Chapter 8: Summer 1991
Final exams came and went without any issues. Harry passed his classes with full marks, surpassed only by Cedric in their Transfiguration exam. His friends too did well, though it was only through his and Cedric's extensive tutoring that Grace managed to pass her Herbology exam. Grace was good at many things, but getting her hands dirty was not among them.
On the last day of term, Harry found himself strolling around the Black Lake. The sky was a brilliant azure with nary a cloud in sight, and Harry was content to be alone with his thoughts for company. Cedric and Grace were off packing their luggage before the Closing Feast but had promised to meet him after they were done. Harry himself had risen early to pack to maximise the amount of time he could spend wandering the grounds. Above him, Hedwig circled, diving every so often to grab at Medusa, who slithered at his feet. Medusa would let out a hiss of delight every time she rolled out of Hedwig's talons, though Harry didn't think his owl was trying too hard to catch her. His two pets had long since learned to coexist, even if Hedwig preferred to act otherwise. The day was peaceful, and save for the group of sixth years swimming in the lake (and no, none of them wore swim costumes), he didn't encounter another person until Cedric made an appearance.
"Remember last year," Cedric began. "How you sneaked me into the Slytherin common room and we gorged ourselves on sweets?"
"I remember how you gorged yourself on sweets," Harry replied. "You hardly left any for me."
Cedric waved away the technicality. "We should do it again," he declared. "We can set it up in the Study and be as loud as we want.
"And will Grace be invited to this party?" the girl in question asked, materialising by Cedric's elbow.
Cedric startled before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Naturally. Who else would provide the snacks?"
Grace hummed and nodded. "I do enjoy raiding the kitchen."
With their plans set, all that was left was to sit through the closing feast, where Professor Dumbledore presented the house cup to a smug Snape. They ate light meals and skipped dessert, earning confused looks from their peers. After Cedric departed from the feast, Grace and Harry slipped away as well, ducking under Harry's Invisibility Cloak once they exited the Great Hall. They made their way to the kitchens, which were in a flurry of activity as the elves cleaned up from the feast. Despite their workload, the elves eagerly pressed food into their arms. Especially after Grace mentioned how much she would miss their food over the holidays.
"It's such a shame Miss Gracie doesn't have an elf to take care of her," one particularly distressed elf said, looking up at Grace with tears in his eyes. "Does she not get to eat?"
"No," Grace replied in a solemn voice. "I have to cook food for myself."
Every elf within earshot wailed in pity before adding more food to their already obscene pile. One food-laden hamper later, they were attempting to extract themselves from the overexcited elves when the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. With reflexes honed after a year under Flint's tutelage, Harry whipped out the Invisibility Cloak and covered them with it just as the entrance swung open. His paranoia proved fortuitous when none other than the Weasley twins waltzed in.
The brothers scanned the room with identical looks of triumphs, which melted into confusion as they took in the occupants. In a single, fluid motion, they bowed their heads and looked down at a grubby piece of parchment one of them was holding.
"I don't get it," the one on the left said. Fred, Harry thought. "They should be right there." He jabbed his finger to the exact spot where Harry and Gracie stood invisible.
George frowned and squinted at the parchment. "Dunno, mate," he said, bringing the parchment closer to his face. "Maybe it's broken?"
"It can't be broken. You must not be reading it right," Fred said, pulling the parchment out of his hands. He stepped farther into the room until he was close enough that Harry could reach out and touch him. Harry found himself holding his breath. "See, Harry Potter and Grace Cooper."
Ice flooded Harry's veins. How on Earth could they know that they were standing there? Did they have some sort of tracking spell on them? But that didn't make sense. Whilst the twins were clever (there was no denying that— even if Harry did dislike them), there was no way that they would be able to cast such advanced magic. And besides, all of the tracking spells Harry knew of required a sizable lock of hair or several drops of blood— something Harry was positive the twins didn't have access to. Besides, you didn't read tracking charms off a piece of parchment. He supposed they could have used the Homonculous charm. That was what his father and uncles had done when they created the Marauder's Map.
A sense of light-headedness washed over him at the thought. The Map… but surely not. His father said Filch had confiscated it back in 1978. It was supposed to have been destroyed by the cantankerous caretaker years ago. It couldn't be in Fred Weasley's hands.
Harry craned his neck, trying to see over the top of the parchment. Sure enough, Uncle Sirius's tidy handwriting covered the page. Without thinking, Harry raised his wand, ready to summon the Map to him. It should be his, after all. His father had made it, and had it not been stolen, he no doubt would have passed it on to him with the Invisibility Cloak.
A cold hand wrapped around his wrist, jerking his wand down to his side. Grace looked up at him with a confused expression. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her hazel eyes darting between the twins and the portrait hole. Ever since Grace had bitten Percy Weasley, the twins had taken a personal interest in tormenting her. Although she would never admit to being afraid of them, she was reluctant to be in their presence without a teacher in the general vicinity.
"Well maybe they were here, but they aren't now. Maybe it hasn't updated?"
"But we're here!"
As the twins devolved into bickers, Harry grabbed Grace by the elbow and they slipped out of the portrait hole. They didn't stop running until they bumped into Cedric, who was loitering out front of the barrels that hid the Hufflepuff common room. He let out a strangled yelp when Harry and Grace materialised out of thin air, all but shoving the food hamper into his arms. Harry tossed the Invisibility Cloak over Cedric's head before taking off, once more, this time towards the Dungeons. He stopped to acknowledge Flint before ushering Grace up towards his private chambers. He sighed in relief when the door was closed behind them.
Cedric rematerialised after yanking off the Cloak, his hair standing on end. He shook his head like a dog with waterlogged ears before setting the food hamper on Harry's desk. "What's happened?"
Harry ignored him and hissed at the unlit fireplace in the corner of his room, opening up the secret passageway to the Study. He shoved a scowling Grace through before offering a wan smile to Cedric and gesturing him to follow after their friend. Cedric did so with an eye roll and a mutter about 'stupid, secretive Slytherins'. He disappeared as well after making sure that Harry noticed he had left the heavy food hamper behind. After shooting several locking spells at his bedroom door, Harry hefted up the hamper and followed after his friends.
"What the hell was that all about?" Grace snapped, already sprawled out on a fainting couch she had claimed as her own.
"What was what about?" Cedric asked, pausing in his mission to light the lamps in the study.
Grace stared Harry down with a fierce expression. "Genius over here almost got us caught."
Harry shifted and busied himself by extracting a flagon of pumpkin juice from the hamper. He poured himself a glass, but the drink did little to soothe the burning in his throat. "The Weasley twins," he said after taking a moment to compose himself. "They had something. Something of my father's."
"Like a Potter family heirloom?" Cedric asked, his brow furrowed. "Did they steal it from you?"
Harry could understand Cedric's concern. Family heirlooms were a big deal in the Wizarding World. Depending on the object, stealing one carried a punishment of up to a year in Azkaban. "Not exactly," he admitted, before explaining the history of the Marauder's Map. "Dad said that Filch confiscated it in his seventh year."
Cedric let out a low whistle. "I knew your dad was brilliant, Harry. But a map that is able to plot Hogwarts?"
"He had help," Harry agreed, his chest swelling with pride for his father. "But yeah."
Grace, fed up with being left in the dark, waved a sarcastic hand. "Care to explain for the mudblood?"
"Don't call yourself that," Cedric snapped. "But Hogwarts is unplottable." He paused to rifle through the hamper and pulled out a bowl of squashy marshmallows. He tossed one into the air and caught it in his mouth. "It's supposed to be impossible to make a map of it, isn't it? The fact that they managed to do it at all is an accomplishment."
"And it's able to track every person in the castle. Humans, ghosts, doesn't matter," Harry elaborated. "It was the basis of his C.R.O.W.N. work."
"Optional coursework after your N.E.W.T.s," Cedric explained before Grace had the chance to ask. "Essentially, you become an expert in two or more areas of magic. They're damn near impossible to get— there's only been fourteen awarded in this century. The fail rate is around ninety-nine per cent. If you pass, you become a Lord or a Lady."
"Like Lord Voldemort?" Grace asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Cedric startled and upended a side table, sending a bowl of Bertie Botts flying.
Harry shook his head. "He was a dark wizard. His followers used 'Lord' as a show of respect. Sort of like addressing a king."
"Which the Wizarding World doesn't have," Cedric said. "It was an insult to the people who actually earned the title."
Grace pursed her lips as she digested this information. "So it's like a doctoral program, I suppose. Does that mean I should address your dad as 'Lord Potter'?"
"Absolutely," Harry said. "It would be rude not to."
Grace hummed, her face pensive. "This map sounds useful," she said, catching one of Cedric's marshmallows as he threw it into the air. She ignored his splutters and curled up on a nearby chesterfield like an overgrown cat. "When do we steal it back?"
"Steal?" the boys repeated.
"Reclaim," Grace replied with an eye roll. "You said your dad made it. It's rightfully his. We'd just be getting it back for him."
"That's rather altruistic of you," Cedric replied, looking impressed.
"Well," she continued. "After we used it for ourselves."
"There's that Slytherin pragmatism," Cedric sighed before dropping down next to her on the couch. He stretched out lengthwise, placing his head in her lap, and looked up at her through lidded eyes. "Always an ulterior motive with you lot."
Grace flicked his nose before turning her attention back to Harry. "So? When will we be committing petty theft?"
Harry perched on the edge of a chair, fiddling with a liquorice wand, his mind buzzing. "We know they are in possession of it at the moment, but who knows how long that will be for?" he mused, his fingers pulling the candy into long strips.
"Yeah, someone could steal it from them," Cedric said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't that be a shame?"
"So, tonight, is what I'm hearing," Grace said. A devious smile quirked at her lips, and Harry was struck with the realisation that her penchant for thievery wasn't limited to kitchen raids. It was fortunate that she was a friend and not an enemy. He could only imagine what would have happened if she had befriended the likes of Nettles.
Harry nodded and took a bite out of his liquorice. "Later, though. We can have Medusa scope out their common area first. She's good at things like that."
Hearing her name, the snake in question slithered out of the fireplace and stopped before his chair. She reared up as if to strike, and launched herself into the air, smacking him in the chest with a heavy thump. "I smell the cold rodents."
Harry rolled his eyes but fished out a pack of ice mice from the hamper. "These are bad for you."
"Good. Give them to me."
Despite his better judgement, Harry tossed the pure sugar to her, who snatched it up and swallowed it whole. Her body convulsed in a reptilian version of a shiver. Harry gave her head a fond stroke and let her burrow up one of his sleeves.
Grace pulled out her wand and levitated the hamper over to where she sat. "I doubt all of us will fit under your cloak, though," she said, pulling out a vegetable platter and grimacing in disgust. She shoved it to the side and dove back into the hamper, shouting in triumph when she located a massive jar of Jelly Slugs.
Harry nodded in thought. "I'll have to go as none of you can talk to Medusa."
"Cedric might be too tall to join you under the cloak," Grace said. "The two of us still fit."
"But we don't know if the boys' dormitories allow girls up them," Harry pointed out. Slytherin house didn't permit students to access the opposite gender's dormitory. The only reason Grace was allowed in Harry's was because he had a private room. He racked his brain, trying to remember what his father and uncles had said about their time in the Gryffindor dorms. There was something in there about his mother and father in the boy's dormitory after a Halloween party in their seventh year, so it must be possible.
"Hold on. Do you even know where the Gryffindor common room is?" Cedric asked, bringing their plotting to a halt.
"Gryffindor Tower," Harry stated confidently.
"Which is where?" Cedric asked, his expression torn between amusement and exasperation.
"The seventh floor?" Harry replied with less confidence.
"And how do you get in?" Cedric prompted.
Harry's lips pursed in frustration. "There's a portrait— the Fat Lady," he replied. "You give her the password and she swings open."
Cedric hummed in agreement. "And do you know that password?" When Harry shook his head, Cedric sighed and sat up. "I'm not saying don't go for it, mate. But it's the last night of term. There's no way you're getting into that common room tonight, let alone the dorms."
"That's assuming everyone is asleep, too," Grace agreed, her tone glum. Somehow, she looked even more disappointed than Harry at the realisation that there would be no larceny taking place. "I heard from Katie Bell that the Gryffindors are throwing a party tonight."
With their plans to plunder Gryffindor Tower put on hold, the three friends spent the rest of the night discussing their summer plans. Cedric offered to have them over for a week, though that wouldn't happen until after Grace returned from holiday in Vietnam. Harry and Cedric, who had never left Britain before, were fascinated by the prospect. Though Harry was torn between hearing about Grace's adventures with foreign cultures or hearing about Dr Cooper's work.
Dr Cooper was a muggle healer that travelled the world offering aid to impoverished and war-torn countries as part of an organisation called Doctors Without Borders. As a result, she was rarely in England, especially now that Grace was at Hogwarts nine months of the year. Each holiday, however, her mother would get off of work and take Grace off on some sort of adventure. Grace didn't seem to mind the arrangement, claiming she much preferred gallivanting through weird and wonderful cities over being trapped in Surrey. And now that she knew about the magical world, Grace was particularly keen to experience those cultures as well.
"I'll bring you back something," she promised. "Your birthday is at the end of July, isn't it?"
By the time they had finished devouring their food, the clock on the mantle had long since passed three in the morning. It was only after Cedric, ever the responsible one, reminded them that they had a train to catch in a matter of hours did they rise from seats. Grace let out an almighty yawn and demanded that someone carry her— a demand that Cedric met, albeit with much grumbling. Harry rolled his eyes at their antics and led them over to the fireplace. With a flick of his wand, he snuffed out the lamps and crouched down over the ashes of the fire that had long since burned out.
He stooped to search for the little snake carving in the fireplace, his mind preoccupied with the thought of having to trek all the way to the Hufflepuff common room and back. He would be a terrible friend, after all, if he allowed Cedric to wander back alone. It was unlikely he would be caught, given how late it was, but it was the principle of the matter. He supposed he could lend him the Invisibility Cloak for the night, but he was reluctant to part with the heirloom, even to his best friend. Resigning himself for a long walk, Harry hissed the password and stepped through the secret passageway.
And froze.
"Uh-oh," he muttered, taking in the empty room he had wandered in to. A room that was very much not his bedroom or the Slytherin common room. This room was round, with a low ceiling, from which hundreds of plants were hung. Squashy armchairs and soft couches surrounded him, arranged to give the room a cramped yet cosy feeling. In one corner, there were bookshelves crammed full of books and board games, most magical, though some seemed to be of Muggle origin. Despite being the dead of night, the room still managed to look warm and inviting. It was as if the polished wood tables and furniture somehow collected sunlight and released it throughout the night.
Harry turned slowly, gaping as he took in the room. He was nearly ploughed down by Cedric, who stepped over the grate of glowing embers.
"Where are we?" Grace asked in a sleepy voice, still on Cedric's back.
"The Hufflepuff common room," Cedric replied, looking around in confusion. "But how did we get here?" He directed this question to Harry, with a look that was somehow fascinated and accusatory.
"One of Slytherin's heirs, I presume?" a woman asked in a soft, amused tone.
He jumped in the air and spun towards the sound, his wand in the palm of his hand before he made the conscious decision to draw it. But the voice didn't belong to a professor or an older student, or even a real human. Instead, it came from an elaborate oil painting that hung above the mantelpiece. The sitter was a plump woman in her mid-fifties, with dark hair woven into two rope-like plaits and vivid blue eyes. She wore sensible brown robes and in her hands was a small golden cup.
"Hi Helga!" Cedric said before setting Grace down on her feet.
Helga Hufflepuff nodded in greeting before focusing back on Harry. "It's alright, dear. You aren't in trouble. I dare say it wouldn't be the first time one of Slytherin's boys wandered through my common room."
It took a moment before Harry was able to find his voice. "I'm descended from the Peverell line," he corrected quietly. "We have no relations to Salazar Slytherin."
Helga leaned forward in her chair to stare more closely at him. Harry tried not to shift under her scrutiny. "And yet you are a Parselmouth? The Peverells are renowned for their transfiguration abilities, not their affinity for serpents." She rose from her chair and stepped as far forward as her portrait would allow, humming in thought. "Were you adopted?"
Harry shot a confused look at his friends before shaking his head. Cedric shrugged and offered him an apologetic smile. "No, Madam. My family tree is well documented."
"A curiosity," she said at last, sitting back with a sweet smile. "These things do run in the family, you know."
They were wasting time. With the Invisibility Cloak still in his bedroom, Harry had no way to sneak him and Grace back to their common room. Every moment they spent debating Harry's genealogy was another moment they could be discovered. Unfortunately, portraits had no sense of urgency or time, and Helga Hufflepuff had launched into a rather longwinded story about her home cooking and healing magic.
"Excuse me, Madam," Harry interrupted. "But how did we get here?"
Helga looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Through the fireplace, of course."
Too flustered to formulate a reply, Cedric took over the conversation for him. "Yes, but how?"
Helga waved a hand through the air and gave a dramatic eye roll. "Salazar always love his secrets— popping in and out of fireplaces at will. I say, one time he even caught Godric in the bath. There were suds leaking out of Gryffindor's tower for months."
A shrewd glint appeared in Grace's eye, and she leapt forward before Helga could go off on another tangent. "So it's possible to gain access to the Gryffindor common room?"
Helga looked taken aback at the interruption. "I suppose so. Salazar never seemed to have an issue. He never did explain how he managed it. Always popping in and out, that one. He was too crafty for his own good— drove the rest of us up the wall. Like the time he—"
Harry tuned out the next tale of Slytherin's antics and focused his attention back on the fireplace they had stepped out of. Sure enough, there was a small snake engraved at the back of the hearth. How many more fireplaces were connected to Slytherin's study? Did they all lead directly there? Or could Harry travel through any fireplace he chose?
Grace seemed to be thinking along the same lines and had begun to bounce on the balls of her feet, her previous exhaustion all but forgotten. "We'll see you on the train, Cedric," she chirped, standing on her tiptoes and pecking Cedric's cheek.
"Where are you going?" he asked, looking bewildered.
"To cause mayhem!" Grace cackled with delight and grabbed hold of Harry's hand. "Goodnight!"
Genius Fratris
Harry and Grace met Cedric on the Hogwarts Express later, exhausted but pleased with themselves. After returning to his bedroom, Harry collected his Invisibility Cloak and tossed it over himself and Grace. From there, it was simple to gain access to the Gryffindor common room and the Second Year boy's dormitory. They made short work of raiding Fred's trunk (which hadn't even been packed yet, making it that much easier) and absconding with the Marauder's Map. Harry and Grace were back in their beds before dawn, with no one the wiser. If all went well, the Weasley twins wouldn't even notice that the map was missing until the start of next term.
The three friends spent the journey to London in relative peace. Cedric's Hufflepuff friends filtered in and out to chat, as did a few girls Grace had befriended throughout the year. Around lunch, Flint skulked in and grunted that he was invited to practice with the rest of the team of the summer holidays. Harry was so surprised by the offer, Grace had to accept on his behalf. In fact, the only trouble Harry did experience happened after he had already stepped off the train. It came in the form of two sets of hands grabbing him by the back of his robes.
Harry felt a sense of déjà vu when he turned around to face the glowering Weasley twins. He raised an eyebrow in an attempt to effort to appear nonchalant as he worked his arm out of George's tight grip. Privately, his mind was whirling in panic, wondering if the brothers had somehow figured out that Harry had nicked the Map. Harry was trying to decide how much trouble he would get in if he hexed them whilst Fred leaned down and shoved his face in Harry's.
"We know what you did," Fred snarled.
Heart pounding, Harry managed a soft, "Oh?" of polite curiosity, hoping they couldn't see the fear in his eyes.
"I thought we told you to leave Ginny alone," George continued.
Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. This he could deal with. "You said I couldn't speak to her. I haven't said two words to her since last autumn."
Fred scowled. "You've been writing to her," he accused.
Harry shrugged. "I didn't realise that wasn't allowed. Besides, your mum doesn't seem to have a problem with it."
Whatever the twins had been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that. They shared a look of trepidation, and when Fred spoke next, Harry was pleased to hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Our mum?"
But before Harry could respond, the woman in question was bustling towards them, shouting her sons' names. "Oh, Harry, dear, lovely to meet you at last," she said, reaching down to pat his cheek.
Harry shot a smug look at Fred and George, relishing in the twin looks of horror as the realisation dawned on their faces. "The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Weasley."
Mrs Weasley gave him a fond smile. "You'll come 'round this summer, of course," she all but demanded, ignoring her sons' spluttering of protests. "Ginny will be thrilled to see you."
"I look forward to it," Harry agreed. "Perhaps Ron and my brother can finally meet. I know John would like to have a friend before starting Hogwarts next term."
"As long as your farther is comfortable with it," Mrs Weasley said. "Now off you go. You must be excited to see your family."
Harry nodded and accepted a hug from the rotund woman before slipping back into the crowd of students and guardians. He stood on his toes, searching for his father's familiar mop of dark hair, which was significantly easier than it had been the previous year. He found his family (sans John and Uncle Remus) with the Diggorys and made his way towards them. Uncle Sirius spotted him before his father did, and had scooped him up in a bear hug before Harry had the chance to call out a greeting.
Harry smiled and buried his face in his uncle's shoulder, murmuring a soft 'hello'. It was too soft to be heard over the din of the platform, but Uncle Sirius had no issue in understanding him. "Did you say something, luv?" he asked with a grin. "Oi, Prongs, your kid said 'hello'!"
Mr Potter approached and ripped Harry out of Sirius' arms for a hug of his own. "Then he'll have no issue explaining how on earth Cedric beat him on their Transfiguration exam," he teased. He ruffled Harry's hair good-naturedly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Did you have a good term?"
Harry grinned and allowed himself to bask in his father's undivided attention. "Yes," he whispered.
Warmth danced in his father's hazel eyes and he pressed another kiss to Harry's scruffy hair. After a long moment, they separated from their embrace and joined in on Uncle's Sirius' conversation with the Diggorys. After the fiasco on the platform last year, John was conspicuously absent— a fact Mr Diggory, in particular, seemed to take notice of. Mr Potter dismissed his questions with practised ease and redirected the conversation. Cedric rolled his eyes behind his father's back.
Harry shrugged, an amused grin playing at his lips, before looking out over the platform. He made brief eye contact with Nettles and offered him a kind smile. Whilst they would never be friends, Harry couldn't find it in him to harbour any animosity towards the boy. Nettles, however, seemed keen to act like Harry no longer existed, and would often turn white when they were forced to acknowledge each other. This time was no different, and Nettles hid behind a portly man that could only be his father.
He didn't have long to reflect on this, as Grace was pushing her way towards them, dragging a petite woman behind her. Her mother, he guessed, though the two didn't look very much alike. Dr Cooper, though short like her daughter, had long dark curls and a round face. Although she wasn't dressed overtly like a muggle in her calf-length skirt and sensible green cardigan, the wide eye stare she wore gave her away. They pulled to a halt at Mrs Diggory's side, and Grace took it upon herself to make the introductions.
"This is my mother," she introduced. "That's Mr and Mrs Diggory, and Cedric— he's the one without the pet snake. And that's Harry— the one with the snake— and his uncle, Sirius, and that's Lord Potter."
The effect was instantaneous. Harry's father went a delightful shade of scarlet and looked highly uncomfortable. "Mr Potter will do, dear," he stammered over Uncle Sirius' barks of laughter.
"Make way for Lord Potter, one of England's finest minds!" Uncle Sirius called, attracting the attention of everyone within a twenty-foot radius. "He's got important research to conduct!"
Somehow, James blushed harder. "Sirius, shush! Stop!"
"Does anyone have any questions about Transfiguration? Lord Potter can answer them for y—!" The end of Sirius' sentence was cut off due to James vanishing his mouth. Sirius restored it easily but was laughing too hard at that point to cause any further disturbance.
James rolled his eyes before turning back to Grace with an abashed smile. "In fact, call me James. Mr Potter was my father."
Grace gave a stunned nod. "Harry said…" she stammered before whipping around to glare at Harry. "You jackass!"
Harry, who was laughing so hard he could barely stand, was saved from replying when none other than Percy Weasley approached. He stuck his hand out to Mr Potter and introduced himself with a pompous air before launching into several questions regarding James' most recent essay. Mr Potter shot Harry and Sirius an unimpressed look but answered the questions about the efficacy of emeralds over rubies in golem creation with grace.
"Oh, I did miss you, Harry," Uncle Sirius said between chortles, pulling Harry in for a side hug.
Harry beamed up at his Uncle. "That's not all. Grace and I found last night." Without waiting for a response, Harry dug around in his rucksack and pulled out the Marauder's Map. It was blank, but Uncle Sirius recognised it right away.
He let out a colourful oath, earning him a stern chastisement from every adult within a five-foot radius. Uncle Sirius paid them no mind and reached for the Map, which Harry proudly gave him. "Where did you find it?"
This caught James's attention and cut off his conversation with Percy Weasley to see what the fuss was about. He let out a similarly vulgar exclamation and rounded on the Map as well. Pulling out his wand, he began to cast a series of diagnostic charms on it. "Looks like the Impermeable Charm held," he muttered. "Though it's damaged. It won't survive another trip through… hydrochloric acid?"
"Hydrobromic acid," Sirius corrected, casting diagnostic charms of his own. "Remus will be thrilled."
James hummed in agreement. "Filch must have gotten desperate. Tried to burn it with Greek fire too."
"Where did you say you found this?" Sirius asked again, peeking over the edge of the Map.
Harry and Grace shared a furtive look. "Around," he replied vaguely.
"Stole it then?" Uncle Sirius translated. "Good for you."
Cedric cleared his throat in a disapproving manner, which Harry and Grace ignored.
"How can we add to it?" she asked.
Uncle Sirius looked down at her in amusement. "Did you find something we didn't know about?"
Grace gave him a haughty look that might have been more impressive if she wasn't four and a half feet tall. "Perhaps."
"I'm sure we can find our old notes," James said, his attention still diverted. "We can work on it later."
"Does that mean I can keep my wand this summer?" Harry asked with excitement.
That caught his father's attention. James let out a boisterous laugh and ruffled Harry's hair. "Absolutely not."
They bade Harry's friends and their parents goodbye before Apparating back to Potter Manor with a crack! John was already waiting for them inside the entrance hall and pounced on Harry the moment he stepped into view. Acorn whisked his trunk away whilst he was distracted, and by the time John had dragged him up to his bedroom, Harry saw that his possessions were already put away. All that was left to do was tell John of his year at Hogwarts, who hung on to every word with excited envy.
As promised, his father took his wand the moment he sat down for dinner that evening. He felt naked without it, but the object that he received in return almost made up for its loss— a journal filled with his father's and uncles' notes about the Marauder's Map. It was a duplicate of the original, his father explained, with some of their more dangerous findings removed. When Harry flipped through, there were indeed large portions of notes that had been erased, leaving nothing but clean empty parchment in its place. It would be more than adequate, though, to add to the Map. Once he made sense of the complicated writings, of course.
Harry would have sat down and begun pouring over it right then and there, but Uncle Sirius snatched it back with a cheeky grin. "No reading at the table," he said. "Now tell your loving family about your year."
It was odd, being home, but not in a bad way. At Hogwarts, people were always moving and creating distractions. The castle itself bustled with life: from portraits chattering to each other, to the suits of armour on the third floor that the Weasley twins charmed to swear at passers-by, it was difficult to find somewhere quiet and undisturbed. Home was still by comparison, even with John bouncing through his bedroom or the funny bangs that came out of his father's study. With the minimal disturbances, Harry managed to get through all of his holiday work within the first week.
He spent most of his free time much as he had the previous summer, with the only major difference being he had several more friends to write to. Hedwig was gone four days a week, delivering letters to Cedric and Ginny in Devon. A crow bearing a roll of parchment from Grace arrived once a week, regaling her adventures in Vietnam ("I'd prefer an owl, of course, but they're considered unlucky here!" she complained in her most recent note). Even several members from the Quidditch team wrote to him, which was a welcome surprise. The most notable of these was Flint, who reminded him at least once a week that he was welcome to fly with the rest of the team.
The prospect of being invited to meet with the older students was an exciting one— normally the older Slytherins didn't pay much mind to the First and Second Years. Despite being on the team last year, Pemberley rarely looked in his direction, and Harry wasn't sure if Mulciber knew his first name. Harry figured he had been extended the invitation because of his position on the team, rather than an offer of friendship, but he wasn't about to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth. All he had to do was get his father's permission to go.
Unlike last summer, Harry's father was much more relaxed about letting him out of Potter Manor. He had been allowed to visit Cedric, and by extension, Ginny, several times since returning home. Even John had been granted supervised trips to the Weasleys' house, where Ron and John quickly became fast friends. Harry suspected, however, his father wouldn't view hanging out with a bunch of Slytherins to be quite the same.
"Dad," Harry hedged, sitting down at breakfast one morning in early July. "You know how I'm on the Quidditch team at school, right?"
Mr Potter peered over the top of Transfiguration Today, his teacup paused halfway to his lips. "Minerva complained bitterly about it in her last letter," he said, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. "Something about your talent being wasted on Slytherin."
Harry felt his cheeks warm with pride, but pushed on, undeterred. "The team is meeting tomorrow, and I've been invited to join."
The smile on his father's lips froze, looking strained. "I see," he said, placing his teacup back in its saucer. "Who will be there?"
Harry pulled out Flint's letter that Hedwig had delivered earlier that morning. It invited him, yet again, to join the other players for an informal practice. Informal, because Pemberley had graduated from Hogwarts and Bletchley had been accepted to a summer intensive in Belgium (apparently, the Slytherin keeper was quite the talented harpist). It wouldn't be much of a practice with three chasers, a beater, and a seeker, Flint admitted, but rigorous flying was better than 'lazing about the summer holidays reading books'.
"And this Flint boy," his father said, scanning over the letter Harry had handed him. "He lives with his uncle?"
The question brought Harry up short, and he racked his brains for any mention Flint had made of his family. He wasn't surprised to realise that he didn't know anything— Flint was fiercely private. Plus, neither he nor Harry were the most loquacious of individuals. He shrugged. He didn't see why it would matter, anyway.
His father let out a little hum and handed back the letter. "I'll think about it."
It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a flat out refusal either, which was more than Harry could dare hope for. He finished his breakfast and Flooed over to Cedric's house, spending the majority of the day flying over the Diggory's farm. Ginny made an appearance after lunch and demanded to join, and Harry all but forgot about Flint's letter. At least until the next letter came several days later. According to Flint, 'flying in circles above sheep' didn't constitute as real flying.
It took several more letters and a conversation with Uncle Sirius for his father to relent. His father insisted on attending and nothing Harry could say would dissuade him. When Harry wrote back to Flint about this, the Quidditch captain assured him that it was fine.
Most of the teams' mums stay for tea, Flint wrote. Uncle Marius will be thrilled to have someone to talk to.
Harry found himself stumbling out of the Flints' fireplace a week later, his wand tucked in his pocket. Harry had rolled his eyes when his father had returned it to him that morning, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed having it back in his possession. Whilst he hardly expected to be attacked at Flint's house (ignoring the implications that his father seemed to think he would be), he felt more in control with his wand in his hand.
Harry landed hard on the floor in the drawing-room. Naturally, he did this in full view of the entire team and their families. Someone rushed to help him to his feet, but he waved them off with burning cheeks and scrambled to his feet. He stepped to the side, moving in time for his father to step through the Floo as well. His father took one look at him, rolled his eyes, and siphoned the soot off Harry's robes with a flick of his wand.
"Don't use the Floo much?" a deep voice asked in his ear.
Harry jumped in surprise and spun around. He found himself face to face with Frank Churchill, the sole remaining beater left on the team. Like many of the other players, Churchill was tall and brawny, with biceps thicker than Harry's head. Harry had never exchanged more than a few words with the older boy and found that being the centre of his attention was a little unnerving.
He shook his head in reply, eliciting a chuckle from Churchill, who patted him on the head before returning to his conversation with Pucey. Pucey, for his part, didn't acknowledge Harry's blunder and settled for granting him a brief nod.
Harry returned it before turning and taking in the Flints' drawing-room, which somehow managed to be both gloomy and elegant in its decor. The westernmost wall was comprised of narrow floor-to-ceiling windows and glass double doors that opened onto a well-manicured garden. The wall opposite was covered in silvery mirrors, their edges blackened with age, made the relatively narrow room appear to be twice the size. The furnishings were dark wood and plum-coloured velvet, hand-painted coffee tables and parquet floors, embroidered cushions and bird skeletons in crystal cloches. If there was any place that Harry could imagine Marcus Flint growing up, it would be this room.
Flint himself was lingering off to the side, caught up in a conversation with a man who vaguely resembled him— his uncle no doubt. They shared the same aquiline nose and broad jaw, Harry thought. And height. Flint had somehow gotten even bigger over the summer, though he was dwarfed by his uncle. Mr Flint was the tallest human (excluding Hagrid, of course) Harry had ever seen. Next to his uncle, Flint looked like a gangly newborn giraffe.
As if feeling his gaze, Flint looked up and made eye contact with him. He raised an eyebrow and beckoned him over, and Harry approached with a small degree of trepidation. Mr Flint was even bigger and imposing up close.
"Six foot, ten inches," Mr Flint said in lieu of a greeting. His voice rumbled like thunder and an easy smile played on his lips. "To get the inevitable question out the way."
Harry nodded lamely, a feat made considerably more difficult as his neck was already craned back as far as it could go. "Five foot, five inches," he responded for lack of a better thing to say.
Mr Flint nodded sagely. "Continue to eat your fruits and vegetables, and perhaps you too will get to be this big." And with a pat on the head, he waltzed off with surprising grace for a man his size.
The adults adjourned to the conservatory for tea, with Mrs Flint pushing them onto the terrace and demanding they not return before lunch. Harry tried not to laugh and watched his father get swept away, looking overwhelmed by Mr Flint's rapid-fire questions regarding his research. Diminutive Mrs Pucey gave her son a stern look and remind him to behave before linking arms with Mrs Churchill and floating away.
It was then Harry realised that someone was missing. He glanced around at the other boys, he noticed that Mulciber was missing. But as he opened his mouth to ask, Flint waved them down the sloping hill of the garden. Pucey and Churchill pulled ahead, obviously familiar with where they were going, their brooms slung over their shoulders.
"I'm glad you could make it," Flint said, falling into step next to Harry.
Harry, grinned up at him, his neck straining as he did. "Thank you for inviting me."
Flint grunted. He continued to lumber down the slope and Harry had to jog to keep up. "I'm making you all try out again next term," he said. "To make it seem fair."
"To replace Pemberley?"
Flint nodded. "And Mulciber." He paused as if choosing his next words carefully. "Not that Mulciber knows, so don't go spreading that around."
"I won't."
Flint looked down at him as if realising who he had just said that to. He grinned, the expression uncharacteristically boyish, and ruffled Harry's hair. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." The smile slipped from his face and returned to his usual deadpan expression. "I don't suppose you heard what happened?"
Harry shook his head. "Did you and Mulciber have a row?"
Flint let out a dry, humourless laugh. "That's one way of putting it." His lips pursed as he collected his thoughts. "What do you know about Mulciber?"
The question seemed out of place and Harry couldn't figure out its relevance. "Not much," he admitted after a moment. "He ignored me last year."
"That's because he hates you," Flint stated. "Mulciber… his parents are Death Eaters. You know what those are, don't you?"
Harry nodded, an icy feeling clutching at his heart.
"Mulciber is a bad sort. I'm not saying every Death Eater's kid is bad but he believes all that pureblood supremacy nonsense." Flint was rambling which Harry might have found funny if he didn't sound so serious. "He was saying some things about you and your family. Pemberley and I caught wind of it and were able to shut him up but…"
Harry stopped in his tracks, forcing Flint to stop as well. Churchill and Pucey continued to lumber ahead, shoving each other and joking, unaware of the serious conversation taking place behind them. "I'm used to people saying things about my family," Harry said. Many Slytherin's had taken exception to Harry's sorting, and he'd put up with their harassment for the better part of two years. "You didn't need to kick Mulciber off the team because of it."
"Of course I did," he said, a touch aggressively. Flint crouched in front of Harry, though considering his height, he didn't have to look up very far. He grabbed him by the elbows in a surprisingly familiar gesture. "Harry, it's obvious you're different. And that's not a bad thing. But it can be a dangerous thing."
"I'm nothing special," Harry disagreed. Harry was just Harry. He was shy and introverted and hated drawing attention to himself. "It's my brother who—"
"You're the one who can do nonverbal magic at twelve. You're the one who gets to learn healing from Madam Pomfrey. You're the one the professors watch," Flint said, punctuating his statements by giving Harry little shakes. "Not the Boy Who Lived. You. And people are starting to notice that. Especially in Slytherin, where this kind of talent is sought after." He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "You could make a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy. Some circles are watching you."
Harry glanced over Flint's shoulder. Churchill and Pucey had disappeared into the forest, leaving them quite alone. Still, Flint kept his voice low as if he was afraid of being overheard. It was clear that he didn't want to be overheard, but by whom? Were there other people on the team like Mulciber? His mind instantly went to Pucey, who had taken part in bullying Harry in their First Year. He had been decent since they joined the Quidditch team, but what if it was some sort of trick to lull him into a false sense of security?
"Am I in danger?" Harry asked, feeling thoroughly confused. Why couldn't Flint just say what he wanted to say— the whole beating around the bush thing was exhausting to decipher.
Flint looked almost angry by the question. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said vehemently. "There have been rumours. I don't want to scare you, but you need to know."
He was almost afraid to ask what that meant.
"Just whispers," Flint elaborated. "There's been talk of the Dark Lord— that he's still alive."
"And he's coming for John," Harry guessed, his mind racing. It would make sense. John would be starting Hogwarts in a few weeks— the Daily Prophet was already speculating what house he would be sorted into. If Voldemort was still out there, he would have heard about John. Maybe he wanted to defeat John before he was a fully trained wizard. Even if Voldemort didn't have the strength to do it, he could always send a Death Eater to finish the job.
But Flint scowled at this and forced Harry to look him in the eye, interrupting his thoughts. "No," he said. "He might be coming for you."
Something painful twinged in Harry's chest, and he fought the overwhelming urge to curl in on himself and disappear. "Because of my brother?" he asked, his voice suddenly very small.
Flint looked more annoyed than he usually did. "No, because of yourself."
"But why?"
Flint didn't have an answer for this, which seemed to frustrate him. "I can only guess," he said before rising until he towered over Harry once more. He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "None of them can be good. You need to be careful."
Not knowing how to respond, Harry settled for a hesitant nod. This seemed to be enough for Flint, who nodded to and chucked Harry's chin. "Let's fly then."
"Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well."― George R.R. Martin
A/N: next chapter marks the beginning of The Philosopher's Stone, but things are already brewing for Harry. Let me know what you thought of the chapter?
ALSO, to the people on Reddit who were speculating why John is named John: he was named after Remus J Lupin. Lily refused to name him Remus because that sounds silly with Harry. It has nothing to do with James wanting to have a son with a 'J' name lol. Other names that I considered for John were William (rejected because of Bill Weasley), Charles (rejected because of Charlie Weasley), and Andrew (rejected for being too long to flow with Harry). Could I have responded on the Reddit thread? Yes. But I'm always promoting this story over there, and I didn't want to out myself by doing some shameless self-promoting.
-CA