Chapter Thirteen: In Which Everyone — Harry, The Readers, And The Author, Too — Suffers Through The Most Drawn Out Breakfast In Fiction History, But Literally Half Of It Is Just Taking Place In Harry's Head, Send Help
Jumping on the practicals of their coursework was one of the best ideas Harry had ever had. Case in point: with a few waves of their wand, they already had the means to protect their belongings and sleeping space from anything Parkinson might have wanted to do in revenge for the public humiliation Harry had delivered that night. Neither Parkinson, Bulstrode, nor Greengrass could cast any spells yet, while Harry could already perform all the spells they considered useful that they'd all be studying for the first term. It was a great relief to Harry; they would have needed significantly more time to prepare a protective circle otherwise.
That didn't stop them from sketching a sigil for that purpose for later, though. After securing themselves within the four posters of their bed, they pulled out pen and paper and began organising their thoughts on how they'd face their situation. The very first thing they addressed was designing a talisman to prevent injury to their person. Until Harry became proficient in wanded defensive magic and countercurses — which they didn't anticipate happening any time soon enough — they could only rely on the witchery they already knew. (Well . . . the witchery they once knew but now has different potential effects due to the laws ruling the nature of this reality.)
It was times like these that Harry truly rued that their grimoire hadn't transmigrated with them. They had so carefully documented spells and information within it for the very reason that they weren't great at remembering the little details of rituals. As it was now, Harry really only remembered how to do A) little spells even a small child would be fine using against another child and B) the majorly morally-corrupt stuff they'd researched purely from an academic standpoint. What Harry could remember the steps of to do was either the magical equivalent of 'rubber, glue, back to you,' or involved gross desecration of a human corpse.
And so the second objective on the list, under the sigil design, was 'Hit up the library pronto, holy shit, I only know how to pull pigtails or violate the Geneva Conventions.' This was followed by speculation on how the teachers would react to Harry, how Harry might get around implicit bias, and how they might begin re-conditioning their purist-raised House-mates. The last of what Harry wrote before they called it a night was 'frame blood-descrimination as old-fashioned, thus uncool? Oh, your parents say bloodlines matters? Your parents also listen to Celestina Warbeck and dress like it's 1815.'
Waking up the next morning under a canopy of green to the soft music of the charmed timepiece they'd bought, Harry couldn't help but kick their legs and wiggle in contentment. They'd had peaceful dreams that night — a complete reversal of the distorted omens canon!Harry suffered through. It was rather unexpected considering they'd stayed awake for what felt like hours, stewing in their meandering thoughts until they stewed themselves into breathless anxiety over too many things to articulate even within their own mind. The upbeat state of mind they woke up with was a surprise, but a welcomed surprise.
Harry was the first in the dorm to wake up; this was understandable since breakfast wasn't served until seven o'clock, and it was currently five-thirty in the morning. Harry had set their alarm so early on this occasion for the very goal of being the first one up and about. Quietly, they took the clothes they'd laid out the night before and went to wash up.
Harry was clean, dressed, and had time to play around with their hair for a good while before any of the girls started to rouse. When Harry finally decided on long auburn tresses (for reasons) and double buns, a sleepy-eyed Lily Moon — a character that'd been essentially a forgotten footnote — entered the shower hall. After a moment, she was followed by a yawning Tracey Davis. They said their good-mornings to Harry in mumbles.
Harry finished up by pinning their fringe with a few butterfly hair-clips in assorted colours (it was currently the 90s after all). They then ambled back out, checking the time with their timepiece. They instinctively glanced around for a window when they saw it was seven-ten, but there were none to be found, of course — they were underground after all.
Harry pondered for a moment if they should do as their heart desired and head up to the Great Hall on their own or do as their brain reasoned and stick around so they could go with their dorm-mates. On one hand, Harry didn't actually enjoy trying to make new friends. On the other, the stability of Harry's school life and their plans depended on them being well-liked. So. . . .
The choice was made easier for Harry when Sophie Roper got up and began to get ready as well.
"Oh, hey," said Harry, smiling at the girl and tucking away their timepiece. "I'm about to head up to breakfast. Do you remember the way back up? If not, I can wait for you."
Sophie looked so touched and flustered, Harry wondered what it was about her that got her assigned to Slytherin. Lofty aspirations? Amazing people skills? A cut-throat sense of self-preservation lurking beneath the surface? Was she a fair-weather friend? A follower that stuck with whoever had the highest social clout?
(Or maybe it was just that she was a Gemini. Was she a Gemini? Harry vaguely remembered reading something about Slytherin being associated with the water element and water signs and all that. And they themselves as [REDACTED] had been a Scorpio with nearly half of their natal chart filled with water signs — was there some merit to this line of thought? Maybe they should run a survey on people's horoscopes in relation to their school Houses? Hmm. . . .)
Harry's eyes followed the girl for a moment before flicking away again. They dropped down on their bed and pulled out from their bag a small bottle of nail polish — something to amuse themselves with as they waited. Perhaps they could use their collection of cosmetic tools to instigate a bonding exercise? They'd certainly won over girls to their side before by doing so, hmm. . . .
Harry's nails were painted pale grey and had a thin layer of rainbow sparkles on top by the time those they were willing to wait for were finally ready to go.
The most polite thing to do would be to linger a little longer so that the three stragglers — Parkinson and her toadies — could join the rest of the group as well. However, it was seven-forty already, Harry's anxiety about punctuality was making them antsy, and it wasn't like any of them actually wanted to be put in a situation where Harry and Parkinson had to interact again sooner rather than later. And so Harry and the three who considered Harry the more beneficial person to be associated with swept out of the dorm with nary a glance back, talking amongst themselves.
The common room was in a similar state of semi-bustling as the night before, but this time less nonchalant. Small groupings of older students were scattered here and there on the available seating, but there was also a steady out-pour going through the doors. The scene was rather lively, even with the glances that kept being thrown Harry's way as soon as they entered.
Harry and their entourage slowed near the couches by the fireplace as Harry scanned the room.
"Doesn't look like we have an assigned guide, so it's a good thing I remember the way," said Harry, tapping their fingernails on the back of their eruditionary.
"Should we wait for the boys?" wondered Tracey, also looking around. Judging by the way she was holding herself, she'd elected herself as second-in-command of their tentative clique — ambitious of her considered they were still feeling each other out. Fortunately for her, the other two girls appeared happy to be led around. (which made sense since they'd apparently been sheep-like enough to follow after Parkinson in canon whether they were actually blood-purists or not.)
"Are we sure they haven't gone already?" asked Harry.
"It's still pretty early," Lily pointed out tentatively. She toyed with the end of one of her blonde braids. "My brother mentioned that classes start at nine-thirty." (Oh, a brother for the quinary character. The world was being expanded again.) "They could still be sleeping."
"On the first day? When we still need to receive our schedules? Not to mention needing to learn the layout of the school. We'll need as much time as we can get to make sure we don't end up late," Harry pointed out
The three girls considered for a moment before unilaterally deciding that they should just mind their own business. Harry shrugged at this conclusion and led them out the common room.
It appeared that the subtype of Slytherin Harry had pulled was the 'stand-by-and-watch-unless-it-directly-affects-me' kind. Annoying in excess, but easy enough to coax; as long as Harry was consistent in demonstrating that aligning with Harry was the most advantageous to them, they wouldn't cause Harry any problems. It wasn't rare for such a sort to be fair-weather friends, but it wasn't like Harry was going to expect undying loyalty from some kids anyway. For now, it was more than enough that the girls were willing to cooperate.
The corridors of the dungeon were not as gloomy in the day-time despite the lighting being nearly the same. The lines of statues also seemed more friendly somehow. The echo of the girls chatting as they walked bounced off the walls in a way that felt cheery rather than eerie. Still, ascending through the levels and up the staircase to the ground floor was like stepping over a threshold between twilight and midday.
The Entrance Hall was lively despite how its size made the number of those passing through seem miniscule. Students came down from the Grand Staircase, up from the stairs that led down to the basement, out the front doors into the Viaduct Courtyard, and — of course — through the double doors into the Great Hall. Harry and the girls joined the trickle going into the Great Hall.
Despite the still relatively early hour, it appeared a good number of students had the same idea as Harry about ensuring they'd have time to spare. Though, judging the excited chatter that bubbled up as Harry entered, their motives weren't as academically-centred as Harry's.
The atmosphere was rather like the popularity Harry faced at their primary school, but mixed with the awe of their audience when they used magic while busking. Harry didn't really have a basis of expectation on what being a celebrity was like, but they reckoned this must be what being Taylor Swift was like.
. . . . Or maybe Billie Eilish? Was a musical artist actually an apt comparison? Maybe Harry was like . . . Emma Watson? Wait, wait, Harry was actually totally like Daniel Radcliffe. Daniel Radcliffe crossed with, like . . . crossed with Robin Hood! Or King Arthur? Or was Merlin from BBC Merlin more comparable? Hang on a mo', now that they were thinking about it—
Oh, gods.
Harry was like pre-Cruxifiction Jesus. They were like kid JC within an AU where people already knew He was the son of capital G-O-D. Harry Potter was like Jesus mixed with Greta Thunberg —!
"Harry? Hello~? You alright? You've been staring at those blueberries really intensely."
"Hm, what?" Harry looked up to see that they were seated with a generous spread of food in front of them. They'd sat down at some point without realizing it — at the end of the Slytherin table nearest to the teacher's table, in the corner beside the wall. Further down the table were those that were covertly not looking at Harry, in stark contrast to the other tables that were standing in their seats and/or craning their necks to get a better look at them.
It was Tracey that had asked the question. She looked at Harry with some concern, fork poised over a short stack of waffles. Sophie and Lily looked like they'd been thinking of saying something as well.
Harry smiled and batted the air with their hand before grabbing the aforementioned blueberries.
"Oh, yes, don't mind me. Just distracted myself for a moment with a premature power-trip. Delusions of grandeur and all that. Pass the yoghurt, if you please — I'm going to make a parfait. Ooh, and the strawberries as well!" If anyone had anything to say to that, Harry headed off by speaking quickly and diverting the attention. "Is there granola? Or maybe dry muesli? Oh! The raw oatmeal will work, too!"
The girls were successfully distracted; it would be hard not to be distracted when Harry projectile-vomited on them with information on literally everything Harry knew about the potential composition and nutritional benefits of parfaits. Don't underestimate their ability to info-dump about the most useless matters at the drop of a hat. Harry spoke amusingly enough that the girls didn't seem to mind the trite subject matter either; Sophie, that sweet girl, appeared genuinely enthralled.
Harry was scraping up the last of their yoghurt-coated berries when they saw Kenneth enter with the two Harry had met on the train. They saw him scan the Hall, specifically the Slytherin table, but he didn't appear to see them.
"Ah! Some of my other friends are here!" said Harry, swinging their legs over the bench. "I'll be right back— Oh! You lot wanna come meet them? Ken especially will be great to know. He's really studious, so he'd help with assignments."
No further coaxing was needed. They hesitated for a moment seeing that Harry was pointing at the Gryffindor table, but they still gathered up their school bags and followed Harry over to the middle of the Gryffindor table amidst the chatter, staring, and pointing.
Ken spotted them coming.
"Harry!" he cried, in the middle of sitting down. He looked like he wasn't sure what he was feeling, but was still happy to see them. He got up again and said, "You got led out before I could say anything last night. You slept alright?"
Harry beamed at him and glomped onto him affectionately, weighing him down to drop into his seat. After being surrounded by people they weren't familiar with in a place where they knew had the most potential to be hostile to them, a familiar presence was so damned soothing. Harry wanted to crawl into Kenneth's lap and have him carry them around like a chihuahua.
"Yeah, it was fine," Harry answered, resting their cheek on Kenneth's shoulder. "The dorm's really nice. We have this really wicked view of the Black Lake."
"Only praises, then, Potter?" teased Cal, sitting across the table. "What of your dreams of Ravenclaw?"
"Oh, go on and rub it in, then!" Harry sighed, scowling at the boy, hanging off Kenneth. "You know my heart broke when I didn't get assigned to Ravenclaw! Ruptured! Shattered! Decimated and disintegrated! A-a-a-a-ah! My fragile maiden heart will never love again! I can only deliver myself unto a remote convent in the countryside and devote myself to religion, never more to mix with secular society and its disappointing nature!"
"Okay, Drama Queen," laughed David from Kenneth's other side.
"I was this close, I swear," Harry carried on. "The Hat was, like, just about to go with Ravenclaw — I know it! I could feel it! And so I went and started coaxing it — y'know, just letting him know he'd been taking a while to decide, and that I didn't want to waste any more of his time in considering when there was an obvious designation right there. But then he went and said something to the effect of, 'Oh, you're a clever one! Very clever with your words!' or whatever, and then he went and shouted Slytherin! Called me clever and then didn't put me in Ravenclaw!"
Ken and his friends laughed as Harry pouted.
"In what world does that make sense? Like, okay, Slytherin has a lot a smart people, too, sure — but in what way was sound-reasoning used in persuasion not a good show of fitting in Ravenclaw? Like, what? I'm good at talking up my point of view, so that's an automatic chuck into Slytherin? Was I supposed to, like, recite Transfiguration formulas at him instead? I know formulas; I could have done that! I totally could have! T equals c over v times p over m times the Influence of Saturn! But he didn't even give me a chance to re-negotiate!
"Oh . . . I don't know if I'll ever recover from such a bitter blow. . . ." Harry sighed with deliberate drama. "I mean, okay, the common room is lovely, and I do like the colour-scheme, but the books! The books, Kenneth! I had my heart set on seeing those books! But what do I get instead of that much-pined-after private library? Well, I don't think I'm supposed to say. But there are chess boards and skulls involved — and, okay, I can also appreciate such an aesthetic — very Moriarty — but I can't read that, now can I?"
This display of chattiness and open 'candour,' while true in its contents, was done very purposefully. It was evidenced by the books that the students (and even the teachers in some degree) were easily swayed by rumours against Harry. Harry believed this was due in part because canon!Harry wasn't outgoing, didn't often talk to others beyond his close friends, and his wariness of others came off as standoffishness. The long and short of it was that he was intimidating and reclusive, so others were easily convinced that he was secretive and suspicious; in other words, they fell into the logical fallacy of 'if you've done nothing wrong, you've no reason to hide.' And so Harry was pre-emptively nipping out this stumbling block before it could even bud by establishing themselves as someone who was free-spoken and frank.
This display also granted Harry the benefit of dictating their own narrative of what it was about them that made the Sorting Hat decide to put them in Slytherin. Being a compelling talker was certainly a trait that was lumped in with Slytherin-ishness, but it wasn't one of the traits that had negative connotations within nor out of context; it was also a trait people would expect from a 'hero' like they'd come to expect Harry to be. Also, it subtly implied that Harry was Sorted away from the House that everyone who already knew Harry had full expectation for Harry to go into purely for a single trait that just happened to be really strong. Such a thing was impressive and simultaneously disarming — and a solid reputation boost by itself.
Of course, it was unlikely anyone would think of these impressions Harry was sprinkling on their audience in the clear-cut way Harry had outlined in their bulleted list of goals and plans. That was fine, though — it would be most effective remaining subliminal. They'd even made it a point to soften their features to make their face more endearing just so they could sell it as subtly but effectively as possible.
Was Harry calculating? They didn't really know. If they were to be compared with others of their physical age, likely so. But what Harry did know was that it would do them no good to be thought of as calculating at this point in time. And so Harry capitalised on their blabber-y, expound-y way of conversing to cultivate a reputation of unblushing honesty and artless sincerity.
To be fair, Harry liked to think that they really were the person they were trying to convince everyone that they were — a misplaced Ravenclaw with an upfront and uncomplicated nature. It wasn't like Harry was a fan of lying or leading people around for their own purposes! It just so happened that making sure everyone else knew Harry in this way was to Harry's best advantage.
(Listen, it wasn't like they were enjoying thinking in this way, but it was essentially unavoidable, all things considered. [REDACTED] hadn't exactly gone through anything traditionally traumatic, but they did go through, like, two years of having literally nothing to read but 'How to Win Friends and Influence People', 'How I Raised Myself From Failure to Success in Selling', and 'Speak Like Churchill, Stand Like Lincoln', and they figured that spoke for itself.)
"Oh! Speaking of skulls!" said Harry. They opened their school bag and pulled out the skull they'd appropriated last night. They presented it to the three boys with pride. "Behold! Our head prefect let me have it! Isn't it lovely?! I named it Yorick! As in 'Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand tunes. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning?' Hamlet, Act V, Scene I."
As Harry quoted the lines, they cuddled the skull, mooning over it.
"You lot actually have skulls in your dorms?!" gaped David. "What the f—?!"
"You have skulls enough that a prefect can just give you one, no problem?" asked Ken, utterly lost.
"What's wrong with skulls?" Harry protested. "They're perfectly good decoration! Very Gothic Academia! Very fitting for Slytherin's aesthetic values, don't you think? And isn't it just de rigueur? It'd be a let-down if Slytherin's common room didn't have skulls!"
"Alright, sure. Why did the prefect . . . ?" asked Ken.
"I asked for it, of course!" said Harry, intoning that this was a very obvious matter. "Isn't Yorick just the nicest skull? The shapeliest and most well-formed I've ever seen! Look at this curvature of the parietal and the occipital! Look at this sagittal suture! And here, here! Have you ever seen a more charming supraorbital foramen in your life? I can't wait to slice through the cranial cavity! Oh, I am in love! Utterly in love! We shall marry in the spring! Please bring a date! The theme will be Art Nouveau, the colours: periwinkle and plum. You'll be my Maid of Honour, of course, Kenneth. Lily, and Tracey, and Sophie will be my bride's-maids.
"Ah! Right!" Harry straightened and flapped a hand. "Here I am blathering on when I meant to introduce you guys! These here are my new friends!" — Here they gestured to the three Slytherin girls who been standing by so patiently — "This is Tracey Davis — hands down the nicest hair in our year, no doubt the future winner of any beauty pageants we might hold. This is Lily Moon — the cool, the sophisticated, the one I wouldn't be surprised if she grows up to be famous with, like, a string of neglected suitors. And this is Sophie! Sophie Roper — cutie-patootie and sweet enough to give me cavities; I want to forever cradle her in my arms and feed her banana pudding."
The girls looked equally flattered and embarrassed by such introductions.
"Hi," said David blandly after a beat. "Nice to meet you. You'll forgive us for not actually catching any of you names. Personally, I'm still lagging like three topics behind, still trying to wrap my head around Slytherin being filled with skulls."
"Harry, I knew you could talk fast, but you really floored it this time," said Kenneth, smiling helplessly. "I think you gave Cal whiplash."
Indeed poor, simple Callahan McLaggen looked like his head was spinning, like he was being lectured by four professors on four topics all at the same time.
Harry snickered and bounced on their toes. It couldn't be helped that they were filled with energy — they were under the eyes of an audience that didn't actually care about them as a person, everyone eager for an interesting show. Having Ken in front of them helped, but there were still people looking at Harry, still people in the midst of deciding if being associated with Harry would be worthwhile. Harry was a high-strung, anxious mess, so the only thing they could do was what they had always done in such a situation — they blocked out all other emotions but the one they absolutely needed to feel and poured their focus into that specific feeling. Presently, this converted their nervous energy into cheerful energy.
This wasn't a trick Harry in their current incarnation nor their past incarnation would advise anyone to use if one actually wanted to improve one's mental state, but it had to be said that such a practice really did deliver results. It took some psychological gymnastics, but the result was that one would keenly feel exactly what it was that one wanted to feel.
Side effects include a following period of emotional instability, general trust issues, feelings of isolation from one's kith and kin, distrust of any future feelings one will have, and total meltdown if/when self-control breaks. Recommended only if absolutely necessary. Please see a specialist and ask if such self-inflicted emotional trauma is right for you. And then sue them for malpractice if they say yes.
Anyway.
With the ice thawed, and the girls' sense of propriety fulfilled (ei. the introductions) the girls felt comfortable enough to join Harry in talking with Ken and his friends. There was a surprising amount of intersect when it came to interests and hobbies; Harry suspected this had something to do with all of them being wizard-raised. As more students entered the Great Hall, the Gryffindor table gradually filled as well, but Harry was proud to say none of their girls seemed to be intimidated into thinking about returning to the Slytherin table.
Harry's agenda of forcefully integrating the two groups (that they would go on record to say they were doing a great job at!) came to a pause when they saw prefects beginning to hand out schedules. The four first-years returned to their House table to receive their own.
Harry took their schedule from a fifth-year prefect.
First period was from 9:30 AM to 10:30 AM; second period was 10:45 AM to 11:45 AM; then there was a break for lunch; third period was from 12:45 PM to 1:45 PM; and fourth period was from 2 PM to 3 PM.
On Monday, first year Slytherin had Herbology with Ravenclaw in Greenhouse 1, Charms with Ravenclaw in Classroom 2E, History of Magic with Hufflepuff in Classroom 4F, and Transfiguration with Hufflepuff in Classroom 1B.
On Tuesday, Slytherin had Potions with Gryffindor in Dungeon 3, Defence Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor in Classroom 3C, Transfiguration with Hufflepuff again, Charms with Ravenclaw again, and Astronomy with Hufflepuff in the Astronomy Tower at midnight.
On Wednesday, there was Defence Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor again, Herbology again, and double History of Magic.
On Thursday, there was Defence Against the Dark Arts again, Transfiguration again, Charms again, Flying with Gryffindor at the Training Grounds, and then Astronomy again.
On Friday, it was double Potions, and then Defence Against the Dark Arts, followed by Herbology.
Harry had somewhat got used to the English way of doing school scheduling after going through primary school again, but it had to be said that class scheduling wasn't that different when it was primary school. However, seeing a maximum of five subjects in a single day when this was the equivalent of middle school was seriously throwing them off. The norm for the school district [REDACTED] had attended had seven subjects every day by default, and their high school accommodated up to nine a day for students like them in the AP and/or magnet programs, not counting extracurriculars. [REDACTED] used to get to school at 7:30 AM, started their zero hour at eight, finished their eighth period after four, and on days with extracurricular events, they wouldn't start walking home until 7 PM.
But here they had four to five classes a day with fifteen minutes in between, an hour of break, and then classes finished at three o'clock save for two midnight classes. And the school didn't offer electives until third year. Harry didn't know what to do with so much free time.
The obvious answer was 'study.' However, Harry vaguely remember reading somewhere that the coursework and exams within British schooling counted a lot more than homework and quizzes towards a student's final grade compared to American schooling, but that the threshold for achieving grades within American schooling was more stringent, so . . . maybe it would even out for Harry? They'd never gotten lower than a C even in their worst subjects — 75-ish percent. By the UK grading system, that score was a solid A — an E by Hogwarts' standards. Harry did better at tests and projects more than homework and quizzes anyway, so Harry tentatively felt that they would do well grade-wise even if they didn't do well effort-wise.
So what was Harry supposed to do with all the free time they'd been allotted? They had no housework to do, no busking opportunities, and they weren't sure if the Hogwarts library had recreational reading material. They didn't even know if they'd be allowed to join the orchestra or the choir as a first-year.
Oh, gods, they were going to have to do the 'hanging out' thing, weren't they? Harry had hung out with Kenneth and Justin before, of course, but . . . here Harry had to be extra sociable. Harry had to do this so that people would think the best of Harry, so that they'd consider Harry a credible person, so that they'd believe Harry when Harry made polarising statements, so that lives could be saved instead of lost due to misunderstandings and wilful ignorance. Harry had to make themselves well-liked so they could save wizarding society from Voldemort. The safety of Harry and the rest of the magical nation depended on Harry being popular.
And that was some ut-ter bull-shit.
Anyway.
Harry's train of thought had somehow meandered from their class schedule to defeating Voldemort within the 5-10 seconds they took to look over the page. That was a fast-track towards catatonia, though, so Harry checked their timepiece and started thinking on when would be the best time for them to head out to their first class instead.
It was now 9 o'clock, so Harry really did need to start wrapping things up and go search out Greenhouse 1.
Harry pulled their thermos (enchanted to be bottomless because of course) from their bag. After a moment of internal debate, they tipped in a jug of grape juice instead of the chilled water they really should have gone with. A second jug soon followed. Harry then searched their heart, inspected their character, and looked frankly at who they were as a person. And then they poured in another jug. There was nothing else to do but accept the reality of their impulse control; there was no way under the heavens Harry was going to do anything but take multiple gulps of juice at a time when they had a container of it, it was best to just accommodate themselves accordingly so they could make it last as long as they could for the day.
Harry really wished Justin was there so he could slap the thermos out of their hands and tell them to be reasonable.
"The bloody hell are you doing?"
Ah. Speak of the Devil.
Behind where Harry was standing and being the personification of gluttony, Justin was standing with his own little entourage. There were two other boys, one tall kid with straw-coloured hair, wide-set eyes, and a double-chin who looked like his mother still combed his hair for him, and one rectangle-headed, plump-cheeked, sunny-blond boy that looked like the younger version of a prep-school stoner who smoked over-priced weed to get back at his parents. Both reeked of old money and were exactly the sort Harry would have imagined Justin would associate himself with.
In an endearing display, Harry's girls — who had been gawking wordlessly at Harry going ham with the juice — immediately circled the wagons, drawing up to stand beside Harry and looking at the boys with blank-faced warning, doing their best to be intimidating. They were like little murder ducklings!
"Ah, Tintin, good morning," said Harry with a giggle. "What took you so long? Breakfast is almost over."
"And you decided to take the rest of it with you?" said Justin, wrinkling his nose. "And don't call me 'Tintin'!"
"Oh? What happened to 'Tintin and Tonton to the end!' then?" Harry taunted. "Did we not swear on a stack of your Batman comics when we were nine to forever be a dynamic duo? You trying to ditch me now?"
Justin's two friends barked surprised laughs. Harry's posse tittered as well. Justin looked as if someone had shoved an entire ripe chili pepper into his mouth.
"Friendship over," he gritted out. "Consider yourself officially fired. I will not stand for this slander."
Admittedly, it was rather false, but only half. The promise was indeed made, but it wasn't made with those exact words, and the implication that Justin had multiple stacks of comic-books was an exaggeration — he only had a few. But Harry's talent in hyperbole should not be underestimated; the claim was understated enough that it was believable, while excessive enough that it was shocking/embarrassing.
"Can I interest you in some libel instead then?" asked Harry with a grin. "I'll write it down if you prefer. But if you take me to court, I think they'll call that 'evidence.'"
"Just because you've heard my father talk law doesn't mean you're an attorney, Viv. I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's just flat-out incorrect as well, anyway."
"Well, if I date it as signed on that day, I'm sure it would qualify," said Harry in a sensible tone.
"That's falsifying information!"
"You're falsified information!"
"Excuse —?!This—!"Justin sputtered. "This is contempt of court!"
"Objection!" Harry returned, fists akimbo. "You are neither judge nor jury!"
"I'm about to be bailiff in a minute!"
"Then I'll see you on trial for impersonating an officer!"
"Good luck doing that after being sentenced to two years behind bars!"
"I'll apply for re-trial! With an even better attorney, a recording of your confession, and even more documents tailored to provide evidence!"
"I'll import a big-shot from abroad whose clients are typically criminal mob bosses and have him mop the floor with you!"
"Not if I hire him first!"
"You—!" Justin stomped his foot. "You wanna go, mate?!"
Harry readily lifted a fist.
"Come at me, bro!"
"GUYS!" Ken approached like an overworked zoo-keeper, school satchel on his shoulder and ready for him to head to class. "Can you not go one day?!"
Harry and Justin immediately pointed at each other.
"He said I was falsifying information!" was exclaimed at the same time as "She called me falsified information!"
"What does that even mean?" asked Kenneth, exasperation written on every part of his body. "What are you two even arguing about?"
Harry and Justin looked at each other. After a moment, they both shrugged. Annoying the shit out of each other was just what they did — there didn't have to be an actual topic to argue over. The objective was to win, not makesense.
"You resorted to threats of physical violence first," said Harry, lifting their nose with a smirk. "I win this round."
Justin looked sour.
"If Ken hadn't intervened. . . ."
"You still gave in first," Harry taunted, blowing a raspberry.
Kenneth cut off that potential line of bickering before it could get off the ground. With a handiness that came after years of dealing with Harry and Justin's nonsense, everyone involved was introduced (and Justin's two extras were revealed to be Ernie MacMillan and Zacharias Smith), schedules were examined, and directions to classes were given. All this was done with plenty of time to spare for everyone to get to where they were going — twenty minutes, to be precise.
"Kenneth is so reliable," murmured Sophie, an appreciative look on her face.
"Right?" laughed Harry. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's made a prefect in his fifth year."
Despite Macmillan and Smith being interested in cosying up to Harry, the warning bell for first period soon sounded. The Great Hall began to empty out. Harry and their girls bade farewell to the boys and headed in the direction Kenneth explained, exiting out the front door of the Entrance Hall.
The morning air was brisk but came with pleasant sunshine, a contrast to the chill of the stony interior. The leaves on the trees were yellowing and starting to fall, but the grass was still a bright green and was lovely in the last of the morning mist.
The quartet of Slytherin firsties trotted quickly across the Entrance/Viaduct Courtyard with its scattered cobblestone and over the Viaduct to the west section of the castle. Over the balustrade lining the stone bridge that was the Viaduct, the ravine that divided the school grounds appeared like the gaping, toothy grin of a titanic-sized beast, its depths dark and seemingly bottomless. Staring too long at it gave Harry vertigo.
Then through the front hall of the Middle Tower. The suspicious amount of Ravenclaw colouring made Harry suspect that Ravenclaw Tower also connected nearby. From there, they crossed through the Long Gallery with its tall windows and its hallways with many paintings; they passed alongside the Middle Courtyard with its statues, trees, and large fountain on their way. And then it was out into an uncovered wing of the castle — otherwise known as the Herbology Courtyard, where all seven greenhouses and the Herbology professor's office were found.
Harry recalled that, in the books, the greenhouses were located across the grounds from the castle, presumably somewhere near the Gamekeeper's cottage, but this AU was apparently following film-canon. The greenhouses were nestled within a sprawling, manicured lawn fenced in by the castle's battlements. It framed the outside of the Long Gallery and half of the Charms Wing. The professor's office was a glass-domed, two-storey pavilion built into the wall of battlement, an ivy-covered structure with wide windows that had potted plants on the sills.
The greenhouses themselves were pretty, ivy-covered things. The glass panelling was clean and crystal clear — easy to see the wide array of plants therein. Long, serpentine dragon statues ran along the peaked roofs, their metal claws gleaming in the light. It was all immaculately clean while simultaneously being the most charmingly earthy structures Harry have ever personally witnessed.
It was truly a beautiful scene, Harry thought, eyes swallowing down the setting. They'd have to drop by with their easel and supplies during some of their ample free time; it'd been a long while since they'd practice with such an appealing subject.
The doors to Greenhouse 1 were opened. Inside were all of the Ravenclaw first-years already milling around, looking nervous and excited, as well as Professor Sprout, who had a friendly look on her face and she checked over some plants. Despite there being — (Harry checked their timepiece) — seven minutes left until class was to officially start, Harry and their girls were the only Slytherins to have already arrived.
This was actually good. This was a great opportunity to make it clear Harry and their circle were a faction of their own and were not to be associated with what problematic nonsense the baby racists would no doubt get up to.
Harry drew in a slow, subtle deep breath through their nose, their practised 'unconscious' smile on their lips. For better or worse, they were here now, and y'know what? They could do this.
And so Harry led their girls into the greenhouse, positively shining with cheery and good-will towards mankind.
AN: Don't forget to hit up my tumblr (High-Pot-In-Noose) and follow the link in my bio if you want to help me out and also read advanced chapter updates.
