heading into the corridor and opting to not take the snake passage. Who knows where the professor was. Instead, he headed to one of the non-Parseltongue passageways and slipped inside, quickly moving on into the snake one (which connected from the inside) before anyone could see him. Maybe there's more truth to this theory than I thought.

---

Severus, waiting just around the bend of the corridor from the kitchens, felt a slight jolt when the boy undid his tracking spell. He raised an eyebrow, no longer surprised but rather impressed—the counter to this particular spell was in no way easy to perform. He watched the boy leave the kitchens and head to a secret passage (of course. That's how he's getting around the school…though I know most of them. Wonder why I haven't caught him yet?).

Severus followed him, quickly and silently. He entered the passage roughly seven seconds after Potter did.

The boy was nowhere in sight.

The potions master let a genuine grin slide over his face as he continued down the passage, certain that he would not find the boy—probably not see him again for quite a few days.

Oh yes. There was much more to Harry Potter than met the eye.

---

Christmas morning dawned, clear and bitterly cold—especially to the residents of the dungeons. Harry woke up shivering violently. He wasted five minutes trying to apply heating charms to his person, but his teeth were chattering too much for him to accomplish this task. Realizing just how bad the situation was, Harry dragged his shaking body from the bed and wrapped the thickest of his blankets around his shoulders. His heart nearly stopped when he found Sebastian, an ice-cold coil of scales that appeared to be trying to soak up the last drop of warmth from the heating spells Harry had cast the previous night.

Harry gathered his friend close to his chest in hopes that the snake would be all right and stumbled down the corridor into the dark common room. He made his way over to the fireplace and pulled out his wand—but again, he couldn't get the spell to work.

*H-h-ogwarts?* he sent pleadingly.

The castle, it turned out, was just waiting for permission to do something.

The fire roared to life, dispensing an enormous amount of heat that seemed to blow at Harry. He wasn't quite sure this was what fires were supposed to do, even in the magical world, but he was too grateful for the desperately needed warmth to care.

A feeling of deep concern wrapped around him like a blanket of heat. Actually, there was a blanket of heat. Harry dragged his face away from the fire long enough to glare half-heartedly at the castle wall.

*Hogwarts,* he thought, having warmed up enough to stop chattering (well, mentally, at least), *Lady, you really can't do this. What if someone notices?*

Two images popped into his head: that of both the seventh-year Slytherin and of Professor Snape, sound asleep. Harry winced.

*I really didn't need to see my Professor like that,* he grumbled. The castle laughed. *Fine, but the instant they wake up, both the fire and the heat have to go down to normal.*

*Alright*

Harry turned his attention back to Sebastian. The snake was slowly warming up, but had yet to awaken. Harry slid his friend inside his robe to both hide him from sight and cocoon him in warmth.

The heat from the fire enveloped him like a security blanket, causing Harry's eyes to droop with exhaustion. He blinked it back with practiced ease, helped along by the castle's 'voice' once more ringing through his mind.

*Christmas presents?*

Harry sighed. How to explain this one…

*My lady, I don't have any presents.*

*Do*

*No, lady, I really don't have presents. You see, I never get presents for Christmas, so there's no reason this year will be any dif—*

The castle cut him off by shoving an image into his mind. He saw himself, curled up into a tight ball under a pile of blankets, fast asleep. A house elf popped into the room, deposited three wrapped packages at the base of his bed, and popped back out.

Harry gaped.

*Presents!* Hogwarts insisted.

*Wh-where are they?* Despite the castle's firm belief that Harry had presents, Harry was pretty sure that this was some dream brought on by finally being warm. He never got presents.

*Dorm*

*I…* Harry looked around at the fire, at the small nest of blankets he'd made right in front of it, before glancing down to where Sebastian was curled snuggly in his robes, *I can't move right now.*

*Bring*

*Can you even do that?*

A moment later, three packages floated out of the passageway to the dorms and over to where Harry was sitting by the fire. Harry gawked at the physical proof that he really had gotten Christmas presents…and that the castle could apparently manipulate objects.

*One of these days, we'll have to sit down and have a long discussion on exactly what you can and cannot do…* he trailed off, as the castle deposited the presents next to him. At that moment, Sebastian decided to wake up.

~Sssssssssss…waaarmmm…wait a moment…~

~Merry Christmas, Sebastian,~ Harry murmured with amusement.

~Feliz natal, amigo…how did we get in front of a fire? And why are we warm for once?~

~Well, we nearly froze to death in the dorms…you especially. So I managed to get out here and since everyone else (that being the seventh-year and Professor Snape) is asleep, I let Hogwarts warm us up.~

~Uhh…Ok. What now?~

~Now, I get to open my first Christmas presents!~

~I thought you said you never get any presents?~

~Well, apparently, I was mistaken.~

Harry turned back to the packages, picking up the nearest parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across the top was 'To Harry, From Hagrid'.

He raised an eyebrow at the sender, though he supposed it made sense. Hagrid, after all, had bought him a birthday present even though they'd only just met, and he had been spending a fair amount of time at the gamekeeper's hut—although not recently. It was entirely too cold outside to seriously consider the trip from the castle to Hagrid's house to be worth it.

With painstaking care, Harry unwrapped the bundle. Out tumbled a roughly cut wooden flute, which Hagrid had obviously carved himself. Harry smiled at the rather humble gift—anyone else might have tossed it aside, but to Harry, it symbolized something important. Hagrid had taken the time to make him something by hand. Which meant he was important to at least one human (or, relatively human person) in this castle.

Smiling slightly, Harry blew on the flute, which surprisingly sounded just like Hedwig. He wondered if it had been deliberate, and set the flute aside with great care.

The next parcel was shaped a bit like a jam jar (pleasantly wrapped, too: in silver paper with a deep green silk ribbon), and upon opening the package, Harry found that it was one. Instead of jam, though, the inside was filled with blue flames. Harry put his hand to the glass and raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount of heat that radiated from the contraption. Hmm…well this was a useful present.

He picked up the note that had slipped out of the paper along with the jar.

To Harry Potter, (it read)

I know we haven't really met in person, nor have we had any true form of communication. Still, I'd like to thank you for saving my life on Halloween. I understand that you don't seem to want to be recognized for what you did—don't worry, I'll keep quiet—but I'd like you to know that I, at least, will remember.

As thanks, I'm giving you this jar with the bluebell flames; I noticed that the dungeons seem particularly cold during this time of the year, and I can't imagine what it would be like to live in them. I'm not quite sure how long the flame will last, so I've included the spell in this letter. The jar is spelled to be unbreakable, though you shouldn't have a problem removing the lid. The incantation is CaeruleusInflamarae. They can be kept in a jar, sent out a short distance, and then retrieved. As far as I know, the flames are waterproof.

Merry Christmas,

Hermione Granger.

Harry looked back and forth between the jar and the letter for a long moment. It certainly appeared as though the Granger girl had solved his heating problem, at least temporarily. He reread the letter and memorized the spell, wondering if the fire really did work under water. He turned back to the jar once more just in time to see Sebastian curl himself around it.

If snakes could purr, that was what Seb was doing. Little hissing sounds escaped his mouth as he finally found a source of heat that he could envelop.

Harry shook his head at the sight and turned back to the last package.

It was very light, wrapped in unassuming lavender tissue paper with a set of crossed candy canes were tied to the top with a green ribbon. Harry carefully unwrapped the package. Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. A small scrap of paper fell out along with it, and Harry picked it up.

Your father left it in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

A very merry Christmas to you.

The note was unsigned.

Harry stared at the slippery fabric. This was my father's? But who would he have left it with? That implies he has friends who are still alive. I wonder why none of them ever came and visited me…

With Sebastian watching with interest, Harry carefully unfolded himself from the nest of blankets and rose, scooping up the fabric as he went. After a moment of intense study, he realized it was a cloak.

It was long and grey, complete with a hood and a small brocade clasp (made of the same material). Throwing caution to the winds, Harry swung the cloak about his shoulders and let it settle about him. Well, first thing's first, the cloak is definitely going to be too long. He looked down to see how much he'd have to compensate for.

There was nothing there. Not the extra material, nor the cloak…nor his feet or legs, for that matter.

What the HELL?! He thought with confusion.

~Well, amigo, that's certainly an interesting present. I don't think I've heard of anything before that makes one invisible…~

*Hogwarts, do you have any clue what this is?* Harry thought to the castle.

*Invisibility Cloak*

*Yes, I gathered that…but do you know how well it works? And why my father had it? Did he use it?*

A series of images blasted into his mind. Four boys, growing steadily older at the pictures progressed, running through the corridors, pranking people (teachers and students), laughing, joking, and slipping out into the night to become animals. Through it all, they were accompanied by the cloak Harry now held and, later on, an old piece of parchment.

*James Potter* the castle thought to him, showing a zoomed in image of one of the boys, who looked remarkably like Harry—that is, if Harry's hair was shorter and he weighed a bit more.

*Who are the others?* Harry though back, desperately, breathlessly.

*Sirius Black* another zoomed in image, this time of a tall, laughing boy with black hair and grey eyes.

*Remus Lupin* once more zoomed in, a thin, scarred boy with coffee colored hair.

*Peter Pettigrew*the final person, slightly chubby, blond with blue eyes.

*And my mother?* Harry couldn't believe his luck, nor the fact that he hadn't thought to ask about them before. Of course the castle knew everyone who went through its corridors.

This time, an image of a young girl with red hair and green eyes popped into view. She was sitting by the lake under a tree, sharing a book with a boy, who had long black hair and a bit of a nose. They looked to be in third-year.

*Who's she sitting with?*

*Severus Snape*

*You mean, my Head-of-House? The current Potions Professor?*

*Nod*

*Were they…friends?*

*Nod*

Well that was interesting. He'd have to contemplate the possibilities of this particular revelation later.

~Amigo? You've been standing there staring into space for ten minutes. Are you alright?~ Sebastian hissed worriedly. Harry looked down at his snake with a soft smile.

~Never better,~ he reassured.

:~:

The rest of Christmas passed in a hazy blur of warmth and literature. When he felt that he could safely leave the heat of the fire without freezing to death, Harry made a trip back to his room get dressed and retrieve an enormous book on the magical and muggle history of Asia. Five minutes later he returned to the common room, shivering once more and determined not to move for the remainder of the day.

He settled down, wrapping the blanket around him and letting Sebastian curl up in his lap for a snooze (under the blanket, of course, so he was hidden from sight). He buried his nose in his book and proceeded to read for hours on end.

About an hour after Harry had started reading, the seventh-year trooped into the common room. He stopped and blinked in shock at the sight of the tiny first-year curled up by the fire with a book that probably weighed more than he did. Having been unaware that there was anyone else staying in Slytherin (Harry had done a very good job of hiding, and the seventh-year had been distracted), the seventh-year took a moment to study the situation, noting that the first-year was Potter, of all people.

He turned away with a shrug and moved over to the other fireplace to read his own book, wondering how in the name of Merlin the first-year had not frozen to death. Students didn't learn advanced heating charms until fifth-year at least. He vowed to take the matter up with his Head-of-House later.

Harry was mostly oblivious to this scrutiny, only noting the seventh-year's entrance by the fact that Hogwarts stopped outputting enormous amounts of heat.

He was blissfully caught up in a detailed account of Genghis Khan's journey to conquer the known world, and how magic played a role (it always did…except in issues of modern science. In fact, it was one of the reasons so many religious wars took place: a wizards' war that spilled over into the muggle world was often blamed on religious factions, as the muggles would never question that excuse, and wouldn't look deeper into the problem (thus revealing the magical involvement)).

Later that evening, Harry got ready for Christmas dinner. He didn't exactly want to go, but he knew if he missed this particular meal, the staff wouldn't just keep playing hide-and-seek. They'd probably drag him from his bed and demand answers. And Harry didn't want any adults in his bedroom, so it looked as though he'd be attending the feast.

Just because he was going didn't mean the 'war' was off, though. He made sure to arrive after the teachers and sit as far from them as was possible—he was sure they knew what he was doing as well and were annoyed that they could do nothing to prevent it. He left just before the feast ended, thus eliminating the chance of getting caught and 'talked-to'.

The feast itself wasn't that bad—the food was phenomenal and there were plenty of things to watch. The entire Weasley clan of Hogwarts (four of them at the moment) provided more than enough entertainment; mainly, the older prefect brother trying to keep his younger twin brothers in line (unsuccessfully). There were loads of Christmas crackers, which the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs seemed to thoroughly enjoy pulling at every available opportunity. Harry, unable to resist Sebastian's suggestion, pulled one on his own, and ended up with a set of wizards' chess and several large, white mice—which he fed to his snake.

Up at the high table, the Headmaster swapped his pointed hat for a flowered bonnet and continually pressed sweets on all those around him…including Professor Snape, the unfortunate one to sit next to him. Harry watched Hagrid get redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. Flash went the camera, and Professors Astley and Monsel had blackmail material worth millions.

That night, Harry tucked his father's invisibility cloak and the wooden flute into his trunk, taking the flame jar to bed with him like a hot water bottle. Sebastian and Harry curled around the jar, under layers and layers of blankets, all radiating warmth from heating charms. He nestled into his snug bed and fell into a peaceful sleep (although visions of sugarplums didn't dance in his head). It was by far the best Christmas he'd ever had.

:~:

The morning of Boxing day found Harry eating in the kitchen, planning on spending the rest of the day—if not the week—in there, as it was the one and only place in the entire school (accessible to him) that was warm all the time. He'd even brought his book bag with him in preparation for an intensive research session, and was just about to put up silencing spells (to drown out the house elves bustle) when Hedwig swooped in from somewhere and deposited a letter on his empty plate.

Harry wasted a few moments wondering how on earth she managed to get into the kitchens. The Great Hall he understood. Most of the rest of the castle, too, made sense. But the kitchens? The door was closed and there were no other ways in…hmm, this bears investigating…

He thanked his beautiful owl and fed her a piece of bacon before opening the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has come to my attention that I haven't had an opportunity to speak with you yet this year. As I make it a habit to speak with all the first-years to see how they're settling in, I would be absolutely thrilled to have your delightful company in my office this afternoon. Teatime, shall we say?

The password is "gingerbread cookies".

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry contemplated the letter for a long moment. Well, he thought, I suppose that Professor Snape did warn me about this one. Might as well deal with the problem.

*Hogwarts, my lady,* he asked the castle, *Could you show me the way to the Headmaster's office, around teatime? And will you let me know when it is teatime, please?*

*Yes*

Harry settled down to do as much research as he could in the remaining time, glancing briefly at the note once more. Wait a moment, he thought suddenly, digging into his robe pocket for another scrap of parchment which he'd taken to carrying around with him. He held the letter he had just received and the note which had been attached to his invisibility cloak a couple of inches apart from each other.

Huhhh…that's interesting. What on earth was the Headmaster doing with my father's invisibility cloak...did my father really leave it with him? I wonder how well they knew each other? He decided to contemplate this at some other time, and to most certainly not bring it up during their meeting.

:~:

That afternoon, Harry wandered around the upper reaches of the castle, following Hogwarts' somewhat confusing directions.

*Left*

*No, other left*

*Right*

*No, the direction*

Followed by an image of a statue. (right at statue)

*Two rights*

Image of someone poking a portrait and making it open.

Image of secret passage tunnel, leading to another corridor.

*Up*

*That way*

*Other way*

*Right*

*Stop*

Image of student giving password to gargoyle.

Harry attempted to follow these instructions as best he could. It wasn't the easiest, although Hogwarts probably got him there by the most direct route—after all, the castle knew when it was moving, as well as what direction to go to correct for this movement. Finally, Harry found the stone gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office.

"Gingerbread cookies," he said quietly, and the gargoyle hopped aside.

Harry walked up the spiral staircase and knocked politely on the Headmaster's door.

"Come in Mr. Potter!"

Harry entered the room, gazing around in quiet appraisal at the various magical objects that lined shelf after shelf of the Headmaster's office. Portraits of the previous Headmasters covered the walls as well, and Harry's eyes finally rested on the comfortable armchairs in front of a large desk…which was piled high with paper work, a small spot cleared to make room for a tea set.

"Ahh, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster, who had been fiddling with something, turned around and greeted him with a wide grin, "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Albus Dumbledore, and it's a pleasure to meet you!"

He shook Harry's hand, beaming.

"The pleasure is mine," Harry murmured quietly, not quite sure what to make of the Headmaster, "And please call me Harry," he added on a whim.

"Shall we sit?" Dumbledore gestured Harry to the armchair and took his own seat behind his desk. He paused for a moment, looking mournfully at the enormous stack of paperwork that almost blocked the boy from his view, the moved it aside with the flick of his wrist.

No wand, Harry noted, catching the tiny movement, And no verbal spell…I'd ask him if he thought the spell instead, but it would be best not to draw attention to my forays in magic at the moment, I think.

"Now, my dear boy, may I offer you tea? Would you like milk, sugar?"

The basic necessities taken care of, the two settled down to have a 'heart-to-heart'…which mostly involved answering questions without saying anything the other didn't already know. Harry had the oddest feeling that the Headmaster saw it as some sort of game, and was delighted to find someone to play it with.

"How are your studies progressing?"

"Well enough."

"Any particular hobby you have?"

"I like to read."

"Make any new friends?"

"Not yet, but we shall see…perhaps after Christmas." (This, of course, was a complete lie; Harry didn't intend to be friends with anyone other than Sebastian and Hogwarts).

"Ahh, well, you never know, there might be a golden opportunity waiting for you to just stumble on it. What's your favorite course?"

"Charms."

"Any particular reason?"

"They're fun to do and are very useful."

"Current favorite charm?"

"Heating charms."

"Ahh, I suppose the dungeons are quite cold this time of year…I always intend to do something about it, but I never get around to it. What do you think of the situation?"

"I would be very appreciative if the dungeons were a bit warmer."

"Well, I suppose I should get on with it then."

This fascinating conversation was interrupted by a flash of fire. Harry, jerked and blinked a bit, but otherwise remained calm—mostly due to the fact that the Headmaster failed to react too much.

"Ahh, Fawkes! There's someone here I'd like you to meet," the Headmaster informed the ball of fire.

The ball of fire was, it turned out, not a ball of fire after all, but a phoenix. Harry, despite his reservations at meeting the Headmaster, was delighted. The bird fluttered over to his leg and perched on it, looking him in the eye.

"You can pet him, go on" the Headmaster urged.

Harry lifted his hand and ran it down the birds flaming crest. The phoenix leaned into his touch and cooed, trilling softly in delight.

"Hello," Harry whispered quietly, slight awe creeping into his voice, "I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."

The phoenix crooned a single perfect note in response, sending shivers down Harry's spine. He smiled gently.

"He likes you," the Headmaster murmured, causing Harry to look up at him and grin with delight. Ok, so it was a very good tactic for putting him at ease, but for this one time, Harry didn't mind.

Harry continued to pet the phoenix as the Headmaster turned back to their conversation.

"My dear boy, I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, but…your lack of friends and a social life is causing some concern with the staff. Do you want to explain why you prefer to spend time in the library as opposed to being with your year-mates?"

To Harry's surprise, he heard a ringing undertone to the Headmaster's question, implying that the Headmaster was genuinely worried about him, but if Harry didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to force him to. He was free to not answer…and this ability to choose was probably what caused him to respond truthfully.

"No one will talk to me, I've been sanctioned," he replied, referring to his House, "And everyone else is scared because I'm a Slytherin."

The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking a century older.

"I'm very sorry about that, my boy," he murmured with genuine apology, "I had hoped that the students would put aside prejudices by now, but it appears I shall forever be disappointed in them."

"It's alright," Harry had some unreasonable urge to comfort the Headmaster—probably because he was the first person Harry could ever remember being sincerely worried and apologetic to him—"I'd probably not get along with anyone very well anyway."

"Ahh, but it's the lack of effort on their part, Harry, that worries me about the future of this world," the Headmaster sighed again. "Well, I suppose that's that. Is there anything I can do?"

A wild thought stuck Harry, as he remembered something from the beginning of the year.

"May I come up here and talk to the Sorting Hat and Fawkes on occasion?" he asked near silently. The Headmaster, though, appeared to hear him.

"Why of course, Harry, feel free to come here any time you want."

"Any time?" Harry wondered impishly, thinking about the comment Professor Snape had made to the staff about being unable to catch him. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled.

"Well, if you can get all the way up here past curfew without getting caught and you can get in here without waking me up, I suppose there's no stopping you," the Headmaster replied, amusement heavy in his voice.

They both rose, an unspoken agreement that the meeting was over. Fawkes fluttered over to his perch and cooed goodbye to Harry.

"Well, my dear boy, pleasant rest of your holidays," the Headmaster said, seeing him to the door, "Try not to spend all your time cooped up in the library…if only to raise the staff's hopes that they have a chance at catching you." He winked.

"I'll do my best," Harry promised, walking down the spiral stairs and slipping out past the gargoyle. He ducked behind a tapestry and into a secret passage (a normal one) just in time to avoid Professor McGonagall, striding up to the gargoyle and giving the password. For some reason, he thought he heard the Headmaster's laughter ringing down the stairs as he hurried away from the scene.

---

Notes:

So...Harry can talk to Hogwarts now. I guess the Marauders' Map is a bit redundant...

Harry will go and talk to the Sorting Hat and Fawkes sometime in the future (but not soon). I'm trying to emphasize that he really doesn't have any human(ish) friends.

Will Harry find the Room of Requirements? We'll see.

Fluffy and the Stone will come up next chapter as well. Harry will deal with the Sorcerers Stone, that part of the book is staying the same. However, keep in mind that he doesn't suspect Snape, he hasn't heard about Flammel yet, etc. He'll get that detention that in the Forbidden Forest, and that will probably be what connects everything.

I'm hoping to finish this story in a chapter or two. I could probably do it in one, but it would be very long, and reviewing 30 pages every time is already a lot...we'll see.