Summary- Who is excited to start a life of homeworks? Not Harry. But we have a surprise for him.
Soo.. an asteroid didn't strike the earth- but you lot will forgive me for not keeping my promise, won't you? uwu Thanks for waiting and don't forget to give your love,sweet ones! Enjoy the chapter.
Chapter-10
Mippy laid down the tunics, trousers, and shoes. She had not added heavy fur-laden ones because her Master was coming back before the winter would set in. As it was, the robes were dusted with angora fur and keep Master warm from autumn wind.
She had already put in the school books and the non-descript black robe and hat in the school trunk- which languished in a corner like the unworthy beings they were.
In the hallway, her Master was tracking down the list- murmuring as he went.
There was the ash- to get a freshly harvested body from the village downhill was more difficult than he had thought, so down went another goat. (Don't ask the proud boy of the bitter, bitter regretful tears he had shed over the pitiful vial of ash.)
The self-made notes from the Peverell parchments- the true manuscripts would be kept safely back in the vault.
And the list went on.
The inhabitants of the Silvan manor prepared for Hogwarts- each unaware that their stack of preparation wildly varied, occupied by their priorities.
Speaking of things to do - Harry looked at the letter he had written and trashed several times. Frustrated, he jotted the final script carelessly before shoving it at Mippy.
"Give it a few more days before sending it. The wards will need to settle."
Darned sentimentality.
The Hogwarts train was a tradition that even returning seventh years never denied- bar a very time-sensitive issue. It carried for them that bit of nostalgia- when they all had been wide-eyed first years and the red, steaming train had ferried them to their beginning of a new life.
Harry didn't ride the train. He didn't go through the 9 and 3 quarter platform.
The first years oohed and aahed so happily at the grand entrance of the Hogwarts into their life- swaying as they did in their boats on the old lake. They craned their necks and twisted their heads- all to see the sprawling sight of a structure more ancient than their ancestors. In the night, it was the lights streaming from inside that laid out the grand castle.
Harry didn't ride the boats. But well- he was not the first year- so that had been expected really.
The older students merrily returned on thestral-driven carriages. Most thought the carriages magically drawn though- after all the Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen Death with their eyes.
Harry didn't ride the carriage either.
Instead here was the unfortunate him- preceding the sorting, he was dragged before the entire Hogwarts staff- who stared at him all the confusion and disbelief.
(Sometimes he felt as if by taking the hand of Death he had renounced the wretched amount of fate's favour he might have...Harry gave that some serious thought before he remembered the life he had already led before.)
Of course, he already had the first and lovely impression of Hogwarts in another life- but no one else knew that!
For what reason would they want to deprive a child of the introduction to such a majestic persona of magic? Whatever this farce that needed to be held- couldn't it have been done before?
Much before?
Because clearly- Dumbledore had not even cared to intimate his colleagues with the news of a new student- not a wide-eyed, fresh-hearted eleven-year-old that is.
Not that news wouldn't be that much striking really- apart from the deputy headmistress no one else should be involved in the greet and tell.
"Hadrien here needs a delicate touch with his magic."
But well- he was a peculiar case, wasn't he?
Most of them were familiar to him- there was the sharp, hawk-eyed Minerva Mcgonagall who had been his transfiguration professor and his head of the house. The diminutive person with curling mustache and monocles had been his charms professor- a very competent professor despite his seemingly carefree persona.
The witch with drooping hat and plump sort of smile was Professor Sprouts of course- the herbology professor. At the end of the table, he could also see the overlarge spectacles that made the divination professor Sybil Trelawny look like a dazed owl and the polite interest of professor Sinatra- the astronomy professor and Babbling- the runes professor.
Harry faintly remembered the Arithmancy professor that Hermione had pointed out him- a stern-looking woman.
Potions Professor Slughorn was sitting two seats down the left of the headmaster and had smiled indulgently at him. ( Harry could already see that interest fleeing far Egypt when the news of his magic was said finally.)
Harry traced his eyes over the flying instructor, mentally counting down.
So the remaining somewhat unknown people must be the Muggle Studies, defense against dark arts professor and care of magical creatures.
Harry stood there, meek and obedient like, behind the seat of the headmaster, his curious eyes roving around and settling on the differences between what he had known and what it was now.
"I don't understand, Albus, What exactly do you mean by delicate touch?" McGonagall looked at him curiously, and Harry swept his eyes to others.
He had thought Slughorn and Dumbledore had surprised him with their youthful (somewhat?) looks- but even professor Hooch(?) was shining- no wrinkles and the cheeks perky!
"I am sorry, he is what?!"
Harry felt like giggling.
Of them all though, his eyes kept coming back to Slughorn. He had met Horace Slughorn squatting in a muggle house- the glory and fame all past- when the second war had starting to catch on flames. The man's cheeks were gaunt and pathetic looking really- bravado covering up the fear.
The man wanted to live in eternal glory- sometimes lost himself in it only to be reminded of his shameful situation.
The man then had looked nothing like the fattened sheep Harry had seen in the photographs.
"Dumbledore, have you lost your mind?!"
Here now, up so close and free from his previous rushed times, Harry could fully appreciate the gold buttons and the purple vest that the seamstress had fit for him- all on the verge of over-indulgence.
"This is the institution for the finest- we don't take any riff-raffs- we might as well enroll flich here!"
The Charms professor was sitting up primly- looking serious in contrast to the excitable person he had seen so often.
Their eyes met- Harry smiled at the one in the memory.
Professor Flitwick did not smile back.
Harry slowly came back from his nostalgic excitement.
That was right- they did not matter to him and he did not matter to them. Harry felt a sort of affection towards the one who had been once the versions of these people- the sort of familiarity that made one nod when passing by in the street.
Maybe the polite inquiry for a while more- but then their paths would diverge again.
That had been the extent to the relationship with his teachers- when the excitement of the war was past and the world settled,
"Very well then, I will let young Hadrien speak for himself,'
And just like that, Harry was somewhat thrust in front of the assembly of eh professors- to speak for...
Beg pardon, what was it exactly?
Ah.
He was wrong. All these times he had been happily reminiscing- and maybe a little bit hoping for at least amicable relationship again- the keep the dignity of his memory intact if nothing else- somehow, he had missed them turning hostile?
If it had been the young boy truly who had appeared in front of them- lacking in worldly experiences, only ever knowing the comfort of home and warmth- Adrien might have burst into tears already.
Harry made an inquiring sound towards the headmaster- quite some eyes sharpened at the disrespectful gesture.
"My boy, they want to hear from you-your desire to study here in Hogwarts."
Harry was not particularly as eager as Dumbledore implied- but
"I thought this was an institution of learning- every witch and wizard who wanted to learn magic go here- I didn't know the decision was in the hands of the professors?"
Harry saw one nod in agreement in the corner of his eye- but most frowned and that heavy-set person scowled.
Merlin cork it- he was not a fawning dolt when people wanted to antagonize him. If they wanted a doormat- they could buy one that would not bite them.
Even Hagrid's old textbook had a spine.
Professor McGonagall looked at him disapprovingly, no doubt at his snarky tone, snarky words, and snarky everything really, "Professor Dumbledore brought your issue before us to let us known that you have to be excused for some of the lessons."
Harry nodded to the headmaster in thanks.
The Scottish woman frowned even more, "But you can't be excused like that- Mr. Silvan. Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense against the dark arts are the core subjects. How do you expect to progress without doing the practical exams of it every year?"
The man beside him snorted, "Don't be too subtle now Minerva," He sneered down, "This is a place for wizards, boy. Not squibs."
Another professor piped down from down below, somewhat kindly to his credit, "You can't be here- if you can't even hold a wand, boy. That is not-
The man gestured to her colleagues helplessly.
Before coming here, Harry had not been quite so enthusiastic about this idea.
It was more or less the only route if he did not want to die from boredom and proper food- and well- there had been some incentives.
Nothing so fantastic as to limber up his excitement.
but he had prepared for the stay here already. He had dreamt of the beautiful castle that had been home for such a long time.
And well. It was a matter of pride.
He could, of course, argue for most of the cases. He did know about the exams and the classes- and he could argue that some worst-performing students passed by either because of their marks in theories or practicals. He had known the two lumps called Crabbe and Goyles whose only talent had been riding the coattails of another and- ok, they were fine with dark curses as well.
Reckon, they just needed proper incentives.
He could go on about every loophole he had seen and exploited and go on a permanent line drawn between his professors and him.
He was sure, however, that Dumbledore had already thought of ways.
There was no need to waste energy in this kind of show- the professor was probably waiting around for.
And so he smiled and calmed down and put the man back in the spell range- "I am sure the professor has already thought of ways to help me. It is not like I can guide my professors in their job. I can only say - I am not a squib. I mean, I know a squib can't access their magic at all. I can though- and if you would properly protect yourself from any backlash- I can show you." Harry smiled at them, "Don't worry, I can bear with it for some time. I just- I hope I don't damage anything." He said most worriedly.
Dumbledore intercepted him, "That is alright, my boy, you need not do something that would hurt you."
Harry shuffled a bit- undaunted now that once he had started, "I thought Headmaster and Professor Slughorn had seen- my body is a bit weak for spells and such. I have to get by potions. Now that I am alone with just my elf-" Harry shrugged, unrepentant of the shamed looks that were darkening the others' cheeks. "I didn't mean to be so much trouble.
Professor Sprouts was the first to blurt out, "Oh dearie! Of course not! A child can't very well take care of himself in such a situation- I am sure Horace and Poppy would take perfectly good care for you."
Professor Slughorn latched on to the tag he was handed, "Of course, dear boy! I had no idea you were in such a vulnerable state." He glanced at the headmaster inquisitively.
The rest of the professors were either nodding in agreement or hunkered as the majority shifted to sympathy.
Dumbledore looked at him calmly, with a smile playing on his lips.
"well then. You were troubled over nothing, Mr. Silvan. Go on to my office and help yourself. I will be by soon. It is time for the sorting to start."
Harry made sure he was out of the room before letting his grateful smile slip.
+-xoxo-
"That was very clever of you."
Harry looked up at the non-smiling face of the headmaster and snorted. "You put me in a spot. What did you expect me to do, snivel, and beg?"
The man took a seat behind the table. Harry looked back at the poking thing. They were so many fascinating things here in the office- Harry was cautious not to touch anything.
He preferred his limbs and mind whole.
The portraits reprimanding him for the last half an hour scrambled to complain to the present headmaster.
"Never have I seen such a disrespectful child."
"A ruffian dressed up like a noble."
"Where did you pick him up, Albus?"
"Why is the better question."
"The audacity of young scoundrels- why, in my days, discipline meant no children strayed from proper behavior."
Harry looked up at the portraits of old and young headmasters- clad in progressively worse fashion and did not at all feel respectful.
"And yet, you don't have the sense not to barge in when two people are talking."
A moment of shocked silence passed before the furor went up.
Both of them ignored the raucous fellows. Harry turned to his headmaster- still bitter about being put on the spot before.
"Weren't you also the one who begged me- holding on my sleeve and crying in the Fortescue's. Did you forget so soon?"
Harry spluttered.
"That- that was a moment of weakness!"
Dumbledore was a moment of weakness. As he always had been. Harry could not care less that he would be hated by the rest of the professors- judged and rejected.
He had not cared enough not to put forward a façade of Adrien Silvan.
It was Dumbledore despite whose cruel machination and those stupid manipulations- Harry just couldn't shut out like the rest of them.
Couldn't stop his honest and unhurried response.
Harry scowled at this annoyance.
"For a twelve-year-old, you are an articulate one, aren't you, Hadrien?"
Harry sniffed and winced promptly. Well.
"Just Harry, please,"
Dumbledore smiled, breaking his previously somber face. Harry looked at him suspiciously- at the abrupt mood changes of his professor.
-xoxo-
Harry had not expected the nostalgic memories to overwhelm him so.
Hadn't the face of his old professor and headmaster had already once affected him to abandon rational action? He had then let his emotions shadowed over the truth of his aim. No matter that the flimsy efforts of a twelve-year-old would have been naught if the headmaster Dumbledore had been determined enough in the intriguing boy who had stared him with sadness borne from great familiarity.
His eyes had betrayed him. Only if he were controlled enough not to show the length of his longing-
only if the unguarded mind of a young boy had not divulged him so-
If only-
He would not have had to guard against the attention of the most powerful figure in the current era.
In this instance, he could not regret his minute slips anymore. Not when Hogwarts in all its magnificence surrounded him thus.
It was not only an old man- once dearly beloved- once...
Before Harry knew his worth as the prophecy child to the public...
His worth to the old man as the herald to end of war- only if the Queen called Harry Potter was sacrificed at the proper time.
A taste of life. A taste of false love.
Before his path was delicately pointed out.
The King needed to be saved.
Harry had forgiven the man. He had not considered his own life to weigh more than the dark fate of the Wizarding world. But he would never forget the betrayal. Beautiful in its subtlety.
But he had adored Hogwarts. He had adored the stone walls that shielded its children, the solemn structure occasionally indulging in the whims of children. He had loved the strength it had shown in the battle of Hogwarts, at the care it had shown for the afraid seeking sanctuary.
It had been generous to all, good or bad, so unlike the human heart that would falter one way or the other.
Now Standing in the great hall of Hogwarts under the light of thousand candles floating above him, the voice of countless children resonating around him, the sweet scent of magic perforating the air and Hogwarts welcoming him with nary a hesitation, Harry couldn't help but stagger with the onslaught of memories.
He gathered himself before he had to grab onto the wall for support. Through great restraint, he walked as his name was called and ignoring the inquisitive eyes upon him put on the hat.
"How curious."
Harry jolted at the musing inside his head.
"Mr. Silvan. Adrien Silvan, you are called. Yet you don't quite identify yourself by such."
Harry couldn't help but feel a shard of unease. He didn't quite know the abilities of the Sorting Hat, and he had never thought he would find it to be a liability.
But the Hat laughed. "You would if I were curious. However even sentient objects, as I am, are not capable of curiosity. I merely observe, based on which I will decide where you belong."
Observe what exactly?
"I observe the traits that make a person's identity. In a way, you could say I see into your soul, ironical considering I don't have one myself."
For one who claims to only see, you speak in a contrary manner.
"I might be able to emulate human speech, but that is all I am capable of in human emotions. I am loyal to Hogwarts, to its students. Be at ease, dear child, and let me look at you. Your emotions are blinding."
"Hmm.. very well defined mind. But rather chaotic. You are loyal to your cause. You have the courage and bravery to do what must be done. But in the end, these characters are only a way for you to achieve your goal. You belong in SLYTHERIN!"
Somewhat startled at the abrupt announcement, Harry shrugged nonetheless and took off the Hat nonchalantly(he could care less about the dramatics of a house-sorting). Before he could have taken a single step, however, a loud scoff waylaid his attention.
Harry turned to the table with the most boisterous students.
The new student who had been passive so far crumbled finely now and the innocent blue of Hadrien Silvan stood out as his gaze fixated upon a group of confident Gryffindors looking his way.
"Really?"
The scoff had been undoubtedly for the new Slytherin in their midst- for him. Those dark eyes were boring down at him openly.
But Harry could not think about that. He hadn't thought, hadn't wondered at all about the importance of the Time in which he belonged.
He hadn't cared at all when he was.
And whether he would see anyone he knew- it hadn't entered his mind at all.
Foolish really- when the appearances of young Slughorn and Dumbledore should have warned him already.
Blinded by his self-absorbed thoughts as he was- he could never have predicted this.
Because there was the wild hair of the Potter Heir as a hand ruffled it even further. He could see the features that had reminded many of his father, that had dominated in the face of Harry Potter. And to the side…
Oh.
He had not thought about Sirius for a long time now. He never could really, preoccupied as he had been in fighting for his right in the vulture world of Magical Britain. The dull ache flared sometimes- whenever he had had to recognize his responsibility as the Black Heir. But he had more or less accepted the hollow feeling as a part of his life.
But that throbbing had been dull, if at all there- as opposed to this sudden onset of emotions that escaped his mouth in a gasp. The sharp grey eyes that had a moment before resented the sorting of a Slytherin could only watch with suspicion as the boy stepped falteringly towards the Gryffindor table.
The headmaster laid a restraining hand on the fragile-looking boy, but the blue eyes never escaped his own.
"This way, Mr. Silvan."
Some of the Gryffindors chuckled, the marauders among them watching most mockingly.
"Don't think we need to worry about the brains in this one, eh?"
"Did we ever have to?"
Peter laughed as James spoke thoughtfully.
Sirius would have continued on that note had it not been for the way Silvan had turned once again for a last glance.
But the headmaster was already herding the lost lamb away. Sirius watched the retreating back of the tiny thing before losing his interest.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore led the stiff body down to the house of silver and green. Slytherins had embraced a slightly bemused air- which, was expected indeed.
After all, it was the house of pride and pretentiousness- how could they accept being buffed in such a way? It had to be a bruise to the Slytherins after all the welcoming applause they had put on for the new Slytherin.
It was unfortunate that such a display would target the poor boy so soon, bar a reassuring pat Albus Dumbledore returned to the dais and announced the serving of dinner. The boy would endure; Horace might be a little pompous, nonetheless, he genuinely cared for those under his care.
The sorting had been interesting, but the dinner was waiting.
Harry didn't even notice the stares of his neighbors as he blindly settled into an empty seat. Too dazed in his stunned disbelief, in the thoughts that his parents were alive and so near. No more an abstract notion, but of living flesh. Giddy warmth swam in his heart, which coagulated into loving anguish when he thought of Sirius.
Sirius, who had not been abstract after all, Sirius who he had lost in such utter foolishness. Sirius, the only person he had ever loved so unconditionally. The only person who had accepted him without nary a question.
Sirius- who had been no more than a wreath from haunting nightmares- no more a scarred reflection for even in that half a glance, Harry saw the brilliant grey eyes had flared with a passion of life.
The little slip of the boy drifted through the rest of his housemates. Professor Slughorn looked frowning at the subdued boy who looked so diminished as opposed to the last time.
Maybe- the final toll of his parents' death had rung on his head. Hogwarts had declared the impossibility of a return to that life now.
He let the boy to his renewed mourning.
-xoxo-
Dazed and confused, Harry completely ignored the headmaster's welcoming words to the new students. He woke up slightly at the polite applause that thundered past his churning thoughts. His eyes had focused by the time the dinner had appeared on top of the golden plates- even if his soul had departed his poor body to go pine away somewhere else.
The first years close to him inhaled sharply when the plates had filled suddenly (as if by magic!). The older students smirked at the wonder of these children- conveniently forgetting that they had been just as naive in their times.
That particular phenomenon had never ceased to amaze Harry either- but right now, he was far too occupied to do more than numbly reach for his fork and knife.
"Adrien Silvan. Wasn't it?" Came a voice from the bench across the table.
That name sounded familiar to him. But Harry was more concerned that Dumbledore had set him down on a bench facing the wall opposite the Gryffindor table.
He could not turn around to stare at his par- at them.
Even he had more tact than that.
Mindlessly, he cut down the toast and lathered up the butter.
And besides, he wasn't that fraught at this- this unexpected incident.
It was all completely fine!
He paid undue focus to the dessert- indulging in as much as sweet as he could. He had a sudden craving.
The Slytherins waited a bit more before realizing that their newest housemate was stubbornly ignoring them. And the few drags of patient goodwill that they had had- vanished.
-xoxo-