Merry Christmas!
"Harry."
"Mhm?"
"Harry."
"Mo away."
"Harry!"
Harry finally looked over his blanket, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the indistinct human shape standing in front of him.
The shape eventually resolved into the somewhat more distinct shape of Terry Boot.
"What?" he finally asked.
"A good question. What is the skeleton of a small rodent-like animal, possibly a mouse, doing in the Ravenclaw first year dorms?"
Harry looked at a spot near his bed Terry was now pointedly glaring at, and true enough, there was a tiny little skeleton.
He looked apologetically at Terry, and then shot a pointed look at Apep, who responded with a thoroughly unconcerned yawn, which only annoyed Terry further.
"Shouldn't northern vipers already be in hibernation by now? It's almost November, you know."
Harry shrugged. "The castle's warm enough. He usually does only four months at home - November to February."
Terry didn't look pleased.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley. I hope it's not inconvenient-"
Petunia blinked. There, in front of her, stood a gentleman whose choice of attire - complete with bowler hat and umbrella - practically begged her to identify him as John Steed.
With her luck, Emma Peel was just around the corner and making out with her husband.
"What do you want?" she finally spat out.
John Steed seemed a bit taken aback by Petunia's welcoming gesture, but quickly composed himself. "Well, you see, Mrs Dursley, my name is David Cunnington, and I'm here on an assignment by the Improper Use of Magic Office, and-"
And that was when David Cunnington had the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive slammed shut mere inches from his face.
"Please forgive me for the incident earlier. It's not well known, but I'm afraid my wife has had some traumatic experiences with magic in the past. I love her, but..."
"Of course, of course," David Cunnington told Vernon, displaying an oddly jovial mood and swinging his umbrella. "It happens, nothing to worry about."
"Excellent." Vernon practically beamed at him. "Now, how about a drink before we start?" He was already getting the bourbon, though he paused to throw a worried glance through the window and into the garden, where Petunia was occupying herself while their 'Guest' was inside.
"Oh, certainly." The umbrella stopped swinging and pointed at the bottle for the briefest of moments while Vernon produced glasses for the two of them. Apparently satisfied, Cunnington happily accepted his glass and took a sip. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but we've been informed that your nephew has performed a not inconsiderable amount of magic in your house?"
"Yes," replied Vernon, making a formidable impression of pride. "We supported him at every step, of course-" This, David Cunnington choose to doubt. Well, Vernon Dursley might've, but his wife was evidently a different matter. "- nothing major of course. Safety first! But he did do some simple charms in the two months before the school year started, and he's been brewing for a little bit longer than that."
"A little indeed," David noted pleasantly. "Now, it's quite normal for students to experiment with their wands a bit after they get them, and that's certainly not something my office concerns itself with. Brewing for, ah, I understand it's been over a year, though? That's somewhat unusual. Would you still happen to store some of your nephew's potions?"
"But of course! They do come in handy, and since the boy enjoys brewing them, I figured there's nothing wrong with having a few on hand. Please, if you'd follow me-"
Once in the cellar, David reflected that it was a fairly impressive stash. Also a fairly inconspicuous one, basically just pepper-up potions and some sleeping draughts, a bit of burn-healing paste - which made sense for a first-time brewer -, plus a few pranking solutions - expected from an eleven year old boy - and that was it. No love potions, no hallucinogens, nothing to be concerned about.
"Well, that seems to be in order, Mr Dursley. Thank you for your cooperation - and my apologies for causing Mrs Dursley distress, but we do have to follow up on these things..."
Vernon's mood had been steadily improving throughout the visit, and he was only too happy to accommodate his guest's feelings. "Of course, of course. We're law abiding citizens, and always happy to help the authorities. Really, it's been a pleasure."
David Cunnington lifted his bowler hat and smiled. "The pleasure's been all mine, and I sincerely hope the next time we meet will be in a less official function. Good evening, Mr Dursley."
Having said that, he gave himself a little twist and disappeared.
He never wondered why Vernon Dursley hadn't actually looked him directly in the eyes even once throughout his inspection.
Harry was sprawled on his bed and staring at the blue-and-bronze canopy, while Hermione was sitting next to him and going over a couple of charms texts. It was a matter of house pride for Ravenclaws to maintain straight 'O's in their Head of House's class, and Hermione being Hermione, she of course went the extra mile and was looking at material that Harry was pretty certain belonged to the second year curriculum.
"Seriously though. What was a troll doing inside the castle?"
"Well. It's a troll. I imagine it just knocked the doors off their hinges," Hermione replied distractedly before raising her wand and performing a series of complicated-looking motions. A moment later, Wadjet had turned an eye-searing shade of green.
"Hey!"
Hermione had the decency to blush. "I'm sorry. Let me fix that..."
Harry was pretty sure Wadjet's tail hadn't had a slightly pinkish hue before, but figured it was the gesture that counted. Colour charms were supposed to wear off after a couple hours, anyway.
"I just wish Flitwick had caught it. Have you seen his records on the duelling circuit? I wish he was our DADA teacher..."
"Just be happy it was caught before it stumbled over any students."
"Well, I wouldn't have minded watching... Even if it was McGonagall who took it down."
Hermione shot Harry a distinctly McGonagall-esque look. "Don't even think such a thing. We're first years, for Merlin's sake!"
"Legilimens!"
Susan and Justin were watching expectantly while Harry looked intently at Hermione.
"Well?"
Harry kept his wand pointed at Hermione, face contorted with effort and concentration.
"Um... Bunnies?"
Hermione giggled, and Harry's expression faltered. "Maybe it's still a little too early for me to try this..." He opened the book again and looked at the index as the four of them huddled around Hermione's bluebell flame. "It's so complicated!"
"That's probably why so few wizards even try," Susan suggested. "I know my Aunt can do it, but she didn't even try to learn it until her N.E.W.T. years."
"Yes, well, she was a Hufflepuff-" Harry didn't get the opportunity to finish that sentence, as he suddenly found himself in a decidedly unpleasant headlock while Hermione and Justin looked at him with 'You-Totally-Deserve-This' expressions.
"May I inquire as of what caused such a distinctly Gryffindor-ish commotion when there's not actually any member of that house present?"
Susan instantly let go of Harry's head, while Hermione and Justin immediately turned around to where Snape was standing and glaring at them, wearing his customary sneer. The four of them were wearing mildly guilty expressions. Harry had managed to get Snape to back off from specifically singling him out, but actual fights - even mock-fights - were a different matter.
"Potter. Of course."
Hermione bit her lip, though Harry wasn't sure why. Maybe she felt guilty for not having stopped him from attacking Draco's feather with his own during their last charms class... But really, how could he have known that it'd escalate into a full-blown aerial brawl with the Slytherins? And besides, Flitwick hadn't minded. He'd actually commented on how the need to defend oneself leads to quicker learning and only took points off when the wild feather-brawl over their heads threatened to spill over to the actual students and their choruses of Wingardium Leviosa.
It'd totally been worth the scolding he'd gotten from Hermione after class.
"And what is... This?" Snape asked, and Harry found himself pulled from his musings and back into the real world.
"This?" Harry asked, and followed Snape's look towards whatever he was looking at. It turned out to be the book he was holding: Legilimency in Theory and Practice.
"I'm sure you've a note of permission for having taken this from the library, Mr Potter?"
"Err. No, sir. It's mine."
Snape raised his eyebrows. "A receipt, then?"
"At home in Surrey, sir." Actually, the likelihood of Uncle Vernon having kept it was basically nil, but Harry doubted that Snape would visit Privet Drive to verify it. Though... Subjecting Aunt Petunia to yet another strange 'Freak' could be funny... Not to mention subjecting Snape to Aunt Petunia. Harry was certain Snape had never spent so much as a second of his life outside his vaunted pureblood circles - maybe it'd be a good learning experience for him. Or at least a decent punishment for existing.
Snape stared down at him. "That seems... Unlikely." Then he held out his hand. "The book."
Harry didn't let go.
"Now. I shall confer with the librarian to determine whether your... Tale... Is accurate."
Reluctantly, Harry let the book go. It was his, after all, and Madam Pince could confirm that there weren't any copies missing.
Snape turned to leave - limping while doing so, oddly enough -, before throwing Harry one more look. "Needless to say, if your tale turns out to be... Inaccurate, the appropriate measures for students breaking into the restricted section and stealing school property shall be taken, Mr Potter."
No sooner had Snape passed through the door that Harry let loose with a string of expletives that even Hermione's admonitions couldn't contain.
"He'll have to give it back, Harry. You know that. No need to-"
"I've looked him up in the yearbooks, Hermione. That bloody git went to Hogwarts at the same time as my parents. And you know the kind of people he used to consort with. He probably still consorts with them, actually. I bet he sees my mudblood mother in me. He's probably still bitter that he was forced to endure such an impure presence in his classes, and that she managed to turn a proper pureblood like my father away from the straight and narrow route towards his precious Dark Lord and towards actually being a decent person."
Harry spat.
"Riiiiiiiight," Justin finally said. "So, how about tomorrow's Quidditch match?"
Harry did have a talent for flying, and Madam Hooch had already told him that she expected him to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team next year, but the Gryffindor/ Slytherin match turned out to be torturous for the audience, as both sides' seekers were somewhat short of talented and fell only barely short of the four-hour mark in their quest for the snitch before the Slytherin seeker finally managed to grab hold of the little golden ball to the chattering teeth of the audience in the cold November air - an act that, unfortunately, didn't keep Slytherin from losing as Gryffindor's trio of chasers had already built a comfortable 270 : 90 lead by that point, leading to a final score line of 270 : 240.
Both teams' seekers avoided the rest of their housemates for the next week, and Harry - who'd originally been quite enthusiastic about the sport - was beginning to have second thoughts.
"Ah. There you are. Got your book back?" Hermione asked when Harry entered the common room after having spent a good five minutes trying to work out what that damnable eagle knocker had meant.
Harry walked over to her and allowed himself to plop down on the couch, which - as usual - didn't elicit even the hint of a reaction from Anthony, who was sitting next to Hermione and was apparently deep in thought over whatever it was that his book was about. It did contain illustrations, but Harry decided that he didn't care enough to identify them. Hermione did, though - apparently the two were amiably sharing the book in silence.
"Yes. Flitwick wasn't in the staff room, though. Only Filch and Snape."
That managed to get Hermione's attention for more than a handful of seconds. "Told you even he wouldn't be able to keep it for no reason."
"Yeah... Also, Filch was bandaging Snape's leg. Had a bunch of huge, bloody gashes on it. I thought he'd flip out and draw his wand on me when I saw it, but apparently he's learned some self control. Just levitated the book over and told me to get lost."
"I told you he can maintain his composure under duress," Anthony noted at this point, without taking his eyes from the book. Harry rolled his eyes.
Snape looked at the glass in his hand, the transparent-golden liquid therein beckoning him to let go of his inhibitions.
Best case scenario, he'd become more like McGonagall, and consequently, Gryffindor. He shuddered at the thought.
Worst case scenario, he'd become more like his father.
He closed his eyes, and allowed the liquid to spill onto the carpet. He'd vanish it later.
For all she didn't like Harry, Aunt Petunia was at least relieved to learn that Apep was going to spend the winter hibernating in the Hogwarts dungeons. It wasn't anywhere near the improvement she'd have liked, but it was a start.
Dudley had made the Smeltings wrestling team, and was practically beaming as he told his parents - both of them swelling with pride. Well, Vernon more so than Petunia - about how he'd actually managed to pin a second year during practice. Harry, who didn't want to interrupt the fragile family peace, and who was in any case a bit annoyed with how Uncle Vernon had basically ignored him during their drive home from London, choose not to make a big deal out of the goings-on at Hogwarts. He'd noticed the tension between Vernon and Petunia pretty much as soon as he'd stepped through the door, and felt it was best not to exert any additional pressure.
If nothing else, it wouldn't have been fair to Dudley.
Dudley on the other hand, turned out to be pretty outgoing. "Oh, by the way, Harry. If you could make some more potions - I already ran out of the farts one, and it'd be pretty great if you could do some others for variety!"
Harry groaned. So much for that plan. Dudley wasn't stupid, but his social literacy was, well...
Fortunately for everyone involved, Aunt Petunia managed to hold her forced smile, and Harry gave a quick affirmative, which actually seemed to surprise Vernon. It wasn't long after dinner that Vernon cornered Harry in his room.
"You told Dudley you can still make potions? I thought-"
Harry nodded. "Hermione did some research. Most potions just rely on my... I don't know... Innate magic to work? Something like that. I wouldn't be able to make something like Felix Felicis without using my wand, but the stuff I've been doing is not a problem. And the Office of So-and-So can only detect the active use of magic."
Uncle Vernon stroked his chin. "I see. Well, in that case, I guess you can get some done. Your wand is off limits, though?"
Harry nodded.
"Pity. Ah well - at least we still have potions. Someone from the Improper-" Vernon snorted. "-Use of Magic Office visited back in October. Fine gentleman, even if he had a strange sense of dress. Very British, though."
Harry blinked. He'd thought the letter he'd sent to his Uncle about that had been more of a just-in-case courtesy. That the Improper Use of Magic Office would be this sharp was... A little scary, actually.
His expression showed as much.
Uncle Vernon smiled genially. "Don't worry. They're not bothered about a few pepper-up and sleeping potions. Even your prank ones were fine, boy."
Well. Evidently his letter had made it just in time.
Comfortably situated around the oversized Christmas tree in the living room, Dudley got a couple Mega Drive games, an Iron Maiden CD and - despite Vernon's grumbling about the 'Damn Reds' - a VHS filled with Alexander Karelin highlights he later confided to Harry he'd been pushing for in half a dozen letters before his father had relented.
Harry got the complete Tolkien set complete with a receipt that Vernon had failed to notice and stated in no uncertain terms that it'd been bought the day after Harry had arrived home for Christmas.
Harry shrugged this little detail off. He probably should've written Uncle Vernon a letter about how the Improper Use of Magic Office wouldn't be able to detect his brewing before he'd boarded the train.
It was already dark outside, and everyone was seated in the living room, Harry reading, Dudley playing his videogames, Aunt Petunia knitting, and Uncle Vernon grumbling about immigrants, when, with a great amount of hooting, an owl dropped through the Dursleys' chimney and - soot-covered as it was - landed on Harry's shoulder, looking indignant at having to take such an inconvenient route inside.
Aunt Petunia stood up and left the room without another word. Uncle Vernon looked after her, swore, and then followed her upstairs.
Harry sighed, and looked apologetically at Dudley, who shrugged. "She'll get over it one day."
Harry doubted this, but not having the means to do anything about Aunt Petunia, he resigned himself to submitting to the owl's incessant pecking and relieved it of its package before briefly opening a window for it to take off again.
"Go on. Open it already! I want to see what kinds of stuff wizards give as presents!"
It was a pretty awesome present, all things considered.
A/N: Wut?