Harry Potter the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two
by MysticSong1978
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot switch and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.
Dialogue is in double quotes ("") and Thoughts are in single quotes ('').
Author's Note:
Keep an eye out for more Rickmanisms once again!
"So," began Harry, settling back into the chair across from Severus, "about my Father?"
Severus sighed wearily and launched into his story without preamble. "James and I came to Hogwarts the same year, Harry. He and his friends were all in Gryffindor – although Sirius, being a Black, surprised everyone by being placed in the House of foolish courage and impetuousness. I was, obviously, a Slytherin. If someone is Head of House, you can safely assume that is the House they were in as a student. Or the equivalent if from another school. Growing up, I wanted to learn everything I could, and this included dark magic; I knew more dark magic than many seventh years did; but it quickly became something I needed for my own protection than the true desire to know such magic as a young boy."
He paused, considering.
"Your Father took a disliking to me from the moment he saw me at the station that first day of Hogwarts. I came from a poor family. Your Father did not. My family status is one of the reasons he immediately began to treat me poorly. I came to Hogwarts with expectations and hope for once in my life. I knew about the Houses from my Mother, who was a pureblood. But she never gave me any impression that she cared which House I was in, and so I never did either."
Harry sat still through all of this, wanting to know about his Father but sensing that Severus needed to explain this bit of his past first. He waited while the older man took a sip of tea to wet his parched throat; Severus was typically a man of few words.
"Clearly, I was sorted into Slytherin. My placement was enough to make your Father and his friends hate me all the more; I was just another lowly serpent, but things are never purely that simple. James had his friends – Remus, Sirius, and Peter; they called themselves The Marauders and were forever causing trouble, running amuck. It always seemed as if the Gryffindors could get away with anything they liked. Even when it put other people in danger."
Snape's lips curled in distaste and Harry wondered what they had done to his Head of House to make him so repulsed by his Father and his friends.
"Things were made worse in one of our Double DADA classes where we were paired together – your Father and I; it was bad enough that the class was a Slytherin/Gryffindor match. The Headmasters have always done that in hopes for inter-house loyalty and never had any success. How curious that after all this time, your insistence on not judging others may be all it takes to dispel the deep hatred between Gryffindor and Slytherin students."
His lips now quirked in a brief smile which Harry returned.
"Harry, I accidentally hexed your Father with a high level curse. It was very similar to what we were working on in class and I had trouble with the wand movement; it resulted in James receiving some nasty cuts that took weeks to heal properly as well as him needing several blood-replenishing draughts. Since we were not on good terms to begin with, I was never able to convince him I had not done it on purpose. The fact that I was so young made the fact that I hurt him with something so dangerous even worse. James and his comrades then took every opportunity to humiliate me with tricks far worse than the Weasley twins would ever pull on someone. The Marauder pranks were pulled out of hatred, not joyous amusement of young boys."
He took another sip of tea. "I withdrew further into myself, pouring my heart into the one subject I really enjoyed."
"Potions?"
"Yes, Harry, Potions. I knew the essentials before coming here, but my Father hated magic, and my Mother . . . she was just barely getting by. My Father didn't know she was a witch when they met. When he learned his son was a wizard, he grew even colder and crueler to her. It was not until I was a student that I discovered the true joy of Potion brewing." He allowed the briefest of smiles to grace his face. "The downside of spending all your time bent over a cauldron, however, is the fumes and splatters end up in your hair and I earned the nickname of 'greasy git' from James and company. Something which I still hear from the Gryffindors, usually preceded by 'evil'. The other Slytherins and I became closer, although I was primarily befriended by an older, quite handsome student, full of charm and smooth grace. He always treated me with utmost respect and deference. It was not until my sixth year that I learned how twisted and cruel he could be." A pause. "You've met him, in fact. The day I took you to purchase your school things. The charming blond man who believes I took you into my good graces to please the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy."
Harry's mouth gaped open for a moment as he gathered his wits about him. "That was Draco's Father!" A nod from Severus. "No wonder he said he didn't want to arouse any suspicions from his Father because of our friendship. I didn't understand at the time, but now I do. And the Dark Lord is Voldemort, right?"
Severus winced at the Dark Lord's name. "Yes, Harry, one and the same. I used to serve him."
Harry's eyes widened at Severus' words and he remembered his first conversation when Severus had given him an unfathomable look when Harry asked why he called Voldemort the Dark Lord if it was a Death Eater term. 'Severus was a Death Eater!'
"My servitude, as a much older student, only increased your Father's animosity towards me, and I towards him – and your Mother, or at least on the surface. Lily tutored me in a few subjects which I had trouble with, such as charms. To protect myself I treated her as my fellow Slytherins expected any pureblood to treat a Muggleborn, a mudblood, but I did not hate your Mother. She stood up for me more than once. Eventually I became disheartened with my life and came to Albus for salvation and became a spy for the Light. Should the Dark Lord rise again, I will go back into leading a double-life."
Harry took all of this in, turning it over in his head. He felt that something important was missing from his professor's story. Some missing key that really led to the angst between his Father and Severus. Something more than family status. He had no idea how right he was - or that the missing link was Severus's true feelings about Lily Evans; Harry's Mother.
"I thought Voldemort died when he tried to kill me?" Harry asked, unconsciously rubbing his scar.
Severus shook his head. "He may have become very weak, yes, so weak that he had to go into hiding, but he is not dead, Harry."
"How can you know that?"
Severus thrust his left arm forward, yanked up his sleeves, brandishing the faint but still very clear Dark Mark that had been burned into his skin.
"Because I still have this."
Harry had missed breakfast due to his long discussion with Severus. The man hadn't fully explained, Harry knew, why he hated his Father, and why his Father hated Severus. He had a feeling it was too painful for the man to admit to a student, especially when said student was the son of his childhood enemy, even if said student was one of his Slytherins and nothing like his Father. Harry was a little disappointed that he hadn't learned more about what his Father liked to do – besides antagonizing people – but they had gotten off topic with discussion about Voldemort and Severus' unexpected unveiling of his Dark Mark had pretty much ended the discussion. Harry shrugged. He was sure there were other professors who could tell him about his Father.
Severus had gotten a tray of food for Harry, and slipped away to his private lab to work on his research. Harry slowly munched on the items on the tray and then returned to his room with his gifts to go though them again.
Harry slipped out of the dungeons later to have dinner with Ron and his brothers and the handful of other students, as well as the staff who had stayed for the holidays. Harry had never seen such a wonderful spread for Christmas dinner. Petunia always went all out; not that he got to eat much of it, not even the dishes he was forced to make, but it couldn't begin to compare to the dishes offered up this Christmas afternoon.
A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear-admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up on the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just told him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lop-sided. Professor Snape was the only one who appeared unaffected by the Christmas spirit, but Harry noticed that his Head of House had sampled nearly every dish that had been available, and smiled to himself.
When Harry finally left the table he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a grow-your-own-warts kit and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a horrible feeling that they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris' Christmas dinner.
Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.
After a nice tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George around the tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.
It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he was on his way back to his own common room and crawled into his four-poster bed that he was free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it. He leant over the side of his bed and pulled the Cloak out from under it.
His Father's . . . this had been his Father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.
He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the Cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw the moonlight and shadows. It was very funny feeling.
Use it well.
Suddenly Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.
He crept out of the dormitory, not sure if Professor Snape was still up and about, not wanting to get caught by his Head of House who could shift from friendly to snarky git as deftly as shifting sands in an hourglass timekeeper.
Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Cloak tight around him as he walked.
The library was pitch black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in mid-air and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn't tell him much. Their peeling faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imaging it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, as it was very heavy, and balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.
A piercing, blood-curdling screech split the silence – the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the noise went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. Later, when Harry was able to process the Library Experience, as he called it, he would liken it to the Siren Song in the mythology stories he had enjoyed so much in his Muggle schooling, but in reverse – the terrible note drove him away from the temptation instead of drawing him to it.
He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the screeching book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.
Harry came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from the library that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.
"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone . . . any sniveling little –
"Mind your language man! There is no need for obscenities!" Professor Snape's voice came through the air in unusually harsh tones, even for him. Filch paused a moment before continuing where he had been cut off.
– student was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library – Restricted Section!"
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a short cut, because his soft greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was his Head of House who replied.
"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him – the Cloak didn't stop him from being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.
It looked like an ordinary, disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of sight.
Harry had to investigate, albeit cautiously, he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing! He may have inherited some of his parents more heroic, oft-called foolish Gryffindor ways, but he learned early on that Slytherins lived longer and he was intent on upholding that ideal.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
His initial panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch or Professor Snape, Harry moved closer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people behind him
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – 'her eyes are just like mine,' Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Harry's did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.
"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees – Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them like some sad version of Alice Through the Looking Glass, but unlike Alice, the mirror stayed solid. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, and half terrible sadness.
How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here; he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.
"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly, the next morning at breakfast. The regular House tables were gone during breaks, leaving just one table that would resize itself depending on how many had stayed behind for the holidays.
"How would I have gotten into your common room, Ron?" Harry asked sensibly. "Anyhow, you can come tonight, I'm going back, and I want to show you the mirror."
"I'd like to see your mum and dad," Ron said eagerly.
"And I want to see all you family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."
"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come around my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"
But Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important any more. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Quirrell stole it, really?
"Are you all right?" asked Ron. "You look odd."
What Harry feared most was that he would be unable to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the Cloak too, they had to walk much more slowly. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around in the dark passageways for nearly an hour.
"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back we get frostbite, or worse, caught."
"Worse?" asked Harry.
"Madam Pomfrey can cure frostbite, Harry, but caught is caught."
Harry shook his head, part amusement, part frustration. "I know it's around here somewhere."
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.
"It's here – just here – yes!"
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the Cloak and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.
"See?" Harry whispered.
"I can't see anything."
"Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them . . . "
"I can only see you."
"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron n front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family any more, just Ron in his paisley pyjamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
"Look at me!" he said.
"Can you see all your family standing around you?"
"No – I'm alone – but I'm different – I look older – and I'm Head Boy!"
"What?"
"I am – I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup – I'm Quidditch captain, too! And, blimey, I'm handsome!"
Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.
"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
"How can it?" Harry asked wanly. "All my family are dead – let me have another look –"
"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time"
"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."
"Don't push me –"
A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.
"Quick!"
Ron threw the Cloak back over them just as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing – did the Cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.
"This isn't safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."
And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.
The snow still hadn't melted next morning. Ron had come down to the dungeons to visit with Harry.
"Want to play chess, Harry?"
"No."
"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"
"No . . . you go . . . "
"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."
"Why not?" Harry asked indignantly.
"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it – and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Mrs. Norris, your own Head of House, whom I may point out may be friendly at times but probably won't be too pleased if he caught you wandering around at night. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"
"You sound like Hermione."
Ron just shook his head. "I'm serious, Harry, don't go."
But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.
That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast that he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.
And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.
Except –
"So – back again, Harry?"
Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall as none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked right past him, so desperate to get to the mirror that he hadn't noticed him.
"I – I didn't see you, sir.
"Fascinating how short-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.
"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off of the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you like hundreds before you have discovered the delights and sorrows of the Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't know it was called that, sir."
"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"
"It – well – shows me my family—"
"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy?"
"How did you know – ?"
"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"
Harry shook his head.
"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"
Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want – whatever we want . . ."
"Yes, and no," Dumbledore said quietly, sadly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have waste away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.
The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not go to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put on that admirable Cloak and get off to bed?"
Harry stood up. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and he clenched and unclenched his jaws, willing himself not to cry in front of the Headmaster.
"It felt so real, sir. My Mum, she cried the first night I saw her, but last night she waved and smiled at me, as if she knew me . . ."
The Headmaster gently patted Harry's shoulder in comfort. "It is a bit like the Wizarding portraits that talk and move, my boy, but less so in other ways. A great joy, I know, to see your parents, your ancestors, but you cannot live on dreams alone."
"Do you think they're ashamed of me, being in Slytherin, I mean? I know they . . . or Dad at least . . . was pretty mean to Professor Snape when they were students, just over House rivalries. . . ."
Dumbledore appraised Harry carefully. "I think, my dear boy, that your parents would be proud of you no matter what House you were in. Your Father might have needed time to adjust to his son being a Slytherin, if that were even the case had you been raised under different circumstances, but he would have come around. I think as an adult he was someone that could have been friends with Severus, but he had hurt your Head of House too many times by then, I'm afraid, for there to be much of a relationship beyond cool civility."
"Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously you have just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared, his tears forgotten for the moment.
"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
It was only when was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he turned over, trying to get comfortable, missing the warmth that other bodies in the dorm room added to the dungeons chill air, it had been quite a personal question.
Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, the Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he had seen in the Mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.
Severus, although quite displeased to learn that Harry had been sneaking about in his Father's Cloak . . . 'like Father like Son,' he mused, he kept his thoughts to himself as he taught Harry how to brew the Draught of Dreamless Sleep, warning him that it could be very addictive, and, when used too often, would render the drinker permanently immune to it.
"You see," Ron said, when Harry told him what had happened, although he left out the discussion he had had with the Headmaster about his parents and about Professor Snape teaching him to brew such a high level potion, "Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad."
Draco and Hermione, who came back they day before term started, took a different view of things. They were both disappointed that Flamel still remained a mystery, but Hermione was horrified that Harry had been sneaking about the castle and Draco was intrigued and thought desperately that it would not be all that bad of an idea to see what his heart held as his deepest desire. He was pretty sure it wasn't anything of which his Father would approve.
Draco apologized for not being able to send any gifts back, but had explained that his Father wanted a lot of personal time, that is to say, time to prepare Draco for service to the Dark Side when he came of age, so he couldn't very well be seen sending gifts off to The Boy Who Lived.
Harry winced at the title and told Draco not to worry; that he didn't want his friend getting in trouble over him, he wasn't really worth it. Ron stepped in at this point, telling Draco to excuse Harry's bloody stupid remark, that he'd never had a proper Christmas before and didn't understand that of course he deserved the presents he got. This spiraled into an argument over parenting until it was time to go eat, at which point they split up and headed to their respective tables.
Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other three, because Quidditch practice had started again.
Flint was working the team harder than ever, as was Wood, from what Harry glimpsed of the exhausted Gryffindor team. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. If they won their next match against Hufflepuff, surely an easy victory, they would overtake Gryffindor in the House Championship. Again. As much as Harry liked his Gryffindor friends, he felt great delight in being part of a winning team for once in his life; always chosen last or not at all in his Muggle school, it gave Harry an inner glow.
During one particularly intense training session, Flint informed them that their Head of House would be refereeing the next match. Harry and the others looked up in interest. "Did he lose a bet with Madam Hooch again?" asked on of the older players.
Flint laughed and shook his head. "I don't really know why he is refereeing, but I suspect the Headmaster had something to do with it. You're not likely to get it out of him either, he's looking snarkier than usual with this development."
Draco had been watching the practice, and he walked back to the castle with Harry. They ran into Hermione and Ron in the Great Hall. As they were passing the hallway to the Library, Neville hopped by looking quite distraught. He stopped at the sight of them.
Draco and Hermione looked at each other; they were the only ones of the five of them who recognized the Leg-Locker curse. Draco sighed, drew his wand and waved it at a nervous Longbottom, "Finite Incatum!"
Neville tumbled over as his legs separated suddenly. He paused a moment to collect his breath. He looked at Draco with something akin to awe and wonderment. "Thank you," he said, a hint of a blush tingeing his cheeks.
Draco seemed equally discomfited. "Who cast the Leg-Locker curse on you anyhow?" asked Hermione.
"Bulstrode," came Neville's quiet answer. "She was looking for someone to practice on."
Draco shook his head in annoyance at his Housemate. "You should go to Professor McGonagall" Ron urged Neville. "Report her!"
Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.
Another two students suddenly raced out of the hallway Neville had come from, overshot the group, stopped, and turned back. "Are you okay, Neville," asked a small, pretty Slytherin girl.
He nodded. "Draco undid the charm," Pansy.
"Bulstrode won't be trying that again anytime soon," the Slytherin boy said with friendly smirk gracing his almost feminine features.
Draco looked at surprise at his classmates.
"Pansy? Blaise? You hexed Bulstrode? For Neville?"
The two grinned in delight. "I got her with the Leg-Locker curse and Blaise here," she gestured to the boy with her, "got her with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. We figured that was adequate punishment for making Neville hop all the way out here to find help. We only caught the end of what was going on but it was obvious who did what. You know Crabbe and Goyle can't help brag. Stupid gits," Pansy said disparagingly.
Draco was stunned. "When did you start befriending students in other Houses," he asked his Housemates.
Pansy and Blaise glanced at each other. "Oh, not long after the Troll incident," Blaise offered. We realized then that you four were genuinely friends and since we personally do not have any problems with half-bloods and Muggleborn students, we figured we would branch out of Slytherin and do the same.
Harry grinned. "Should we make our group a Septuplet then? The Smashing Seven?"
The other students giggled and appraised each other, nodding. "We'd like that," said Blaise.
"Me too," said Neville. "Gran would probably die at my befriending a Malfoy," at this he grinned cheerfully at Draco, "but I think it's great to see some of the enmity end. I think it would help my nerves."
Draco nodded in understanding. "My Father would be no less pleased, probably more so, than your Gran at my befriending of Muggleborns – and he'd use a much less friendly term – Gryffindors in general and especially Harry here, so I'm keeping that all under wraps for now, but I agree with Neville."
Hermione smiled at the new Slytherins. "I'm pleased to meet you both," she said. "I'm Hermione Granger and this," she pulled at Ron's sleeve, "is Ron Weasley."
Pansy smiled, a slight blush on her fair features, "Nice to meet you, Ron, I'm Pansy Parkinson."
Ron's cheeks pinked up a bit as well, an odd contrast with his hair. He wasn't quite old enough to start thinking about girls, but something about her upturned nose made his stomach feel funny. He attempted a slight bow, and smiled a hint of a smile back at her.
Blaise smiled at the two Gryffindors as well, a blush also on his face, though Draco and Harry, much to their consternation, were unsure if it was due to Hermione or Ron or both . . . they wisely decided to keep that bit of information to themselves for the time being.
"And I," he said, sweeping into an over-exaggerated bow with a charming boyish grin, "am Blaise Zabini. It is a pleasure," this word stressed with enough innuendo to bring a round of blushes to the group, "to meet you."
Updated 31 January 2017
