Something Familiar (Mk. 2)
Chapter 05 : "It's Sort of Familiar"
AKA : "That's One Dirty Hat"
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The rest of the trip passed peacefully.
Well, if you wanted to be really accurate, the rest of the trip passed with the four boys doing their best to change in their robes while desperately trying not to fall off the speeding train. Even after King "accidentally" destroyed the cabin wall and barricaded off both sides of the hall with wreckage, they weren't left with a whole lot of space. Some carefully chaperoning by both King and Lady was probably all that prevented the others from tumbling to a gristly doom.
Despite George's worries, they managed to change in plenty of time to keep him from accidentally flashing his bare arse at anyone. It didn't, however, keep him from flashing his bare arse on purpose. As they pulled to a stop directly in front of Hagrid, Harry wasn't sure whether the large man's raised eyebrow was for the pale rear wiggling at him, or the fact that he could see said ass despite the fact there should be a wall in the way.
There was an exasperated hiss of, "Damn it, Fred, put that away!' It was followed with the sharp thwap of a hand meeting a skull, then the dull thunk of a skull meeting concrete a moment later.
"Hi Hagrid! I didn't know I'd see you!" Harry said happily, hopping out through the hole in the side of the train. "What're you doing here?"
Hagrid chuckled slightly, wondering if Harry was planning on acknowledging the massive damage to the train, or just ignoring it.
"I am responsible for overseeing the upkeep of the castle and her creatures, as well as raising potion and spell components for the classes," Hagrid said proudly. Then, a bit more abashed, he continued, "I'm afraid I went a bit barmy at the prospect of having my own private game reserve, let myself be talked into the position. I've no other duties at this time of the year, so I suppose it works out. I'd go bloody bonkers with the young master at university otherwise."
Harry nodded agreeably, as if he had some clue what his large friend was talking about. To be honest, the fact that Hagrid would be so proud of his position still completely mystified the boy. "Well, no offence, but I hope you take better care of the castle than you do this… uh… this…"
The platform was more of a poured concrete slab in the middle of nowhere than anything deserving of such a grand name. The surface was pitted and chipped from the impact of countless metal-bound trunks, stained from thousands of kilograms of dropped food and drink, and covered in dead twigs and small stones. In the center there was a single, flickering lamp post that seemed to be more rust than post, along with a pile of rotted wood and decayed metal that might have been a bench at some point.
A thick, white mist was huddled around the edges of the platform. It was so thick it almost looked like an undulating sheet of fabric, and even in the dim light of a full moon it glowed with an eerie luminescence. It was disturbing enough that the gathered students were actually pressing back away from it, getting as close to the ruined bench as they dared.
"I feel like I'm in a horror movie, Hagrid," Harry complained.
Hagrid chuckled at the comment. "It's all to cock, isn't it? Believe me, it'd not look like the front yard of a dosshouse if it were in my domain. That aside, I see you've had quite the interesting trip."
Harry started to turn towards the train, then suddenly froze about halfway there. Very slowly, he forced himself to rotate his head back around and meet Hagrid's gaze.
"It wasn't all that interesting, Hagrid. I've never been on a train before, so that was kind of cool, but not really anything to write home about," Harry replied.
If he didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't there!
"Really? Then you don't find the utter annihilation of half a car to be remarkable in the least?" Hagrid snorted in amusement. "I'd be quite afraid to see what kind of dodgy business it took to be noteworthy, then."
Harry thought briefly, then shrugged. "I don't suppose you'd believe that it was like this when we found-"
From behind him came a tortured metal squeal and the sound of splintering wood. It was quickly followed by a heavy thump and another tortured groan.
Harry paused again, then sighed and slumped slightly. "Was that sound King ripping a luggage rack out of the wall?"
"Like it was a doddle," Hagrid confirmed.
"I did try to remove it gently, but the foolish thing simply would not cooperate," King said defensively.
Hagrid let out a deep chuckle. "Not to worry, bod. The Express is not within my domain either. I'm simply here to ensure your wellbeing on your way to the castle. Did you nutters manage to harm anyone this year?"
"Just me!" Fred said proudly. "I have a concussion or seven, came close to choking to death, and I was almost eaten by a nightmare-beast from beyond the end of time."
"I see. A good trip, then?"
"Yep!"
Harry gave Fred an incredulous look and demanded, "You call that a good trip!? How are you even alive!?"
In answer to Harry's shocked question, Fred reached in his shirt and pulled out a silver pendant an a thin iron chain. "King got me this for Christmas our first year, after he accidentally knocked me through a greenhouse wall. It's a Balanced Harm Charm."
"Awesome. You remember I have no idea what that is, right?"
"It's a kind of enchantment almost no one uses. It kind of spreads the hurt out. Fred's little injuries end up being worse, but the bad ones aren't nearly as bad," George said. He suddenly turned and have his brother a light smack to the gut. There was a pained gasp as the air was driven from his lungs, leaving him to crumple to the ground. "See? No way that's drop me, or even you. The upshot is wailing him with a sledgehammer would have about the same effect."
"... you suck…"
"I know, brother. I know," George agreed with a grin. "Not too many people get seriously injured enough to make it worth it, but it keeps Fred from getting maimed too bad."
Hagrid sighed and shook his head. "English wizards have all but abandoned most forms of sacrificial magic. There is great power in surrendering something of value, but no one wishes to do so. They do not want to pay a cost, whether it be a sacrifice or even the effort to cast a complex spell."
"I guess that makes sense."
"In a way, lad. But as with so many things in life, you won't get anything worthwhile if you bog off," Hagrid pointed out. "There's a reason many parts of the work practice multiple kinds of magic."
"Why don't we? Is it just because people are lazy?"
Hagrid shrugged helplessly. "That's a bit of a story, and one we have too little time for. If you lads will pardon me, I'd best round these little buggers up."
It took a few minutes, but eventually Hagrid did manage to round the buggers in question up. Leaving the others behind, the nervous first-years followed their large guide into the mist.
It wasn't long before Harry started wishing he had Fred's pendant. He had a feeling he'd need it.
Visibility sucked, and only the light from Hagrid's lantern-thing guided him through the darkness. Luckily the odd, floating ball of flame cast a lot of light about as it hovered along after the gamekeeper.
Harry couldn't help but wonder how one kept a creature that seemed to be made of pure flame in their pocket, but quickly found he had other things to worry about.
He could barely see his hand at the end of his outstretched arm, and the narrow path was full of rocks and the grasping roots of vile trees and bushes. The leafy bastards were everywhere, tugging at his robes and trying to catch his feet. Despite their efforts to destroy him Harry was doing quite well until…
Harry blinked as he suddenly realized there was no ground under his feet.
It occurred to him, belatedly, that Hagrid's floating fireball had dipped downward just a moment ago. There was a good chance such a motion indicated a sudden, sharp slope in the path. Moreover, it was likely not the sort of thing you wanted to basically sprint over as you tried to keep up with someone whose legs were three times the length of your own.
Harry hung in the air for a moment, his legs pedaling comically as they struggled to push off a surface that was no longer there. Then Harry realized what had happened and - as dictated by the laws of cartoon physics - plummeted downward just a moment after the revelation hit.
Slamming into the rocky slope was about as much fun as you would think it would be. He tumbled arse-over-teakettle for a door distance before slamming into something and grinding to a stop.
"Oh… thank God," Harry moaned as he struggled to regain his bearings. It was a true testament to how disoriented he was that it took several seconds to realize he was surrounded by leaves. The leaves were attached to branches, and the branches were attached to bigger branches!
He had been captured by a bush.
Harry stared at his botanical assailant, fixing his unwavering gaze on it lest it take advantage of his inattention. The bush stared back. There was a hungry look on its leaves as it studied him with its beady little bush eyes.
He couldn't actually see the bush-eyes, mind you. He knew they were there, though, hidden amongst the leaves. They always hid the eyes. They hid them and waited patiently, eagerly awaiting the day they would reveal themselves as the killers they were.
Suddenly Harry had the perfect plan, the ideal course of action to avoid becoming fertilizer for the botanical bastard.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Harry screamed, hurtling himself away with all the power his skinny legs could muster.
This, of course, resulted in him launching himself out across the slope at high speed. He bounced down the hill a bit, then slammed straight into something that was either a very large rock or a very small boulder. Either way, it stopped him and it wasn't a bush. That made it the ideal savior, even if it did drive the wind straight out of his lungs.
Worth it.
"Thank you, rock. I love you," Harry gasped out. With a faint groan he managed to peel himself away from the stone and continue on his way.
A short distance from the bottom of the slope, the fog suddenly thinned. It gave him a clear view of a beach covered in white sand and, more importantly, a large bush at the end of the slope with a pair of leggings sticking out the top and kicking feebly.
Harry slid to a stop, staring at the scene before him in wide-eyed horror.
It was quickly becoming clear that the bushes here were even worse than most. He had only just escaped one of the vile plants, only to discover a second plant eating a second student! The poor bastard was fighting valiantly against the shrub's lethal wooden embrace, but it was clearly a losing battle. His panicked movements were only driving him further down its greenery gullet.
There were quite a few students gathered around to watch, but not one of them was helping the poor kid. Harry couldn't really blame them. No sane person would voluntarily get within snatching range of a carnivorous bush. What he didn't understand was the small clusters of students that were laughing and pointing, treating the whole thing like some sort of sick joke. Staying away to protect yourself was something he could understand, even if he couldn't respect it, but to watch and laugh as someone was eaten was just sick!
He had to help. He had to, but it meant possibly subjecting himself to the bush's blasted branches. It would be dicey, but he couldn't just leave the kid to die.
Suddenly, Harry had a brilliant plan! It was a perfect idea, the ideal solution for the situation. That made two brilliant ideas today and counting! Maybe he should open a brilliant idea school in his time off from forensicing.
Harry frowned in confusion. Wait, forensicing? Where the hell did that come from? Was it even a word?
Shaking off the momentary distraction, The future expert forensicer implemented his brilliant anti-student-eating-bush strategy into action.
Harry turned and sprinted a short distance back up the slope. Once he decided he had gone far enough he whirled, twisting around and hoofing it as hard and fast as his legs could carry him. Considering how much time he'd spent running from Big Douche, that was pretty quick. Once he put the pedal down he was rushing at a breakneck speed in no time, the slope aiding him.
At the last moment, Harry launched himself into the air and curled up, effectively becoming a human cannonball. With his mighty (sort of) attack, he delivered flying justice unto his bushy nemesis. Smiting the foul beast, he freed his fellow student from its wooden grip.
In other words, he body slammed the shrubbery really fucking hard, sending both himself and the stuck student flying out of it. They both slammed down onto the white sand, gasping and trying to recover the breath Harry's attack had stolen from them.
"Th- thanks," the other student said weakly. "I- I think…"
"The roots of evil have received divine judgement, having been punished with righteous fury. Any cause is true, so long as it strikes down the wicked," Harry declared.
The boy gave him an uncertain, confused look.
"No problem. It had it coming," Harry translated.
The comment had the effect of reducing the confusion on the boy's face, but significantly increasing the uncertainty. "Okay… Uh, I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."
"Harry Potter. Hi," Harry said, shaking the offered hand.
As soon as the words left his mouth, Neville's slightly concerned look was replace with one of great interest. "Harry Potter? You mean, like, the Harry Potter that got rid of Tom Riddle?"
"I think so? I mean, is there a lot of Harry Potters that didn't do that?" Harry asked curiously. "And I'm pretty sure I didn't get rid of him. I killed him. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure there's a difference there."
"What do you mean?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, saying I 'got rid of him' kind of means he's just not around, right? That means he could be lurking in the shadows somewhere, just waiting for his chance. But I killed him. Killed him dead. That means he's gone for good. Plus, I'm pretty sure killing some evil jerk is worth more street cred than just getting rid of them. That's what I hear, anyway."
"It is. It's worth a lot more," Neville agreed. Looking at Harry eagerly, he continued, "How'd you do it?"
Harry looked around, scanning the beach carefully. He gave the definite sense of someone checking to make sure no one else could hear the great secret he was about to utter. Seemingly satisfied, he sidled up to Neville and whispered, "I fired a laser out of my head."
The other boy stared at him incredulously for a moment, then said, "...wut?"
"A laser. From my head," Harry repeated. Tilting his head to catch what little moonlight made it through the thinned fog, he lifted his bangs to display his scar. "That's where I got the scar. I blasted him with a head-laser, but I wasn't careful enough and I burned myself too. Head-lasers are hard to handle and I was just a baby, so I'm not too embarrassed about it."
"You're kidding, right? That's pretty stupid, even for a weird magic… thing."
"Phenomenon. You're looking for the word phenomenon."
"Right. That one."
Harry managed to hold his serious expression for another second, then started giggling. "Of course I'm kidding. I was just a little baby. How would I know what happened? I didn't even know it happened at all until a few weeks ago. I mean, do you remember things from when you were one?"
"I guess not. Too bad. I know at least a couple of people that could use a head-lasering," Neville said with a clearly disappointed look on his face. "What's with the story, then? The head-laser thing?"
"It's more fun than saying, 'How would I know?' every time someone asks me. I figure I'll just tell everyone about the head-lasering, or maybe change my story now and then to see if anyone notices."
Their conversation was at that point interrupted by Hagrid loudly announcing they were about to get their first view of Hogwarts. The giant man lifted one hand and swept it to the side. As if by magic (hur hur), the fog suddenly split and rolled aside, forming a wide corridor of clear air.
Harry made a mental note to ask if Hagrid had somehow arranged the fog specifically to do that. If he had almost been eaten by a bush so his large friend could look cool, he wasn't going to be happy.
The floor of the corridor shone in the night like a plane of polished obsidian. Harry supposed it was the surface of a lake or somesuch, but it was so dark and motionlessly smooth that it looked like black glass. It made him somewhat uneasy, because he couldn't help but imagine that creatures like the Goo hailed from a dark void that looked very similar. The small blobs of mist still clinging to it floated around like vaporous ghosts, making it that much more eerie.
In the distance, situated high up on a tall bluff, laid the magic castle herself.
Harry assumed it was Hogwarts, at least, because he couldn't imagine that there would be all that many castles out here. He wasn't exactly 100% sure, since she looked absolutely nothing like what he'd imagine a magic castle to be. The delicate, spindly towers he'd seen in his mind's eye were thick and rugged. The parapets and gates were pretty hard to see from the beach, but they looked far more functional than decorative. The whole thing was made from large blocks of dark stone, and looked like it could probably take a direct hit from a meteor and come out intact.
"Wow…" Harry said. "That's kind of cool. Not really what I expected, though…"
Hagrid chuckled. "She's quite the gaff, isn't she? Hogwarts housed our children, most valuable secrets and a large portion of our knowledge during a time when the magical world was in even more turmoil than the mundane. She was built to last, lad."
"Why would that matter? Couldn't someone just blast it with magic?"
Once again, Hagrid laughed. Patting Harry on the head, he replied, "Even a dosshouse is better than the open sky, Harry. When both sides are tossing the same spells, he who has the thicker walls wins. Even a small advantage as such can tip the scales. You'd do well to remember that."
"I guess. It still seems kind of silly, though," Harry said uncertainty.
"That nasty munter you so kindly rid the world of, do you think his band of barmy fools were stronger than anyone else?"
Frowning, Harry considered the question. "I guess so. They hurt a bunch of people, right? They had to be stronger, or how else could they do that?"
The answer came not from Hagrid, but an altogether unexpected source.
"They were afraid," Neville said, his jaw tightening. "No one fought back because they were afraid. A lot of people got hurt because of that. If people weren't such cowards, there would have been a lot less people getting hurt. That's what Gran says."
"Augusta is quite right, Mr. Longbottom," Hagrid said softly. It may have been Harry's imagination, but there seemed to be the slightest but of pity in his tone. "A small advantage can make all the difference, lads. Such things as fear lack power in both physical and magical senses. Despite that lack of 'true' power, they can vastly change a man's abilities for the better or worse. I once watched a lovely lass lay out a troll with a single punch, all because her child was threatened."
Harry wasn't exactly sure, but from Neville's disbelieving look it was probably safe to assume that was an impressive feat.
"Now then, enough jawing. The gaffer'll go spare if we're any later than we already are. Everyone, into the boats!"
Harry looked up and down the beach in confusion. "Hagrid, what boats?"
"You're a little young yet to be doing anything that leaves you blind, Harry. The boats," Hagrid repeated, gesturing.
Harry looked incredulously at the collection of what he had assumed to be oversized washbasins laying at the water's edge. They looked about the size to wash Hagrid's suits, but it was pretty easy to see why they had been discarded. The would was both rotting and splintering, while the metal bands that held them together covered in corrosion. A few bands had been eaten thorough entirely, leaving them hanging sadly with their ends trailing in the water.
Harry was a little worried that just looking at them would give him a case of tetanus.
"You hid boats behind the nasty basins? Are they invisible? I know I'm not an expert, but making boats invisible seems like a waste of magic, Hagrid."
"Those are the boats, Harry. There's no need to look at them like you would a dodgy loo. Those fine conveyances have been ferrying chavi across the Black Lake since the final stone of Hogwarts was laid."
Continuing to study the "fine conveyances," Harry asked, "And how long ago was that?"
"Well, no one's exactly sure at this point, but it's widely agreed that it was sometime in the ninth century."
Still eyeing the boats dubiously, Harry muttered. "Fine. But if I die, I'm so haunting you. And Neville's riding with me, so if I die, he dies. Then we'll haunt you together. You'll be double-haunted."
Ignoring the other boy's protests, Harry spun and dragged him down into the nearest boat. Luckily for Neville, he managed to plant himself in one of the two spots not completely covered in splinters. The second splinter-free spot was already occupied though, leaving Harry to plop down on a hellish landscape of wooden needles. The girl sitting across from him gave him a mildly amused look as he released an undignified squeak and frantically tried to shift his weight in a way that spared his ass.
He failed.
With a sour expression, Harry watched as Hagrid plopped into the next boat over. It sank noticeably as it pulled away from the beach, but remained buoyant. Hagrid didn't seem to notice how dangerously close to sinking his boat was any more than he did the splinters that were presumably gouging him in the rear.
"If it's any consolation, if be happy to make it a triple-haunting," the girl suddenly offered. She had her body half twisted around so she could watch the water bob just a few centimeter below the side of their boat. "I can't say I'm too keen on dying in general, but I'm sure there's better ways than drowning…"
"Actually, is supposed to be pretty peaceful. The first lungful of water is the hard part. Besides, you could probably tread water long enough to go into shock from the cold. Then you'd barely notice," Harry reassured(?) her.
Both of his boatmates started at him in disbelief.
"What? They had it on the Nature Channel. My neighbor watches it a lot."
"That's… quite morbid. Is he always like this?" she asked, turning to give Neville a curious look.
Neville glanced to the side at Harry, as if trying to evaluate the threat that a rather dangerous and potentially hungry predator might pose. "I… really don't know. I met him five minutes ago."
"I might be. If I am, it's probably because my parents were brutally murdered right in front of me."
Their companion gave him a shocked and horrified look. It only got worse when Neville asked, "Are you sure it wasn't because you murdered someone when you were a little kid?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I didn't murder him, it was self defense," Harry declared. The statement was immediately followed by a pause and a thoughtful look. "I think. I mean, how could a baby murder someone?"
The girl stared at them for a moment, giving them a puzzled and amused frown. Suddenly her face lit up as understanding hit her. "Oh, you're Harry Potter, aren't you?"
"Nope," Harry immediately replied. Pointing at Neville, he announced, "That's Harry Potter. I'm just the infamous baby-murderer."
There was a brief pause.
"Uh, I don't mean i killed a baby. That'd be sick. I mean I murdered people as a baby. Thought I should clarify that."
"How do you know you didn't kill a baby?"
"I think if remember killing a baby, Neville. I don't think that's the kind of thing you forget."
"You didn't remember the first guy you killed," Neville pointed out.
Harry froze, one finger pointing at Neville and mouth half-open to deliver what was no doubt a masterful retort. Then, as what the other wizard had said trickled through his brain, he slowly lowered his hand.
"Huh. Good point."
"Wait, Neville? He was supposedly Harry Potter. Not that I believed you for one moment, of course, but you could at least be consistent in your lies for more than thirty seconds."
The boat sloshed along, with not a spoken word to break the sound their "fine conveyance" sloshing across the lake.
Finally the witch got impatient enough to demand, "Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?"
Harry raised a hand to silence her. "Hang on. I'm trying to remember if I've killed any babies," Harry muttered. "It's okay if I was a baby too, right? Or not any worse than killing someone that wasn't a baby?"
"Seems reasonable."
"No it does not! Honestly nothing about either of you seems reasonable," the girl disagreed. "Let's just forget about the dead babies, okay?"
"No problem. I'm an expert at that, I guess," Harry declared, causing Neville to snicker.
"I'm Hermione Granger," the witch declared, clearly having no intention of acknowledging the comment. "Obviously you are Harry Potter and you are Neville something. I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but I'm a bit undecided on that at the moment.
There was no response. Harry continued starting at the bottom of the boat with a frown, and Neville continued starting at Harry.
"Harry, please stop trying to figure out if you've committed infanticide. And you, you please stop waiting to see if Harry figured out if he murdered a baby."
"Fine. But when dead babies start showing up, just remember: you could have stopped it, but you didn't."
"Dead babies are not going to start turning up. You've only actually killed one person that we know of, and he almost certainly deserved it. Now, can we please stop talking about murdering babies!"
There was a faint gasp from behind her. Twitching slightly, Hermione slowly turned to look at the boat drifting by behind them. The four first-year witches in it stared back at her in shock.
Sighing as she settled back into her seat, Hermione grumbled,, "Wonderful. I suppose you both think that's quite funny…"
"A little," Neville admitted.
Giggling, Harry claimed, "Of course not."
"Yes, very funny. While we're on the subject of brutally murdering people, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. How-"
Before Harry could say a word, Neville broke in and blurted out, "He fired a laser out of his head!"
Hermione looked at him in disbelief for a long moment, then slowly turned her skeptical and suspicious gaze towards the wizard in question.
Nodding in confirmation, Harry agreed, "I totally did. I head-lasered him into next week. It was one of the most awesome head-laserings in the history of head-lasering."
"You'll have to forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe.
"Oh, it's true," Harry insisted. He raised his bangs and displayed his forehead. "How do you think I got the scar?"
Examining the scar, Hermione scoffed. "There's about a million things that could cause a scar, Harry," she pointed out. Then she leaned forward to examine the mark in the moonlight. "Even if it is clearly some kind of burn scar. A… very localized burn scar in very clear, straight lines."
"Head-lasering is hard, and Harry was just a baby. He was lucky he just got burned a little."
Hermione frowned as she continued examining the scar intensely. "I understand that magic provides for many possibilities that the muggle world-"
"Nearly infinite possibilities," Harry corrected.
"Fine. That. Regardless, I refuse to believe that people shoot lasers out of their foreheads."
Neville gave her a puzzled frown. "Why? Weird stuff like that happens all the time. A broken window smothered my Uncle Algie under 12,397 liters of grape gelatin last year. That's a lot stranger than something like a head-laser, right?"
"Okay, there's no way I'm believing something that stupid. Besides, you don't seem all that sad, considering a relative died."
Neville shrugged. "I didn't like him very much."
"I still-"
"A window tried to eat me," Harry suddenly announced. "It tried to eat me and so did a plant."
Hermione turned back to him, an annoyed denial on her lips, but stopped when she registered the shell-shocked look on his face. It was a look she'd seen on her father more than a few times, usually when he talked about his stint as a navy doctor.
"How did that happen? That's pretty weird thing for a broken window to do, even if it was a really cheap one."
Harry shuddered and replied, "There was this thing called a Cauldron Ca-"
"A Cauldron Cake!?" Neville gasped. "You didn't eat it, did you?"
"What!? No! Hell no!" Harry said vehemently. "Are you kidding? I mean, I almost did, but I didn't mean to!"
"Makes sense. You'd still be throwing up if you did."
"Okay, excuse me, but what in the world are you guys talking about? What's a Cauldron Cake, and why would you eat anything that makes you throw up for hours!?" Hermione demanded.
Neville, now looking almost as shaken as Harry, answered, "No one really knows. Supposedly it's a curse put on all wizarding kids. Sometimes, when you buy a bunch of snacks, one just kind of shows up. If you open the package it tries to trick you into eating it. That's not a good thing to do."
"It burned me when I tried to take it out of the package," Harry said, holding up his hand. One fingertip was a putrid green, while the other was a dark gray with pink zig-zags. "Then I kind of spaced out, but the girls stuck their noses in my ears. I was kind of mad, but then I realized I was holding the cake almost to my mouth. I freaked and threw it, it hit the window and there was a lot of really nasty colors. Then the window turned into an eldritch horror from beyond the far reaches of the mortal mind."
"Oh, have your read Lovecraft?" Hermione asked excitedly. "He has such a fascinating turn of phrase, doesn't he?
Harry shook his head. "No, I haven't. I just looked at it, and I knew."
"...oh."
The rest of the trip across the lake passed quietly, aside from a minor incident with a giant squid that left Hermione with wet robes. The beast had popped up beside them suddenly, obviously curious about the boats. Its appearance startled Hermione bad enough to cause her to launch herself to the other side of the boat, rocking it violently.
("I think I just peed myself.")
("Don't worry, Hermione. You probably just splashed water in the boat when you jumped.")
("...yes. Yes, that's exactly what happened. Definitely.")
They fared better than the trio that somehow managed to fall out of their boat, at least. The three first-years ended up being hauled to the landing by creatures Hagrid referred to as "The Lifeguards." All that could be seen of the things was the set of slimy tentacles that hoisted the children high in the air as they bobbed toward the rest of the students. The pair of girls fought the whole way, kicking and screaming, but only managed to smear the Lifeguard's slime all over their bodies.
("Tentacles. That is so wrong, but I'm not exactly sure why.")
("At least they have all their clothes on…")
The young wizard, on the other hand, clearly thought the ride was great. He even held his hands up and recovered a quintuple high-five (high-tentacle?) after being placed gently on the dock. The girls, on the other hand, had been unceremoniously dumped to the dock and were still getting up even as he was waving goodbye to the lifeguards.
After climbing a flight of stairs, the new students suddenly found themselves in a large, nicely decorated room. There, waiting for them, was an older woman who-
"-looks like she could eat iron and shit screws..." Hermione whispered. Seeing the shocked looks she received, she huffed, "What? That's what Dad would say."
The witch swept her gaze across them silently, then nodded in satisfaction. "Very good, Hagrid. You may return to your other duties. That great beast of yours has been barking for an hour. You'd best take care of it."
"Blasted turbo-weasels are probably trying to break out of the forest again," Hagrid muttered. "Smart little buggers. Don't know how the damn things keep finding a way around the wards..."
"Well you'd best handle it. We can't have those things getting loose in the school. Not after what happened last time. I'll take it from here."
Hagrid quickly left, muttering something under his breath about, "Bloody six-legged bastards."
"I am Professor McGonagall," the witch announced. "Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. This is my Familiar, Ash."
There was a faint squeak from beside Harry. A hand wrapped around his am with surprising strength and hauled him around, yanking him to stand between Hermione and the large cat that slunk out from behind McGonagall. It was sleek and powerful looking. Its coat was sleek and colored a dark, ash grey with smudges of sooty black. It moved almost completely silently, aside from the soft click-clicking sound it made every other step.
He wasn't sure exactly what the big deal was. He was pretty sure that Tank or Lady were a lot more dangerous than Ash. Then again, maybe Hermione simply hadn't met some of the more "colorful" familiars. If the was reacting to a big cat this bad, she was probably in for a rough year.
Still, Ash was pretty cool, even if he wasn't made of water like Lady or pointy bits like Tank. Harry had never seen a big cat like that up close, let alone one with a metal paw.
"To answer the question I am no doubt about to be asked: yes, that is really his paw. There was a minor… incident… involving a particularly nasty dark creature when we were young. His original paw went bad, and we were forced to cut it off. As healing magic proved unable to fix it, we were forced to resort to a golem graft."
A faint murmur ran through the crowd of children as they made appropriately impressed and awed noises.
"Now then, please follow me so that we may commence the sorting. Oh, and Ms. Granger?"
Hermione nervously peeked out from behind Harry, her eyes never leaving the large cat. "Y- yes professor?"
"It's nails, dear. Iron and nails," McGonagall stated. "Screws are anything but elegant, and being compared to one is very unflattering."
The rest of the first-years looked at Hermione in confusion as she slowly reddened.
Harry could swear there was a faint smile on the professor's lips as she turned and threw the doors open, marching forward.
The Great Hall was… well… it was very appropriately named, that was for sure. Harry was pretty certain he'd never seen such a large room, not even on the telly. It was pretty impressive, and that wasn't even counting the floating candles or the roof that was showing a beautiful view of the night sky.
Massive tables ran down the hall. There was four of them, each half-filled with students. Down at one end Harry spotted Fred and George. They were waving to him enthusiastically, assuming you considered flailing their arms, howling and whistling catcalls at him counted as such. Their Familiars were a little harder to spot as they marched back and forth on the table, assembling something that looked suspiciously like a catapult made of silverware.
"What is wrong with those idiots?" Hermione grumbled. "I'd be embarrassed to even know them. What kind of person would even associate with morons like that?"
"Harry! Harry-Harry-Harry! Look over here, Harry! Look over he~re! Hi Harry!" Fred screamed. He was now standing on the table, jumping up and down and waving both arms.
From somewhere behind him someone screamed, "We love you Harry!" It wasn't really hard to figure out who.
Hermione and Neville slowly turned to look at Harry.
"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley. I am sure Mr. Potter is quite grateful for your enthusiastic greeting. However, we do have the Sorting to get through, and I will be quite displeased if you continue to disrupt it," McGonnagal said, fixing them with a moderately annoyed look.
Both twins immediately went silent, returning to their seats so fast they may as well have teleported.
"Now then, this is the Sorting Hat. It is a powerful relic from times long past. It will now sort you into your appropriate houses," McGonagall declared, gesturing to a dirty and worn hat sitting on a stool. "Hat, if you would be so kind?"
The first-years watched the Sorting hat expectantly.
Nothing happened.
"Hat?"
Nothing happened.
"Hat, are you listening?"
The hat shuddered slightly, then rolled over onto one side. The faint sound of snoring came from it.
McGonagall twitched. Leaning forward, she slowly brought the tip of her wand into position right beside the snoozing hat. With a flick, she whispered, "Disrumpam."
A sound like a gunshot, only sharper and louder, rocked the hall. It was so powerful that it left Harry's ears ringing, despite being several meters away from the source. The hat let out a shrill shriek, like that of a little girl and tumbled off the stool. There was a soft thump as it hit the stone floor.
"The hell, woman!? What is wrong with you!?" the Hat demanded. "I don't even have eardrums and you nearly blew them out! I… wait a moment. Where in the name of the First Tailor am I?"
McGonagall sighed. "You're in the Great Hall, Hat. Exactly where you're supposed to be."
"The Great Hall? Why the bloody blazes would you bring me to the… Oh, Sorting time, is it?"
"An excellent observation," McGonagall replied drolly.
"There's no reason to get sarcastic about it, woman. You need to learn to respect your elders. Never were good at that, were you? But I'm not just your elder! No, I was a fine piece of headwear while you were still a little swimmer in the sack of your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-"
McGonagall gave the hat a fierce poke with the tip of her wand. "Hat. The Sorting, if you would?"
"Oh, yes, yes. That. Do you think we could perhaps do it tomorrow? This really isn't a good time."
"Not a good time?" McGonagall snapped. "You are the Sorting Hat. You exist for the sole purpose of performing the Sorting, and nothing else. How could it possibly not be a good time?"
"Well, I was having this wonderful dream, y'see. I was in a high-end clothier's with a pair of twin berets. It was… well. I'm certain I don't have to tell you what those berets are like. There was a bit of cloth-on-cloth action, if you know what I mean."
McGonagall glared at the Sorting Hat so hard that Harry was a little surprised it didn't burst into flames. The hat obviously felt the heat, though, because he instantly straightened up.
"What are you waiting for, woman? Put me on the stool so we can get this over with," the Sorting Hat ordered, prompting McGonagall to do exactly that. "Alright, which one of you little bastards is first, eh?"
McGonagall cleared her throat and hissed, "Hat. The song."
"Eh?"
"The song, Hat. You're supposed to begin the year with a song."
The hat shuddered. "Bloody hell, woman. Is that really necessary?"
"It is tradition," McGonagall stated. She tugged at her sleeve, pulling the cuff up slightly. Harry just barely caught a glimpse of deep, white scars running around her wrist and up her arm.
"Fine, fine! There's no need for threats, is there?" the hat grumbled. Straightening, he began to sing.
Now put on the hat, you little brat,
I've got secrets worth knowing.
Move yourself so I can get on my shelf,
Now please, let's get going.
Gryffindors are brave, they love a close shave.
The dumbasses make a great shield.
Slytherins are sly, they cheat, plot and lie.
I suggest you keep your little eyes peeled.
Hufflepuffs are dicks, and all love their cliques.,
Poor little punks, pathetic and meek.
Ravenclaws are bores, their words met with snores.
Self-righteous and proud, each one is a geek.
Now you've been sassed, so put me on fast.
Please let's just get this show on the road.
That dream's not real clean, if you know what I mean,
And my stiff brim's set to explode.
I'll peek through your brain, again and again.
Until my poor noggin spoils and rots.
It's such a chore, it's one I abhor.
'cuz you're all too young for any fun thoughts.
So I'll sort you real good, just like i should,
'cuz someone gave that nutter a wand.
Let's do this shit, so I'm done with it.
I'm practically begging you, I must be donned.
I'll do my best, so now I suggest
let's do this nice and quick.
I'm ready to go, let's put on a show!
Don't just stand there holding your d-
"Hat!" McGonagall snapped, interrupting the song.
"What? You wanted a damn song, I gave you a damn song," the hat said. Harry could swear there was a smug look on its brim. "Now, who's first?"
The Sorting was… well… it was kind of anticlimactic. Each student was called in turn and instructed to sit down and put on the hat. After a brief moment the hat would yell out a house name.
The only really interesting thing that happened before Harry's turn involved Hermione. Unlike the others, she sat there with the hat for nearly a minute. Watching her, Harry almost got the impression that she was arguing with it. Eventually it screamed out, "Gryffindor!" sending a clearly disgruntled Hermione marching towards the house of lions.
Finally, it was Harry's turn. Somewhat nervous, he sat down and slipped the hat on his head.
"Alright, alright, let's do this," the hat said. "No worries, this probably won't hurt a bit. Now, let's see… Oh my."
"Oh my? What's wrong?" Harry whispered, so quietly he could barely hear himself.
"Nothing wrong, lad. Nothing at all. It's just… well, it's been quite a while since I met a Potter. Nearly 200 years, if I had to guess."
"What? But I thought my dad went here. Didn't you do this for him?"
"Well yes, of course. He was a Potter, I suppose, but he wasn't a Potter. Quite close he was, but he was a bit lacking in some respects. Rather important ones, at that."
"What're you talking about? What does that even mean?"
"Sorry lad, but I'm bound by the enchantments that created me. There's nothing on Earth that can make me speak of what I see in another's head. You'll have to go find out yourself. Now, I'd best do my job before the old harpy gets impatient. Young Potter, there's only one place you could ever go, and that would be- Gryffindor!"
Harry reluctantly put down the hat, frowning as he did, and walked towards his new housemates.
The confused frown lasted right up until Fred hit him with a full-on body slam. The unexpected impact knocked him straight of his feet. Both of them were sent flying into the next table, sending annoyed Slytherins scrabbling away in every direction.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, Harry! I knew my loyal minion would wear gold! It's good, because you don't really have the complexion for silver. You might be able to pull off a thin chain, but you're not enough of a ponce to wear the serious bling!" Fred said excitedly, smacking the Slytherin beneath him for emphasis.
"You're… on… my… spleen…"
Fred looked down, a shocked look on his face as he noticed the boy beneath him. "I thought this floor was a bit too lumpy. Is that you, Flint?"
"S… spleen."
"Sorry, it's a bit hard to hear you when so much of your face is covered by Harrysack's ass. You may want to see someone about that, by the way. A fixation on shoving your nose up young boys' rectums can't be healthy."
"S-"
"Sweet Merlin's blue crystal balls, man! You don't have to repeat yourself. Yes, it's a spleen. Very good. That's your spleen and this," Fred gave the boy a violent smack, fingers driving into his side hard. "-is your pancreas. Now you know two."
There was a long suffering sigh. "Fred, stop being an idiot and get off of him," George ordered.
Fred twisted around to look up at his brother with a confused expression. "Seriously? Brother, it's Flint. Who cares?"
"Not him. Harry. You're on his robes."
Fred looked down at the floor and examined the hand that was resting on the hem of the younger boy's robes. With a horrified gasp, he yanked it away. "Oh my, how dreadfully rude! I'm terribly sorry, Harrykins!"
"Sp- sp- urk!"
Flint's feeble groan cut off in a pained squeak as Fred dropped a hand on his gut and used it to leverage himself to his feet. Pausing, he looked down at the Slytherin and said, "Liver. You're welcome."
"He's gonna be pretty pissed about that once he can move again," George pointed out as he hauled Harry upright.
"Eh, we'll set him on fire or something later."
"That's probably not gonna make him less pissed."
"No, but it'll be funny."
"Hmm. Okay, I'll give you that one."
The twins dragged (quite literally) Harry back to the Gryffindor table, hauling him along toward one end.
Like the other tables, theirs was far from full. It looked like well over half the seats were empty. Unlike the other tables, where empty seats were scattered along the length, the vast majority of their house was clustered towards one end. The other side was almost completely empty. It's only occupants were a smattering of brave souls, King, and-
"Hermione?" Harry said in surprise as he was set down in the seat across from her. He'd be the first to admit her barely knew her, but she didn't seem like the sort to hang out with Fred and George. "What're you doing here?"
In answer, Hermione raised an arm. To Harry's surprise, thick bands of water wound their way back and forth across the limb.
"Your friends there dragged me over and told little Ms. Moisture to keep me here. She gets pretty uncooperative if I try to get up," Hermione explained. "On an unrelated note, does anyone know where I can get some quick-set cement? There's no particular reason. I'm just curious."
George chuckled and gave her a pat on the head, earning an annoyed growl in return. Quickly jerking his hand back, he said, "Now, now. It's more efficient this way. After all, Harry's friends are our friends, whether they want to be or not."
"Besides, we tried gelatin in our first year. Doesn't do much. She just jumps to another bit of liquid nearby," Fred declared. "We got a pretty hot gelatin chick statue, though, so that was cool."
"You should be grateful. Our firstie adoption initiative is apparently in full swing this year, and you were on the shortlist."
Fred gasped and clasped his hands beneath his chin. Eyes sparkling, he asked, "George. George. Does that mean we can keep them, George? Can we?"
"Only if you remember to feed them this time, Fred."
A single tear trickled down Fred's cheek. "Oh, my poor, sweet firsties. How was I supposed to know they had to eat?"
Sighing, King slowly shook his head. "I am sorry about this. I am afraid my dear Lady can be quite obstinate once she gets an idea into her head, and she falls prey to negative influences quite easily."
"But what do we do about the other one, George? What if he's in the chosen house, too? We're out of elementals!"
George shrugged. "Actually, looks like he's coming this way all on his own."
"What, like, voluntarily?" Fred said in a tone that was equally mystified and confused.
"Yep."
"Wow. Talk about no sense of self-preservation."
Chuckling, George declared, "We all have to learn somehow, brother."
"And some lessons are more painful than others," King added mournfully, shaking his head. "Much, much more painful."
Slowing to a stop behind the empty chair next to Harry, Neville looked up and down the table. Hesitantly, he asked, "Um… is it okay if I sit-"
That was as far as he got before Fred vaulted the table and clapped his hands down on Neville's shoulders. Screaming, "Ha! Got you!" he shoved Neville down into the seat. "The trap is sprung!"
Hermione gave the dazed and very confused boy a pitying look. "You poor fool," she whispered sadly.
"You know what? Maybe I should sit somewhere else. I'm just going to… uh… why can't I stand up?" Looking down in confusion, Neville observed the thick ropes of water that were quickly lashing him to the chair. "Oh. That explains it."
Upending his cup, Fred said, "Ooh, I was wondering where that went. Good job, Bubbles!"
What happened next was pretty much what you'd expect. Dumbledore made a speech, the twins pointed out that he was batshit crazy, and Hermione scolded them for it. Honestly, it would be an absolute waste of words to go into it in detail, which is exactly the sort of thing we're trying to avoid in this timeline. So, use your imagination and fill in whatever you want here. Hell, feel free to picture Dumbles dancing around on the staff table, half naked and with tassels affixed to his nipples.
You sick bastard.
There was a bit of a fuss when the headmaster dramatically introduced Harry, but not as much as you'd think. His status as The-Boy-Who-Killed-That-Asshole earned him some half-hearted clapping from the students, a more enthusiastic greeting from the staff, and very enthusiastic cheering from Flitwick and Hagrid.
Harry was pretty sure Hagrid was cheering, at least. It was kind of hard to tell, since it was pretty hard to even picture the man making such a spectacle of himself. It was probably as close as he could get and retain his dignity.
The subdued ovation was still enough to make Harry blush bright red, leaving him quite glad that the Pussy-Who-Got-Offed-By-A-Baby hadn't been some sort of horrible supervillain.
"You've gotta admit, it was still pretty impressive."
"Yeah. No one clapped for us," Fred stated. "Actually, they're more likely to cross to the other side of the hallway these days. Buncha hallway-crossing pussies."
"I suppose that is what happens when you decide to give the entirety of the castle explosive diarrhea ," King muttered.
Harry, Hermione and Neville all turned their horrified gazes toward the twins.
"Yeah, people took the Brown Geyser Incident pretty personally," George said with a shrug. "Except Lee, of course. He thought blasting a hole through his knickers was hilarious for some reason. Sometimes I wonder about that guy."
Fred giggled. "Well, it was pretty personal. As personal as brushing a wombat."
"Fred, what the hell does… You know what? You're right. It was definitely as personal as brushing a wombat."
George's brother fixed him with a disapproving look. "Brushing a wombat? George, you're a sick bastard, you know that?"
"That's disgusting! Why would you even do that?" Hermione demanded.
"...brushing a wombat?"
"The diarrhea, you idiot!'
"So, our lordship here tends to bust things up when he gets distracted," George said, blatantly ignoring Fred's outraged exclamation.
He gestured across the table. Hermione followed his gaze, her eyes widening as she observed the growing pile of crumpled silverware in front of King. Even as she watched, the young wizard scowled as another fork warped and bent in his grip.
"He kept losing all kinds of points, so it pissed a lot of our housemates off. No one believed he was doing it on accident. Y'know, on account of the fact that all kinds of people can crush steel just to annoy everyone else," George explained.
King looked down at the table, clearly upset. His shame clearly forced him to resign himself to his fate, as he reluctantly said, "Lady. If you would?"
The bands of water holding Hermione and Neville instantly vanished. The liquid rushed across the floor, producing a sound like a babbling brook. It quickly wound up King's legs and quickly reformed, becoming a very feminine elemental sitting neatly in his lap.
With very obvious joy, Lady speared a hunk of meat with one sharpened finger and held it up to her master's mouth. With equally obvious reluctance, King allowed her to feed him.
"Dude, we'd go through a lot less forks if you just gave up and let her do that to begin with," George said, chuckling.
King turned to glare at him, but was forced to abort when a piece of beef was shoved into his mouth. Quickly swallowing, he replied, "Using silverware is as simplistic a task as one could find. I will master it."
"What the hell are you made of?" Hermione demanded, an awed look on her face. Across from her, Neville was vainly trying to straighten out a fork.
-One explanation that would be a waste of text later-
"Hold on a second. You're saying that people do that with their Familiars?" Hermione demanded.
"Not just Familiars," Fred giggled.
"And not at all, according to 'polite society' types," George added.
If you ever want to do the nasty with something else, you better be careful. It can be pretty fucking dangerous… or possibly pretty dangerous fucking. Whatever works.
At the hiss, the small group of students turned. Neville in particular whipped his head around, then froze when he caught sight of the snake neatly coiled up in the formerly empty seat beside him.
Yo. Butterball. You wanna help a snake out and pass the chicken? I'm into the dark meat, if you know what I mean, the Adder hissed, waggling his eyebrows.
Harry still wasn't sure how he did that. It shouldn't be possible, given his lack of eyebrows, and no one else ever seemed to notice it. He could only assume something about his ability to talk to snakes also made their expressions clear to him.
"S- snake…" Neville stuttered.
I'll take 'things that are pretty fucking obvious' for £400, Alex. Oh, sorry, but your answer has to be in the form of a question. Where the hell do you find these people?
"Relax, man. That's Harry's snake. He won't bite you," George said, then paused. "Uh, he won't bite him, right?"
Damn right I won't. I'm trying to watch my cholesterol.
"Wait a sec, didn't Mr. Slither disappear like, six hours ago? On the train?" Fred asked with wide eyes. "Can Mr. Slither slither anywhere? Does he slither through time? Has he been waiting here for us the whole time?"
"Sometimes I seriously wonder about you, Fred. Like, how do you breathe without swallowing your own tongue?" George muttered.
"I don't know. It's a gift, I guess. I'm just special like that."
"You're special alright. Damned if I know why, but obviously someone much have carried him here. Right, Harry?"
The Adder gave George a haunted look and hissed, Trust me, man, you don't even want to know. Just… don't ask, okay?
Harry shrugged, but couldn't help but give the Adder a curious look. "I dunno, George. It happens a lot. He just kind of disappears and shows up wherever I am later. Maybe he does slither through time."
Kid, if I could slither through time, I'd slither right back to four hours ago. It was an interesting trip, and by 'interesting' I mean 'completely fucked up in ways your little brain can't even comprehend,' the Adder declared. Unfortunately the words 'fucked' and 'up' are a little too literal there.
Fighting the urge to groan, Harry stood and circled Neville. Holding out one hand, he allowed the snake to slither up his arm and around his neck.
The young wizard instantly made a disgusted face. "Ugh, you're all slimy and dirty! Where the heck have you been?"
I'm pretty sure I just told you not to ask. I've never felt so dirty in my life, and I get around by wiggling through the dirt. You're giving me a bath ASAP. I'd ask you to toss me into the water chick right now, but being inside her will probably trigger my PTSD. I'm pretty sure that's a thing I have now.
"You are definitely getting a bath later."
Please, by the golden scales of the fork-tongued god, yes. Use battery acid and a belt sander if you can find them.
"Is that an adder?"
Harry jumped at the sudden question. He'd been so busy listening to the Adder that he hadn't noticed Hermione leaning across the table until she spoke. The witch was about as close to them as she could manage, looking at the snake in fascination. "Is he yours?"
"Uh… sort of. He's not a pet or anything. He's my friend."
Hermione nodded, as if that made perfect sense. "He has very nice scales. He must be quite pretty when he's not all dirty like that."
Ooh, I like this chick. You should spend more time with her. She has excellent taste.
"Is it alright if I hold him? Later when he's not all covered in sticky mud, of course."
Harry glanced down at the snake, who nodded.
Hermione gave the serpent a shocked look and demanded, "Did he just nod? Did that snake seriously just answer a question?:
"That's generally what happens when you move your head up and down, my little firstie," Fred said. His tone made it quite clear he thought she was acting like a moron.
"That's… really weird."
"Just roll with it," George suggested. "C'mon, we wanna hurry up and eat so we can get up to the party."
"Party? What party?"
George shrugged. "The party up in the tower, of course. We always do it right before the Summoning. It's a sacred tradition that stretches back centuries."
"But… I thought we were supposed to be spending the night in quiet contemplation. That's what the headmaster said. He said our minds should be clear for the Summoning tomorrow," Hermione protested.
The comment caused King to sigh and earned her a and a pair of grins from the twins.
"We're Gryffindors. We contemplate with loud music and games, and we clear our minds with Butterbeer," George said happily. "Lots of Butterbeer."
In the background, the Headmaster warned of "certain doom" waiting in a third-floor corridor.
No one listened.