chapter four: snake charmer {year one, part two}
"Oh, for your plan? Fine, but I'll ask you for a favor in return: free me from the compulsions that the Headmaster put on me, sometime within the next seven or so years. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Time to face the music.
Harry stepped into the inner sanctum of the Chamber, his footfalls echoing around him. He has his wand out and ready, and is sharply at attention. Standing in front of Salazar Slytherin's statue is a mid-Twenties looking Tom Riddle. Harry twitches, and Tom turns to face him. "Hello there, Harry." His voice was low and smooth, and his eyes had flecks of crimson in them, "We need to talk."
line here
Harry followed Percy to the common room, his hand running over the smooth hewn stone rocks. He could almost feel the history breathing within the walls. He followed, one in a crowd of black robes. The group paused briefly before the Fat Lady, and Percy told her the password loud enough for everyone to hear. The password is chivalry, he reminded himself, moving forwards into the common room.
The Ravenclaw common room was swathed in deep blues and grays, with the occasional bronze thing thrown in; dark wooden bookshelves had lined the walls, with the books arranged by subject. And yet, despite the dark colors, the room had never felt dark-it had felt rather light instead, lit up by soft magelight and natural light.
The Gryffindor common room was none of that.
Awash in bright reds and brighter golds, it hurt Harry's eyes to look at-why was everything in here so brash and so bright? Even the sofas were a bright poppy red color, and the common room alone made Harry want to retreat back to the Ravenclaw commons, what he wanted for his Sorting being damned! The dorms were probably just as bad, or worse; maybe he could cast a glamor that only he could see? That would prove to be an interesting project…
Looking around, he waited for Professor McGonagall to come and give a speech to the first years about her expectations for their actions, and how they were upholding ancient standards of bravery and chivalry.
Nothing.
The Prefect lead the first years towards their dorm staircase, and told them to go up to bed.
Why wasn't there a speech? In every other House there was a speech, even if there wasn't a long one; Filius (he had become friends with his Head of House after he had finished with the war) had only given a short speech about the common room and Rowena Ravenclaw founding the House before handing out maps to the castle. But there was none of that; not even the maps.
How had Gryffindor fallen so far?
line here
Harry was right about the dorms. The walls were close around them, but not uncomfortably so, giving it a cozy feeling. That was the only good part of the dorms. The bed hangings were an obnoxiously bright scarlet, and the floor only had carpets about a half of a meter away from the beds, and the rest was cold stone.
He paused, blinking a few times. The dark wood of his trunk stood out among the garishly bright red decor, making it seem out of place. The clasps, made from bronze (Ravenclaw pride shines through even in the smallest ways) fit in a bit better than the walnut wood of his trunk.
The rest of his Dormmates filed in behind him, and one of them-red hair, Ron Weasley?-grinned. "This is great! Look at how big the beds are!"
Harry walks forwards, his black dragonhide boots clicking on the stone. "Yeah. They're very big-almost as big as the ones that we have in Potter manor!" His curse-green eyes widened slightly, and he took a few steps forwards, pushing his thoughts of Ravenclaw supremacy-and most other thoughts-behind his Occlumency shields, and only leaving behind the boy who lived under the cupboard for 10 years of his life, and the rescue by Halcyone, his new guardian.
That little boy was overwhelmed by everything still, and he reached out to touch the duvet on the bed. "It's just like Halcyone told me it would be like!" He smiles a bit, and turns to face the others. "Should we introduce ourselves? After all, we're going to be living together for the next few years, right?"
The red-head puffs up, his clear blue eyes lighting up. "I'm Ronald Weasley. And you're Harry Potter, right?" His eyes glance up at his scar, causing the Potter heir to shuffle a bit shyly.
"Yes. I'm Harry Potter, and I like pumpkin pasties."
An average-looking boy stepped up next. "I'm Seamus Finnegan. I like Exploding Bon-bons the best."
An afro-haired boy stepped up next. "I'm Dean Thomas. And of course you like Exploding Bon-Bons the best; they're the closest thing you get to an explosion in your mouth." Grinning, he turns back. "I like Ice Mice the best."
Neville stepped up last. "H-hi. I'm N-neville Longbottom and I like..I like Cauldron Cakes the best, I guess..?" He seemed nervous, and Harry gave him a quiet smile.
"My favorite is Chocolate Frogs." Ron announced, causing Harry to turn to him. In his world, Ron hadn't been in Hogwarts-he was a wild card, so it seemed worthwhile to try to gently turn him to Harry's side, or at least see his personality.
"I think that I'm heading to bed-today was very exciting, but it left me exhausted." Most of the boys nodded in agreement with Harry's statement, and they began to get ready to go to sleep.
Harry changed into his dark blue pyjamas, silken and patterned with bronze ravens. Ron frowned. "Why don't you have lions?" He demanded, and Harry sighed, looking over at the other boy. "Chrysantha thought that I would be a Ravenclaw."
Climbing onto the bed, stopping any other questions, he closed the curtains, and pulled back the covers, and curled under them. Humming a bit, he flicked his wrist, casting a warming charm on the bedspread. Much more satisfied, Harry falls asleep quickly, his dreams sweet.
line here
Waking up, Harry groans as his wand alarm goes off, vibrating under his pillow. Pulling it out and stopping it with a short wave, he pulls himself out of bed. Stumbling to the bathroom, he grimaces as he walks into the doorframe. Stepping under the shower, he sighs in relief under the hot water, relaxing.
After the nice hot shower, he steps out, toweling off his hair. Pulling on his Gryffindor tie, he begins to walk to the Great Hall after tugging on his dragonhide boots. Humming, he sits down at the Gryffindor table, watching as the rest of the student body comes down.
Before the mail arrived, breakfast appeared, making Harry raise his eyebrows. He could've sworn that mail came before breakfast-nevermind. Plates of crumpets, bacon, sausage, eggs-scrambled and otherwise-as well as traditional fair; devilled kidneys was only just one example. Scooping a bit of fruit onto his plate, Harry ate as he waited for the schedules to come.
His first class today was Potions, which is a pain because of how ready Professor Snape was to prove his incompetence. Luckily, Harry wasn't a clueless eleven year old, and he could answer any question that the Professor threw at him. Assuming, of course, that it was made available, and it wasn't something that just Professor Snape knew.
Soon, a magical bell tolled through the school, showing the beginning of a new school day. Standing, Harry followed most of the rest of the Gryffindor first years down to Potions. He ended up next to a bushy-haired girl that he recognized quite well. Seeing her again made his heart lurch in his chest; losing 'Mione had driven him into a deep depression. "Hey, you're Hermione Granger, right?" He asked, smiling at her.
"Yes-and you're Harry Potter, right? I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and-"
Smiling a sheepish grin, Harry cuts her off. "I haven't been in the Wizarding World since my parents died, so I doubt that those books know anything about me."
Hermione blinked, and frowned, "But the books said that you'd be a Gryffindor, and you are! And you're kind-"
"Yes, but I'm a Gryffindor because I'm kind, not because the books said I would. I'm not very brave," He quipped, before continuing, "I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw." Where you should've gone.
Hermione grinned. "The Hat wanted to put me into Ravenclaw, too! Have you read Hogwarts, a History?"
Harry smiles, nodding, and is about to reply when the Potions classroom door slams open, and Professor Snape glares down at them. "In." He commanded, and the first-years scrambled inside, with the Slytherins coming in after the Gryffindors.
Turning to Hermione, Harry smiles. "Want to be Potions partners?"
Once the witch had agreed, Harry led them over to a potions station near the front of the room. Glaring, Professor Snape began to call out roll, pausing when he came to Harry's name. "Ah, yes," He murmured, looking up at Harry, "Harry Potter. Our new-celebrity." He finishes the roll, before putting down the parchment.
Harry had inked his quill and had a sheet of parchment, ready to take notes on. Pursing his lips, Professor Snape looks away, and captures the class's attention. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word; the Professor was good at catching and keeping their attention. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Turning suddenly to Harry, he barked out a question. Harry quickly finished the notes that he took from the speech, before Harry answered, running purely on instinct. He hadn't expected the inquisition to begin so quickly! "A Draught of Living Death, sir. It's a powerful sleeping potion, one which makes it appear that the drinker is dead."
Giving a begrudging nod, he asks another question-"Where can you find a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat. It's an antidote to all common poisons, with the exception of the muggle poison of arsenic."
Turning away from Harry, Snape began to question Weasley. "Weasley, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"I don't know, Professor." He sneered, glaring at Professor Snape.
"What is the more common name for Spellsinger's Paste?"
"I don't know." Glancing to his right, Harry saw Hermione's hand, which had been up, droop downwards.
"How about where you can find the draconis cordisfilum?"
"I don't know! Even Granger doesn't know!" Weasley snarled, anger sparking in his blue eyes.
A grim smile twisted the Potion's Professor's lips. "You didn't think that you could open a book before class, did you, Weasley? Potter, do you know?"
"A draconis cordisfilium is also known as a dragon heartstring. It can be found in a dragon's heart. However, in potion making, a draconis cordisfilium is more commonly known as fire lily. They can be found on the sides of volcanoes, and, in rare cases, hot springs." A memory sprung to mind; 'Mione and him looking for fire lilies on the sides of volcanoes, particularly Yellowstone, only to find a cluster on the side of a hot spring. "Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant. Spellsinger's Paste is more commonly known as burn paste." Cocking his head, Harry continues, "Is there anything else that you want to know, Professor? Perhaps this time you could draw from the experimental Potions journal that underaged wixen aren't allowed to sign up for?"
Glaring, Professor Snape snarls, "10 points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."
Turning away, Snape gestures sharply towards the board, where instructions began to write themselves using a piece of chalk. "Today, you will be attempting a boil cure. I expect you all to read the instructions, but even if you do not, this potion will not be too dangerous for any of you dunderheads." Turning and sitting at his desk, Professor Snape glares over them. "Well, what are you waiting for? Begin!"
Potions passed in a relatively peaceful manner after that, despite Professor Snape hovering over Harry and Hermione's cauldron, and Longbottom's cauldron melting. By the end of the lesson, Harry bottled a perfect (or as close as you can get with the shoddy instructions in the textbook) boil cure, carefully placing it onto the Professor's desk.
He knew that Professor Snape wouldn't be able to vanish or break the vial; despite being high-quality crystal, several wards had been placed onto each individual vial, making it significantly harder-if not impossible-to break. Smiling as he sits back down, he turns to Hermione, asking if she would like to join him in the library after classes end. After gaining an affirmative (and the class ending with the same magical bell), Harry set off for his next class.
Herbology was interesting, if it wasn't his favorite class overall; the magical and muggle plants that they were learning were important to Potions, both for their ingredients and when they were harvested. Harry would need to look into getting a small garden of commonly used ingredients, so he wouldn't have to keep buying them as he brewed. Charms was also interesting, but they were currently on theory; he needed new projects to keep his mind occupied. Perhaps becoming an animagus would do; it would be useful for stealth, assuming that it was small.
Turning into the corridor for the library, Harry wasn't surprised when Draco Malfoy and his goons were waiting there. "Heir Malfoy-it is good to see you again." Harry held out his hand for a handshake, but the Slytherin frowned at him.
"I thought that you said that you were going into Ravenclaw? Or are all Potters liars?"
Blinking at Draco, Harry drops his hand, straightening. "Plans change. The Headmaster is already far too interested in me-it wouldn't do if his little Chosen One went astray, would it? Being sorted into Gryffindor makes my life easier, as my acquaintances won't be as closely watched, nor will they be expected to turn me Dark."
Draco inhaled, and Harry smiled at him indulgently. "I have plans in the works that don't depend on my Hogwarts House, Heir Malfoy. You can be a part of them or you can watch from the sidelines." Continuing on, Harry almost got to the end of the corridor before Draco called out.
"Heir Potter, wait!" Harry turned as Draco-not quite hurried, but a more undignified walk than he normally would have. "I will provide you with some support, unless your...projects go in a direction that I don't like."
Inclining his head, Harry smiled. "Very well, Heir Malfoy. You can call me Harry, if you like."
"Then you can call me Draco."
Nodding at Draco, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle, Harry turned and walked on to the library, meeting up with Hermione. "Harry! Do you want to start with our Potions essay on safety, or our Herbology assignment on magical versus muggle plants? Or maybe our Charms questions?"
Laughing, Harry answers, "Potions, then Charms. We have those classes tomorrow, and we can turn them in early. If we have time then we can start on Herbology, maybe?"
line here
And so the days crept by. Harry began to research into enchanting objects, something that he had never been interested in before. That took a good portion of his actual focus, while he was scoring almost top of his class, with Hermione just beating him. Harry wasn't all that fussed; 'Mione seemed proud of it, so he allowed it to happen.
The exception was Potions. Professor Snape had continued after him, trying to get Harry to slip up. Every question that Harry answered correctly, the Professor grew more and more frustrated, but Harry was never wrong. Once or twice, the Professor attempted to trick Harry with trick questions with rather tricky wording, but Harry managed just fine. No matter how angry Professor Snape became, he couldn't sabotage his grades; it was written into the magically binding contract that all Professors had to sign when they became Hogwarts professors.
Defense was...interesting. Harry's horcrux hurt everytime that Professor Quirrel entered the room; after glancing through his memories of his first year (many of the more boring of which were faded almost completely away) he reknew that Professor Quirrel had been hiding Voldemort somewhere on him; at the end of Harry's first year, he had gotten the Philosopher's Stone. This time, he was determined to get it first, and create a new ritual that will bring back the non-broken minded Voldemort at a time of his choosing. If Voldemort was brought back too soon, Professor Snape (and any other spies that Dumbledore had) would alert the old man as soon as the ritual started. If it was too late, the world would spiral into the death and destruction that Harry had been brought here to stop.
The Dark Lord was dormant, for the most part; his scar dully ached most of the time in Defense. When he asked a question, however, the dull pain increased into a sharp, focused, interested pain. Voldemort answered quite sanely, and then went dormant again after watching his expressions and/or answering any of his other questions. Harry had a theory that the presence of another full, sane soul stabilized the small part of Voldemort's soul that was left.
The ritual that Harry had been designing would be easier if he had a good portion of Voldemort's soul, so he needed to get the Diary, the Ring, and the Locket. He wasn't going to break into Gringotts again; the fines and penalties had never ended in his previous life, and he wasn't allowed to come into Gringotts in person (at any branch) anymore. No, better that he uses what he can easily get, and build around that. Voldemort can get his own damn soul pieces.
And no, Harry wasn't going to get rid of the horcrux in his scar. If needed, it was an easy bargaining chip, besides the obvious usefulness of having an insight into his enemies mind at any point, even if he wasn't going to fully invade Voldemort's mind and use him like a puppet. He might have to do that to get him to the ritual spot, but he refused to remove his free will more than necessary.
If Voldemort refused to help, and continued on his trail of terror...then he would be forced to remove the threat. He had done it once, and again, and his descendants had managed a third. He wasn't too concerned about taking care of any issues within the Death Eater ranks either; they were all significantly less powerful than Voldemort, and even if he was stuck in a younger body. It had been a long, hard war that Harry had fought, and he had frequently duelled Inner Circle members. He was more than prepared.
And, just in case, he had begun going to the Room of Requirement to retrain this body into top physical condition. Just because he was young didn't mean that he couldn't train.
Because of his years at the Dursley's, the Harry of this world was already dextrous, and adept at dodging at a moment's notice. Harry's job was to build muscle memory for basic combat skills, such as a Shielding Charm, Expelliarmus, and Stupefy. More would come with time, but for now his magical core wasn't fully grown. It had been growing like a teenager's core since he was young, but it wasn't an adult's core.
The reason was probably the rush-or backlash-of wild magic after the sacrificial magic that Lily had triggered. Because of that, his core grew, and then that tricked it into believing that Harry was a teenager. Accidental magic, which happens when excess magic is looking for a way out (or when it was healing or helping the magic user to survive), was more frequent, and more powerful; one example was when Harry had teleported on top of a building during Harry hunting. Most children couldn't do that until their core was around seventeen, simply because there wasn't enough magic in their cores.
But enough magic theory for now, Harry thought, folding his parchment with his ritual notes on it. He put it into his bag as Hermione approached his table, and Harry smiled at her. Behind her was someone new, and it took Harry a moment to place her. After a few moments it clicked, and Harry stood, before bowing and kissing the air on top of her hand. "Heir Bones, it is good to meet you. I am Heir Potter, of House Potter."
Susan Bones nods at him, carefully curtseying to him. "It is good to finally meet you as well, Heir Potter. You can call me Susan, if you want-I don't like all of the pureblood rituals."
Smiling warmly, Harry straightens from his bow, and gestures towards the table. "I think that Hermione and I are going to start on our Herbology homework today, if you want to join us." Harry glanced over at his friend to make sure, and she appeared to be deep in thought. Harry nudged her, and she startled, coming out of her thoughts.
"What? Oh! Yes." She glanced between the two of them, frowning. "Why did you bow and all of that?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's a pureblood custom. I can get you some books on it, if you're interested? It may take me a while, because the only ones that we've found have been in the Potter library."
Susan nods, adding, "Yes, most are restricted to family libraries. That's what Aunt Amelia says, at least."
"I think that I'd like a book about customs, Harry, if you wouldn't mind?" Hermione was giving him puppy-dog eyes, making him smile, and nod.
"Ok. Now, our Herbology homework, maybe? We have it after lunch, and I don't want to miss turning in a piece of homework." Harry gave a fake shudder, to which 'Mione laughed, before getting out a fresh sheaf of parchment.
"Alright, spider eye lilies are best sown in...spring? I think?"
line here
Voldemort-and he was Voldemort, even if he looked like Tom Riddle-seemed to glide over to Harry, and looked down on him, quite literally. Harry frowned at him, and stepped over to the desk, and sat on it. "There. Now we're more even."
Voldemort scoffed. "Even? How can we be even? You are eleven years old, boy."