Nightmares of Reality

by scion.of.morbidity

The Potters were living the dream: they had two powerful sons, one beautiful daughter and a public ready to bow to their every whim. But Harry's dreams aren't the happy kind. NOT a Wrong Boy Who Lived fic. NO Neglected!Harry.

6. Chapter 6

Title: Nightmares of Reality

Author: Claire (.morbidity)

Rating: T

Genre: Family/Tragedy

Pairings: Not the main part of the story, but there will be a few where they contribute to the plot. Mostly between adults, barely anything with the teens, nothing with kids. Pairing Warning: none of the relationships will be nice. They'll probably all come crashing down. There's Lily/James and much later Lily with Severus Snape, along with possibly a few other pairings but they won't be the main focus and will not be lovey-dovey romance. Be warned.

In case you were wondering, no: there will not be a Harry/Lily pairing.

Warnings: Probably eventual murder, insanity (not the happy kind so prevalent in fanfics: the scary, dark, serious talk with your psychiatrist kind), death, torture, nastiness in general, in this chapter specifically there's child-hating, eleven-year-old-scaring, lots more scaring of eleven year olds, a few people are called Mudbloods, Lily's mean to Snape and, naturally, spoilers.

Also, I feel I should warn you that the rating is T right now because I think the story will get darker. Right now I'd estimate as a K+, although correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that by the end it will be M. For the eventual insanity and torture.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. Especially the words "Troll – In the dungeons-" and "Thought you ought to know." Probably a few other bits too, but as I move through the fic I'm moving away from the whole copying thing. Not that I'm doing it too much anyway. From what I can tell.

Extended Summary: The Potters were living the dream: they had two powerful sons, one beautiful daughter and a public ready to bow to their every whim. Lily works, while James cares for their twin sons and daughter. Ethan, their son, killed Voldemort but he has grown up a sweet child, away from all the media. The life of the Potters is truly a dream come true. But Harry's dreams aren't the happy kind.

Notes: So here's chapter. Really super sorry about the delay – I was moving and on holiday… my computer and books were packed away… And I had no Internet for weeks, which I barely lived through…I don't know when the next chapter's coming out. Hopefully in two weeks or so. *Crosses fingers*

Thanks for the reviews!

-NoR-

Chapter 6

-NoR-

Although they tried, Harry and his Slytherins didn't get a chance to investigate the third floor for many weeks. Homework, classes and more homework seemed to be taking over their lives: for Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall now had them writing an eight inch essay a week, although Tracey Davis swore it was only for Slytherins that she gave this amount (not that Tracey would know; she had no friends in the other houses), while Professor Snape demanded ten inches for every lesson. They were reading a new book every weekend for Charms class, and even Professor Umbridge's classes were becoming more taxing. Added to that, was the 'Magical Society and It's Environment' class – or MSIE – and the workload was impossible.

Not to mention the teacher was completely insufferable.

It was obvious from the moment the Professor stepped into the Great Hall that the man was not fit to teach. He'd entered, nose in the air, robes, so covered in patterns and stitching they reminded Harry of the quilts and rugs his mother had inherited from her own mother, trailing after him and a sneer on his face. The man would have looked strong, young and healthy had it not been for the gray hair and the way his skin sagged and wrinkled. He looked like a twenty-year-old boy stuffed into an old man's skin.

When he had reached the head table he had stopped and turned around, finally looking at the students he would be teaching. His face had been overcome with horror.

"Albus," he had said, voice too smooth to be natural, "you didn't tell me there'd be children."

As a whole, the student body had taken a great dislike to their new professor. Some of the seventh years had charmed their way into his good graces, and he tolerated a few select sixth years, but no one in Slytherin liked him. Not even the ones who were receiving good marks on their homework.

It was in his first class that Harry decided that he truly couldn't stand the man.

"Class, my name is Nicolas Flamel." He said this as if he expected them to bow down in awe at his very name, oozing with superiority. "That is Professor Flamel to you, and I am over six hundred years old. You will respect me. In this classroom I will have no talking, no chatting, no back talk, no staring, no sniggering, no passing notes, no yawning, no fighting, no eye-rolling, no biting nails, no coughing, no laughing, no chuckling, no smiling, no lip-biting, no smirking, no noise, no sleeping, no finger-tapping, no foot-tapping, no tapping in general, no mouthing off, no pointing, no hand-raising, and above all, no questions. I am here to teach you and I don't have time for your meaningless drivel. If you don't understand something it's your own fault for not having the intelligence required to follow my lectures. Then again, this is to be expected: you are, after all, children. In light of this, it is recommended that you attempt to read to discover the answers to your problems. If you are incapable of this you're an utter imbecile and you deserve to fail."

Harry knew he wasn't the only one of his classmates staring in dismay. The man was terrible, revolting… He was a teacher… or he was supposed to be.

"If you break any one of my rules you will lose twenty house points. Break another and you will lose another eighty, and earn a detention. The third rule you break will result in detention for a week and the loss of one hundred and sixty house points. You do not want to know what the breaking of a fourth rule will amount to." He sneered again, and turned around to begin class.

It seemed to go on for hours. Flamel droned on about how wizards were called wizards because they used magic, and how 'wizard' was a generic term for a witch or wizard and how they used wands because that was how they controlled magic and every other bit of information a two-year-old muggle could pick up after five minutes in Diagon Alley.

Then, to top it all off, Flamel assigned them an entire scroll of parchment for an essay on the effectiveness of Muggleborn introduction into the Wizarding world in Britain.

None of his friends had been stupid enough to incite the man's wrath, however Goyle had managed to yawn, losing Slytherin twenty points.

Draco, however, had heard from Pansy, who'd heard from Tracey, who'd heard from her brother, the fourth year Jack Davis, who'd heard from his friend Garth Hamersley, who'd overheard two sixth years talking about a girl in their year's brother who'd stood up to the man.

Apparently the boy was still in the hospital wing, two days after, and wasn't to be seen in the Slytherin common room for a month at least. Harry didn't put much stock in this, particularly as the rumour had come through the Davis siblings, but he thought that at least the part about someone standing up to him might be true.

Of course, Blaise, whose half-sibling was in Ravenclaw, told them that people from the other houses hadn't listened at all to the man's warnings: in fact if rumour had it true (which was, admittedly, unlikely) the entire class of fifth year Gryffindors had walked out. The fact that their house points were the lowest in decades, however, increased the likelihood of its occurrence. Draco, however, had made sure everyone knew that he doubted it was the whole fifth year Gryffindor class, because Percy Weasley was in that year and everyone knew how migraine inducing the prefect was. Draco even suspected that the Weasley boy would be taking lessons from Flamel. It was at times like these that Harry wondered how deeply obsessed Draco was with the Malfoy-Weasley feud.

As Harry entered the MSIE classroom for the third time that week, he found himself wondering what Ethan thought of the man, as neither had ever met anyone quite this horrid – not even Snape was this bad!

Then Harry told himself to stop thinking about his twin, because if there was a person who deserved Flamel, it was Ethan.

-NoR-

Harry tossed a grin at Draco, who smirked back. After two weeks of planning, they were finally going to do it. It sent shivers of excitement down his spine and into his toes. He could barely stand still: he couldn't wait.

"It's the night!" He whispered hoarsely, and Draco nodded back, eyes calculating and determined. They were to meet Pansy and Daphne on the third floor corridor as they had decided going in small groups would be easiest. The rest of their classmates were back in the dorms, covering for them. When the idea had first been proposed, everyone had wanted to go but once it had been decided that only four would go Harry had nominated himself, with Draco as his partner. Everyone had backed down and agreed immediately, leaving Harry to wonder where their enthusiasm had disappeared. Were they so unwilling to do things with him involved? But he'd pushed it out of his mind as Pansy and Daphne had elected themselves to be the other team.

And now, they were going to find out what was hidden there.

They didn't know what to expect, apart from a big dog. They assumed they'd have to get past it, so Draco had discreetly ordered a potion that would knock an animal like a dog out so they could sneak past. Harry had researched unlocking charms with Daphne, and they had practiced on their classmate's trunks.

They were ready.

Harry and Draco crept through the halls, as silently as they could, trying to stick to the shadows created by the flickering, ominous, lamps. Up stairs, through passages, running away from professors… Eventually, they made it to the corridor, with Pansy and Daphne joining them only a few scant beats later.

"Almost ran into Filch." Daphne hushed as Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door.

This was it.

This was the moment.

"Alohamora."

The lock clicked, and the door opened.

The first thing Harry heard was breathing. The slow, heavy breath of a large animal… Make that the slow, steady breaths of large animals. But it couldn't be, because Ethan had only mentioned one animal. And Ethan had thought Harry had put the beast there, or at least known about it, so he wouldn't have had a reason to lie. Something odd was happening.

The next thing Harry heard was a growl. Low and guttural, it left Harry's hairs standing on end. He shivered slightly, feeling the others do the same. They couldn't see what was in there, but it sounded terrifying. Deciding to be brave, Harry stepped inside.

And then something lunged at him. Shrieking, Harry flung himself back to where Draco, Pansy and Daphne were, barely making it out of the room before the dog's massive head stuck its way through the door, barking at the top of it's doggy lungs. Terrified, they stumbled back, tripping over each other to get away from the thing. It pushed at the stone arch, nostrils flaring, trying desperately to fit through the arch, whining and barking simultaneously. Harry, curled into a ball, felt his heart beat double speed. His eyes never left the menacing, strangely pitiful sight.

After what seemed like an age, the dog pulled back into the darkness. As one, the Slytherins rose.

"What was that?" Harry wasn't sure who asked the question, but it played upon their minds: what was that? What was that? What was that?

No one answered, but Daphne moved ahead, leaning against the wall next to the door so she wasn't in its line of sight, urging the others to follow her. Quietly, she cast a lumos spell, and peeped inside. There was a clattering. She had dropped her wand, the spell failing with it.

She turned back to the others, and Harry knew their question was written all over their faces. But the ghost-struck girl couldn't answer. So Draco, who was the next closest to the door, moved to cast another lumos, pulling Pansy and Harry around behind him so they could also see. The tip of his wand lit up with deathly pale white light, bouncing off the stone walls creepily, glowing slightly.

In the room was the most monstrous thing Harry had ever seen. He felt his eyes pop out at it: the monstrosity. Gargantuan, saliva dribbling down its cheeks, fangs visible, three heads…

"Cerberus."

It was Pansy who said it, barely louder than a whisper, but it heard. Its heads snapped up to stare at her: six eyes growling at the students. There was a second when nobody moved.

Then the next the monstrosity was barking and everyone was backing away from the door, grabbing it and slamming it shut.

Nobody mentioned the third floor corridor again.

-NoR-

Thousands of floating jack o'lanterns decorated the hall with shadowed flashes of yellow and orange, dark bats swooping between them creating incoherent shapes on the walls. Below were tables covered in silken white tablecloths rimmed with black and orange ribbon, and again in sweets. Excited children whispered to each other as fast as lightning, unable to contain their eagerness. The ghost choir were singing louder than ever, though for the first time the students could see them.

The ghosts were a sight to behold: pictures of mounted knights, chivalrous and brave, fair maidens, ruthless villains and dashing noblemen sprang to mind. They were from a time quite unknown and strange, not quite fitting in, a faded outline.

Yet tonight, in the dim candlelight, they seemed alive.

Off to the side, an orchestra played. The ghosts never paused, and they never tired. Indeed one colourful ghost, playing the bass drum, only grew more intense as he played on. Every time he hit the drum the people closest to it winced a bit, but they didn't mind too much: every time he did a new batch of candies would fall from the sky, mysteriously missing the lanterns on the way.

Everywhere children chattered and nattered and spluttered on about this and that, without a care in the world.

Harry was confused. Around him, people were – celebrating.

His puzzled glances must have drawn his friends' attention, because soon Draco was asking him, "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry's face made a frown, unsure of how to phrase the question best. He'd never been to a Halloween feast, so he wouldn't pretend to know what was supposed to be going on, but he'd come to suspect there'd be less…

"Why is everyone so happy?" He asked, staring at a bread roll as he tore it apart, trying to ignore the looks of his Slytherins. "I know it's a feast and there's lollies, but whenever we've celebrated it at home we've never been so…"

He trailed off, unable to explain. Thankfully, they seemed to know what he meant.

"Oh, don't worry Harry." Pansy said with a small gasp. "I understand perfectly."

Draco then quickly grabbed Harry's wrist before he could eat the bread he was holding. Harry turned to him, surprised, but Draco didn't notice and continued.

"My family never celebrates, either. I consider it terribly distasteful to do so."

Daphne, directly opposite him, flicked a toffee at him. It hit his hand before it rebounded onto his plate and he winced a bit, but the girl paid him no mind.

"It's the Mudblood influence. Ever since the Dark Lord's defeat they've seen the night as a time of good memories. Of course, before that night we purebloods celebrated Halloween, but now it's become almost a shame to do it." She sniffed slightly, but threw Harry a warm smile.

"They've ruined a good holiday." Draco maintained. "Father can't stand going to the parties these days, all celebrating His defeat, and not what truly happened that night, it makes him sick. But appearances must be upheld."

This explained a lot to Harry. Those people were happy because the Dark Lord had died that day, ten years ago, because of Ethan. Gazing over to the Gryffindor table, Harry now saw that Ethan's ever-present admirers were staring at him with even less subtlety than usual – not that his brother noticed. But it also explained why Harry's family had never joined in on the partying:

While they enjoyed the Dark Lord's death, Harry's family had suffered. That day, their lives had been ruined.

Harry gave a weak smile at his friends. At least they understood.

"And then you get idiot Mudbloods like Goldstein," Pansy butted in, ruining the moment completely, "who insist that we should be observing Samhain instead! We're not from the fifteen hundreds!"

"Pansy, how many times do we have to tell you: Goldstein's not a Mudblood. His family can trace back their history longer than you. Just because their family's isolated enough to still think wizards can't fly, it doesn't mean…" Theodore launched into explanation of why, exactly, Pansy shouldn't be calling the last, and consequently first to attend Hogwarts, scion of the Goldstein family a Mudblood, and everything returned to normal. Harry unwrapped the toffee Daphne had given him and listened to Theodore and Pansy go back and forth about whether or not ignorance classified as worthiness of Mudbloodism. It made him think back to what his dad had told him, weeks earlier: that Mudblood was just an insult, possible to be applied to anyone but still incredibly rude. Harry had stopped using the word after that talk, trying to find better words to insult people (a common pastime in the Slytherin common room), but when his friends had used it Harry hadn't said anything about it. They could call people whatever they wanted; it wasn't Harry's place to tell them how to insult people. Pansy and Theodore's argument had just moved onto whether or not blood traitors classified as Mudbloods when the doors banged open.

"Troll – In the dungeons-"

Professor Quirrell burst through the doors, shrieking at the top of his lungs. The entire hall stared at him in shock.

"Thought you ought to know."

The professor fell to the floor.

There was silence for a second, before the four houses erupted in noise.

"Are we going to die?"

"Troll! A troll!"

"I want to go home!"

"A troll!"

Several purple firecrackers later, Dumbledore returned order to the school.

The wizened man was standing at the high table, looking sternly down at them. He cut a surprisingly impressive figure, never mind the bright orange robes he wore. Standing as he was now, it was no wonder the elderly wizard was probably the most respected man in the Wizarding world.

"The prefects will escort the students to their dorms. Everyone is to stay in their common rooms until tomorrow when the heads of houses have given the okay. The teachers will take care of this threat."

With that, everyone stood. Harry felt Pansy clutch his arm, while Draco stood by the other. They made their way, refusing to acknowledge the way their limbs shook, over to the seventh year prefects who were calling them, the others trailing on behind.

"Are trolls dangerous?" Millicent was the first to speak. Her voice was hushed and frail for once. The first years glance nervously around at each other. Some had heard stories, others hadn't.

"I heard that trolls eat people – mostly kids." Pansy whispered in a high, fragile voice, as if she was trying not to hear what she was saying. "They catch them, then they knock them out and carry them too their home. And then, once they wake up, they eat them," she paused, then continued hoarsely, "alive."

Harry felt sick, but glancing at the prefects, they didn't look too worried. Harry thought they were mad. From what his father had told him about trolls…

As a unit, the first years followed the prefects out of the great hall. As they walked, Harry couldn't help but notice the extreme differences in the demeanours of his classmates and the seventh years. While Harry and his friends were scared beyond belief, though Blaise, Tracey and Daphne were quite good at hiding it, the seventh and even sixth and fifth years were quite blatantly… not. As Harry was pondering this, Theodore had a thought.

"Wait on a second. Didn't Quirrell say the troll was in the dungeons?"

Harry felt the circulation in his right hand cut off as Pansy's grip threatened to numb it. Would the troll get them? Would it eat them like Pansy said it would? Would Ethan come to his funeral?

Why was he thinking about bloody Ethan at a time like this?

As the first years huddled closer, unfortunately the other Slytherins around them didn't have the same reaction.

"What, scared?" The female prefect looked over her shoulder, pausing in her stride to give them a sharklike grin. She flicked her head back and continued on quickly, taking large steps forcing Harry and the others to practically run to keep up.

"We're seventh years. We can take on a bloody troll."

Harry absently noticed that she seemed to be chewing gum – there had been some at the feast.

"But don't worry." The male prefect said from beside their cluster, towering over them and smiling easily. "If we run into it, we've got a one hundred percent foolproof plan."

Harry felt relief wash over him. Everything was going to be fine.

Blaise, however, didn't seem so sure.

"What's your plan?"

The prefect's smile morphed into a smirk that left Harry chilled to the bones.

"We leave you lot," he pointed at their group, "to distract it while we run."

Then he gave a short laugh and strode forwards, flinging an arm around his fellow prefect's shoulder, with her arm slinking around his own.

Harry glanced at Draco.

"They were just joking, for sure." The blonde said, although he didn't sound completely certain.

But from that point until the common room they made sure to keep a lookout for trolls: if they were first to see it they'd have a split second advantage in which they could make a break for it and hope the other Slytherins weren't bothered to chase down some first years to put in its path in their own flight.

As soon as they entered the common room they took some food to the boys' dormitory, where they set up camp with as many spell books they could find on the fly. Harry began explaining to them the shield charm and stunner his mother had taught him, helping them learn the spells. But both charms were difficult and Harry realised it would take longer than an evening for even Draco to master them, so they moved on to other, simpler options.

If they'd been able to do the Leg-Locker Curse when faced with the troll, it would have been the prefects who'd have been in trouble. Or at least Harry and his Slytherins could have escaped after turning on the other first years.

-NoR-

The stone…

…He wanted that stone…

Such a pretty thing…

Pretty stone. Pretty red stone.

…Give him the stone…

Blood red stone.

…Give me the stone…

Young, insecure hands clutched youthful wand. Hand waved complex motions, overseen by glaring eyes, glaring at the pretty red stone.

All his hopes and dreams…

"You won't get the stone, boy." Withered old man glared and sneered.

So close, within arms reach. A single old man stood between success and failure, eternity and mortality, deification and humanisation…

"We won't let someone who would only do evil have our stone."

New presence entered room. Younger, deadlier… "It's my stone, you silly little boy." Female voice scratched out.

Candlelight flickered.

He needed it… Desperation called…

He was gliding through a tunnel, too small for a meagre human to fit, but for a spirit…

He latched onto a goblin, disgusting little creature, and found the vault with ease… Its number was the date… Far too simple.

Effortlessly, he opened the vault, but it contained nothing…

The stone was at Hogwarts…

He had known this would happen…

It was at Hogwarts…

But now it was guarded by the beast of hell itself.

He had thwarted hell's gate before.

You must destroy Flamel. It is the only way. He is all that stands in my path.

Always… He was always in the way…

Kill him.

-NoR-

Lily watched her shaking son leave the room with curiosity. The latest dream… To say it was disturbing, while true, implied that it was more so than any other dream he'd ever had. But all Harry's visions were unsettling; even the memory of Amy Benson pulling the child Dark Lord's hair… Voldemort, no matter what form, always managed to add a touch of the disconcerting to the people around him.

"Interesting, to say the least." She commented casually to Severus, hovering in the corner of his office. Giving him an easy smile, she nodded towards the seat Harry had just vacated: plump and squishy because all too often he was knocked out by her probing, slightly lower than her own stone chair behind the desk. Although she couldn't hear it, she knew Severus was grumbling inside at having to sit in the thing. But he would never think of conjuring a new one after she'd indicated his place.

"It appears Voldemort is, indeed, after the stone." Severus agreed, his black eyes staring into her own, trying to convey some deeper message. Lily just smiled wanly, and turned her gaze to her fingernails. They were becoming rather grubby; she needed a manicure. She wouldn't risk going into the magical world, no matter how good Frizz's Hair and Nail Salon was, but maybe as Delilah Evans she could go into the muggle world and get them done. The muggle way was dreadfully mundane, but it was safer for her not to be seen. Besides, she did like acting the part of Delilah. It was… Fun.

"Hmm… Yes. And Harry's dreams seem to imply that Quirrell is working for him, but they're all so vague. You're fairly certain?" One of the major problems they were facing with trying to extract information from Harry was his own magic's natural resistance. Lily had seen it many times: the mind and magic of victims of nightmares working in tandem to block off the memories. In Harry's case this was working, and so, particularly for nightmares that hadn't been seen any time recently, nobody could recreate the subtle details. They didn't have this problem with the visions he'd had in the day, or the dreams that seemed nicer. In one dream, Lily was fairly certain Voldemort had spoken to Quirrell, but she may have been wrong.

"Quirrell released the troll on Halloween. He was bringing it in to guard the stone, on Dumbledore's orders, but he managed to lose control of it, at the perfect moment for a diversion… I went to check the third floor corridor myself."

Lily glanced at him. "Did you see him?" She asked, slightly teasing, as she already knew the answer. Severus would have told her outright if he'd actually caught the man in the act – in fact he'd have told professor Dumbledore, and Quirrell would be on his way to Azkaban.

Severus shot a half-hearted glare at her, not bothering to answer. Lily gave a tinkling giggle, biting her lip to keep away the smirk threatening to appear when the man in front of her turned away. Lily would swear his cheeks were slightly pink.

But now was not the time to tease Severus about his little crush.

"But as all evidence points towards our dear defence professor, we should keep an eye on him. You will, Severus, won't you?" Lily's eyes widened slightly, but Severus wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the pensieve in the corner, dark soulless eyes giving no hint as to what was going on behind them.

"Dumbledore has already asked this of me."

Lily hummed in agreement, also staring off into space. She wouldn't mention it, but in the dreams, it sometimes seemed as if Dark Lord were at Hogwarts… but it was preposterous. He wouldn't dare: not with Dumbledore around. But she felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought of that thing being anywhere near Harry and Ethan. The last time…

Glancing around for something to take her mind off that, she happened to notice her friend's leg. Or rather, what had once been his leg. He had let his robes fall to the side, after which it was hard not to notice the festering wound dribbling with dried blood. When he was sure she had stared long enough he covered it once more with a glare, as if he hadn't been trying to insight her sympathy. It truly was a ghastly thing, but Severus should know it would take more than scars to impress her. She had covered enough mutilations to laugh at the miserable graze.

So she smiled smugly and went back to her analysis.

"And now it appears we have a murder-to-be on our hands. 'You must destroy Flamel.' It did sound rather ominous."

Severus scowled at her lack of interest in her leg, but he scowled so often that Lily had long ceased caring for the look he wore on his face. His bitter words had more taste, while his obsession with her was even more amusing.

"Dumbledore did argue against Flamel being here, especially as he will soon be vulnerable. With the stone under such high security he isn't able to retrieve the Elixir of Life. Soon he will be as mortal as the rest of us."

Lily hummed in agreement. She was thinking about Nicolas Flamel. She had never met him herself, but he was said to have a strong personality. A bit eccentric, but what can you expect of a man over six hundred years old? He was a friend of the Headmaster's so he would have to have good intentions, but from the way Harry and Ethan described him in their letters he was anything but nice. A child-hater, but still someone Dumbledore was on amiable terms with was sure to be an interesting fellow…

"But Flamel is ready to die." She continued where Severus had left off. "His protections on the stone prove it. He wants to die, and he will even if Dumbledore doesn't want to see his oldest friend go…"

"He will let it happen, because he respects Flamel's wishes." Severus continued. It was at times like these that Lily was reminded of their school days: in the library, reading some book about potions and discovering, together, a new alteration they would make… Hours later they would attempt it, either jotting it down in their textbooks or running to the hospital wing with a bad case of exploding potions. It brought back smiles.

"Yes… The Dark Lord doesn't yet know that the destruction of Flamel is the easy part." To want to die… Lily had never heard something so preposterous. The man had created the Philosopher's Stone, producer of the Elixir of Life, yet he wanted to die… Yet in a way Lily could understand it. To have spent over six hundred years alive would be tedious to say the least. Life was tiring, she knew, with all the people staring at her, wondering if the Dark Lord had spared her because she was his servant, whispering in fear behind her back; she could understand Flamel very well. And to spend so long simply living… and now is so different from then. Children don't show their respect to their elders in quite the same way, which was possibly why Flamel couldn't stand to be around those younger than seventeen.

"I think someone has overtaken you as 'most universally hated teacher at Hogwarts', Severus." She brushed aside her thoughts. She was done with crabby old men and megalomaniacs tonight. Now was the time for teasing old friends. Severus was unimpressed.

"He has also taken 'worst teacher' from Trelawney, and 'most annoying voice' from Quirrell. Unfortunately he doesn't appear to have any inclination towards alcohol so he can't take Umbridge's title of 'most drunk', but I'm still holding out for a few addictive potions to take away Trelawney's 'highest'. He has not given a single point so far, yet he took more points on his first day than I do in a month. I believe he will soon get his wish of a quick death: the student body will see to it if the Dark Lord doesn't."

Lily bit her lip to keep herself from laughing: an old habit from those times in the library where something Severus had said would just make her want to die it was so funny, but Madam Pince would be glaring at her so hard that she knew that if she dared even twitch she and her accomplice would be thrown from the library, not to return for a month. But she couldn't keep the smile from coming to her face.

The conversation, from there, turned to their own teachers. Nostalgic spirits then carried them to Hogwarts, and the happy times they'd spent together, taking care to never mention their lives as upper year students at Hogwarts. After fifth year, everything turned bad. And neither wanted to think of the bad at that moment.

So they drank and talked and laughed and talked until neither could remember houses or blood or family or names…

But as the clock struck twelve Lily had to leave. She was dimly aware of the sobering potion she'd prepared before leaving work. She slowly drew the vial from her pocket, clumsily uncorking it and shoving the contents down her throat. It took all her will not to gag.

Next to her on the lounge (when had they moved to Severus' private rooms?) Severus was retching down his own concoction, the next second racing to the bathroom to heave up the alcohol. Lily shook her head: Severus' brew was a silly potion. Severus preferred to be rid of everything in one blast: a disgusting potion, sickness, and then the poison in the system was gone. The next day, he would have no hangover to speak of except perhaps a surlier mood than usual. Lily, however, favoured a milder tasting potion that left the drinker still slightly tipsy. During the night a fever of sorts would run its course, during which the alcohol would be burnt up, and the next day the only side effects she would suffer were slight exhaustion.

As Severus came limping from the bathroom, Lily stared once again at the wound.

"Why not go to St Mungo's? They have remedies for Cerberus bite."

Severus collapsed down on the couch next to her.

"People would wonder what happened; why I was bitten by a Cerberus. Soon Hogwarts would be put under scrutiny…"

Lily nodded, accepting this. Slowly she stood, ambling over to the fireplace at an easy pace. It had been good to spend time with her oldest friend. But now she thought for a moment. About that leg…

"I'll send someone over for you tomorrow." She said as she stood by the fire, hand reaching into the floo pot. Severus immediately protested.

"Lily, it's no trouble-"

But Lily shushed him.

"Yes, it's really no trouble at all, Severus. We have a new healer in my department and it'll do him some good to have a hands-on situation. And the unspeakables know better than to disobey me."

With her words all amiability swept from the room, revealing the old tension between them. Severus froze up, while Lily lifted her chin and threw in the floo powder. With a shout, she was gone.

-NoR-

Harry sealed the last letter with relief. It had taken him an hour and a half, and a great deal of wasted parchment, but hopefully now Aunt Bathilda would stop sending letters asking how 'dear little Albus' was and filled with 'subtle' requests to write. And maybe the Earth would stop moving and Hufflepuffs were evil. But at the very least Harry thought he could get some help for History of Magic. His pseudo-aunt had, after all, written the textbook.

Stuffing the letters into his bag, Harry mumbled a few words to his friends about going to the owlery. They nodded, but no one offered to accompany him. It was the Sunday afternoon routine the first years had adopted: they would do their own work and not move. The atmosphere in the common room was that of a reptile basking in the sun: lazy and soaking the heat up for all it was worth. But despite the sluggish feel to the air, the Slytherins were hard at work, silently finishing the homework due in the morning that they should have finished Friday night. There was a silent agreement between them to not cater to each other's whims on Sunday afternoons.

The agreement began early on in the term, but it wasn't fully formed until after Halloween. Two weeks into November now, the Slytherin first years had bonded over their scare. Even Harry felt more comfortable with his friends – although less so with the upper years. Later when they'd spoken about the scare the prefects had given them, they'd realised that the prefects wouldn't have been able to get away with it and, what's more, the prefects knew they could never leave the first years as bait. If they had, they would have been expelled, or given detention or stripped of their status as prefect at least. But they still weren't able to look at the prefects who'd tormented them without remembering Halloween.

So now their silent agreement was formed. And it didn't only include Sunday afternoons. It also involved not ratting on other first years, because you never knew when you'd want an alibi for yourself. It said that you would not allow another to sleep in after seven thirty on a weekday, because you never knew when your own alarm would fail. Then there were specific clauses relating to certain people, for example letting Blaise act like an idiot each morning trying to find his wand, although nobody believed him anymore. There was another clause stating that Tracey Davis was the person to go to for gossip. And there was also a whole section devoted to the brilliance of Lucius Malfoy and, by association his son. This was one of the few rules with severe consequences involved if broken (Draco would descend on you), yet it was also one of the few that wouldn't lead to becoming an outcast (the others would congratulate you). Another stated that Draco, Daphne, Pansy and Harry were their own group, on the frontlines in their war against the world. If there were a confrontation with Gryffindors, it would be their group who instigated or retaliated. They were the face of the Slytherin first years, although Harry now realised that this had only been formalised the night they had discovered the Cerberus. Which was another part of the unspoken pact: do not mention the third floor corridor.

So now every Sunday they sat in peaceful silence finishing homework, writing letters, reading or just sleeping. If the common room became too noisy they would relocate to the boys' dormitory, because the boys weren't allowed in the girls. And everything was relaxed, serene, still…

But Harry couldn't stand it. The stillness, the drowsy movements... It made Harry want to scream. In moments like these he felt so confined. He really missed his broom: he hadn't flown since August. But first years weren't allowed brooms. Another rule made for the Mudbloods. And although Harry flinched internally as his mind provided the word for him, he couldn't regret it. In this context, they should be called Mudbloods. Because of them he couldn't fly.

And Harry was itching for movement.

The walk to the owlery was a long one: Slytherin was in the bottom western corner of the castle, while the owls rested at the top of the tower in the east. But Harry was happy for the freedom to move about the castle and found himself jogging all the way. Before he knew it Harry was picking out a tawny owl to deliver his letters.

"Ok, so these are for Bathilda Bagshot, Selene and Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna Lovegood, Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Ava Potter and James Potter." Harry told it, pointing out each letter in turn. Deliver the letters to the Potters last, and only wait for James Potter to give a reply. No matter what you do, don't wait for a reply from Bathilda Bagshot. Just deliver the letter and go. But wait for a reply from James." If Harry let Bathilda reply on that owl, she might get it into her head that Harry wanted her to write more often. And no matter how wonderful it was to have a rich old lady dote on you and give you spending money and treat you with cakes and lollies whenever you were over, she could become overbearing if you acted too eager. So Harry always made sure not to see her too often, and when he did he maintained the image of what she fondly referred to as a 'polite young man'.

Bathilda had lived in Godric's Hollow for who knows how long, and had always been friendly with the Potters. She had gone to Hogwarts with Harry's great-grandparents, had babysat his grandfather and had done the same for James. Even when James and Lily went into hiding she'd been in the know, making sure to drop by every once in a while. And she did tell some very amusing stories, and despite her age her memory was fantastic, remembering every little detail with sharp accuracy. Mostly. James did say to take her stories with a pinch of salt, but Harry had heard her speak about the goblin rebellions of 1872 and 1914 with such horror and sincerity that he couldn't doubt a single word from her mouth. When speaking about any of the four wars she'd seen in her life her face would become bleak and cold and her eyes would stare off into space as if she was seeing it all unfold again before her eyes while Harry and Ethan huddled up by her fireplace, eyes round with excitement. But then the trance would break and she'd be nattering on about what good little boys they were and how now they didn't have to worry – because bloody Ethan had saved them.

As Harry sent the owl off he realised it was getting dark. The sun was low in the sky and pink clouds were forming. It was also starting to get cold. He was just about to head inside when Professor Flamel burst into the owlery, sneering at the bird droppings. He hadn't noticed Harry, who, like the rest of the school, had learnt it was better not to draw attention to oneself where Professor Flamel was involved.

The man studied the birds for a few seconds, before picking out his owl. Harry stared in shock as the disgustingly horrible man adopted an almost delicate expression upon seeing the bird, giving a soft whistle as the beautiful white thing fluttered over to his shoulder. This man, standing before him, must be an imposter. There was no way this man, so caring with his owl, could be the same man who belittled them in class.

"Give this to my Penny, will you girl? She's having a hard time, so be gentle, won't you? She can't see that it's the only way yet. But she will, won't she girl? We'll tell her. Christmas is coming up. We'll give her the best Christmas she's ever had. Isn't it fitting for our last Christmas to be our best?"

Harry's heart stopped as the man gently lifted the bird off into flight. How could someone who hated children so much love anything? But the way he spoke to the bird left no doubt in Harry's mind that he loved the owl, and 'his Penny' he obviously adored. And what had he meant by 'last Christmas'? Were they going their separate ways?

Or was one of them going to die?

As Flamel turned, Harry thought he caught a tear in the man's eye.

And then the man's eyes locked directly onto his own.

"I know you're there boy." Harry stiffened in his hiding place behind the owls. "Come out now and I won't give you detention for the rest of the year."

It wasn't a tough decision. Holding his breath, Harry shuffled out into view, utterly terrified and heart racing.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to intrude…"

"You think I care, boy?" Harry flinched. "You children: always whining… You think the world revolves around you, don't you boy? I've lived over six hundred years, boy, and do you know what? I'm going to die in eleven months. I'll waste away, disintegrate, and rot into nothingness… And nobody will care."

Harry shook as the man loomed over him. But the professor had lost any notion that Harry was there at all.

"But it's my time, you see? It's time for me to leave – for the greater good and all that. I'm going to die and it will save millions of lives, but it won't matter one bit. And I would do it again, and again, and again to save their lives, but you children – you can't see anything beyond your own little worlds!"

And with that the man stomped from the room, down the staircase, leaving Harry breathless.

-NoR-

After that Sunday afternoon Harry couldn't get the tirade out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. The words would pound through his brain at the most inconvenient of times. Professor McGonagall would ask him a question about transfiguration and he wouldn't hear, instead his mind would be playing: 'and nobody will care'. Although his dreams were still of nothing but Voldemort, after he woke up he would be standing in the owlery, with the ranting man tearing into him, saying 'I'll waste away, disintegrate, and rot into nothingness.' When doing his astronomy homework he would look down and find he had written 'I'm going to die.' After that he'd had to start his homework all over again: professor Sinistra probably would have tried to have a serious talk with him if she'd found the words, even crossed out, written there. His friends had noticed that something was up, although he denied it at every turn, and his mother even had to cancel their Friday evening session one week because his mind was in such chaos. She hadn't been pleased.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Flamel's speech. It was so passionate and full of feeling that Harry felt he couldn't even begin to understand it, but he knew it struck something in him. Flamel hadn't mentioned it again, but Harry thought the man was paying special attention to him as he lectured to their class about house elves. He certainly didn't say anything when Harry spaced out in lessons and began mouthing the words to his tirade.

Perhaps the worst event had been in potions class, where Harry hadn't been paying attention and his potion had turned black. Snape had been angry, to say the least, and had given Harry detention for idiocy, but Harry hadn't cared. His mind was stuck in the owlery still. He had nodded in acceptance, and then let his friends drag him from the class.

Then he had muttered, "I'm going to die."

"What?" Draco turned to face him. He hadn't been paying attention as he pulled Harry through the door, but the sound had caught his attention. But Draco didn't hear what Harry said.

Ethan did, turning to him with an unreadable emotion plastered onto his face.

"Going to die, Harry? Wish you'd hurry up then. It'd be the perfect Christmas present."

Harry had felt sick, but he hadn't reacted. He'd heard Ethan's words; they'd even pulled him from the daze. But he just felt too sick to say anything. Because if he did it would be obvious just how hurt he was by his brother's words. Instead he put on a blank face and walked as fast as he could away from the group of first years.

Nobody chased after him.

It was only when he reached the owlery that he began to cry.

-NoR-

-NoR-

-NoR-

AN: Whew. This chapter took a long time to write, but it's setting up a lot of things I have planned for both first year and the story as a whole.

Question I'd like answered before I get the next chapter up: if Nicolas Flamel's bird is Hedwig (and I'm still not sure that she is. She may just be a random snowy white bird), should she be named Hedwig? Or would that be way too much of a coincidence. On the other hand, I could never think of her as anything but Hedwig and it's not like Harry names his bird Hedwig and so another bird called Hedwig magically appears. And it's certainly not like Hedwig will ever be turning into a phoenix. But it will affect what happens next chapter… So please review (please note that this isn't a 'review or I won't update' but rather a 'please review to help me improve the story, I'll update eitherway'.

Also, in case she's Hedwig but under a different name, anyone have any good names for snowy white owls?

On another note, as I was writing, "Why not go to St Mungo's? They have remedies for Cerberus bite." I accidentally wrote 'Severus bite.' Beware, readers of fanfiction, of the dangerous Severus. It bites.