AN: The Scrimshaw train has no breaks. So all aboard as we dive back into the madness that is Heracleidae and the adventures of the sometimes crazy, often annoying, but always awesome son of Heracles.

AtW: We wanted to branch out of Worm a bit and this is a fun idea, so let's enjoy it everybody. And do let us know what you think of it!

Heracleidae - Origins I

Harry learned a very important lesson when he was young.

If you weren't special, people didn't care about you.

Aunt Petunia always went on and on about how Dudley was special. How he was smarter than other boys their age. How he was going to grow big and strong and leave behind their too small corner. To become successful and make her proud. Especially how he was even a natural born leader.

Uncle Vernon was the same. Always bragging about his cousin when they had guests over.

About how he was gonna go places.

Not like Harry. Never like Harry. Harry wasn't special, no, he was a Freak. He was never smart enough, big enough, or strong enough. No matter what he did, he could never get his relatives to look at him with anything but dismissal.

Harry couldn't learn fast enough.

Harry couldn't stay still and behave.

That's just how things were. He just didn't measure up.

But then he learned about magic. He learned about his parents and how they had really died. Not the lies that his uncle and aunt had told him when he was little. His parents hadn't been nobodies who died for nothing.

They were magical.

They were special.

Harry was special. And that's why his aunt and uncle didn't like him.

Because he could do things that Dudley couldn't. Things that you couldn't learn by being bigger than other boys or having better grades. And that filled him with hope. Because if he had magic, then he could finally stand out. Finally have someone look at him the way Dudley's parents did.

Like they were happy he was there.

But then he was faced with a growing realization.

Where he was going, everyone had magic.

And that stopped his good mood cold. Because Harry had to be special for people to like him. He had to have something that nobody else had. Something that made him worthy. And he wouldn't have that if he was headed to a magic school. He wasn't smart enough to have the best grades.

Not when letters and numbers danced in the book pages whenever he tried to read.

But then, when he finally met other wizards like him, they treated him differently.

And he didn't know how to feel about that.

Did he do something important?

Did these people really care about him?

There was something missing. Something was different and he couldn't quite place it. So he asked Hagrid why after getting his wand. And the answer was… disappointing. Harry was special because he was alive and his parents died. Because a really bad wizard couldn't kill him for whatever reason.

That sounded so… weak.

To them, he was special because someone else failed.

Harry couldn't accept that. Not because the reason he lost his parents was the reason people thought he was special. But because to them, he might aswell have been some exotic animal on display. Some outlandish curiosity they wanted to see.

But didn't care for.

That's not what he wanted!

He didn't want to be ignored like a freak.

He didn't want to be gawked at like a freak.

He wanted… wanted…

'You want to be great, don't you?'

Blinking, he suddenly found himself back at the dining hall at Hogwarts, staring back at them as all students' eyes were fixated on him with expectation. The place was silent, utterly silent as they waited for the hat to declare his house. Like that time one of his teachers brought a hamster to their classroom and they all took turns caring for it.

Everyone wanted to be first.

Was this what it felt like to be a hamster?

'What a strange analogy. Not wholly inaccurate, however.'

What was strange about it? They didn't really care about him.

'They do. But not in the way you want them to. A bit self centered, don't you think?'

Being wanted for the right reasons was self-centered?

'We don't get to pick and choose how people see us, Mr. Potter. We can only give them reasons to see the best in ourselves.'

He tried to do that before. It was never enough.

Harry was never good enough.

'From what I see, Mr. Potter, you were surrounded by selfish bigots who refused to see you as anything other than someone to dislike. You would never be able to change their minds. But the people you see here, they are different, they have a reason to see you.'

'But not for me.'

'Our choices define us. Shouldn't you then choose to be someone they will look up to?'

Someone to look up to….

Like Hagrid looked up to his parents. Like everyone looked up to him for surviving that night. Like the students looked at him because they wanted to see something more, something special.

Like a hero.

'And therein lies the crux of the matter. Because you could go about accomplishing that in so many ways. Wisdom, hard work, courage, ambition. You have the markings of someone who could follow in their footsteps and become great.'

But what was the right path to choose, then?

'I can't choose for you. Ironically, I can only look deep within you and send you down the path you believe is right.'

So that was it. In the end, it came down to him. What he thought was right for himself. And what did he want? Truly? To simply be noticed? He had that, and hamster love aplenty, all he had to do was look up from the wobbly stool and he could see how a fourth of the whole school was practically vibrating as they looked at him.

'Not that. I don't want that. I want them to see me.'

Harry would swear that the hat was grinning with how its brim twitched.

'Very well then Mr. Potter. Better be Slytherin!"

Only the last word was shouted and, in that moment, the entire hall went silent. Even worse, someone dropped something and a girl screamed. That, at the very least, broke the spell and replaced the silence with muttering.

"Thank you Mr. Hat."

Blushing somewhat, he kept his head down and suddenly realized that everyone was actually looking at him now. Some were angry, some were shrewd, most just seemed confused. He at least liked the silver and green on his robes. Oddly enough, however, was that every professor in the hall also watched him. In fact, not one of them said a word as the furious buzzing of the entire student body suddenly bursting out into whispers filled the great hall.

"Go on. Take your seat… Mr. Potter."

For some reason, Professor McGonnagal, who had given him a small smile before, simply looked disappointed in him. Confused, he tried not to feel hurt, and rushed over to the Slytherin table while trying to make eye contact with Hagrid. Which, when he looked a bit upset himself, made Harry feel just dreadful.

Heart hurting, he ignored the odd, and sometimes hostile, looks he was given as he searched for the one familiar person in the sea of faces.

"Hey, er, Malfoy. Can I sit with you?"

Looking utterly furious, the aristocratic blonde sneered at him.

"And what kind of game do you think you're playing Potter! Go sit with the Gryffindors."

Flinching, as if struck, the eleven year old shuffled slightly.

"But… the hat said this is where I belonged. And besides, you were nice to me in the robe shop. And when I was exploring the train too."

Shaking his head, the boy across from him dismissed the statement.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that was you. Why would Albus Dumbledore ever allow his vaunted Boy-Who-Lived to meander about Diagon Alley supervised by only a half breed!"

"Halfbreed?" Harry's eyes opened up again. "Oh, you mean Hagrid. He's brilliant. He got me from my aunt and uncle. That's why I was with him."

There was a swishing of dark robes and a voice, cold and hard and that sent a tremor of fear down Harry's spine, washed over them.

"Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter." Stepping back, the young boy looked up at the sallow skinned man above him and swallowed at the cold, empty black eyes that stared back. "What is so important that you are free to disrupt the sorting with it?"

Even without raising his voice above a whisper the professor still managed to express utter, total disdain.

"I'm sorry Unc - Professor Snape. But Potter clearly doesn't belong here."

"Is that so Mr. Malfoy?" Raising a single manicured eyebrow, he managed to express a sarcastic kind of incredulity. "Are you the Sorting Hat, to place a first year? Or perhaps our new headmaster? If not, I suggest you allow Mr. Potter to take his seat so that we may all continue."

Swallowing, the blonde boy who had been so nice to him nodded, making a point to scoot down. Soon followed by every other Slytherin on the bench. Making his way to the end, he sat down, suddenly realising that maybe he should have hesitated a bit more.

'Maybe everyone seeing me isn't so great after all.'

Sitting through the rest of the sorting, his foot kept tapping and his fingers kept drumming against the table. The young wizard deeply wished he were back on the Hogwarts Express, where he had been free to wander about so long as he kept out of sight and didn't annoy any of the larger students. Not that all of them minded. Some of them, especially the Hufflepuffs, had asked if he was lost. A few of the Ravenclaws had even promised to see him soon when he admitted he was exploring the train.

Mostly it had been the Gryffindors and Slytherins, his new house, that had shooed him away. The older Gryffindors because they all seemed to have something to discuss and the Slytherins because, well, he was uninvited. At least they had all been in the one section of the train, though, shutting their doors when he walked through.

By the time the after sorting feast had wrapped up, and Harry had almost fainted from the sheer quantity of food he saw, the young wizard was feeling strangely enough content.

'I'm used to being a Freak. Of course I'd be such a freaky Freak that even in a school of freaks I still stand out.'

Following the prefects, he did his best to pretend that being ignored hurt. That this was supposed to be a new beginning. Though, if nothing else, he admitted this was better than the occasional smacks, snarled threats, and constant venom his family had poured out on him.

'My old one at least. I wonder if my new one will like me any better.'

Stepping down into the dungeons, Harry pulled his cloak tighter, and paid very careful attention when the prefect spoke up.

"Listen well, because you won't be told a second time. Slytherin maintains its passwords for one week, it changes every Sunday at six o'clock in the morning. For the next six days or so it will be Temperance."

The stretch of bare wall they'd been stood next too slid open, revealing the entryway to what the young boy thought was one of the most brilliant places he'd ever seen! It was cool, cast in dark colors, as a number of fireplaces flickered - casting the green and silver room in a low light. One side of the place was totally taken up by a wall that looked out into the lake of all things, almost completely transparent, though, if Harry looked closely, he could make out the faint shape of stone slabs.

"As you may have guessed, I'm the seventh year prefect for Slytherin. My name is Gemma Farley. I'm not here to wipe your arse or kiss any scraped knees." The gathered group of first years snickered until she glared at them. "What I am here to do is crack down on any funny business. No curses, no dark magic, and no bullying. We'll be dealing with enough of that from the other houses that I'll see none of it in Slytherin proper. If you do have a dispute, keep it quiet and discrete. Professor Snape will do his best to look out for you, as he'll make clear tomorrow morning during his introductory speech, but I'll tell you now… if you do get caught, we'll make you do more than write lines!" The prefect flicked her wand, ominous sparks popping out of it, getting hurried nods from the lot of eleven year old, food stuff, sleep deprived children as she pointed down a particular side corridor. "Good. Now, bedrooms are assigned. Your things are in your rooms. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Same for the showers. Any funny business and you will be hexed. Now go get clean you ungodly short brats!"

Shooing them away, Harry noticed the girl kept an eye on the whole group even as they shuffled on. Even when she started chatting with other seventh years, she made sure his year mates were always in her peripheral vision. Somehow that made him smile a little.

But the night was short and his jaw popped when he yawned. So, rushing to his room, which he noticed lacked any other name on it - the rest of his year all having a roommate - he grabbed some ratty, threadbare pajamas and made for the showers. The first one in on the boy's side, he stripped quickly and stepped in. The shower stalls themselves were big, even bigger than the cupboard he slept in back at Privet Drive, and he lingered in the hot water just until he heard someone else turn another shower on.

Stepping out, he almost flinched when he noticed Draco Malfoy and his two friends standing, dressed and with wands out, and glaring at his stall.

Expecting to be punched or hexed or cursed with dark magic, the black haired boy knew what it looked like when he was about to be a target, he was rather surprised when they gasped. Especially when one of them, the tallest of the three, swore.

"Morganna's sagging tits, I can see his ribs!"

Draco, suddenly flustered, waved his wand about.

"Potter, what's the meaning of this, why do you look like an unwanted house elf!"

Harry just tilted his head.

"What's a house elf?"

The blonde snarled.

"Blast it Potter, why do you look starved!"

Shrugging, the eleven year old tried his best to communicate his confusion about the situation. And a measure of gratitude for not being immediately attacked.

"Normally I don't get to eat much. Um… it wasn't until Hagrid came to get me that I've ever eaten so much as I did tonight. I guess… I'm just small?"

Another of Malfoy's friends, this one thin and a bit more sharp looking, shook his head.

"I saw him eat all of two rolls and some turkey. A bit of pumpkin pie too. That was it."

Agreeing, Harry nodded.

"If I eat too much I get sick. I'm also still getting used to heavy foods."

At this the wands fell, the other three children clearly confused and unsure of what to do. Any further questions were forestalled, and Harry really was quite glad for this, his hands weren't covering much and he was starting to get rather chilly, when an older boy, perhaps a seventh year stepped in.

"By Merlin's staff, I swear I'll have filch cane you if you're already spelling each other in here. It's the first bleeding night and-" Seeing Harry, the young man froze. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, the rest of you lot. Finish up. Potter, dry off and come with me."

Swallowing, and afraid he'd done something wrong, perhaps been so freaky that even wizards wouldn't want him, he dried and dressed as quickly as he couldn't.

It wasn't until he was standing outside a thick black door with odd smells coming from it did he start to feel his heart unclench. 'If they were expelling him, surely he'd go to see the Headmaster and not just his Head of House', or so he thought. When Professor Snape opened the door, mouth slightly curled in disgust, the prefect quickly dipped his head.

"Sorry sir, thought you needed to see this."

"And what has Mr. Potter done, Mr. Lee, that so needs my attention? Has he made himself a spectacle for a second time?"

Dipping his head again, the prefect lowered his voice.

"I think we'd best take this inside, sir. You know I wouldn't waste your time with this if it wasn't important."

Rather than speaking, the professor simply turned away, robes swishing, and strolled back to his desk. Taking a seat, he gave them the same disinterested glare he'd seemed to give all the rest of the world.

"Well. Show it me then."

At Snape's words, the prefect nodded to Harry.

"Go on. Lift your shirt up."

Blushing, deep and full of shame, he did so, lifting it above his stomach and then, at further prompting, above his chest.

What happened next once again confused him.

"Mr. Lee." The professor's voice was strained, as if on the verge of exploding in anger. "Summon Madam Pomfrey if you would and inform her that it is urgent. I will remain with Mr. Potter. Do not allow rumors of this to spread. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir!"

The older boy responded and departed immediately, leaving one nervous eleven year old in a room with a much older, rather scary professor. So, try as he might, Harry began to fidget. First his fingers, then his foot, he even wiggled around until Professor Snape's glare deepened. Seizing up like a deer, he froze, doing everything he could to relax.

It didn't help that the lad wanted to leap up, pace, talk, chatter, do anything but sit their quietly. Though he was aware enough to know that such things would be poorly received.

"Severus, what's the emergency?'

When a slightly plump woman, looking a bit frayed and worried, sprang out of a fireplace that had suddenly burst to life, Harry leapt back in fright. In fact, he leapt back so far that his chair started to tip over and would have fallen until the professor, who had been watching him, flicked his wand.

"Madam, I say this with the utmost respect for your position, but we have a case of severe abuse. So I shall remove myself from this room before I say something… rash. Please forward a report to myself and the Headmaster when you are finished." Finally the angry, bitter man turned to look at Harry. And what the boy saw in those eyes confused him. For he'd swear that he'd seen regret. At least until they became cold and focused as before. "And Harry." Even the man's voice seemed to hold something else, his name not dripping with derision and condescension for once. "You can trust her."

And just like that he was gone, stepping once more into his fireplace, leaving a confused eleven year old Harry Potter with an increasingly concerned Poppy Pomfrey.

Harry Potter was of the opinion that Hogwarts was weird.

Now, if you were to ask him why that was so, he would tell you that throughout his admittedly very short life Harry had never quite met people as prone to overreacting to his own innate shortcomings as these people.

So he was a bit skinny. He'd known that for a while, what with always looking tiny next to Dudley. But the students, the nurse, and the teachers seemed to take great insult at that fact.

More so than even Harry himself ever had.

It was weird and the sorta attention he'd never even known it was possible to get. Of course, then came the potions. The bloody potions which never stopped!

Weird flask after weird flask of strangely colored drinks were handed to him, all of which had just odd names or silly, drawn out little squiggles instead of actual words for labels. Honestly, it wasn't even that most of them were awful tasting. Mostly what bothered him was how often they made him feel just plain weird! Madam Pomfrey explained that they needed to fix his body because he was really unhealthy.

Not really agreeing, and wanting to spend more time exploring the castle, the nurse even threatened to call the hospital if he didn't make sure to actually sleep at night. Honestly, he'd been rather tempted to go visit Professor Binns again and listen to the ghost talk in his sleep about the most fantastical of things because, quite frankly, going to a real live hospital would have been a neat experience. Harry hadn't ever been to one and he was rather curious about what they were like.

Had it stopped at that, he wouldn't have been so weirded out, but it never did!

If it wasn't his appetite, it was his eyesight. Then he had to take a whole bunch of potions on a schedule since he'd never "gotten his vaccinations". Even then she still insisted he eat something whenever he got hungry and come to see her immediately if he got dizzy or short of breath. If it wasn't that, then Madam Pomfrey would find a new reason to drag him to the infirmary the next day. On and off for the next couple weeks, if Harry weren't trying to keep up with schoolwork and classes, he would be either at the infirmary or having 'remedial classes'.

Why, you ask? Because apparently his handwriting was just 'south of atrocious' according to his head of house.

He might have also used other less flattering words to describe it.

Somewhat soothingly, having a teacher berate him for his poor writing was relaxing. Harry was used to that. Just before he had gotten to Hogwarts teachers never cared enough to help him write or read better, at least not after his Aunt and Uncle made sure to tell them all he was a delinquent who couldn't leave well enough alone. In the end, he accepted it was just one of those things he couldn't do as well as other kids.

Something else that made him unimportant.

What he didn't expect, however, was for Professor Snape to assign him extra studying periods with the prefect. Who took it upon herself to correct the 'blemish on the reputation of House Slytherin'.

Or whatever that meant, he wasn't sure, but she was a nice girl, even if she ruffled his hair a bit too much, so he did what she told him to.

"Let me see your page, Potter."

As it turns out, that had meant writing lines. A lot of lines.

From assignments to notes to the odd essay here and there. Harry had to constantly write and rewrite them twice every week until the prefect was satisfied with his progress. Which could take as much as three drafts a day, or until his handwriting stopped 'offending her eyes'.

Farley's words, not his.

It wasn't even the worst thing he heard today.

"Gods, Potter. Didn't those muggles ever bother to teach you how to write? I know they are supposed to be primitive and all, but this is the sorta thing we figured they could do."

Draco had also been assigned by Professor Snape to help him. In part to punish the blonde boy for making a ruckus in front of the whole school and now Harry had to deal with his constant whining about how unfair everything was and how he was going to tell his dad about him having to do the teacher's jobs for them.

Unfortunately, Professor Snape just happened to be within hearing range.

And like that, the entirety of the Slytherin first years now had to participate in the remedial classes.

"Will you sod off, Malfoy. We heard you already." One of the other students, Tracey Davis, shouted from the other corner of the table.

"Protective of muggles suddenly, Davis?"

"Trying to finish this bloody essay! Go help Goyle or something."

At that, Draco flinched. That was the second part of his punishment. Getting half of his grade shaved off if his two friends failed to score at least on average with the rest of the year. From what Harry had been told, the two boys weren't the sharpest.

He could empathise. He'd never been called smart either.

"This is passable, Potter. Only barely." Gemma placed the lines he wrote back on his desk, though the paper looked almost unrecognizable because of all the red ink the prefect used to circle and point out his mistakes.

A bright red A, for acceptable, written on top.

Well, at least he wasn't a Troll anymore.

"So, brat, tell me. What are the three types of notes you're supposed to be taking?"

Nodding, Harry smiled. He was ready for a quiz.

"Definitions, spells, and theory. Definitions are the meanings of words, as they are presented, and always with context." She snorted a little at how rote his response was, but gestured for him to continue. "The spells themselves should include their name, the proper wand motions, and e-nun-ci-a-tion as well as pro-nun-ci-a-tion, as well as any relevant facts about them."

Waving her hand, she brushed him away.

"Yes, yes. And everyone knows that theory are the principles and principle questions behind a thing. You've done well for today. All of you, I suppose." Farley stood up, popping her neck. "Now, get out. The seventh years are using the common room for a thing later and none of you are invited. Leave, or I start casting."

Not needing further prompting, the first years scattered, hastily scooping up their notes, and stepped down their corridor. Harry was still a bit amazed when the stone walls shifted, suddenly cutting them off from the common room and only permitting access to the entryway and Snape's office, but the rest of his year mates were less impressed. Draco, in particular, rolled his eyes and looked like he was on the verge of pouting.

Apparently being excluded from something was ground for great insult against his personhood.

His words, not Harry's.

"Keep scowling, Malfoy. You'll get wrinkles."

"Did I ask your opinion, Davis?!"

"I was feeling generous, so you can have it for free."

Tracey Davis was a tall girl with dark hair kept on a short braid, eyes the color of honey and a tongue as sharp as a quill. Taller than him and Draco, Tracey had actually volunteered for the lessons, and thus was present before Draco made it mandatory.

Harry couldn't begin to understand why. She seemed intelligent and Gemma never scolded her.

"Good job today, Potter. Gemma told me you got an Acceptable."

Draco, far less graceful, scoffed.

"Praises be to our local genius."

"Careful not to choke on that silver spoon, Malfoy."

The blonde rounded on the taller girl. Looking a tad awkward as he tried to look intimidating.

"What in Merlin's beard is wrong with you? Do you wanna fight?!"

Potter sighed. Somehow it always ended up with a fight when it came to these two. But at least they let him tag along. So the least he could do was keep them from getting a detention.

"Well, you two can squabble. I'm going to go get ready for Herbology."

Maybe it was because he had spent so long in the gardens of his family, maybe it was because he was actually good at it, but Professor Sprout was always nice to him. Most people, except for Professor Binns, still gave him funny looks from time to time. But Herbology was a fun, interesting class where he got to actually do stuff!

So, with his outside clothes put on, his notebook, inkpot, quill, and gloves ready, he set off.

Being so small made it easy to slip past people. Partly because he was just, well, tiny. He always had been, even compared to people his own age, and being able to keep walking when everyone else was more focused on what was eye level meant Harry cleared out of the Slytherin dorms well before anyone else. Not really having friends helped with that too, since it wasn't like he was staying around to speak with others.

And his stomach gurgled.

'Not again. Well… at least I'm near the kitchens.'

Rushing up a few stairs, he turned left instead of right and followed the main corridor past the entrance hall. Trotting down another staircase, he entered into a large, food themed painting covered corridor. Thankfully, he'd been told which one he needed, so, finding a particular painting of a bowl of fruit, he tickled a pear.

And, turning a suddenly appearing door handle to the sound of laughter, he entered into kitchens.

It was… the most organized sort of chaos he'd ever seen.

Aunt Petunia's kitchen was always orderly and spotless. She was a meticulous person who would rage if she found so much as a stain on her precious stove. The Hogwarts kitchen was messy in a way that would drop his aunt with fright. Plumes of flour, flashes of fire, and small splashes of sauce decorated the floor as the diminutive cooks, house elves he'd been told, toiled away at preparing dinner.

That much food had to be prepared ahead of time, even with magic.

The little elves worked tirelessly, popping in and out of Harry's sight as they carried trays and pans. Completely focused on their tasks in the single minded way only skill practiced to perfection could hope to emulate.

Until they saw him, that is.

Then three of them popped out of nowhere in front of him.

"Mr. Harry Potter has come back!" The first one let out a hooray.

"Back for what? Sweets? Pastries? A sandwich?" The second elf, smaller and with a dark grey skin needled its co-worker out of the way.

"No sweets! Madame Pom-Pom said so! He needs grains! Plenty of grains!"

Harry wasn't sure why the little elves held him in such high regard. He tried asking but he always got the same answers. That he was the great Harry Potter and they were happy to have him. It was frankly one of the few things he disliked about Hogwarts. Everything he did that was impressive or important was explained away by his miraculous survival.

He'd tried telling them it wasn't the case.

His scar didn't help him get good grades. Or made him any better at learning spells than any other student. Or even do anything for his messed up eyes.

But the elves were always so warm and encouraging that he didn't feel like arguing with them. Not when Madam Pomfrey sicced them on him about learning 'healthy eating habits' so he didn't faint in the middle of flying lessons.

Which were awesome, by the way.

He also did great at that, but then people said it was because of his dad. And when Tracey tried to see about getting him into the quidditch team earlier Professor Snape nearly bit their heads off.

What was the problem with him anyway?

Meanwhile, the diminutive cooks had been piling up food on a small tray, arguing with each other as they decided what else to add. Frankly, there was so much food there that Harry thought he might pop like a balloon if he tried fitting everything in his stomach. Of course, if he refused to eat the elves would tell the nurse about it.

And then it would be back to the potions for him.

Anything was better than potions.

'They aren't even that bad.' He mused, carrying the plate of food as he walked through the halls of Hogwarts. 'They're just so bland. Like trying to drink… lukewarm nothing. Except it can be chunky.' Portraits and armor and statues all moved from time to time. 'Except for the skele gro. That was dreadful. More dreadful than dreadful even.'

At least he'd be able to eat back in the common room.

Halloween was… weird for him.

Harry had never been able to really enjoy the holiday. Aunt Petunia would keep him at home while Dudley and his friends went out trick or treating, coming back with massive bowls of candy they probably stole from some poor kid.

Then there were the weird folks.

He didn't see them often around the year, but during Halloween it was like those people with one eyes or scales instead of skin would come out of the woodwork. Nobody ever cared to ask them where they were from, all too happy to assume they were just people with really good costumes.

'Maybe they are just wizards or magical creatures.' Harry brought one of the pastries to take a bite.

And instantly recoiled.

A smell.

A bad, putrid smell. The kind of thing he'd only had to deal with when he had to clean out Dudley's room after his cousin had left something to rot. It was strong and awful and the hallway stunk of it.

Stilling, he wondered if Peeves was nearby.

The poltergeist had tried to prank him twice so far with these things called dungbombs. They were a different kind of foul than what he was smelling but it seemed possible that the cackling maniac was still responsible for course, now that he was paying attention, he was also free to realize something very, very important.

Every few heartbeats, there was a low, heavy rumble.

Like footsteps.

Swallowing, he peeked around the nearest corner, trying to see what was going on. Noting that the rumbling was getting closer but wasn't nearby yet, he jerked back away and walked up to the nearest painting.

"Um, excuse me sir." It was a particularly sleepy looking wizard in a hat made of several hundred live birds, coming and going as they pleased. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Hmm? What's it? You, oh, hmm. No idea, but the magic of the castle feels a bit queer. And Brunthilda over there isn't in her frame. A moment lad and I'll find out." Stepping out of view, Harry was left to wait until the stomps got closer and closer as the painting remained empty. Of course, as he reached the point where he was going to take off running and apologize later, footsteps that large were bound to be trouble after all, the man came back and whispered at him. "Run lad! It's a bloody mountain troll! He'll eat you or worse. Go straight for the Hufflepuff common room, it's just a staircase down, right back past the kitchens. Find the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the row, tap it in time with Helga Hufflepuff! Run, now!"

Needing no further telling, the footsteps were dreadfully close, Harry was turning in place when he heard something that made his stomach drop. A scream. A high pitched girly scream that spoke of dreadful fear. So he skidded to a stop. Turning back to the painting, he was going to ask what he should do when he realized the man was already gone.

"Oh."

There was a loud roar and a crash. The sound of wood splintering.

His palms were sweaty, his stomach turned over. This was madness, this was suicide. He was contemplating running at a monster that would eat him just like one of the roast beef sandwiches he was carrying.

"Wait… if it's a monster, maybe food will distract it!"

Wasting no more time, there was someone in trouble after all, Harry broke out into a dead sprint, screaming his head off.

"Troll! Troll! Troll near the girl's bathroom!"

Hopefully someone would hear and if he got squished, then maybe the other person would still be alright. Rounding the final stretch, he saw the bathroom door in question, badly busted out, and the massive lump of grey blue flesh standing inside of it. Its head was tiny and its legs were truly massive, with gorilla-like proportions. A too small loin cloth and vest of some kind were stretched out over the great thing's frame.

Even worse was that in one hand it had a huge, lumpy club. And in the other swung one of his classmates, screaming and kicking.

She was hanging upside down, her leg clearly in a bad way, and Harry didn't know what to do.

"Hey, ugly."

A tiny head with oddly shaped ears swivelled to face him, beedy eyes reminding him of his uncle for a long, long moment. The Boy-Who-Lived hated how his voice had cracked.

"Let her down and I'll give you this."

Holding up the plate of food, he palmed his wand, desperately trying to calm his beating heart. Because of course the troll would roar, spittle and snot flying at him, and toss the poor Gryffindor girl aside. The black haired Slytherin, however, through the food out of the bathroom, leaping to the side, and focusing completely, utterly, and totally on his next two words.

"Wingardium leviosa."

Making sure to enunciate it just like how she'd corrected the red headed boy the other day, Harry was roughly knocked aside by the passing monster's foot as it turned to get out of the door, but managed to hold the spell. Instead of hitting broken tiles and rubble head first, she simply bounced and rolled on her back, still crying but clearly not dead, while her erstwhile savior saw stars, his head having been knocked against the wall.

It was in this moment of pain and confusion, a bit of sticky wetness on the back of his head, that something important occurred to him

The sandwiches. Weren't even a mouthful to the monster.

And lying there, body aching, he watched as it turned back around to face the girl it had tossed aside before. Lying there in a crumpled heap she whimpered in pain. So, when the great, ugly, bloated freak stomped back into the room, destroying even more of the door frame, Harry clambered to his feet.

"Oi. Fuck off yah cunt."

His insult, predictably, did nothing.

Most likely the troll didn't even understand English. And quoting Dudley's favorite foul mouthed action stars was a bit pointless.

Utterly ignoring him, the blue grey skinned monster reached back down, grabbing the girl by the waist this time and squeezing, letting out a dumb, goofy grin when she screamed in pain. Snarling, something snapped inside Harry when her eyes met his. They were scared and afraid and in so much pain, desperately she was hoping and praying for someone, anyone to help her. And so he leapt to his feet, lashing out with his fists against the thing's leg. His reward for which was to be casually batted back into the wall by the club.

Blood filled his eyes and Harry couldn't breathe.

Every moment was one of pain.

But he still stood.

One leg gave out under him and he couldn't use his left arm.

Nerveless fingers let his wand slip to the ground with a clatter.

Copper and salt tastes were thick on his tongue and his vision was going dark.

Still, he stood.

In more agony than he ever imagined it was possible to feel, he stood.

One foot was all he had under him.

The light was fading fast.

Snarling, a tooth fell out of his mouth and the angry, beaten, neglected, bullied, abused orphan reached deep, deep inside of himself. Back to the cupboard. Back to the sneers and insults of a new world. Back to the Sorting Feast and when Hagrid had looked so unsure, so confused. How that was his last time seeing the man and the betrayed look on the face of his one. Fucking. Friend.

All of that anger, all of that hate, and all of the raw, pulsing, pounding, screaming magic in his body he gathered up.

This time he didn't just flail at the thing.

This time, as the troll brought the sobbing, pleading girl's head up to its mouth Harry wasn't swatted away.

This time, when his fist lanced out, the very air around it broke, a loud boom filling his world as the impact of his blow shattered bone and flesh, utterly ruining the entire lower half of the troll. As it toppled over, and the wizard's vision went black, he positioned himself under the bossy girl's fall.

The last thing he saw was a scared little girl and a bathroom wall covered in blood and perforated by shrapnel.