Magic

Disclaimer: Trust me, I wish I owned Harry Potter. I could be so evil to these characters directly.

I intend for every chapter to come in between 3000 and 5000 words, but they may end up going longer if I can't reach a good breaking point. Scenes will be written mostly from Harry's point of view, but some will be written from another character's POV. Whenever you see a bar, that means that the scene and/or POV has changed. The way that magic works in this fic is going to be similar to the way it's portrayed in the Black Queen series by Silently Watches. That is a great series, which I heartily recommend to those people who can handle dark themes like: (non-graphic mentions of) sexual exploitation of children and frequent murder described in detail.

Content warning: very passing reference to the potential sexual exploitation of minors

Saint Marcellus' Orphanage for Young Boys was a dismal place. The air lay still and heavy with the fears and anxieties of nearly three dozen young orphan boys, none of whom believed they would ever be adopted out of this hell. This Orphanage was the final destination to which the State only sent the worst behaved, the sickest, or the oddest children, the ones who only ruined the reputations of more upscale orphanages. In its time, it had seen nearly a dozen orphans die, with causes ranging from tragic to horrible. Many of the young boys who had the misfortune to be sent here thought that the Orphanage was haunted. The property had been donated by a rich man on the occasion of his death, to be used by the State for whatever it deemed. The boys even passed around a rumour that the old man had killed his family then himself in the very house they now lived in.

The building itself was run down, with grey paint peeling off of old bricks and dark vines climbing the walls. It was a decrepit old manor, three stories tall. Many of the windows were cracked, and were coated in layers of dust. Several doors barely hung onto the hinges, and most made a most disturbing screech whenever they were opened. Portions of the floors creaked and groaned, and occasionally even gave out under those walking on it. Victorian wrought-iron fences boxed in a lawn a little larger than an acre, most of which was dedicated to a garden to which the orphans were required to tend.

An unpaved country road wound its way through the middle of nowhere to the Orphanage's gates, but rare was the incident that the gates were opened for a visitor. Such as today.

Severus stood just outside of the unwelcoming Victorian gates, wondering if he had gotten the wrong place. He reread the sign above the gate, which read "Saint Marcellus' Orphanage for Young Boys," in a font that seemed designed to intimidate. If so, its effect was lost on Severus, however. One didn't serve, much less betray, a Dark Lord if they were so easily bent to fear.

Scowling at nothing, he wondered how it had become that the Boy-Who-Lived, a child of prophecy, the son of Severus' best friend and worst enemy, had come to live at this dreary country manor that seemed to steal any joy he still had left. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear there were Dementors here. He discreetly cast a small Cheering Charm on himself, just enough to counter the effects of the gloom surrounding the dilapidated manor. Severus pressed a button next to the gates. A moment later, a noise somewhere between a screech and the air raid siren he had heard only one time in his youth sounded, and the gates opened on their own. He would never admit it aloud, but Severus secretly admired how Muggles got around their lack of magic with nothing more than than sheer cleverness.

As the gates opened, Severus swiftly made his way to the Orphanage, silently cursing the Fates. If he never had to see the spawn of James Potter, it would be a day too soon. He could only hope the kid was nothing like his father. As he drew ever closer to the run down edifice, the dreary aura intensified. He thought he saw a pale face - perhaps a ghost - in one of the windows, but it was gone before he could be sure. Finally, he reached the door. Though it had been less than a minute to walk here from the gates, the short walk felt much longer. He silently intensified his Cheering Charm, determined to be in his proper state of mind for this encounter.

He knocked on the door, which opened inward by itself. A chilly draft washed over his skin, likely from the Muggle "air conditioning" he had been told about before. He walked in, and looked around to see where he needed to go. To his left, he saw a doorway that lacked an actual door. To the right of that doorway, located about eye level, was a sign that read "Reception." Severus peered into the room, but saw nobody. After letting out a sigh, he called out. "Hello?" A short, busty, middle-aged woman with pale skin and red-but-greying hair bustled out of a room down a hall.

"Hello! Sorry for the poor welcome, but we weren't expecting anyone today. How can I help you?"

"You... weren't expecting anyone? This is an orphanage, surely you have an occasional unannounced visitor."

She blushed, but didn't reply to his almost-accusation.

She didn't need to. He plucked the answer out of her head. 'This is an orphanage for boys who have no hope of ever being adopted.' He barely managed to contain his wince. Never mind that no child deserved to be told they'd never be loved - he violently suppressed his own memories that came to well up at the thought - this situation reminded him uncomfortably of his former Lord's history.

He told the woman, "I'm looking for a specific boy that I was told would be here. One 'Harry Potter.'"

"Oh! Whatever for? It's rather odd for someone to ask for an orphan by name, you understand."

"I'm here representing a boarding school that he's been accepted into."

"I'm sorry, but we absolutely do not pay for private education. As you can probably tell, we're rather light on funds."

"You don't need to worry about that; his tuition has already been handled." As the woman was about to ask yet another question, Severus Confounded her, drawing and re-sheathing his wand in about the time it took him to blink. "Can you bring him to me, or me to him?" He asked, barely containing his impatience.

"Oh, of course! Follow me." She led him through several halls to another door, which she opened to reveal a large garden. To Severus' shock, that garden was being worked by a dozen young boys, seeming to be between the ages of seven and seventeen. "Idle hands do the Devil's work," the matron said matter-of-factly when she saw his questioning glance.

"Of course," Severus replied in a faux-agreeable voice. "Which one is Potter?"

The woman didn't reply; she simply raised her voice and shouted out, "POTTER! Get over here this instant!"

Almost immediately, several of the boys began jeering and laughing, as a lanky boy with wild, dark hair stood up. He turned around - and Severus was instantly assailed with memories of the boy's father.

Severus suppressed those memories. No matter how much this child resembled his own childhood tormentor, there was still time to wait and observe, to judge Harry Potter on his own merits.

One of the boys tripped Potter as he slowly meandered his way to the waiting adults. Potter stood, and grabbed the other child by the shoulder, before leaning in and whispering something to him. The unknown boy paled and went back to work, throwing himself into his chore.

A self satisfied smirk seemed to cross Potter's face for a moment, before vanishing. Or maybe it was a trick of the light. Perhaps Severus was only seeing what he wanted to see - or more accurately, dreaded seeing.

Potter continued his way up to Severus, and many of the boys seemed to also become more absorbed in their work as he passed, as if trying to escape his notice. Potter arrived before the two adults in short time, and politely greeted them.

"Madame Joybill, sir," he said as he nodded to each in turn. He faced the matron again. "How may I help you?"

Joybill replied, "This man says he represents a boarding school and wanted to talk to you. Don't get your hopes up, we're not paying for it."

An incomprehensible expression crossed Potter's face, and Severus couldn't resist using his Legilimency to see what thought had passed through the young boy's mind.

'You won't even pay for decent food,' was the thought that Severus found, mixed in with a lot of well-hidden anger.

"Of course," Potter replied amicably, not betraying his real thoughts at all.

'As much self control as any of my Slytherins,' Severus noted. Surely, this young man was nothing like the man who sired him.

Harry Potter was tending the garden flowers alongside half of the other orphans. During the summer, most of the gardening was assigned by punishment, which meant Harry was out here almost every day. It wasn't even usually his fault.

Like today. He had been given a week of gardening assignments because Sam had fallen down the stairs. Harry wasn't anywhere near Sam, but of course Sam said he was pushed, and everybody believed that little waste of air just because the two had been in a fight. Never mind that Sam deserved it.

Harry almost wished he had pushed the bastard. Off the roof.

While he was muttering to himself, pulling weeds that actually looked less ugly than the flowers he was supposed to be taking care of, he heard Joykill scream his name. He muttered a few choice words about her, then managed to put on a friendly mask and stood. 'No sense getting in more trouble,' he thought.

The others had started calling out mockingly, and he quickly surveyed the lot to find out who, but got distracted when he saw the stranger standing with Joykill. 'No way in hell is that guy adopting me. He looks almost disgusted that he has to be here. Not that I blame him.'

He began walking towards the two, and about a third of the way there, a tall, lanky, older boy with pasty skin, a thick accent, and red hair, McGuire, tripped him. Harry stood up quickly and grabbed McGuire. He leaned in and said quietly, "Trip me again, and I will make you regret it. Remember what I did to Jones last year?"

Harry hadn't actually done anything to Eric Jones, but the two did share a room the year before. Jones had mocked Harry repeatedly for his nightmares - but then he started having night terrors himself. He'd blamed Harry for it, and demanded a different room. Harry had gotten into months of punishments for it, but at least he didn't have a roommate anymore, and Jones still wouldn't come near him to this day.

McGuire paled and went back to his chore. Harry started to smirk before he quickly put his mask back on. He turned back to Joykill and the stranger, and walked as quickly as he could without looking rushed.

He arrived in front of the pair in short time. He nodded to them while he said, "Madame Joybill" - her real name - and greeted the stranger with a polite "sir."

"How may I help you?" That's what she liked to hear. An offer to do whatever bloody chore she needed done. A couple of the older boys swore she sometimes asked them to help her "scratch her itch," whatever that meant. Judging by how they talked about it, it sounded like a shite chore to end up with.

Joykill responded. "This man says he represents a boarding school and wanted to talk to you. Don't get your hopes up, we're not paying for it."

Harry's mask almost broke under the flood of emotions. A boarding school would get him the hell out of here at least for most of the year, but of course she'd kill the hope the second she gave it to him, the bitch. 'Of course you won't pay for it. You won't even pay for decent food.'

He salvaged his mask, and put his acting skills to the test. "Of course," he said, as nice as he could manage. He wanted to impress the school representative - maybe he could get a scholarship or a waiver.

The rep spoke up. "Miss Joybill, is there a place I can speak with Mister Potter here in private?"

She looked at the school representative suspiciously, but politely led the two to a private room, which had a large, round, wooden table that was falling apart, and six chairs to match. Once the two were seated, and the matron had left the room, the rep waved a stick towards the door, muttering something under his breath.

Harry raised one eyebrow slightly - 'Of course he's a crazy' -* but didn't comment. Instead, he waited for the rep to begin talking. He wasn't naturally a patient boy, but he would at least try to make a good impression on this man, and by extension, the school. That was his only hope of getting out of here, other than turning 18.

"Alright, Mister Potter. I am Professor Severus Snape, here representing a school called Hogwarts. I suspect you have a fair few questions about this whole situation, so it may be best if we start this process with those." The man spoke almost in a perfect monotone, barely showing even the slightest hint of emotion or his thoughts.

"Alright, well, I suppose the first question would be 'Why me?' There's quite a few other kids here. So why am I the only one being spoken to, and not them?"

Snape nodded. "Not the question I was expecting, but a very good one. We're not looking for you because of your academic performance, although we certainly hope you have a good one. Nor are we searching you out on account of your behaviour. Though I have heard of schools that seek out problematic children to reform them, we are not that kind of school."

He paused for a moment, then continued.

"We look for children who have certain skills, which are very rare indeed. We seek to nurture those skills."

"Skills?" Harry asked, leaning forward in interest. "I can't think of any skill I have that nobody else here doesn't."

"You don't need to tell me, Mister Potter, but just think about something. How often do things happen around you that you can't explain?"

'Well, Sam did fall down the stairs last week...' He thought. 'And my hair growing out overnight whenever Joykill tried to give me a buzz cut.'

He nodded, and said, "So these weird things are these skills you mentioned?"

"In a sense, yes. It's called magic. While a magical child is growing up, their magic is incredibly hard to control. It typically responds to strong emotions, slightly warping the world to the child's will."

Magic. It made no sense, and yet, too much sense. Sam thought he'd been pushed because he had been, even though Harry had never touched him. Harry's hair grew out because he hated having short hair. That snake in the garden last year DID speak to him.

"Alright. Say I don't believe you're completely mad. Why are you looking out for kids with... magic?"

"We are the foremost school for learning magic in Britain. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When a magical child turns eleven, they're permitted to attend. Of course, there are scholarships and waivers available to students who can't afford to attend, as well as cheaper alternatives across the country. However, in your case, that won't be an issue. Your-"

He paused to brace himself. "Your parents paid for your tuition mere days after your birth."

'Well, at least they did one thing for me before driving their car off a cliff.' He suppressed a snort. Still, that was good news. "Very well, I'll attend. You'll have to arrange a way for me to get to the school, however."

Snape slid a sealed envelope across the table to Harry. "This has all the information to catch a free train ride from London on August thirty-first, as well as your needed school supplies. I will also assist you in finding and purchasing the supplies you need, but first I must know. Will you be able to reach London in time? If not, I can arrange an alternative to the transportation arrangements."

"I think that's probably a good decision. I'm sure that Madame Joybill will be happy to be rid of me for half the year, so she may pay for me to get to London, but I can't guarantee that."

Snape nodded. "Very well. I'll see what I can do. Would you like for me to escort you to do your shopping today, or shall I come back next week? Be aware that those are your only two options if you wish to attend, unfortunately."

"Today, if we can convince Madame Joybill."

Snape gave a small smirk, before reasserting his mask. "Oh, that won't be an issue, Mister Potter."

'And now, to really sell that I'm a desirable student.' "Oh, sir, you may call me Harry if you like."

Snape's mask thoroughly broke at that point, but Harry couldn't read whatever emotions crossed his face. Unfortunately, the man regained control over himself only moments later, leaving Harry even more confused than before. "Very well... Harry. We must be off."