What Happens Next
By Pseudonymous Entity
Summary: For the second time that day, a door opened unexpectedly, and Harry collided with someone else. They both stumbled, clinging to each other to stay upright. Harry glanced up into the startled silvery eyes of Draco Malfoy. The sound of pounding footsteps echoed in the hall behind him, and Harry was out of options. "Help me." In a world that feels familiar at first glance, times and events shift, twist, and turn into something even Albus Dumbledore couldn't have predicted. 2nd yr AU
You should know: If you want canon characters with canon personalities doing canon things, this is not the fanfiction for you.
AN: Hope you're all doing well. If you're not, that's alright. Neither is Harry.
-Pseu
"New face in a new town, but it feels like everyone knows your name
You've been solo for so long, and you've been so low for so long
Thought you were breaking fresh ground, but everything seems the same...
...Family trees don't need be organic, the branches you graft are as equally valid."
-Shine Through
Some things are as you remember them.
Harry Potter is an orphan who grew up with his non magical aunt and her family. The summer of his eleventh birthday, he discovered he was a wizard and later rode a red steam engine train to the magical school of Hogwarts. He became a Gryffindor by asking the sorting hat to place him anywhere but Slytherin. A mountain troll was defeated, friendships forged, and a possessed professor burned to ash at his fingertips.
In this world, however, things are not as they seem. No flying car comes to Harry's rescue and no convenient house elf pops up to explain why Harry receives no letters over the summer. He is shoved unceremoniously into his bedroom and locked inside, without any idea what he'd done wrong.
And so our story begins.
**Chapter One**
It was predawn.
Not yet day and no longer night. Harry Potter lay on his side, twisted in his sheets from trying and failing to fall asleep. The drapes from his bed pulled open in the semi-darkness of Gryffindor tower.
Every long day, weeding with the heat on his back, sweat dripping. The days shut in his room without warning and fed (on the days his aunt remembered) cold soup through a cat flap. All of it had seemed worth it, knowing this moment was coming. It should have been different, but, perhaps, there was a strange comfort in it all.
Before Hogwarts, Harry was always alone. At school, at home, in his cupboard. Then he found Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry had thought they were friends. Maybe there was more formality to friendship than Harry realised, and it had to be confirmed out loud to the person or persons in question. Or perhaps he had committed some unknown offence which explained the silence of summer if only someone would point it out to him.
Not one letter. Neither one had found him on the train. At the welcoming feast, he was greeted with Hermione's pointedly averted gaze. Ron, meanwhile, sat at the other end of the table with his brothers and feigned being both deaf and blind later in the dorm. Neither seeing nor hearing Harry as he pulled on his pyjamas and closed the curtains around his bed, leaving Harry standing there, devastated.
Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, two of the other boys in their dorm, politely pretended not to notice the drama unfolding before them. A quick commiserating glance from Seamus was the only clue it wasn't all in Harry's head. Loneliness was a dreadful thing.
Unable to stay still and desperate to occupy his mind, Harry sits up and swings his feet to the floor. Classes didn't start until the next day. Maybe time spent roaming about the castle or the grounds would help clear his head. He could walk around the lake or visit Hagrid, he could watch people play Gobstones in the transfiguration courtyard, or go to the library. Hermione's face hovered in his mind.
Best to avoid the library.
Harry changed in the bathroom, pulling on his ratty jeans and the green Weasley jumper he'd gotten last winter after a moment's hesitation. He tiptoed back into the dorm and shut the bathroom door lightly, throwing the room back into darkness. Shoes in hand, Harry pads softly downstairs in his socks to the common room. Empty.
The fire in the hearth burned brightly. Harry sank into the chair nearest to it and let the heat wash over his face, staring into the flames until he noticed light breaking through the windows and the indistinct hum of whispered conversation. Two sixth years enter the common room, and Harry is immediately in motion.
He's out of the portrait and into the hall before either student notices his presence.
Sometime later, he found himself outside the Great Hall, more from muscle memory than a pang of genuine hunger. Harry shoved open the large doors with a puff and a grunt, poking his head in. There was a scattering of students at the tables, primarily upper years. Some of them are reading while munching on an apple or sipping juice. Others are scritching away madly on rolls of parchment in a scramble to complete summer assignments.
Harry grimaced. He really ought to do the same. The trouble was, they'd locked him up in his room for part of summer. Uncle Vernon claimed Harry upended a bowl of pudding on some woman. Whatever the real reason, Harry could not visit Diagon Alley to pick up supplies for the new term, let alone use them to do his summer work. He would have to figure something out before class tomorrow.
Somehow he doubts Hogwarts had a Lost and Found where he could fish out some old supplies. Sharing with Ron was out. If Ron wasn't speaking to him, he undoubtedly wouldn't share his things. Harry didn't really know the other Gryffindors well enough to ask to borrow their things. Except for his fellow quidditch players, he amended. But none of them were in his year, so there was little help there to be found unless they kept their books from previous years.
His best bet in the regard brought him right back where he started. The twins, Fred and George, might have kept theirs to pass down to Ron. He knocks his head against the door twice and groans in frustration. No matter. He would think of something.
Harry entered the hall, and the door slammed shut before he remembered to catch it. Harry freezes. The resounding thud is met with annoyed expressions as if it were Harry's fault how unreasonably heavy the doors were. He shuffles over and slumps onto a bench at the Gryffindor table, cheeks burning. Harry takes his time pouring himself some juice until the eyes slide away from him. People were always staring at him at Hogwarts, no matter how normal he tried to be, and even attention for something as small as a door shutting too loudly was unnerving.
Harry sipped pumpkin juice halfheartedly. It went down sour in the chaos of knots his belly twisted its self into. He slid the cup away. Harry's knees jiggle, and the heels of his shoes tap up and down on the floor. Anxious and hungry, but also not hungry at all, Harry gave one longing glance toward the piles of hot food starting to appear at the tables. He took an Orange as a compromise and stood up.
He spent all summer dreaming of the food at Hogwarts, and now he couldn't eat it. Too sick to his stomach over whatever was happening with Ron and Hermione.
One of the wooden doors opened as Harry approached it and something vaguely book-shaped squashed into his gut. Unbalanced, Harry threw his arms to the side, grasping at the air and tilting dangerously far. Just as he was bracing himself to crack his head against the stone floor, an arm wrapped around him and pulled him back to his feet. Harry let out a breath in relief, one hand on his sore stomach.
In front of him, the imposing form of Marcus Flint, a Slytherin quidditch player, crouched down to pick up several large library books. Harry knelt down to help him retrieve them. He had two in his hands and stood to hand them over. Flint was watching him with an unreadable expression. When Harry stepped forward tentatively, the Slytherin didn't move, so Harry placed the books on top of the other three Flint already had.
"Accio Potter's orange."
Harry blinked, bewildered. His orange, which had gone rolling in the collision, zoomed through the air. Flint tossed it to Harry, who caught it easily. "O-oh. You didn't have to." Harry stammered. "Er, I mean, thank you?"
Flint raised his brows, the corner of his lips lifting slightly as if amused. A thin wizard with golden hair and kohl-rimmed eyes appeared next to the Slytherin with only a brief glance at Harry.
"No time, Flint." The wizard said. He held up a napkin with slices of toast. "Prefect meeting moved to this morning. Best we be there early, else wise Farley will lose her temper, and we'll not get any lunch before study group if we have to go to the Medi-wing."
Flint groaned, swiped a slice of toast and held it between his teeth. The big Slytherin turned on his heel and hauled open the same massive door he'd just come through. Flint cocked his head and nodded Harry ahead of him, then followed with the other Slytherin.
A witch with a long, dark braid over one shoulder, Farley, Harry guessed, started walking aggressively forward on the other side of the entrance hall. "Flint, Rosier, finally. Let's go! I refuse to be locked in that room any longer than necessary. We've still got Court accountability after study group as it is... "
Both wizards groaned this time.
The conversation faded as the Slytherins headed left down the short hall, leading to the dungeons' stairs, and Harry went right to the front doors. Harry raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun. He could make out two students in the distance headed to the Quidditch pitch. Harry almost wished he'd thought of flying himself. Well, he was not going back to the tower for his Nimbus 2000. He couldn't bear a repeat of last night when Ron pretended Harry didn't exist. He wandered toward the lake, a fragile feeling in his breast.
Harry settled himself on a flat rock. The sun rose just enough that its rays fell across this spot and kept it warm in the cool morning air. He perched there with the orange in his lap, rolling it between his palms while peering out across the lake. He was near the path to the main entrance and close to the fork that led to the gates. Last year, Harry saw the upper years walking down that way in enthusiastic groups to visit the village.
He could hear students coming out to the grounds and playing with their friends. Harry didn't go play, though. With Ron and Hermione not speaking to him, Harry lost the confidence in social situations he'd developed over the previous school year. He kicked his shoes in the mix of muddy sand and grass at his feet, ignoring the children in his peripheral vision. Everything was damp but not wet enough for Harry to guess whether the dark clouds along the horizon were coming or going. Maybe a storm was coming.
Human hatchlings. So big, so noisy. A voice grumbled. Stealing sunning spots.
"What?" Harry blinked, trying to locate the source of such an odd comment.
Leave! The voice ordered. This rock is mine. Go back to giant cave.
Harry struggled to figure out how someone could sound so close without him being able to see them. Were they lying in the tall grass somewhere? He scanned the immediate vicinity. Something pale caught his attention. There, in the grass, a snake. It was cream coloured with pale golden splotches. Its face was squashed with an upturned snout.
"I've never seen a snake like you before." Said, Harry.
The snake twisted in the sunshine so it reflected off its scales. And never again! It assured him.
Harry blinked. "Oh. Were you talking to me?"
The snake tilts its head, peering up at him with enormous eyes. My rock. It told him. My rock, my rock, my rock.
Harry slid off and squatted on the sand. "Sorry about that. I didn't realize."
The snake stares at him a moment longer, then slowly slithers up a lump of grassy shore and onto the rock. Harry estimated it to be less than two feet in length. Once there, it loops its body and rests its head on its tail. It undoubtedly was a handsome snake.
Harry seized the distraction the snake presented. He had no one else to talk to, for one, and he'd quite forgotten he could speak to snakes. In any ordinary summer, discovering you could communicate with snakes would be the highlight. It faded compared to a giant breaking down the door, piles of gold and finding out he was a wizard. The previous summer had been a lot.
"Mister...snake?" The snake turned in his direction, which Harry took as permission to proceed.
"What should I call you? You're only the second snake I've talked to, and I forgot to ask the first."
I am the serpent of the sunning rock.
"But what do they call you?"
Serpent of the sunning rock. The snake repeated.
Harry frowned. "That's not really a name. What if there was another...serpent...with a sunning rock? Wouldn't that be confusing?"
Another sunning rock? As splendid as this?
"No. Well, maybe. I don't actually know." Harry flailed his hands. "Let me try that again. No matter how many other snakes there are, this is a word that only means you. A name."
Name. The serpent echoed, testing it out. Just for me?
"Yes, exactly." Harry smiled. "I am called Harry James Potter."
Many names.
Harry leaned forward. "I suppose. Mostly they call me Potter. My friends call me Harry."
Friends? The snake's forked tongue flicked.
"A friend is a companion. You're closer to them than other people. Not...not physically or anything. It's not distance-based." Harry rolled his orange and tossed it between his hands. "Emotionally. Someone you can count on, and you can share secrets with. Or share snacks." Like his first meeting with Ron Weasley on the Hogwarts Express.
Snack?
Harry took his orange and held it up. "A snack. Small food you have between big meals, er, food." He explained.
Friend, said the snake. Friend, friend, friend.
"That's right. A friend."
We shall be friends. The snake decided.
"Oh." Said Harry, surprised. "Yes, of course, we can be friends."
This seemed to please the snake. You have permission to share your food. You may thank me.
Harry huffed out a laugh. "Thank you." At least he would have one friend this year.
The sun was rising higher, and more students were outside. He figured his dorm mates would get up soon as well for breakfast. He allowed himself to imagine Ron or Hermione looking for him before banishing the thought. Harry decided to come up with a name for the snake. Something to do with the sun. "Sunny? Er, let's see. Bask...rays...daylight."
Harry studied the snake critically for inspiration. It was short, much shorter than the one at the zoo. And a little chunky, to be honest. Its colours were lovely, like Hedwigs'. Pale and bright in the sunshine.
"How about...Shine?"
It will do.
"Great." Said, Harry. "Shine it is."
Friend?
"Yes, we're friends," Harry confirmed.
Friend Harry hatchling, said Shine. You may present me with food. With...a snack.
"Famously the most essential aspect of friendship." Harry agreed, grinning. "I don't think I can offer you some orange. What sort of food do you like? What do you eat? Mice?"
Hoppers.
Harry looked around. "Hoppers?"
A frog, maybe? Harry wasn't sure he could find a frog small enough for Shine to eat. Perhaps a cricket would do. He set his orange aside, stood and scowled at the sandy mud on his jeans. He would have to put them in the laundry basket later. Harry glanced around once more, then shrugged. What was that spell Flint used?
Harry held out his wand in the general direction of the grass in front of him. "Accio crickets."
At first, nothing happened. Then dozens of crickets came rocketing out of the grass. Harry ducked to the ground and let out a yelp, arms over his head. They thumped down around him, and at least one fell in his hair. Harry sat up and shook his head frantically, running his fingers through for good measure. Satisfied it was gone, Harry shuddered.
He spotted one trying to hop away. Harry pounced toward it...and missed. Grunting, Harry clambered back to his knees and tried again. He slapped his hands over a cricket on the third try, only to feel it squirming around. Involuntary shivers ran up and down his spine. Without thinking, he tossed the cricket away from him. Harry scowled. You can do this, he told himself. Cleaning the toilet after Dudley got sick was worse than this. He pulled the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands and gave it one last try. This time, when he caught the cricket, Harry didn't let it go. He narrowed his eyes at his hands and ordered them to remain closed.
Harry crawled over to Shine on his knees, not trusting himself to stand without losing his grip. Reaching the sunning rock, Harry just slightly opened his hands for the snake. Shine's tongue flicked quickly. The snake darted forward, tiny head shooting between Harry's hands. His little mouth seized the front of the cricket's body, head first. The Gryffindor watched in fascination. He reached out a finger and straightened the cricket when its kicking legs moved its body sideways. He might have felt bad for it if he didn't sort of hate crickets just then.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing?"
Harry jumped, startled, and spun around. There stood three teenage wizards. Closest to him was a tall boy with dark hair. He wore a greyish blue jacket that was unbuttoned and moved in the slight breeze. The boys eyes went up to Harry's forehead, a habit Harry wished desperately the other students would eventually grow out of.
"Potter? Dosed with itching powder, are you?"
Harry flushed. "Something like that." He put his hands on the sunning rock and pushed himself to his feet. "How long were you watching- "
"Look out!"
Harry froze. "What?"
"Don't move, Potter." The boy bent down with his wand arm out, his other hand felt around on the ground, and then he stood. He held a big rock. "Just stay still, and I'll take care of it."
Alarmed, Harry tilted his head and tried to see what was wrong. There beside his hand on the sunning rock lay Shine, who was also perfectly still. That is when it clicked in Harry's head. Unthinking, Harry made to block Shine from sight just as the rock was thrown. It grazed his arm. Harry winced.
"Roger." Admonished one of the other boys. He crossed his arms and frowned.
Roger Davies made a face at him. "Was an accident, wasn't it?" He made an impatient gesture at Harry.
Harry shook his head. "Don't hurt him."
Davies rolled his eyes. "I appreciate the bleeding heart, Potter, but that's a snake if you haven't noticed. It could be poisonous or worse, magical. We're close to the forbidden forest, you know."
The two other boys nodded in agreement. The one who spoke before held out his hand like he was trying to calm him. "Listen to Davies, kid. You don't have to watch. You can even cover your ears if you like."
Davies took a step closer. "C'mon now," He coaxed. "Let us have a look at it."
Harry swallowed but didn't move. He didn't know what to do. Usually, he had at least Ron with him. Standing here alone, he felt small and insignificant. Harry took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and steeled his nerves. He wouldn't let them hurt Shine. The snake had done nothing wrong, and it wasn't Shine's fault he'd been born a snake. Not that there was anything wrong with snakes in the first place, in Harry's opinion.
Unfortunately, Davies took advantage of Harry's momentary distraction to close the distance between them. He tried to push Harry aside. The younger wizard digs his heels into the wet ground of the lake's shore, bracing himself as he'd learned to do with Dudley.
"I don't need your help." Harry tried to explain. "Just leave us alone."
Harry brought his hands up and tried in vain to push against Davies. Heat poured into the palms of Harry's hands, fingers vibrating. Unbidden, the memory of a man's face disintegrating to ash in a room with a magic mirror came to the forefront of Harry's mind. He snatched his hands back, staring at them for a second, then looked over his shoulder at Shine, who still seemed frozen in place. "Don't worry," Harry told the snake.
"What did you say?"
Harry twisted back to face Davies. "Let me explain-"
"Stop that!"
Davies squeezes Harry's arms, shaking him violently, knocking his glasses askew. Harry's breath caught in his throat as his mind and his instincts shift into Harry Hunting mode. The game his cousin Dudley and his gang made up when they were seven. Harry always lost.
"What?"
"Speak English," Davies ordered, shaking him hard enough for Harry's head to snap back and pain to flare in his neck.
"I-I'm sorry!"
As soon as the words leave Harry's mouth, Davies tenses up, and his dark eyes narrow. Large fingers dig into Harry's skin through the Weasley jumper, and dread claws its way up Harry's back in involuntary shivers. Panicking, Harry kicked out with his leg, striking Davies in the shin. The boy hissed, swore, and shoved Harry away. Then Harry is falling. His elbow bounces off of Shine's sunning rock, sharp pain floods his arm. His shoulders and head slam into the ground, one after the other. He saw stars.
"...snake...I swear...dark..."
An argument filtered around him in chunks with several missing pieces, and there was the sound of scuffling. His head throbbed. Harry jumped when something cool curled around his neck.
Run, Hatchling.
Shine. The last moments caught up to Harry, and he scrambled to his feet with some difficulty. His left arm was tender and barely supported him as he raised himself up. Harry's vision cleared in time to see Davies struggling to get by another wizard, who was arguing with him. Harry turned and sprinted up the path to the main entrance.
"Davies, wait!"
Harry immediately discarded the Great Hall as an avenue of escape. They would catch him before he managed to push open the doors. He didn't try for the main staircase, either. Getting to one just as it changed would be lucky, but Harry wasn't feeling lucky today.
Lose them in the dark, Hatchling. Says Shine. The dark, the dark, the dark.
Footsteps and yells filled the entrance hall, signaling Davies and his friends were catching up. Harry sprinted down the stairs leading to the dungeons in a split-second decision. He jumped most of the steps, almost smacked into a wall, muddy shoes sliding on the stone floor. In a school of magic, this was Harry's only real advantage. He was fast. They might have longer legs, but Harry wanted to get away more than they wanted to catch him.
Sometimes dangerous situations came down to knowing when to run and knowing when to hide.
A hex struck the ground at Harry's feet, sending him crashing to the floor. Hyperaware of the fragile snake wound around his neck, Harry did not tuck in his arms and roll as his instincts screamed at him to do. The stone floor sent waves of pain jolting up his arms, his left elbow twisting and nearly collapsing beneath his weight. Ignoring the single tear that slicked down his cheek, Harry shoved himself up with his good arm and threw himself forward. Harry turned a corner, desperate to see where he was going in the flickering torchlight. Another hex on the ground just behind him had the Gryffindor gritting his teeth and surging ahead even faster. He needed somewhere to go. He couldn't sprint through the dungeons blindly.
Sooner or later, he would meet a dead end.
Harry passed classrooms without a second glance. He couldn't risk the distance he would lose between him and his pursuers if the doors were locked and even more so if he couldn't find something to block the entrance. It would only corner him. He strained his ears to hear past the thuds and whoops behind him, and his blood rushing in his head. He needed other people. A prefect. A teacher. Harry's shoes squeaked on a tight turn. This would be a marvelous time for one of those secret passages to pop up.
For the second time that day, a door opened unexpectedly, and Harry collided with someone else. They both stumbled, clinging to each other to stay upright. Harry glanced up into the startled silvery eyes of Draco Malfoy. The sound of pounding footsteps echoed in the hall behind him, and Harry was out of options.
"Help me."
There's a moment where everything around them stops. Malfoy's eyes widen and he hesitates. It feels like a ball of lead is sinking in the pit of Harry's stomach. Malfoy's gaze flickers down to the snake nestled around Harry's neck, then back up to his face. His mouth falls open as if to say something. The next second everything sped back up. Malfoy placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and stepped around in front of him. Footsteps came sliding to a halt. Barely ten feet ahead of him is Davies and the two boys who were with them earlier. One of them is sporting a bruise on his cheek, and he doesn't look up from the floor.
"Problem?" Malfoy asks, acting for all the world as if there weren't three teenagers with their wands out and pointed in his direction.
" Step aside."
"A little far from home to be giving orders," Malfoy drawled. "Don't you think?"
"Maybe." Said Davies. "And you're a little small to be a shield."
Davies flicked his wand, and a muddy blue colour shot out. To Harry's astonishment, Malfoy did nothing to stop the spell. In fact, he reached a hand back and pulled Harry closer behind him. Just as the attack should have struck them, the light smooshed against something invisible. Faint golden light rippled out from the point of impact and the spell dissolved. Malfoy lifted his hand and wiggled a finger with a ring on it. It was silver shined in the torchlight. Harry could make out a feather-like pattern along the edge.
Davies's face went red. He ran his hand through his hair roughly, shifting his weight on his feet like an agitated animal. "Malfoy." He said through gritted teeth.
It was then Harry noticed Davies wasn't looking at Malfoy; he was looking at the ring. The older boy hadn't known who Malfoy was until he saw it. This new knowledge didn't appear to deter him from his goal of catching Harry and Shine, however. Davies tossed another spell in their direction. This one, Harry recognized.
Malfoy's hand fisted the front of Harry's jumper, and he tugged him with the Slytherin to the left. The stone floor cracked, and pieces of it flew into the air and scattered on the ground where they were standing seconds ago. The crashing thuds of stone on stone reverberated. Harry clamped his hands over his ears. He guessed Malfoy's magic ring only protected him against certain kinds of spells. Despite that, Malfoy appeared supremely unconcerned with the entire situation. To his credit and to Harry's dazed surprise, he remained in front of Harry.
The door Malfoy left opened again, and out walked a large boy with dark hair, broad shoulders, and an especially annoyed expression on his face.
Marcus Flint.
There was an uneasy pause. Flint's face blanked, taking in the scene before him. The three boys to his right, and Malfoy and Harry to his front. Flint's gaze slid from Malfoy to Harry. He stepped out into the hall, placing himself between the two groups. Flint's arms rested at his sides. He made no move to go for his wand or to ball up his fists. Davies, in contrast, went rigid.
A witch with a long braid stepped out of the room and joined them in the hall. "What in Salazar's name," she snapped. "Is going on out here?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, isn't it?" Davies sniped. The two boys behind him took a step back. Davies pointed at Harry with his wand. "There's something wicked going on-"
The moment Davies poked his wand in the air in Harry's direction, which also happened to be in Malfoy and Flint's direction, the long-haired witch had had enough. She slashed her own wand through the air in a jagged staccato. Apparently, the two wizards behind Davies caught on in enough time to make a break for it. Half turned back the way they came, flashes of light struck them. Arms and legs snapped together. They wobbled for a moment and then came down like a felled tree.
Petrified.
Roger raised his hands into the air in surrender. "C'mon, Farley, if you just listen-"
The witch, Farley, interrupted him again. "I listen fine, Davies, so I suggest you rest your tongue. You're about to do a lot of talking, and I'd hate to miss out on a single detail." She nodded at the student beside her. "Fetch Clearwater."
"Clearwater?" Davies repeated. He glared at the wizard, who took off down the corridor. "You don't need her; you need a mediwizard. Or an exorcist."
"What's an exorcist?" Someone asked.
"That's Prefect Clearwater to you," Farley informed him. "We need her because she is a Ravenclaw prefect, your prefect, and I won't have Slytherin losing points before the school year has even started. No one can claim prejudice on our part if she serves as a witness."
"If you truly needed medical attention," a familiar wizard with kohl-rimmed eyes stepped out from where he'd been leaning against the door. "I can't help but wonder how you found yourselves down in the tunnels and so far from the medical wing." He stopped in the now vacant space beside Farley and gave her a nod.
"I did ask if they were lost." Said Malfoy.
Farley turned to look at them across the hallway. "And did they relieve your curiosity?"
"Not in the slightest." Said Malfoy. "Though they did offer hexes instead. Much to the detriment of the floor." He tilted his head toward the bit of stone Davies exploded earlier.
Farley rubbed her forehead and murmured something about schedules. "Rosier?" She turned to the wizard beside her. "Inform Snape of the events of the last few moments."
Rosier gave a sweeping bow to Farley and started down the hall the opposite way of the wizard who'd gone to fetch Clearwater.
"I'm telling you," Davies was shifting his weight on his feet again. "There's something wrong with him."
This brought everyone's attention back to Harry. Farley communicated something silently with Flint. Then she gave orders to the remaining students, who immediately got to work dragging the petrified Ravenclaws into the room they had all so recently vacated. Farley, who appeared to take delight in doing so despite her otherwise serious exterior, walked into the room holding Davies at wand point.
Harry, numbly, supposed it wasn't often they presented you with an excuse to do something so dramatic. Soon, Harry, Malfoy and Flint were the only ones left in the hall. The two Slytherins turned to Harry, who suddenly couldn't find the courage to look either of them in the eye. He was perfectly content to allow Malfoy to explain what happened in the hall to Flint. Obviously, the other second year was missing some critical details, but Harry remained silent.
"Potter."
Harry's elbow twinged horribly, and Harry flinched. Both wizards stilled beside him. He looked to his left arm where Malfoy paused, fingers inspecting Harry's torn sleeve. The blond watched Harry's face for a minute. "May I?"
When Harry continued not to say anything, Malfoy took it as permission to continue. In a moment that was surreal as any he'd had in the wizarding world so far, Draco Malfoy gently pulled up the sleeve of Harry's Weasley jumper. His elbow looked terrible. Swollen and massively bruised. Getting thrown to the floor earlier probably hadn't helped.
Malfoy exchanged a quick glance with Flint, then continued his inspection. He left the sleeve rolled up and looked at Harry's left hand and then his right. Both hands scraped, and one of his nails was partially ripped off. Harry had no idea when that happened. Flint took over from there. The big wizard examined Harry's face without touching him, then stepped back and looked over Harry as a whole.
All Harry could think about was how neither Slytherin had looked at his lightning bolt scar even once. How refreshing.
"Did they do this, Potter?"
It was Flint who asked. Harry said nothing. His heart was speeding up in his chest. Rationally, he knew it would be phenomenally stupid for either wizard to attack Harry as Davies had done when there was a prefect from another house and even a professor coming this way. That didn't stop Harry's throat from threatening to close up on him or his hands from shaking.
"Potter?"
"I was talking to Shine," Harry whispered.
Flint's brows pulled together. Perhaps trying to figure out which of Harry's classmates might have such an odd nickname. "Who is Shine?"
Harry fidgeted. His hand went up to his collar and stroked the thankfully uninjured serpent still nestled there. "My snake." It felt like his bones were rattling inside his body, and his skin was the only thing holding all his emotions together. Beneath his fingers, Shine stirred, small head rising. Harry could feel slow flicks of his tongue against his chin.
"And did it…did it talk back?" That was Malfoy.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Harry's stomach twisted and coiled in a parody of the snake in question. He felt the phantom pains of Davies' fingers digging into his arms and wanted to throw up. Summoning the remnants of his Gryffindor courage, Harry opened his eyes.
"Yes."
Thoughts, comments, limericks, and theories welcome.
AN: Long time, no see. I'm rather excited to share this story with you. If you're interested, let me know.
Ever Yours, Pseu