Time began moving faster as Harry got used to his new routine as a first-year Slytherin. Or at least it felt like the days passed by quicker and quicker the closer they got to Samhain.
Neville kept them all up to date on the gossip from Gryffindor tower. Molly Weasley did indeed send a howler and it was rather legendary as she screamed across the Great Hall that she would pull Ron out of Hogwarts if he dared to lose so much as one more point. Ron looked a little green and ready to throw up by the time the howler destroyed itself. After that, according to Neville, Ron kept to himself for the most part and didn't put a toe out of line, at least for a few weeks. He'd found a chess friend in a third year Ravenclaw girl named Madison Coles, a Muggleborn who was somewhat of a chess prodigy and who had competed in Muggle chess matches before learning she was a witch and attending Hogwarts. The twins introduced them, since she was in their year, and Ron and Madison could be found playing chess at least a few afternoons a week in the Great Hall where Madison regularly trounced Ron, much to his delight. The rest of the time Ron spent with Seamus and Dean, playing cards in the common room and even joining them in the library on occasion to do his homework.
Hermione took a while longer to calm down, and Neville heard from Lavender that it involved talks with the seventh year Gryffindor prefect named Rhonda Hollis, Angelina Johnson's older cousin, who explained to Hermione in no uncertain terms why people were treating her the way they did and how Hermione was only making things worse for herself by how she acted in response. That didn't do the trick just yet, and it took McGonagall actually bringing Hermione's parents to Hogwarts for a serious conversation with their daughter and herself. Hermione's parents were both saddened and appalled that their daughter was making such a spectacle of herself and gave her a good talking to while also making suggestions for how to behave in ways that didn't involve Hermione trying to police the whole world around her. After that Hermione kept her head down and while she still occasionally couldn't resist trying to boss people around, now most people simple pointed out what she was doing and she backed down. Usually. Other than that, Hermione spent her time studying in the library by herself, reading in the Gryffindor common room in the evening and generally minding her own business.
Harry was utterly relieved when that meant she ignored him as well.
Ron and Hermione still couldn't stand each other, though, and after another Potions class where they lost thirty points between them, McGonagall stepped in (much to Snape's chagrin) and insisted that Ron pair with Seamus while Hermione worked with Dean. Order was thusly restored, Dean's Potions grade improved a significant amount, and while Ron and Seamus were well matched in terms of talent in Potions, at least now Ron managed to brew something instead of blowing up cauldrons every class.
Harry watched it all from a distance, fascinated and amused to see his former best friends unknowingly adjust to a life without him by their side. It was a strangely appealing social experiment, and Harry spent a few hours debating the concept of how one small change could cause huge ripples in the world around them with Barty, who had gotten his hands on a few Muggle books on chaos theory and the like, and who found the whole idea fascinating as well.
Neville came through for them with a few pictures of the Cerberus courtesy of the Weasley twins. It took some doing to get them since the twins didn't have a camera. They finally convinced Lee Jordan's older sister Juliet, already out of Hogwarts, to send them her camera. The twins then took the pictures and sent the camera back to Juliet so she could develop the pictures before sending them to the twins to hand off to Neville. All in all, it took a few weeks, but finally Susan sent the needed evidence to Amelia Bones, who promised to take the pictures before the board of governors and demand an explanation. This was apparently standard procedure for any concerns that weren't urgent and life-threatening, and it wouldn't be happening until the end of November during the next meeting of the board.
Harry grumbled about bureaucracy but accepted that this was how these situations were ultimately resolved. And no matter the outcome, Dumbledore would be called to explain why he was keeping a vicious beast behind a locked door that any first-year with a wand could open. And Dumbledore hated explaining himself, which was all that mattered to Harry in his quest to make Dumbledore's life a little more uncomfortable.
Another issue that arose and which Harry had never even once considered during his previous life was his mail.
"I've been wondering," Theo said during one of their customary evening games of exploding snap. "Why you don't get much mail, Harry."
Harry looked up at him in surprise. "My muggle aunt hates using owls," he offered as an explanation about his lack of mail from his immediate family without having to go into his appalling home-life in detail. The only mail he received so far were the very occasional packages from Voldemort.
"I think what Theo means is your lack of fan mail," Blaise said, smile more than a little teasing.
"Fuck off," Harry muttered. He was mortified to feel a blush heating his cheeks but he couldn't help it. He'd always been uncomfortable with his fame and he probably always would be.
"I'm serious, though," Theo said as gave Harry a sharp look. "Think about it. You're the Boy Who Lived, like it or not. You should be getting fan mail. Maybe not as much as you used to, but people should still be writing you. So where is your mail?"
Harry was about to instinctively protest the idea of fan mail again until he actually considered it and realized Theo had a good point. He was famous, and especially thanks to those silly books Miss Elderflower so diligently wrote, children the world over grew up with stories about him. He should be getting some mail at least. "You know," he finally said, confused almost beyond reason. "I have no clue. The first piece of owl post I've ever received was my Hogwarts letter."
"That sounds like someone set up a mail redirection ward," Blaise mused with a thoughtful frown. "Understandable when you were an infant living with Muggles, but you'd think they would at least let you know about it. Not to mention give you the mail that's deemed safe now that you're at Hogwarts."
"You should ask Professor Snape about this," Theo suggested as he shuffled his deck of cards. "Especially since you are the last Potter. Who knows what kind of important mail is being kept from you right now."
"Good idea," Harry said, still bewildered that he hadn't ever actually considered this before. He should have. Someone should have, at least. Maybe Hermione or Mrs Weasley or Sirius should have realized Harry should be getting more mail than he was receiving. But no one had ever mentioned it to him, and Harry, deeply uncomfortable with his fame on a good day, hadn't ever thought about fan mail either. And while he didn't look forward to talking to Snape of all people about fan mail, he at least realized that he needed adult help and that this was a rather important matter.
Who knows what kind of important documents or business offers he should have been receiving, in his previous life and in this one.
So the next afternoon, during Snape's office hours, Harry knocked on his office door.
"Enter," Snape said, and Harry did so at once. Snape was seated behind his imposing desk, grading essays with sharp swipes of his quill and copious amounts of red ink. "Potter. What do you want?"
That was still a more polite response than Harry thought he would get from Snape. "Sir, Theo and Blaise brought something to my attention. Aside from one or two close friends sending me a few things, I've not received any mail."
Snape snorted and crossed out half the writing on the page before him. Harry winced on that poor student's behalf. "Your lack of fan mail is hardly my concern."
"Yes, Sir, but think about it for a moment," Harry said urgently. "I have not received any wizarding mail for my entire life, aside from my Hogwarts letter, the Daily Prophet to which I have a subscription, and some things from a friend. Blaise suggested someone might be stealing my mail." He decided on this little lie to make himself seem appropriately young. Mail wards were not something an average first year would know about, but a thief stealing his mail was noteworthy even to a child.
Snape finally looked up and stared at him. "I sincerely doubt anyone cares enough about the kind of letters filled with infatuated drivel penned by children you might be receiving to steal them, Potter. However, a more likely scenario that occurred is that the headmaster placed a mail redirection ward upon your person to ensure your Muggle family wasn't buried under piles of owl post once they took you in." Snape's sneer became even more pronounced. "I am to assume you'd like to receive your mail from this point onward?"
"Yes, please, Professor," Harry said with his politest, most hopeful smile, inwardly terribly amused by Snape's reaction to Harry's mail situation. It was funny that now that Harry was older, at least on the inside, he had a far greater appreciation for the art of sarcasm Snape so clearly possessed.
"Wait here, Potter, and don't touch anything." Snape got up from his desk and disappeared through a door on the right, which Harry speculated either led to his classroom or to his private quarters. Probably the latter. Harry sat quietly and didn't touch anything, and it took about ten minutes or so before Snape returned, sneer still firmly in place.
"The headmaster sends his sincerest apologies for this oversight and he has removed the ward at once," Snape said in obvious distaste while he pulled a piece of paper from his desk and wrote a few things down.
Harry smiled gratefully, meanwhile thinking that the headmaster was full of shit, or completely senile. Possibly both, because in Harry's first life he'd never even thought to remove the mail ward without anyone calling him out on it like Harry was doing now.
"Learn these detection charms, Potter," Snape said, sliding the piece of paper across the desk towards Harry. "We wouldn't want you to perish courtesy of a piece of cursed fan mail, now would we?" Snape didn't seem at all put out by that idea judging by his smirk. "Return during my office hours on Monday to demonstrate these charms to me, to ensure you have mastered them. Dismissed."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry said as he got up from his chair. He hesitated until Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "What about the mail I've already received?"
"It's been destroyed over the years, Potter," Snape snapped. "Hogwarts does not run a mail service for child heroes, after all. The headmaster assured me anything of monetary value was added to your vault, any toys and books that weren't cursed were donated to the St Mungo's children's ward and everything else was incinerated. Is that clear, or do you need a moment to mourn the loss of countless pounds of chocolates spiked with love potions?"
Harry bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh. "No, Sir. Thank you, Sir." And with that he left Snape's office, looking at the list of spells he'd been given. Some he already knew and a few others he'd look up in the library and practice during the weekend. Harry did realize he should take his mail security seriously. There were any number of potions or curses that could be hidden inside pieces of innocent mail and do very real, possibly lethal, damage.
Voldemort agreed when Harry told him about the mail redirection wards that evening.
"The old man probably kept them up in your first life to control the flow of information you would receive," Voldemort said with a thoughtful look. "I'll send you a few items to help with your protection against cursed owl post."
And the next day Harry received a book with even more detection charms than Snape had given him. He also received a necklace, a plain golden chain, which contained a few shield and protection charms that would help protect him from most curses, save the Unforgivables.
"Thanks," Harry told Voldemort later that day. He'd put the necklace on at once and Voldemort seemed more than pleased when he saw it around Harry's neck. "Please, whatever you do, don't tell Barty you've sent me jewellery. Don't give him more ammunition."
"I'm not that stupid, my dear. Barty is none the wiser," Voldemort assured him.
"Nice necklace," Barty said when Harry talked to him through their mirrors a few days later. "Is it new?"
"Oh, this old thing?" Harry said while quickly tucking the chain inside his pyjama shirt.
Another thing Harry focused on during these weeks was learning about traditions. Kreacher left him a handful of books from the Black library. Some seemed innocent enough, simply describing magical holidays and what they stood for and how they could be celebrated. One book, though, contained nothing but rituals, one even more bizarre or gruesome than the next. Some even mentioned human sacrifices to power certain complicated rituals and at that point Harry closed the book and decided to start on the next title in his to read pile.
He also dug through Regulus' collection in his trunk and that's where he struck gold. Regulus had been a note taker in the margins of his books, much like Snape had done in his potions book once upon a time, and apparently Regulus had lots of idea on how to teach the ignorant muggleborns and half-bloods about wizarding traditions and rituals.
"Kreacher," Harry called as he read through Regulus' notes in the margins of a book on ways to honour your ancestors during Samhain.
Kreacher appeared on the foot of Harry's bed. "Little Master is calling Kreacher?"
"Regulus had plans to educate ignorant witches and wizards about traditions, did you know that?" Harry turned to book around in his lap to show Kreacher the notes Regulus had left behind.
"Yes, Kreacher is knowing of Master Regulus' plans to teach the mudbloods and filth proper wizarding ways."
Harry ignored the name-calling for now, aware that Kreacher had been indoctrinated for decades at this point and it was impossible to expect him to change his behaviour overnight.
"Tell me everything you know about Regulus' plans," Harry told the old elf while he reached for a notebook and a self-inking quill. And Kreacher did talk for at least an hour while Harry took notes until his wrist hurt and his eyes were dry.
Voldemort seemed surprised by Regulus' plans when Harry told him. "Regulus certainly never talked about educating Muggleborns anywhere near me."
"Seeing as you would probably have crucioed him into next week that's not really surprising," Harry said with a snort.
"You have a point," Voldemort conceded with a small nod. "And so did Regulus. We do need education for those raised by Muggles, so that they truly learn what it means to be a witch or wizard and not just how to make a feather fly."
"After Samhain, this might be something we could work on together," Harry suggested, eager for a project that would keep him busy. Writing essays on topics he already knew inside and out was dreadfully boring as he'd found out. "We could even make it a point to reveal to the public. Your new identity announces it, and I openly agree with you or something."
"That is certainly a possibility. After Samhain we'll work out the details of this plan."
"Just ten more days!" Harry pointed out with a wide grin. He'd started counting down to Samhain every time he talked to Voldemort since they were a month away from the big day. "How excited are you, soulmate of mine?"
"Very," Voldemort said with a small but honest smile. "You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to the simple things in life again, after not having had a normal, adult body for over a decade."
"Nah, I can imagine," Harry said with an understanding look. "I miss my big body, too, from time to time."
"Yes, I'm sure, but at least you have a body. I was a wraith for years. It is a torture beyond compare to see the world move by and not being able to be a part of it," Voldemort said while he stared into the distance. "I cannot wait to simply walk again, take a long bath, visit a bookstore. Things I never thought I'd miss while I butchered my soul and ruined my life."
"You'll do all those things again soon, Tom," Harry said, almost wanting to reach through the mirror to offer Voldemort a comforting pat or something. "And your soul is as it should be. You'll be fine."
"What a lucky day it was when you were betrayed, Harry Potter." Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. "If Dumbledore had let you be, I'd still be dead and my soul stuck in pieces for all eternity."
"But you're not. We're here, and we can do it all over again. Do it better." Harry felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed it away quickly. For some reason the thought of not having gotten this second chance, of not having had the chance to get to know Voldemort, Tom, the way he had was so upsetting it almost made him cry. Harry hated crying, so he looked to the side until he felt his emotions calm down a little.
"Thank you," Voldemort whispered, not looking at Harry. "I doubt I've said it to you before, but I do mean it. Thank you for including me in your second life, my dear."
"You're welcome," Harry said, meaning it. "I doubt my do-over would have been as enjoyable if I hadn't included you."
Voldemort didn't say anything to that, but simply smiled at Harry.
Over the next few days Harry thought about that conversation often, about the realization he'd had concerning not having gotten to know Voldemort. It terrified him somehow, the thought that all he might have known was the insane version with the broken soul and not the intelligent, thoughtful and funny man he turned out to be.
The morning of Halloween Harry prepared Theo and Blaise for his departure after the feast. "I'll come to the feast with you, of course," he assured his friends during breakfast. "I wouldn't miss it for anything. But afterwards, I'm going to take some time for myself to remember my parents."
"I understand," Theo said quietly. "I always take a moment to honour my mother on Samhain."
Harry nodded at him, trying not to show his surprise. That was the first time he'd heard Theo mention his mother. Heck, Harry hadn't even realized she was dead.
Blaise looked decidedly uncomfortable with the idea of honouring anyone deceased, but considering who his mother was and how many stepfathers Blaise must have lost over the years that wasn't very surprising.
All throughout the day everyone around Harry got louder and more rambunctious at the thought of attending Hogwarts' famous Halloween feast. They made feathers fly in Charms that afternoon and Ron and Hermione weren't paired with each other (McGonagall must have warned every teacher because Harry never saw them work together anymore), and thus there was no Hermione running away in tears to hide in the bathroom.
Harry himself was full of nervous energy which he found difficult to hide, but the people around him simply assumed it was the date itself, the anniversary of his parents' deaths that had him riled up and nothing more. Harry let them keep their assumptions.
Finally the feast started, the tables laden with more food than most of them had ever seen. But before Dumbledore could get up to make a little speech, Quirrell stood up and tapped a spoon against his glass to get everyone's attention. Harry narrowed his eyes. If Quirrell did anything to disrupt the feast, Harry was going to turn him into a pigeon.
"Please, may I have everyone's attention," Quirrell said as he stood behind the teacher's table, gesturing for everyone to be quiet. "When I requested the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, I did it for two reasons. One, because I wanted to teach this fascinating subject, of course. Two, because I wanted to break the curse on the position once and for all."
Student all around the Great Hall whispered loudly about an actual curse affecting the defence teacher until Quirrell shushed them again. "During my sabbatical last year I've travelled far and wide, gathering as much information and advice about how to break this curse, and tonight I am more than happy to announce that I have broken it. The curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is no more!" Quirrell took a dramatic bow while a smattering of students applauded.
"Thank you, Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said as he got to his feet. "I'm sure you have done an outstanding job and will continue to teach the students at this school for many years to come."
Harry stared at Quirrell with his mouth hanging open for a few moments until he noticed and snapped it shut. This had Voldemort written all over it. The new and improved Voldemort valued education and would agree that cursing the defence position was a silly thing to do which negatively affected generations of students. He would want that curse gone sooner rather than later and apparently he'd told Quirrell how to get rid of it.
That bastard had just conveniently forgotten to tell Harry, who vowed to bring that up as soon as the ritual was done later that night.
The feast was as excellent as Harry remembered it and all the better for the distinct lack of troll interrupting everyone's evening. Harry stuffed himself with all manner of scrumptious things, and had two servings of treacle tart just because he could. As the feast wound down and students wandered out of the Great Hall, Harry said goodbye to his friends with a knowing look and a brief smile.
"Don't wait up for me," he whispered, and made his way to the nearest bathroom. Inside he threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and pulled out the Marauder's Map. He decided to use the hidden passage on the third floor that led straight to Honeydukes. He knew it well and the moment he left Hogwarts' wards he could summon Kreacher to transport him to Little Hangleton.
The coast was clear and Harry reached the third floor in no time. He slipped inside the passage and rushed towards Hogsmeade through the dark, only the light of his wand illuminating the way. He cursed his decision to eat as much as he had when he got a stitch in his side, but he ignored it, much too excited about what was to come.
And how weird was that? The first time Harry had been present at Voldemort's resurrection, the whole scene had been straight from a horror movie. One innocent boy dead, people losing limbs, and Harry's first taste of the cruciatus curse. Harry's had nightmares for years about what had happened that day. And now here he was, practically skipping on the way to voluntarily help Voldemort get his body back.
Before long he reached the trapdoor that led to Honeydukes' basement and he knew he was clear of the wards. Kreacher came as soon as he was called and popped him right to the cemetery where Barty and Voldemort were waiting.
Voldemort sat in his customary leather chair right there between two headstones, and Barty waved Harry a cheerful hello as he adjusted the flames below the enormous cauldron with his wand. But Harry saw immediately there was a third person there, someone Harry really didn't want to see on the anniversary of his parents' deaths.
"Wormtail," Harry growled and drew his wand.