2. In which Harry makes a friend (or two)
If one looks close enough, they will soon begin to see that many things lie beneath the surface at Hogwarts castle. Behind the curtain, a small militia of house elves - nothing like the elves of fantasy books past, mind you - run themselves ragged cleaning up after several hundred children. Ghosts, for they do exist outside of meals, and portraits squabble about the latest gossip (what is the Bloody Baron up to) and the latest inductees to the Nearly Headless Hunt, and operate by their own laws and customs. Of course, no matter how close you look, the Headmaster's flies on the wall look even closer - these are the afore-mentioned house elves, and the ghosts, and portraits, of course.
And if you think none of these features of the castle are particularly astounding, even further behind the curtain lies just one more: Hogwarts itself.
Graffiti artists might find that one book they absolutely need for their essay due first thing tomorrow is mysteriously nowhere to be found - though they swear it was just right there! Bullies who haunt the castle's halls find their victims suddenly just out of reach - moved by a fickle staircase, or spirited down some half-forgotten path.
So Hogwarts has the elves, and the portraits and ghosts, but most importantly, the castle holds the echoes of people long gone within it. Perhaps that's why half the castle's candles alighted on their own today, and why Harriet Potter found the Quidditch shed unlocked this morning - after all, the Hogwarts Express is expected at 12 o'clock. Hogwarts' students are coming back.
Naturally, Harry slept horribly. Worse, she finds her usual morning flight is doing nothing to calm her nerves today. She's been out here for hours.
She has half a mind to try her luck at running or boxing but damn it, she promised. Dumbledore surely didn't give her such a valuable book for nothing. She's fairly sure he breached some sort of ministerial by-law giving it to her - Tonks never said a word about the Auror's official handbook and she would have if she could, Harry knows.
So, Harry promised. She'll still run and fly but in moderation (whatever that means). Perhaps it's a good thing she's flying, though, as she spots the Hogwarts Express when it nears the castle.
Swearing, Harry tucks her body straight against the broom, and whips her broom straight down. She dives at a cutthroat pace, the broom almost fully vertical and perpendicular to the ground. When she's mere metres from a sticky end, she relents and pulls the broom head up, corkscrewing off till she levels out.
All this flying has done her good - she's regained all her skill and conditioning lost during Umbridge's ban on Quidditch and some.
For once, the halls are not empty when she rushes back to her dorm. A few hopeful faces pop out as she hurries along, and the younger Hufflepuffs crowd near the Great Hall excitedly.
The hot shower helps to calm some nerves flying couldn't but it's over all too soon, forcing her to turn to her books for distraction instead. Fortunately, The Auror's Handbook quickly gains and holds her attention. She's finished Chapter 1 - spell chains - and is eager to try them.
Spell chains, from what she's gathered, are the next step in duelling. Once one has mastered all sorts of basic and advanced shields and spells, they turn to spell-chaining to perfect their craft. Spell-chains, the book explains, is like chess - players learn all sorts of 'openings' and sequences to use, recognise, and combat in real-life games. Spells have incantations and hand movements - spell-chains concern the latter.
They basically combine spells that end and start on the same motions or at the same points. The book gives the example of Expelliarmus and Stupefy - the disarming charm swirls and ends on a slight upward flick. Stupefy consists purely of an upward flick - one can cast Expelliarmus and continue flicking up to cast the stunning charm right after.
Casters can scratch whole seconds off using spell-chaining, so all the best duellers do. This gives it an additional benefit - if you study enough known chains, you can begin to spot them on the field and anticipate exactly what spells your opponent will cast.
And, if you get good enough, eventually, some Aurors learn to create their own chains on the fly.
Scratch eager, she's beyond excited. But - that's for later. Chapter 2 is titled Non-verbal casting. Fifth years like her haven't learnt that yet - you only start in 6th.
Blood singing with all the possibilities, Harry flung herself back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Even if she's scared witless about what (or more accurately, who) is coming on that train, some things in life are still good.
~.~
It's only later, when she's already sat down at the new, imposing Slytherin table for lunch that everything begins to hit her. She's on the end of the table, stuck with all the firsties. Not that she minds - she knows Mulciber has told the other fifth-year girls about her and she's getting all sorts of glares from them. The first years, at least, ignore her for the most part.
She's pouring pumpkin juice when it happens - her parents walk in. Separately, of course - she reminds herself they didn't get along until sixth or seventh year. She's certain Lily and Snape are still friends, although, craning her head over to check, she suspects they might be fighting. Snape is hungrily watching Lily enter too and looking thoroughly miserable doing it.
She feels a detached sort of pity for him - at fifteen or sixteen, he's still a raging bigot, but very obviously attached to Lily.
Lily, her mum, looks exactly like she'd pictured. Shoulder-length red waves, pale skin and freckles, and piercing green eyes. She walks in alone and looks a bit lost surveying the Gryffindor table, hesitates, and then looks over at Harry. No, Harry corrects herself, she's looking at Snape, five spots up from Harry. Lily's expression firms up and she decisively turns away, seating herself next to a few older girls and sparking up conversation.
Harry doesn't need to look over at Snape to know that he's deflated totally. She doesn't try to hide her snort.
Only a few minutes go by before James walks in next with Lupin and, she realises with disgust, Pettigrew. Logically, Harry knows he hasn't turned yet, that he could, for all intents and purposes, be good and loyal still. It's still painful to see her dad ignore her table in favour of fistbumping the rat who betrayed her family to Voldemort.
(She has a lot of thoughts and none of them are particularly kind to Pettigrew right now).
She watches the next series of event go off like a bomb. James spots Lily and his face instantly lights up; he walks - no, swaggers - to her side and attempts to squeeze in next to her. Lily sees him, scowls, and obstinately moves her bookbag on to the bench to block him. They say some things Harry can't hear, and then Lily's voice escalates so everyone can hear, and she shouts: "Leave me alone, you toerag!"
He winces but manages to shrug off the blow fairly quickly and makes a hasty getaway to where Lupin and Pettigrew are sat, laughing at him.
The desire to be there with them is so strong she can feel it twisting up her gut. She's almost scared that her parents will bring on the waterworks if she stays. So she escapes, sprinting off to the Room of Requirement, ignoring her pledge to Dumbledore.
She hits the wall opposite Barnabas' tapestry with enough force to bounce off it, and sucks in deep breaths of air. It's only when she gets inside the Room that she can really, properly, calm her racing heart for the first time since Lily first walked in those doors.
"You're okay," she tells herself and turns to the mirrors. It's time she puts those first few spell-chaining sequences The Auror's Handbook gave her, into practice.
(She hits herself more times than she'd like to admit).
(She still loves it).
She creeps into the dorm hours later, but before curfew. Wish thought she might, she has neither the Cloak nor the Map, and a very rudimentary grip on the Disillusionment Charm. Her room is full, but the girls must all be asleep - curtains drawn.
Instinctively, she checks her belongings. It doesn't take her very long - she could fit all of them into her bookbag. It's a humbling thought. Nothing's gone, though. She reminds herself to look in the library for alarm spells, and promptly wonders just when she became Hermione. That night she dreams of her best friends.
When the sun creeps in the next morning, Harry isn't in the air to greet it. She's not even outside at all - no, she's sitting in the Room of Requirement with a stolen broom by her side.
She eyes it guiltily. It's not as if she plans to keep it really. To understand this series of events, however, we have to go back to dinner on the third last night of the Christmas holidays -
Harry arrived late at dinner tonight - the Room makes it ridiculously easy to lose track of time sometimes. As a result, the only open seat when she sneaks in is next to Snape. He looks about as eager as she feels - scowling at her.
Harry steels herself and sets her shoulders, marching over. She holds in a wince when the chair scrapes loudly against the floor and someone snickers.
Obviously, it's Mulciber.
She echoes Snape's natural scowl on instinct alone. Mulciber's a slimy git and a bully to add.
Tonight's pot roast; succulent beef and veggies, care of the Kitchens. She makes a note to offer her compliments to them later. Some of the Slytherins seated near Snape are whispering loudly about Quidditch. Her ears prick up in interest.
"I'm stuffed, I've barely picked up a broom all break." A buff boy says.
His lanky companion snickers. "Bole will have your head on a platter at practice. He's already scheduled it for the first morning back."
The first boy pales, but Mulciber cuts in first: "You've heard from the captain then Rosier?"
The tall boy, Rosier, nods solemnly. "He wrote me the other day. I expect it's the first time he put down his broom all holiday."
Mulciber laughs appreciatively, "How on earth he's managed to get the pitch that soon, I don't know."
Harry listens intently - it sounds like the Slytherin captain now is even more obsessed than Wood and Flint, if that's even doable.
She forgot all about that interaction, of course. And so she rose this morning like every other before it and made for the shed.
Only half an hour of uninterrupted flying passed before a sea of green uniforms emerged from the castle.
She pulls out her wand quickly and taps her glasses, muttering "Amplio." Her gaze enhances instantly, and the green blurs sharpen into faces - the heavy set boy from that dinner, a smirking Mulciber, skinny Rosier, and a few others she's never seen, all led by a tall and imposing-looking older boy with a set face. She guesses he's Bole. He turns to appraise the skies and she panics, throwing herself and her broom into a sharp turn and zooming off. It's only when she's hidden behind the castle's bulk that she relaxes and peers out. Six of the boys on the Slytherin team are looking elsewhere, still relaxed and casual. Bole's glaring out at Gryffindor tower - she's hovering by Ravenclaw. He hasn't seen her.
Still, the unwelcome end to her flying is like a splash of cold water. She forgot that the mornings, and by definition the castle, aren't purely hers any longer. She needs to get her hands on a copy of the pitch booking sheet before she flies out here again.
Pushing the thought from her mind, she surveys the grounds again. The boys are nearly finished setting up - they'll be up here soon, and discover her. But she won't be able to get in through the front doors without them seeing either.
The backdoor it is.
"Backdoor" is a bit of a stretch for the sixth-floor window she squeezes through. It's always open - for a reason. She screws her face up in disgust at the smell of dank, wafting Dungbombs. She lifts her robes stepping in to avoid the burst water balloons on the floor. It's Peeves hideout - the poltergeist isn't here, at least. Likely terrorizing the paintings who tend to gather on the second-floor most mornings.
Better them than her, she acknowledges, blowing her sticky fringe off her forehead. She needs a shower.
The steam from the hot water clouds up the stall quickly, and she stretches her neck back in bliss. It isn't enough to stop her from hearing the bathroom door slide open. It snaps Harry out of her relaxed state quickly, and she turns the shower off slowly.
She dries off and dresses quietly. Outside her stall one or two girls are shuffling about slowly, going through the motions of their morning.
She winces at the thought of her stuff sitting just outside the stall - toothbrush, comb, all of that. Valiantly Harry pokes her head out. Immediately, her eyes connect with a cool blue stare.
She looks wide-eyed at Narcissa Black. For there's no doubt in Harry's mind on the identity of the girl - her straight-backed posture and blue eyes are unchanged, even if her blonde hair is frizzed and unkempt from sleep. She holds back the humour at knowing Malfoy's mum is less than perfect.
"Hello," Harry breaks the stare-down, and steps out of the shower. "I'm Harry."
"I heard," The other girl sniffed. "I am Narcissa Black."
Having exhausted their small talk, both girls fall quiet. Narcissa flickers briefly before speaking, "You're not a pureblood."
"No," said Harry warily. "That bother you?"
The blonde shrugs. "I don't like you. But.."
"But you don't hate me." Harry sighs. "Yeah, I figured we wouldn't be the best of friends."
Narcissa nods slowly. The girls finish their morning routine in silence, ignoring the other as best they can.
Harry finishes first and steps out of the bathroom - open to end up face to face with her three other wide-eyed roommates. They're huddled right in front of the door; were clearly eavesdropping.
She eyes them curiously and tries a smile. They can't all be like the Blacks. She refuses to let her expression waver at the blank looks and sneers she gets back. Gritting her teeth, Harry steps past them and collects her things hurriedly into her book bag. She knows where her real friends are and it's not 1975.
She only lets her breath out when she escapes the oppressive room, sagging against the wall. Across the hall the fifth year boys' door swings open and Snape steps out, freezing when he sees her. She scowls instinctively at him, hoping he'll leave.
He doesn't. He hesitates and says, "I'm not a pureblood either."
Harry gapes at him because, "No shit Sherlock."
When spots of colour appear high on his cheeks, she sighs and tacks on, "Snape isn't a wizarding name, I assumed you were half or something."
"I am," He still looks stand-offish. "I'm not a Mudblood."
Harry looks at him funny, "But you like one. The redhead."
His eyes darken and he scowls furiously. "You shouldn't talk about things you couldn't possibly understand."
"I understand enough," Harry shot back. "I understand that you've spent all holidays moping over her. Did she get rid of you then?"
Snape cursed at her and stormed off, only turning back at the end of the hall to glare and say, "Lily and I might be on the outs but at least I have someone. No one here likes you - except maybe our loony Headmaster."
Harry's mouth fell open and she fell back, watching him stomp off. She eats breakfast in the kitchens, still fuming.
"He's wrong you know," She waves her spoon expressively at the elves' newest addition, Lonny, who nods copiously, ears flapping. "People like me."
She deflates and tucks her head into her arms. "Just…not here." A small hand pats her back. "Lonny is liking you, Miss Harry."
Harry wipes the damp from her eyes and smiles wetly. "I like you too, Lonny. I'm alright, I just miss my friends. I wish they were here with me."
Lonny nodded solemnly. "Sometimes I am missing my family too. I am being new at Hogwarts."
Harry looks curiously. "Is your family serving a different master, Lonny?"
Lonny's ears quiver and she looks at the floor. "Lonny's family is being up there now." The little house elf points at the sky.
Harry watches with a terrible sense of kinship. "I'm sorry, Lonny. My family's up there too."
The Slytherin and the house elf exchange a look full of unspoken grief and understanding.
Harry rests a tentative hand on the elf's frail shoulder, and offers, "Maybe, with time, the elves here can become your friends."
Lonny looks shrewdly at Harry. "Like how Miss Harry is letting the other students be her friend?"
"Lonny," Harry gasps in faux outrage, before adopting a bittersweet smile. "Part of me feels like I'm giving up on my friends, on getting home, if I do that."
She studiously left out the other, growing part of her that felt like she would never get home.
Lonny shook her head, "When you is making a cake are you leaving out eggs because milk will feel sad?"
"No?" Harry tilted her head, confused.
"More ingredients is making a better cake, Miss Harry," Lonny gestured expressively. "We are like cake. And - one more ingredient will not hurt."
Harry laughed delightedly. "I suppose you must be right Lonny. One more ingredient couldn't hurt."
She extended her hand to the elf. "Would you do me the honour of being my first new friend?"
The elf's mouth fell open and she took Harry's hand hesitantly, before shaking it furiously. "I is liking that very much."
Harry skipped to Magical Theory feeling much lighter. Her next class, Charms, she shared with the Hufflepuffs so she needn't face Gryffindor until Herbology later today.
Her bright mood remained with her all the way to and into the dusty classroom Dumbledore lectured in. It was empty but for one boy in Slytherin green.
She hesitated but remembered Lonny's words and nervously slid into the seat next to him. He turned with a look of clear confusion and asked bluntly, "Do I know you?"
Harry gave him an unphased smile. "You do now. I'm Harry."
His eyebrows lifted. "You're Newman - the new girl. You're all anyone's talking about you know."
"That says more about them than it does about me." Harry challenged.
He looked positively intrigued. "Of course it does. You can't blame them really, I think I must be the first Slytherin you've spoken to from what I've heard."
"They're upset?" Harry asked, surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed it."
The boy snickered, "Yes, I did hear that Narcissa spoke to you." He appraised her and added on, "You seem to have escaped relatively unscathed."
Harry huffed out a laugh and went to respond, but at that precise moment Dumbledore walked in.
"Miss Newman," He smiled genially at her, before looking to the other boy, "Mr Hayes. It seems our remaining student has found himself sequestered in the Hospital Wing."
Hayes whooped, taking Harry completely by surprise, "That has to be Tobin. What's he done to himself this time?"
"I believe Mr Walsh had a rather unfortunate encounter with our Whomping Willow while flying this morning." Dumbledore winked at Hayes.
Hayes grinned joyfully. "That idiot. Bole must be fuming."
Dumbledore merely tapped his nose before floating chalk to the blackboard behind him, and turning.
"I believe we will divert sharply from where we left off," The old wizard clasped his hands together and paced, "And begin with time travel instead."
Harry grinned wickedly and thanked whatever omnipotent beings existed for making Dumbledore so perfect.
After class Harry brushed past Hayes at the door, calling "See you next class, Hayes!"
"It's Lucille," He hollered back.
Harry stopped short and turned with a look of utter horror. Hayes - no, Lucille, scratched the back of his neck bashfully.
"I think I almost prefer Hayes," Harry offered regretfully.
Hayes grimaced. "My parents are a bit sadistic when it comes to naming. My older sister got stuck with Agnella."
"'A bit' might be an understatement," said Harry, shaking her head sadly. "I suppose there's only one thing for it…"
He looked up curiously. She grinned back whole-heartedly and said, "I'll just have to call you Lucy."
Upon delivering that line, she abruptly spun on her heel and walked off. She did not run, thank you (although she might have skipped a bit).
Her smile only grew when Hayes groaned loudly and shook his fist at her.
~.~
Word count: 3502.
A.N. Disclaimer: I likely won't be editing any of my chapters so apologies in advance for the typos and the tense-switches. I hope you like what you've read so far – please comment if so (or even if not) and give me suggestions on where to take this story as I've no plan in mind so far. I'll reply to them at the end of every chapter :) Also, do we think these chapters have been too short, too long or just right? Let me know so I can adjust it going forward.
Mike3308 - Just wait till you hear about nicknames buddy, they will *blow your mind*.
Guest - Thank you!
I found "spell-chains'' in Snowbunnytiger's brilliant work "And so, all the pieces fall into place." All credit to her. 3
P.S. Snape's worst memory has not happened yet – he and Lily really are just fighting.