Author's Note: Malfoy is such a turd; even when he's not trying to mess with Harry, he messes with Harry. Sigh. In other news, I'm finally doing my Christmas shopping today (I MIGHT have put off a little late this year).
As for writing a sequel to this story, I am strongly considering one, but will wait and see what everyone thinks of the rest of this story before making a final decision on writing another one. I'm glad people seem to be enjoying it so far! Thanks for reading!
-Emmette
CHAPTER NINE
Harry Potter settled more comfortably into the Gryffindor stands of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, contemplating the blank parchment balanced on his lap. Several weeks had passed between sending his last letter to Shadow that first night back to school and finally receiving an answer this morning. He hadn't realized how anxious he had grown waiting for a response until Fred, George, Hermione, and Ginny had all slumped with relief when Hedwig swooped down at breakfast with a letter from his pen-pal. Ron had merely rolled his eyes around a mouthful of egg and sausage, and Harry had grinned sheepishly at his friends even as his excitement left his eyes to sparkle in a way that rivaled Dumbledore's.
Something had shifted in his friendships since the World Cup, or maybe that change had started at the end of the previous school term. Hermione was both as exasperating and as comforting as ever, but there was hesitation in their relationship that hadn't been there the year before. Harry put it down as a side effect of Ron's attitude. The red-head was as friendly as ever, most of the time, but Harry had learned very quickly that this peace would only be kept as long as he remembered all the topics that they Don't Talk About now: Harry's fame, Harry's money, Harry's (in)famous godfather… It made Harry uncomfortable, and put him on edge, like he was back at the Dursleys and forced to be careful about everything he said so he didn't accidentally break the rules. Hermione frowned when it came up, these new unspoken limitations on the Golden Trio's friendship, but she didn't interfere. The others, as far as Harry could tell, hadn't picked up on the change yet, though Ginny would narrow her eyes every once in a while when conversation lagged awkwardly in order to avoid 'forbidden' subjects.
On the other hand, Harry's relationships with other Weasleys had flourished. He had been delighted to finally meet Bill and Charlie when he at arrived at the burrow. The oldest Weasley children certainly had the 'cool-factor' going for them. Harry had been more than a little amused when Bill had actually blushed at his profuse thanks for his spell-work on the vanishing chests. The curse-breaker had finally slapped a friendly hand on Harry's shoulders and told him not to worry about it before heading into the kitchen with some mumbled excuse about helping Molly prepare dinner. At the time, Harry hadn't realized that his flinch and quick gasp of pain had been noticed by the older man. Instead, he had been busy introducing himself to Charlie, whose eyes had been dancing with amusement at his older brother's discomfort. Harry had asked after Norbert, the young dragon Charlie had helped them rescue from Hagrid first year, and had been amused and fascinated with the stories about Norberta. Charlie seemed surprised—but pleased—with the genuine interest Harry showed, and the two of them had ended up spending several hours wandering around the back garden talking about dragons and doing odd repair and gardening jobs for Mrs. Weasley. Charlie, used to working long hours out in the sun of the reserve, had been startled when Bill finally tracked them down for dinner. Harry had simply smiled, thanked Charlie for the stories, and slipped away to wash up for the meal. Unbeknownst to Harry, the dragon keeper was shocked to realize that Harry hadn't complained once in several hours of heat and hard work. He shared a significant look with Bill, and the two knew they would be talking more later.
The next time Harry spent any time with them, another nightmare had woken him in the middle of the night and, finding Ron snoring quietly on the other side of the room, Harry had decided to get up and find a glass of water. He had been surprised when he stumbled into the living room to find Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George all whispering quietly together. He stammered out an apology for interrupting, but the twins had jumped up and pulled him over to their little circle before he could retreat back upstairs. They softly explained that they had to be quiet or Mrs. Weasley would come down and send them all off to bed, regardless of age. Harry smiled at this, and cautiously sat down to listen to the four brothers laughing and joking with each other. He didn't contribute much to the conversation himself, but quickly relaxed into the warmth of the moment, cheek resting on his knees while he smiled softly at their antics.
By the time Bill and Charlie started coaxing stories of his summer and then earlier years at the Dursleys from him—just tiny pieces at a time—Harry was much more loose and talkative than usual, something the Weasleys were hoping to take full advantage of. In all honestly, though, he hadn't given away much. If not for the conversation Bill and Charlie had already had with the twins (who in their right mind thinks it's safe to send a child back to a house where they've put bars on his window?!), they probably wouldn't even have noticed how much Harry revealed simply by what he didn't share: there were no stories about friends, none of memories with his relatives, and nothing about trips or holidays. As Harry began to drift off to sleep, Bill and Charlie excused themselves with pointed looks at the twins, who pretended not to notice that the footsteps stopped just around the corner before they woke Harry and began plying him with the nutrient potions and other basic first aid salves they had prepared.
Harry had reassured them that he was alright, that things weren't 'that bad' with his relatives, and after seeing the minimal damage from Harry's fat cousin Fred and George were forced to concede the point. They still found him too skinny, though, and told Harry in no uncertain terms that while things could be worse, the way Harry was treated over the summer wasn't okay. They got him to admit to as much as possible, knowing their brothers were listening from the hallway, but there wasn't much anyone could do. Harry was unloved back 'home', and arguably neglected, but certainly not to the point that anyone would remove the Boy-Who-Lived from his only living family. With heavy hearts, they sent their young friend back up to bed, and watched solemnly as Bill and Charlie snuck back in with sad expressions and head shakes. There was no way to for them to interfere, as much they may want to.
Harry, for his part, was blissfully unaware of the readheads' concerns. He didn't question Fred and George's new protective streak, simply basked in the warmth of people looking out for him. He spent as much time as possible with Bill and Charlie the rest of the time they were at the Burrow after the World Cup, happily helping Charlie with chores outside or Bill with his new project to clean and sort through decades worth of junk in the Burrow's attic when it meant positive attention and respect from adults in his life. Ginny would join him occasionally, wanting to spend time with her brothers, though she would quickly grow bored with the work and eventually wander off. Fred and George always stopped in to check on them every hour or two, though they stayed even more rarely than Ginny. More often than not, they had spent the last bit of summer holed up in their room, the rest of the family steadfastly ignoring the various booms and crashes that shook through the house. Harry hadn't been sure whether to be amused or alarmed, and in the end settled for politely weary, careful to give that particularly doorway a wide berth whenever passing it.
Now, back at school, Harry was pleased that those connections continued. It had become habit for Harry to exchange little bits of correspondence with Bill and Charlie at the end of their letters with Ginny (she had always been far better than her brothers at staying in touch with their older siblings during the school year), and Fred and George had emerged from the dorm room they shared with Lee Jordan to spend at least one evening a week with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room since summer ended. Even Ginny was more pleasant to be around, her crush finally having eased away during the long hours spent with Harry and her brothers at the end of the summer, teased like a baby sister by all of them equally.
Honestly, if it weren't for Harry's strained friendship with Ron, he would be feeling thrilled. In fact, if you didn't count quidditch being cancelled for the year due to the tournament and Mad-Eye Moody's intimidating presence and penchant for teaching the Unforgivables during class, Harry thought the year had started off quite well: he wasn't terrified of being told he wasn't really a wizard after all, like in first year; he wasn't hearing a disembodied voice intent on murder, like in second year; and he wasn't surrounded by dementors and believing a mass murderer was after him, like last year. All in all, he was rather pleased.
Thus, he had snuck off to the solitude of the quidditch pitch to write his reply to Shadow, knowing that Harry's excitement over his friendship with his pen-pal was quickly becoming another sore spot for Ron, and not wanting to risk starting another fight like the beginning of the summer.
Dear Shadow,
I would also prefer to introduce myself properly in person; I don't mind waiting.
The twins tried to seem only happy for me when I told them you would be at Hogwarts this year, but I can tell that they are worried. I can't really blame them; trouble does seem to find me wherever I go. I wonder, will your best friend be coming with you? You mentioned him (you have referred to him as 'he,' so I am pretty confident in this guess) several times, and I imagine he is feeling just as defensive of you as the twins are of me.
Speaking of gender guesses, I am male (hopefully this doesn't disappoint you). I had left that detail purposefully out of my first letter, not sure how much to reveal, and I suppose I just didn't think of it after that. You, of course, said you and your brother acted somewhat like uncle and nephew, so I had drawn my own conclusions. It's funny, really; I feel as though I know you rather well, and yet we really know so little about each other. Hopefully this year will change that?
I have been out to the Quidditch pitch several times, now, and your gift is truly beautiful. I have taken your advice, and activate it when I get into bed. The little bobbing light is soothing, even if it is difficult to see without my glasses. I think, though, that it is more the thought that you wished to help keep the nightmares away that is helping me sleep. As for flying with you, I can hardly wait. If you'll trust me to guide you, I'd like to take you over the lake rather than out to the pitch, at least our first time flying together. I'll finally know if you are really as good a flyer as you claim!
You mentioned once that you wanted to hear about how I learned I was a wizard, and I know how patient you have tried to be with all my secrets. I don't think it's the most exciting story, but I'd like to share it with you.
As you know, I grew up with muggle relatives who do not like magic. I was told that my parents died in a car crash when I was a baby, and I never knew the magical world existed. Looking back, the signs seem so obvious; my accidental magic especially. One time, I ended up on the school roof while trying to run away from my cousin and his friends. Another time, my aunt gave me the most hideous haircut, and I was mortified at the thought of showing up at school the next day. I needn't have worried; by the time I woke up, all my hair had grown back to its normal length. I had always been taught that magic wasn't real, however, and with the punishments my magic brought me, I learned to dread those unexplainable events nearly as much as my relatives did.
I am not sure how it is done at Durmstrang, but new Hogwarts students receive a magically addressed acceptance letter by owl around the time they turn eleven. My uncle, recognizing the school's emblem, took my letter from me before I could open it and destroyed it. He thought that would be the end of it. Little did he know, the school holds magical records of whether or not a student has read their letter. All week, more and more letters came every day; hidden in my aunt's milk bottles, slipped under the front door, every way imaginable, until finally at least a hundred letters came pelting out of the fireplace. Hogwarts was nothing if not insistent!
My uncle panicked. I learned later that he and my aunt had sworn to 'stamp the magic out of me' when they took me in. He dragged all of us out to the car and drove to a tiny hotel in the middle of nowhere. The next morning, a sack full of letters was waiting. Now he was desperate, and after a day of reckless driving in an attempt to lose anyone following us, he parked on the edge of a putrid little lake and took us to a tiny, dilapidated island shack by way of a leaky little rowboat. The whole thing was rather comical, looking back on it, but more than a little unsettling at the time, given I had no idea what was happening. It was my birthday the following day, and that night as I lay on a dirty wooden floor with a single thin blanket, I watched my cousin's watch to count down the seconds to turning eleven. Just as midnight struck, Hagrid—keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts, a half-giant, and now a dear friend—bashed the rotting door in off its hinges with the power of his knock. The school had finally decided to send someone to deliver my letter in person.
Hagrid was the one to tell me I was a wizard (convince me, really, because I was so sure that I wasn't special enough to be magic). He told me about my parents, about our world. The next morning he took me get my school things, and it was the first time I had ever been around other witches and wizards—first time I saw a flying broom, as well, in the window of a Quidditch shop. My first birthday cake (slightly squished, Hagrid had brought it in a coat pocket after all); my first birthday present… that would be Hedwig, the beautiful snowy owl who has been visiting you all summer. It was a day full of firsts.
I guess it wasn't such a great story, but it was one of the happiest days of my life, and I wanted you to know about it. I wanted you to know that I trusted you with it, and that I have just as much to lose by telling you who I really am, but I'm not going to change my mind. I want you to know me, the real me. And I want to know you.
Do you know when you will be arriving at Hogwarts? I hope it's soon.
-Survivor
He re-read his letter critically. He found it easier to open up after the time he spent talking with Ron's siblings during his stay at the Burrow, but he was still nervous. Would Shadow laugh at how ignorant and naïve he had been? Would he be bored with the story? What would he think when he found out who Harry was, and that he had had a childhood like that? For a moment, Harry considered ripping the parchment up and not sending the letter, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He thought back to Shadow's last letter, where he had called Voldemort by name, and admitted his fear in doing so, all because Harry had said he felt it was the right thing to do. He wanted to know who his pen-pal was, wanted to meet them, to see what kind of friendship they might build at Hogwarts this year.
The sound of voices pulled Harry's attention back to the pitch in front of him, and he just barely managed to contain a groan as Draco Malfoy strutted onto the field with Theodore Nott, and Crabbe and Goyle trudging after them. Harry swiftly and silently rolled to land lightly on toes and fingertips behind the bench in front of him as though preparing to do a push-up. He twisted around until he was resting, hidden, on his back, and placed his hands behind his head, resigned to laying there until the Slytherins had once again vacated the pitch.
If he angled himself just right, Harry could peer through a crack between the wooden slats and see as Draco and Theodore darted across the skies, passing a quaffle back and forth between them, while Crabbe and Goyle circled clumsily around them, scowling around as though deterring any of the non-existent spectators from posing a threat. Harry rolled his eyes, but stilled when Draco's voice floated out over the crisp morning air.
"…a matter of discretion, really. Father says it's the sort of demeaning behavior that a Malfoy man would never dream lower himself to, but there's no reason I should cut ties with Blaise over it. I mean, who he wants to drop his pants for in privacy has no bearing on my life, certainly. But it was really quite thoughtless to get caught with another man before his parents had secured him a betrothal contract, it will be significantly more difficult now. He's intelligent and fit enough that he probably could have married a witch of even higher status, especially if father and I agreed to endorse him. The Malfoys will have to stay out of the whole business now, of course; can't risk anyone thinking that I'm a poof! Just what Zabini was thinking…"
"You've heard the story; it sure didn't sound like he was trying very hard not to get caught," Nott responded, grunting softly when Malfoy threw the quaffle with unnecessary force in silent retaliation for the interruption.
"What are you saying? That he was trying to blow his chances with a betrothal contract?"
"Well if he truly doesn't prefer the company of the ladies, he may not want—"
"It hardly matters, he's a pureblood: it's his duty to marry a pureblood witch and produce pureblood heirs. If he needs to have his perverted little affairs on the side that's his prerogative, but it will never be more than that. Being a homosexual may not be reason for getting shunned from social circles, but if he were to actually try a relationship with another wizard…" Draco's voice trailed off in disgust as the boys drifted further down the pitch in their game of catch, their words no longer distinct enough to pick apart.
Harry was frowning now, and shifted uncomfortably where he lay hidden in the stands. Uncle Vernon used to sneer at the telly when a gay person was in a show or on the news, saying they were sick and unnatural, but Harry had never heard anything one way or another in the wizarding world. Malfoy and Nott weren't calling for tar or pitchforks over their roommate's apparent orientation, but they certainly didn't sound pleased with it either. Was that how everyone in the magical world felt about it? Would Sirius and the Weasleys feel that way? Harry felt his chest tighten painfully, thinking about the way his stomach had fluttered around Oliver Wood last year, of the way he had watched Bill Weasley out of the corner of his eye when he'd pause in his work in the attic to stretch out tight muscles, his shirt riding up to show a little trail of dark red hair over the bottom of his stomach, disappearing below his trousers…
Harry bit his lip and shook his head to banish the image. It didn't mean anything, he was just young and curious. It's not like he had ever had crush on a boy, just… watched a few of them. Not that he had ever had a crush on a girl, either…
Harry realized the there was silence in the pitch once more, and cautiously leaned up to peek over the bench, relieved to find that the Slytherins had left while he was deep in thought. His mind was spinning, caught between confusion, fear, and an odd sort of guilt. Standing quickly, Harry headed out of the stands and began a brisk walk towards the owlery. He would send his letter off to Shadow, and then he'd write a note to Sirius, telling him about the conversation he overheard and just wait to see what his godfather said. There was no reason he had to mention any of his own thoughts or feelings on the matter…
