By the look of doom on his face, Charlie must have thought he was being led to the gallows. When he caught up with her, just outside the Fat Lady's portrait, he said urgently, "I didn't cheat in Potions, honest. He was going to take off points if I didn't know the answer, so when someone told me what it was, I used it. It wasn't even a test."
She regarded him sternly. "That is a lesser form of cheating, Mr. Weasley. Your detention is justified. I expect you not to repeat it."
He nodded quickly. "I won't," he promised earnestly.
They walked in silence for a few moments, Charlie half-running to keep up with her swift stride. She slowed a little. It wouldn't do to turn him over to Filch while out of breath. "Professor?" the boy asked tentatively once it became obvious her lecture was over.
"Yes?"
"Is it against rules to bring a Slytherin into the Gryffindor dormitory?"
Now that was an interesting question. "Traditionally, it is something not done," she answered carefully. "There has been little desire to change that."
"I want to." Such a simple statement to overthrow centuries of predjudice and rivalry.
"Oh?" she prompted archly. Surely the Tragyl boy had not become openly friendly with her Gryffindors. He must have some sense of self-preservation.
"Harris is my cousin and my friend. He just happens to wear silver and green."
Eons of hatred and distrust, fundamental differences in temperment and attitude, habitual and ingrained enemity, all trivialized to a pair of colors. Charlie Weasley was a gem. "Mr. Tragyl would be wise to pursue this friendship with discretion. For his own safety."
Charlie looked stricken. "Is he not safe? Can we put in another bed in our dorm room? I'm going to give him the Fat Lady's password. We need to get him out of there."
McGonagall regretted her words, but Charlie's urgency gave her new cause to worry. Something new must have developed. "Provided he doesn't pick any more fights, he should be safe," she assured him, but could help asking, "Has he given you any indication otherwise?"
Charlie looked around the deserted hallway quickly, and lowered his voice, "You didn't hear this from me, but he almost cried before potions this morning. He keeps reminding me of Ginny during a thunderstorm. Scared, you know? And each time I see him, it's worse. He was shunned, you know." Charlie shuddered. "He sat with us during potions."
McGonagall barely resisted the inclination to gape. She couldn't stop her eyes from widening. "Mr. Tragyl sat with the Gryffindors during Professor Snape's class? No wonder we lost sixty points in one period. I knew that was a bit high, even for Severus." She had thought it was petty revenge for her attempted interference the previous night. But Charlie's words were the key to deciphering Severus' irritation and baleful glares toward the both the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables during lunch and dinner.
The low words spoken to Wallsby, and the cold looks both Slytherin professors sent toward the group of Slytherin first-years leaving the Great Hall, suddenly took on a sinister light. The child would likely get no protection from his Head of House. Should anything short of death happen to him in the Slytherin dormitory, no punishments would be enforced. She had seen it happen before.
I will not and cannot go over Wallsby's head . . . if you insist on forcing the issue, talk to the Headmaster. Had that been a dodge to get out of responisbility, or a serious piece of advice? It seemed almost too obvious to be anything but the former. But the more she considered it, the more she realized that Severus did not make idle remarks. Besides, what harm could it do to try?
"Professor?"
"What is it, Mr. Weasley?" she asked kindly. The boy would be her best source of information on the Harris Tragyl situation.
"Should I tell him not to sit with us?" he asked uncertainly. He looked up at her with troubled green eyes. "He needs friends, but he wouldn't want to cost us points."
She smiled at him. This dilemmna, at least, she could address. "Which is more important, Mr. Weasley? A friend or a few points?"
He looked relieved. "The friend," he answered with confidence and a broad smile. Molly and Arthur had every reason to be proud of their son. McGonagall felt proud enough of him that she felt guilty turning him over to Filch now. But they had reached the caretaker's office, and the boy did have detention.
Harris Tragyl, Weston Avery, and Martin Lodge were already there. Harris immediately went to Charlie's side, darting fearful looks back at his Housemates as he did so. The boy looked so vulnerable that McGonagall's instincts screamed at her to wrap the poor child into an embrace and assure him she'd make every better. Only an iron will and Charlie's warm "Hi, coz!" and hug kept her in place. Over Harris' shoulder, Charlie looked at her without apology and without quarter. Though he made no attempt to communicate with her, his message was clear as crystal. Help me help him. I can't do this alone.
Then Charlie's face was a cheerful mask as it came into Harris' view again. "Hey, coz, guess what?"
Harris cracked a smile that McGonagall could only guess was genuine. Surely, if he was faking, it would be more believable. "What?"
"You gotta guess. That's what 'guess what?' means."
Something of the smile touched Harris' eyes, McGonagall was glad see. "I did guess. I guessed 'what', just like you told me to do."
Charlie laughed, a strange sound to hear in Filch's office. "Okay, you win."
"So, what?" Harris asked.
Charlie lifted his eyebrows, "So what what?"
"You said 'guess what?' What was I supposed to guess, besides 'what'?"
"Oh, right! My brother, Bill, is trying out for the Quiddich team this Saturday. Wanna watch? He's only a second year so he prolly won't make it, but we can cheer him on anyway, right?"
Harris nodded, not quite enthusiastically, but he didn't seem to dislike the idea either. "Right." He shot a nervous look at Avery and Lodge, but he surprised her by raising his voice instead of lowering it, "You never know, Bill could make your House team. Specially with family" another frightened look at Avery and Lodge, though the word was the loudest he had spoken, "there to celebrate his victory or tease him mercilessly if he doesn't make it." McGonagall realized with a start that the boy was grinning with real excitement at this idea. She revised her opinion of the meaning behind the looks at the Slytherins. He wasn't intentionally rubbing their faces in his change of loyalty. He was drowning out his own doubts.
Charlie returned the grin, something of her own surprise reflected in his expression. "Wouldn't miss it."
Now ignoring the Slytherins, he added, "Pity my brothers can't make it. Valr could come up with some really great catcalls if your brother did something dumb."
Charlie smirked. "That's nothing to what the twins could come up with."
"Your twins or mine?"
McGonagall closed her eyes. She'd already had a taste of Harris' twin brothers, and a very disturbing rumour was already starting to reach the Hogwarts faculty about the Weasley twins. At least Clarence was definitely a Ravenclaw. The other three were only probably going to be hers.
Filch arrived with brooms, buckets, and Mrs. Norris. He pushed the supplies into the Harris' hands. The boy had the misfortune to be standing nearest the door. "This way," Filch sneered, and the four first-years followed him down the hall. McGonagall stood where she was, for a moment. Then she directed her steps toward the Headmaster's office.
"Pineapple Pops," she told the guardian to Dumbledore's inner sanctum. It stepped aside, and she climbed the stairs to his office. "Albus?" she said by way of greeting.
The Headmaster turned away from Fawkes, and smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Minerva."
Uncertain how to broach the subject, she said only, "Harris Tragyl."
Albus sat in behind his desk a bit more heavily than normal. "Take a seat, Minerva," he invited, a touch tired she thought. She did as instructed.
"I just spoke with Charlie Weasley. Harris is not doing well in Slytherin. He's been in several fights, and has already been shunned. Albus, the poor boy is terrified of his own roommates. It can't be healthy."
Albus picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. "I just got this from Keri Tragyl. It's the last note she got from Harris. She doesn't know what to do. Pull him out, keep him here, or transfer him to Beauxbatons." McGonagall read the note with dismay. Then she read it again.
"Can we put him in Hufflepuff?" She pointed at the first paragraph. "He says that's where he wishes he was."
Albus shook his head. "He wishes he was Sorted there originally. Getting put there now would be admitting defeat. Unless and until he wants to leave, I cannot move him. Despite all that has happened, he still believes he was correctly Sorted. I have enough faith in the Hat, that I am loathe to disagree with him. He was raised by both a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, Minerva. He will have traits of each. All of the Tragyls will."
McGonagall surpressed a shudder. Eight children of mixed Gryffindor/Slytherin heritage. "How did Keri and Waltr meet?" she asked, her voice skirting the edge of lamentation.
Albus smiled consolingly. "I am sure it is a fascinating story, but, sadly, I haven't the details."
It had been a rhetorical question, but she still felt somewhat disappointed that he couldn't tell her. She shrugged it off. "Can't we do anything for Harris now? Charlie suggested giving him an alternative bed in the Gryffindor dormitory."
The Headmaster nodded slowly. "That can be arranged for him. I expect he won't make use of it immediately, but the important thing is that the option exists, so he knows there is somewhere he can go to be safe and welcome. Beyond that, there is very little we can do but be available to him as much as possible, and be ready to pick up the pieces if neccessary."
First year Slytherins had only one class on their third day. Flying, with Gryffindor. Harris arrived with his Housemates, but didn't hesitate to leave them to stand with the Gryffindors. They stood opposite each other, eleven versus five, with a ratty old broom next to each student. The Cleansweep 4 in his parents' shed would blow these out of the water. He told as much to Charlie.
His cousin smiled self-consciously, "I wish the one we had at home was half as good as this," he nudged the wreck of a broom laying on the ground next to him. Harris tried to hide a small smile, knowing what he'd get his cousin for Christmas. One of the new Cleansweep 5's that just came out had Charlie's name all over it. If Bill made the Gryffindor team, it would probably be a good gift for him, too.
The lesson itself was ridiculously easy. Just "up" and hover a bit. He'd never tried calling a broom to his hand by just saying "up!" but he got it on the second attempt. By comparison to the rest of the class, this was quite impressive. The hovering part, Harris was sure, even Menteron could handle. Many of the class, though, had apparently never seen a broom before, and couldn't even get this right. The problem was not entirely limited to muggleborn Gryffindors. Madeline couldn't get off the ground, either.
Candice, who, by her mother's diary, had tried flying before, hadn't learned much control since the window incident Evalyn had read about. Her hover more resembled a zigzagging foward and back shuffle. That she stayed over the same six foot square box, at varying heights, was about the best one could say about her 'hover'. She was not the only one with that problem, either.
Charlie, Avery, Aurora, and himself were the only ones who had the hover down solid. Martin jerked around a bit, and complained about the poor quality of his broom. Evalyn did about as well as Martin, perhaps a touch better. She choose to put her effort into controlling her broom rather than complaining about it. Charlie, perhaps wisely, choose not to comment about the relative superiority of the school brooms to the one he had previously used. Though, to be honest, Harris couldn't imagine how it could be worse and still be able to fly.
The lesson ended without serious mishap, despite a collision between Walrus and Brian Baxter. Harris guessed Brian had some broom experience because only a quick recovery on his part kept the incident from becoming a domino effect down the entire Gryffindor line. Harris had him pegged as a future Chaser, or perhaps Beater, for his House team. Charlie, too, was an easy choice for their Quiddich team. If Bill could fly half as well as his little brother could, he was a shoo-in at try-outs this Saturday.
Among the Slytherins, Avery would surely be choosen. With luck, Harris hoped to be a Chaser himself, though if try-outs were based on anything besides skill, he doubted he'd make it. He'd just have to show them he was just so good that they'd be stupid to turn him away. Maybe he could even get Charlie to circulate a rumour that if the Slytherins didn't take him, Gryffindor would.
Valr was very enthusiastic about taking advantage of the 'I'd rather have it myself than let you have it' philosophy and had somehow gotten Harris to give him all his good flavored Every Flavor Beans for Valr's bad flavored ones using that technique. Something about prank prevention. In an effort to boost his self esteem, Harris tried not to remember the details of the deal. He'd have to ask the brat for pointers over Christmas break. It would probably cost him all his stocking candy and maybe a few hours on his broom. But if it got him on the Slytherin Quiddich team, it would be worth it.
But all that was a year away. The first flying lesson came to an end, and they followed Madam Hooch from the field, carrying the school brooms back to their storage room. Harris left with Charlie, who waved for his friends to go on without him. A tightness balled in Harris' stomach. If he wanted them to leave, it could only mean one of two things, both bad. He could want to keep the Gryffindors from Harris which would mean two of four Houses hated him now. Or he could want a heart-to-heart talk. Of the two, he almost prefered the former.
"Harris," Charlie said seriously when they were alone. "Professor McGonagall wanted me to tell you a couple things."
Harris closed his eyes briefly. It was worse than he feared. "Yeah?" he prompted, hoping to get it over with quickly.
Charlie no doubt heard the dread. He smiled reassuringly. Harris was not noticably reassured. "First, she says that if you ever need to talk to anybody about anything, she'd be glad to listen. I would, too, by the way. She also says if you don't want to talk to her, Headmaster Dumbledore's door is always open, too."
The Headmaster was in on this, too? Harris scowled, not at Charlie, just a general one. No sense in blaming the messanger. "You can tell her that I can take care of myself," he said stiffly.
Charlie gave him a look that plainly revealed his doubt. Harris hid both offense and fear. Charlie didn't believe he could handle this. Just as clearly, neither did McGonagall or Dumbledore, else they wouldn't have had Charlie talk to him. With so many people betting against him, should he really think he had a chance?
Ambitious, yes. Very like your father. One place for that: SLYTHERIN! the Hat had said, wasting little time with its decision. It had been almost as fast with him as it had been with Avery, faster than for either Evalyn or Martin. Slytherin was his House. Just like Father. Waltr Tragyl was the enigma of his Slytherin class, too. Married a Gryffindor, even. Grandmother Tragyl complained about it enough. Grandfather had been even more blunt, before he was sent away. Neither had particularly cared if Harris or his brothers heard.
Pity your brother wasn't the oldest, he's a proper Tragyl. . . . Honestly, Waltr, I think you spent too much time with that Gryffindor creature you married. . . . One more Gryffindor stunt like that, Waltr, and I swear you will be living like that Weasel family you married into! Do you hear me, boy? You don't deserve to be called my son! Disownment. You know what that means, right? You and that rabbit's nest of yours will be penniless!
Harris had never met his cousins on the Tragyl side. Uncle Sividious had feared 'contamination'. So, really, this was nothing new. Even Mum's side hadn't exactly gone out of their way to keep in touch. They just weren't as vocal about their shunning. Sividious never let Father forget that he and his tainted brood were not good enough for Sividious' children.
On Mum's side, invitations just got 'lost' or 'forgotten' and they were 'so sorry' and they'd 'surely send the invite next time'. On Tragyl birthdays, there were always excuses, 'the kids have a game that day' or 'we're on vacation that week'. Father had argued that last one, 'They can barely feed themselves, where can the be vacationing? In the next gutter over?' Mum had shushed him and send the owl back, telling them to have fun. After a while, Harris' parents had given up inviting any relatives besides grandparents.
"I can take care of myself," Harris repeated, with more confidence. Father didn't shrink from the treatment. True, he did mutter a bit about Mum's side not being nearly as brave as Gryffindors should be, that they should just out and say they'd rather not have any dealings with the Tragyls, but he didn't seem to mind that his family was essentially isolated from the outside world; both Wizarding and Muggle. Ever since the Merriweathers died, only tutors and grandparents ever visited, and the Tragyls themselves almost never left their residence. So, like with Sividious, now he just had to listen to the Wizarding World ignore him.
"Of course you can," Charlie said, making a valiant effort to sound supportive and convinced. Like Father, Harris wasn't entirely alone. Father had Mum, and Harris, and Jansten, and the other siblings. Harris had Charlie, and whichever other Gryffindors were willing to overlook the fact that he was Slytherin. That seemed to be a surprising majority.
Plus McGonagall and Dumbledore in their own weird way. "The other thing she wanted me to tell you was that they're putting in another bed in my dorm. You can use it, if you want." As if afraid he might refuse, Charlie continued in a rush, "She said you might say no, but that I should tell you that she's not trying to make you a Gryffindor. Slytherin is your House unless and until you decide you want to get reSorted." The sing-song quality to his voice told Harris he was quoting, or at least paraphrasing. Charlie grinned suddenly. "It was up when we got back from breakfast. The sheets and drapes and everything they made it up with were even green and silver. Oh, yeah, the password to Gryffindor's dormitory is 'Hog's Head'. You go up the South Tower to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She's our guardian and password taker."
A Fat Lady guardian? Slytherin just had a blank wall. Wait. A Gryffindor had just entrusted a Slytherin with the Gryffindor entrance point and password? Harris stared at his cousin. "Professor McGonagal - your Head of House - told you to tell me that?"
Charlie grinned. "She even brought the green and silver bedsheets herself."
Harris was torn. On one side, he was elated. A safe place. He wouldn't have to fake or self-inflict or provoke Avery to give him an injury to get to the Hospital Wing when the Slytherin dormitory got too much. On a second side, he was affronted. A Slytherin shouldn't have to depend on the generosity of others, particularly Gryffindors. How dare McGonagall offer him everything he wanted as charity? He was practically honor-bound to refuse. On the last side, he was terrified. Even the teachers of the enemy House thought he needed a safe place enough to grant him one in her own House. His assessment of the risk he was taking was underestimated, if anything. It would be folly to turn it down. Harris prided himself on not being a fool.
Harris looked down at the floor. "Thank you," he mumbled. Slytherins were never that big on honor anyway.
"It'll be wicked, having you in our dorm," Charlie added, sounding excited.
Harris looked up in alarm. "It's for emergencies," he explained quickly. "I can't use it all the time or just for fun."
Charlie looked confused. "Why not?"
Slytherin!" Didn't Charlie understand that? Harris grabbed his green and silver tie and pulled it forward as proof. "Slytherins don't live in the Gryffindor dorms! And we certainly don't go there for sleepover parties either!"
His cousin looked at him, disappointed, and even a little hurt. "Oh."
Harris felt bad. Hurting Charlie's feelings had been the last thing he wanted to do. "Look, Cousin, I appreciate the bed and the password, and I will use them if I need to, but I'm not a Gryffindor and never will be. I think that's the House I'm least suited to. I don't want to be a Gryffindor. I want to be a Slytherin like Father." Harris grinned, partly at his cousin's dismay, but mostly to reassure him. "Dad married a Gryffindor. I can have one for a best friend."
Charlie looked stunned for a moment. Then, "M-me?" he asked stupidly. Harris smirked and nodded once. "I'm your best friend?" Charlie tried to grasp the concept.
Harris raised an eyebrow. "Well, it sure isn't Avery."
Charlie blinked at that, then smiled brightly. "Wow. And I didn't even think you liked me!"
Harris lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't?" he blurted.
Charlie shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "You never looked particularly glad to see me," he pointed out.
Harris decided this was a bad direction for the conversation to take. "Was that everything McGonagall told you?" It wasn't even close to subtle, but the dodge worked.
"Pretty much. You can talk to her or Dumbledore, you have a bed at our place, you don't have to get reSorted if you don't want to. I think that was everything. Oh, yeah. Your mum is worried about you and considered taking you out of Hogwarts."
Harris' eyes widened. "She can't do that!"
Charlie grinned. "Glad you feel that way, cuz that what Headmaster Dumbledore told her."
Harris relaxed. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt in his last letter home. He wouldn't lie to her though. He'd just have to emphasize the positive next time.
September 5, 1984
Dear Mum, Father, Rest,
Charlie said McGonagall said you almost took me out of Hogwarts. Don't.
I hate it here. Not as much as the Slytherins hate me, though. Charlie's cool. I'm going with him this Saturday to watch Bill try out for the Gryffindor Quiddich team. I promised to heckle Bill enough to make up for the Weasley twins' absense if he doesn't make the team. I hope he makes it, because, if he doesn't, I don't think I can live up to what Charlie says the twins are like.
Spent the afternoon with the Gryffindors: Pam and Tommy (they were on the Hogwarts train with me), Charlie, Walrus (he's muggle born, I think I mentioned him before), and Brian Baxter. We did potions homework, and hung out. Walrus had us listen to muggle music on his Walking Man. Then we played a muggle game called freeze tag that Pam introduced. She's muggle born, too. Walrus says we should give ourselves new names. So he's Walrus (his real name is Richard, he started the Walrus thing at the Sorting ceremony; it has something to do with a muggle song. Clarence can explain.) Charlie's Weasel. I'm Snake. Brian was elected as Eggman. Collectively, we're supposed to call ourselves the Eggmen. See if Clarence can find out anything about a Beetles song called "I am the Walrus." Not sure how much we'll call each other by these. Hopefully, not much. Pam and Tommy somehow escaped without getting renamed.
See, Mum, I did make friends.
I've even got a bed in the Gryffindor dormitory if I need it. Green and silver sheets, Father, I'm not a total traitor. I won't use it unless Avery forces me to, though. It's a better sanctuary than the Hospital Wing.
Mum, I know what I want to get Charlie for Christmas. He needs a new broom. A Cleansweep 5 should do. It'll surprise him and he's my best and first friend here. We will invite him and his family over during break, right?
Me and the Slytherins have been pretty much just ignoring each other today. No confrontations or fights so far. Just a few glares and scowls. If this keeps up, I might even start liking it here.
That's about it. Miss you all,
Harris (the Snake)
Thursday might have dawned bright and colorful. But the Slytherins' dormitory was in the dungeons, so Harris had no way of knowing. He'd had another rough night of nightmares and terrified certainty of imminent murder. Once, he was certain that someone was moving about the room. It was too dark to see if Avery and Martin were in bed, but nobody hovered over him with drawn steel. Morning eventually came with him still breathing and healthy.
The attack had simply not been aimed at his person.
His robes had only short black threads where his Slytherin crest used to be. Every green and silver part of his uniform was missing. He looked over at Avery and Martin, who were watching him with avid interest and smirking. "Lose something, Tragyl?" Martin taunted.
Harris surpressed anger, and wordlessly dressed in his unadorned uniform. He wouldn't beg for his things back. That would show weakness. He'd probably loose points for not being properly attired, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. The attack was only symbolic, he couldn't let it bother him.
But as he walked to the Great Hall, he felt conspicuous. He shrank in on himself, holding his Astronomy book close to his chest to hide his lack of tie and crest. At the Slytherin table, he took the seat on the far side of Madeline, facing away from the rest of the Hall.
Astronomy was right after breakfast, and it was the Slytherins' only class with the Hufflepuffs. Harris entered the tower room where class was held and slipped into a back corner seat where he hoped to be overlooked. No such luck. Professor Sinistra frowned at him and asked, "Young man, isn't your uniform . . . incomplete?"
He'd known she'd ask. He still hadn't come up with an answer. He blushed furiously. "Yes, ma'am," he replied to the literal question, but did not attempt an explanation. He slouched down in mortification. Everyone was staring at him.
"He doesn't have his House crest," one particularly astute Hufflepuff observed.
It was the opening Avery must have been hoping for. "He doesn't have a House," he corrected loudly.
Harris was on his feet before he realized he had moved. Fists clenched, and face red, he glared at his adversary and tried to control his breathing. "I'm as Slytherin as you are, Avery," Harris said in his best angry-but-calm voice. It was the voice Father used with Grandfather and Sividious. "Stealing my stuff doesn't change that. Just makes you a thief."
Avery stood, eyes blazing dangerously. Martin rose faster, and took a threating step toward Harris, but there were too many desks in the way for it to matter. "You dare insult me?" Avery demanded.
Harris never looked away from Avery. Between Professor Sinistra's presence and the intervening furniture, Martin was no threat. "I told only truth. Awfully un-Slytherin of me, I admit."
"Boys!" Sinistra interrupted, raising both voice and arms. "Take your seats this instant, or all three of you will be serving detention! Ten points from Slytherin!"
"We're already doing detention," Martin muttered, but sent Harris only one more glare before taking his seat. Avery did likewise. Harris sank into his chair and wished he could disappear. Hufflepuff would surely spread the rumour to Gryffindor about what happened, then the Eggmen would want to hear about it from him.
Walrus might even take the argument as proof that Harris was growing a spine. Temper and idiot courage were by no stretch of the imagination the same thing. Both could have unpleasant consequences, though. Frightened anticipation began to churn through Harris. Avery must seek revenge for the public confrontation.
Sinistra made no further mention of his incomplete uniform, nor did the Hufflepuffs. The lesson stayed strictly on topic. Sinistra wasn't as obviously ignoring him as Snape had, but she somehow never quite looked at his corner throughout the class. Of course, this time, he was eager to avoid notice.
A few hours later, during lunch, Harris caught professors stealing quick looks in his direction. Dumbledore watched him openly. As he was getting up to leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun away, half-convinced it was Avery or Martin, even though he'd already watched them leave. Crouching defensively, Harris regarded the old white-bearded wizard, standing a step behind where he had just been, one hand hovering in the air, and a mildly surprised look on his face. Harris straightened. "Headmaster?"
The surprised look dissipated, and Dumbledore regarded Harris with concern and pity. Resentment welled up within Harris. He didn't want pity. Or advice or help or whatever it was that the Headmaster sought him out for. But Dumbledore said nothing. He silently extended a closed hand and opened it, palm up. It wasn't empty.
Harris took a cautious step forward, eying the Headmaster with distrust. The wrinkled hand offered a Slytherin badge and a green and white striped tie. Darting another uncertain look at the wizard, Harris took them both. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled.
Dumbledore only smiled mildly. "That patch has a self-sewing spell on it, so make sure you hold it to your robes straight."
Harris held it a centimeter from his chest, and looked to the Headmaster for confirmation. He nodded, and Harris pressed the Slytherin crest against its proper position. The frayed black threads merged with it, and when Harris took his hand away, it stayed in place. He clipped on the tie, and looked down at himself. The uniform looked much better. When he looked up to thank the Headmaster again, Dumbledore was gone.
Astronomy had been their only class that day, so after lunch, Harris went to the library to avoid his house mates. The Gryffindors were still in class, so he spent the first two hours reading Common Potion Ingredients. It was even more dull than the textbook Snape had assigned. By the time 3 o'clock rolled around, Harris felt he knew more about daisy roots, fluxweed, and knotgrass than any normal person should. Well, unless you were a potions master or a Ravenclaw.
The Eggmen bore down on him as soon as they could reach the library from the Astronomy tower. Walrus spoke first, and loud enough to cause Madam Pince the librarian to glower at them, "Snake! The Vries twins from Hufflepuff told Roger Gibson who told us about what happened in your Astronomy class this morning!"
Harris sighed, closed the ingredients book with a snap, and sat back in his chair. He hadn't even realized there were a set of twins in Hufflepuff, and who was Roger Gibson? It was only four days into classes, how did Walrus know so many people already?
Tommy frowned, and softly asked Walrus, "Didn't Roger say Harris didn't have his Slytherin stuff anymore?" He unconciously touched his own Gryffindor crest.
Walrus seemed to notice for the first time that those accessories were in still place. "Yeah, hey, Snake, how'd you get your things back? Did Avery give them back?"
Harris scowled, "Not hardly. Dumbledore gave me another set. I guess Sinistra told him what happened."
"Come to Gryffindor tonight," Charlie begged, speaking for the first time. "It's safer there. Please, coz?"
Harris shook his head. "That'll make things worse."
Charlie didn't back down. His eyes still pleaded, but his voice had developed a hard edge, "How?"
The question was so simple, yet Harris couldn't formulate an answer. But he knew he was right. He couldn't stay at Gryffindor tonight. Not ever, not until Avery and Martin proved that staying in Slytherin was no longer an option. Once he went to Gryffindor he couldn't ever go back. The thought terrified him, and he began to sweat and even shake a little. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his fear. I hate it here. I hate being so scared, and I really hate these little shows of weakness. Why can't I be stong? Mum must have been. And why, in the name of Merlin, are there so many people around all the time?
Charlie was at his side instantly, wrapping his arms lightly around his cousin's quaking shoulders. Harris was grateful for it, but he wished everyone else would just go away. He didn't want the brave Gryffindor Eggmen to see him like this. Wasn't it bad enough that they'd given him the name Snake? Most people, particularly Gryffindors, used the word as an insult. At least Walrus was the only one who used it with any regularity.
"What is going on here?" An adult female voice demanded quietly. Harris looked up quickly, and Charlie jumped away from him. Madam Pince stood over the group. Had they been too loud? Harris looked nervously at his companions. Hopefully she'd take the points from Gryffindor. They had the majority after all. Madam Pince's frown deeped. "You five should be ashamed. I'd have thought better of Gryffindors."
Harris was confused. Gryffindors were certainly not known for being quiet, and there were six of them. He counted again just to be sure. Walrus, Charlie, Brian, Tommy, amd Pam. Five Gryffindors, plus himself. Six. Maybe Pince had counted wrong? The librarian was clearly angry. That might account for her mistake, but why would she be so upset for just talking a little loud? Perhaps she was as protective of her silence as that creepy Filch was about his floors. He made a mental note not to ever really raise his voice in the library, it might be a hanging offense.
"Detention, all five of you!" She glowered at each of the Gryffindors in turn. "I'll have no victimizing in my library!" The Gryffindors' surprise from the detentions was quickly crowded out by bafflement and self-righteousness.
"We weren't victimizing anybody!" Brian exclaimed indignantly.
She hadn't miscounted, Harris realized with a start. She just hadn't been counting him. She thought the Eggmen were picking on him. A small amused smirk picked up one corner of his mouth. She'd probably only caught Walrus's opening line of the conversation, and that could probably have been construed as the opening for a greivance against Harris. She'd obviously been watching him get more and more upset.
Five Gryffindors bearing down on a single Slytherin, their leader calling him a Snake a little too loudly. They surround him, and he starts looking scared. Then one of them moved within touching range. Her view was probably partially obscured by the other Gryffindors so she didn't see it was a friendly gesture. There was really only one conclusion she could have reached. He began to laugh, quietly at first, then more and more hysterically until he wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying.
Somebody was holding him he realized eventually, rocking him gently. The person was too big to be Charlie, and didn't smell like Mum. He tried to push away. The arms loosened, but hands closed around his upper biceps, holding him steady and at arms length. He drew in a shaky breath and used the back of his hand to wipe his nose, and his fingers to swipe at the wetness on his cheeks. He dried his hand on his robes with two quick sweeps. He braced himself, and looked toward his comforter. Madam Pince.
"They weren't picking on me," he said through his uneven breathing. He glanced around. The Eggmen still surrounded him, looking worried. Worried about him. He wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed or honored. He settled on both.
One of the librarian's hands released him to reach into her robes and offer him a tissue. "I figured that out, child," she said gently.
He accepted the tissue and blew his nose. Each breath was coming much easier now, too. "So, no detentions, right?"
She smiled. It didn't look like something she did a lot. "No detentions," she confirmed. The Eggmen looked relieved.
In an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Brian asked, "Hey, how about we all go play Freeze Tag again. It's really nice out today." Agreement spread quickly among the Gryffindors, and Harris nodded, too. He didn't have to think or talk about Slytherins when they played tag.
They were several steps on their way when Pince called out, "Mr. Tragyl!"
Harris froze and turned around, surprised by her suddenly sharp tone.
"I believe you took this book off its shelf?" she prompted sternly, curtly waving a hand at Common Potion Ingredients. Clearly she had very few doubts about her beliefs.
Harris blushed. "Oops." He quickly returned it to its proper place in the Potions section, and returned to the Eggmen who were waiting next to the door for him. Only as they hurried down the stairs of the castle did he realize something odd. "Did any of you guys give her my name?" The looked at him curiously but shook their heads. "Neither did I."
Most of them looked puzzled, but Pam ventured a guess. "You are the only Slytherin who's friends with Gryffindors. Maybe you're famous among the teachers already."
Harris did not find that a comforting thought at all.
The game of tag lasted until dinnertime. At its height, there were the six Eggmen, two other Gryffindor girls whose names Harris didn't catch, a few Ravenclaws, and a handful of Hufflepuffs. Two of the Hufflepuffs were apparently the Vries twins, Timothy and Wendy. Charlie pointed them out while Pam and Walrus gave conflicting instructions on how to play to a group of curious spectators that included the Vries. Despite the confusion, the group caught on quickly, and joined in.
As a great milling, laughing, and cheerful mob they all walked back to the great hall together in time for dinner. Harris almost wished he could sit with Charlie and the Eggmen tonight, but he turned toward the Slytherin table amid calls of 'good-bye' and 'play again tomorrow' that were passed between the different groups as they split apart. He didn't feel as conspicous as he had without his Slytherin insignia, but he still felt strangely visible being the only Slytherin to break away from the multi-house group. He glanced toward the teacher's table and noticed both Wallsby and Snape watching him. He cringed and looked away quickly. They hated him. But then, so did all the Slytherins, so that was hardly unexpected.
Harris took his usual seat across from Avery and next to Evalyn. Avery and Martin narrowed their eyes as they saw his uniform was complete again. Neither said anything about it, of course. Doing so would admit that Harris was sitting with them.
The six Slytherins returned to their dormitory together, Harris hanging back several paces. They split in the common room as the boys went to their room and the girls went to theirs. Only when the door closed of the first year boys room did anyone acknowledge Harris' presence. "I see you got a badge again. Who'd you beg for it? McGonagall?" Avery taunted.
Harris' fists clenched. He had used to think he had a pretty even temper, but all Avery had to do was look at him, and Harris was suddenly furious. "Dumbledore gave it to me," he said through gritted teeth. The admission wasn't much of an improvement over begging McGonagall.
Avery smirked and Martin snickered. "Ickle Harry got saved by the -"
"My name is Harris!" Harris angrily interrupted Martin's mockery.
Harris abruptly turned his back on his roommates and began getting ready for bed. They had ignored him during dinner, now it was their turn to suffer the silent treatment. He sensed more than heard Martin's approach. Quickly, he pulled on the pajama top so he wouldn't have to deal with them only half dressed. He'd barely pulled his head through when he was grabbed from behind.
Martin took hold of his arm and spun him around to face his larger adversary. Martin had an easy twenty or thirty pounds on him, and he looked down at Harris from several inches difference. Harris all but stopped breathing. His nightmares had been all wrong. It wasn't Avery who would murder him. That job must fall to his thug.
"Not so brave now, are you, Weasley?"
Harris could not look away from Martin's threatening visage, but he did manage to sqeaked out a rejoinder, "I'm no more a Weasley than I am a Malfoy." No less either. Somehow Harris had inherited cowardice from the one side and reckless stupidity from the other. It didn't make for a healthy combination.
Martin got a double handful of the front of Harris' pajama top, and pushed him backwards into a wall. Harris hit his head hard enough to see stars. He tried to shake away the dizziness, but that didn't help. By the time his vision cleared, Martin was in his face again. "Take that back!"
Harris cringed against wall and began sidling away, but Martin followed like a stalking cat. "Take what back?" There wasn't anything to take back, but if it would make Martin back off he would willingly deny whatever he wanted denied.
"It's true," Avery said calmly, surprisingly on Harris' side. "Draco Malfoy and I are his second cousins as much as Charlie Weasley is."
Martin stepped back and looked at Avery as though he'd grown a third arm on his forehead. "That scum is your cousin, too?"
"Not Charlie," Avery corrected with derision, both for the Gryffindor boy and the absurd suggestion. "Just Tragyl. His father is my mother's cousin. His father's side is perfectly respectable. It's his mother that's a Weasley." By his disgusted tone, Weasley was synonomous with something unspeakably vile. Harris' mother often used to same tone for the names 'Avery' and 'Malfoy'.
While the other two were distracted, Harris tried to put his bed between him and Martin, but he managed to refocus attention on himself. Martin made another grab for him, but Avery called him off. "Martin, step aside!" he commanded, drawing his wand. Harris froze, and sweat dripped down his back and into his eyes. His breathing turned ragged as Avery lifted the little piece of wood. He'd been right the first time his murderer was Avery. But the weapon was nothing so crude as a simple knife. No, Death Eater Junior was going to kill him with a curse.
Avery swished the wand and spoke the latin spell words. Purple energy leapt toward Harris and enveloped him. He screamed as what felt like thousands of simultaneous bee stings covered his body. He curled in on himself, screaming and crying in pain. After what seemed ages, somebody touched him. His throat was sore and his voice hoarse from the screaming, but he managed to raise its volume a notch. The hand or whatever it was retreated much to his relief, then an adult male voice said a word or two, and the bee stings abruptly vanished.
The hands returned and helped him rise and stagger to his bed. Harris was crying too hard to identify his rescuer. Something was pushed into his grasp, and whoever-it-was said, "Drink." Trusting the anonymous man implicitly, Harris did. Almost immediately, his raw throat started feeling better.
"Thank you," he whispered, trying to regain control over his sobs.
"You two," the man's voice was low and dangerous. "If I hear of anything remotely like this happening again, I will personally see you expelled. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, Professor," Avery and Martin chorused, sounding truly chastened, and even a little frightened.
"Get out," the professor instructed curtly. By the sound of their rapid steps, Avery and Martin were only too happy to comply.
A hand returned to Harris' shoulder. "How are you doing now?" he asked in a soft voice.
"Better," Harris whispered, still not trusting his voice.
There was a short pause. "Have you need to visit the Hospital Wing?"
Only as an excuse to get out of here, he thought, but shook his head. He wasn't really hurt anymore, after all.
The professor sat down on the bed, making it shift under his weight. "Good. I will ask you not to talk of this incident to anyone."
Why? Harris wondered but did not ask. No doubt some kind of cover-up. That was a Slytherin thing to do. He nodded his promise. Maybe, just maybe, it would gain him some goodwill from his Housemates. Besides, the teacher who had stopped the bees asked, and for that, Harris would do almost anything.
"Albus said he gave you a bed in Gryffindor. Why did you stay here?"
Just as he was getting the crying under control, too. He broke down again. "I'm Slytherin!" he exclaimed between sobs. "Why's that so hard for you people to understand? Dad married a bloody Gryffindor, but no one denies he's Slytherin. But I can't be friends with my own cousin without making people think the ruddy Hat made a mistake with me. I'm gonna have brothers in there in a few years. What am I supposed to do then? Say I never met them? Where my friends and family are does not change the fact that I. Am. Slytherin!"
The professor squeezed his shoulder briefly, then stood up. "Perhaps not. You will, however, face an uphill battle to convince others of that. I wish you luck. Slytherin House needs people like you, especially now." The man swept toward the door, his visit obviously at an end.
"Professor!" he called out, suddenly not wanting his saviour to leave, particularly since he still didn't know who he was. The man stopped, evidently waiting for Harris to continue. Not exactly sure what to say, he said only, "Thank you."
There was a long pause. Harris brushed and blinked away tears, deperately trying to see the professor. All he could make out was a black blob. "I will see you in Potions next Tuesday," the man finally replied, then was gone with a swish of fabric. Harris stared at where Snape had just stood, gape jawed, as his vision slowly came into focus. He didn't recover from the shock until Martin and Avery returned. They didn't so much as look at him as they got ready for bed, turned out the lights, and slipped under their covers.
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