Again, thank you for the reviews. I'm just rewriting the second volume at the moment, so there should be some fairly nice, steady updates from herein. I'm glad people are enjoying something about my story or even the story itself, and it's nice to hear anyone's thoughts on how I might better myself as a writer.
My original plan, in case you're curious, was to make this the beginning of the second book, but that isn't for a little while yet now. I found a better and more conveniant place for it. I must apologise in advance though for the slow pace from hereon- lots of things needed to happen and very quickly, so the actual timeline passes very slowly for a while. I hope you can bear with it- that's one of the many problems with shorter chapters lol. It picks up in the second book.
With regards to the question about the sorting hat conversation being a revelation of Harry- that's exactly what it was. That was a moment of realisation for Harry as much as it was for the reader. Whether Harry will stick to his new resolutions, however...
Thanks for reading, and Peace to y'all.. GL.
Harry woke quickly. He didn't know why, or even what time it was, but the sun was just rising.
He pulled the 'Standard Book of Spells' towards him and had a breeze through it, not really absorbing anything new, while his mind followed his body into consciousness.
He sat up, uncomfortable after sleeping in such a plush bed, and got his trunk out of his bedside cabinet to change into his disastrous school robes.
Mar was nowhere to be seen- Harry hoped it was ok. He didn't need the bird as of yet, but it was the first live animal he'd ever been entrusted to keep, and he'd rather not have it die or run off on him.
He stretched, clicking his joints, and walked out of the bed-quarters to the common room he'd seen the night before. The fire's embers were smouldering slightly, half-heartedly, and he sat looking at them.
This made him want a cigarette.
He didn't know the way up to the battlements of this fortress, and doubted students were allowed up there anyway, so he went without this morning. Instead, contemplating fatalistically the coming day- the first school day he'd have had in a long time- he found his way to the bathroom.
The clock told him it wasn't even quarter past six. Too early for anything. Even after a shower and his first ever proper groom- his hair, however short, had been filthy- it was too damned early.
I'll need to sort out this waking-up, he thought. His dreams he couldn't remember- he had no reason to be awake.
The first thing he did was, remembering his jacket, upstairs in his trunk, that he'd probably never get to wear much anymore, he started to mod his school robes using his wand. He used Condecomfus where he was comfortable expanding the space, tearing and neatening up pockets and compartments in his voluminous robes. He used Adlevo, a cushioning charm in Standard Book of Spells Grade 4, on the inside of it so the things he kept in there wouldn't dig into him. He also, finally, did his best with a more-advanced one called the 'Featherlight charm', pronounced Minueronus!
This should be able to fit my school stuff- and my dagger- in comfortably without anyone noticing, he thought. Won't be a chore to carry either.
Upon finishing that he decided to go for a walk- it would no doubt take him long enough to find the Great Hall, he reasoned. He got his things together and pushed out of the portrait door to the tower, wandering off into the castle.
With his newfound, rudimentary knowledge of the place, he was comfortable enough in his navigation to find the rooms he'd need.
He'd visited the Transfiguration rooms, the Defence corridor and the hospital wing. He'd also found the doors to the library, though they didn't open until seven.
He was also, by now, bored out of his skull.
One year of this, he thought grimly, wanting nothing more than to simply walk out the front doors and find a city.
He was walking down the stairs to the Entrance Hall when he saw another student, finally, reminding him that the castle in fact was not dead.
It was the athletic-looking black boy he'd noticed in the hall the night before. He was wearing his school clothes, like Harry, reading the announcements board.
Do I approach him? Harry wondered. He was really not very good at this- how do you initiate socialisation with another student? Did he even actually want to?
Before he could decide anything, however, he was at the bottom of the stairs.
The boy looked around, turning with a fluid movement to meet Harry's eyes. He had a cool, dark gaze that was stony solid, not giving away the slightest emotion.
Harry had a vague idea about earning respect from people- find something that they can admire in you. He schooled his face to not show the slightest bit of what he was feeling- he merely nodded at the boy.
To his surprise, the boy grinned at him.
"You're up early, Harry Potter," he said, his smooth young voice carrying over the hallway.
"Yes," Harry said, pausing in his tracks. What to say?
"Trouble sleeping?" the boy asked him.
"Not used to the setting, I suppose."
The boy nodded. Suddenly, he strode to where Harry was with just a few steps. He towered over him.
"Ali, third year Ravenclaw," the boy said, extending a hand.
Harry gripped it firmly. He didn't give his own name- the kid knew it already.
"Why are you up so early?" he asked him.
Ali shrugged, saying, "Not a very good sleeper. Things on my mind."
Harry nodded.
"A little trouble at home, too," Ali said suddenly, giving Harry a very strange, unreadable look.
"Oh, right," Harry said, looking down.
"I do exercises in the morning to take my mind off it."
Harry seized his chance. He asked, "You do any fighting sports?"
The boy grinned suddenly, feral.
"Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu."
"Ah," Harry said. It was one of the few he'd never had any experience with. "I do some Muay Thai, some Kung Fu."
"Look at you," the boy said in a strange way. Harry thought he might be taking the piss- he longed for the comfortable weight of his sword.
"I don't suppose I could occasionally exercise with you in the morning?" Harry asked him. "If I can't sleep."
"Oh," said the boy, staring over his head at something non-existent, "I doubt you'd keep up. You can try if you like."
With that, he strode into the Great Hall without a backwards glance.
Harry stared after him. He was rarely so unsure of someone after a full conversation, but this boy- Ali- was a total enigma. Did he know Harry from somewhere? He felt somehow unnerved- he'd never encountered Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, in any form, but he knew like a sixth sense that this boy Ali could kill him if he wanted, despite his training.
That aside, he also felt that this boy thought Harry had wronged him in some strange, unknown way. Had he been accidentally rude to him? Why do I even fucking care? Harry thought furiously.
And should he go out and spar with him tomorrow morning?
Harry shook his head, confused but not about to dwell on it, and walked into the Great Hall. It was vastly empty with so few people in it- the school population filled it up in more than just body mass- and Harry was shocked at how hollow it looked. Maybe that strange kid just knocked my confidence or something, Harry wondered, unused to not being totally and utterly sure of his own self. People on the street are so much more straightforward- they either got along with and did business with me, or they got themselves hurt.
He shook his head, seeing Ali sitting eating at the Ravenclaws' table with only a few other people on it with his back to him, and head over to his own Gryffindor table. As he sat down at it, the dishes near him filled with different types of food.
He shook his head in bewilderment, helping himself to eggs and toast but not much else, deciding to feed himself up for the day.
A very odd thing happened when he poured out some strange orange-coloured juice into his goblet- he got a very strange buzzing sensation in his ears. His chest grew hot… then Harry realised it wasn't his chest itself, but the amulet he had hanging there. He put down the jug, leaning forwards to get the hanging metal to swing away from his chest, and as soon as he did so the buzzing stopped.
He lifted the collar of his shirt away slightly, peering down at the eye-shaped wrought silver, confused. Do magical things malfunction?
He knew he'd have to research it before we went to lessons, but left it on for the moment, shaking his head. He looked around him- no teachers around yet, and none of the students had noticed anything odd.
He reached for his now-full goblet again and the bloody thing started heating up, buzzing in his ears again.
"For fuck's sake," he whispered to himself, taking a bite of toast with one hand and undoing the clasp on the back of the rope of the amulet. Chewing, he reached in between his shirt buttons and pulled the amulet out. He put it in one of his un-enchanted pockets, shaking his head.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed someone heading up the Gryffindor table, briskly, and raised his eyes to meet those of Professor McGonagall's.
"Good Morning, Mr. Potter," she greeted him formally.
"Bright and early yourself, Professor," he said.
She eyed him, but just handed him a sheet of paper.
"Your timetable," she told him. "I'd advise you to be prompt."
"Right," he said absently, staring at it. "Cheers."
"Quite," she said with an unhidden frown before moving onto the few other Gryffindor early-risers.
His first lesson was Herbology. He assumed, by 'GrnHs 6' in the corner of the square that this meant the 6th greenhouse. He tried to remember seeing any the night before and couldn't. He frowned to himself. He couldn't guess the time, even looking up at the sunlit sky pouring in through the enchanted ceiling, so decided maybe he'd best leave now to try and discover his first ever magical classroom.
He didn't catch Ali- or anyone else- looking at him.
"You had any experience with plants, Harry?" the Professor called Sprout asked him.
"Did some gardening when I was younger," he told her. "Not really though, no."
"Well," she said with a grunt as she heaved the heavy glass door open, "at least you're enthusiastic. Tending and caring for plants is an exact art- especially with magical plants. More often than not if you treat a magical plant bad it'll treat you even worse."
He smiled slightly. He was early, as he knew he would be, and the Professor had shown up just now after about 20 minutes to prepare the classroom.
"Some people here'll treat you a bit strange, Harry," she said slowly. "Something you'll have to get used to. Me- I don't care where you've been, what you've done, what you look like- if you perform well in my class, work hard, you'll go far."
"Ok," he said, face impassive.
"You done any pre-reading for this class?"
"Yes," he said.
She pointed at a plant in the corner. "What's that one called?" she asked.
Harry looked, and said, "It looks like a sort of Limibus Tobola, but that would be a guess. Commonly called Red-Hood or something like it. Used in cosmetic potions."
She looked at him, mouth hanging open.
"Indeed," she said quietly. "It's Red-Hood of the Tilmumni family, not Tobola, but other than that, spot on. Well done, Harry- most second years couldn't tell me that."
He was surprised but didn't show it- that one was easy. About 4 pages into the set reading.
"What colour is Gimbleroot?" she asked him.
"Depends what kind," he said, brain answering for him. "Common Gimbleroot is a dark blue; the Irish variety is…" he fought to remember. "Just a lighter blue, I think."
She shook her head, saying, "That is impressive. That one isn't in your set reading, 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi."
"I think it was in Spore's other one, Truncus something."
She nodded. "That it was," she said, staring at him.
If it's this easy to impress my teachers, I'll need to slow down. I don't want them thinking I'm too experienced, he thought.
Then that Hermione girl walked in. She seemed in extraordinarily good spirits.
"Morning Harry!" she said brightly. She spotted her teacher suddenly and gave a reverent half-bow. "Professor Sprout!"
Sprout laughed at her and wished her Good Morning back, and told them to take a seat.
Harry did, Hermione sitting near but not next to him, and pulled from his pockets his Herbology equipment, not really believing that he was sitting down a school day for the first time in four years.
As expected, with his memorised magical herb and fungi knowledge he was pretty much top of that class, to Hermione's chagrin. He felt strange, outsmarting peers- some of whom were raised by wizards, in wizard homes- but didn't let it slow him down.
History of Magic was an absolute drag. Harry made a mental note to bring one of his own books to read in these lessons from now on- all they were was lectures on ancient rebellions and treaties that were already in his History of Magic book. If he simply read and remembered that, he'd get through any exams with no problems, he knew.
Waste of an hour, Harry grumbled in his head, but he didn't want to upset a teacher- even a ghost- this early in his education so he kept it to himself.
After lunch- in which he didn't eat or drink anything, just put back in his trunk the things he'd already used today- he had charms. As it turned out, Harry wasn't very good at charms. For all his reading, he had an absolutely terrible memory for incantations- Hermione had to correct him twice on how exactly you pronounced the spell they were practising, and she wasn't even sitting next to him. He was alright at the theory side of it, and he had no trouble making things happen to the subject, the only problem was that it was rarely what he actually wanted to happen.
In the end of it he shocked the quarter of the class within hearing distance with a vicious swearword and by throwing his wand on the desk. Again, those two Indian twins- who despite being in different houses shared this class together- turned around and looked at him reproachfully.
As soon as he'd felt such furious frustration, his feather had managed to do exactly what he wanted it to. He debated whether or not to calm himself down.
Double Transfiguration was his last class of the day. He was off to a dodgy start in terms of teacher-student relationship by getting a dressing down by McGonagall for wearing an earring to class. He'd set his jaw and said nothing, taking it out without fuss, deciding to be diplomatic. He redeemed himself however- He happened to be better at this, where the stress was less on remembering the right words and more on genuine magic/will power. He got his matchstick to turn into a needle and back again and was the only person in the class to have earned 20 points for Gryffindor from the shell-shocked McGonagall.
Walking from that room at the end of the day by himself, tucking his school things into his robes, he suddenly remembered his meeting with the headmaster.
He froze on the spot.
Shall I go..?
He entertained the thought of leaving the old man waiting for him, and doing things on his own terms, but knew he couldn't risk that just yet. Who knew? The man could be civil to him- could offer a very valid explanation as to why he had Harry left on a doorstep ten years ago.
Harry snorted, somehow doubting it.
He walked back into the classroom, about to ask McGonagall for directions, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"Right," Harry said to himself viciously. "Magic. Very entertaining."
As he walked out he thought, What, so I'm supposed to wander around with no idea where the office is that I'm supposed to go, is that it?
If that was the case, money be damned, Harry would risk expulsion by simply telling the old bastard what he thought of him.
He stalked down the corridor.
"Who's there?" a voice asked.
Harry sighed. He'd been walking for ten minutes with no idea where the Head's office, or even the staffroom, was. He backtracked to the turning he'd just passed and looked down it.
Two twins stared back at him, looking exceptionally guilty. One squinted at him.
"Who's that then?"
Harry debated whether to just walk on or not. He sighed again, and waved his hand.
The twins moved forward casually, slowly, and Harry saw they had bright red hair.
"Ah- Harry Potter, right?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Are you related to Ron?"
"You're friends with our beloved brother!" one said.
"Why didn't you say so?" said the other.
"He's Fred-"
"And I'm George-"
"Weasley," they finished together.
"Entertaining," Harry said, pissed off. "I don't suppose either of you know where the Head's office is?"
"Ooh," said Fred. "The famous Harry Potter in trouble on his first day?"
"That's… very impressive," George said, and Fred agreed.
"Cheers," Harry said impatiently, "Do you know where the old man's office is?"
They both grinned beatifically at him.
"If we didn't know," said one.
"It would imply that we'd never been sent there," said the other.
"And that would mean…"
"We weren't working hard enough."
"This way," they both said, and began to walk the way Harry had come from. Harry noticed them sticking something into their pockets.
He followed them, speeding up after them, saying, "It's this way? To the Head's office?"
"It's a shortcut, mate," George said.
Harry winced. He didn't want to stab two idiots on his first day- not when he was about to meet the Headmaster.
After a few moments of walking, Fred swept aside a wall tapestry with a flourish, and George pointed through into a hidden corridor.
"Follow it to the end, turn left when you reach the hallway, follow the stairs and go the statue at the end of the corridor in the alcove. That's the Head's office."
"You aren't coming too?" Harry asked them.
"Afraid not, Master Potter- we're on a little business at present in another part of the castle."
"It would be unwise to show our faces near the Head's office at this point in time."
"So here we say," one said.
"Farewell!" they waved, then about turned and walked away.
Harry watched them go. He lifted the tapestry away, unsure and very unwilling to follow this strange passageway into the darkness. The two of them seemed like pranksters- while not openly hostile, they no doubt would love to get him hopelessly lost and in further trouble with Professor Dumbledore.
He ground his teeth.
Flicking his wand out, he cast the enlightenment charm, Lumos! And it failed the first two times. Growing irritated even more, eventually he succeeded with a faint light.
The passage didn't go on very long, he could see that even in his meagre wandlight, but still he was hesitant. Trust them? Psh, when have I ever put my safety in someone else's hands?
He pushed the tapestry back into place, stepped back, and turned around to come face to face with a very ugly old man.
"Oho, someone's in trouble, aren't they my sweet?"
Albus Dumbledore sat as his desk, glancing at the clock.
It was now half an hour since the lessons of the day ended.
I am a fool, he thought sullenly. He'd sent the note to Harry very deliberately without instructions or directions to get to his office, to see what the boy would do. It was a sort of test. The more seconds ticked by, the more foolish he felt, unable to think why he might have done it.
What if he now simply doesn't come at all? He thought. Oh, Albus, you dolt. This was not the right way to begin some sort of trust between Harry and you.
He had a lot of things to ask the boy, and a lot more things to consider about him, and seconds were ticking away. He couldn't justifiably keep the boy into his dinner-time.
Suddenly, outside his office door where the staircase would be, he heard the sounds of a scuffle. A very audible young voice broke out.
"Get your damned hands off me. I'm not a fucking fugitive, you stupid old cunt. Let – fucking – go-"
The door banged open. Harry Potter stood in the doorway, looking extremely angry. Argus Filch bustled in after him, protesting at the top of his lungs. Albus didn't know whether to feel shocked, relieved, or… anything at all.
"This little rascal I caught sneaking around, doing magic in the corridors! He attacked me, the little brute! He swore at me- the little ratty urchin, I'll slaughter 'im!"
Harry didn't say anything- in fact, in a transition lasting less than a second, he went from looking utterly furious to a totally blank mask, breathing shallower and calming himself visibly down.
Albus, impressed as he was, stood and held his hands up to stall his caretaker's tirade.
"Little bastard! Then he – he – oh," Filch said, face crumpling in front of the headmaster, "He said he was looking for you but he wouldn't come quietly! Please, let me punish him! Please-"
"Enough, Argus. Thank you for escorting Harry here. I shall deal with him now."
"But you haven't heard everything! You didn't hear what he said…"
"I heard plenty. Thank you, Argus," Dumbledore said, pointing at the door.
Argus Filch turned, no doubt glaring horrifically at the now impassive Harry, who didn't even flinch. In a few seconds the door had closed behind the caretaker.
A few seconds of peace passed slowly. Albus sat down again, straightening his robes, not yet looking at Harry. As he fussed, he spoke.
"That was quite an impressive feat, Harry. Never have I seen our resident caretaker so furious, and considering he's outlasted the Marauders and the young Weasley Twins, I have no doubt it wasn't easy."
Harry Potter, regarding him indifferently, said nothing.
Albus smiled at him benignly.
"I shan't punish you, Harry, since I do not doubt you were merely looking for my office, but I'd try to avoid running into Mr. Filch again."
Albus expected this to raise some reaction from the boy, some sign of emotion or maybe an angry remark about how that wouldn't have been necessary if he'd had directions to the office, but he didn't even move.
Still smiling, trying not to force it, Dumbledore said, "Please sit, Harry. Make yourself comfortable. I can't bear the formality of standing."
"Some people are comfortable standing, Headmaster," Harry Potter finally said, though he sat in the proffered seat.
Clever, Dumbledore thought. Slightly recalcitrant in his response, but because he sat there's nothing I can say.
"True," he said. "As you can imagine Harry, there are a number of things I'd love to ask you, though I'll only manage a few before your dinner time."
"Ditto, Headmaster. If you're as forthcoming in your answers as I hope you'll be, I won't lie to you once."
The headmaster nearly grinned at the balls on young Harry Potter.
"Really? Well, before we begin, may I offer you a drink?"
Harry Potter didn't appear to be considering, though Dumbledore knew he was. If he's as intelligent as he thinks he is he'll know it's diplomatic to accept a drink, Dumbledore thought. He was right.
"I'll have what you're having, headmaster, thanks."
Dumbledore pulled from his desk draw a magically-heated teapot full of Earl Grey and poured two cups. He knew the potion in it was safe to drink for him- he was an of-age wizard.
He gave a cup to Harry, conjuring sugar and biscuits next to it, and sat back, taking a long sip.
Harry didn't touch his at first- perhaps waiting for it to cool? To see if it had any effects on the headmaster? But he was clearly waiting for Dumbledore to begin.
"Well, Harry, with regards to your questions, I will answer what I can."
"Likewise, Professor."
Dumbledore smiled again, though it was slightly forced this time.
"Harry, please tell me as much as you can about where you've been since you left your relatives' house."
"London."
"Who looked after you?"
"I believe it's my question, now, Headmaster."
Dumbledore paused, then nodded and spread his hands.
Harry asked him, "Why was I left with the Dursley's when I was a year old?"
"They were you last surviving relatives, Harry," the Head said with a practised sadness. "Who looked after you in London?"
"I did, Professor. I assume-"
"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "I apologise, but I must ask for fuller answers if I am to repay with the same courtesy."
Harry considered and nodded.
"Alright- I lived in London, going straight there from the Dursley house and straight here from there, and I stayed on my own."
"With no money?"
Harry ignored his question and asked, "I assume you'll tell me that not having anyone know the location of me and my relatives was to keep me safe? Right," he continued, "so why was I attacked and nearly killed when I was seven at the dentist's surgery?"
Dumbledore was shocked. "You remember that, Harry?" he asked.
"Please answer."
"The young man who attacked you, I'm not sure if you remember him exactly, was called Bartemius Crouch Junior, and his father held an important position in the Ministry. The world thought that the politician's son was in Azkaban and had died there, and exact details are still unspecific, but apparently he broke out a long time ago. He used his father's information to find out about your last surviving relatives."
"Ok," Harry said, eyes closed. "What were you going to ask?"
"I've changed my question," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I've heard roughly why from your relatives, but may I hear your story of why you ran away? Something about an accident at school?"
"If you really spoke to my relatives," Harry said, his face finally betraying a flicker of emotion, "You'll understand why I thought that I'd prefer living as a homeless, penniless drifter rather than with a non-magical family who hated me, beat me regularly and, instead of explaining that the weird things I did- including to save their lives- were magic, simply locked me in a cupboard and called me a freak."
Dumbledore was momentarily speechless. He must be exaggerating.
"Apart," Harry said, "from the woman who died at the dentist's, I never saw a single magical person while living with my relatives. Why?"
"I wanted to shield you from being the celebrity- from being the Harry Potter- for as long as possible. I wanted you to experience a normal childhood."
Harry gave him a look that was full of suppressed loathing. "You didn't check up on me and my magic-hating relatives once- did you not think-"
"Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "It's my question." The boy was emotionless again. "I assume you got your letter, and that is why you're here. How are you enjoying Hogwarts?"
The question clearly took the boy by surprise.
"What?
"How are you enjoying the school? Did you feel you made the right decision in coming?"
"Er – well, so far, I don't know," Harry said with a frown. "It's alright. Very different to what I'm used to. I'm managing well enough although it is only my first day- I could hate the rest of it."
"True," the headmaster said.
"I suppose I'll stay for a bit. Being honest, there wasn't much decision in coming- it was either come here, or go to jail."
Headmaster Dumbledore suddenly sat up straighter.
Before he could say anything, Harry continued, "Now, Headmaster, I have just two more questions." He reached for his cup of tea finally, but slowly, relaxed. "Why did the Dark Lord Voldemort failing to kill me give you the rights over my entire life and bank acc- ARGH"
The Headmaster was shocked at the directness and bluntness of this question, but was saved an answer by the second shock- Harry Potter suddenly pausing, cup halfway to his mouth, arm frozen in place with a grimace of pain on his features.
"Shit," the boy breathed.
"Harry?" the Head asked quickly, very concerned at the pain across his charge's normally expressionless face.
Harry pushed his cup away from his face slowly- relief in his eyes- but suddenly there was another look there- Confusion… Suspicion… Fury…?
He was looking at his teacup.
The Headmaster's stomach fell.
Harry tried bringing the teacup to his face again and stopped short once more, groaning in pain, and the Headmaster stood up.
"Harry, what's the matter? Is it your arm?"
"God," Harry replied through clenched teeth. "I hope so."
He put the cup down on the desk where it had been, his arm fell, and he breathed easily, relieved, no longer feeling anything. The Headmaster narrowed his eyes.
Before anything else was said, Harry reached for the cup with his left hand. He was fine until he touched it- he was feeling a burn or something, but breathed out his full cheeks, fighting the pain in front of Dumbledore's eyes.
He pulled the cup closer to his face, and gasped in pain. The very distinctive sound of tearing could be heard.
Harry's eyes were wide as he pulled it closer still. His arm locked in place, more ripping was heard, then a pause again, him breathing deeply.
Albus Dumbledore was horrified. What is going on? Should I stun him? He'd never seen anything like it.
Eyes bulging, the cup reached a point barely inches in front of his face. He couldn't take the feeling, whatever it was, any more. He dropped the cup. Tension fled for a moment.
As the cup fell, so did Harry's arm. He slumped backwards, tea spilled all over his robes, breathing as though he'd run a race. His eyes were closed. The sound had stopped.
"Harry, I demand to know what the matter is," Dumbledore said quietly.
Harry opened his eyes, looking at the Headmaster, and with a set jaw he rose in his chair. The teacup tumbled off him, smashing on the floor.
"I could – ask – you," he said, panting, "The – same – question."
Without another word he raised his hands to his buttoned school shirt, and ripped every button off with a single pull of both sides, them popping and flying everywhere. Albus Dumbledore was so astonished at this behaviour he fell back into his seat.
"A few days ago," Harry said, radiating anger, "I got a magical tattoo. It was a Dragon- a large, red dragon on my right shoulder, designed and enchanted to protect me from deception. To ward me from things that would harm me."
His shirt was undone, and in a single move, he dropped his shirt, blazer, robes and top-half's clothes onto the chair behind him. His too-thin, wiry, strong young body was exposed.
His red dragon, framed with a fiery tribal wreath, now emblazoned his left shoulder instead of his right.
"My dragon definitely didn't want me to drink that tea, so tell me, Honoured Headmaster Dumbledore, what in the name of FUCK were you trying to drug me with?"