Decisions, Decisions
Severus Snape had had it up to his eyeballs with Albus Bloody Dumbledore. The man was a complete and utter menace. Not only did his grandfatherly persona get on his last nerve but what hid behind it, the Machiavellian war-general, had him by the short and curly's. At the moment, the old man was having Severus follow Quirinus, a person with obvious aspirations to steal the powerful and rare object they had hidden on the premises, instead of just calling the Aurours like he should. He knew, if this scheme backfired and the Ministry caught a whiff of what was happening at Hogwarts, it would be Severus who took the heat, not the venerable Headmaster.
The night before, when Quirrell had supposedly lost control of the Troll he had suggested he bring for his portion of the obstacle course guarding the Stone, he had found the man lurking in the forbidden corridor (instead of tracking the Troll he was responsible for letting lose in the school, as a so-called Troll expert), miraculously revived from his fainting spell. But not before he had checked the forbidden corridor himself and ended up nipped at by the giant, three-headed beast they had guarding the entrance. Quirrell had excused his appearance while simultaneously fawning and looking nauseous over his injury, insisting he had come-to to an empty hall and thought he should check the corridor in case anyone thought to use the chaos to make an attempt, while the other teachers were surely dealing with the Troll. All very reasonable, according to the headmaster. Because, and he quotes, 'didn't you do the very same, Severus?'
And, of course, James Potter's spawn had to get involved, if admittedly through no fault of his own. The brat had, understandably, skipped the feast, and had ended up running into the beast on his way back to the common room. That he had killed the Troll was a surprise. He doubted Potter Sr would have handled himself quite so well, not in his first year.
Even in the aftermath, once a certain amount of the disassociation the boy was wading through dissipated, he had been straight-backed and sarcastic. It was as impressive as it was worrying. He'd seen fully grown men fall apart when confronted with less. He'd seen them shit themselves and whimper, calling for their mothers. Potter only asked for a place to wash away the blood he was covered in.
It wasn't normal. Eleven year old children didn't kill trolls and stay as composed as the Potter boy had. But he hadn't cried, hadn't shook too much and, looking back, hadn't asked to go to the infirmary nor even for a calming draught. An admitted oversight on his part. The boy had just held his head up high and walked into the viper's pit. He didn't like it and suddenly knew he would have to turn more of his attention towards the Potter brat.
The realisation left a burning hate in his gut. As long as the child was both alive and actively not dying then he shouldn't be forced to spend any more time than he had to thinking about him. It was bad enough that he was somehow a Slytherin and therefore under his direct care for three-quarters of the year. But he would have to size up the child in ways he usually left until they were older and more fully formed.
Potter was due a meeting with him, one he had been putting off. Severus had already met with most of his Slytherin yearmates, going over the normal start-of-school spiel. Malfoy had spent twenty minutes gossiping about his friends and bragged about how well he was doing in his classes (even though he was barely above average compared to other student he knew to have received tutoring prior to Hogwarts). Crabbe and Goyle had looked on gormlessly as he asked about their year so far. The rest had been able to highlight what they were struggling with so had been easily matched with second years who did well last year. Only Theodore Nott had been particularly closed lipped, his eyes saying more than his mouth ever would. He was going to have to watch that one too, if for different reasons. He was well acquainted with Nott Sr, after all.
He just had Potter and Annabella Runcorn left to see. Then he would be done with these one-on-one meetings until he had to talk the second years through picking OWLs, the OWL students through choosing NEWTs later in the year and the pointlessly enforced third-year career advice. He didn't know why Dumbledore, with Minerva's over-loud support, insisted on keeping the career advice meeting to third year, when it was much too late as they'd already picked their OWL classes by that point.
After finishing lessons and taking a moment to tend to his still injured leg (damn Cerberus saliva), he made his way to the common room. He expected to find students doing homework or 'hanging about'. He anticipated having to scowl at a pair of duellists having a pop at each other, as Slytherin's were wont to do. It was therefore understandable that he froze in shock for a split-second as the entrance to the common room slid open to reveal absolute chaos.
Someone, he couldn't tell who in the instant, was on fire; bright green fire. A few of the older students were attempting to put him out with over-powered aguamenti charms, while others still were trying to shepherd the younger onlookers to the stairs and out of the way. Gemma Fawley looked to have been about to leave the common room, hopefully to get him. Scattered among those still on their feet were bodies; hopefully only unconscious. And just in front of the doorway, was an badly injured Nott slumped against the wall with Potter crawling over to him, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake.
Regaining himself, he made quick work putting out the green flames still slithering over the teenager's uniform, casting a statis spell over their body and levitating them so as not to worsen any burns. Then he sent a barely corporeal Patronus to Poppy, calling for her emergency assistance and begun moving to check on the other injured. Sending diagnosis spells at the two first years confirmed that while severely beat up, neither of them were dying. He allowed himself to breath and move further into the room to check on the older students.
Tiberius Warrington was bleeding and bleeding heavily. Severus panicked a little at the puddle pooling around his head, but after stanching the flow he could see the head wound wasn't all that bad cosmetically. Internally might be another issue as the boy had quite the lump and was insensate. Cassius Warrington was not far from his brother, awake but groaning as weeping pustules continued to replicate across his face and probably his body too. Thaddeus Ansley looked to have been propelled into a wall at some speed but seemed to be coming round.
Poppy appeared in the doorway and swiftly set to work, listening to him as he listed the injuries he had already noted. Once he had a moment, he located the eldest prefects still standing, fifth year Gemma Fawley and seventh year Jasmine Tilturn, and put them in charge of making sure everyone stayed in their rooms until he got back to deal with them. Then he was following Madam Pomphrey to the infirmary, controlling three of the hovering stretchers.
"What exactly was running through your obviously minuscule brain when you decided to attack two first years?" He demanded once Poppy announced that Warrington, the elder, was fine enough to answer a few questions.
He had expected more from Tiberius. The boy, and he was still a boy no matter that he had reached maturity, could be cunning but most of his talent lay in charisma. He could talk anyone into anything. If only he would talk people into something a little cleverer.
"I just wanted t'test him a bit. Knock him down a peg or two. He's been mouthing off about the Troll, how he held it off to protect that mudblood. How he thought she should have had the training purebloods get." The boy sulked, his head injury making his words a little slow. "Thought it'd be easy to disarm him. I was going to offer to give him and his little friend duelling lessons after picking him up off the floor. Get him onside, you know?"
Yes, unfortunately he did know. He'd hear the rumours ever since that dreadful night, and he was sure the boy's sorting had only exacerbated them.
"And how, pray tell, did things escalate as they did?" He sneered, deciding to ignore Potter's supposed political stance and Warrington's ham-fistedness for now. "Between Nott and Potter, they have three broken ribs, one broken ankle, five broken fingers, one dislocated shoulder, are covered in boils, have four minor but dark lacerations and someone severed the nerves in Potter's leg. Your lucky everything apart from whatever cutting curse was used is completely reversible."
"I dunno, Sir." Warrington winced as he shrugged his shoulders. "They were quick is all. And we were surprised at how many spells the two of them knew."
"Really? The only son and heir of Lord Thurlow Nott, and Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, untrained in battle magics?"
He didn't think it possible to sound more sarcastic. Idiot. Everyone and their crup knew Potter had been brought up and trained at some isolated family manor on the continent by whoever Dumbledore had roped into guarding the boy. While Nott Sr had a very well-earned reputation, one he would have to be an idiot not to teach his son how to protect himself from. Warrington must have heard the whispers, even if he wasn't quite old enough to remember how people had flinched back from Thurlow during the War.
"Well, yeah but it was five-to-two." He glanced to the bed next to him that was housing his little brother. "We thought we could handle it, but they didn't even need higher level spells. Just the nastiest hexes and jinxes you can cast and still stay on the legal side of the law."
Severus wasn't surprised; he still wasn't sure which cutting curse the Potter boy had used the night before against the Troll. The teenagers were lucky the eleven year old seemed to have a head on his shoulders. If he had, in the heat of battle, decided to 'slice the neck, not decapitate it' everyone would have been in lots more trouble than they already were.
"Then Wycliffe started throwing bone-breakers and Cassius went down and I didn't know why. I don't know who set Wycliffe on fire. I don't think it was either of the first years. Nott was down by then and Potter was coming at me like someone possessed, throwing blasting spells at my head. It looked to me like one of the fireplaces just let out a burst of green fire out of no where." It was obviously not the whole truth, the boy was a Slytherin after all, but he could infer what the idiot wasn't saying so it would do for now; he would deal with Wycliffe once he was sensate and cognizant. "How's Cassius, Sir?"
"His pustules were easily cleared up. Other than that he only suffered a broken nose after falling due to a simple petrificus totalus. He'll be discharged in the hour." He answered, his declaration only slightly softened, before he allowed the scathing note to renter his tone. "You, however, have a serious concussion and won't be leaving until the morning. Which is still a far better state than your eleven year old housemates."
He was still furious. It didn't matter that it was Potter they were talking about in this instance. The boy might be the bane of his existence and he might have been bragging about things he shouldn't have been, just like his father, but he couldn't allow this to slide.
"You and your compatriots will be recieving detention with me, or Mr Filch in the trophy room, three times a week for the rest of term." He told the teen in no uncertain terms. "It will be seen after the Yule holidays whether you will still be in said detentions. I have yet to be decided, so I will be watching your behaviour closely from now on. I will also be reviewing your worthiness of that badge."
He spun on his heel then, sweeping away from the boys bed and towards the sectioned of part of the infirmary Poppy had set up for Potter and Nott. Potter had passed out not long after Severus's arrival and he had heard the healer muttering about extreme magical exhaustion. So, he was not surprised that the boy was still unconscious when he arrived at his bedside. He was a little surprised to find Mister Nott having seemingly hopped from his bed to Potters, and was now laying top-and-tail with the other boy, pillow and all.
He jumped a little when Severus moved the medical privacy screens to enter the space. His wand was in his hands, indicating his fear, but his face was forcibly blank. Another sign that things were not okay in the Nott residence. He knew all too well how much Thurlow got off on the fear his victims demonstrated. That his son knew how to mask his own fear so succinctly, so instinctively, was worrying in the least. He would have to find a way to interfere there without making things worse for young Theodore. Severus might not have any official power, none that would allow him to see Nott removed from his house, but he still had a few friends in certain circles and might be able to leverage something, given time.
"You are safe here." He knew he wouldn't be believed but it was worth saying either way. "Madam Pomphrey would never allow anything to befall those under her care."
Nott only nodded, not taking his eyes off him as he moved to sit in the chair that was stationed next to the bed. He held back a sigh. A headache was beginning to mount between his eyes.
"Do you think you can inform me of everything that has happened, Mister Nott?"
Thee boy looked away then, his eyes find the wand he held in his lap. Severus waited patiently, knowing that silence was a very good tool for getting others to speak. Eventually, the boy glanced at him with his mother's large brown eyes and begun to talk.
"Malfoy started goading Harry in the Library. He was saying how we shouldn't be hanging around Longbottom and Granger. Longbottom's an alright sort. Quiet, you know? I like that." He shrugged. "Granger just sort of sat down and we didn't tell her to go away. Harry was just asking her about what she was reading when Malfoy turned up and started being really loud and obvious. Harry tried to get him to shut up and go back to the common room if he wanted to start something again. He's always following Harry around and trying to hex him. He's so jealous."
Being a close family friend of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, he was familiar with Malfoy juniors tendency to make a scene when he wasn't getting his own way. Picking a fight in the Library, when Slytherin rule one was no fighting where others could see, was high likely and would probably have witnesses aplenty.
Draco had thought he would rule the roost when he came to Hogwarts. Unfortunately for him, Harry Potter was not only in his year but had been sorted into his House. He was sure to be feeling angry that his supposed preordained position of top-spot in Slytherin had been usurped by Potter, without the boy seemingly even trying. Draco could win it back if he worked to befriend the Potter boy instead of seeming to make a firm enemy of him, but thus far had proven he didn't have his father's charm nor his mother's cunning. Severus would just have to see what he did after the Yule holiday, once Lucius and Narcissa had had the chance to have a proper talk with him.
"But when we got there Warrington and his friends were waiting for us. Harry tried to talk our way out of it. Really he did. They didn't care what he said, they were determined to fight us." He hesitated then and Severus could practically see the wheels turning as he considered how to tell his tail without getting him or his friend into trouble. "Malfoy picks on us alot and some of the Gryffindors call Harry a traitor because he's a Slytherin and hex us in the hallways. We mostly avoid them because we know we'll get in trouble for fighting, no matter who started it. But we've, well, we've been practising. Harmless stuff mostly. It's more about becoming quicker and we've been talking about working out some simple chains we could figure out."
He couldn't find himself too surprised. He remembered doing the same with Lily as they learned to fight off Potter Sr and his gang in their first few years. While they had mostly bonded over their shared love for potions, Lily had always excelled at the charms they came across in his favourite lesson, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and had been happy to help him when he struggled in those days. They'd spent hours going over wand movements and which spells chained easily together, flowing from one to the next without pause.
"But when spells started flying, it was all I could do to get out of the way and hope that the spells I threw actually did something. They're all so much older than us, Sir. Harry pushed me out of the way of one bone-breaker but I got hit with another one." He gestured to his ankle, now swollen but well on its way to be healed. "I'm not sure who fractured my ribs, I just remember thinking someone had vanished one of my lungs. Everyone turned on Harry then. I mean, not Ansley. Once he was down, he was down. But the other Warrington was getting up and I managed to fire a multae pusulae at him, while Harry went running at the Seventh Year Warrington. They sort of hit each other at the same time. I really don't know what happened to Wycliffe, Sir. It weren't either of us, I swear."
Again, a very expected paired-down series of events, highlighting what the other party had done wrong and not themselves. Still, Warrington had owned up to having been the aggressor. He'd even given up Wycliffe as the student who had begun firing off the bone-breakers and someone as-of-yet-unknown seemed to have taken a pot-shot at Wycliffe from the onlooking crowd. Maybe someone who had wanted to possibly win some points with Potter and Nott, or possibly someone who had just seen the opportunity to hurt Wycliffe in the chaos? Neither spell could be achieved by anyone who hadn't even gone through their second magic maturity and the first years were still two or three years off yet. He couldn't really fault them for the damage they had managed to inflict on their elder housemates given the circumstances.
"Get some rest." He said as he rose from his seat, having gotten what he had come for. "Madam Pomphrey tells me you will be discharged at lunch time tomorrow."
"Umm, Sir?" A hesitant voice called before he could leave.
"Mister Nott?"
"We left our books and bags with Longbottom when we left the Library. We thought we'd be back to get them before curfew." Nott informed him, obviously hoping he would at least send someone to retrieve their things.
He sighed but nodded. He would send a house elf once he got back to his rooms and begun to write out his report on todays incident. Dumbledore wouldn't care for the written word, he'd still want Severus to go up to his office and talk about all he had been able to find out, what he thought had happened and probably how he thought Potter was coping with his sorting, no doubt. But Severus would write and file it away anyway.
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Harry came to consciousness tucked up in a firm bed, much more comfortable than the one in his dorm. Which immediately set him on edge. Where was he?
Opening his eyes, he took in the high multi-arched ceiling. It took him a moment but he soon recognised the infirmary. That was not a surprise actually, as he began to remembered everything that had happened up until he passed out once the fight looked to be over. Carefully he flexed each part of his body, checking for damage done. It was obvious the boils that he remembered breaking out across his ribcage were gone, but his leg gave a slight throb when he moved it as did his shoulder and two of his fingers. He was reassured to find his wand holster still strapped to his arm, even if it seemed he had been changed into pyjamas at some point. He hoped that had been done with magic and that no one had seen his scars.
He remembered, as he had been running at Warrington, hoping the sudden shortening of distance might give him the upper hand, suddenly feeling as if his leg had been cut off. Remembered falling and looking down, surprised that the limb was still there. Remembered biting down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming, sucking in breaths in the hopes of pushing the pain away. His opponents had been mostly down by then and everyone who had been watching looked to be rapidly clearing the area, so Harry had risked rolling on to his front and dragging himself over to Nott.
Where was Theo?
With that thought, he began pushing himself up the bed so he could get a better look at his surroundings. His hip and leg brushed against something as he shifted, making him jump. Stretching out his senses revealed someone at the foot of his bed, a child. Ignoring the ache in his entire body he knew to be the remnants of magical exhaustion, he peered down the bed. It was Nott, tucked under his blankets and laying half-asleep at the foot of his bed. His movement had disturbed the other boy, his eyelids flickering open and peering at him without recognition for a moment.
"Harry, you're awake!" His voice cracked with disuse. "Do want me to get Madam Pomphrey?"
Harry shook his head. He felt alright and didn't want to be poked and prodded quite yet.
"How long have I been out?" He asked instead, trying to swallow away the dryness in his throat.
Theo sat up, shifting the pillow behind him. He was wearing a clean set of uniform, wrinkled from sleep but lacking the bloody torn edges Harry had noted the last time he saw the other boy.
"Three days. You passed out from magical exhaustion but Pomphrey decided to keep you like that while your leg healed. Said it would have been rather painful to fix your nerve endings if you had been conscious."
He nodded again, letting his head tip back so he was actually laying on his pillow. So that was what had happened to his leg. He could still feel everything below mid-shin giving off a mild pins-and-needles feeling, but he wasn't in pain like he had been before. The wonders of magical medicine, ladies and gentlemen. He just hoped that the tingly feeling would go soon.
He already knew he would have to rely on the school healer to fix whatever had been done to his leg, so would have to stick around if Madam Pomphrey said so. He knew a little about nerves of course, he'd looked into them when his wrist had started to ache the winter after he had fixed it with his magic, but not well enough to risk his leg on it.
Then again, maybe being stuck here for a day or two wouldn't be the end of the world. He might be expected to sleep here without his, admittedly limited, protections and that made him nervous, but it would be better than the dorm room if he had lost Slytherin hundreds of points.
"We in trouble?" He tried but ended up coughing by the end of it.
Nott jumped out of the end of the bed, grabbing the jug of water off the bedside table and pouring Harry a glass. He took it, ignoring the way his hand shook beyond his control. The water was cold and fresh tasting so he decided it hadn't been there too long, nor had it been poisoned when Theo wasn't looking.
"Doesn't seem like it. I got released day before yesterday and the word is that Warrington and company are in detention for the rest of the term and maybe the next one too."
"That's good." Strange, but good; he was sure him and Theo would be in just as much trouble as the other if not more so. "Even though I threw the first spell?"
Nott smirked. "Well, I didn't tell them that. I don't know what the others said but we seem to have come through it pretty unscathed now you're awake."
He allowed himself to give a tired smirk back. This was good, very good. He didn't doubt, no matter how much pain he had been in by the end, that he had done well in the duel with the older years. No one would think him weak or an easy target. He'd even kept his head for the most part, not needing to sink into his field to keep his calm. He'd been completely present as he fought, right up until he'd felt Theo go down beside him.
It hadn't been fear that had fought to seize his body then though, but anger. Fierce fiery anger that didn't quite feel like his own, while still clearly coming from himself. He hadn't liked the thought of Theo getting hurt on his behalf, not if he could help it. Once he was hurt, once he'd heard him sucking in a sharp breath as he fell, the anger in his chest had been hot. An inferno that had screamed for vengeance, for pain. Harry's anger had always been cold; patient and waiting for the best time to strike. He'd never felt it roil in his gut before rapidly setting fire to his lungs.
Theo pulled his wand out and Harry's eyes snapped to it in an instant, before forcing his eyes to glide sideways. He tried to control his breathing so his heart would slow it's sudden rapid beat. The other boy was sworn to him, had had his back in a duel he had known probably wouldn't go there way. He moved his fingers to fiddle with the blanket, trying to sooth the itchiness that warmed his palm, aching for his own wand. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Theo cast a homenum revelio and waited a moment for the result only he could feel.
"Was that you?" Nott whispered, leaning closer to him.
"Was what me?" He murmured back, matching the others tone.
"The fire. It leapt out of the fireplace at Wycliffe before he could curse you. He was the one throwing the really nasty stuff and when you ran at Warrington, I thought for sure you'd opened yourself up for him to really hurt you somehow. Then it was like, I dunno, the fireplace just let out this belch that went over everyone else's heads and straight for him. I... Was it you?"
The moment Theo had opened his mouth Harry had begun running through scenarios in his head. He had, as he decided practically leaping at Warrington was a good idea, seen the other boy, Wycliffe. He'd known it had been him throwing bone-breakers and putrid-feeling, purple spells he had been afraid to allow to land. He'd known, as he ran, that the other boy was in the perfect spot to take advantage. He'd also known that he couldn't afford to stop the barrage of flarmagni's at Warrington's head. So he'd reached out with his magic, as he had been practising pretty much his whole life, and grabbed ahold of the nearest thing he could see that would do damage. That it had been an abstract fistful of fire hadn't really been at the front of his thoughts. He'd just needed Wycliffe to back off, to be distracted.
He didn't know why the fire had turned green. Maybe it was the fire reacting to his magic flowing wildly through it. Like a chemical reaction. Alchemical reaction?
The question was whether he admitted such things to Theo and the answer, regretfully, was no. He knew setting someone on fire would drop him in too much trouble. Possible expulsion and he definitely didn't want to risk that. And he had done it wordlessly and wandlessly, which he knew by now was something most of his yearmates would struggle to ever do. Drawing attention to himself was against Harry's code. It wouldn't lead to anything good. So he shook his head, gave a half shrug and did his best not to feel guilty.
"If you were released why are you here? You're alright, aren't you?" He asked Nott to distract himself. "Don't you have lessons."
He was surprised that, when he looked at the boy hovering at his bedside, he had a faint blush across his cheek and his thin, pointed nose had gone red too. Then again, getting into bed with him was probably the most affectionate thing either of them had done during their admittedly short acquaintance so far, maybe ever. Harry didn't like touching people and liked it even less when they were touching him. It usually left his skin itchy and hot, or it sent uncomfortable shivers up his spine.
He didn't know if Nott had simply picked up on his aversion or whether, maybe, Theo was the same as him. It wouldn't be a shock, considering what little he knew of his father and the way he treated his son. Who could enjoy the touch of another if all it had ever brought you was pain?
Although, waking up to find Theo right there and fine had, admittingly, been somewhat of a relief.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's half passed four. Lessons are done for today," He informed him, his gaze shifting from Harry to the bedsheet covering him. ",so I came to see if you were up yet. Erm, my mother. I remember her laying in my bed like that when I was sick so, I thought... You know, that you'd want to know I was watching out for you when I could, in case anyone tried something. Umm anyway, Longbottom and Granger have both come to see you and Longbottom even had his Grandmother send him some chocolates for you."
He picked them up, showing Harry the fancy mint-green box that had a little silhouette of a field and a dog running around in it bordering the bottom.
"I'll be sure to send her a thank-you note?" His statement turned into a question at the end as he looked to Nott to asked whether that was the right move in such a situation.
The other boy nodded and moved on to informing him all that happened in the last few days and everything anyone of note had said in his eyeshot. Madam Pomphrey probably heard him talking as not long after she bustled into the bit of the hospital wing that had been sectioned off around him. She tutted at Theo for not informing her sooner as she went about firing spells at him, making him tense up and watch her like a hawk.
In the end, she declared that he was healing up nicely and could go back to the dorm just before curfew as long as nothing unforeseen cropped up before then. He made sure to politely thank her for looking after him and letting Theo stay as long as she had.
Once he was allowed to change into his uniform and make his way back to the common room, he felt apprehension fill his gut. He really, really didn't want to have another fight as soon as he got out of the infirmary. Was Warrington pissed that he got into so much trouble over his stunt?
But it turned out he was fine. He entered the common room with his head held high and observed as the room quietened but no one made a move against him or even sent him particularly malevolent looks. Instead, Zabini waved him and Theo over, where he was sitting with not only Greengrass but Davis and Bulstrode as well. Usually Davis hung around with Malfoy, Parkinson and Runcorn with Bulstrode seeming like a reluctant tag-a-long. She honestly seemed to talk to Goyle more than anyone else.
Still, he decided his best move was to sit with them. He didn't want the others watching him to think he was running scared. Not only that, but he didn't want to snub Zabini or Greengrass. So even though he would rather go to his bed, draw the curtains and lay down for a while more, he took the indicated seat and began asking about the lessons he'd missed.
He felt out the room as he listened to his yearmates. No one seemed to be throwing him vicious looks. Really, there was only Malfoy, sulking the opposite corner of the room while Parkinson was stroking his hair. He knew it wouldn't be the last time he would be attacked, but it seemed to be done with for now.
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A few days after he got out of the Hospital wing, he was called to Professor Snape's office. The meeting was probably going to be exactly like the ones each of his dorm mates had gone to. Theo had told him that the Professor had only asked a couple question about how he was settling in and how his classes were going. Harry still felt worried that he would bring up either the Troll again or the fight with Warrington. He hadn't been officially questioned about it, after all, having been unconscious for so long afterwards.
It had also been made blatantly obvious to Harry, on his very first day, that Snape hated him for some reason. He seemed convinced, like every other teacher he'd ever had before Hogwarts, that he was a troublemaker. So he'd done the same thing he would have done back in primary school. Harry avoided him.
He and Theo always sat at the very back of the class and when it came time to hand their potions in, Theo was always the one to do it. They didn't see much of him outside of classes and mealtimes, although he did tend to randomly appear in the common room from time to time; usually to make changes to the message board. The older students said he spent a lot of his evenings patrolling the corridors after curfew.
Harry had hoped that a combination of 'pretending he didn't exist' while within the Professor's sight, and not getting any detention while in his other classes, would eventually bring Snape around to neutrality. The Troll and the fight had surely flushed that down the drain.
Theo, probably sensing the nervousness he had been trying to hide, had promised to wait in the corridor for him. It had been strangely reassuring, even though he knew there wasn't anything Nott could do if Snape decided to do something to him.
Harry knocked on the door and after hearing his Professor's voice telling him to come in, he shared a last glance over his shoulder with Theo before entering. He hadn't been in his head of House's office since his first night at Hogwarts, before he had done the awakening ritual. Therefore, he was slightly distracted by the visible magic that hung around the room for a moment. There were a few throbbing jars of preserved potion ingredients and glimmering rows of charmed vials, empty and full, displayed on the shelves in the office as there were in his classroom, but not nearly so many. Mostly there were books, lots of them. Many of them held a certain amount of magic themselves, like the one on the higher shelves of the Slytherin common room and a few he had spotted in the school library too.
But he only allowed his eyes to briefly sweep over the room, marking the lack of visible exits, the magic and the furniture that might work as cover, before forcing this attention on to his teacher. Snape's magic was stiller than the other teachers, and Harry read this as he was more in control. Of his magic itself, or just his emotions, he wasn't so sure. He also had a cluster of somewhat-familiar dark magic woven around his left arm.
He noticed it before, during class, but it had taken a little over a month of sensing it at a distance, tasting it's scent when he could, realise his suspicions. He knew what he thought that was on his Professor's arm, but he hadn't summoned the courage yet to either search Tom's memories or ask Theo. He was afraid of the answer. Perceiving it as he sat across from the man on a probably purposefully rickety chair was unnerving. Now it seemed suddenly stupid of him that he hadn't spent the time searching for answers. He didn't know, just because he was a teacher hired by Dumbledore, Leader of the Light, and hadn't actively tried to hurt him; that he wasn't a threat.
Failure to plan was planning to fail. He'd heard that somewhere, probably in the primary school library and had said it to himself many a time. But Harry had no plan for this meeting apart from being polite, proving not to be a 'dunderhead' and hoping it was over quickly. Maybe he was slipping? Or more likely, he'd never had so much going on before and would have learn to do better.
"Mister Potter," His Professor seemed to loom over him, even from the other side of the desk. "You seem to be preforming adequately in your classes and apart from recent events, seemed to have kept yourself out of trouble. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, Sir."
He hadn't been struggling in his classes. The theory could be difficult to understand but he felt he was making strides as he consumed the books on magical theory he had picked up in the second-hand shop. They tended to make the assigned text, Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, make a hell of a lot more sense even if they were a little outdated as far as he could tell. The practical, on the other hand, was pretty easy once he had gotten the hang of channelling his magic through his wand. His years of wandless magic and all his occlumency practise seemed to make it effortless to focus his intent, which aided greatly in casting.
If he was being honest, classes were moving a little slowly. If he and Theo hadn't been doing a tonne of extracurricular research on top of their studies, he probably would have been bored by now. Arithmancy was a fascinating subject once you ignored all the telling the future bits you seemed to have to study in your third year. The bits he liked, the stuff he would have to wait for fourth and fifth year for, were more to do with the math that went into creating something magical and not have it blow up in your face.
Theo had also recently suggested, since he was interested in warding, that he pick a runic alphabet to begin memorising. He'd offered to lend him his old Elder Futhark primer, but he'd decided to Owl order his own copy. He liked making notes in the margins of his books. Doing so usually made Theo's eye twitch, ergo Harry was sure he wouldn't appreciate him doing the same to his own book.
"And you have not been having any major difficulties outside of your classes that I have not been made aware of?"
"No, Sir"
What even classed as a major difficulty?
A group of fifth year Gryffindors, after hearing about his hospitalisation, had decided to rally behind his name once more and had blamed their Slytherin yearmates for his injuries. They'd started a fight that had ended in more students in the infirmary and even more house points being lost. Somewhat surprisingly, no one seemed to be blaming him specifically, but it didn't make him feel any better about the constant attention everyone took of his every action.
Also, the headaches he got every Defense class kept on happening. He guessed it was his magic sensitivity reacting to what every weird problem Quirrell had. Looking at the disgusting fungal-magic clinking and clearly feeding off his teacher made him feel ill. Sitting at the very back of the class, closest to the door, only helped a little. He vaguely wondered what Madam Pomphrey had recommended for the man, as he seemed to be getting gradually weaker as the term went on.
Plus, on an admittedly less serious note, after Zabini had mentioned it, he realised he was expected to buy his friends and acquaintances Christmas, or rather yule gifts. His problem being, after having to buy more quills, parchment, ink, shampoo, body wash and a few books he had been sorely lacking, he didn't have that much money left with him. This was clearly another strike against him for piss-poor planning.
He wasn't even sure what to get them anyway. He'd never had to buy anyone anything before.
But he wasn't gong to bring any of that up with his Professor. Snape didn't seem like the type to appreciate whining in any way. Besides, until he had spent some time seeing what Tom Riddle had known of the man, he couldn't trust him. Depending on what he found, if he saw what he thought he would, probably not even then.
"Although I barely need to ask, have you been keeping up with the Defense Against the Dark Arts independent study groups?" He didn't seem pleased that Harry had defended himself well, and therefore surely not shown up his House, but he didn't sound particularly derisive either.
"Yes, Sir."
His professor's already narrow lips thinned. Harry wondered if Snape had already gotten to the point in the conversation where one word answers had begun to annoy him. Vernon had always preferred he said as little as possible but Petunia had taken it as a sign of disrespect. He sort of understood that because after a while of only having to say the same thing, it was easy to tune out and think of something else, no matter what vile thing his Uncle was shouting. With his Aunt he'd always had to pepper his 'yes, ma'am' 'no ma'am's' with sporadically repeating back to her what she'd said, forcing his engagement.
"Have you given any thought as to which OWL classes you would like to select at the end of next year?"
"Arithmancy and Ancient Rune, Sir" It wasn't even a question at this point; he doubt he would ever need Divination and could learn all he needed to for Care of Magical Creatures from a book or his Defense class.
"The same as Mister Nott?" The Professor raised an eyebrow, his suspicion clear.
"We have very similar interests, Sir." His muscled tensed but he forced himself to sound casual and not defiant. "We spend much of our time in the Library."
He wondered if his Professor was about to accuse him of cheating. It wouldn't be the first time and Harry had hated it each and every time it happened. His eyes flickered briefly to the shadowy magic that wrapped itself around his teachers arm. He would have to keep his cool. Control his breathing, control his mind, control his emotions.
"It is best to pick subjects you have an interest in. It's much more likely to lead to work you will find satisfactory."
Harry ran the sentence through his head three times before he decided there wasn't a sly dig buried in there somewhere. It was just... Sound advice? Okay, weird but whatever. He waited for his Professor to ask another question but the silence just seemed to stretch between them. Was he waiting for something? What did he want Harry to do? Or was he just trying to be unsettling. The Professor did tend to swoop around with his thick teaching robes flaring out behind him in dramatic fashion, he probably enjoyed how even the older students scuttled out of his way.
Staying quiet and still was a little difficult under the Professor's intensely stern gaze, but in the end, it didn't last all that long.
"Dismissed, Mr Potter."
Part of him wanted to leap from the chair and run from the room, but he made himself act calmly. He was almost at the door when the Potions Master spoke again.
"Do try to stay out of trouble, if at all possible." He drawled.
He honestly wasn't sure if was supposed to be a dig or not. It didn't seem worth staying to find out, so he only nodded, give a murmured 'yes, Sir' and quickly retreated out the door, closing it firmly behind him. Theo was waiting for him, just as he said he would. Harry was strangely relieved to find that he had stayed. He knew there wasn't anything Nott could have done, if Snape had decided to do something. But it made him feel better all the same. Odd.
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November, after its rather chaotic beginnings, quickly rumbled on and the only thing of particular note was the start of the Quidditch season. The first game of the year was Slytherin vs Gryffindor. It seemed like everyone that wasn't him or Nott had gone mad for Quidditch. Even Zabini pondered aloud a few time Slytherin's chances this year, now that Charlie Weasley, one of the troublesome Weasley's older brothers, had left. Supposedly he'd been Gryffindor's star seeker but had graduated last year and they had struggled to find an adequate replacement.
Instead of going to the game, him and Theo had taken the chance of their room all to themselves to practise the duelling techniques they had been reading about since their fight, from one of the books he'd got in the second-hand shop. They threw spells at each other for an hour, careful not to trash their room, before moving on to their more usual Occlumency practise, which had finally begun to involve their first forays into Legilimency. Theo had begun building a barrier at long last and Harry had begun to carefully learn how to stretch out his mind to push up against Theo's. That was an exhilarating experience. He hadn't managed to pushed through yet, but neither had Nott when he had tried to break through the barrier around Harry's mind.
Harry knew what would happen the second he did though. It was rather clever of him really, if he did say so himself. He'd asked himself what was a quick way to get someone away from you. The obvious answer was to scare them, then they left on their own and probably quickly at that. The he'd asked himself what was very scary that Harry might risk using against his enemies; something they couldn't immediately turn around to hurt him. Vernon and anything he had done to Harry was right out. He'd then tried to picture pain strong or real enough to use it against an intruder, but he hadn't been able to imagained anything that hadn't directly led back to the Dursleys.
Finally, after one of his reoccurring nightmares, he'd thought about the green light. The Killing curse. It was a sickly sort of colour and he didn't think there was a being, alive or dead, that wouldn't recognise it for what it was instinctively, even if they had never seen it before. Harry knew what it was like watching the spell fly for someone he cared about, knew what it looked like flying at him. That was what he would throw at the first person to succeed in breaching his mind. The look of it alone was sure to send anyone reeling.
He was kind of looking forward to the day Theo got through, just to see how effective it would be.
After the encounter with the Troll and his following fight with the older years, he had taken a deeper search of his mindscape than he had in a while. Not that he didn't go in there and organise new memories and work on different traps almost every night before half-an-hours meditation, but he rarely had the time or energy for an extended wander.
His first port-of-call was the door, now hidden in a patch of shadow he had begun to dot around the corners of his mindscape in the hopes of hiding the other room from view to any intruders, at the very back of the library. He found he wasn't surprised to find the door ajar. He had reached for those memories-not-his-own when he had found himself face-to-face with a twelve foot Troll. He hadn't gone about it delicately either.
Only his recognition of the Troll had been like those times when information seemed to just drop in his head, recalled from a life he'd not lived. While trying to formulate a plan, he'd ransacked his brain for spells that might help him against something he was not prepared for. He'd anticipated having to fight his school-mates; not magic-resistant beasts. It turned out that accessing the knowledge with such a technique had left some mess in it's wake.
He had been working on turning the form of Tom's memories into books like his own memories every since he had first discovered them. Looking at the eerily glowing liquid-gas floating on the shelves had always made him feel uneasy. There was a certain alien-ness about them; even though he had discovered that they sort of resembled the form memories took outside one's head if they were removed to be looked at in a Pensieve. They still creeped him out. It hadn't taken much effort to change their form but they had all kept their colour and feel no matter what he tried.
Now books had fallen off the shelves, or perhaps been discarded on there when he had found them useless in the milliseconds he'd had to make a decision. He could practically trace the trail he had taken looking for something that would help him. Time was a fluid thing when inside ones own head but it seemed to take ages to pick up every memory, use his magic to get a taste for it so he could find out where it belonged while avoiding spending too much time curiously going over every slightly interesting titbit he found. Not that he hadn't grasped quite a lot from the exercise.
He'd learnt quite a few spells during his efforts but he'd also ended up watching large swathes of Tom Riddle's early life, before forcing himself to move on and finish his task before he got too tired. He tasted Tom's hate for Billy Stubbs and his friends as they beat the shit out of him. Felt his satisfaction and joy as he hung Stubbs' rabbit from the rafters, finally making the older boys fear him and leave him alone. Sensed his dread as the sirens went off and he was forced into a squashed crowd of people as they all hurried to get down into the Underground or risk being hit by one of the bombs that was being dropped on London. Caught his worry at the thought that Wool's wouldn't be there when they climbed their way back above ground and his simultaneous hope that they would find nothing but rubble and Dumbledore might be forced to allow (What right did he have t-) him stay with one of his classmates during the remains of the summer.
He watched as faces he never seen became familiar, learning things about each of the recurring cast. There had been a Nott in Tom's year too. He assumed Thurlow Nott was Theo's grandfather, considering he was in the same year as Tom Riddle, therefore had been born in nineteen twenty-six/twenty seven. There was Malfoy's grandfather as well, Abraxas, looking slightly longer in the face than his generations Malfoy. Other names were familiar from his own housemates; Jugson, Avery, Vaisey, Pucey, Trembley and Warrington. His generation were all older than Harry so other than their names, faces, and a vague sense that they were those kind of Purebloods, he knew little about them.
All of them had sneers on their faces when Tom first got to Hogwarts. They were all there swearing their allegiance to him a few years later. Harry knew, if he looked, he would find their faces again as Voldemort gave them the Dark Mark a decade or two later.
They weren't who he was looking for though. It was useful to know, but not something he had to worry over right then. He had a somewhat suspicious teacher, with icky magic wrapped around his arm to check on. He might not have found him during his tidying, but there was still a lot to search through.
Snape, he thought, Severus Snape. Potions Master. With long, black, greasy hair and a large crooked nose. He wanted to know of this person and he didn't want to tear apart the library again looking for him. He felt the magic around him, his magic, reacting to his intent and let it guide him further in. He concentrated on letting the magic flow calmly while he searched, not wanting to undo all the work he had done to put the room to rights.
It didn't take long, or at least it didn't feel like too long, before he found the first memory to contain information about his potions professor and Head of House. And once he had found it, the metallic memory dripping slowly disappearing, rust-coloured drops on to the shelf it hovered over, it was much easier to find the rest.
Snape was a lonely boy, with a penchant for spell creation and a lack of financial opportunities. That was what Voldemort's spies in Hogwarts reported. He was just one among many candidates the Dark Lord looked to recruit. Only truly of note because of his half-blood heritage combined with his sorting. A vague echo of himself. The spells his followers passed on to him, spells of Snape's creation, were intriguing. He wanted...
Harry pulled back from the memory, taking a moment to settle into himself. The memory was from later than he had dared to search so far. He hadn't needed to look to know that the things he might see would get more and more harder to watch. Tom's childhood had been filled with enough fear and bloodshed, he didn't really want to look to closely at his memories of the War if he didn't have to. But this wasn't even that and he still felt sick.
Tom didn't just want to recruit these school children to fight in his war, he wanted to possess them. Twist them and make them his. He delighted in Snape's perceived weakness, his isolation, his need for acceptance, his shitty parents, because he knew it would make it all too easy to persuade Snape to him. To feed him honeyed words, promises of money for his apprenticeship and his ingredients, the circles that would open to him with Tom's say-so, assurances of the power he would one day hold if choose to follow him. And if, by some turn of the fates, Snape actually refused him, Tom would just kill him.
He knew, without having to look, that Snape was a Death Eater. He just didn't know what to do know he knew.
By the time he left the darker room and moved back to his mostly sunset lit Library of Memory, he had much to think about and those thoughts needed sorting themselves.
