Title: Prayer of a Child
Author: Indarae
A/N: Hello! I'm back! And you thought this story was abandoned... Well, for a bit, it was. My muse is a fickle being. Normally, I have a story mostly finished before I post the first chapter. With this one, response was so positive that I extended it... only to have my muse move on to crossovers. Combined with the release of Book Five, I found myself without a plot.
However! After ruminating over the revelations in Book Five, I've decided that... I don't care. I'm going on with this story, with the new ending in mind. The names will remain as they are, even though we now know that Bellatrix is Mrs. Lestrange's new name, not Medea (not that she'll be playing any other role).
I've got a plot. I've got an outline. I'll be posting as soon as I've got chapters finished, whenever that may be, but I can tell you that it'll be about 16 or 17 chapters in total.
Some of the plot elements within will start to look slightly familiar. Don't worry — I'm not simply rewriting Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone with Neville inserted in. I'd never do that! While this story takes place at the same time as HP:PS does, it's in a different universe. Look forward to some elements from HP:PS in a different order, with different outcomes... and some gone entirely. After all, Herodos Snape is likely to make different choices than Harry Potter would. So, sit back and enjoy chapter nine of Prayer of a Child... and please, review! They'll keep me going.
Chapter Nine — The Burglary
Word came in the form of Hagrid, the enormous groundskeeper of Hogwarts. Harry didn't know him very well — he only knew that Papa wasn't particularly fond of him. "Profess'r!" Hagrid shouted, throwing open the door of the infirmary. "Profess'r Snape! Gringotts Bank's bin burgled!"
Papa shot to his feet, his conversation with Harry forgotten. "Where's the Headmaster? Does he know?"
"I'm right here, Severus." Looking regal in his purple star-and-moon robes, Granpa stepped into the room and flashed a smile in Harry's direction. "Herodos, how is your head feeling?"
"Much better. I'm hoping to go to class later," Harry said. He leaned back against the pillows and gave his most innocent smile.
Papa frowned. "Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere. Students shouldn't have to... worry."
The smile turned to a sulk. "I won't tell," Harry muttered.
"I dunno what yer sayin' profess'rs, but mebbe we should go out in the hall?" Hagrid gestured over his shoulder.
It was only then that Papa seemed to realize he'd been speaking in Greek. He switched over to English, and Harry had to pay very close attention to follow. "Yes, Hagrid. I apologise. Shall we?" The three headed for the door, but Papa shot a Look back at Harry, over his shoulder. "I expect to see you in class, Harry."
"Yes, Papa," Harry replied. The infirmary door shut.
Harry waited only a moment before launching himself out of bed and scurrying over to the door. He crouched down to listen in at the keyhole.
They seemed to have stayed just outside the door. "It's like this," Hagrid was saying. "The vault that the — er — Yeh Know What were stashed in was burgled this mornin'! Early, likely afore anyone got to work. Reckon we were right lucky I picked up the — Yeh Know What, yesterday."
Granpa sighed softly. "A relief, yes, Hagrid. Somehow, I doubt any luck was involved. Nic warned me he'd been hearing rumors..."
"Nic?" Hagrid asked.
"Flamel, Hagrid," Papa said shortly. "You'll recall he and the Headmaster are acquaintances?"
"Good friends, Severus," Granpa said. "Quite good friends. It's been years since he and I had a long chat, however..."
Hagrid snorted. "Yeh'll not be wantin' to say is name when students are round, profess'r... but that ain't all's wrong with it." Hagrid's voice dropped to a whisper, and Harry had a terrible time making out his words. "In the vault, the burglar dropped a coin from Romania."
"I see," Granpa murmured.
"Romania," Hagrid repeated. "Dark things are livin' in the forests there, Headmaster. Vampires an' their ilk."
"Darker things than vampires, if my sources are right," Papa said. "Much Darker, and much more threatening."
Granpa coughed loudly. "Gentlemen, the day is too bright to think on somber matters. The package will have to be guarded. I'll take care of the arrangements, and speak to the rest of the staff... Now then, Severus, that boy of yours... how long has he been having these headaches?"
Harry scurried back to his bed before Madame Pomfrey or Papa had a chance to check on him. Gringotts had been robbed? Harry remembered all the stories Uncle Bill used to tell about the security around the place — for the curses and wards to have been breached without alerting a single employee, a very powerful wizard must have been part of the operation. And the contents of the disturbed vault were actually at Hogwarts?
He tried to commit the clues to memory. Whatever the package was, it had to be something fascinating, indeed... and Harry wanted to find it.
Harry didn't have time to work on the puzzle that day, however. After Madame Pomfrey gave him a clean bill of health, he had to hurry to be on time to Potions. He slid into the seat that Neville saved for him. "Is Papa here?" he asked breathlessly.
Neville shook his head, looking nervous. "You're not the last one here... Harry, I'm not good at cooking things, and my Grandmother says that making Potions is just like cooking-"
"I will help," Harry smiled.
Across the room, Draco Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins were crowded around a desk, whispering and looking smug. Such a sight was never a good sign — whenever Papa looked smug, Harry knew it was time to be worried. "What are they doing?" Harry asked.
"They've been like that since I got here," Hermione said. She'd taken up a desk behind Neville and Harry. "They're not planning a prank, are they? They wouldn't pull a prank on their head of house, would they? Some of the other Gryffindors were talking at the lunch table, and were saying how horrible Professor Snape is to Gryffindors — though, with you in the class, Harry, I doubt he'll be terrible... will he?"
"Papa is... proud of his title." Harry gave a smile. "He will be hard. He wants you to know that not all magic is like..." He waved his hand around, miming flicking his wand at the table. "Like transfiguration."
At that moment, the door was flung open, and Papa marched in. His cloak was unfurled behind him, and he swept past with his head held high, every inch the professor. The Slytherins scurried to their seats.
"There will be no wand-waving in this class," Professor Snape announced, flicking his robes dramatically as he turned to face the class. Harry tried not to roll his eyes, while Neville and Hermione watched, enraptured by his performance. "It is my job to introduce you to the subtle art of potionmaking. This subject is not for everyone — brewing a potion takes meticulous concentration and I am a demanding taskmaster. However, if you posess the talent... I can teach you to brew fame, bottle glory, and even put a stopper in death."
Behind him, Hermione sighed in awe. Harry, however, was quite familiar with Papa's speeches and his flair for the dramatic. The stoppering death phrase was Papa's favourite. He managed to work it into every presentation about Potions that he gave.
Sure that he had the class' full attention, Professor Snape drew himself to his full height. "I will tolerate no -"
But, whatever else he was planning to say was cut off by the door thudding open again. Ronald Weasley jogged into class, panting. He paused and glanced at the rest of the class, pinking slightly as he realized everyone was staring at him.
"Glad you decided to join us, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape growled.
Neville cringed, and Harry understood why. Papa could be terrifying, in the best of moods. "Got lost," Weasley muttered, looking sheepish. "One of the staircases decided to move just as I was -"
"Sit," the professor snapped. "I don't need your excuses."
Weasley scurried forward and slipped into the last empty seat — the one next to Hermione. Hermione, for her part, scooted away from him slightly, looking annoyed.
Papa's cheek jerked into a half-smirk, and Harry realized where his father's reputation for toughness came from. "That's two points for your tardiness, Mr. Weasley."
As the professor began to turn to the board to begin the lesson, Weasley's whispered response echoed through the silent classroom. "Stupid wanker."
Hermione let out a muffled gasp. Papa froze, halfway through his motion. "Five points for mocking a professor, Weasley." He turned back toward the class and stalked directly toward Harry's row, gaze focused on his prey. "Since you've volunteered yourself... you may show off your talent for Potions to the rest of your classmates, as you were obviously well informed enough that attending the first minutes of class was beneath you. What do you get when you mix powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry turned slightly in his seat to watch Ron's reaction. The other boy grasped the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white. At his side, Hermione raised her hand. "I don't know," Ron muttered.
"Oh? Don't know?" Professor Snape's smirk broadened. "How about this one, then: where can I find a bezoar?"
Hermione waved her hand, bouncing slightly in her chair. Ron sunk down in his. "Don't know."
"Mmm. Why am I not surprised? Well, one more chance, Mr. Weasley — what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Professor Snape planted his palms on the edge of Ron's desk, and peered down from his impressive height.
"Oooh. Oooh." Hermione was halfway out of her desk, waving her hand.
Ron scowled. "Why don't you ask Hermione? She seems to think she knows everything," he snapped.
At that, Hermione slumped into her seat, her hand dropping from the air. "At least she knows more than you," Professor Snape replied, giving each of his words bite. "And that's another point for your cheek." He stepped back and turned to focus on Harry. "Answers, in English, Herodos?"
Harry held back a sigh. Somehow, he knew he would be picked on. "Asphodel and wormwood make the Draught of Living Death, a bezoar is found in... goat's stomach? Is that right?"
"Yes. One more, Herodos." Papa crossed his arms.
"Both monkshood and wolfsbane is names for aconite," Harry finished.
Papa frowned. "Are names. You're talking about a plural object."
Harry sighed and looked away. He hated it when Papa was disappointed in him. "Yes, Pa- professor," he whispered.
"Right then." Papa looked up, and glared at the rest of the room. "Well? Why aren't you writing this all down?"
While everyone scrambled for their notebooks, Neville leaned over to whisper to Harry. "That's raw, mate. You answered all those questions, and he didn't give us back a single point!"
Harry wasn't sure what was worse — being expected to know all the answers or having Ron glare at the back of his head for all of class, for knowing all the answers. Either way, it was going to be a rough year.
By the time Harry's first day of class was finished, he was ready to drop from exhaustion. The day wasn't done yet, however. He ate with Neville, then headed off to the Library to finish his homework. He hadn't expected Hogwarts to be easy, of course — however, Harry also hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of homework that his teachers would assign for the very first session of class.
Most of the homework was simple, just time-consuming. It was the transfiguration essay that was baffling him. Aunt Min's lecture was full of technical terms that Harry wasn't able to follow, so an eleven-inch composition about the theory behind changing a matchstick into a pin was going to be difficult. He only hoped the library carried books in Greek.
The library was the only place in Hogwarts with which Harry wasn't intimately familiar. None of his caretakers over his year in the school brought him in, and the librarian, Madame Pince, was notoriously bad with small children (or, really, children of any age). As Harry approached her desk, just inside the library's doors, she leveled a glare in his direction. "What do you need?" she snapped.
Harry couldn't help but cringe a bit. "I am looking for a book in Greek on transfiguration," he mumbled.
"Speak up. Your accent is too thick to be whispering."
At that, Harry blushed. "Transfiguration theory, in Greek, please?" he asked, enunciating every syllable.
She made a low noise, practically a growl, as she peered over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses. Finally, she nodded. Without a word, she gestured for Harry to follow her into the stacks.
Though the foreign language section was small, and mostly about Muggle culture, an elementary Greek transfiguration text was available, and he made full use of it. Working in Greek, eleven inches went by remarkably fast.
As he browsed in the direction of the door, however, a pile of yearbooks waiting to be reshelved caught his eye. Harry thought back to the picture of his mater that Papa had shown him, the only one he'd ever seen. He knew mater and Papa were students together — but what about James?
Harry sorted through the pile. They were all recent, and full of waving students he didn't recognize. Papa was a 1977 graduate, Harry knew, since the bios that went with his Potions papers in the scholarly magazines always made sure to point out. "Madame Pince, please, where may I find Papa's yearbook?"
She growled, again, but Harry put on his most innocent smile. It never worked on Papa, but he'd become immune over the years. Madame Pince wasn't used to it. She nodded slowly. "Two rows over from the Greek books. At the end of the stack." And then, frighteningly, she tried to smile. Harry imagined her face creaking and groaning; it didn't look to be an expression she wore often. "You're a spitting image of your father, you know."
He kept his smile plastered on. "Thank you, Madame Pince," he said, though thinking back to the way his father always swooped into the room like a Gothic vampire, he highly disagreed.
As he passed the foreign language books, he heard someone sniffling between the stacks. The yearbook, and the identity of James, were just one more row over — however, Harry made the mistake of glancing to see who it was. Between his new friend Hermione and the identity of his mater's dead husband, Hermione won.
She was curled up against the Muggle Studies section, hugging her knees to her chest. Her face was bright red from tears and, from the stack of books sitting beside her feet, she looked as though she'd been there for a while.
Without another word, Harry headed down the aisle and plopped down next to her. "Did I miss much in Defense after I had to leave?" he asked awkwardly. Dealing with crying people had never been something he was very good at. Papa didn't cry, at least not when he was around, and Aunt Merinae said her boys were too old for tears.
Hermione sniffled loudly and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I- No, class was mostly... Professor Lupin was very concerned. I meant to ask how you felt in P-potions, but then R-ron -" She broke off and burst into tears.
"I think Ron is jealous that you knew answers he did not," Harry pointed out.
"He was very cruel about it! And at dinner, he called me a teacher's pet, right to my face!" Hermione scrubbed at her face again, but her sleeve looked to be sopping wet. Harry dug into his knapsack and gave her his handkerchief. "He's horrible! I'm not trying to be a know-it-all, really — but I've read all the textbooks already, because I really know nothing at all, and I'm just trying so hard — being a Muggleborn is so hard, what with everyone else knowing the way things work and my having to learn customs and manners while everyone else has a head start, and books can only tell me so much -"
Harry wasn't sure how she was able to get everything out without taking a breath. Her face was starting to get redder, so he cut her off to give her time to breathe. "You are not the only Muggleborn. Dean Thomas, he is Muggleborn, too. And I think Seamus Finnigan is half-blooded. He knows magical things, but knows the Muggle things, too."
"I want to be good at this, Harry," she whispered. She grabbed onto his sleeve and squeezed his arm. "My parents — they're both dentists, and they're both very good at what they do. But I've never been interested in medicine at all! I love reading and books, and history — and now there's all this extra history to learn, too... There's just so much, and they're giving up so much for me to be here..."
"You already know much more than I do about school subjects, except Potions." Harry shrugged. "Papa has taught me Potions already. But I am not good at transfiguration, or charms, and I must learn everything in English next term. Perhaps... you will help me with school subjects, and I will help you with learning about customs? What I know, of course. Some are different than in Greece..."
That seemed to be enough to calm her down. Her face lit up and she nodded frantically. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Although, I'm not as good at transfiguration and at charms as you seem to think. I'm only doing what the books say, and I'm sure the practical applications of magic are more complicated than simple explanations can cover..."
Harry blinked, then shook his head. "I am- I am not good at English, and you talk very fast, and I don't know the words you use. And... I don't know the words Aunt — er — Professor McGonagall uses, in class."
"I'll help you with that, too," Hermione promised. She blew her nose loudly. "I shouldn't have got so upset."
Harry rummaged through his rucksack, finally coming up with a chocolate frog. "This is wizard candy," he explained. "There is a charm on the frog to make the chocolate jump. Hold onto it when you open it."
Hermione nodded slowly and opened the package. The frog launched itself out and landed on the bookshelf — Hermione grabbed it and made a face. "Oh! It's squirming! It'd be like eating something alive! How horrid!"
"The charm will wear off quickly," Harry said, trying his best not to laugh. "Then it will be safe. But the best part of the candy is the trading card." He pulled it from the packaging. "Famous wizards and witches. You have... oh, it is Granpa."
"Grandpa?" Hermione frowned, peeking over his shoulder. The frog had stopped squirming, and her hands were covered in chocolate. "Oh, you mean Headmaster Dumbledore. Why, isn't that good?" She licked the chocolate off one hand. "It's very tasty..."
"I have a collection. I have many of Granpa, four or five." He passed it to Hermione. "Here, you may start a collection, too. I am missing... Merlin. And Harry Potter. That card is rare, and has no picture."
"Oh?" Hermione looked up. "Why not? Who's Harry Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "He defeated Kyrios Voldemort, when I was very little. But, he has disappeared. Therefore he has no picture. I will tell you the story."
However, before he could begin, Madame Pince rounded the corner with a stack of books. At the sight of the two of them, one with her hands covered in chocolate, she shrieked. "Out! Mr. Snape, Miss Granger, out of here before you stain something!"
Harry tugged Hermione to her feet. "Wait!" Hermione cried, "I need those books for an essay, Harry -"
"Your parents are Muggles. You do not need books about Muggles," Harry hissed. He threw his bag over his shoulder and dragged Hermione toward the door, trying to ignore the spectacle of Madame Pince's anger. A group of older Ravenclaw students glared in their direction as they hurried out.
"Oh! I don't want her angry at me!" Hermione fretted. She wiped her hands with the handkerchief. "I should go back and apologize -"
"She will forget," Harry said. "We have homework, in the Common Room."
Hermione shot a longing glance back at the library, then sighed. "Alright. I suppose we do. You need help with transfiguration?"
"Yes," he said. "But, I will tell you the story of Harry Potter."
He told it the same way Papa did, as they headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Papa always made sure to talk about how powerful Kyrios Voldemort was, and how many of his ideas made sense to his followers. Hermione seemed afraid when he spoke of the Muggleborns who were killed, and of those who still thought Muggles were beneath them, but it was a story she would have to know.
"...and so, no one knows why the baby did not die," Harry explained. They were most of the way back, heading up the final flight of stairs. "The curse bounced off of the baby and hit Kyrios Voldemort, and he disappeared." Harry mimed a beam of light hitting his forehead, and shrugged. "No one knows if Kyrios Voldemort is alive or is dead."
"Is that his name, then? Kyrios? It seems — oh!" Hermione grabbed onto the railing of the staircase as it started to move. "I hate it when they do this!"
Harry did as well, though he was too busy holding his hat on and making sure that he didn't fall to answer.
"Why can't the staircases stay in one place?" Hermione demanded.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the top landing before it moved again. "Perhaps it would be too easy, Granpa thinks?"
Hermione turned in circles, looking around. "We're on the third floor... I think. I'm lost! How do we get back to Gryffindor Tower?"
Harry took a moment to orient himself. "There is a corridor, abandoned. Come." It hadn't been used in years, he knew. Papa explained it once — the school used to have more students. However, the rise of Kyrios Voldemort meant that many fled to Canada and America, and others died. Harry's class was the last born during the War, and the smallest of them all. Soon, there would be enough students to open all of the corridors again.
"Did you hear that?" Hermione whispered. Harry stopped. Off in the distance, he could hear voices. "Maybe it isn't as abandoned as you thought."
Harry beckoned for Hermione to follow, and slunk down the hall. At the end, he stopped and peeked around the bend, as stealthily as he thought possible.
"Down, Fluffy! Down!" echoed toward them. It sounded like Hagrid. "Profess'r Snape, I bin thinkin' — yeh sure Fluffy's the best defense? E's just a wee little thing."
On the wall across the way, Harry could make out shadows approaching. Hermione grabbed him and pulled him back against the wall. Footsteps were approaching — a lot of them — and the voices were getting louder. "That — wee little monster is vicious enough to scare off a dozen students," Papa drawled. "I'm not sure if I agree with the Headmaster's puzzles as a security measure, but... Fluffy should be enough to keep any intruder's mind off the other exits from the room."
Hermione sucked in her breath; Harry held himself as still as possible. Papa and Hagrid passed by in the adjoining corridor, dragging along a hideous, giant dog. Its three, snarling heads were all focused on the dripping hunk of meat Hagrid carried with him. "Thir' floor at the end, right, Profess'r?"
"Dumbledore's attatched a chain already, I believe," Papa said. They turned another corner up ahead.
"Fluffy?" Hermione hissed. "He named that... monster Fluffy?"
Harry shuddered. "Hagrid is..." He shook his head. "Papa says Hagrid is mental.' I do not think it means what I thought it did."
Hermione let out a scared giggle. "What — what do you think they were talking about?"
"I think I have another story to tell you," Harry said. "But... let us not go to the Common Room this way. I do not want to see Fluffy ever again." They hurried off the way they came, as Harry started to tell her what he'd overheard in the Infirmary.
A/N2: Next time... Who precisely was James? Harry tries again to track down his mother's husband, only to discover secrets deep in Hogwarts.