Catechism
By: Dreamfall
Summary: What if the Dursleys were smarter? Smart enough to turn Harry against magic- against himself. How long would it take anyone to realize how much damage was done, and once it was discovered how could they ever hope to fix it? A disturbing look at a Harry who has been taught from infancy to hate and fear everything he is.
Warnings: Quite disturbing. Various kinds of abuse. Harry with something of a house elf mentality. If you don't want to read it, don't.
Author's Notes: Feedback is welcome, constructive criticism particularly so. If it's spelling/grammar/etc e-mail is better than actual comments, but whatever. Specific spelling/grammar issues that are pointed out are corrected as immediately as I can arrange. Usually within 24 hours.
Additional Note: Thanks for bearing with me while I took some time off for NaNoWriMo and then time just getting away from me!
Review Response: I have a livejournal containing responses to reviews, update notices, and maybe other story stuff if I get around to it. The address is refusing to show up on here, but it is under homepage on my front page, or you can go to livejournal and it is username dreamfall(underscore)ff If I can figure out a way to make fanfiction just show the webpage I'll replace this with it in later. And if I can figure out how to make an underscore character show up, I'll replace the (underscore) with it:p.
Thanks: To Azelma, who has been granting me her time, patience, and understanding of children, for which I am duly grateful.
6-29-06: I am so sorry for all the typos is this one, guys. I edited while exhausted and it shows. I feel like an absolute moron for letting it get out while it was in such terrible condition, and am truly grateful to Cherry, who took the time to point out the mistakes; They are corrected, as will be any more that are brought to my attention. Thank you so much, and again, I apologize for putting this out when it was so far below par.
Avea
Chapter
Twelve
Secrets
Harry paused just inside the entrance to the Great Hall, eyes flickering up, not to catch a glimpse of the enchanted ceiling before banishing it from his mind, but to follow the spinning and diving of two boys on brooms and the large, dull, black ball being knocked back and forth between them, loud cracks growing faster and louder as the two sped up, most of the students laughing and cheering, while a few jumped and cowered as the ball came closer to them.
There were only three teachers in the room, none of them ones that Harry had lessons with, and all were shouting at the boys to land immediately. To Harry's shock, the boys, the Weasley twins, he realized, made no sign of even hearing the orders, much less obeying. He hesitated, uncertain as to what he should do. It couldn't have anything to do with him, but simply going to his seat and beginning to eat seemed somehow inappropriate.
Before he could make up his mind, he saw one of the twins dive, club extended, and clip the ball. But instead of sending it flying back towards his brother, he got it at such an angle that it spun about and headed straight for Harry, the dull metal glinting slightly as it approached. Harry saw the twins' faces pale and the two mouths open in matching expressions of -- something; he didn't know what -- before the ball blocked them out. He forced himself to relax, knowing it would hurt, knowing better than to avoid the blow. He wasn't sure what the punishment was for, and that made him feel worse. He was always supposed to know.
Instants before the ball landed, Harry was grabbed and shoved aside, a heavy weight rolling over him, hands a big hand tucking his head down between a muscular shoulder and the stone floor. Then there was a loud thwack from what felt like just above him, and a sudden babble of noise in what had been deathly silent.
The grip on Harry loosened and the person pinning him slowly rose. Harry rolled to his knees when he was released, keeping his eyes down, and the larger boy squatted in front of him, one hand on his shoulder. "Harry? Are you okay?"
Surprised, he glanced up, confused by the concerned expression in a tanned face under a head of brown hair. He didn't recognize the boy, so he offered simply, "Yes. I'm sorry."
"You are? Someone else will be pretty damn soon," the boy growled, rising.
"Harry? Are you okay?"
This voice was more familiar, but before Harry could answer Fred's concerned question, the other boy shouted, "What were you thinking, Weasley! Someone could have been killed!"
"Harry's okay," Fred answered defensively. "Aren't you, Harry?" he asked, worry leaking back into his voice.
"Yes, Fred."
"See?"
"I see that thanks to good luck and good reflexes -- yours as well as mine, I'll give you that much -- nobody's been seriously injured-- but don't you ever think? Merlin, if I hadn't been there, that Bludger would've got him head on!"
"And if I hadn't gotten there it would've gotten you!"
"And how does that make it better?" the other boy roared.
"Well -- Merlin, Harry, why didn't you move?" George demanded angrily, coming up beside his brother.
Harry glanced up uncertainly, again knowing that he'd done something wrong, but not at all sure what it was. "I'm sorry--" he started.
"Well, you shouldn't be! This is his fault now? Merlin, what is wrong with the pair of you?"
"Thank you, Mr. Diggory, I believe that is a question better worked out with me than with you," a new voice, tight with repressed emotion interrupted. "Thirty points to Hufflepuff for a timely rescue. Fifty from Gryffindor for not only flouting school rules, but for doing it in such a way as to risk the lives of you peers. And I'm of a mind to remove you from the team as well," Professor McGonagall continued. "Remove yourselves from those brooms at once."
Harry, looking up through frightened eyes, saw the twins exchange a quick glance and then quickly dismount the brooms. As soon as each of the two were firmly on the ground, Professor McGonagall held out one demanding hand. Reluctantly, the brooms were placed into it and with a swish and a murmur she shrank them down and placed them in a pocket.
Harry risked a glance about and saw several other teachers ranged behind the deputy headmistress, apparently all having just entered the room together. "What I should like to know," Madam Hooch said, eyes locking on Harry with an expression that made him drop his eyes again, invisibly bracing for the blows to follow, "is just how they got by the Great Hall's wards—--because there is presently only one broom that legitimately has charms to bypass them. Have you any comment, Mr. Potter?"
He began to offer an uncertain apology, but George interrupted, "It wasn't his fault!"
While Fred said, "He didn't know! We borrowed his broom, is all."
"He didn't even know—--"
"—--about the charms."
"And do you have it still?" she demanded, turning her sharp eyes to them.
Fred heaved a heavy sigh and George stuffed a hand into his pocket and drew forth the tiny broom, as whole as though it had never been broken, and held it out to Harry, who looked nervously at Madam Hooch.
"Oh, take it," she said, expression warming slightly. "I should have warned you not to loan it to any other students, I suppose. I know how persuasive this pair can be—-- just don't let anyone else have it without asking a teacher first —-- understood?"
"Yes, Madam Hooch," he said softly, carefully accepting back the broom, not allowing his dismay at seeing it whole and well to show on his face. Nor the involuntary jolt of joy he felt as it touched his palm."
She nodded, turning back to the twins, lips thinning.
Professor McGonagall took one step forward, turned so she was facing the door once more, and took each of them by the near ear, leading them by these handles towards the main door of the Great Hall. "As for you two rapscallions, we must decide what punishment more than points is likely to make some scratch on your self-satisfaction. With me, please, Misters Weasley."
And she marched them through the door, to waves of laughter from several parts of the room, quickly muffled as the other remaining teachers glared around. Then Professor Sprout touched Harry lightly on the shoulder, and he looked up nervously. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.
"Yes, Professor Sprout," he answered uncertainly, wondering why they kept asking him that and what the proper response was.
She stared at him a long moment, then nodded. "Come along, then. Lunch is still important."
"Yes, Professor Sprout," he repeated, and followed the professor up to the head table and sat down to begin eating as the normal sounds of the Great Hall at lunchtime gradually won out over the silence that followed the twins' removal.
It was nearly a week before he returned to his room one evening to find the twins standing outside, looking around nervously. They brightened upon seeing him. "Harry!"
"We've been wanting—--"
"—--to talk to you. And apologize—--"
"—--for the Bludger thing. We didn't—--"
"—--mean to hurt you."
"Or even anyone else, really," Fred finished with an afterthought.
"You didn't get in trouble for lending us your broom, did you?"
"No," Harry said uncertainly.
"Well, good, 'cause it wouldn't've been fair if you did. But look—"--"
"—"--as payback, we thought—"--"
"—--we'd tell you. If the broom ever breaks again—--"
"—--there's some pretty nice charms on it. And one—--"
"—--fixes it. We didn't do it or anything—--"
"—--just found and activated it. So if it ever breaks again—--"
"—--let us know and—--"
"—--we'll fix it! Okay?"
Harry felt something building in his stomach, cold and painful, but said, "Yes, George."
"Good! Okay, can't stay, but we'll be back later!" Fred said, glancing over his shoulder down the hall and then dashing off in the opposite direction, George right beside him.
A moment later, as Augustus was opening to let Harry in, Percy stalked around the corner, nodded stiffly at Harry, and kept going. Harry wondered why the Gryffindor prefect's hair was purple, but knew he couldn't expect to understand what better people did, so just wished him a quiet good evening and then entered his room, wishing once again that he could return home where he at least had some idea what was going on.
Everything was so painfully confusing here. He slipped past the painting with a quiet, polite acknowledgement of its greeting, and stood perfectly still until it closed behind him. His eyes moved immediately to the tiny broom, whole and perfect once more, sitting on the bookshelf, then he forced them away again. He picked up his text on mathematics, knelt on the stone floor beside the carpet, and began to carefully do his homework. Math made a certain amount of sense to him. It had rules, and it followed them, unlike in writing, where it seemed that every rule had dozens of exceptions. You never knew where you stood with writing. Everything in it was so subjective. With math, if you followed each step logically and carefully, you reached the same result every time. History confused him because different people reported the same events differently, when obviously only one thing had happened. He didn't know who to believe, and there was nobody here he trusted to telltold him which was right.
He nearly completed the problems that had been set to him before rising and going downstairs to dinner. There weren't a lot of them, and they weren't hard, exactly, but each one had a lot of steps to be completed, so it took a long time. He moved quietly to his seat and sat still between the headmaster and the deputy headmistress, eyes down. Even now, weeks after school had started, people stared at him. Not everyone, anymore, and not all the time, but there were usually at least a couple pairs of eyes on him. It made him nervous.
The twins seemed excited about something, heads leaned together and talking rapidly in quiet voices, excluding everyone else from their circle. Lee, the black boy with the odd hair that seemed to be with them most, didn't seem to mind. He talked to another boy, occasionally glancing towards Fred and George and shaking his head. They took no notice of him or anyone else. Harry glanced at Charlie, and he found the older boy's eyes on him, studying him. Charlie flashed him a grin when their eyes met, then returned to his own meal. A lot of them looked at him that way. As if they were trying to see something under his skin, or to understand something they couldn't quite figure out. He didn't know what it meant, but he was used to not understanding people.
When the food appeared, he focused on eating just enough that his stomach stopped giving any signs of hunger and he could trust the magic not to rush in to fill the gap without his constant attention. It was hard keeping it back, but he managed it almost all the time, now, though he was still was worried about getting hungry when he didn't deserve to eat. It was defiance. And while maybe defiance wasn't as bad as using magic, it was still bad. Uncle Vernon was going to be furious. He suppressed a shiver at the thought, and took a bite of potato.
For once, the twins were the first to leave the Great Hall, their plates empty and their heads still bowed together, still talking rapidly and quietly. "Dear Lord," he heard Professor McGonagall murmur beside him. "This can bode no good-- those two are obviously planning something."
Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "They are remarkably resourceful boys when it comes to amusing themselves. I look forward to seeing what they come up with next."
"You would." Professor McGonagall's voice was dry and unamused, though Professor Flitwick tittered from a few seats down.
"Indeed I do. I have fond memories of their decorations last Christmas. Harry, my boy, you've finished your applesauce-- wouldn't you like some more?"
"Yes, sir," he admitted, ashamed of his weakness. He hadn't known what it was the first time he'd seen it. It didn't look much like what Aunt Petunia bought. That was soft and grainy and smooth and pale yellow. This was a darker color, almost brown, and lumpy with chunks of stewed apple. He had to watch himself carefully when it was served-- he often came close to continuing to eat it even after he wasn't hungry any more. He didn't even know why-- just that sometimes it was agonizingly difficult not to take just one bite more.
This time, he stopped when the additional spoonful the headmaster had served him was half gone, deciding that he'd won a few hours' peace from his magic. "May I be excused, sir?"
The head master smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling with something else behind them, something not twinkling at all. "Are you quite sure, my boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You haven't had a chance to ride your broom since school started again," he said slowly. "Perhaps we can arrange something soon. Would you enjoy that?"
"Yes, sir," he admitted, ashamed of the eagerness that crept into his tone, though the headmaster lost that look behind the sparkle at his answer, so maybe the eagerness had been right. Or would have been if it wasn't real.
"Capital," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I feel quite sure we can arrange something. And yes, Harry, of course you may be excused, if you like."
"Thank you, sir," he said, then rose and left the Great Hall, feeling eyes on him as he walked through the huge room and then out.
He was almost immediately grabbed by both arms and hustled behind a statue. "We weren't going--"
"To tell anyone--"
"But since we owe you--"
"--For the Bludger thing--"
"We figured we'd tell you."
Harry looked anxiously up at the twins, not at all sure what the correct next response was. Fortunately, they didn't seem to need a response and were perfectly willing to continue on their own.
"You know how we were asking--" Fred started.
"--about secret passages?" George finished.
"Yes, George," he agreed softly, unsure as always which of them it was proper to respond to.
"Well, now we know them all."
"Look!"
Fred brandished a large, creased piece of parchment before him, and then the two said together, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."
Harry swallowed as the paper blurred and then grew dark, and seemed to crawl with motion as lines formed over it, making a map of the school.
"It has them--"
"All! Look!"
So he looked. The map was more complete than the one the headmaster had given him, most of the rooms drawn more accurately to scale and the passages connecting them revealed, some with a few words written near one end or the other. Some of them were still not on there, he noticed.
"Isn't it--"
"--Brilliant?" they demanded together.
Harry looked up at them uncertainly. "Yes," he offered, since it seemed to be what he was supposed to answer.
The pair glanced at each other and sighed. "He's so hard to impress," George said sadly.
"One of these days we'll manage," Fred said reassuringly.
"Yeah." George's face brightened. "But for now, we have things to explore. C'mon, Harry. Let's go."
"Yes, George," he said obediently, moving to follow the pair as they led him down a hallway.
"How come you do that?" Fred demanded abruptly.
His footsteps almost faltered, but he managed to keep them steady. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, Fred," he admitted. "Do what?"
"You talk funny," George explained. "Like Percy on a bad day."
"If he had any good days."
"Formal."
"And names all the time."
"And too polite."
"And acknowledging every little thing with 'Yes, Fred'."
"Or 'Yes, George'."
"It's weird."
He looked back and forth between them as they spoke, trying to understand. "I'm sorry--"
"And apologizing all the time," Fred added, glancing up and down the hall and then turning quickly down a narrow side passage, Harry behind him and George bringing up the rear.
He thought about what they were saying, trying to think of how the children talked, how even the adults talked, and realized that he should have seen this for himself ages ago. Only-- to not use names was discourteous. Informality was a sign that he thought himself as good as everyone else-- and here he was supposed to pretend that he did, he realized in chagrin.
They reached the hidden door where a wardrobe swung out away from the wall if you hit a hidden catch behind the hinge, and Fred glanced down at his map and then proclaimed, "Starlight is too bright." Even though he hadn't touched the catch, the door swung open, and Harry felt a shiver move through him at the wardrobe swinging around without a single hand on it.
Fred and George stared into the darkness beyond for a moment, then let out a pair of quiet whoops and rushed in, George murmuring a soft, "Lumos," under his breath and causing the little staircase to become visible in the light shining from his wand.
It looked pretty much like Harry had always imagined it would. He'd never had a light, of course, but the large, rough stone steps were the unpolished gray he'd imagined, and the walls the smoother, and yet still not smooth, stone that they'd seemed to be under his hands. Most of the passages had rougher floors than the rest of the castle. People didn't seem to use them very often for some reason, and he thought maybe that was why. Maybe the floors that got used a lot were smoothed out by that use, as thousands and thousands of feet ground out the roughness.
"It works!" Fred exclaimed, looking delightedly down at the map.
"Some of the passwords might have changed," George pointed out.
"But they might not."
"And the map might change to match."
The pair grinned at each other, then dashed up the stairs. Harry followed them, wondering why they were so eager to get to the corridor near the Hufflepuff dormitory, but not about to ask. They exploded out of the passageway, and hurried towards a painting Harry had thought was just a picture of an empty room for nearly two weeks before he'd finally seen a cat in it one time and realized it had been meant to be there. He hadn't seen the cat since in that painting, although he occasionally caught sight of it in other ones. The painting slid aside to revealopened onto a long, narrow corridor that ran nearly the length of the school with four doors off it, each of which the twins opened and explored beyond. Each time they reached another one, they looked at the map, said a password, and it opened up without requiring a touch or manipulation such as Harry had discovered. He followed along quietly, sure assuming that they would eventually tell him why they wanted him with them, and didn't comment as they got more excited with each passageway, e. Even the ones that didn't go anywhere and just ended in a pile of rubble seemed to please them.
He bit his lip and followed as they dragged him out of the castle and onto the grounds. It was dark, too dark to see anything beyond the flickering light of George's wand, and he was grateful for that. If he tried, he could pretend that he was inside, that there wasn't a hungry, gaping void above him, waiting for -- who knew what such a thing was awaiting. He tried to pretend it didn't exist, a hand on his wrist a quiet warning against admitting to his terror. It only held him now, tugging him along, but it could easily enough turn to strike him or to hold him down and make him stare into the night until his eyes adjusted and he saw the nothingness above him. He followed, trying desperately to be good.
They paused just outside the cover of a huge tree that seemed to sway in a rhythm that didn't quite match the wind.
"Ready?"
"Here we go."
"Wait here, Harry!"
The pair moved in tandem, letting go of Harry and springing forward into long tendril-like branches that moved suddenly, sweeping around to hit them. He watched as Fred pulled out his Beater's bat from somewhere and fended the fronds off George, who ignored them with the utmost confidence, moving quickly forward to punch a knot in the tree. It fell still, the fronds hanging limply, and the twins grinned, their teeth flashing in the light of George's wand, and calmly came back to grab Harry again and pull him into a hole in the roots of the trees and into a dark, earthy tunnel. He was too relieved to be out from under the sky, even though he hadn't been able to see it, to think too much about where they were going.
Fred started whistling, and then George joined in with an entirely different tune, which made Harry's head hurt with trying to follow both at once. Every now and then, they traded songs without a hint of warning or fumble. They were excited and moving quickly enough that he had to jog a little to keep up, and if it weren't for the hands on his wrists he would have thought they'd forgotten he was there. When the tunnel finally ended, he braced himself to go back out under the sky, but instead when they forced up the creaking trap door he found that it led into a house. They climbed up, Harry trailing behind, and the twins each raised a hand, which they slapped their hands together over their heads.
"It's the Shrieking Shack!"
"Never doubted it."
"Course not."
The room they were in was filthy. One of the windows was broken and leaves and dirt had blown in to add to what seemed like it had probably been a pretty filthy room to start with. Beneath the dust, the walls were smoke-stained and cracked in places. The fireplace logs set in it ready for a fire, but had never been lit. The twins rectified this, tossing most of the leaves on the floor into the fireplace and setting them alight with a spell, another quickly cleaning off the worst of the hearth, so that the fire wouldn't jump to the thick dust covering the room. Then they collapsed onto a decrepit couch, one short leg of it following their example to collapse beneath the added weight, leaving the couch to list towards that corner. It didn't seem to worry the twins, who laughed at being tumbled together. George braced himself and sat at the high end, then flipped over so his legs hooked over the arm and his body stretched down the seat towards his brother.
"There," he said cheerfully. "No more sliding."
"Seat yourself, Harry," Fred said, equally cheerfully, sitting cross-legged at the low end of the couch.
Harry looked doubtfully at the couch sagging beneath the twins, George's head coming almost to Fred's knee, and hesitantly knelt before it, facing them, back to the fire. He was glad to face away from it. He wasn't sure if it was the magic or just all the burning dust, but it sparked and fizzed as it burned, and he didn't want to see it.
"You know what your problem is, Harry?"
"What, Fred?"
"Other than that you use names too much--"
"--And that you always get them right--"
"--It's that you never ask anything."
He hesitated, uncertainly. "What should I ask?"
The twins groaned, George rolling onto an elbow to glare at him, and he dropped his gaze, waiting for the blows that on some level he knew weren't going to fall. They never did.
"It's no fun if we tell you what to ask."
"Although we could make it a lesson."
The pair gazed at each other, and then shrugged simultaneously. "A lesson, then."
"I always fancied teaching."
"Did not."
"True."
"In a situation such as this, it is only natural--"
"--and polite--"
"--to be curious. So questions such as: Where'd you get the map?"
"How does it work?"
"Did you make it?"
"Is there another?"
"How many passages does it have?"
"Where can you go to?"
"Where can you go from?"
"Where are we?"
"Where can we get from here?"
"Where can you hide and see what's happening outside?"
"Or hear?"
"Or smell?"
"Or taste?"
"Maybe not taste."
"Depends on the situation."
"But these are questions that are natural to have."
"Got it?"
Harry wasn't sure that he did, but nodded hesitantly, mindful of their earlier injunction not to acknowledge everything verbally.
"Okay, good. Your turn."
"Where did you get the map?" he asked obediently.
"Funny that you should ask!"
"You see, we happened to be in Filch's office--"
"--When he wasn't, of course."
"Oh, of course. It's no fun at all being there with him."
"And we came across a cabinet with some fascinating papers--"
"And when we say papers, we mean files--"
"Including a wholea good-sized drawer devoted to us!"
"(Appropriate questions here might include: What are the files?"
"Why so many on you?"
"And how did you get to be so brilliant?)"
"What were the files?" he asked obediently.
"Not now! We're telling a story!"
"Sheesh, . some Some people."
"No sense of appropriateness."
Harry suppressed a flinch and wondered if it would be okay for him to inch forward a bit. The fire behind him was becoming far too hot on his back. He stayed still.
"So at the bottom of one of the drawers--"
"Which had mostly gags and pranks in it--"
"--We found a piece of parchment."
"We tried a revealing charm, of course--"
"But it just insulted us. Which was an insult--"
"To our intelligence. Nobody would bother making--"
"Such an excellently charmed parchment--"
"'Cuz there was just something about it--"
"And just make it insult people. No point to it."
"Unless it was a disguise for something else."
"So we took it."
"Appropriate questions: When was that?"
"How long did it take you to figure it out?"
"Was it hard?"
"How did you work it out?"
"What happened next?"
Harry waited. So did the twins. Finally, Fred groaned, and George said gently, "That's your cue, Harry. Question time."
The gentle tone sent shivers down his spine, so he quickly asked the shortest question they'd suggested, hoping that they'd forget this failure and get caught up in their stories once again. "Was it hard?"
"Was it hard he asks!"
"Was it!"
"Try Flooing without powder!"
For a split second, he didn't comprehend. He'd gotten so used to the anger passing without consequence. Then it struck him like a fist to the stomach, and he barely managed to stop the resulting gasp. He deserved his punishment. And if he hesitated, he'd deserve worse. He rose to his feet, turned, and moved quickly towards the fireplace.
Just as he reached it, a weight hit him, wrapping around him and flinging him to the side, and he rolled to his knees, eyes down, forcing his breathing to remain even as Fred shouted and swore and there were little sparks as George helped his brother pound out the flames that had caught on the back of his robe when he threw Harry aside. Then both were in front of him, and George grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "What was that? What the hell was that?" he demanded, voice cracking slightly with fear and anger.
Harry kept himself still, waiting for the inevitable blows to follow. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't understand."
George's hand cocked back, and Fred caught it, seeming a lot calmer than his brother although he was the one whose robes had caught fire. He carefully stepped between his brother and Harry, and said, "Harry. What were you doing?"
"Trying to Floo without powder," he recited the words as though they were the answer to one of the math questions Professor Snape gave him. A simple fact with no deeper meaning that had defined his punishment.
"That's-- it doesn't work like that, Harry."
He was confused at why Fred was using his name after telling him that normal people don't use names. Or was he trying to say that he wasn't normal either? But why that way? They hadn't asked any questions, so he kept his silence, waiting.
"Did you think it would work?" George asked, something strange in his voice, something Harry didn't recognize.
"No, George," he said, then withheld a flinch at having disobeyed the earlier instruction about names.
"Then what did you think would happen?" Fred asked, voice confused, hands gentle on Harry's shoulder.
"That I would burn," he said.
And suddenly George's hand reached past Fred to grab Harry's chin and twist it up so he was looking at the older boys, who were both staring at him in -- something. "What did you think would happen?" George demanded.
Uncertainly, he repeated, "That I would burn."
The two exchanged a look, messages passing between them magically, or perhaps it was just because they were twins, or maybe it was something else entirely. "Then why did you do it?" Fred finally asked, turning back to him.
"Because you told me to," he stated, confused as to how there could be any question.
"If we told you to jump off a bridge would you do it?" Fred asked, the tone making it sound as though he were quoting something, though Harry wasn't familiar with it.
"Yes," he said.
The half-smile Fred had developed vanished as they both stared at him, expressions he couldn't read flitting across their faces. Mostly at the exact same times, which made him want to look away, but the hand still gripped his chin, so he stayed still and waited.
"What if someone else told you?"
"I would obey," he said.
"Anyone?"
"Yes."
"Any order?"
"Yes."
Again they fell silent. Then George released his chin and he dropped his gaze to the floor again.
"This is bad," Fred said, his voice quiet and not sounding at all like it usually did.
"You think?" There was a high, sharp note in George's response.
Both of them turned back to Harry, eyes locked on his, and demanded in the same instant, their voices merging into one, "Why?"
Harry blinked. Then realized that every answer he had would tell them something Uncle Vernon had told him not to tell anyone. He shouldn't have said it in the first place, but what else could he have said? He stared at them, eyes wide, and searched for an answer. They stared back, eyes burning. "I can't talk about it," he finally offered, dropping his eyes, though his face was still held up.
They didn't answer for a long moment, then one of them said, "Does Dumbledore know?" The voice was so tight, so unlike how they usually sounded, that he wasn't sure which one it was from, but that wasn't what was important.
"Yes," he said, since everyone knew. Except for Fred and George, apparently, or maybe they were just really good at pretending. Which they were, he reminded himself, since they showed no sign of the disgust they must be feeling to from be so close to him, touching him, speaking to him.
The grip on his chin loosened slightly, and he held perfectly still, not sure what was to come next. "Okay. So he's working to fix it." That time, he knew it was George, who sounded far more like himself again.
Harry just waited, trying not to remind them that he was there, that they should punish him, that they were touching him.
"He didn't say anything."
"But he wouldn't."
"And for Merlin's sake, Harry, you shouldn't have either!"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, starting to drop his head further, then freezing an as the fingers on his chin didn't give.
"Yeah. Well. Who knows what people will say if they know you'll do anything they say!"
"Don't you have any sense?"
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
"Ease off, George. Don't tell anyone else, huh, Harry?"
"Yes, Fred."
"And we'll see to it that nothing too bad happens. I didn't even know there was a hex like that."
"Except Imperius."
"And this is worse! In that, you don't know."
They both shivered, the hand on his chin trembling for an instant before dropping away from him. "Right. Nothing too bad can happen in classes."
"Even Snape wouldn't let anyone really hurt you."
"Probably."
"Yeah. And at the head table, you'll be safe."
"And in your room."
"So evenings, meals, and free periods."
"And between classes."
"But there's not so much we can do there."
"Well..." Fred's voice trailed off, rising slightly, and they both smiled slightly.
"True..."
"Okay. We'll handle it."
"But for now, we better get back."
"C'mon."
And they again started through the tunnel, though the twins didn't whistle, or even talk, this time. Harry stayed with them obediently, and resisted the urge to clench his eyes as they crossed the grounds from the tree back to the castle again, only the sky above them. They used a couple of the passages shown on the map to move through the castle, and finally emerged several corridors away from his room. He heard a soft whisper of paws on stone, and paused, turning to see Mrs. Norris's big eyes glowing yellow out of the darkness. The twins followed his gaze, and George muttered a soft expletive and extinguished his wand as Fred jerked back behind a set of mail. George followed.
"Come on, Harry," Fred hissed, and a hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back against the pair.
"Still!" George added, voice barely audible as he lay a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Mrs. Norris continued making her unhurried way forward, a shadow amidst shadows in the darkness of the corridor, and the twins fell perfectly silent, hardly even breathing. Harry stood still, uncertain as to what was going on, but familiar enough with the sensation not to do anything other than stay still, as they had bid him.
Then came the familiar pause in Mrs. Norris's slow footsteps, though he couldn't actually see her fall into a slight crouch. He lifted his arms and was ready to catch her when she launched herself into them, his free hand moving to stroke her back. Almost immediately, she started voicing her rusty purr, the sound irregular and rough, but soothing.
"Is that--"
"No way!"
Neither twin said anything for a long moment, then George whispered, very quietly, "Lumos," and the tip of his wand began glowing with the faintest spark of light. Mrs. Norris glared at him through it, then turned haughtily away, looking at nothing, though she continued to vibrate gently.
The twins, who Harry could see only very dimly, were staring at her with their mouths open. Finally, Fred murmured, "Harry, are you holding Mrs. Norris?"
"Yes," he said, quietly, since they seemed to want him to whisper.
"And is she purring?"
"Yes," he repeated.
They twins exchanged a glance, then turned back to staring at Harry and Mrs. Norris. Harry waited, patiently. Finally, George looked at Fred and asked, "Why didn't we ever think of befriending Mrs. Norris?"
"Because we're idiots."
"I was hoping there was something else to it."
"Don't think so."
They both shook their heads sadly, then George reached out hesitantly and offered a hand to Mrs. Norris. She uncurled one forepaw and flicked the hand with it, opening four small bleeding cuts, and George muttered something and jerked back his hand.
"Or maybe that's why," Fred added.
George shot him a dirty look, and Fred snickered.
"C'mon," Fred said, turning and starting down the hallway again, this time not moving quite so quietly. George followed, skipped a step to catch up, and the pair were walking side-by-side again, Harry trailing behind them, one hand curling under Mrs. Norris's chin to rub her throat, the soothing rumble seeming to pass through his hand and fill his whole body, soothing. He clenched his jaw against it, and reminded himself that he didn't deserve to feel soothed. That he shouldn't be touching her at all, except that she told him to as clearly as she could without words, and disobeying was never an option. Mrs. Norris leapt from his arms and padded away as they turned into the corridor where Augustus guarded his bedroom, and the twins looked nervously after her.
"Has she gone to get Filch?" Fred asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sorry."
The twins rolled their eyes, and sped up moving towards Augustus, who glared out at them until his eyes lit on Harry. "Harry! You're okay! I was worried when you didn't come in-- where were you?"
"We were just showing him around," George said, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. "Let him in, would ya, Auggie? Filch might be coming."
"It's way past curfew-- are you trying to get Harry in trouble?"
"You're the one keeping him out in the hall," Fred pointed out.
Auggie crossed his arms and glared at them. "You're both mean-- go away."
"Yeah, as soon as Harry's safe inside."
"Why wouldn't he be safe?" Auggie demanded.
"Because Filch might be coming! Hurry up."
Auggie's bottom lip jutted out, as he turned to Harry. "You shouldn't ought to be out so late."
Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he forced the apology out. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know."
"The headmaster didn't tell you so?" Augustus asked, surprise overwhelming his anger, which had seemed to be covering something else.
"No."
"He didn't say anything about what time you should be in your room?"
"No."
"Oh," the painted boy said, deflating. "Then I guess it's okay." He slid aside, revealing the way into the bedroom, and Harry obediently stepped past him, then turned to look back at the twins.
"We'll come get you in the morning," Fred said cheerfully.
"Or at least one of us will," George agreed.
"Maybe both. Don't leave till we get here."
"Yes, Fred," he said softly.
And they were gone, Augustus shutting behind them with one last long look at Harry through wide eyes. Then he appeared on the inside portrait and said, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be mean, I was just worried."
Harry swallowed, unsure how to deal with the apology, then finally said, "It's okay."
"Yeah," Augustus murmured, sounding unhappy, and returned to the outer portrait, leaving Harry in solitude.
By the time he finished his math problems, his eyes ached with fatigue and it took an effort of will to keep his hands steady enough to keep his writing neat. Finally, he put it neatly aside and He moved to a swatch of floor uncovered by carpet, dropped to his knees, and heard the first question as clearly as though it were spoken in his ear, and said,. quietly Quietly enough that Augustus wouldn't have heard him even if he was on the inside, he said "I am a freak."
He slipped into the hidden room and glanced nervously at the hat, hoping without hope, as he always did, that this time it wouldn't insist that he place it on his head.
"Put me on, Harry."
He closed his eyes for an instant, then moved across the floor, and reached out, picking up the hat and putting it on. He didn't hesitate or tremble, of course. Avoiding an order, even from such a thing as this, was defiance, and he knew better than to be defiant. Events passed behind his eyes with dizzying swiftness, then they paused, slowing, as the hat watched the events with the twins, first last night's, and then today's, starting when they had shown up to get him and continuing with George walking him to class while Fred -- and George, except it couldn't be, since George was with him -- went the other way, to his (their?) own class. At the end of every class, one of them was there, and at one point both were-- except they had the same voice, and moved even more frighteningly in unison than usual, and the switches in speech sounded just a bit more deliberate than usual. At lunch and, later, at dinner, there had been both of them with their separate voices and usual mannerisms, but whenever he saw them between classes it was ... different. They'd finally left him in his room only a few minutes earlier, hardly leaving him time to head back out and get to his meeting with the hat on time. Every time he'd been out of a class, they'd one or both of them had been with him, and every time anyone spoke to him, whichever twin was present had distracted them. It was strange and uncomfortable-- and yet also a relief not to have so many people looking at him and talking to him. When it finally finished watching the scenes, the Hat was silent for a long moment, then murmured, "Hmm."
Harry waited, forcing the tension that kept returning to his neck and shoulders to leave again, keeping his muscles loose and relaxed as he tried not to watch what the hat was doing in his mind.
"Well. That should be ... interesting," the hat finally added. "And the map is rather extraordinary, isn't it. Intriguing. You did well going outside, Harry."
He felt the newly-familiar warmth of satisfaction at the compliment and fought it back bitterly. Although perhaps it was okay, because he was only forbidden to go outside because of the danger, not because he didn't deserve it (in fact, surely he deserved to have to stay out there, under that gaping void of nothingness, deserved that threat looming over him, ready to make him fall into it forever), so perhaps it was not so bad for the words to make him feel proud of himself. The confusion was equally familiar, and he hated it.
"With Professor Sprout, as well. You're making very good progress."
He felt a shiver go through him at the memory of the hour spent outside is a little grove with only the layers of branches between himself and the sky, able to see it between them in places, as she taught him about the trees. The previous step had been a lean-to, with a ceiling but no walls, and had been so pleased when he had borne it. Yesterday, with the grove, she had seemed equally happy, though she hadn't said anything. He'd managed to focus on her words and only occasionally realized that he'd stopped hearing her and knew nothing but the emptiness beyond the treetops. Usually he caught himself and refocused, but once he was brought back by a hand on his arm, and had stilled, waiting for it to begin a rain of blows that never began. He only realized later that, although he'd expected the beating, he hadn't relaxed himself fully in preparation for it. Wasn't actually ready to receive it without any sound of flinch. The realization had terrified him more than the sky, and he had managed to focus through the rest of the lesson.
"You did well," the hat repeated.
Harry didn't answer.
"I shall not be able to meet with you next week, nor the following," it added, and Harry nearly sagged with the relief of the words. The hat confused him, asked him questions he couldn't answer without the guidance of his family, and he couldn't explain to it why it was wrong, couldn't say anything that sounded convincing even to himself, even though he knew he was right. Even having just two weeks without it would be an unearned reward for which he was grateful beyond words.
"I knew you'd be sorry," the hat said, its voice more amused than hurt or angry. "Fawkes is nearing his burning day, and shan't be able to fly until he burns and re-fledges. It shouldn't be too long. He just has to hurry up and burn," it added, glancing at the phoenix.
It had been looking more and more ragged since their first meeting, and was currently sitting very still, huddled down on the chair back it perched on, and casting a dirty look at the hat through dull eyes. It squawked once, the sound nothing like the musical notes Harry had first heard from it, and then tucked its head under a wing, ignoring them both.
"For now, though," the Hat said, "your adventures with the twins were unexpected and took rather longer to look over than I'd expected to have to spend. You'd best get back and go to bed before it gets too late."
Harry nodded acceptance, grateful to be missing the more nerve-wracking part of the session, and hurried back to his room again.