The Memory Veil

Harry completed the lunch dishes and waited in his closet, simultaneously feeling numb and trembling with nerves. He'd spent so much time lately afraid, it was just getting to be too much. He wondered what the Dursleys would do to him now but didn't find any space for actual speculation, just a formless dread that seemed all too familiar of late.

He sat quietly, legs crossed, watching a nest of tiny brown snakes squiggling about in the corner. They held his attention for what felt like hours of his silent vigil. Dudley still seemed uninterested in him for punching or chasing. Normally he'd have considered that a good day, but now he couldn't bring a single positive thought to mind.

He would never be able to reply to the professor's letter. He would remain largely ignorant, walk into Hogwarts without knowing more than the most basic overview of its function. Without knowing who he could trust with his secret and who would shun him and call him evil for being born an Heir to Slytherin.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the cupboard door being thrown open, spilling early afternoon brightness into his face. He squinted, unable at first to make out what was happening. Dudley?

A hand thrust a sheet of paper into his face. Aunt Petunia's, he recognized her fingernail polish.

He took the paper, confused. "What's this?"

"The days and times you're to work for Arabella. I've already made arrangements for your pay to be collected properly, so you won't be able to muck that up. It's a trial period, if you do a good enough job she would consider letting you stay on longer." She leaned forward. "I expect you to make a good showing of yourself, boy. You will not disgrace this family by getting yourself fired from your first job."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, his spirits reviving in a rush.

"Your first day is today, starting in a half hour. You are expected to return here on time to prepare dinner, so work quickly. No dawdling."

"I promise, I'll do our family proud," Harry said, trying to suppress the eagerness in his voice. He didn't want to make her suspicious.

"See that you do," Petunia said sharply, then spun to leave. Harry listened to her click-click-click of footsteps, then allowed his face to split into a wide grin.

"It worked out, somehow!" he told the mother snake. She nodded agreeably, returned to watching her writhing nest of young. Harry didn't try to converse further. He had too much to do. A half hour wasn't long. He reached beneath his mattress to his most treasured possession, Professor Quirrell's letter, and set about composing a reply in his head so he could write it down straight away when he reached Mrs. Figg's house.

The time flew, and before he knew it his aunt was yelling that he would be late if he didn't move his lazy behind, so he jumped up and ran down the street. He rang the bell as instructed, but waited for her to open the door. He didn't feel comfortable just walking in, no matter that she'd told him he could.

"Ah, Harry," she said in a cross tone. "Come in."

Harry worried for a minute that he'd offended her, or that his aunt had pressured her. Instead, she waited until the door was safely closed, then her stern gaze melted into a welcoming smile.

"I have to say, I wasn't expecting your aunt to come calling. I nearly sent her packing before I understood your ploy. You needed an excuse to be allowed to visit me?"

Harry nodded.

"I thought as much. That was quite a gamble you took, trusting me to catch on."

Harry shrugged, not wanting to admit that he hadn't even considered the possibility that she would play along without him getting notice to her in advance.

"I should warn you though, there's a reason I don't already have hired help. I can't afford to keep you on for long. I set you twice a week for two weeks, but—"

"I've got that part thought through," Harry interrupted. "I'm apparently rich, in the wizard world. I'll just have Professor Quirrell lend me enough to cover whatever bribes you need to pay my relatives, and pay him back once I come of age. He offered to do anything he could to help, I'm sure lending me a few pounds a week over the rest of the summer is within his means."

Mrs. Figg smiled, patted Harry's shoulder. "You're a clever boy, you know that?"

Harry smiled back, faintly. "I hope I'm clever enough," he said. "I want to join Slytherin or Ravenclaw, and either would require intelligence."

Mrs. Figg looked thoughtful. "Not Gryffindor?" she asked. "You don't want to follow your parents' footsteps?"

"My parents died," Harry said flatly. "I don't see what good being brave did them. I'd rather live."

Mrs. Figg nodded slowly. "If that's truly what you believe, then I expect you'll get your wish. I've heard the Sorting rarely places anyone where they are utterly unsuited."

The word 'rarely' was not completely reassuring. The past two months had already made Harry convinced that he'd used up his quota of good fortune for a lifetime. Being a parseltongue Heir to Slytherin, the savior hero of the wizarding world from the age of one, rich and famous and special, was already more than he could dare to hope for. Beside that vast new reality, any worry about being locked in his room seemed suddenly unbelievably petty.

Wizards are better, Harry reminded himself. The Dursleys are only muggles.

Besides, even if he ended up in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, he would still be somewhere with his own kind, wizards and witches, free to learn control over his true power.

"I would like to write a letter, if you'd allow it," Harry said. "I'll still clean for you, gladly, but I really want to make sure the first thing I do is let Professor Quirrell in on my plan. If anything is going to go wrong, I'd rather know right away."

Mrs. Figg nodded, motioned to a slightly dusty rolltop desk. "There should be writing things in there. I still have the owl he sent for me."

Harry sat down at the desk, rolled it open. There were pens, paper, and envelopes in individual cubbies, and a small drawer with a keyhole. He placed a sheet of paper before him and began writing.

Professor Quirrell,

Thank you for your letter. It means a lot more to me than I can say. I was restricted to my cupboard anytime the Dursleys didn't need me for the rest of the summer because I broke the lock with magic, but I tricked them into letting Mrs. Figg hire me to clean.

If you really meant what you said, I would ask that you please send her enough money to pay them for my visits here so they think I'm just working and trying to contribute to their expenses for my living. I give you my word I'll pay you back once I come of age and can access my fortune.

I wish we could talk again in person, but I understand you're busy. If it is safe to answer, who is the Watcher? I feel like I should know the name of our adversary. If I want to get into Slytherin house, is there anything I should be studying or preparing for? How am I to get my school things, and where is Hogwarts? Why does it have such a weird sounding name?

Harry paused, running close to the bottom of the page. His handwriting was neat enough, but nowhere near as tight as Quirrell's. He waited a moment so as not to smudge the ink, then turned the paper over. He turned Quirrell's letter over as well, though he had it nearly memorized now.

I would very much enjoy learning from you individually, if I have time on top of other classes and homework. I don't know what the school is like at all.

Harry stared at the page, suddenly unable to bring any questions to mind. All the secondary ones would depend upon the answers to the main ones. He smiled to himself. This letter was only the start. Once they got everything arranged, he'd be over here twice a week. He could ask anything he thought of, any time.

Your visit brought me a great hope that I never dared to have, showed me a new world waiting for me just a few months away. I can never thank you enough for that. I look forward to seeing you this September.

Your friend,

Harry Potter

Harry folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope. He wrote 'Professor Quirinus Quirrell' in the center, then realized he didn't know Hogwarts' address. His own letter had no return address, having been sent inside Mrs. Figg's letter from Quirrell about him.

He shrugged. She would know where to send it. He stood, brought her the letter with his thanks, then asked what she wanted cleaned.

"Oh, just start on the front hall, that's all most people see. And don't stay too long, you must be sure you're back to your aunt's for dinner, don't forget."

Harry smiled. The way she said 'for dinner' as though it were a thing he were attending instead of preparing and serving made him realize just how well the Dursleys hid his true status within their home. As much as Mrs. Figg saw of him being chased by Dudley around the yard or hanging out the laundry, she had no idea what life was like inside. His unhappiness was obvious, but the reasons and depth of it were not.

He cleaned the hall with quiet efficiency, being quite adept at cleaning after living with the Dursleys for so long. Mrs. Figg brought him tea halfway through, and told him stories about her cats' more entertaining exploits, a few of which were almost actually entertaining.

A few snakes wandered in, and Mrs. Figg shooed them out with a confused expression. "They don't usually do that," she said.

"Don't they?" Harry asked. "I've never seen a snake stopped by a closed door, they go where they wish."

She gave him a curious look, and then after tea she went over to the writing desk herself while Harry finished dusting the hallway. He replaced the burnt out bulbs in the wall sconces, and the overall effect was to transform the entry from a dim and dreary place to one that looked actually welcoming despite the photographs of cats covering nearly every inch of the wallpaper.

He waved farewell, walked to the door with a spring in his step, and only then remembered that he was supposed to have been engaging in hopeless drudgery. In reality, Mrs. Figg's house was the type of cleaning he liked the best. It was just dirty enough that you could see the progress as you cleaned, but not actually filthy or needing deep scrubbing.

And his letter would be away by the next morning. Depending on how far away Hogwarts was, it could be a few days or a week before he could expect a reply. He decided he wouldn't allow himself to be disappointed until it had been a week and a half, on account of the slowness of the post. Uncle Vernon always complained about it.

He got straight to work on dinner, determined to put the matter aside until it brought itself back to attention. In the meantime, he had two days a week to talk with Mrs. Figg about any of his smaller questions, and his time spent cleaning for her passed peacefully with the welcome chatter of someone talking about something she cared about rather than his aunt's constant berating.

He would probably never understand her fondness for cats, stories about Tibbles and Mr. Paws would never find a place in his heart, but the way she got animated when she was really into the story made him smile. Whatever the obsession with cats, her passion for the subject shone through every word.

To his surprise, the very next time he visited her there was already a letter waiting for him from Professor Quirrell. He raised his eyebrows. "That was quick," he said.

"Oh, it's been here two days now, dear. Owl post is much quicker than the muggle sort."

Harry turned the letter over, began breaking the seal. "Owl post?" he asked.

"It's how wizards send mail to one another. Magical owls, trained and tied into the post network. They can get your letters anywhere within a day or two and Hogwarts isn't so far."

Harry thought back to any mention of owls he'd heard from Quirrell or her, and the explanation made everything fit perfectly.

He brought out the page.

Harry,

I have made arrangements for your relatives to be paid as requested. You needn't pay me back, a few sickles is well within my means. I would say you are well on your way to becoming a proper little Slytherin already, arranging matters so deftly with so few resources speaks well to your potential for cunning. I wouldn't worry about preparing for the Sorting, you will be given a chance to voice your opinions on the matter and your choice is taken into consideration. From what I've seen of you, there is no need to fear being placed elsewhere.

Arrangements will be made through the school for your attendance and any necessary purchases. I am not involved in that department, but I know they have policies in place for muggle-raised students and will surely not neglect to contact you, probably quite soon. If you don't hear anything by the last week of July, tell me at once and I'll make inquiries on your behalf.

Hogwarts School is an ancient institution, out in the Scottish highlands. It was founded so many centuries ago that its true origins are lost to myth. I can only assume the name had some meaning to its founders, or was popular at the time, or held some allusions to ancient magical practices. I'm sorry, History of Magic was never my best subject. I could make inquiries of the history professor if you wish.

There is a train from King's Cross in London, the Hogwarts Express, which is likely how you'll get here. It's a beautiful castle, a beautiful location, beautiful grounds. We're in the mountains by a loch, ah, Harry.

You can believe me when I say that Hogwarts will become your truest home, the safest and most welcoming place the wizarding world has to offer. It's not perfect, you'll probably have fights with other students, enemies, rivalries, but that is normal wherever you go. People are still people, and much as I wish it were otherwise even wizards are not perfect.

But here you will never be alone. I will be here for you, your house will come alongside you regardless of where you are sorted. Never again will you be without allies. I promise you, sliizashisa to sliizashisa.

As to your other question, adversity has many faces. I cannot in this letter tell you every enemy you may face or who may watch you with ulterior motive, but I will send word by our friends to give what warning I can.

I look forward to seeing you again. If you can get word to me on when you'll be in town, I can meet you in Diagon Alley when you go shopping. I'll try to find out from McGonagall as well, but as I'm the youngest and newest professor here they may not trust me with so much information about a student. Defence Against the Dark Arts is hardly a post that requires personal visits with new students, after all.

Your friend,

Professor Quirinus Quirrell

Harry read the letter again, reread it again, and then reverently folded it and slipped it back into its envelope. It would join the other in the space under his mattress, slid under that loose floor panel where no one but him would look for it.

He thought about it while he cleaned the back section of Mrs. Figg's hallway, then sat down to write out his reply. It was a brief letter. He asked what the other teachers were like, what sort of classes were taught at Hogwarts, and how many students usually attended, but mostly just an expression of his undying gratitude.

The end of July was not far away, a few weeks. Then there would be another line for Harry to the wizard world, through the official representative of the school and not just the one professor who took it on himself to seek out his fellow Heir.

Harry smiled to himself. If it weren't for the fact that snakes were such impossible rumormongers, he and Quirrell might never have found each other. He tried to imagine a summer without the hope of Hogwarts, without the knowledge of who he truly was and could become.

For once in his life, without resorting to absurdities, he could actually imagine things being worse.

Several days passed. Harry returned to Mrs. Figg's house and picked up Quirrell's reply, a full three pages listing the names and positions of the Hogwarts staff, as well as brief personal summaries about them. The deputy headmistress, also head of Gryffindor house, was strict but fair. The potions master, Snape, was prejudiced toward his own house of Slytherin and hated Gryffindors. The head of Hufflepuff was a genius with plants. The charms professor was the head of Ravenclaw, a bit distractable but a former duelist and very very skilled at magic of most sorts. The History of Magic professor was a ghost.

Harry was surprised to find ghosts to be real, asked for more details on what exactly they were and how they should be treated. Did they have their own culture, any customs he should be aware of?

The classes had such interesting names, he couldn't wait to start actually learning things. He couldn't wait to get a wand. He asked for more detail on some of the more exciting-sounding courses.

He finished his letter, cleaned Mrs. Figg's bathroom, and returned home trying to hide his high spirits.

The very next morning he was fetching the mail for Uncle Vernon when he saw beneath the bills and correspondence a heavy envelope of familiar texture. Pulling it free of the stack, he glanced at it. Mr. H. Potter, cupboard-under-the-stairs, etc in the same brilliant green ink. He couldn't hide his grin, his heart leapt exultantly. He slid the envelope into his cupboard to read later and hurried the rest of the mail to his uncle.

Breakfast seemed to take forever, the dishes seemed greasier than usual, his aunt pickier than usual, and he hadn't even taken off his apron before Dudley demanded his presence outside to help him and his friends with their 'training'.

Harry endured it all with ill grace, snapped at Dudley, made snide remarks about his friends, and ran as fast as he could when they chased him. When they finally gave up and Dudley ordered him angrily back to his cupboard, Harry was eager to comply.

He closed the door, slowly unsealed his precious letter.

Top and center on the cover page was the familiar crest, much larger and more prominent than on the normal letterhead that Quirrell used. Below was the school name, the headmaster's name and accolades. He read them all, wondering about the significance of each, then moved on to the actual letter.

Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you are invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, beginning this year on September 1. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, and instructions for accessing the Hogwarts Express. As you are registered as muggle-raised, a school owl has been sent for your convenience. We await your reply no later than July 31.

Arrangements for a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase your books and equipment can be made upon request if you do not have access to an adult with a wand.

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

Harry leaned back on his bed, sighed happily, and held his Hogwarts letter up to read again. Then he read over the enclosed documents, thought of several questions to ask Quirrell in his next letter, then re-read the cover letter. This would definitely go in his collection.

The letter had no return address, but that didn't mean anything considering the wizards' Owl Post. He didn't have paper or pen to write a reply immediately, that would have to wait until he could visit Mrs. Figg again. He hoped the school owl could wait that long.

His contemplation was interrupted by a small black snake who slithered under the cupboard door, over onto Harry's mattress. "Nagini wishes to speak with you, master," it hissed softly. "She is waiting in the hedge." It nodded its head back toward the side of the house.

"Thank you," Harry hissed back. He considered, then decided he didn't care right now if he was caught out in the yard. Nothing they could do to him today would dim his mood. "I'll go see her now."

He waited for the snake to nod and slither away, then slipped out of his cupboard and around back. He crawled under the hedge, not a good hiding spot when being actively sought for, but enough to keep him hidden from a casual glance over. He looked around.

"Nagini?" he hissed.

"Here, small-master," she said, slithering down from the higher branches. She was even bigger than he'd remembered, long enough to circle him at least three or four times with length to spare. "I am here to speak with you for Quirrell."

The sound she made was the same other snakes used for 'master' when speaking to Harry, but it somehow brought an exact mental image of the professor to Harry's mind and so he mentally translated it as 'Quirrell'.

"What does he want to tell me?" Harry asked.

"He understands that you wish to know about the Watcher, but the knowledge of your adversary is dangerous. I am here to assure you that there is little immediate threat to you. He worried that his vagueness may have led you to assume the worst."

"I suppose I can find that out on my own," Harry said. "If the Watcher is the one in charge of my affairs, he'll be on record somewhere. I'm sure I can ask the school representative."

Nagini hissed softly, in a way Harry took to be displeasure. "It is dangerous for you to know your adversary," she repeated firmly. "Once you know who the Watcher is, you must never allow yourself to be alone with him. He would know ways of seeing into you, knowing your heart, and that could be disastrous for both yourself and Quirrell. I beg you on his behalf, do not follow this line of investigation. So long as you do not know him in connection to us and Quirrell's concern, you will be safe. Hogwarts is safe. You need not be worried."

"Then I'm sure I'll be informed by legal council or something," Harry said glumly.

Nagini hissed quietly, a hesitant sound. "There is something I might be able to do," she said quietly. "It will not be permanent or painful, but will blur your memories of this knowledge enough that the Watcher could not find the link to us. This inner veil will be always between you and us in your memory, you can pass it when needed, but you must never do so while in the Watcher's presence. You will not betray us by thinking about its existence, only by actually passing through it to remember clearly."

"Really?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "Snakes can do magic?"

Nagini hissed in amusement. "No. I am more than just a snake, I am Quirrell's familiar, his confidant and closest friend. He has given me part of his own power, a trust greater than any shown to us in memory. I can do magic, but only in certain instances and a very few spells. He gave this to me particularly, fearing that you may have learned too much."

Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of interfering with his memory, but it sounded harmless enough. "What do I need to do?" he asked.

"I need your permission to enter your mind," Nagini said, slithering closer. "You must look straight into my eyes, and if you feel anything strange within yourself do not fight it. Spells of this nature are easily disrupted, so they cannot be used on the unwilling. I cannot hold the same magical strength as a wizard, so we will only have one try at this before I must rest."

"Alright," Harry said. "How long will it take?"

Nagini swayed in uncertainty. "Minutes."

Harry nodded. "Go ahead."

"Look into my eyes," Nagini hissed. She stretched up, her head even with Harry's face.

He felt a creeping fog in his mind, like a memory that wouldn't quite surface, accompanied by a sharp pain in his forehead. Harry wanted to shake his head, try to clear his thoughts, but he forced his focus to stay steady. Nagini's eyes, beautiful and deep, so much bigger than those of the normal garden snakes.

Memories of his conversation with Quirrell, his conversations with snakes over the past weeks, even of writing his letter, all flashed suddenly vivid in his mind. As though they were being projected clearly on the surface of his thoughts, all at once, all overtop of each other, each distinct and separate.

Then the fog surged forward toward the shining memories, and Harry instinctively tried to hold onto them. Together they were the whole representation of the happiest and best thing that had ever happened to him, and fear suddenly overcame him that he would lose them forever.

Nagini gave a quiet hiss of warning. Harry tried to let it happen, tried not to fight whatever magic she was doing, but the moments it took for the fog to envelope them completely passed with agonizing slowness. It felt like watching his one ray of hope slowly strangled by empty darkness, when he could have easily reached out to prevent it.

"You nearly pushed me out," she said quietly, the fog vanishing along with any discomfort. "I think it worked. Can you feel it?"

He thought back to his meeting with Quirrell in the park. He remembered it as clearly as ever, but now there was a thin wispy mental veil across it, one that he knew instinctively he could drop back in place at a moment's notice.

"You covered more than just any mention of the Watcher," Harry said quietly. "You covered every time I talked with a snake, every time I had anything to do with Quirrell or my heritage as a Slytherin."

"Yes," Nagini agreed. "I placed a template for the veil which will cover any related memories in future. The farther out from this moment the memories are created, the farther they will shift, and the less securely the veil will obscure them. By anchoring the veil specifically with us and with Quirrell in your mind, there is a much better chance that every mention of the Watcher will be held for many years. No one else would use that term, meaning the same thing."

Harry nodded slowly. The explanation made sense, but he couldn't help feeling that he'd been tricked into something. He had no idea what, and for all he knew Nagini was being completely honest with him. And since he could still access the veiled memories at any time, he supposed it didn't matter. He put it out of his thoughts.

"Thank you," he said. "And tell Quirrell I said that, too."

"It will be conveyed," Nagini said, bowing her head. "Thank you for your willingness to protect him. I would be broken if anything happened to him."

He bade her farewell, hurried back to his cupboard, and for once managed it without being caught.