Detentions and Unicorns

"Weasley is such a boor," Pansy complained, as Harry walked her down to their common room. She'd just returned from her detention, which had apparently gone about as well as could be expected. "He spent half the time talking with the giant, and the other half acting the coward."

Then she grinned and spun in a little circle. "But I saw what he didn't! There was a unicorn watching us from the forest! I know it's what I saw, even if neither of them saw it. She was white and glowing. . . almost. So beautiful."

"You actually saw a unicorn?" Harry felt a little envious now. Unicorns were creatures of beauty and purity. If one had been willing to show itself to Pansy, she was incredibly lucky.

"I didn't see her closely. Mostly just a flash of white through the trees. But what else could it have been?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know of any other creatures that would glow white in the night and live in a forest." He paused by the wall. "Ouroboros Eterna."

Pansy preceded him into the common room as the wall opened. Harry followed. "She wasn't really glowing," she said, "but she was so bright she may as well have been."

"Who was glowing?" Reiko asked, overhearing.

"I saw a unicorn in the forest!"

"Really? I didn't know there were unicorns around here." Reiko's voice shifted from skepticism to excitement in a moment. "Do you think we would see one if we went out some night?"

Pansy grinned. "Want to go try and find one?"

"Not tonight," Reiko said, yawning, her tone regretful. "I need to finish this." She held up a page of parchment with only a few lines written on it.

"Another night, of course," Pansy said.

Harry had been hoping to talk to Pansy more that night, but now his chance was gone. Milicent and Mildred jumped up when they saw Pansy and Reiko, and Pansy began recounting the tale again with more embellishments.

It was late, anyway. He'd stayed up to escort her back, and that was done. He let the girls go giggling off to their own dorm, trudging wearily up the steps to his own.

Draco and Shawn, Harry's other roommate aside from Draco and his two friends, sat together on Shawn's bed and were speaking in low tones when Harry entered. When they saw him, they quickly changed the subject and began a slightly too loud discussion of Quidditch.

Harry sighed, pointedly ignored them, and went about preparing for bed as though he hadn't seen or heard anything.

It was with considerable trepidation that Harry approached Professor Snape's office on Saturday for his own detention. His interactions thus far with his head-of-house had been far from inspiring. Professor Snape seemed happiest ignoring Harry's existence completely.

"On time," Professor Snape said as Harry knocked and entered. "That's one point to your favour."

"I try," Harry said, still a little uneasy.

"Oh, relax, I'm not going to bite," Professor Snape snapped. "Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry did so.

"You have been becoming more and more reckless lately, seemingly due to the influence of Miss Parkinson. Your instincts for self-preservation seem to be dying as rapidly as any cunning you may once have possessed. Tell me, Mr. Potter. Do you enjoy knowing that your adversaries are being punished as well as yourself? Does it help relieve your own suffering to know it is being inflicted on others as well?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, somewhat mystified. He didn't see where this conversation could be going.

"No," Professor Snape purred. "And yet, you consistently don't seem to care about your own detentions or other punishments, preferring to rush headlong into any situation without thought? In your first weeks here, it took very little for you to take the discrete course of retreat. Now, you seem never to allow a chance at fighting to pass."

Harry's hand gripped his wand, a now-unconscious gesture.

"I won't let them see me as weak, professor," he said, quietly. "I won't be weak. This is my chance to start over. My one chance at making a better life. I won't let that go. And I won't let them hurt Pansy either. No matter what."

"Determination and stupidity are too often seen together," Professor Snape said wryly. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather transfer to Gryffindor? They celebrate such idiocy on a regular basis."

"No, sir. I'm not ashamed of my house."

"But are you sure your house won't be ashamed of you?" Professor Snape paced closer, looming over Harry. "Not everyone to be sorted into a house truly belongs there. You've thus far done little to prove your value to House Slytherin. Is this all you have to offer?"

"I will become powerful," Harry said. It grew increasingly hard not to look away or let his voice shake, as Professor Snape clearly showed his displeasure. "I'll be strong enough to protect myself, my friends, and destroy my enemies. I'll learn how to strike, and when. You don't have to worry about me."

"Oh, trust me, Mr. Potter. I do not worry. But as your head of house, I feel it my duty to offer you some advice and perspective. You ought to take it to heart. There are few things Slytherin house truly cannot abide, but if you continue as you have been you may be able to discover them all."

"I don't want to be weak or cowardly, sir."

Professor Snape regarded him coldly. "Then you should take more care to what you are doing and less to reacting against the slightest provocation. You do not see Mr. Malfoy beginning quarrels with every Gryffindor fool he comes across, do you? You do not see Miss Greengrass fighting with Ravenclaws in the halls. You and Miss Parkinson are a bad influence on each other. I highly suggest that you consider expanding your circle of acquaintances to include more than one rather uncouth halfblood."

"I'm halfblood," Harry said quietly. "She's one of the only ones willing to give me a chance."

"And that excuses your behavior toward the other houses? We have a reputation to uphold, a House Cup to maintain control over, and a point to prove. Mr. Potter, your behavior reflects poorly on all of Slytherin. If you do not yet have enemies within it, continue on as you have been and you surely will find yourself obtaining some."

"I don't want to make enemies! I'm just defending our house's honour."

"A Gryffindor's excuse if ever I heard one. Fighting, in public, in front of witnesses, is not the correct answer." Professor Snape seemed to grow more irritated by the moment. "You are an absolute fool if you believe that such demonstrations will improve anything, either within the house or outside it. Do none of you children stop to consider the longer term consequences of your actions? The feuds that you begin now will haunt you for the rest of your lives. The allies and enemies of your entire future are built upon these years."

"I won't just stand by and let them be mean to Pansy," Harry insisted, though he nearly quailed under the glower Professor Snape leveled at him. "You can't convince me to abandon her, sir," he added, his voice faint.

"I do not wish you to abandon anyone, Mr. Potter. Merely to give some thought to your choices, and to be more cautious in your acquaintances."

"I'm nothing but cautious," Harry muttered, beginning to hate himself again.

"Speak up," Professor Snape snapped.

"If I didn't stand up for Pansy, I wouldn't do anything." Harry snapped. "I'm trying as hard as I can to be more active, to not just cower and hide from confrontation." His voice wavered unsteadily. "I can't stop, sir. It would mean giving up."

"Your future hinges on your decisions now, Mr. Potter!"

"Which is why it's important that I stay strong to my convictions." Harry felt himself trembling. He wanted to sound defiant and confident. But he could feel tears threatening, aching in the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes.

"Your convictions are exactly what your enemies will seek to exploit. If you do not change your behavior, there will be serious consequences. And I don't mean scrubbing the sixth floor invisible stairway, which is what you will spend the next three hours doing. This is not advice I offer lightly, Mr. Potter. I care a great deal for our house, and will not allow you to destroy it."

Harry couldn't speak. He knew if he opened his mouth he'd start crying, and that would be worse than pathetic. So he stared at the floor, trying to keep himself under control. It wasn't fair! Professor Snape was supposed to be on his side. Why was he trying to make Harry give up, right when he'd just started to stand up for himself?

Or, worse, was he right? Was giving up something Harry should consider? Maybe he was going about this all wrong?

No. Professor Snape just didn't understand.

"The bucket and scrubbing brushes are in the corner there. It's seven drops of solvent potion to a gallon of water. Get going."

Harry collected the bucket and brushes and fled.

Pansy found him an hour later. He'd finished crying, finished mentally raging, and now scrubbed with a dogged anger that simmered with all the memories of being forced into submission by the Dursleys.

He would not allow that to happen again. Not now that he had magic to protect himself with. Never again. He would show everyone, and he would show Professor Snape, and he would show the Gryffindors, and he'd show the Ravenclaws, and he'd show the Hufflepuffs and he would absolutely show the Slytherins.

Precisely what he'd be showing them all, apart from his own strength and surety, wasn't important. He would be strong.

"Does anyone even use these stairs?" Pansy asked.

Harry shook his head. They were dusty, but not muddy or dirty. The dust was a greasy, sticking sort though, the kind that carried broken-down magic and who knew what all else. It didn't react well to attempts to Scourgify it. It didn't come off at all without serious effort. And the thin film of slimy dust wasn't enough to make the transparent spiral stairway safe to traverse. Even if it was slightly visible, it was slippery.

Harry himself had almost slipped and fallen twice so far, and he was crawling on his hands and knees as he scrubbed at a stubborn patch of grime.

"Sometimes I hate this castle," he muttered.

"Yeah."

"It sometimes feels like everything and everyone is against me."

Pansy made a sympathetic noise. "I know how you mean."

Harry scrubbed violently at the steps, trying to submerge his rising anger.

"It's okay, Harry. You have me, at least."

Harry continued scrubbing. He couldn't think of anything to say that would sound right.

"And I'm glad that I have you," Pansy added, more quietly.

"Yeah."

Pansy sat silently for a few moments. Then, before the quiet could grow awkward, she grabbed the smaller corner brush and joined in.

Together they scrubbed the invisible stairs until only the faintest shimmer of light against the glasslike railing could be seen, the steps themselves completely indistinguishable from the background surroundings.

The following morning, Harry had never been so eager to talk to Professor Quirrell.

He came very close to breaking down (again!) as he explained how much Professor Snape had wanted him to stand down and stop standing up for himself and Pansy, but he held his emotions inside and made it through the explanation.

"I disagree," Professor Quirrell said, after a moment's consideration. "Severus is trying to manage an entire house of chaos and scheming. Of course he wants to keep things to as even a state as possible. But he does not know you, Harry. Not like I do. I've seen how hard you try to prove yourself, and you're right to do so. You have a long, long way to go yet. You mustn't allow anyone to hold you back."

Harry breathed out, long and slow. Professor Quirrell was the one person he trusted to be honest and give him good advice. The one person he could believe. And if he said that Harry should keep doing what he was doing, it didn't matter what his head-of-house said. Harry would listen to Professor Quirrell over Professor Snape any day.

"So, what spells are we going to practice today?" Harry asked, eager now. All his worry and fear and anger from the previous day seemed pointless now, faint and distant. Unimportant.

"The same set as before. They are good, general, and basic enough to form a strong foundation for future spellwork."

Professor Quirrell spent the next half hour correcting Harry's wand movements for the water-conjuring spell, without success. He did praise Harry's marginally improved control over the Lumos and Lumonitio spells.

Then they went, more quickly as their time drew to a close, through the remaining spells in the set. Summoning and banishing, shielding and stunning. None of which Harry could actually cast yet. But they ran through the motions, Professor Quirrell correcting every minute slip of his hand. The motions were important, as he knew all too well from Charms class.

In the end, Professor Quirrell dismissed Harry and returned to preparing for his next classes, and Harry returned to the Slytherin dorms with his spirits revived, if not fully restored.

But the good mood didn't last long.

Somehow, news of Pansy's alleged unicorn sighting had spread to the upper year girls as well as the first-years. A great many of them were giggling and laying plans to sneak into the forest and find it. Just the girls, as boys would ruin everything.

He felt a bit offended, since he'd been the first person Pansy told about what she saw. He shouldn't be pushed out of the way like that just because he wasn't a girl! That wasn't fair.

When Pansy and Millicent emerged, giggling like the rest, he began to lose hope entirely.

This stupid unicorn idea might as well have stolen her away.

Pansy waved, and Harry waved back. But she didn't come over to him. And he didn't go over to her either.

Instead, he trudged up to his own dorm. Draco was awake and muttering with Shawn again, and he gave a narrow-eyed glance to Harry as he entered.

"What are you whispering about up here?" Harry asked, in no mood to be left out of another thing.

"Someone is interfering with our spells," Shawn said, seeming not to notice Draco glower in his direction.

"Really?" Harry asked. "How would that work?"

Shawn shrugged. "No idea yet, though we've ruled out disillusioned saboteurs and anyone under Imperio."

"Shut up," Draco muttered

Shawn jumped. He looked embarrassed, and shut up.

"What is it you expect me to do, Draco?" Harry demanded. "Is this some grand secret? Should I be blackmailing you now?"

"No, of course not. And my father would never let you get away with it if you tried."

"So why the secrecy? Just trying to feel like 'real Slytherins' with secrets and conspiracies?" Harry knew he should stop, but he was angry and it felt so good to have someone to take it out on. "Well, here's a thought. Maybe your spells aren't working because you're spending your time whispering in the bedroom instead of practicing!"

"And yours are working better, I assume?" Draco said sneeringly. "Now that your wand is actually performing some low degree of magic, instead of simply dripping light all over the common room, you think you're in a position to judge the rest of us mere mortals?"

"That happened once," Harry said. "And I'm not judging you, I'm offering helpful advice. But I see I shouldn't have bothered."

Harry wanted to storm out to his room. But he was already in his room, and Pansy and her giggling unicorn club were downstairs. So he did the next best thing. He stalked over to his bed, drew the drapes, and sat down with his back to the whispering duo.

He wondered if there were any actual conspiracies or adventures here, or if it was just things like Pansy's unicorn. A flash of white, and suddenly you saw a whole herd of unicorns and your entire house is going to go find them with you. As long as they're girls.

Hogwarts felt suddenly flat and shallow. Who cared if it was a unicorn or a. . . or a piece of torn fabric? Who'd want to go into the stupid forest anyway? What did it matter if Draco and his little gang were failing at simple spells? Did it have to be some imagined nemesis?

Harry wished he could go back to Professor Quirrell's office and practice incendio for about three hours. Right then, he felt he might have been able to make it work.

But he wasn't the only one who wanted private training, and Professor Quirrell had papers to grade and lessons to plan on top of that. Harry didn't want to interrupt him. Didn't want to bother him, or upset him, or do anything that might make him send Harry away. On top of everything else right now, he couldn't bear to do anything to alienate his one true ally.

Harry shivered at the thought. Professor Quirrell had been directly involved in every single event that had made his life worth living. He couldn't imagine a life without him. It go back to being bleak, empty, and hopeless.

He lay down. Staring up between his curtains at the window above usually helped relax him. The quiet lake, any movement muted by depth; the deep greenish light that filtered down. It was beautiful. Fluid and powerful, steady and self-assured.

Why couldn't Harry be more like the lake? Why did it feel like he got splashed around every time?

He was a puddle, tiny and vulnerable and so easily scattered. It made him angry. At the world, at Hogwarts, and at himself.

He lay there until he heard Draco leave. Shawn wasn't one of the Malfoy groupies, but he didn't stay long after Draco left. Just long enough to make it clear he was leaving because he wanted to, and not because he was following Draco.

Harry sighed. He stared at the lake a bit longer in silence. Though that helped to mute his irritation, it did nothing for his increased apathy and self-loathing.

He wondered morosely if this was how the rest of the school year would be. Everyone was tired of him by now, not special any more, just Harry. Who needs Harry when you can make up conspiracies and unicorns?

He rolled over and got out his transfiguration homework, but couldn't concentrate. There was no point in trying anything complicated when he felt so out of sorts. He shoved it back into his bag and grabbed the Charms assignment instead. At least that was something he could do mindlessly. Practice wand movement.

Harry drew out his wand and felt slightly better as he began running through the wrist drills. The hesitant thrum of power his wand contained was something tangible, real, solid and his.

He would never be ordinary again, even if he felt less extraordinary than everyone around him.

He had to remember that. It wasn't about anyone else here. Hogwarts was his home. It was where he belonged. He couldn't let other people being mean change that for him. Not Professor Snape, and not Pansy's giggling friends, and not Draco Malfoy.

Professor Quirrell had warned him against practicing the higher power spells he was teaching until Harry had cast them at least once successfully. If Harry did it wrong without someone there to correct him, he might engrain bad habits which would be harder to get rid of.

Right then, Harry didn't care.

He twisted his hand through the complex movement Professor Quirrell kept showing him, jabbed his wand at the window above him, and called, "Incendio!"

A brief spurt of flame ignited, flared out, and caught the drapes surrounding Harry's bed on fire.

"No no no!" Harry jumped up and tried to extinguish the magical flames. He had no time to appreciate the fact that he'd just made it work. His bed was on fire!

He remembered the basics about smothering flames, so he tore the drape down with a great ripping sound that bent the support bar in the process, rolled it up into a ball and shoved it under the rug. The smoke leaked weakly from beneath it, then faded away on the air.

He couldn't think what to do next, adrenaline still making him tense and anxious. He watched the rug with consternation for a few minutes, but no fire or more smoke appeared. He pulled the drape out and, trying to hide the scorched patch along the side, stood on his bed to try and rehang it.

The drape had torn where it connected to the rings. Harry scowled at it. It would be impossible to reattach.

Disgusted and furious with himself, Harry threw the drape in a pile on the floor. He couldn't worry about it right now. He had to work on his homework.

He hadn't seen anything about the repairing spell yet, though he had heard it mentioned regularly. He decided that, once he'd finished his current projects, that should be one of the next things he'd find. Research.

Pansy and her friends were still in the common room when he came down. He ignored them, though Mildred called his name, and went out into the dungeon proper. After wandering the dark and slightly damp halls and climbing down three flights of steps, Harry finally located a snake to carry his message.

"I accidentally cast Incendio this morning," Harry instructed the snake to convey to Professor Quirrell. He didn't want to interrupt him, true, but this was a momentous occasion.

He'd been working on the spell for a month without success, so the fact that he'd done it now was reason to celebrate.

But standing alone in the darkness, knowing Pansy was off planning trips into the Forest without him, he didn't feel much like celebrating. He sat down on the damp step, finding no will to move. Now that the momentary rush from his success had faded, the accomplishment felt utterly empty. So now he could make fire. How would that help?

It felt disconnected from reality; Harry felt disconnected from reality. Like he had two lives, twisted around each other. One where he was learning spells and could become powerful and strong, and another where he was living the same terrible, unbearable, daily routine as ever. Where anything he ever thought he had was snatched away as soon as he began to trust it would remain his. And every time it grew a little harder to believe in the next. Whether it was Dudley or just simple fate, Harry kept losing everything.

He should go to breakfast, but he couldn't bear the thought of facing the deluge of girls that would be excited and giggling and chattering. He had gotten more used to there being people everywhere, but it wasn't exactly comfortable for him. And right now he couldn't bring himself to care. So he'd miss breakfast, so what? He'd missed breakfast more times than he could remember, the whole time he was growing up as punishment for various infractions.

He was good at being alone. He didn't need anyone.

Maybe if he repeated it enough times he wouldn't feel so lonely.