Chapter 8: The Four of Cups III
AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I realize we are past 48 thousand words and not much has happened yet, it will. I need to develop and give motive to characters, after the first week of school we can time jump to other major events, the first year of the story will not have much for adventure, that will enter in the later books in a better-established world. I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Snape has such a good monologue I kept most of it, as well as the questions. I know this is in every fic, but it is too good to pass up.
This was originally two chapters but the second would have only been a few thousand words, and I couldn't do that.
I have modified flying to include more topics, as wizard transportation, as a whole, would be more beneficial than only teaching students to fly.
Minor trigger warning for bad thoughts.
Sorry for this but I have gotten no writing done these last few days. It might be a while after this one. Sorry!
The Four of Cups.
Harry awoke in a cool sweat the following morning, his poster bed curtains crushing him. The expansive universe around him, the emptiness of it all, the indifferent host singing horrible songs. Replacing the song was the rumble of his roommate, a far cry from the rumbles of insanity of the night last. After a long shower he traversed to breakfast, the confining walls crushing him the entire walk. The crisp morning sun was painting the chamber with vibrant hues as Harry entered the Great Hall. His first class wasn't until 10 and it was with Professor Flitwick. Today was the Lumos charm. After his quick breakfast Harry moved to the Library again, following a pair of Ravenclaws, watching for yesterday's demon.
The hours passed as he read more charms theory, his attempts at casting Lumos with the tips offered in the text failing him every time. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change his "willpower" enough to fix the spell. Once he even had the sensation of liquid fire flowing through him causing him to cry out in pain, earning a warning from the stern warden.
When he arrived in the classroom, the Hufflepuff party had already entered. Harry took a seat near the front of the room next to the Prewitt boy who didn't return Harry's greeting, too enamored with Justin's description of a football match to care. Instead, Harry took out his text and reread the section on Lumos for the 100th time. The tiny professor arrived in tandem with the Slytherins, discussing a spell with Parkinson, a glowing smile on his face.
Once the Slytherins settled in, he began explaining the theory of the Lumos spell. The discussion explained how each student needed to "pull" the magic and concentrate on the words and effect. With a single point of the wand, a glow should appear on the tip.
He prompted the group to try the feat. Which resulted in a class full of light glows from everyone's wand. Everyone but Harry. The fire flowed through him when he tried, making him fall to his chair. Flitwick was upon him in a second. After assuring that Harry was all right, he congratulated the section on the job well done and dismissed them for an early lunch, leaving Harry alone.
"Are you certain you are all right, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, professor." Harry averted his eyes.
"What happened to you Harry?" Harry didn't know how to respond. "What did you feel when you attempted the spell?"
"When I try to cast the spell, pain erupts everywhere. It travels through me like a raging inferno, burning me completely." Harry hid his eyes so the professor couldn't watch the tears fall. The educator gave a solemn smile, an attempt to console him.
"Do you know why, Harry?" Flitwick's voice cracked.
"I had an accident before school, the Doctor told me I may struggle to cast spells, though he never said it would hurt."
"What was the accident, Harry?" His tone was dripping with concern.
"The doctor called it Apparition." His professor seemed surprised, "But he never said that it would hurt."
The teacher paused, then responded, "I will talk to Professor Dumbledore about this. Until then, you may not cast spells, in or out of class, understood?" Harry nodded, "Good. Head to lunch, why don't you." With a forced smile, Flitwick sent him on his way. Harry walked to the Great Hall with the echoes of his steps trailing and leading him.
The Four of Cups.
Wednesday only had two classes; Charms and Transportation, the gap between being three hours. Harry huddled in the library for most of the time between, searching for an answer to his magical problems, with little hope. The only book he found referencing early apparition was a heavily worded text meant for advance medical study. When it was half-past one, he sulked to his last period of the day.
The entire class was on the training range, a brief walk from the field, waiting for Professor Hooch to show. She entered the classroom by flying on a beautiful broom, one which could not sweep, and landed in the center of the group. She calculated every step and swiftly maneuvered herself around the class, staring each student down with her piercing yellow eyes as her sharp face cut through the air like butter, dropping a broom at the foot of every student.
"Welcome to your first lesson in Transportation. My name is Professor Hooch, and I will be your instructor throughout the year. We will cover brooms than Floo and end lectures on Portkeys and Apparition, Portkeys which should not be used until your magic maturity and Apparition even after that." Her eyes lingered on Harry longer than he wished, "Now, onto brooms. They connect to your magic when you call the keyword. We set all Hogwarts brooms to 'Up,' then will move as instructed. You want forward. Say so. You want to stop. Say so. You want to turn. Say so. You must learn to control it, and when it can work. These brooms function as the individual enchantment, no two are alike. Now let us first connect with our brooms, everyone up."
The yells of up sounded throughout the yard. Malfoy grinned as his broom rocketed into his hand. The rude child from the train did it just as smug and fast. Zabini followed soon after, with some Hufflepuffs, including Ernie and Justin. Harry's broom didn't want to listen. He feared heights, running from his cousin made him scale more than he cared, and fall. When he broke his leg once he never attempted it again, for his uncle hurt far worse than the drop. The same one his uncle re-injured later in life. He tried to search for the brooms magic, but so much energy being thrown around the courtyard that he couldn't find it until only he and Neville remained. He tried pushing his magic towards the broom had it connect to him. In his hand the broom felt warm. The craftsmanship on it was delicate, a smooth finish on the shaft to an arced head. The bristles appeared of different wood, thin and tightly bound to a fine stop. Magic flowed like his wand, but a symbiotic relationship, unlike normal spell casting. The broom was nearer his cards than the spells of this world. It no longer scared him as before, being airborne. The broom would not let him break a leg.
Professor Hooch had everyone mount, addressing each grip accordingly. Once she was satisfied, she made groups of five fly for a bit, discussing technique below, Harry noticed how she had the people with the first responses go first, then trailed down, except for him. Harry joined the fourth group for some strange reason, filled with many Hufflepuffs. Once in the air, Harry forgot himself. The wind curled around him as he soured the skies. He closed his eyes as his mount carried him on the wings of a breeze, lazily curving along. He was not a failure at school anymore; he was not a friendless weirdo; he was not a slave to horrible guardians; he was free; he was at peace. The whistle from the teacher's wand appeared. All too soon as he descended. He hopped off the broom with a surprising level of grace until his leg gave out, and he fell to the ground, reality coming with it as the students took to pointing and laughing. He didn't care about anything they said anymore; he tasted freedom and wanted more.
The Four of Cups.
The last team of five included Neville, the only boy to struggle as much as Harry had, Greengrass, Moon, and two Ravenclaws. They took to the sky similarly to how the groups before them had until the boy with a toad aggressively moved above them. He shouted his commands of "down" and "right" as he dodged obstacles, his corrections leading him into more situations. The professor had her wand out, firing spells at the walls and earth while running in pursuit. He avoided the objects of her spells so well that he careened up from a wall she had cast a spell on and into the machicolations of the tower above, the audible snap of his arm and broom lingering in the open yard as he free-fell into the ground, which softly caressed him into a stopped motion. For all the pain he was in, he never cried out, but tears streamed down his face. Professor Hooch sprinted faster than any human Harry had ever seen, and he watched the Olympics, to the prone boy. She whispered to him until helping him stand. Justin clapped, as did other students until the quiet group around them stalled their efforts. The glance Hooch gave Justin caused him to smile.
"I need to take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, the storage area for the brooms are over there," she pointed to an unassuming shack a long walk away, "each broom has a number, put it in that spot." She started away until she stopped turning around, "Oh, If I catch any of you flying, I will have you at least suspended, but I will push for expulsion."
Once she left from view Harry took off to the shed, until Malfoy's voice recoiled from the walls. "Did you see that squib? He could barely fly." Malfoy bent over and grabbed a small glass orb from the ground, a light red smoke formed within, "And he has a Remembrall too, what is this the 1400s. No one uses these anymore, any wizard worth their magic would be too self-respecting to."
"You give that back Malfoy." A lovely Indian girl from Gryffindor shouted at him. Her twin moving to her side in a silent endorsement.
"And why should I Patil, I don't answer to you?" He gave her a cruel grin.
"Don't talk to her like that," The rude redhead burst into the confrontation stepping in front of the girls, "Give it back it's Neville's."
"Ya Weasley, what are you gonna do, take it?"
"I will." His face was as red as his hair, full of fury.
"How about this, who catches it, gets it?"
"You're on."
Cries surrounded Harry, some supporting Malfoy, others for Ron. The largest camp was abundant with shouts of, "It's Neville's," and "You have no right," Harry also heard the bucktooth girl cut in, not as loud as the mob.
"You'll both be expelled." Her face showed no anger at the idea.
They passed the Remembrall to Nott as the fliers took to their brooms. Nott gave it a heave as the sphere took to the sky. Once it reached the apex, the two tore to the ball, the pair staying alongside the ground. The orb plummeted and cracked on impact as neither flier flew near it. That is the scene professor McGonagall ran into.
The Four of Cups.
Two weeks. They suspended the boys for two weeks. At dinner Hooch gave Professor Dumbledore a sinister stare as he stared with little emotion back. The punishment for the rule-breaking was immense, Slytherin and Gryffindor both reduced by fifty points with an added twenty from Slytherin for Nott's part. He still sat at the table, placed further than Harry, as Blaise kicked him from his primary spot with the help of the second years. He was not let off by any Slytherin student as their time glass stood at three points, crippling them for the entire race, a full 120 away from the first place Ravenclaws.
Weasley and Malfoy were currently riding the Hogwarts Express home, which surprising to Harry, ran year-round. He learned that it was a common way for people from Hogsmeade to travel to London and most of the goods transferred moved by the express.
After his meal finished, the evening post arrived. As Carpe Diem Collective landed in front of Harry, a small letter peaked from behind its pages. The message grabbed his attention, more than the wild photo of the storm from yesterday on the cover. 'To Mister Harry J. Potter,' an elegant swirling script scrawled on the envelope. He broke the seal with an unused knife, carving his finger through it and pulling out the short writing.
Dear Mister Harry James Potter,
It is I, your Headmaster. It has come to my attention that your situation I originally thought I understood is far worse than believed. If you could bother to wait for me, I would like to talk with you after dinner tonight. Please give me a wave if that works.
Sincerely,
Albus
P.S. I could have written my title's but that would be longer than the letter itself, much like this postscript. Should I rewrite it? No, it's fine. Anyway, answer when you can.
Harry read and reread the note multiple times before finally looking up at his bizarre Headmaster. They met eyes as the venereal man smiled at him. Harry gave a wave, causing the man's smile to grow even more. Harry looked forward to dinner being done.
The Four of Cups.
Time crawled as Harry waited for Headmaster Dumbledore to escort him to his office. He would glance at the professor and his coworkers, laughing and joy throughout the table, except for the upset Hooch, but even she, when she believed the wizened old man was not watching her, cracked a smile at his antics. The tables filled and emptied multiple times before a countable number of students remained, and fewer professors. Despite watching the head table like a hawk, the old professor snuck upon him, a wide smile laden on his wrinkled face.
"Very well, Harry, shall we?"
Harry nodded and stood, hoping he was acting appropriately and walked in step with the professor. Out in the Entry Hall, students' eyes followed the oldest and youngest inhabitants of the school, stepping in stride. When the pair left the sight of the collection, none following, the professor's smile slumped as did his shoulders. They had a third member join their party, silence. Professor Dumbledore escorted Harry to his office, talking the wide-eyed boy through secret tunnels to a long corridor. From the distance to the ground seen by the window, they were on the second level of the school. Braziers lit the narrow strip leading only to a gargoyle, a fearsome depiction of a dragon. The four-legged beast was standing on its hind legs, poised to strike, its serpentine tail wrapped around the base. The skinny beast head leered at the pair as if it followed them. It spoke.
"Password." The mouth on the construct moved since it lacked vocal cords why did it have to?
"Fun Dip." The Headmaster was gleeful in his answer, a hint of drool appearing on his face.
"You may pass." The giant wings on the beast folded back as if to take flight, but they stayed back, revealing a secret passage on the constructs right.
"Let's go, Harry." He gave him a gentle pat on the back and walked forward, past the monster. Harry followed, studying the creature the entire way, an action replicated by the dragon. A modest stairwell brought them to a huge circular room, bookshelves on the walls. An ornate desk sat before an exceptionally crafted mezzanine, covering half of the room, and a small door was to his left. The shelves housed more than books, for everyone matched with a small knickknack, wheezing and whistling. The Headmaster took his seat, looking tired, as a large red bird swooped to him, landing before him. Headmaster Dumbledore's smile split his face as he presented a wrapped sweet to the fledgling who graciously took it and waddled to the edge of the desk before hopping to the floor and under the balcony. "Take a seat my boy." He pointed to a chair opposite him which Harry took. "Sorry Fawkes couldn't stay longer; it was his burning day recently, and he is shy because of it."
"He was quite handsome," realizing he forgot his manners he corrected himself, "sir."
"That's what I tell him, but no, I am lying to him, of course." He said with a good-natured chuckle. A laugh that soon ended, leaving a pressing atmosphere in the room. Tears fell from the elder's eyes.
"Are you all right, sir?" Harry asked, leaning in.
"Sorry my boy, I am, old age seems to do this from time to time." He wiped his face of the streams, but they filled as fast as his wipes. "I am very sorry, you do not understand how sorry I am." Harry folded his hand in his lap, quizzically staring ahead, unsure how to go forward. A melodic sound resonated through the corridor, bright, full of love. The tears stemmed as Harry swelled with joy. He never knew he could feel. Free from the weight of rejection, bringing the first smile since flying the broom knit along his face. The tune played and played as the gorgeous bird reappeared, coming to the Headmaster's aid.
"I am the reason you lived with the Dursleys." His professor stated once the song ended, the fowl rubbing his arm with reassurance. Dumbledore's face was as hard as the dragon guarding his office. "I reached out to Amelia and found what you went through growing up, you do not understand how sorry I am."
"It's all right professor, they weren't that bad to grow up with. I had a roof, I had clothes, a bed, and food. What else should be expected from an unwanted child?"
The professor's eyes watered again. A trill from the red calmed him. "Harry, what happened to you was not normal. Do you understand that?" Harry shrugged. "You lived in a cupboard, that is not normal. Your uncle testified to beating you regularly. That is not normal. Cooking at 5 is not normal. No visits to an eye doctor with your vision deficiencies are horrible. They abused you, Harry, and it's my fault." Harry blankly stared into the deep sapphire orbs which peered back, an irritation fluttering on his brow. As he reached with his mind nothing answered.
"It's not your fault, professor."
"How is it not my fault?"
"Did you put me in a cupboard?"
"I might as well have."
Harry paused for a moment. "Did you intend to have me in a cupboard?"
The white brows shot up, "Of course not."
"What were your intentions?"
"To give you a home." The old man appeared frailer than before, a husk, as his shoulders sapped, and he fell back into his chair. "I wanted you to have a good and happy childhood."
"Then thank you sir, for trying." The Headmaster's face changed. A puzzled expression masking the earlier despair. "Madam Bones told me I would have to meet with her this year to find a different home." He stopped as the headmaster leaned forward. "I would like it instead if you could help. I like you more than her, she scares me." A laugh flew from the old man's mouth, not reaching his eyes.
"Are you sure, Harry? Last time didn't end well."
"I trust you, sir. I think you are a kind person." The sapphires glittered as if the sun peered over them.
"Thank you, Harry. Thank you."
Harry smiled back. "What else did you hope to talk about."
"Well, throughout the upcoming weeks you will need to do..."
The pair talked the rest of the night, past curfew, and till the next day. It started with restrictions on spell casting. They would attempt magic again when October ended. For his safety, no spells until that point. Over time, the conversation developed into one about Harry's parents. The old man was a collection of interactions his parents partook in, stories of their friend and their interplay. His father, a genius on in a million talent at transfiguration (like Professor Dumbledore), and his mother who would charm people with or without a wand. The antics, the pranks, the love they had, it made the two cry more than either would admit.
The Four of Cups.
As Harry walked to Herbology, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the entire way holding back a yawn. Professor sprout was waiting in the Herbology Courtyard to give a quick introductory lecture to the Gryffindors and Slytherins. They smiled at each other, and Harry gave a wave. The one-hour class that followed discussed rules when in the greenhouse and showed the students the lecture hall that would normally hold Thursday's lessons.
After that was History.
History was a strange subject, taught by a ghost. Once the collective first year group was seated, the opaque professor entered the room through the ceiling. He gave Harry a shocked expression before starting role. A task which took entirely too long. The two-hour lecture was interesting, after the brief syllabus with Professor Binns discussing the origins of magic. They discussed when man first harnessed its alley, the spells, and the written language. Many members of the room fell asleep, a fact that the dead professor surely noted.
After the lesson Harry sat back and witnessed the professor speak to a blank chair behind his desk, focusing intensely on the spot a shimmer of refraction brushed his eye. After exiting to the hallway Harry hid behind a suit of armor and waited. The next time slot was lunch. He hid until a tall boy wearing Ravenclaw robes rushed from the classroom and down the hall. With a turn Harry attempted walking the other way but encountered the glasses-wearing ghost.
"So, Mr. Potter, you have discovered my little secret?" The cool breath of the spirit washing over his face.
"Teachers Assistant?"
"Yes, that would be Cody Edwards, I hope you don't spread this information."
"Of course not, sir,"
"Good. Now, what is it about you that makes me feel... Drawn." The specter came closer, brushing its frozen hand against Harry's cheek. It held with wide eyes, sapping the strength from Harry who fell to his knees. The professor retreated. "Sorry Mr. Potter, I will look into this, phenomenon, please be careful." He traversed through the ceiling, leaving Harry on the floor, panting, shivering, and terrified.
The Four of Cups.
It was after lunch and Astrology with the Eagles that they had another transportation class. Hooch came out with her nonexistent hair flowing in the air with brooms again. Today they would play a game of American origin, which Hooch swears by, called red light, green light. The concept was simple, Professor Hooch would stand on one side of the yard and say green light, giving all access to move. When she called red, everyone stopped. A person won the game if they made it to the professor.
Harry lethargically soured to win the first round, and the second, and the third. Time after time he reached the professor, playing alone by the end in most cases. The shocked face of the professor on the last match was enough to make him laugh through the smile he wore from the moment he hit the air.
Harry yearned for the next Wednesday to come so he could fly again through all of his dinner and on his lone track to bed, earlier than normal, as he and Alastair lay in the silence of a Crabbeless room. He dreamt of falling through the endless sky mounted atop a broom souring through white wisp and blue sea.
The Four of Cups.
Herbology was fun. The class, Friday morning, performed a practical lesson in Greenhouse One. Clad in an apron and tough dragonhide gloves which Lisa Turban, his mousy partner, lectured were wyverns. He dug through the mud to pot the Alchemilla. The task was a seed that would bloom into a large leaf with golden bulbs of use in alchemy involving metal transformation, potions for calming, and medical processes they would discuss in the later years. The work pulled him back to gardening at Privet Drive, the long days in the sun, some of the best hours he had, lounging in the yard with unlimited water and quick snacks from growing flowers. Lisa looked at him with a crushed expression to his joy at working through the dirt, disappearing when they received their evaluation.
The stench of the group followed to Preservation with the Lions. Quirrell was his normal quirky self, asking about Charms and how the class faired. Nott lost more points for the Slytherins by stating that only the squib failed in their class, a nickname which confused Longbottom saying he was not in that class. His fellow Slytherins laughter added another point deduction, losing ten points in a single class.
Lunch did not fare well for the youngest Slytherins. The upper years each making a pass to rant about their displeasure of seeing no growth of the hourglass. They were on their way to becoming the most hated group in the school. On his way out of the hall, Macmillan coughed the word racist under his breath in Harry's direction. Harry ran the entire way to his dorm to shower before Potions, reading in Magical Drafts and Potions that extra reactants could have tragic consequences in the art of potion crafting. The result of this detour was his arrival to his first class with his head of the house in the nick of time. Following him through the door was Professor Snape. Harry sat at a workstation with Nott, unable to find an alternative.
* As Snape called role, he lingered on Harry longer than he was comfortable with, weighing him with little regard for time. After calling Zabini, he swept to the front of the gloomy chamber, scanning his audience with blank black eyes. "You are here to learn the subtle science of potion making," his low voice carried through the dungeon. "This year will have very little wand waving causing most of you to believe that this is not magic," he stopped and looked over the red portion of the room with a glare, his voice holding venom. "I don't expect most of you to understand the beauty of a simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins," he looked back to the green side of the room, "bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..." a fearsome shape formed on his face, his smile not matching his looks, "I can teach you to bottle fame," he peered at a Gryffindor girl, "brew glory," Davis was the subject of his second line, "and even put a stopper in death." His eyes lingered on Harry. The class was waiting in suspense. "Potter." The professor's eyes still pinned on him with an unknown emotion, reaching for it yielded no response, just as with the Headmaster. The baritone was acidic in his delivery.
"Yes, sir."
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Asphodel was in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, as was wormwood. Wormwood was used in Firewiskey, and asphodel was associated with the dead.
"Don't know?" The smug professor asked.
"Is it a poison liquor?"
"No. Let's try again. Where would I find a bezoar?"
"A what?" He said before he could filter it. Harry slumped into his chair tears threatening to fall. The bushy brunette from the train was attempting to dislodge her arm to the sky. The glimmer in Snape's eyes housed victory.
"Thought you wouldn't need to crack a book before coming to class, well clearly fame isn't everything." Harry retreated further in his chair, confused, the smirking Nott enjoying his front-row seat. "One final question, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Poison plant, violet, the third page of his Herbology book. "They are the same plant, sir." He looked up at the professor with wet eyes, lips and shoulders shaking.
The professor recoiled, centering himself as he turned back to the front of the class. "That is correct, now sit down Granger before you hurt yourself, five points from Gryffindor for improper behavior in the classroom. Powdered root of asphodel in an infusion of wormwood is the base of Draught of the Living Death, a potent sleeping agent. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and may be used to counter many potions, Greengrass name me a potion that it would not work on."
"The Choker."
"Exactly, and why is that?"
"The Choker uses dragon's blood, sir."
"Very good.," looming around the room he hissed, "why aren't you writing this down." *
The following hour and a half consisting of classroom etiquette and conventional cutting techniques, which they had a paper due on their next lecture on, pulling a groan from the Slytherins who had the class on Monday. Afterward, Harry was among the last to leave. On his exit, the murmur of his professor sounded. "Five points to Slytherin for proper hygiene." Harry whipped his head to meet the Professor's gaze, a connection the professor quickly broke to leer at paper atop his desk.
The Four of Cups.
Malfoy was the same as always. Even after the two weeks away from school, he was still rude to everyone not in his Slytherin clique. Nott, upon the return of the elegant blonde, was pulled back into the fold, leaving Harry the only lonely Slytherin in his year. The weeks of isolation had no longer bothered him as they once did, retreating inward as he avoided most of the pain. What hurt him was the teasing, the whispers of squib that followed him to every corner of the castle, and the sad looks of his professors when they looked at him during spell lessons. Dumbledore was his saving grace. They met every Friday and talked. The conversations were light and lasted only an hour, but they meant everything to him. The kind man spoke of his parents, answered his inquiries on magic and talked about thing's they each enjoyed doing. Dumbledore was the closest thing he had to a friend. Lisa, his Herbology partner ignored him, Granger almost sat with him in the library until that morning when Weasley returned, the boys from Hufflepuff snubbed him more than his housemates.
His solace, Flying, also ripped away, as the sky was the domain of Malfoy and Weasley who dominated the games they played. Both pushing and shoving at Harry when the distracted professor couldn't see. After the first flying lesson with them back, Harry took to the grounds of Hogwarts crying. He stopped by the lake and watched as the waves broke on the rocky shore, splashing the chilling water. The sun mirrored over the black pool as strange fish eclipsed the surface to snatch enormous insects. If he walked out, as far as possible, would he reach the bottom? Did he float or sink? Did he honestly care either way? A sudden chill overtook him as a cloud passed overhead, blotching out the sun.
"You all right there, Harry?" The rumbling voice of the giant, Hagrid, broke into his thoughts. He looked up at the large being holding in his tears.
"Of course, Hagrid." His voice betrayed his lie. The giant gave him a sympathetic glance and offered Harry to join him in his hut. What could he lose? He followed the sizeable man.
The tiny hut that could be seen from the Astronomy Tower, perched on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was anything but. It stood taller than some trees with a thatch roof and stone walls. Up three enormous steps put him inside the huge circular house, a warm abode with a roaring fire glowing next to a ginormous table. Banners with dragons and other mythical bodies stretched over the walls, dancing in the light of the flames. Hagrid took a dwarfed chair and set it opposite a patched sofa. "Please sit, do you want any tea?"
"Yes, sir,"
"Sugar, milk?"
"I'm fine, sir."
The man waved him off, "None of that sir nonsense, Hagrid is fine." As he poured two glasses, both in the correctly sized cups and plates, he sat across Harry. Residue was floating in the tea, it had an aroma of raspberry and tasted sweet and bitter, a pleasant combination.
"Ya look lonely, Harry." The giant peered at him with his warm brown eyes.
"I am doing fine, sir."
"You don't need the formalities with me, Harry." Hagrid leaned back and looked through his pitched ceiling, "when I left Hogwarts, I only had a few friends, none of which were human."
He took Harry back from the honest statement. "I also struggled with casting spells." He peered back at Harry holding the same eyes as before, "I am a half-giant, my mom was one of the last in England." Harry didn't flinch at the account; it explained the size. A smile appeared on his furry face, "As giant's have magical resistance, casting through my body is hard. There is more to magic than wands and spells. You can do so much if you try. You are a wonderful kid, Harry, and you will do great things, your parents would be proud of you." The dam collapsed as weeks of tears broke, restrained sadness dropped as the tears flowed. Hagrid hugged him as Harry cried and exposed through his tears everything. The Dursleys. His abuse. The evil voice within him. His hatred. Malfoy, Nott, Weasley, his year mates. The isolation. His fears and insecurities. The giant smiled and explained it would get better. It was not his fault, and no matter what, Hagrid was his friend. Harry believed the radiant smile and cried harder, despite not having the water to spare.
The Four of Cups.
September was closing. Harry had just left Professor Dumbledore's office and made it to his common room as curfew hit. In his room he celebrated that the drone of Crabbe resonated in the room, for that meant he was the lonely student in the dorm awake. It was Friday, but more importantly, it was September 27th, a full moon. He took his deck and pet the top card, whispering how he made a new friend. The tarots molded into a new one, his fate spinning the deck to order his life. He called his past, present, and future to his bed and studied it.
His past, The Fool. 0, the happy ignorant fool. Harry knew The Fool symbolized him coming to the wizarding world, blinded by the brightness of freedom he never saw the ledge before him.
His present held Cups, but not four. Five. A lone cloaked figure stood before a stream surrounded by cups, three of which had spilled. Despair, sadness, loneliness. All these depicted his current life.
His future appeared worse than his present, depicting a bound woman in a line with eight swords blindfolded and gagged. The Eight of Swords, helplessness to those without compassion, being trapped in a situation you dislike. On the bright side is you can free yourself. Perhaps he could break the chain and become friends with his house.
After packing up, he laid listening to the loud snore of Crabbe, with Alastair on his chest, hoping to unbind his torment.
The Five of Cups.
*Almost verbatim from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone because Snape is written so well there.