A/N: I am SO SORRY this chapter took so long. I hit a roadblock with a scene I forgot I had to plan for and then REALLY didn't want to write. But now I'm done, and here it is. As a reward for waiting so long, it's really long—8,023 words!
This is the revised version after fixing the word mix-ups and cultural mistakes pointed out to me by David305. Actually, it's the second revised version, with a slight alteration to the… roadblock scene.
Please read and review!
--
Harry opened his eyes the next morning to a loud rapping on the door.
"Who is it?" he called. He was extremely surprised when a voice other than Hermione's answered.
"Mum says you should come downstairs," Ginny said from behind the door. "She's got something to tell you about. And she says to bring that book I gave you, too." There was a sound of footsteps then as Ginny went back downstairs.
Harry was curious enough to get up, get dressed, and go downstairs without complaint.
--
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley greeted him as he came down, enveloping him in a hug. Harry breathed the smell coming off her, a smell like food, polished wood, and the garden outside; and felt his head spin. His brain couldn't seem to keep up with the data his nose was giving him. It was disturbing, actually; it had only been one night since he had been downstairs. How could he have forgotten what smell was like after such a short time?
"'Morning, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, returning the hug awkwardly; it was hard to hug someone when one hand was full of a bulky book.
"Sit down, sit down; have something to eat." Mrs. Weasley ushered him over to the table and sat him down, putting a plate of pancakes and sausage in front of him as she did. "Well, I suppose you're wondering why I called you downstairs?"
Harry nodded as he half-warily, half-eagerly took a bite of pancakes. He was not disappointed; the sensation of taste overwhelmed him as much as it had a few weeks ago, and he had to force himself to listen to what Mrs. Weasley was saying.
"Well, I got them to agree not to bother you on your birthday with it, but they won't put it off any longer. Sirius' will-reading is tomorrow, and you need to be ready."
Harry swallowed his huge mouthful painfully so he could focus on asking his question. "Will-reading?"
"Of course, didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you? You have to come; you must be the primary beneficiary, or they wouldn't have waited so long. Anyway, you should get ready today; look smart, make sure you're prepared for whatever they throw at you."
Harry nodded dazedly and continued eating. Professor Dumbledore hadn't told him about the will-reading, or that memory would have flipped up the corresponding card. But if he didn't want Harry to find out, wouldn't he have told Mrs. Weasley not to say anything…? It was all very confusing, even for him. He really did need to be prepared, though.
"What time is the will-reading?" he asked after clearing his mouth again.
"One o'clock in the afternoon," Mrs. Weasley told him.
Harry nodded as his magic informed him of the current time. Twenty-six hours… He could read that book cover to cover in twenty-six hours.
--
So You Never Wanted to be a Wizard had an entire chapter devoted to inheritance and inheritance law. Harry learned a little way into it that this was because wizards with magical creature blood had a time when they "came into their Inheritance," which gave them different abilities from other wizards. There were a few families who were named as having strong magical creature blood, but they were all foreign names and mostly unfamiliar, although Harry did recognize Delacour among the many others.
He stopped dead in shock when he reached the section on Beneficiaries.
Titles and lands cannot legally be passed on to a wizard more than a year underage. If the primary beneficiary cannot legally hold what is granted to him/her, the inheritance may be held in trust by the primary beneficiary's legal guardian. Gringotts may, however, delay the will-reading for up to one hundred and thirty-six days to allow the primary beneficiary to reach the age of sixteen, and often they will, as they have had problems with guardians keeping the "trust inheritances" beyond the time when the legal beneficiary comes of age. Under no circumstances, however, may they delay the will-reading for longer than this period.
It was the most serious passage in the book so far, certainly in the chapter, and it hit Harry over the head like a cartoon anvil. Sirius had named him the primary beneficiary. He had inherited lands or titles, and the will-reading had been delayed so that the goblins could give it to him directly…
He hadn't thought about Sirius' death since he had stored the memory in his Liar's Palace. Thinking about it now was suffocating him. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to find the calm of his meditation. It took several hours before the calm finally emerged and swallowed him into near-unconsciousness.
--
For once, Harry 'woke up' on his own the next day. The calm that had been so elusive the night before seemed to have soaked into his skin overnight and now shielded him from the world. He dug a set of clothes from one of last year's trips to Hogsmeade out of his trunk and slid into the bathroom to shower.
Clean and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that actually fit (and bore the slogan "It's easy to be open-minded when YOU'RE one of the things most people don't BELIEVE IN" (1) ), Harry returned to his room to don the long green outer robe of his dress robe set and to put on his glasses before he risked forgetting them. He took his wand out of his trunk and put it in his pocket—So You Never Wanted to be a Wizard had said that besides blood, wands were the most common way of confirming a wizard's identity.
"Harry—Oh." Harry turned to the door. Hermione stood there, dressed in an off-white sweater and jeans under a blue outer dress robe. "You're… up. That's different."
"I suppose it is," Harry agreed. "Is breakfast ready?"
Hermione nodded, still a little surprised. "Yeah. Mrs. Weasley said to tell you to come on down. I guess that means now, since you're ready."
"All right," Harry said, smiling calmly. "Lead the way."
--
After a breakfast that had lost some of its shock value but none of its taste, the Weasleys and Harry went to Gringotts.
Harry dreaded the will-reading at first—having a bunch of emotional people tell him how sorry they were for his loss was not his idea of fun. He soon realized, however, the difference between a wizard's death and a Muggle's death.
Wizards assumed that they would live a long time. They assumed that their lives would be made easier by magic. This made a wizard's death three times more shocking and three times less sorrowful than a Muggle's. There were times when people would grieve, of course, but the grieving process did not extend to the will-reading. There, people returned to being their normal selves.
"Mr. Potter," a goblin greeted him as they entered. "Please, follow me." Other goblins greeted the Weasleys and led them to other rooms.
Harry followed the goblin down a corridor to a tall wooden door. The goblin turned to him. "In here, Mr. Potter," he said. "We must confirm your identity before we can permit you to enter the will-reading."
Harry followed the little man into the room. It was high-ceilinged but small, with only a table and two chairs, and a black metal basin sitting on the table.
"Take a seat, Mr. Potter; this won't take long." The goblin sat in the opposite chair and pulled out a small knife. "Hold out your hand, please."
Mage's curiosity overpowered Harry as he obeyed. "Sorry, but if I were impersonating myself—say, using Polyjuice Potion—wouldn't my blood be the same?"
The goblin made a tiny cut on Harry's finger. Harry turned his hand over, letting a drop of blood fall into the basin, waiting for an answer.
"There are certain magical signatures that can be read in blood," the goblin explained as he drew runes in the air above the basin. "Those cannot be replicated by a mere potion. The knowledge of how to mimic such a signature was lost almost a thousand years ago."
Harry nodded, understanding, watching the basin began to fill with light. Runes matching the ones the goblin had drawn were glowing where they had been etched into the metal basin. Light played over the blood in the bowl before drifting up in the shape of yet more runes.
The goblin looked them over carefully. Harry watched shock set in on his face. Magical signatures… What exactly might the little man be seeing?
Finally, the goblin looked up, trying not to smile. "Well, Mage Potter," he said. "It's been confirmed. You are most certainly you. We can proceed to the will-reading now."
Harry followed the goblin out of the room and down more hallways, until they reached another door, this one made of dark stone. The goblin pushed it open and bowed Harry into the room.
Harry looked around the room at the people already there. Hermione and the Weasleys were there, as were Lupin, Dumbledore, and Tonks. So these were the beneficiaries. It was a surprisingly small group, considering how wealthy and well-connected the Black family was.
"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter," his goblin guide told him. Harry obeyed, moving to a wooden armchair near the desk at the front of the room. Three goblins sat at the desk, four when Harry's guide sat with them.
Harry's guide began speaking. "Date: August the second, year nineteen ninety-six. Will-reading of Sirius Black. Myself, Hanrem, presiding as will-reader, Jepyr as recorder, Yullen and Rolin as witnesses. Jepyr will now call presence."
The goblin to Hanrem's right cleared his throat. "When I call your name, report," he ordered. "Harry Potter."
"Here," Harry replied.
"Hermione Granger."
"Present."
"Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, Ginevra, and Ronald Weasley."
A chorus of "here's" replied. Jepyr went on down the list. Remus Lupin, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Nymphadora Tonks (Tonks' eye twitched as she responded), and… Narcissa and Draco Malfoy?
Harry concealed his surprise behind a glass-smooth mask. Why would the Malfoys be included in Sirius' will? He had a sudden feeling that there was something going on in this family that he didn't know about.
"The Malfoys' inheritance will be held in trust at Gringotts Bank," Henram ordered when no one responded to his second call. Jepyr's quill flew as he began writing.
"The will of Sirius Black," Henram intoned, opening a flat case on the table in front of him and lifting out a document.
"I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound body and mind, leave my assets to the following recipients in the event of my death.
"To Hermione Granger, I leave all the books in the library at the Black London house. Despite my family's reputation, I'm sure you'll find plenty to interest you, Hermione."
Harry looked over at Hermione, interested. The Black family library would be mostly stocked with books on Dark magic; how would Hermione take such a gift?
Hermione's smile was small, but Harry could see the gleam in her eyes. Hermione liked this new collection far more than she thought she should.
"To the Weasley family, left to Ronald Weasley by name, I leave two million Galleons. I'm sure you can use it.
"To Remus Lupin, last true Marauder, I leave two and a half million Galleons and the Black family country home and all its contents. Buy yourself some new robes, Moony."
Lupin laughed softly. It was a very Sirius line.
"To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, left to Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore by name, I leave five million Galleons, to go toward the scholarship fund for Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students.
"To Nymphadora Tonks and her mother, I leave two million Galleons and reinstate you to the Black family. You and your mother deserve it, Nymmie."
Tonks looked like she wanted to either strangle Sirius for calling her "Nymmie" or break wizard custom and start crying.
"And to Harry James Potter, I leave the rest of my estates, money, and my title as Lord Black. I'm proud of you, Prongslet."
No shred of emotion slipped out from under Harry's mask. He was in perfect control.
But "Prongslet"…
He had never really gotten the chance to grieve for Sirius. He'd fallen headlong into his obsession with magecraft and forgotten all about his godfather. Sirius hadn't forgotten him, ever. He'd broken out of Azkaban to help Harry. And Harry had forgotten about him.
He hadn't forgotten.
The voice of his magic called to Harry. He hadn't forgotten about Sirius; he'd just moved on to magic. His life wouldn't last forever. He'd have time to worry about the dead once he was dead as well.
Harry came back to the room just as Henram called his name. He went up to the goblin's desk and signed the paper where Henram indicated. That was it. He was officially Harry James Potter, Lord Black.
The goblin handed him a silver band inlaid with an onyx gem. "This is the ring of the Black family. Wear it on your non-wand hand, first finger; that means you are the legal head of the family—"
"But not related by blood," Harry finished quietly. He slid the ring onto his left hand just as the goblin had instructed. It instantly molded itself to fit his finger perfectly. Harry smiled in thanks and stepped out of the way of the next signer.
"Come on, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said when everyone had signed the paper. "Let's go home."
Harry nodded. "All right."
--
Harry shut himself up in his room as soon as they got home. He spent the rest of the summer there, only leaving when Hermione came upstairs and physically forced him out the door. After a few days, Hermione abducted Hedwig, declaring that Harry wouldn't take care of her, so someone else would have to do it for him.
He worked constantly on his Liar's Palace. He soon discovered that the time difference between his mind and the real world was such that his work went very quickly, and he was finished with his Liar's Palace with two weeks left before school. Bored without a set task, he dove into the books he had gotten in Knockturn Alley, and found that they were nearly as promising as they had seemed, no mean feat for books bought in the wizarding world. The first book he read detailed several different styles of meditation and a general overview of magic, while emphasizing that the only way to really learn magecraft was by doing it, and so it would be pointless to detail the results of a successful meditation. The next talked about wandpower vs. willpower, and how it related to the difference between wizardry and magecraft, and was even so helpful as to go into the specifics of how to use magecraft to improve one's skills at Potions. Harry spent days reading and re-reading each of these books, delighting in the utter accuracy of the knowledge within them, and was sad to realize, one day, that he only had one more day before September 1st.
The most helpful of all the books was the one that explained the intricacies of willpower. Harry read this one when he only had five days before school term started.
The wonder of magecraft is that it relies more on magic itself than on the mage who wields it. This magic is so connected to the mage that it soon learns to interpret the will of the mage even before the mage realizes that this is a will, and not a passing whim. Whatever is desired, the magic will produce, even going so far as to destroy things for which the mage feels utter hatred. For this task, magic will always take the form of fire, that most destructive of elements, and burn away the offending object until nothing is left but a twisted and blackened skeleton. However, this usually does not occur until several years into a mage's training.
So the green fire that had burned the Blood Ink window display had been his magic, reacting to his hatred… But it shouldn't have happened for another few years, at least… Thinking about this gave Harry a headache every time. At that point he would just give up, get up, and keep packing for Hogwarts.
All too soon, the summer ended and Hermione was knocking on his door for the last time to tell him they were leaving the next morning.
--
In hindsight, descending from a meditative state directly into the hustle and bustle of September 1st in the Weasley household without pause might not have been the best of ideas.
Harry knew it was a bad idea before he had gotten halfway down the stairs. He realized, upon noticing Ginny's expression out of the corner of his eye, that he had left his glasses on his bedside table and had to run back upstairs, trying desperately not to run into anyone while simultaneously not looking up high enough to risk meeting anyone's eyes.
Then, after already being almost entirely packed, Harry had to chuck everything out of his trunk again so he could hide his books from Knockturn Alley at the bottom, where there was almost no chance of discovery.
Then, after Hermione had practically shoved food down his throat, it was time to go.
The ride to the station didn't bother Harry; he just slipped into another meditative trance and relaxed, regaining his easy connection with his magic after the chaos of the morning had made him lose focus too many times to count. But when they reached King's Cross, his world shattered.
It was an explosion of sound. Not the recalled, half-decayed sound from the memories he'd been working with for most of the summer; this was full-on, undiluted sound. Voices blasted his ears from every direction; he wanted to flinch away, but it was everywhere and anywhere he went he would only be walking into more of it; the trains were whistling shrilly, sending violent shivers down his spine; and he thought he could even hear the tick, tick of the large clock in the station as it drew nearer and nearer to eleven o'clock.
"All right, let's go," Mrs. Weasley said, heading toward the barrier that would take them to platform 9 ¾. "Ginny, you come first, with me."
Harry watched the others run through the barrier, pushing their luggage trolleys, until it was his and Ron's turn to go. As he approached the barrier, he wondered what the metal would look like if he took off his glasses and viewed its essence—
That was all he had time to wonder before he was in the barrier and in pain.
It felt as though every nerve ending in his body had been stripped bare and scraped at with an iron file. The passageway between King's Cross and Platform 9 ¾ was ridiculously crude; it took nothing into consideration but getting a person from here to there. It tried to use a form of collapsed space, which was impossibly uncomfortable at the best of times, instead of dissolving the subjects through nonbeing and reforming them on the other side; worst of all, it was wizard-made, and that made it nowhere near bearable for a mage. Apparition he had been able to stand, weeks ago, when his connection with his magic was still new; this had him gasping for air that had been sucked away, screaming in his mind from the pain of this torturous portal that seemed to take so much longer now than it ever had before…
Harry barely noticed when he was on the other side. His senses had dulled in the portal to protect themselves, and it took several seconds for him to regain them enough to realize what was happening.
"Harry? Harry!" Harry became aware, with a jolt, of someone shaking him and yelling his name. He looked up and saw a familiar face… whose face? Ron… Ron who? Oh, right… Ron… Ron!
"Harry, are you all right?" Ron whispered. Dropping his voice, he asked, "Was it… you know… your scar?"
Harry shook his head, straightening. "I… just felt dizzy. Headache. That's all. I'm all right, Ron, thanks."
Falling back into his half-meditative state, Harry looked around the group. Hermione looked somewhere in between fear and worry. She knows, he thought. She must know, or at least suspect. His magic told him not to worry. Hermione wouldn't try anything; she was too worried about him right now, at least.
Harry moved his gaze beyond the group to the platform. It was a familiar scene: first years crying as they hugged their parents good-bye; Muggle-borns standing with their overawed families; older students saying a quick good-bye to their parents before running off to join their friends. It all felt very distant, somehow. It didn't seem quite real.
"Let's just go get on the train," Hermione broke in. "Come on. It's almost time to go."
Harry nodded, looking back at the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley gave everyone a hug, and Fred and George, who had come to see them off, hugged their siblings and waved as the group headed for the train.
On board the train, Harry bade Ron and Hermione good-bye as they headed for the prefects' cabin. They left with promises to join Harry in a while.
When they were gone, Harry turned to Ginny. "So… shall we find a compartment then?" he asked, smiling.
"Can't, Harry, I said I'd meet Dean," Ginny replied.
"Oh… right," Harry said, as though he'd forgotten. "Well…" he said, watching her with obvious reluctance, "see you later, then."
"Bye, Harry!" Ginny called as she left.
Harry's glass-smooth mask slipped for a moment to reveal frustration. Ginny actually looked excited to go meet her boyfriend. Was she really that delusional, or just that good at masks?
Either way, her façade would crumble soon enough. She didn't have the reserve it would take to ignore Harry forever, and responding would take some honesty.
Harry turned away. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were gone, but there were other friends he could go find. He grabbed the handle of his trunk and Hedwig's cage and set off down the corridor.
"Harry! Hey, Harry!"
Harry turned at the sound of the familiar voice to see Neville approaching him, trunk in one hand and Trevor in the other. "Hey, Neville," he greeted his year-mate.
"Harry," Neville said. "Are you looking for a compartment? I am…"
"Yeah," Harry said, remembering to smile. "Come on; there are usually empty compartments near the back." Neville nodded, following.
"How did you do on your O.W.L.s, Harry?" Neville asked on the way. "I passed everything but Divination—I barely got an 'Acceptable' in Potions… But I got an 'Outstanding' in Herbology. Do you think I'll be able to take Transfiguration with an 'Acceptable'?"
"I don't know; McGonagall's pretty strict," Harry said, not really sure what he was saying. "Hey, Luna's in here." Hands full, he glared at the door until it slid open. "Hi, Luna," he said, smiling at the Ravenclaw as he entered the compartment.
"Hello, Harry," Luna said, voice as dreamy as ever. "Did you have a good summer?"
"Yeah," Harry answered. His smile grew. "Yeah, it was great. How was yours?"
"Oh, very good," Luna said happily. "Daddy and I went looking for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. We didn't actually find any, but we did find a beautiful little orphaned sphinx cub. I brought her back with me." Luna patted the basket at her side. "Sphinxes aren't quite as rare as Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but they are magnificently exotic, aren't they?"
"Oh, yeah," Harry said truthfully. "Although, their one-chance-per-customer policy on riddles can get a little annoying at times."
"Oh, you've met one?" Luna asked.
"In the Triwizard Tournament," Harry told her, "guarding the center of the maze where the Cup was hidden."
Luna and Neville's expressions darkened slightly for just a moment. Then Luna smiled again. "But Emuishere won't hurt you," she assured Harry, reaching into the basket and lifting out a small bundle of fur.
The first sphinx Harry had met had been fully grown, and shaped as much like a woman as it was like a cat. This sphinx cub was much smaller, with tangled black hair and bright, almond-shaped black eyes. Its toddler girl's head blended smoothly into a body that was entirely lion cub, with no further evidence of the sphinx's human half.
"Emuishere (2)?" he asked.
"It's an Egyptian name meaning 'kitten'," Luna clarified. "Or Emu for short, which means 'cat'. I know, it's not terribly original, but it's pretty, isn't it? Just like her."
"It is very pretty," Harry agreed. Looking up from the sphinx back to Luna's eyes, he was struck by a sudden curiosity. What would I see if I met your eyes, Luna? he wondered, fingering the wire of his glasses. What possible war could you be fighting against yourself? You are exactly who you appear to be, and you make no effort to hide that. Is that all really a lie?
Luna met his eyes with such calm that he almost thought she knew what he was about to do, but before he could even start to pull his glasses off, the door of the compartment opened again.
Harry turned to face a girl with thick dark hair and a heart-shaped face, his hand falling to his side. "Excuse me," the girl said. "I'm Romilda Vane."
"And?" he asked impatiently. She had an air about her that he wasn't sure he liked.
"Well," Romilda said, "I wondered if you wanted to come back to our compartment. You don't have to hang out with these guys," she said in a stage whisper, indicating Luna, holding Emu, and Neville, who had lost a hold of Trevor and was chasing him around the compartment.
"No, of course not," Harry agreed blandly. "Now that the Ministry agrees that I'm not crazy, it would be perfectly reasonable for me to abandon the people who knew that from the start."
Romilda stood still, apparently unsure if he'd just agreed with her or told her to shove off.
"These guys," he said in a mocking stage whisper to match hers, "are my friends. Which you aren't. So I'm going to turn down the offer of popularity, thanks. I get bored with people who don't care about any part of me other than my scar."
Romilda's mouth opened and closed like a fish's.
"He means for you to leave," Luna clarified. Harry could see her reflection in the glass window behind Romilda; for once in her life, Luna had dispensed with the dreamy expression and met Romilda's eyes with an intensity that rivaled Dumbledore's. "Now."
Romilda finally seemed to figure out that she was being banished. Without another word, she turned and left.
Harry turned and sat down across from Luna, smiling gratefully.
Luna's face returned to its dreamy smile. Suddenly she noticed something. "Harry," she asked, "when did you get that ring?"
Harry looked down at the Black family ring. "Sirius' will-reading," he told her, "a month ago tomorrow."
"So you're the head of the Black family now?" Luna asked interestedly.
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
Luna had opened her mouth to ask something else when the door opened again. It wasn't Romilda who entered this time, though. It was a brown-haired girl, so little she had to be a first-year, clutching two tiny scrolls of parchment.
"Excuse me," she half-whispered. "But I'm supposed to give these two Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom." She held out the scrolls.
Harry accepted his with a word of thanks. "Who are they from?" he asked as Neville took his.
"A teacher, three compartments down… Professor Slughorn, he said." The girl stared wide-eyed for another moment before finally turning and almost running out of the compartment.
Harry raised an eyebrow after her. Weird, he thought with a mental shrug as he looked back at his letter and broke the wax with a finger.
The letter was short and to the point.
Dear Harry,
I would
be delighted if you would join me
in my compartment for a spot of
lunch.
Professor Slughorn
And the Slug Club doors are opened, Harry thought, smiling slightly. He looked up at Neville. "An invitation?" he asked.
Neville nodded. "Yeah," he said, frowning slightly. "I don't even know who this teacher is," he confided in a whisper.
"Still, it might be interesting," Luna said. Neville jumped and Harry laughed out loud; apparently the round-faced boy hadn't realized Luna had been reading over his shoulder.
"D—Don't do that!" he choked out.
"Well, she's right," Harry said. "It might be interesting. Shall we go?" he asked Neville.
Neville nodded slowly. "I guess…" he muttered, looking sidelong at Luna.
"Oh, don't worry about me," Luna said, correctly interpreting his glance. "Emu and I can amuse ourselves." She smiled and raised the sphinx cub. "Say good-bye for now, Emu!" she told the little doll-faced kitten, waving Emu's paw at them.
Harry smiled and waved as he and Neville left the compartment and headed for Slughorn's compartment.
Maybe it had something to do with spending half an hour in a compartment talking with friends, but Harry seemed to notice more things now than he had in his half-meditative state on the platform. For one thing, he noticed now that people were stopping to stare at him even worse than they had the previous year. The problem with being a celebrity, he supposed, was that no matter what kind of news there was about you, there would be news about you and people would consequently stare.
Reaching Slughorn's compartment, Harry realized that they were not the only two who had been invited.
There was a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, both seventh years; a Slytherin boy with black eyes who was in Harry's year but he could only vaguely remember seeing before (3); and, stuffed into a corner beside Slughorn and looking like she wasn't quite sure how she got there, was Ginny Weasley.
"And here's the man of the hour! Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn bounded over to Harry and shook his hand vigorously. Harry tried not to let his annoyance at the man's exuberance show on his face. Mages are not permitted to show anger, he reminded himself. Anger does not help us. Anger hurts us. Mages do not allow it.
"Hello, Professor Slughorn," he said when he was sure he was in control, smiling politely.
Slughorn clapped him on the back, directing him to a seat. "So glad you could make it, Harry! And here's Neville Longbottom!" He seized Neville's hand as well. Neville looked positively terrified. "I knew your parents well, m'boy… I was terribly sorry to hear about their… condition." He almost looked sincere as he ushered Neville to another seat, making the compartment extremely cramped.
"Now, do you perhaps know Marcus Belby, or Cormac McLaggen?" He indicated the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in turn. "No? How about Blaise Zabini; I know you three are year-mates…"
Zabini sneered at Neville and glared at Harry. Harry returned the glare with a semi-interested stare that did more to disconcert Zabini than a dozen hexes could have managed.
"I don't think we've ever personally met," Harry said, holding out his hand for Zabini to shake. He let just a little bit of his magic slip out of his hand, enough to let him see Zabini's aura if the other boy took the invitation. "I'm Harry Potter."
Zabini glanced at Slughorn, and Harry's magic triumphantly informed him of the awkward situation he'd put the Slytherin in. Slughorn wanted all these people to be in his little club, and that meant that when he was around, they'd all have to at least pretend to get along.
"Blaise Zabini," he finally answered.
Harry smiled. "Nice to meet you," he said, watching the boy's aura. It was as black as his eyes and shone like glass where the light caught it. Beautiful was the first word Harry would use to describe it.
"Likewise," Zabini replied, releasing Harry's hand and sitting back in his seat. Harry was impressed; there was no hint of stiffness or discomfort in the boy's greeting. Harry would love to know where that skill at social masks came from.
"All right then!" Slughorn said. "As I know you two are familiar with Ginevra here, that makes introductions complete. Let's eat!"
As they ate, Slughorn engaged each of them in conversation in turn. Harry watched each of them for their reactions, memorizing the connections to fame and fortune that had granted each an invitation.
Belby had a famous uncle (Harry was interested to know that this person had invented Wolfsbane Potion; that had to take skill and knowledge, the kind best suited to mages), but he and Belby's father were estranged and the Ravenclaw fell sadly off Slughorn's radar before the gathering had passed its first half an hour. Cormac McLaggen had another famous uncle and knew the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, besides, making him immediately someone to watch out for as far as Harry was concerned; Harry didn't trust the new Minister to be any better than the old. Ginny had impressed Slughorn with her skill at the Bat-Bogey Hex. Zabini had a rich mother—although Harry was interested to note that his eyes narrowed a millimeter and his face darkened significantly when she was brought up. Neville had his famous parents and had potentially inherited some of their talent, and Harry, well, Harry was Harry. "The Chosen One," apparently. Ginny and Neville jumped in at that point to say that it was all hogwash, and Harry wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed that he didn't have to own up to Slughorn's claims.
After a few hours, Slughorn looked around, startled. "My goodness! When did they light the lamps? You all should get on to your compartments and get changed."
Harry stood, giving Slughorn a polite smile and good-bye as he left the compartment with Neville and Ginny, making sure to let Ginny go ahead of him.
"How exactly did you end up in there, Ginny?" Neville asked.
Ginny shrugged. "He saw me hex Zacharias Smith. I thought he was going to give me detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch."
"I'm glad he did," Harry said, smiling at Ginny. "It's nice to have another familiar face," he added by way of explanation, eyes lingering on Ginny's for a moment longer than he spoke.
Ginny blinked. An odd look and a faint hint of color crossed her face. She finally noticed, Harry thought as she said, "Well, I'm glad you two were there, too. I was getting worried I'd be completely surrounded by strangers."
They reached the compartment at that moment. Luna looked up as they came in. Harry noticed the expression on her face go from dreamy to stormy and back again in the space of an instant when she looked at him next to Ginny and wondered again what he'd see if he took off his glasses and met her eyes.
Luna had changed into her robes and fed both Hedwig and Emu, judging by the crumbs on Emu's face and the floor of Hedwig's cage and the wrappers lying on the seat. "I'll leave so you boys can change," she said, standing.
"And I need to go back to mine and Dean's compartment," Ginny added, looking a little embarrassed at having forgotten. "I left my trunk there."
She and Luna left the compartment. Harry lifted his trunk down from the luggage rack effortlessly with some help from his magic and fished out his robes in a second. Neville had significantly more trouble getting his luggage down, and Harry finally gave in and helped him.
They changed just in time to hear the conductor's announcement that they were ten minutes away from Hogwarts. Harry felt a moment of panic at the thought of joining the whole school before his magic suggested a solution. He could descend into his Liar's Palace, at least until the feast started and he was in a less crushing mass of people. It would be a perfect way to avoid everyone, and provide a test run so he could work out any 'bugs' before his first Occlumency lesson besides.
Looking out the window so Neville wouldn't notice any change, Harry closed his eyes. Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor I go, he thought, sinking out of reality down into his Liar's Palace and letting Harry Potter, Gryffindor golden boy, emerge from the dusty rooms that made up his home.
'Harry' turned to Neville. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Neville nodded. "Let's go."
The stares began as soon as they shut the compartment door behind them. 'Harry' tried to ignore them, but the intensity of those stares and the constant sound of the rumors going around made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He headed out to the platform as quickly as he could, which, considering the masses of people trying to get a look at their promised savior, wasn't nearly as fast as he would have liked.
Observing distantly from his House of the Mind, Harry thought about Hedwig, left on the train to be taken up by house-elves. He wondered if he could make her more… well, more useful. She was just an owl right now, albeit one who was trained flawlessly and was intelligent enough to respond to his voice and tell when he was upset. Her wild magic could be a valuable asset… and his magic told him that he could always use a companion.
The term was familiar to him; he'd found it in one of the books from Knockturn Alley. Familiars were the partners of wizards; companions were the partners of mages. If he and Hedwig had a strong enough bond, he could infuse her with his magic, thus making her by nature both magical and tied to him.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he looked out through 'Harry's' eyes and found that the golden boy had gotten into a compartment with Luna, Neville, and Ginny. They were talking about the coming school year, a topic that he never would have managed through his disinterest and blatant disgust. Satisfied with his observations, he faded back into his House of the Mind.
Blaise Zabini was an interesting Slytherin. He didn't like Harry; that was normal. But his sneer when the topic of his mother came up was certainly not normal. In Harry's experience, Slytherins were only disdainful of their parents when they were Muggles, Muggle-born, or occasionally when they were in Azkaban. What was it about Zabini's mother that he hated so much?
Glancing up, Harry realized that they had reached the castle and were splitting up to head to their separate tables. Harry watched the golden boy until he reached the table, then switched out with the double and locked the door to his Liar's Palace.
Harry sat down with his friends and looked up in interest as McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat on its old three-legged stool. Setting it down in front of the first-years, she stepped aside to allow the hat to begin its song.
The hat straightened. A rip near the brim opened and it began to sing:
"Each year for a thousand now
I've watched new students here
And before this ends and I take my bow
There is much that you must hear.
For although there is but one school,
Of Houses there are four
And it has always been the rule
That each student gives one House one more.
These Houses are called by certain names
Which from their Founders they take
Each Founder, in their time, won great fame
And each determined one House to make.
Brave Godric Gryffindor
Had courage that is still known;
Rowena Ravenclaw loved her books
Through her wits she always shone;
Helga Hufflepuff had a kind heart
And her diligence won her fame;
And crafty Salazar Slytherin
Knew 'ruthless' and 'wicked' need not be the same.
These are the four Houses; all are your fellows
And one will give you your friends
But be careful not to forget what you know—
That this is the beginning, and not the end.
Ravenclaws might drop their books
To help you when you are in need;
And do not judge a Hufflepuff's looks
To be evidence of some noble creed;
Because a man wears red does not mean he will fight
Any more fiercely than one who wears green;
A Slytherin might do what you call 'nice'
Or a Gryffindor what you call 'mean'.
So take these descriptions with a block of salt
And realize there is much you don't know
It is about where you belong; there is no fault
Do not fear the House where you go.
'There are four Houses, but this is one School,
And that is important, you see'
I would that you would listen to this Founders' rule
As carefully as you would me.
But now I know my song must end
Be thankful I have not charged a fee
Be steady, be strong, be smart, be friends—
Let the Sorting begin; the results, we shall see."
The hat fell silent and bowed to each student. McGonagall turned and began to speak, her voice clear and strict as always.
"When I call your name, you will come up and place the hat on your head. Abner, William!"
A boy with hair even redder than Ron's ran up to the stool and sat down. The hat waited a moment before calling out, "RAVENCLAW!"
William took off the hat and ran off to join his blue-clad Housemates.
"Abner, Michelle!"
William's twin had hair even redder than his, a bright cardinal red that looked like a beacon. No sooner had the hat touched her head than it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Harry missed the rest of the Sorting. He fell far into his House of the Mind, thinking about the Sorting Hat's song and getting his magic's opinion. He could remember, quite clearly, Hagrid's claim that "There wasn't a single witch or wizard went bad who wasn't in Slytherin"… but that was completely false, and he'd known that since third year. Pettigrew went bad, didn't he? He certainly hadn't been a Slytherin… Ravenclaw could mean anyone from Cho to Luna; Hufflepuff had stoic Hogwarts Champion Cedric Diggory right alongside talkative and easily suspicious Justin Finch-Fletchley… yet Slytherin always meant "enemy". It was something to think about.
Not now, though. Not while there were Housemates to fool and he couldn't enter his Liar's Palace without someone noticing.
Reminded of this, Harry brought himself back to reality just in time to see "Zarves, Christopher" be sorted into Gryffindor and clap with his Housemates as the Hat was taken away and the feast appeared.
It was even harder to handle the tastes of the foods here than it was to handle Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Mrs. Weasley made a single meal, but there were at least fifty different dishes here. As soon as he tried one, he wanted to taste another. Did lamb taste better with or without gravy? Did peppers and pork taste bad in the same bite? It was an impossibly simple curiosity that he could do nothing but indulge and just try to stay tuned in to the conversations around him.
When dinner was finished, desserts were sent up from the kitchens and the taste-testing began again. If you added vanilla ice cream to chocolate or strawberry or coffee, did it change the taste? Did ice cream taste different if you let it melt before you ate it? What did warm cake and cold ice cream taste like together? Did it taste different than cake that had cooled down eaten with ice cream? Silly questions about taste took over, steering his hand toward another dessert and another long past the point when he was full.
When the plates were finally cleared of food for the last time, Harry had to stifle a sigh of relief. Mage's curiosity was fine for magical concerns, but it just got annoying when it came to mundane things like food.
Dumbledore stood up, silver-embroidered robes glittering in the candlelight. "To our new students," he called, "welcome! To our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you, but before we can begin, there are a few announcements I have to make.
"First, to our new students and any old students who might need reminding, the forest on the edge of school grounds is strictly off-limits.
"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn—" Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow "—is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master." (4)
Harry smiled to himself at the whispers that broke out across the room. None of the teachers looked surprised or put out by the hissing conversations.
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Harry tried not to grin at the loud mutterings that began at that. His eyes traveled to Snape, who looked perfectly smug as he raised a hand in acknowledgement of the applause from the Slytherin table. Harry waited until Snape's eyes inevitably traveled over to him; then he mimed raising a goblet and mouthed, smiling, Congratulations, Professor.
It was worth anything that might come after to see that look of surprise on the new Defense teacher's face.
Dumbledore's announcements continued, now focusing on the war the Ministry had finally acknowledged. Harry ignored it, confident that he wasn't missing anything of great importance and waiting for Dumbledore to finish so he could go to bed. He wanted to meditate; today had been much too busy and he needed to get to a quiet place and reach his magic before his head exploded.
--
Bella had traced him to this Muggle-infested street. Now she was here, leading a few Death Eaters to do whatever it took to capture him, or at least find out where he'd gone from here.
There was a fallen Muggle woman in front of her. Bella could hear her screams and pleas. She groaned inwardly. Scrying so much had already given her a headache; why did this woman have to add to it?
"Avada Kedavra," she snapped, and the woman's annoying cries were silenced. Bella saw a little boy run out to the woman, crying "Mama! Mama!"—but it wasn't him. She pointed her wand at a mailbox as the boy passed it and snapped, "Confringo."
The mailbox exploded, taking the boy with it.
Bella continued down the street, killing every Muggle in her path, until she suddenly seemed to run into a wall.
There was nothing special about the house she had approached. There were only a few Muggles in the window, staring out, terrified. But there was a barrier that she couldn't pass. She tried all the breaking and unlocking spells she could think of; no change. She called for the other Death Eaters; still nothing.
A slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face, Bella stepped back and took out her scrying crystal. Focusing on the wall in front of her, she whispered to the stone, "Who is it protecting? Take me to him."
The crystal swung in a widening spiral until it suddenly pointed straight out to Bella's right with a certainty it hadn't had since she'd begun.
--
(1) This is an actual T-shirt (or a bumper sticker, or something). I found it in the Pagan section of the "Religious T-Shirts and Gifts" department of CafePress . com.
(2) Read Eh-Moo-Ee-Sheh-Rei
(3) Yes, I'm leaving Blaise as a boy, although just to confirm, I looked up the name online and it is a name for either gender. Therefore, until book six came out, fans could decide Blaise was either gender and have it be accurate; and IMHO, telling people they have to be canon after that long is like saying this story is wrong because (barring some unforeseen and uncontrolled plot twist) I'm not going to include the Deathly Hallows.
(4) That paragraph and the two before it were taken verbatim from the book.
About the will-reading scene:
This was the roadblock scene. I really DID NOT want to write it. Anyway, two of the goblins ("Yullen" and "Rolin") are named after pairings in the D. Gray-Man fandom. Just in case anyone was going to tell me, I already know. That was intentional. I got bored coming up with names for the goblins.
The line "Buy yourself some new robes, Moony" is not mine. Unfortunately, I don't remember what fic I read it in. If you know, please tell me, and I will credit that person next chapter.
A/N: I hope it wasn't too much of the book… I though Harry was different enough to make the scenes new (and interesting?)…
Feedback of all kinds is appreciated (and keeps me interested—that's not blackmail; it's true)!