Title: The Puir Laddie Who Lived
Author: Fojee aka Punk Bandit
Chapter 6
Several weeks later, someone tried to kill Harry Potter.
It started out as a sunny Saturday morning. Harry and Hermione were in the library, with the two wee free men sleeping on the table after a late night of three-headed dog-baiting. The sky was so crisp and blue that Harry found himself staring outside as far as he could see from the window, only just stopping when Hermione waved her hand in front of his face.
"What are you thinking, Harry? I was calling your name for five whole minutes," Hermione said, looking concerned.
Harry smiled and shook his head. He was only just getting used to Hermione's questions. She was either reading or talking about books or asking questions. He thought privately that there must be little silence inside her teeming head.
Nevertheless, she was easy to talk to, and the Mac nac Feegles adored her. Even Garbo adored her, and she adored him back. She had already asked for one of his kittens from a Gryffindor girl with a very pregnant cat.
"Sometimes I think a whole week could go by before you'd speak another word," Hermione complained teasingly.
Harry laughed softly. "I just learn more things by being silent and watching people, that's all. And I'm not really used to having a friend to talk to. Back home," he paused, his expression changing, "back home, there were only Hobble and the others, and Mistress Aching, and the sheep. People talked to me, but only because they needed listening to."
Hermione looked like she understood, so she let the silence fall and they both got back to their reading. But the window caught Harry's eye again, and he found himself standing up.
"I think I'll go for a walk," Harry whispered to Hermione. "It's too nice out to be cooped up here."
Hermione declined to go with him. So he woke Hobble up, leaving Killem to keep the other girl company. Hobble grumbled, but climbed up his robe to sit on his shoulder and lean against his neck.
He brought the book he was reading about mirror magic to the librarian's desk to be stamped by Madame Pince. He became interested in the subject after encountering the full-length mirror of Erised that his companions had discovered. Hermione had looked at the book curiously, but Harry found himself reluctant to talk about what he saw. He had a feeling the mirror was dangerous, and didn't want to involve his new friend.
After Madame Pince stamped the back of the book, using a large stamp pad that smelled like one of Professor Snape's potions, Harry headed downstairs to go to the field near the lake.
There were other students out there, lying on the grass, or dipping toes in the shallow area of the lake. There were students from all houses on brooms, zooming around and tagging each other in the air. It was less fierce than the Quidditch games that aroused everyone's House spirit. Harry smiled to see such easy camaraderie.
He picked a spot near some hedges to sit on, and took out his book. Granny Weatherwax had told him a story once about a wicked witch trapped between two mirrors, but she had not gone into detail, and her face had turned to stone at further prodding.
The book, called Mirror, Mirror: The Many Uses of Silvered and Reflective Glass by a scholar named White Snowflake, talked about the possibilities of using mirrors to extend the reach of one's power, or to hide entire rooms, or to scry far away places. It didn't say anything about the dangers of being trapped, although if one could hide a room inside a mirror, then surely there was a way to trap a person inside it. Harry shuddered a little at the possibility.
He jumped when a hand descended heavily on his shoulder. From the other shoulder, Hobble jerked awake at the sudden movement.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for taking a library book out of the school, Mr. Potter." It was Professor Snape, looking gleeful at having caught him unaware.
Harry frowned inwardly. The older man disturbed him greatly. He seemed to be always watching, waiting for him to make a mistake, and pouncing on him triumphantly when it happened. Sometimes, the professor seemed concerned, but mostly there was naked malice on his face. But it was not any of these that disconcerted him; it was the fact that he could not hide in the man's presence. Professor Snape always knew where he was, or what he was doing.
"I'm sorry, professor. I wasn't aware that it was against the rules," Harry murmured, tucking the book inside his bag, but not before catching the older man peek at its title with curiosity on his face.
"Ignorance is not an acceptable excuse, Mr. Potter," he said before stamping off.
That was when it happened.
Harry felt a sudden constriction around his throat. It didn't feel like when he swallowed something too big, or when he was near tears. It felt like hands—like claws—wrapped around his neck, choking the life out of him. It happened so fast, he could do little but cry out wordlessly, his nails scratching at his neck in terror.
The noise was enough to catch Severus Snape's attention. He whipped around, his black robe flapping noisily and with less grace than usual, and at the sight of Harry Potter thrashing on the ground, he rushed forward, one hand rushing to cradle the back of Potter's neck, the other reaching for his wand.
In mere seconds that seemed to last an eternity, he took in the sight of Harry Potter turning blue, and he caught the sudden appearance of a blue-colored creature beside Potter's head, jumping up and down in frustrated rage, and he looked around and caught sight of a shadowed face from a window, looking down at them. And then he had waved his wand and had spoken the counter-spell almost by instinct, and Potter was gulping in huge breaths, his head acquiescent in Snape's palm. The creature had disappeared, but he still felt its mostly benign presence.
Once he was able to stand, Harry refused to go to see Madame Pomfrey. "I'm fine, professor," he said firmly to the other man almost hovering over him. "Thank you for saving my life."
Severus Snape looked furtive for a moment, before blurting out, "Consider us even."
Harry tilted his head in puzzlement. He opened his mouth to ask his professor to explain the enigmatic statement, but the older man interrupted him.
"Your father… He saved my life when I was young. Thus with this act, my life debt is paid," Severus spoke reluctantly.
It sounded to Harry like one of those formal speeches that the King of Lancre used to make, like it was part of a ritual, so instead of asking the questions that bubbled inside him, he nodded solemnly. "It is paid in full. Still, I thank you, professor." With that he dusted himself off, bowing deeply, and walked off with bag in tow. He muttered under his breath, "I guess now I have to research life debts, too."
Severus finely tuned ears caught the words, but he was so surprised that he just stood there, completely forgetting to ask about the tiny blue man that appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye, or the fact that someone tried to kill the boy, and he didn't even look concerned.
888
Harry Potter was deeply concerned. He wasn't scared, really. He was just… worried. So many things were going on in the castle that he didn't even know which mystery he should start focusing on. He felt like Hermione probably had at first seeing the library: completely, utterly overwhelmed.
The pace of his classes frustrated him. They seemed so slow compared to his progress on his own, or under Madame Pomfrey's tutelage. But then he remembered Mistress Aching's stories of her own apprenticeship under different witches, and forced himself to remain patient while Professor Flitwick supervised the rest of the class who somehow couldn't manage the simple Mobilicotis charm on the pebbles in front of them.
He spent the rest of the hour thinking about his attempted murder. He had neglected to tell his guardians about it, to the Nac mac Feegle's intense and colorful disapproval. But then, they were more scared of Mistress Aching and Granny Weatherwax than they were of him.
There was really only one suspect that stood out in Harry's mind: Professor Quirinus Quirrell. But it didn't make sense! Why would the other man, who seemed totally scared of his own shadow, attempt to kill an eleven year old boy that he had never even met? In class, he had observed the professor but aside from even more convoluted and stuttering explanations of protection spells, there was little to observe.
And there was still Professor Snape's connection to his father that bugged at Harry. He should just ask the older man, he knew, but was reluctant to breach the unspoken truce between them. He had become less… overtly malicious in class, and was prone to staring at him, instead. Probably trying that headology again, he thought.
If they really did hate each other, why had James—he couldn't bring himself to say dad—saved the professor's life? And what kind of danger was Professor Snape in that he needed saving? Are attempted murders so commonplace here at the castle?
He shook his head to clear it of the questions just as the bell rung. It was his last class for the day. He shouldered his bag, waving at the other Hufflepuffs before heading to the library to meet Hermione as usual. He tugged his bag until it was in front, and he walked while absentmindedly shifting through his books, looking for the ones that were overdue.
Hobble materialized on his shoulder, looking the worse for wear. "Ach, ye 'ave t'go to the t'ree heided beastie right noooo!"
"What's the matter? Where's Killem?" Harry asked frantically, not even lowering his voice. Thea Marks, who was walking several feet behind him, looked at him strangely, but he couldn't spare her the attention.
Hobble just tugged him along, moving him several feet before Harry's own legs could respond. He left his bag in the corridor, turned around briefly to the bewildered Thea, and just had time to shout, "Tell Hermione in library… third floor corridor… sorry…," before he was out of sight.
888
It was very well to resolve to be friends with Harry Potter and it was another to actually follow through.
Draco Malfoy had been thinking a lot since that night in the Forbidden Forest, and he'd been watching the other boy, even acknowledging him with a nod if their eyes met. There were many advantages to pursuing a friendship with Harry Potter, the most extraordinary Hufflepuff he had ever bothered to notice. But he still couldn't bring himself to make the first move. It was… demeaning. People should come to me. They should bow and scrape and… He let the thought fade, thinking of his father's so-called friends. He couldn't imagine the other boy fawning over him the way all those people had slobbered over his father. He wanted Harry to be his friend, not his lackey.
And now it was too late. Hermione Bloody Granger had moved in into his territory. These days, the two were often inseparable. Even though they belonged to different Houses, they were often seen together at the Hufflepuff table at meals, and in the library after classes.
Draco spotted her alone at a table in the library. He briefly considered sauntering over with an insult or two, but as much as he couldn't be Harry's friend anymore, he didn't want to be the other boy's enemy. So he settled for glaring at her malevolently behind a stack of books.
He was in a perfect position to eavesdrop when another mudblood girl from Hufflepuff rushed towards Granger and began to babble about Harry Potter saying something about the third floor corridor before leaving in a hurry. They had all heard about the Headmaster's strange rule against going there at the beginning of the year. What could it mean? Hermione looked indecisive, so Draco smiled smugly and stepped out from behind the shelves.
"So Harry's in trouble? Maybe I can help…"
