Les Petits Moments
Notes:
I'm pretty sure i developed a multiple personality disorder writing this. This chapter, as well as the next, are my way of showing time passing (I really need it to be Yule now) while giving what I hope is some good moments and character developments. Also, if you guys have any character you really want to see a perspective from, please feel free to suggest because I have several scenes that I don't know which character to use. I go back to work tomorrow so the next chapter will be slower but I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime.
This chapter is nearly three times as long as I usually write (21 pages to my usual 7-8) and also jumps perspectives a lot. And I mean A LOT. Let me know what you think of this writing style, because I had a lot of fun with it.
Thank you so much to everyone who commented with their preference, I love hearing from you all and it makes me extremely happy to know you all take a vested interest.
November-December, 1994
Pansy adores the response to Potter leaving the First Task with Slytherins. It's foul, suspicious, and offensive to anyone who actually cares about Potter. It lasts weeks, and Potter gets plenty of chances to learn to dodge in the halls. In short, it's everything she loves about Hogwarts.
Potter, as he wanted absolutely nothing to do with facing the school after his show of Parseltongue, brought them to the kitchens for dinner. (Pansy thought that hiding away took away whatever power he'd gained from using his ability in the open, but if he wanted to throw away any standing he'd improve, so be it.) Right off the broom, Potter makes an effort. The fact that it takes an effort at all for him to play nice with a couple of "slimy Slytherins" should be horribly offensive, but Draco's quiet but steady joy at having his friends get along is worth it.
They cooperate, keeping their tones stubbornly pleasant and absolutely nothing like they usually are. Draco notices, of course he does, but he's too busy keeping an eye on Potter and making sure he doesn't horribly offend members of the highest pureblood class.
Blaise slips up, just once. Honestly, Pansy thinks it isn't so much of a slip as it is a test, but Potter doesn't need to know that. A single line, a sneer and insult more subtle than Potter has ever thrown around in reference to Potter's abysmal posture.
"Judge my manners after you face a nesting mother dragon, Zabini." It wasn't much, first years do better in the Snake Pit, but it showed he had claws and he wasn't afraid to use them. Pansy spied the glitter of interest in Blaise's eyes and knew she had the same look.
The next day, the fact that Potter had left the tournament with Slytherins was all over the school. The fourth years all got looks from the upper years, especially Draco, but no one was uncouth enough to ask outright and none of them gave in to the silent inquiries.
When Potter walks into the Great Hall, he glances over to the Gryffindor table once, before turning to the Slytherins. He catches Draco's eye, and doesn't hesitate another second when he receives an invite in the form of a tilted head. Draco and Blaise part like water, and Potter takes the seat as soon as Draco gestures to it. After exchanging greetings with Draco, he turns to Pansy and waits for her to greet him, and then does the same with Blaise. Her first because she's Sacred 28 and part of British nobility. Blaise because, even though he holds no title in Britain and thus is technically bellow Potter, he's Italian royalty and only the Blacks could possibly stand on the same footing as the Zabinis.
Draco passes introductions with the rest of the fourth years and, when they get curious and lean closer, the older years and Quidditch team. Sneers, a few hisses and not so quiet insults come at him, but Potter doesn't seem to care. His obviously fake but not disagreeable smile stays firmly in place. Not once did Potter break decorum or traditions. He was rough, clearly new to it, but he was polite without being weak, sharp without injuring. New to the game, but still a player.
Perhaps he had claws and fangs.
Sirius Black was a lot of things. Lord, wizard, convict. Auror, Black, Animagus. Worse, because of his absurd etiquette and politics training, he knew exactly what all his titles were and what order to give them.
Technically, he was The Right Honorable Sirius (Orion Arcturus) Black III, Duke of Black, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, member of the Order of the Phoenix, escaped convict of Azkaban, and accomplished Auror and wizard.
His favourite title, however, and the one that would never be in that list, was blood-adoptive father of Hadrian James (Black) Potter. He just never thought he'd get to use it.
Until, that is, a letter arrives on the wings of a beautiful snowy owl.
Snuffles,
I've thought about it a lot, and I've realized something.
Something shines brighter than whatever betrayal I feel at wanting to "replace" my parents, and that is the fact that I am desperate for one thing: a family. In my first year, I looked into the Mirror of Erised and saw James and Lily Potter. It was the first time I'd ever seen my parents.
I wish I'd gotten to know them, but I think they would've been happy that I was taken care of and loved. I've done a lot of things in my life, and even more is expected of me. I know it is.
In the past three weeks, things have changed. I've changed. It's scary, but I think change can be a good thing.
I'm not the baby you decided to name Heir. I'm not even the young Gryffindor from first year or the one you met in third. I'm just me, and I don't know if you want that. But if you do, I want you.
Give Hedwig your answer whenever you're ready.
H.P.
He doesn't hesitate to Summon ink and parchment. His response is quick, decisive, and Sirius doesn't even bother waiting to send it.
I will always want you, no matter what. I chose you the day you were born, and I'll choose you every day till I die and beyond.
Friday, midnight. Same place.
Snuffles.
There's so much more that needs to be said. So many things that Sirius needs to learn, understand before he can truly be a father to Harry. But that can wait until he has his son- his son- in front of him. Until he can look Harry in the eyes and tell him to his face how much Sirius loves him.
Friday can't come fast enough.
Sirius doesn't wait as Padfoot this time. He doesn't have the patience for it, and this is more important than playing a joke. Harry will always be more important.
When he spies a head of black (James's hair was lighter than that, he thinks with a small thrill) he steps out of the shadows and drags Harry into a hug. Immediately, he feels him lock up, but he doesn't let go.
"It's alright, Harry. I'm here. You're safe, I got you." Sirius hates that he has to continue murmuring reassurances. He knows what that means, that Harry stiffens and takes several long minutes to relax in his arms. Sirius did the same thing when he came to Hogwarts as a first year, and it took James's casual touches, and Remus's warm contact for him to realize that hugs are normal, and someone who loves you would never hurt you.
Trying to put all of that into a single hug is hard, though, so Sirius draws back after a few long minutes. This will take time, and rushing in and killing whoever drove his son to this is not a real solution. Not yet, at least.
Another beat of silence passes before they both open their mouths at once.
"Harry-"
"Sirius-"
They laugh, but neither seems inclined to mention the hysteria in it. Sirius gestures for Harry to go first.
"I-" There's tension in his young shoulders and Sirius hates it, but doesn't rush him. This is new and uncertain for both of them and the best thing for them is to take the time they need. "I want complete honesty," he blurts. "I think that's the best chance we have for this working."
"Alright." It's a good policy to have, and Sirius will do anything for Harry, so giving him honesty is the easiest thing Harry could ask for.
It takes a few heavy swallows, but Harry eventually says, voice quiet and unsure, "I feel like wanting you as a dad is somehow a betrayal to them."
A part of Sirius dies a little, but Harry had asked for complete honesty so that's what he would get. "Your dad wasn't a fan of the idea. He barely wanted you to have the Potter Heirship. Your mum helped me convince him."
"My mum?" Big green eyes, so hauntingly familiar, yet unique in their own way. Warmth fills Sirius, and he manages a small smile.
"She was just as much as my best friend as your dad. A sister to me in all but blood. When I told her I wanted to be her son's second father, she jumped at the idea." Lily was an amazing woman, and Sirius feels an ache in his heart for his dead friends. His dead family. No more, he thought. He wouldn't lose anyone else.
He hesitates, before saying, "James and Lily will always be your first parents. I can't change that, and I don't want to. We don't have to have a normal father-son relationship. You can call me Sirius or Uncle Padfoot, for all that I care. I just want to take care of you Harry. I want to get to know you and be able to listen to your complaints about homework and your girl problems. I want to be there for you because that's where I should've been for the past thirteen years and I wasn't. I wish I wasn't on the run and I could go to your Quidditch games and meet your friends, but for right now, I'll take whatever I can get." There's another beat of quiet, before he adds in a whisper, "I'll take whatever you can give me."
Harry makes a choking sound in the back of his throat, and Sirius panics for a second. Did he mess up? But when he looks, there are tears in Harry's eyes and it takes three tries before he can get words out.
"I- I want a dad, so much it hurts. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia-"
Petunia?! Sirius feels rage, burning hot and bright, flood him. Anyone who knew Lily at all, knew that Petunia was the last place she would want Harry to go. But this really isn't the time for that, so Sirius lets Harry go on without commenting.
"-hate me, and they hate magic. But more than that, I just want a family and I barely know you but in a grand total of the maybe six hours we've talked, you've shown you care about me more than anyone else and I want that so badly. I just don't know if I could jump into it, I don't know if I could just call you dad or even Father but you're more to me than an Uncle a-and-" Harry's rambling now, and tears are pouring down his cheeks, vivid and clear. This time, when Sirius pulls him into a bone crushing hug, he goes with it, leaning fully and burying his face in the dark folds on Sirius's shoulder.
"We can take it as slowly as you want, Harry. You have no obligation to me, and we're not hurried. Whatever you want. I'll do anything for you, pup. Absolutely anything." As Sirius lets his son, his amazing, bright, perfect son, cry into his shoulder for the first- but certainly not the last- time, he means it with every fiber of his being. He was a Lord, and a convict, and a Black. But more than that, he was a father, and that was the greatest title someone could hold.
Potter- Harry, actually, after their fourth study session- is a Sorrento puzzle box. Mysterious, difficult, but satisfying when you took him apart. Blaise had yet to reach the satisfying phase, so now he's just annoyed. And amused, which were basically his base emotions anyway. Harry just increased them.
He was intelligent in the most indirect way Blaise had ever seen, and often couldn't explain how he'd come to a conclusion, just that he had. His wand work was amazing, and Blaise was pretty sure he had even more raw magic than he used, which was curious. Harry was always uncomfortable when someone was clearly impressed with his magic, which made no sense to Blaise. If you had the power, use it. Don't disgrace the gift given to you by Mother Magick. Their fifth study session together, Blaise finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop holding back!" There was a twitch in Draco left eye and Pansy's quill fell off the table, which were clearer signs that he'd shocked them than if they'd started.
"I'm not holding back." His face stayed stubbornly pleasant, but his tight voice gave him away. They'd been teaching him the rules of the game, refusing to answer direct questions until he could ask them without asking, hitting him with stinging hexes until he hid his emotions. It was one thing to be up front with your friends, but he had to learn. He hung around Slytherins now, and any reactions would be used against him. Besides, they weren't friends, not really. Harry was friends with Draco and Draco was friends with Pansy and Blaise was kind of friends with her and allies with Draco, which meant a whole lot of subtle nuances that he didn't feel like dealing with when he just wanted Harry to stop holding back.
"Yes, you are. I saw you cast that Bird-Conjuring Charm with eagles. I saw you cast a Sonorous loud enough to talk to a dragon. The entire school knows for a fact that you cast a Patronus as a third year. Don't fucking tell me that you can't Summon something from your dorm." It was more direct than Blaise liked to be, but sometimes you had to hit Harry over the head to get him to learn. Besides, Blaise wouldn't be surprised if he could use the Summoning Charm for something in Hogsmeade. A Patronus, as a thirteen year old. Blaise knew Lords of Most Ancient Houses that couldn't do that spell.
"None of that matters! I'm perfectly average-"
"You are not, and there's no use pretending otherwise." Normally, Blaise wouldn't care. In truth, he would make the assumption that he was holding back so Blaise didn't get a good feel for how strong he was. It was something Blaise would do, and as such he would've left it alone. But Harry wasn't like that, only a blind, deaf, donkey would think he was, and so there was no other reason for him to be holding back. Magic was a gift, a blessing that you should be ecstatic to have. Something to be celebrated. Not everyone had this connection to the earth and the Goddess, some went their entire lives without feeling the rush of magic and power in their blood and Harry Potter was so, so gifted he probably had enough magic for three without even realizing it. Yet he held back. He went through his school years with average marks and slumped shoulders. It was ridiculous, and made Blaise want to send a Bombarda at his head.
"Harry," Pansy says, soft and understanding in the wake of Blaise's anger and frustration. She was so good at getting information that she always knew what the best way to do it was. Sometimes blackmail, sometimes understanding, sometimes disgust. Honestly, Blaise wasn't even sure which of her emotions were authentic half the time. "Why won't you use your full power?"
A flicker of unease accompanied by uncertainty and vulnerability passes over Harry. He's gotten better at controlling his face, but Blaise has also gotten better at reading him. The vulnerability is what really makes Blaise understand why he's hesitating. Blaise hates to be vulnerable. Any Slytherin worth their House did. It could be used against you, it was a risk that could end in disaster. But what could Harry Potter have to be ashamed of? What could possibly make him hide his power, even from himself?
Harry looks around their small circle, just the four of them since Crabbe and Goyle refuse to hang out with a Potter. He must see something, must come to some conclusion, because he takes a deep breath.
"My aunt and uncle, the ones that have… raised me. They- they don't like magic. Back when I was a kid, I didn't know it was accidental magic, obviously, but I knew the strange things that kept happening were my fault. I just wanted them to stop so I learned to- I don't know, push it away? It's… hard to just stop trying to be normal." Every word sounded like it was forced, and his throat kept working. Oh, Mother of Magick, Blaise suddenly had a new suspicion about Harry's childhood. And the way he said that, "stop trying to be normal" as if magic was the unnatural thing.
"They-" Draco chokes, a strange gurgle of rage coming from his throat. It was so un-Malfoy that Blaise was too surprised to laugh. "They punished you for magic?!" Blaise didn't blame him for his shock or repulsion. Accidental magic meant that a child was blessed, that they were a part of this amazing culture. It was to be commemorated, honored. Some families believed in corporal punishment, which was horrible but a truth of the world. But no magical family, no matter how low or Dark, would ever punish a child for magic.
Harry shrugs, uncomfortable and stiff and Blaise wonders if Harry thinks they'll hate him for this. But more than that, Blaise wonders if anyone has ever tried to help Harry. If anyone has tried to fix what his guardians (he wants to curse at the mere thought of calling them that) had done. To deny your magic, to push it down day after day in self-preservation would create a block on it. Blaise couldn't even begin to comprehend how this must have affected Harry, in mind, body, and magic.
"Listen to me." Blaise leans forward, pitches his voice the same way he does when Mother makes him give public speeches. The way that draws attention, that makes people listen. "Magic is a gift. A beautiful, wonderful gift that connects us to the elements around us and the very energy in the air. Lady Magick is the Mother of All and She blesses us with Her powers. Before it was made illegal, everyone celebrated the Sabbats because it honored Her and empowered Her and in return, She kept our gifts strong. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. You are a wizard, and a damn powerful one at that." Some would give anything for a drop of that. Some had tried and payed the price. "Every time you had an outburst, every time you made something shatter in your anger, every single time that your magic protected you, it was Our Lady telling you that She sees you, and She loves you enough that She has blessed you with Her power." There's something in the air as he speaks. It's heavy around him, full of power and energy. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and Blaise has the queer feeling that Magick is here, and She approves. "You are a wizard. You are one of us, Harry, and never let anyone make you believe that is any less of a gift than it is."
Harry nods, and gulps, and his eyes are shinning nearly as much as Pansy's. Blaise doesn't like to make speeches, prefers to stand in the back and make sarcastic comments. But this was Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a wizard and Blaise wouldn't let him forget that.
He also wouldn't let Harry keep suppressing his power. Pansy and Draco would help, he knew. There was no way Harry would keep believing, no matter how unconsciously, that magic needed to be hidden away.
"Okay," Harry says roughly. "Okay." It seems to be a promise, somehow. There's influence in whatever conclusion Harry has come to, and Blaise thinks that maybe he just had an impact on something bigger than him.
Maybe they are friends, after all.
Daphnia "Daphne" Hazel Greengrass was intelligent. More than that, she was clever. Which is why she was smart enough to stay out of Slytherin politics. The Greengrasses were traditionally neutral in most conflicts, always choosing to vote on legislation on a base by base case, instead of signing their loyalty- and vote- over to either the traditional or progressive parties. When the biggest players in her year were Draco Malfoy- son of a suspected Death Eater and most certainly a traditional in every sense- Blaise Zabini- the son of the "Black Widow" and part of the royal family of Wizarding Italy- and, if he ever got off his creepy ass and actually took part, Theo Nott- a scarier, more subtle and eerier version of Malfoy- you learned to stay out of it. Neutrality meant you could stay back and watch the big sharks destroy each other before stepping in.
That's not to say she had been doing nothing in the three and nearly half years she'd been in the Snake Pit. No, not at all. Allies, connections, favors. All things she dealt in. Arranging tutoring for Peregrine Derrick of the sixth years with Marcy Belby from Ravenclaw, convincing Lucas Bole to get Firewhiskey into the castle to sell to the Quidditch captains in Hufflepuff and Slytherin, getting Felix Rosier indebted to you because you saved his right hand from a month of detentions, all moves on the chess board. Just quiet moves.
Which is why, when Daphne saw Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson all forming an alliance that looked an awful lot like real friendship she was curious. When she saw that they were friends with Harry Potter after the First Task, she was intrigued.
When she overheard Zabini telling Potter that magic was a gift, she was hooked.
They were teaching Potter about their culture. Which meant Potter didn't know said culture. The Potters had been neutral before James Potter, Grandfather even spoke fondly of Lord Charles, which was a high honor. The Selwyns had been leaning more and more towards the traditional side of votes, lately, and Father was worried. Perhaps it was time to make a few more connections.
Potter was turning fifteen this summer, after all.
Slytherins were Dark, and evil and deserved anything thrown at them. That, at least, was what other Houses believed. Whether it held any truth or not didn't matter, because the truth was that Slytherins still had to deal with it.
Which is why their group- Pansy, Blaise, Draco, and Harry- were in the abandoned classroom they liked to meet up in, with an additional two guests.
"What the fuck?" Sometimes, Blaise loved Harry. He was a breath of fresh air, with his blunt, no-nonsense attitude he had going on. They were trying to get him to be a Slytherin, meaning more subtle and less obnoxious. In general, he'd been doing great, but when things were serious and it was just them, he didn't tend to bother.
"It's nothing," Blaise soothed, at the same time that Tracy Davis snapped;
"Stop moving or I'll leave you bleeding."
"No you won't," Pansy added from where she was checking her nails.
In the corner next to the door, Daphne Greengrass raised a perfect blonde eyebrow. "Are you threatening her?"
"No, just stating a fact." The temperature seemed to drop five degrees, simply from Greengrass's blank stare. "Everyone knows that Davis is too nice to let a Slytherin bleed out." Greengrass seems to accept this, as much as the Ice Princess accepts anything. Meaning, with a blank stare that made you feel like you were an unworthy slug who deserved to perish.
Man, the blood loss must really be getting to Blaise.
"Seriously, what the fuck?" Harry repeated. "I left you alone for half an hour."
Draco, the only other sane one, apparently, sighed deeply. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair stood on end. Clearly, Blaise was in worse condition than he thought if Draco allowed himself to be so disheveled with others in the room.
"Harry, think. We're Slytherins, the entire school hates us on a good day. Right now, they think we've brainwashed you and convinced you to turn Dark. Of course they'll attack more often than typical."
"And this?" Harry makes a vague motion towards Davis and Greengrass, which, alright, fair. Harry's been sitting at the Slytherin table every meal since the Task (when Snape made a few comments, Draco gleefully pointed out that there was no official rule forcing people to sit at their own tables for anything not the Sorting Ceremony. It was dropped, after that) so he's met his share of Snakes, and he knows it's not normal for the girls to help them.
No one answers for a bit, because this is Slytherin politics at its finest. They all want to kill each other, they all want to use each other, but at the end of every day, they are all Slytherins. Which means they watch out for one another. But that's not exactly something they announce to the whole school.
Present a unified front, always. But that didn't apply to unused dungeon classrooms turned into hangout areas.
Surprisingly, it's Greengrass that speaks up.
"Slytherins are targets, so we make a point of having one person in each year trained in basic Healing spells. It's always a neutral, and that person is always off limits. They help their year, and if something is too great for them, they pass it to the year above. The sixth year Healer, as seventh has NEWTs, trains someone in the new first year class and gives them books to study from. After that, the Healer is expected to figure it out and work hard on it. Tracy is the Healer for our year."
"Pomfrey?" Harry asks, but it's a token gesture at best. He doesn't need any of them to tell him that going to the mediwitch is just begging to have questions asked and accusation leveled towards the Snakes if given the chance. Instead, Harry asks a much more pertinent question. "Revenge?"
"I thought you Lions were all about forgiveness?" Greengrass is as glass faced as normal, but there's a predatory intent in her eyes as she looks at Harry.
"Lions protect their own, same as snakes."
Harry really was coming along greatly.
Draco's slips twitch into a smirk and he finally casts some cleaning charms on his robes. Pansy, the devil, gives her you-won't-find-the-body smile. Apparently, not even Greengrass's presence could keep her bimbo routine up.
"They won't be bothering us for a long while."
Harry nods, before turning and narrowing his eyes. "Body?" he asks, and he doesn't sound as worried as he probably should be.
Pansy pouts. "As if I would be so stupid."
Draco huffs, amusement dancing in his gray eyes. "They'll be fine as soon as they're found and taken to the Healer's Wing."
Davis pulls back, finally done healing the torn shoulder Blaise was sporting. He could've sworn her lips were twitching.
"There's a Russian Crushing Curse. It slowly squeezes the targeted area, pressure equal to the spell power obviously. Aimed at the throat it does wonders." They all pause, except Davis, and turn to Greengrass. She seems completely unphased by suggesting a spell that Blaise knows is illegal in Britain.
"You don't usually offer spell help in class," Harry finally says, the first to recover because he probably doesn't realize that spell is all kinds of not allowed. A good attempt at a subtle inquiry on why she's helping them suddenly.
"The Greengrasses are neutral, have been for generations. Same as the Potters, actually." Oh. This made sense now. Greengrass always stayed around while Davis healed, insurance of a kind. Protection for her friend. But she never spoke up, never commented. But if she wanted to feel out Harry, maybe make a connection with him…
Harry blinks once but otherwise doesn't react. Blaise is proud that he's no longer an open book, but he's even more proud of the positively devilishsmirk that overtakes Harry a second later.
"Why don't you teach me that spell?"
They don't sleep that night, but that's alright. They all have History of Magic first thing (except Harry, the poor Lion) and listening to Greengrass share her extensive repertoire of spells while watching Harry- the best Defense student in the school, never mind his age- put them in action in a few practice duels against the rest of them is worth it.
And if Greengrass and Davis appear a few more times that week, no one really questions it.
They only had morning classes that day, so they'd been studying in the library when a sixth year Hufflepuff, skittish and sweating buckets, had brought Harry a note summoning him to speak with the Headmaster after dinner.
It didn't take a genius to figure out it was because Harry had been hanging out with Slytherins.
Blaise had immediately leaned back, physically removing himself from the conversation as a bored façade slammed over his features. The first sign that he was uncomfortable. Draco sneered a comment about the Headmaster wanting to meet up with the precious "Boy-Who-Lived" and turned resolutely towards his book on transfiguration. Only the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Pansy couldn't even blame them for bringing up their defenses. Harry had been worshiping the ground Dumbledore walked on since first year. The man had brought Harry to this world, was his magical guardian. He was also so biased against the Slytherins it was surprising he hadn't just removed the House from Hogwarts. Pansy had little doubt that Harry would listen if Dumbledore started preaching about the vileness of the Slytherins again.
Something tightened in her chest, and Pansy was startled to realize it was disappointment. She liked Harry. He was funny and sarcastic when he let himself go and forgot to be a Gryffindor. His very existence created waves in Slytherin and every time one of the older years sent a sneer his way, he had a response. Slowly, he was carving himself a place in Slytherin. She would miss him.
Wasn't that strange? Draco was really the only person she considered a friend. Slytherin House wasn't a place for friendships, not really. But Harry was changing that, forcing all of them to be closer, drawing them all into his orbit.
She didn't bother hiding her evaluation of him. Greengrass and Davies were nowhere around so she didn't have to keep acting like a bimbo, and Harry knew her enough to know she liked to analyze people. He seemed conflicted, something in his face tight and unhappy.
"He's going to tell me not to hang out with you guys."
Off to the side, Blaise and Draco's disinterest became a little more forced.
"Probably," Pansy told him, because he was carving himself a place with her and he deserved the truth, even if he was a few hours away from dumping them.
Harry looked up, swept his eyes over the three of them. They'd been learning about him, but Pansy was suddenly reminded that Harry had been learning them as well. Their tells. Something shifts in his face suddenly, giving way to determination and displeasure.
"Well, he can bugger off."
Pansy feels her eyebrow twitch before she can stop it, and Blaise and Draco give him their attention, even if they don't remove the blank masks.
"What do you mean?" Harry looks at her like she's the idiot here.
"You're my friends. Of course I'm not going to stop hanging out with you just because he wants me to." Harry makes a face, clearly displeased. "Also, considering he's been lying to me for my entire life, I'm not a big fan of his right now."
The thing tightening in her chest loosens, and she has the absurd urge to hug him. Which is ridiculous because hugs ruin clothes and she's not in the mood for that, ever.
"He's not just going to let you ignore him," Draco points out. "What are you going to do, exactly?"
Harry shrugs indifferently. "Lie to him, I guess." Lie to Albus Dumbledore, just because he doesn't want Harry to be friends with Slytherins. Just because he doesn't want Harry to be friends with them.
"Don't look him in the eyes." Harry turns to Pansy, brows furrowed. Yeah, that was a little random and this really isn't the place to discuss this but Harry has to know. He's doing this for them which means he's chosen them which means she has to take care of him now. "I can't explain this to you, not here or now, but whatever you do, don't look him in the eyes. Whatever lie you give, make it seem like you're uncomfortable, uncertain. Anything to keep your eyes directed to your lap. If you have to look up, stare at the point under his nose."
Harry stares at her a second, but eventually nods. "Alright." No questions, no doubt. Just trust.
It's wrong. They had messed up, sure, but it's still wrong. Harry is a Gryffindor and he's the Boy-Who-Lived, and there was no reason for him to be hanging out with Slytherins.
Normally, Hermione wouldn't mind Harry befriending people in other Houses. It rubbed her the wrong way, that she wasn't enough for him and Ron, but alright. And she'd even be okay with Slytherins in theory because that could mean helping them turn from the Dark. But Dumbledore had been frowning a lot more lately and he never tried to get the Slytherins to integrate more so clearly, he didn't think it was something they should worry about. Maybe he thought they were too far gone or something. Either way, if Dumbledore didn't think it should be done, then Harry definitely shouldn't be hanging out with them.
Which was probably why Dumbledore wanted Ron and Hermione to speak to Harry. Hermione would've done it anyway, mind you. Harry was her friend, her first friend, and she didn't want to lose that. But Harry was also really stubborn, which is why she had given him time to cool down and relax from the First Task.
It seemed, however, that she hadn't given him enough time, considering the conversation went something like this;
Hermione: "Please, Harry listen-"
Harry: "I don't want to."
Hermione gasping: "Harry, don't be rude!"
Harry, while rolling his eyes: "You lost the right to command me when you turned away just because you thought I'd broken the rules."
He'd stormed away and she felt like crying. She hadn't meant to turn from him so completely. But this was serious, people died in the Triwizard Tournament (honestly, why Wizarding Britain was so idiotic she had no idea) and this was huge. She was used to him breaking rules, but this was too far. She had just wanted to show him things had consequences.
Clearly, Harry hadn't done this, and she did feel bad for thinking he had. How would he have even gotten past Dumbledore's age line, anyway? By the time she had figured that out, though, she'd already committed. Hermione decided to wait for a good time to talk to him, but he had disappeared so often, and she didn't exactly have the Map. She had messed up, she knew she had. But why did Harry have to be so difficult?
Dumbledore would know what to do.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore didn't know what to do. Well, he knows what he wants to do, which is retire to a cabin in the woods and study alchemy and research the Hallows until he dies. Or doesn't. That last part really depended on how the Hallows went.
That was all as likely to happen as the entire school buying him socks for Christmas.
The issue at hand, of course, was Harry Potter. He'd been doing so well, following the path laid out before him. Harry was kind, caring, self-sacrificing. The perfect Boy-Who-Lived. Every day, Albus thanked the Fates that it was Harry, not Neville, that had to walk this path.
But since the First Task, he'd been different. Befriending Slytherins, sarcastic, turning away from his Gryffindors. It didn't make sense. Ronald was a good boy, a proper Weasley and Gryffindor, even if he did have a strong jealous streak. Harry should've seen that, forgiven the mistakes of a child. It's what any good Gryffindor would do. Yet, here they were. Young Hermione had come to him, imploring help when Harry turned away from her again.
Albus did not like to step in directly. But some things had to be done for the Greater Good. Like with Sirius. The boy was floundering, living in caves and abandoned homes. Albus understood he didn't want to go to Grimmauld Place, but the townhouse would be useful to the Order (Voldemort wouldn't stay gone for long), and it would give Sirius a place to stay. Even if he wasn't allowed to leave.
The wards surrounding his office went off, and he made sure to call Harry in before he could knock. It was important to set an impression, to make sure Harry understood Albus was powerful enough to help if only he asked.
"Harry, my boy. Lemon drop?"
"No, thank you, Headmaster." Why did no one want a lemon drop? They were delicious, especially with the calming draught they were mixed with. It was important everyone was relaxed when they had difficult conversations.
"Harry, I wanted to speak to you about-"
"You want to talk to me because I'm not hanging out with Gryffindors." Albus took a moment to process that. It was rare for him to be interrupted. Young Harry was looking down at his hands, shifting in his seat. Clearly, he regretted his hasty actions. No matter, youth made mistakes. That was why they needed their elders to guide them.
"Yes. You seem to have made a rather large turn around."
"Draco and the others are my friends." Just for a moment, Harry glanced up, but it wasn't enough for eye contact. Albus didn't make a habit of mind raping his students, but getting a peak using passive Legilimancy often helped him understand them better, which in the end helped him help them. Strange, how Harry was avoiding his eyes now. Perhaps the Slytherins…? But, no. Why would the Slytherins warn a Gryffindor about such a thing? They were not fans of sharing an advantage if there wasn't something in it for them. Besides, Harry would never take the word of a Slytherin over Albus's own.
"There is much past animosity between yourself and Mr. Malfoy."
Harry shifts again. "After Ron and Hermione abandoned me," there was certainly a touch of bitterness there. But the apologies did not seem to have an effect. "I ran into Draco. He…" Harry hesitates, and Albus does not need to use Legilimancy to see his uncertainty.
"You can trust me, Harry. You know that."
Harry doesn't meet his eyes, but he does nod. "I overheard him. He was talking to Pansy about how he didn't want to help his father."
"With what?"
Harry shakes his head. "I don't know. But I realized that the Slytherins don't want to be their parents any more than I want to be Uncle Vernon. Everyone seems to hate them, won't give them the chance to prove that they're better than where they came from. So, I thought…" Harry shrugs, seemingly done with his explanation.
Albus has long since wished he could help the Slytherins. It was a fact that they were all naturally Dark, but that didn't mean that they couldn't change. He'd tried, in the early years of the first war. But Tom had gotten to them first, and to pull a child away from the path it was set to walk by its parents is a difficult thing. Severus was a special case.
Possibly, though, Harry could do what he could not, in the time he had left.
"You want to change them."
"They're my friends," Harry repeated. "I want them to survive and be happy."
"Not everyone can be saved, Harry." Albus sighs, deep and heavy. This was not a lesson he wanted to teach. This was not even a lesson he had wanted to learn. "As much as we may want, some people refuse to change for the better. Some simply don't see how they have gone wrong."
"Shouldn't we try? They're just kids, like me." True, so very true. And wasn't it important that they try, at least? Perhaps Albus had forgotten that everyone deserved the chance to be saved.
"It is important that they turn from the Dark," he finally says. "Things are not as stable as some would like to believe."
Good, this was good. Albus would prefer if Harry kept his friends in Gryffindor, but it was understandable that he would devote himself to saving the Slytherins. It was important as many people as possible turned away from the Dark.
Albus dismissed Harry with a suggestion to think about forgiving the young Hermione and Ronald.
He released a breath, laughing softly. He had nothing to worry about. Harry would walk the path he was meant to, and everything would be well.
Albus didn't care what She had to say about it. The Olde Ways were dying out, as they should. This was a time of advances, a time of understanding. This was a time to bridge the two cultures dividing the world and bring them together as one. And the Dark, as it was, was hampering that progress. This had to happen. Everything would be alright, this way.
It was for the Greater Good.
Pansy had spent the last two weeks getting to know Harry an absurd amount. She had seen him groan at homework, growl at Blaise's injuries, and face down a dragon with grim determination. She had not, however, ever seen him this upset.
They'd claimed a classroom, transfigured comfortable seats and tables and warded the entrance against entry without a password. Every Slytherin found an area to make their own, and this was no different. Even if Harry wasn't officially a Slytherin.
Greengrass and Davis had taken to hanging around them, and for some inexplicable reason, Harry seemed to like them and Draco thought having the neutrals around was great, so Pansy didn't really comment. She didn't know them very well, the Parkinsons were Dark while the Greengrasses were traditionally neutral and the Davis tended to marry muggleborns every few generations and didn't have a Wizangamot seat. Add in the fact that Greengrass found Pansy distasteful, and they generally ignored each other.
All three witches could agree, though, that Harry was slightly terrifying.
He'd gone to meet the Headmaster after dinner, and took only twenty minutes before he was bursting into their meeting room, already ranting. He stalked from one end of the room to the other, the muscles he'd developed from Quidditch rippling under his clothes as he told them the entire conversation.
Pansy had immediately declared his wardrobe a disaster when he'd begun hanging out with them, and, as she refused to hang around a rag-muffin, had gone through the effort of ordering him several more pieces. It wasn't much, but it'd last until the winter holidays where she could take him shopping for real.
"He just," Harry waved his arms in the air, and Pansy was almost worried he was about to have a case of accidental magic, his rage was so palpable. "He talked as if you didn't matter. Like just because you guys are Slytherins it means you don't get a chance. Or that you have to change." He sneered, and Pansy was proud for the all of three seconds it lasted before he turned suddenly, pointing at all of them with an accusing finger. "None of you are allowed to change."
Greengrass sneered from where she sat writing a Defense essay. "As if we'd change for you, Potter."
"Drop the ice, Princess, or I'll Incendio your robes," Harry responded without missing a beat. Greengrass sent the Russian Crushing Curse she was so fond of (though she rarely sent it at the neck, preferring to aim it below the belt) but Harry dodged and retaliated. It dissolved quickly into a duel that Harry won, but not before Draco and Pansy got involved. In the end, they were all panting and exhausted, but Harry was smiling and the tension and anger that radiated from him had melted away.
Perhaps Greengrass had her uses.
Sirius was a Gryffindor. No matter what the bloody Hat suggested he was a Gryffindor. A red and gold lion, a proud member of Godric's House. He was reckless, he was caring, and he did what was right, not what was easy.
That didn't change the fact that he'd grown up around Slytherins.
He liked to think he was smart, even if it didn't hit him till fifth year that grades were actually important. Sirius had mastered the Animagus transformation first, could brew well enough to stock his own home even if he didn't enjoy it, and had been an accomplished Auror before he'd been unfairly arrested. Besides his crap-tastic OWLs in Runes, Divination, and Herbology, he was in the top ten of his year.
Sirius Black had also spent twelve years in the closest approximation to hell that wizarding kind had ever come up with. In a dank cell, surrounded by happiness-leeches and the people you'd fought for years, you tended to find yourself with a lot of time to think. If it wasn't a good memory, if it didn't fill you with hope and love and light, the monsters couldn't burry it under desolation and anguish.
The betrayal by his friends was not a good memory.
Remus Lupin hadn't visited. All those who he'd fought beside, who he thought were his allies, if not friends, didn't question it when he was sent away. No one asked to see his trial, no one cared enough. Was the Black name such a stain that no one would look past it? Was Sirius cursed, to forever loose everything that he had?
But that wasn't what bothered him the most.
Albus Dumbledore had been Chief Warlock on the Wizangamot since Harry was born. No trial could happen without his knowledge. Albus knew that Sirius wasn't the Secret Keeper. Albus knew.
And he let it happen.
Albus had been leading the Light for years. When Sirius had entered Hogwarts, angry at his family and an outcast in Gryffindor, he'd been there. Always smiling and twinkling, always offering a candy. Albus was the only one that Voldemort feared. Was their best chance at beating the Death Eaters.
Sirius found he didn't care about any of that. The cost wasn't worth it.
At first, he'd told himself the resentment growing in his heart was because of the Dementors. That surely there was a reason for what Albus had done. Even the recent letter asking about the townhouse, wanting to use it in "the growing darkness". There had to be a reason for everything. Sirius just couldn't see it with the monsters affecting his emotions. This was Albus Dumbledore.
There were no Dementors around him now. Just the fresh air, the smell of wet dirt, and the hard walls of the cave. Albus sent me to Azkaban. Worse, he put Harry with them.
Petunia had no right to raise Lily's child. Not after what happened at her wedding. She was petty, cruel, and so jealous she couldn't see past the green in her eyes. Harry should've stayed with someone who would love him, and teach him how to laugh. Someone that would support him, no matter what.
Harry should've stayed with Sirius, but Sirius was too busy being locked up by his leader.
Albus wanted Sirius out of the way, so he could place Harry where he wanted. But why? Why did Harry have to go to the worse sort of people? Why couldn't Sirius have taken care of his son?
Sirius was a Gryffindor, but he knew a manipulation when he saw it.
What was Dumbledore playing at?
Lunelle Rowena Lovegood, Luna, Loony, all names. Amazing, what power names could have. Just hearing one could affect how you perceived someone. Names were connected to titles and titles called for respect.
Lord, Lady, Duke, Duchess. Heir. She was one of those. An Heir. Well, Heiress. Heiress Luna of Lovegood. Another title. One that should mean something. Not everything was as it should be.
"Little eagle, of moon and love." Her mother had called her that. Her little eagle. Another name, another title. This one meant something to her,though. From the corner of her eye, Luna spotted a strange creature, box shaped and crawling on seven legs. It's three eyes sparkled in the glimmer of candlelight as it walked besides her.
"Thanks mum, I love you too." It was always nice when her mother sent her messages.
Some would say that Luna Lovegood was mad. Crazy. Insane. Coo-coo. Some would say she belonged in the loony bin.
Luna tried to ignore them. They had nargles and wrackspurts filling their heads and controlling them.
Most people couldn't see what Luna could, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Luna could see Thestrals, and others couldn't. It was a fact of life. Luna was different, and that was okay. She liked who she was. She liked seeing the strange things others couldn't.
Sometimes, the creatures in the world would tell Luna things. The wrackspurts warned of self-importance. They liked to snack on egos, so one should try to avoid them. The nargles told of impurity.
Sometimes though, Luna didn't need creatures to tell her things. Sometimes, the world told her.
Whispers and murmurs, voices strange and familiar. They told secrets and they told truths. They told of the past, and of the futures.
They told of minds turning and choices being made. They told of Nyxus Flies being burned away by voices. They told of Remoqies tug-tugging on strings in chests and pulling people away and towards.
The voices told the current of the waves in the air. They told of little moments, mere pinpricks in the Tapestry, that wove together to form a picture of lives.
"Les petits moments marquent le monde," she murmured. It was important to know French, she thought. It was a beautiful language. Everything sounded better in French.
Something in the air changed, the voices grew a little louder, and Luna paused.
Another moment.
Another shift.
Humming, Luna wondered where the world would end up. If it would be swallowed by Jörmungandr. If it would become so bright, everyone would be blinded. Or maybe, just maybe, Power could balance Sombre and Death would be happy at last. She liked that ending best, like a fairy tale of destruction and politics, a story of the world changing and fractures healing over.
A part of Luna wanted to be a part of it, but then she remembered. She wasn't much, just a little third year. Just Loony Lovegood.
Lunelle Rowena Lovegood, Heiress of Love and Wisdom, Daughter of Magic and Mouth of Fate. There were the voices, again. This one was warm, comforting. A presence over Luna's shoulder reminded her that no matter what others said, she was not useless. She was Luna Lovegood, and she could hear whispers of the future. Luna could see the paths, the choices before everyone. A crossroads, ever the center of life. She, just like all the rest, had a choice before her. And she knew what side she wanted to be on, in the coming conflict.
Perhaps she should try to spend some more time with her cousin.
