Chapter Eleven
"Absolutely not."
"I wasn't asking permission, Draco."
But of course Draco wasn't going to take that lying down. The blond crossed his arms and lifted his nose in his version of a forceful pose. "Harry, you can't possibly go. It's the Gryffindor ghost."
"What's all this then?" Nott asked as he flopped down on the bed farthest from the door, probably hiding from Helena.
Draco waved his hand towards Harry. "This one was given an invitation to Nearly Headless Nick's Death Day celebration and is actually going to go!"
The blond said it as if it was a crime. Harry rolled his eyes. "No one is going to stop me, least of all you."
"Harry I'm trying to stop you from political suicide, here. How can you begin to think--Vince-Vince! Please tell him he cannot possibly go!"
The boy in question had only just entered their dorm room with Goyle and arched a concerned eyebrow at Draco's raised voice. "Go where?" Goyle asked into the sudden silence.
"Sir Nicolas' Death Day party," Harry answered.
"Oh," Vince set down his bag with a smile. "That sounds pretty fun. When are we going?"
"We are not going to a party hosted by the Gryffindor ghost," Draco hissed.
"You don't have to," Harry reminded the blond for the third time. "But I would like to. It would give me something to do."
"You could go to dinner like normal," Nott pointed out from Goyle's bed.
Harry shook his head. 'Why is everyone so invested in this to begin with? I was the one invited, not them.' "It is on Samhain. I would prefer to go to the ghost party."
"Now I know you've gone mad," Draco continued to flail about dramatically. (He did have a talent for such a thing, Harry noted internally. It was a trait inherited from his father because Lady Malfoy would never react in such an overstated manner.) "The Samhain feast at Hogwarts is almost as good as the Yuletide spread mother prepares every year. They'll have every flavor pudding imaginable and biscuits shaped like pumpkins."
"And cupcakes," Goyle added.
"And cupcakes!" Draco tacked onto his tirade.
Harry didn't want to say it, but Draco was missing the obvious. By Vince's pointed silence, he already understood. "My mother lost her life on Samhain eleven years ago."
The rest of the dorm room was silent. Harry had wanted to avoid this right here. 'The Look' Daphne called it. It was what everyone directed at someone who had lost a parent. A bit of pity, a bit of guilt, and a whole lot of relief that they aren't in his place. Draco gave it one more try, though. Harry had once heard him described as persistent to the point of folly and thought it was an apt assessment but one could just as easily say he was just a stubborn prat. "Well I don't think you should allow something that happened over a decade ago to affect you so much. You have to keep living your life Harry. And besides, it's not like you even remember what--"
"I have pensieve memories of my mother growing up. Outside of those, my only memory of her is of her pleading with the Dark Lord to not take me from her. I remember her scream as she died."
Even Draco didn't dare try to continue his protests in light of Harry's admission. While the mindscape he was able to form thanks to his occlumency lessons from Lady Malfoy had allowed him to recall things he had thought impossible to remember, the discovery of that particular memory had made him physically ill and put an early end to his lessons. Lucius Malfoy had been more than a tad too nosy in inquiring about the sudden lack of occlumency lessons.
"Lily Evans, may she rest in peace."
Harry's gaze snapped to Vince. He had made the odd hand gesture that Helena had told him warded off ill thoughts. It looked a bit like he was swatting at a fly at his head and his chest, but the prefect had informed him it was to signify the mind's eye and then one's magical core, the two most dangerous places to be poisoned. Goyle, Nott, and Draco quickly followed his lead, muttering their own "May she rest in peace", although Draco's was spoken with a wrinkled nose. It wasn't the action itself that had caught Harry so off guard, although it was notable that a room full of heirs of pureblood houses (two of which were of the sacred twenty-eight) had just blessed a muggleborn in death. No, what had truly floored Harry and made a rock lodge in his throat was the fact that Vincent had called her Lily Evans. Evans was the name that the Lily that belonged to Lord Voldemort had. Was the name of his mother before she fled his father's empire.
The name he would have carried if he, too, had been raised as he was supposed to. Within the shadows cast by his monster father greater than life and at the side of his star mother, a brilliant beacon in the Dark. Harry could only imagine what it must've done to his father to be betrayed by the woman he loved. (But then Harry had to wonder 'did she betray him'? What had happened to his parents that had led to his father killing his mother?)
But those thoughts were a rabbit hole he would never find his way out of. He had spent more than a few sleepless nights mulling over the fate of his parents' relationship. Of what his life could have been like if only... "Have you heard that the Department of Magical Games and Sports have been meeting with the Department of International Magical Cooperation a lot this past year?" Goyle asked, finally breaking the somber mood that had fallen on the room.
"Ludovic Bagman is the Head, right?" Nott jumped in with a grin. "He played on the national team for three years. I even have his rookie poster with the Wasps."
"Father says he can't be trusted with the contents of his own purse. He's a notorious gambler. Has racked up quite a bit of debt with the goblins too."
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. The way Draco always spoke of Lucius Malfoy, with such emphasis on the man's greatness, had always rubbed him the wrong way. It absolutely reeked of child worship. Lady Malfoy was by far the better of the two for him to idolize yet she seemed content to remain an idle thought in Draco's subconscious. Harry looked forward to the day where he could rub Draco's nose in the fact that Harry's father was a monster and thus infinitely better than some simple human. (Of course he would be sure not to say 'my father' this and 'my father' that. There was nothing more annoying than sentences that started with those two words coming from the blond. Perhaps Harry would simply call him 'the Dark Lord'.) "Those are vicious rumors Draco Malfoy!" Nott screeched, his voice cracking in his distress.
Vincent chuckled but Goyle and Harry burst out into uncontrolled laughter. Nott was the only one of their year to show signs of puberty and was ribbed ruthlessly for it. Already Millicent Bulstrode had pointed it out in the middle of charms yesterday. Professor Flitwick's insistence that it was "perfectly normal" and "nothing to be ashamed of" only made him redder in the face. (Bulstrode had miraculously turned up with a bat bogey hex at lunch and no one could prove Nott had anything to do with it. Harry had his money on Helena.)
"I wouldn't go so far as to call them rumors. My uncle works in his department under the dueling branch and says the man will place bets on just about anything," Vincent said.
Harry perked up at the mention of the mysterious Alastair Crabbe, Lord Crabbe's younger brother. The man placed first three years running in the British dueling championships and third internationally this past year. He was only twenty-seven at that! "Is Lord Alastair going to attend the Malfoy Yule Ball?" Harry asked.
He had wanted to meet the man since learning about him over the summer. Vince shrugged. "I doubt it. The Ministry likes to send him out on diplomatic delegations with other ministries. He's bound to be in America or Japan or some other place for Yule."
"We were talking about quidditch and you lot want to talk about dueling," Nott whined.
"No, you were talking about Quidditch. You should try out for the team since you're so keen on the sport." Draco looked like he wanted to hex Nott for insinuating his father gave out bad information.
"Our chasers are too good and I don't have the build for a beater."
"Bully for you then."
The conversation devolved from there. Vince said it was a blond thing-- they couldn't stand one another and constantly bickered. Harry thought that someone's hair color had no weight on whether they got along or not. (Both Dudley and Aunt Petunia had yellow hair and got along famously. She spoiled him rotten at any chance she had and capitulated to his whims at the first sign of a sniffle whether he was truly upset or not.)
If they weren't due out to lunch soon the two would have probably started trading hexes. It had been Bulstrode peaking in that had finally ended the topic on why Nott was better off not trying out for their quidditch team. "I'm going to sign up on the roster as soon as we return to the common room," Nott vowed as he stormed off further down the table.
Harry smirked. "Wasn't he arguing against trying out to begin with?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You've seen Nott fly. He could make reserve Keeper blindfolded and Flint is better as a Beater anyway. I'm pretty sure the only reason he's Keeper is to better compare statistics with Wood."
Those two were probably the most quidditch obsessed people in the school (besides Professor McGonogall, that is). This had come in useful last term when the mistakes Harry had made in his attempt to steal the philosopher's stone had almost ended with Vince and Draco's death and resulted in a total of one-hundred fifty points being lost from his house. Slytherin had lost the house cup for the first time in nearly seven years but Wood's one-track obsession with Quidditch had effectively waylaid any retribution that would have come from the fifth year. "It's you, isn't it?!"
Harry glanced up at the squeaked exclamation only to be immediately blinded by a flash of lightning. His brain short-circuited at the sudden blindness and reverted back to his instincts. Harry was crouched down with his arms covering his head in an instant, tucking his knees firmly into his chest as to make a smaller target. The first blow was much softer than he expected, but Uncle Vernon was a brute of a human and four times the size of any wizard he had seen except Hagrid. (Harry was reluctantly thankful that Hagrid saw no reason to discipline him and was rather nice.) "Harry?!"
He clutched tighter in his ball at the shout. Nothing good ever came from his name being shouted. "Cease this spectacle at once, Potter!"
With the newest voice a bucket of cold water drenched Harry and he uncurled from his ball. He didn't need to protect his head here. This was a magical school. Any attacks would come from magic or rumors. Rumors that were sure to go spreading because of his stupid reflexes. He glanced up (and up and up) at Professor Snape to see him flanked by Vince, Draco, and some mousy first year in Gryffindor robes. "That... was really bright..." Harry said, having no better lie in such short notice, "I thought my eyes were burning out of their sockets."
Professor Snape looked unimpressed and turned away with a sneer. Harry scowled after his head of house. Honestly, what was wrong with the man? So Harry had almost gotten Vincent and Draco seriously hurt? The Weasley twins are always pulling some insane pranks and Seamus Finnigan creates an explosion in class at least once a month. Professor McGonogall didn't treat them this way! "Are you okay?" Draco asked with a frown and an outheld hand.
Harry accepted the aid but waved his concern away. Before he could avert attention he was bombarded by the same squeaky voice. "You're Harry Potter!"
He blinked down at the straw-haired child in surprise. Harry wasn't exactly short, but he was far from the tallest in his year. The fact that this Gryffindor was almost a full four inches shorter than him was notable. He was so tiny! "And you are?" he asked when the first year showed no sign of ceasing his bouncing.
"Oh. I'm Colin Creevey! I'm a first year Gryffindor but only because the hat wouldn't put me in Slytherin."
Draco looked skeptical of the exuberant introduction. "You wanted to sort into Slytherin? I don't recognize your family name..."
The bouncing ball of energy only beamed further. "Of course I wanted to sort Slytherin. It's Harry Potter's house! Crushed, I was, when the hat shouted 'Gryffindor!'"
Vince, Harry, and Draco flinched as the kid actually screamed the house name. There were a few resounding cheers of the house name from its table and a couple of shouts that sounded more like howls than actual cheers as well. Draco rolled his eyes. "Plebeians," he muttered under his breath.
"But then I figured that Harry Potter wouldn't care that I was a Gryffindor no how since his parents were Gryffindors."
Harry's lips thinned in his attempt to not frown. "Of course. If you will excuse us Mister Creevey, we best be off."
He hadn't eaten yet and by the look of Goyle's pleading gaze at the platter of meat neither had he, but Draco had already gotten his sugar cravings out early in the meal and wouldn't complain too terribly for the early leave. "Vince, you and Goyle can catch up to us when you're done."
Draco readily agreed and made a beeline for the entrance. Harry grabbed an apple and two slices of bread before following him, stuffing it all in a napkin and in his robe pockets (which he was very pleased were so spacious and made keeping stashes of food substantially easier). "What was that about?" Draco asked as they left the Great Hall.
Harry shrugged. The kid was a tad annoying, if harmless enough. But somehow still Harry felt that the excitable first year signified some ill portend on the horizon. Nothing good would come from his reaction to the boy during lunch.
By the time Harry reached Defense lessons that day he was sure of it. Gilderoy Lockhart was a pretentious peacock, as Harry had expected from reading his stupid books. What he wasn't prepared for was the extreme levels of incompetency and insistence on manhandling Harry to and fro all in the name of tutoring him in the way of his fame. Vince and Draco had a lark at his expense until the buffoon let loose a cage of cornish pixies and then hid away in his office. It was Granger's quick wandwork that had ultimately calmed down the mayhem, but not before Longbottom had ended up hung from the chandelier. Thanks to their carriage mishap at the start of term Harry was able to cast a featherlight charm on him and another levitation spell to return the Longbottom heir back to the ground. Lockhart didn't appear once until right before the bell rang and the rest of them had gotten the pixies back into their cages. The only good thing to come of the whole fiasco was that his allies stopped glancing at him speculatively.
Draco in particular was furious. "I can't believe father allowed such a man to teach us! He's a fraud," the blond strutted down the corridor in a complete and utter tizzy.
For once Harry was in agreement about something involving the Malfoy patriarch. Lucius Malfoy was many things, but he didn't seem like he would neglect any of his political responsibilities. Being on the governor's board was amongst the most important presently and it was the governor's that were in charge of overseeing Hogwarts not the Ministry. "Are you sure the board is responsible for hiring professors?" Vince asked.
This was actually something that Harry had an answer for thanks to Lady Narcissa. "Dumbledore is the sole governing force when it comes to the hiring and housing of staff members. While the council members are allowed to offer recommendations and in rare cases take action when it is agreed upon by the council of governors themselves. But such steps are taken only in drastic cases when the safety of the student body as a whole is involved."
"I was under the impression that their power was more limited to changes in curriculum," Vince thought aloud after Harry had concluded his brief overview of the governor's power at Hogwarts.
"Then perhaps they should do something about the curriculum in History of Magic," Goyle added.
Harry smiled. Even if the governors weren't directly responsible for hiring decisions, surely allowing the same material to be covered every year was something they could affect. Harry had been looking forward to a year without Goblin wars and rebellions only to be sorely disappointed. Draco sniffed. "I'm sure father has done everything he possibly could about Binns. It's that Dumbledore meddling were he shouldn't again."
"Hear, hear," chorused Goyle and Harry.
Slytherin house, almost as a rule, distrusted the twinkle-eyed Headmaster. The man was unnaturally biased to gryffindors as a whole (not that Professor Snape wasn't the same way, but it was substantially different for your head of house to favor you instead of your bloody Headmaster). It also didn't help that Albus Dumbledore was a declared Light Lord and the head of the Wizengamot while the vast majority of Slytherins were from gray or dark families.
"I will send a letter to father immediately. Even if he wasn't responsible for hiring that buffoon, I'm sure he can get him fired."
"Will the board even have--"
"Harry!"
The group of boys turned to see an increasingly familiar head of curly straw-blond hair jumping through the mass of bodies in the corridor. Harry groaned. "Is that the gryffindor from this morning?" Goyle asked.
"Don't make eye contact," Harry said as he turned around, ignoring the second and third call of his name. That presumptuous twit wasn't given the liberty to use it and yet he was shouting it left and right.
Vince glanced back as they turned the corner. "He's still chasing after us."
Harry clenched his teeth. "Doesn't he have classes to get to? Merlin's beard this kid is mad..."
Draco smirked. "I think it's a riot. He might even start a fanclub for you, Harry."
Harry's glare only strengthened. "Don't you dare, Malfoy," he warned.
That warning was all for naught. Despite being allies and maybe even whatever constituted as friends amongst Slytherins, Draco's random observation had fallen on the wrong ears within the hour. "I've heard you've got yourself a fanclub Potter."
Harry sent a quick prayer to Morgana, Merlin, and the great Salazar Slytherin to give him patience. Between the professor, his new Gryffindor stalker, Lockhart, and Zabini-- someone was truly testing his monster heritage. He imagined a better monster would have went on a killing rampage by now, the likes of which required angry mobs and pitchforks to be brought out.
But reacting that way wouldn't aid his father's return and that was ultimately what Harry was working towards. "I've heard your mother has a new boyfriend."
It was a low blow, but Harry was bitter and was having a shitty term. If Zabini was going to continue this crusade against him (for what reason Harry knew not) then Harry had no reason to be civil. They had no formal contract between one another and with the way Zabini was going Harry would be forced to declare a feud by the time they graduate. Besides, he could have said plenty worse things. "Yes. He seems like a nice enough bloke. Hasn't asked me to call him father yet so I doubt it's very serious."
Harry frowned. He thought it was a little ridiculous that anyone would expect that from someone they had just met. Father was a title bestowed upon one's sire not because of their relation with the mother, but because of the respect he garnered. "What has this man done to earn your regard?" Harry asked.
Maybe the man was someone well known? Zabini's incredulous expression indicated that wasn't exactly true. "'Earn my regard?' Potter, do you even know the type of blokes my mother tends to attract?"
Harry shrugged. All he knew about Lady Coppola was based off of gossip he heard from others. It was a completely unreliable source of information and all he could trust was that she was a beautiful woman with a long list of deceased husbands, both facts of which were irrefutable. Zabini shook his head. "Lord Caron is third in line for the D'Havincort marquis. He has more years than brain cells and a wealth that he uses to maintain his flamboyantly lavish lifestyle."
Nothing in all of that sounded like what one could assume to be a glowing endorsement and perhaps that was the point. If Harry was marrying people for their vaults, he would choose idiots as victims as well (although he wasn't sure how Lady Coppola avoided the wrath of the deceased's' family). Which probably meant that Zabini would be forced to interact with those types of men often in the name of his mother's lust.
Harry felt a little sorry for the taller boy. If he wasn't so much of a bastard all the time, Harry might have actually acted upon the new revelation. As it was, the boy had a horrid habit of opening his mouth and ruining whatever good will anyone might have for him. "So when's the next meeting for your fanclub? I hear they have posters and everything. You're a proper celebrity now Potter-- Professor Lockhart is proud, I'm sure."
Harry wasn't even slightly apologetic for the jinx he used to stick Zabini to the corridor wall. If the other was late to class it was his own fault. Perhaps he would learn to mind his tongue, though Harry much doubted it. He was only a little sorry that Zabini missed most of dinner (roast chicken was the main course and although it was the best thing Harry had ever tasted, it had also left his stomach rolling). By the time the Slytherins had to make the trek to astronomy class after dinner he felt a lot less sorry. (Zabini had pointed out that Harry had not brought his telescope and he was forced to go all the way down to their common room just to grab the unwieldy thing and half run, half wheeze his way to the top of the astronomy tower. The moving staircases had changed three times on his way back up and he had almost fallen off of them twice trying to re-route. He had to take a break on the fourth floor to vomit. Roast chicken didn't taste half as good coming up as it did going down.)
With his stomach empty he felt marginally better if not a tad more tired. He'd have to steer clear of pretty much everything that was provided at meal times tomorrow. (Maybe he'd be able to stomach some unbuttered toast and water...) If the astronomy class wasn't at the top of a tower he wouldn't have thrown up to begin with. It couldn't be too hard to use the same charm the Great Hall did to look at the sky on a smaller scale. Or better yet, just use the Great Hall for the class. "So how is it you got invited to a ghost's Death Day party anyway?" Vince asked around the time they were finishing up for the night.
Harry got the impression that magical adults were kind of stupid if for no other reason than because rather than charming a ceiling with constellations or something reasonable like that so that classes could commence during the normal school day, all Astronomy classes ranged from nine pm to eleven at night on the top of one of their towers. When his father took over the world, this was the first thing Harry was going to ask him to change. "Harry."
Harry tilted his head in acknowledgement, but continued readjusting his telescope. He was pretty sure that muggles had fancier versions of these antiquated contraptions they had first years buy. "Morgana, Harry, where's your head?"
"Somewhere in the vicinity of ursa minor, I reckon," he grumbled before pulling away. "I've found the stupid bear which means I'm done for the night."
"You were the last person to find Ursa minor," Draco snipped two telescopes down.
Harry glowered at him, but didn't answer the remark. It was true enough, and besides the blond was always irritable when he stayed up late. Draco was the first one to turn in for the night in their room and only just beat Greg and Nott out of bed the next morning. Why he needed ten hours of sleep was beyond Harry, but the boy's reactions to getting any less made it obvious this was a necessity and not a luxury. He turned back to Vincent who had already packed up his telescope. "Sorry. What did you say?"
"The party, Harry," Vince said with the nose eyebrow twitch that showed he was trying to repress an eyeroll. "How'd you end up invited?"
"Yes Potter, do inform your eager audience."
Harry had to swallow his reflexive groan. If he never saw Zabini again it would be too soon. The boy was nosier this term, if that was even possible. Completely ignoring the Italian, Harry nodded at Vince. "I asked."
Feeling that answered the question effectively enough, he began taking down his telescope. He wished he had had the foresight to buy a case with an expansion charm on it like Draco and Nott. It made the task of carrying it back to their dorms a lot easier (being all the way in the dungeons, it was already a nightmare of a journey). "You asked?" Zabini repeated as if it was a great joke, "Nearly Headless Nick?"
"Of course. It is his party. It would be improper to receive an invitation through a third party as their plus one, especially considering that my kind rarely attend such events."
Monsters in stories didn't get along with other creatures like ghosts, vampires, and werewolves. They were too territorial, too selfish, too prideful (with all good reason as monsters were much stronger than anything else). It was remarkably progressive of Sir Nicolas to invite a monster to his Death Day party, even a child monster, like Harry. "Your kind?" Zabini questioned.
"Obviously you can't have the living just inviting themselves to a Death Day party," Draco sniffed, seeming to have finished his own constellation chart, "It's like inviting a Muggleborn to a Samhain ceremony."
Harry thought that this wasn't the same thing. Muggleborns had deceased loved ones they would probably like to commune with if they were taught how. (Another thing he was going to ask his father to rectify when he returned to power.) Rather than pointing out Draco was wrong (which Harry enjoyed very much, but knew would be akin to declaring war when the blond was already cranky from the late hour) Harry lugged his telescope up and turned back to Vince. "Is Helena escorting us back to the dorms this time?"
"My cousin isn't on the rotation chart this month for Astronomy duty. Prefect McGregor is escorting us." Nott said.
Prefect McGregor turned out to be this giant of a bloke with arms as thick as Harry was wide and a nasty scowl that reminded him of Marcus Flint. (He was their team beater, Harry discovered on the walk back thanks to Nott's excitable nature about all things quidditch.) The gruff seventh year wasn't nearly as likeable as Helena-- an attempt at polite conversation had resulted in Zabini being hexed in the arm-- and the italian had been on his best behaviour (or what constituted as such for the likes of him). Harry was all too pleased to reach their common room and as was customary amongst their dorm room, everyone merely crashed into their beds after astronomy (Draco, notably, without even taking off his school robe; he would be extra irritable in the morning when he had to ask Nott for laundering charms to get out the wrinkles in it or risk sending it to the school elves which were notorious for laundering the clothes with girly scents).
As expected, Draco awoke with a complaint. "Why did you let me sleep in my robe, Harry!?"
"I told you to take it off. You're lucky Vince and Goyle were able to get your shoes off. I gave up after the things tried to bite me."
The fluffy-haired blond sniffed. "You were probably handling them incorrectly."
"Only a lunatic charms their shoes to bite whoever tries to take them off," Vince said.
"Or a genius," Malfoy muttered under his breath.
Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile that lifted the corner of his lips. Draco Malfoy was rather horrid to those he decided were beneath him and a pompous git to those that were worth his time. But to those that he trusted or respected he didn't bother with the layers of subterfuge that the Malfoy family were known for and turned out to be rather likeable. "Well Mister Genius, you best start getting ready if you plan on eating breakfast. Classes start in an hour," Harry said, reaching for his own toiletries and heading for the door.
Malfoy waved a hand after him and Vince. Since no one had bothered showering the night before it was necessary that everyone washed this morning. But when one roomed with a Malfoy, that became substantially more difficult. There were two private bathrooms to share and Draco was going to take up one on his own for an indefinite amount of time. Zabini taking the second longest to get ready in the morning was afforded the second bathroom with Nott and Goyle, who took the shortest out of all of them. That left Harry and Vincent as the average and left to shower elsewhere. Harry usually just used the first year's shower while Vincent had a cousin who was a fourth year and showered there. All of this could have been avoided if Draco was capable of getting out of the bathroom in less than thirty minutes. (Under fifteen minutes preferably, but the blond was hardly reasonable when it came to personal grooming.)
This resulted in Zabini, Nott, and Goyle making it to breakfast with enough time to eat before they had to return to the dungeons for double potions. Draco, Vincent, and Harry had to sneak into the kitchen in order to grab something because there was no way they were going to make it to the Great Hall and back to the dungeons in only ten minutes (Draco had apparently needed the extra five minutes to set his hair properly). This left them entering the potions room just as soon as last bell rang.
"Punctuality, Mister Potter," Snape snapped as they made their way to their seats. "Learn the word."
Harry frowned. He wasn't late. And more to the point, Draco and Vince were coming in with him! Vincent cleared his throat and Harry tried to calm his mind. "It won't happen again professor."
"Really?" the man lengthened the word as if Harry hadn't been early to every single potions class before this one.
Harry had to bite his tongue. He went to his seat with Draco's conflicted gaze on his back the entire way. Honestly he was lucky that the professor hadn't gotten to the point were he disliked Harry enough to assign partners and make Harry work with a Gryffindor. Small mercies, he supposed.
"Now that we are no longer waiting for others to arrive I can start my lecture."
Harry's eyebrow twitched in irritation. Just everything about that sentence was so far beneath the professor that it was laughable that the man had even said something so juvenile. Even the Gryffindors received wittier snark. "Perhaps he's having a bad day," Draco whispered to him as writing began to appear on the board.
"You mean a bad term? He hates me."
"That isn't true," Draco insisted. "You were one of his favorites last term."
"Yeah. Last term. Before I almost got his godson killed, thanks for warning me about that by the way!" Harry hissed back.
"Am I boring you, Mister Potter?"
Harry and Draco lurched from one another where they had been whispering together. Snape's gaze, when Harry looked to the front of the classroom, was nowhere near his blond classmate. "No professor."
"Then perhaps you could inform the class what ten colors the draught of peace turns while being prepared and after which ingredients."
Draco must have choked on air because he began coughing rather dramatically in the seat next to him. Harry for his part felt not only betrayed but rightfully pissed off. The draught of peace was an OWL level potion and wasn't even discussed until their fifth year. A glance at the board showed that they were discussing sleeping draughts and forgetfulness potions. A case could be made that they were simply going over several examples of potions that affected the mind but this was ridiculous. And anyone who cared to pay attention to their curriculum would know it. "Professor Snape," Granger began from her seat in the front of the Gryffindor side of the room. "We haven't covered--"
"You will speak when spoken to."
Her mouth immediately snapped shut but not before she flushed in embarrassment. Harry's ire rose and he glared at the professor in turn. If the man was going to continue to play this game then Harry would not make it easy for him. "Adding powdered moonstone to an alkaline base will turn the potion green. Once it has changed to blue you add more powdered moonstone until it turns purple. The potion will turn pink indicating it is time to add the syrup of hellebore until it turns turquoise. It will eventually turn purple again. Adding porcupine quills will turn it red, orange, turquoise, and then purple again at which point you add powdered unicorn horn turning the potion pink and then eventually red."
Harry paused trying to remember the last few steps. He knew it turned orange somewhere in the end before it came out as the finished white color, but he knew there were more changes before that. (He had seen Lady Malfoy brew it twice that summer to help treat the nightmares he had been plagued with upon recalling his mother's demise.) "It turns purple... after simmering for several minutes. Three measures of moonstone is adequate to turn it grey and then allow it to simmer until it turns orange. You will have to add anywhere from seven to twelve measures of powdered porcupine quill to it depending on the size of your cauldron to turn it white."
Harry thought for a moment more then shrugged. "You're supposed to add hellebore essence to it after that, but that doesn't change the color so I suppose you wouldn't particularly care about that. Considering it is an OWL level potion, it's rather impressive you are having us study it so early. Sir."
Snape's gaze narrowed before he turned back to the chalk board. Just when Harry thought he had been spared yet another snarky comment the professor's voice called from the front of the room. "You were incorrect in one of your ingredients. You use powdered porcupine quills throughout the entirety of the brew not only at its conclusion. Furthermore you did not emphasize that some of the color changes occurred due to simmering of the potion and not an addition of an ingredient. Two points from Slytherin."
"What?!" Draco gasped.
Harry bared his teeth at the man. He was taking points because Harry hadn't precisely memorized a potion he didn't need to know for another three years and shouldn't have even known in the first place! Snape's gaze remained unwaveringly on Harry just waiting for him to say something. Instead of asking what by the gods was wrong with him, Harry merely picked up his quill and began taking notes from the board. Ultimately it wasn't a lot of points and really shouldn't matter. But it was Professor Snape taking points from his own house and that mattered.
Throughout the entirety of their brewing of the forgetfulness potion the man continued his crusade against Harry awarding points to Draco, Nott, or Zabini to offset the ones he was taking from Harry in turn. Even Longbottom didn't receive half as much attention and his cauldron had been overturned whilst he was trying to bottle up a sample. Harry, who had been done by now and was almost done cleaning up was immediately blamed. "Couldn't bother to stop Longbottom from spilling his potion, Mister Potter? Another point from Slytherin."
Harry set his cauldron down with a loud thunk and turned to the man. "Why? Because I'm not a seer? Because I wasn't up his arse? In what realm am I responsible for Longbottom making a mess-- something he does every sodding week?!"
Silence reigned through the entire classroom. Harry refused to back down despite the man's glare reaching dangerously vicious levels. This was complete hogwash and everyone knew it. The bell ringing broke everyone out of their stunned silence and the class moved en masse to flee the room. Professor Snape didn't so much as flinch as the room emptied within seconds, leaving only a handful of Slytherins to witness Harry's demise. Rather than hexing him the man took a single step forward and spoke sharply. "Detention, Mister Potter. Tonight. With Caretaker Filch." With his punishment handed out he turned in a flurry of black robes and strutted out of the classroom.
Harry scowled after Professor Snape. Draco looked like he had insulted his father, his face was so scandalized. "Harry!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "What in the name of the gods are you thinking?"
"That he's going to challenge the professor to a duel, by the looks of it," Zabini goaded behind them.
Harry turned his scowl on the Italian, but Zabini was almost as bad as Draco with getting a clue. The taller boy merely arched an eyebrow as if asking Harry to tell him he was wrong.
He wasn't, but Harry would be the last to admit it.
"Whatever," he frowned and turned back to clean up their work station. Harry was pretty sure the only reason his potion hadn't been vanished was because Draco was his partner today. If he had been working with Vince like last year then he would undoubtedly be starting over from scratch.
"The professor seems to have a bone to pick with you. It's almost like you've done something to upset him, but it's only been a month. Whatever could you have done this time?"
"This time?" Harry scowled.
Zabini waved his hand in the air. "You seem to be involved with something or other at any given time. Inquiring minds would like to know what exactly the great Harry Potter gets into while at school."
Harry wanted to bite the boy's head off, but realized he had already done more harm than good presently. He was supposed to be a proper Heir while at school. Daphne and Lady Malfoy had both stressed how important it was that he showed himself to be an upstanding student and potentially a boon to their society if he were allowed to accept the responsibility of a House when he turned fourteen, the earliest he could be named the head of house Potter. It was an important first step in ensuring his father would have a base of operations when he returned.
He had thought a lot about what would gain him the Dark Lord's approval (and forgiveness) this past summer. Harry may only be twelve, but he was Heir apparent of an esteemed house and upon his fourteenth year he would be able to seize his assets with the assistance of the goblins at Gringotts. The Potter fortune would be vast after its family tree had been dwindled down to the main line in the last century. Not that Harry approved of being adopted by the Light family following his mother's flight from the Dark Lord, but if they were going to give him a free fortune for the insult of carrying their name instead of his rightful one, he wasn't going to complain too terribly. (And maybe his mother had hoped to gain him some anonymity by changing his last name, but that had defeated the purpose when he was accused of killing his father as a baby.)
But that was besides the point currently. With the obvious signs of practice, Harry cleared his mind and his face relaxed into what Lady Malfoy called their 'public facade'. Zabini pulled back slightly, recognizing the shift for what it was. The boy would get nothing out of him that he didn't want to give. "Is there something you need Zabini?"
The man flashed a quick smile. Porcelain white and boyishly charming. It was obvious that he was going to be a heartbreaker in a few more years. "No. I was just passing through."
He walked off with nary a glance behind him. Harry frowned internally. That one was going to be a problem. "I thought Professor Snape always oversaw the Slytherin detentions," Goyle said.
Draco did that chin lift, head tilt thing, that said he was going to remain stubbornly out of it. "Yes, well, I'm sure he is much too busy to attend all of them."
"Of course," Vince drawled. "Much too busy in the first month of classes to sit at his desk grading papers as Harry cleans cauldrons or separate potion ingredients."
"Maybe he doesn't trust Harry with the potion ingredients," Draco snapped.
"Because I didn't have the best grade in our practical potions final last term," Harry growled with thick sarcasm dripping from his voice then turned to leave the classroom.
Talking about their head of house was liable to put Harry in a bad mood these days. Not to say that everything was horrible. His lessons with Daphne and Vince (with Draco and Helena adding their own encouragements (heckling)) was less like cramming a griffin down his gullet and more like seeing something in a new way. Everything had its place and function although Daphne readily admitted that a great deal of what the higher houses practiced were contradictory and pointless. Wizarding traditions, it seemed, lasted for a thousand years rather than a hundred like muggle traditions. (This made sense considering that the common wizarding lifespan was somewhere around two hundred years.)
And outside of Professor Snape's ever disapproving scowl (and Colin Creevey AND Gilderoy Lockhart) he was finding very little else was potentially dissatisfactory in his life. Even Granger had seemed to leave off of him this term. (A blessing considering he was in enough trouble on his own without having to deal with the house politics with being openly allied with a muggleborn gryffindor. He was nowhere near confident in his standing with anyone in the serpent's den to attempt that endeavor.)
Harry spent much of the rest of the day trying to duck away from Professor Lockhart (who had an uncanny ability to spot Harry even in a crowd), avoid Creevey (who had another equally uncanny ability to sense Harry's presence even across the corridor), and not think about Professor Snape's growing animosity towards him. He had very little success with their head of house but only got dragged into one photo op with the foppish professor with Creevey's excitable squeaks as background music. "Perhaps you should start casting stinging hexes at him," Nott suggested as they returned to the common room after dinner that night.
"Who? The gryffindor firstie or Lockhart?" Goyle asked.
"Both." Vince and Draco said at once unapologetically.
'Or the professor,' Harry thought mutinously.
It was a tad unfair (not to mention blasphemous to threaten one's head of house) but Harry was twelve years old and if he wanted to be unreasonable within the confines of his own mind then he was going to be. "I'll catch you lot later," he said to the small group of boys as he dropped off his backpack and headed back towards the wall.
"Where are you off to?" Nott piped up.
"Detention." He left before he had to hear anyone's opinion on that. A few eyes followed him on his way out of the common room-- everyone knew where he was going so late at night. Whether or not they knew he was serving his detention with the caretaker rather than their head of house was anyone's guess and Harry would hate to see how some of the more politically ambitious slytherins would react to that information. He tried to leave that train of thought for the time being and look on the bright side. Harry supposed he should be pleased that his detention wasn't tomorrow. He'd hate to have to go from Sir Nicolas' party straight to detention. (Harry wondered if the professor had given him this day for a reason but then decided he didn't much care what the man had planned since he had given the detention to begin with. And for a rather stupid reason.)
The caretaker's office was located on the third floor around the corner from the great hall so was easy to find. His detention, the man informed him after reminiscing about a time where students were hung from chains in the dungeons, was to polish the trophies in the trophy room. Every single trophy. Without magic. Harry had had to take several calming breaths after the man left his familiar to oversee his detention before disappearing on his own duties. Safe to say, Harry had a rather boring detention. It was time consuming but also mind numbing and gave him plenty of time to practice his occlumency as he was cataloging and polishing the several dozen quidditch trophies (of which an M. McGonogall was one of the recipients (and J. Potter, but Harry ignored that)) and the 'special services to the schools' medal of which there were only seven. By the time Harry had finished it was well into the night, the cat had left him alone almost thirty minutes ago, and his hands ached. By the time he reached the caretaker's office with the bucket and rag he was ready to retire for the evening. "Caretaker Filch?" Harry called as he pushed the door open.
He was done polishing every single one of those blasted trophies-- still unsure of why exactly he had to do it without his wand when it wouldn't have made any difference one way or the other. It didn't matter though. It was several hours past curfew and Harry was exhausted. He was going to bed whether the man gave him permission or not (although Harry would prefer not to get another detention for not checking in with the man). The office was empty of the caretaker and cat duo, but was filled to bursting with random knick knacks, likely all confiscated over the years. His desk in particular had a mountain of parchment covering every available surface.
It was nearing eleven and Harry was bone tired and sore beyond belief. He hadn't worked quite like this since leaving the Dursleys and realized how lazy he must have gotten in the meantime. It would have driven Aunt Petunia mental, if he had ever planned on returning that is. Deciding to just leave the man a note with the bucket and rags so he couldn't accuse Harry of running off, Harry began glancing through the parchments hoping to find a blank one to use. "Aha," he muttered under his breath spotting one.
Harry set the bucket down on the floor and grabbed the paper hoping to see a spare quill as well. But a splash of red caught his eye and he frowned. There was already writing on it. And it wasn't a spare bit of parchment but a pamphlet. "Kwik spells..." Harry read off of it. "A correspondence course in beginner magic. You're not blank parchment at all."
A sudden weight fell on his shoulder and startled Harry so badly he dropped the letter. "You!"
Harry tried to bend forward and curl himself into a ball-- the only way to protect his stomach and head-- but the hand only tightened further and yanked him back. He stumbled and ran into one of the dozen filing cabinets sending papers flying. Caretaker Filch stood towering above him, his face mottled red and twisted in grief. "What are you doing here boy?!"
Harry ducked his head down but didn't take his gaze off the man. Just because no one had taken a swing at him yet didn't mean it wouldn't happen eventually. "I've finished my detention sir," he whispered in a voice he hadn't used since before Hogwarts. It was his 'don't anger Uncle Vernon voice' not because it kept the man from getting upset but because it was at the perfect level to not be considered talking back or mumbling, both of which would get him a thumping. "I was waiting to go back to my cupboa--dorm. My dorm."
His shoulders tensed at the obvious mistake and watched the caretaker carefully for any signs of escalation. The man's gaze was instead focused on the letter Harry had accidentally picked up. His face drained of color and Harry took several steps back, sending yet another pile of items crashing to the floor. His heart was pounding in his ears, but Harry could still hear the man's growl. "Get out... get. OUT!!!"
Harry turned tail and ran. He ran and he ran and there were walls and tapestries and paintings but Harry still ran. Until Harry found himself in the basement ducked behind a suit of armor and his heart thrumming so hard he felt it in his head.
"Stop it," he berated himself as his entire body shook. It was the crash from the adrenaline, he knew, but he had honestly been through much worse back at the Dursleys. Honestly he wasn't sure why he was so scared. The caretaker was grouchy, but not much else. He was one of the sort that liked to talk bad but wouldn't actually do anything about it. Harry knew this type of person. He had seen many of them while attending the local primary as most staff and parents were like this. Sure not many of them shouted at him-- Uncle Vernon did that enough for everyone-- but that didn't change that they spoke ill of him. He had dealt with worse, he knows he has.
It still took him several more minutes before his hands stopped shaking and he made his way down into the dungeons.
"You look like you've just sat your NEWTs Harry. What time did you get in last night?"
Harry didn't even feel like reprimanding Draco for being especially blunt because it was true. Harry felt awful. "Midnight. But I couldn't sleep." He had had restless dreams about the worst of his experiences at the Dursleys for some reason. Honestly he hadn't given the family much thought since he had left two years ago. It was an inconvenience he hadn't thought to prepare for. Truthfully the plan had been to find his father and upon gaining his forgiveness for that nasty business with almost killing him, the man would take him away from the Dursleys forever and train him to be a proper monster. That would have been the end of it he had thought. So the fact that Harry had been dreaming about the Dursleys all night was just-- "Way to be insensitive Malfoy," Nott frowned coming up to place a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Harry flinched away from the contact. When he turned to glare at his roommate the other blond had both hands raised. "Sorry Potter. I'm sure you would much rather be left alone today, is that right?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy. What did he mean? Why was he acting so concerned for Harry's exhausted state? If anything Harry would expect someone to take advantage of his perceived weakness and capitalize on it in hopes of usurping his power within Slytherin house (they would fail, of course, but it would be expected). Vince came up to his other side and although he approached Harry he did not touch him which was appreciated. "Harry, it's samhain," he said quietly.
Ah. Harry could feel the tension loosening its firm grasp in the pit of his stomach. This, at least, was a familiar pain. The day Harry had effectively ruined his own life (Aunt Petunia would say that the day of Harry's birth he had effectively ruined his life, but Harry thought that was a bit harsh). "I see. Yes, that would explain my restless night," he said.
It didn't but it provided a useful scapegoat on his nightmares. To purebloods who valued family above all else it would be considered reasonable for him to reflect on the death of his own parents. Furthermore no one would reasonably use such a thing against a child. Harry's youth worked in his favor at this point. But by the age of fourteen to still show visible signs of nightmares concerning them would be seen as an inexcusable weakness. There were glamor charms and occlumency techniques that he should have learned to proficiency at that point that would prevent broadcasting whether or not he was still affected. Harry would have to remain vigilant in the future. "Circe Harry, I forgot." Draco frowned and seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before he came to a decision. "I will remain at your side this day."
Harry's eyes widened before he could stop himself. "No, Draco, that's really not necessary--"
"I was rude and reparations must be made," the stubborn blond jutted out his chin.
Harry's mind was in no state to jump around so early in the morning but he scrambled for another solution. Draco felt he had insulted Harry. This was not unusual for the boy who often spoke in a snobbish way, but he hadn't meant to insult Harry and didn't want his words to perhaps affect their standing with one another. By claiming to remain at his side, Draco had essentially loaned himself out to Harry for the day as a sort of aid. (Harry was expected to use him only to the extent of repaying the insult given but was not to take his requests too far lest he insult Draco in turn.) Seeing how they were just school boys it wasn't such a big deal but he had heard of stories of people who had offered themselves being made to take up duels in the other's place or becoming involved in nefarious duties that they were then honor-bound to not report. It was a rather extreme reaction on Draco's part to what had been a little ribbing. "Then how about you attend Sir Nicolas' Death Day party with me and Harry?" Vince offered, coming to Harry's rescue.
Draco's nose scrunched up in distaste, but Harry immediately jumped on the idea. "Yes. That is what I want. Draco, I request your company this evening at an event. What say you?"
Draco's face had already descended into a full face scowl, but he had already offered an extreme show of his honor and apologetic stance. He had to accept Harry's return offer or risk insulting him again. "Fine," he grumbled.
He looked like he wanted to put his own stipulations in place but knew he couldn't. Harry sighed. It was too early in the morning for political games. "Let's get to breakfast. We're running a bit behind," Harry said as he led the way out of the dorm room.
During the entirety of morning classes he was trying to understand what had just happened. Harry knew, objectively speaking, that he had a considerable amount of power for a second year. The way Daphne had explained it, unless you were a member of a sacred twenty eight house (which Harry was not), Heir to an ancient house (which Harry was not), or especially brilliant at networking (which Harry was not) it was unheard of for a student to be ranked higher than their own year. Even being Heir apparent of the esteemed house of Potter (not old enough to be ancient, but pure enough to be venerated) didn't really automatically rank him above his year as his status was given simply for being the last living member of the house and more to the point: he was half-blood. (Not that Harry was a Potter by birth, but he had been reading up on these pesky things called blood adoptions that explained some things he had been wondering). Being Heir automatically ranked him higher than Draco, Goyle, Zabini, and Nott who hadn't been declared heirs of their houses, but not higher than Vince who was. However, Vince's own actions were indicative of a subordinate most times which did make Harry higher than him in their own years power structure. Or at least on the boys' side it did. But Harry was also being 'groomed' by Daphne Greengrass, Heiress Apparent of house Greengrass. Her nickname wasn't Queenie for nothing either. Daphne was ranked amongst the fifth years last he heard with a few contacts amongst the sixth and seventh years. That made her more powerful than eighty percent of Slytherin house. Her sponsorship of him was what ultimately ranked Harry up around the third years. But all of this was besides the point because most didn't even bother to pay attention to the ranking until they were in higher years. In third year you usually started making plans and fifth year campaigning was in full swing. For first and second years it was generally the family name with the most weight behind it that received the highest ranking. For their year it should have been Draco but Harry was an anomaly. He had effectively taken the spot that would have gone to Draco and while the blond had never been confrontational about it, he had never been as obviously submissive as the earlier interaction would indicate. Backing down in first year when Harry had first declared himself in the power structure was one thing. Giving one's word to shadow him was another.
It appeared that Draco was declaring his support for Harry in the power dynamic but a lot more directly than Vincent who simply was always there. This would make more sense if Harry had done anything to have deserved such a reaction from the other boy. And until he found out how he had earned such a declaration of loyalty Harry wouldn't be able to trust it. "Ugh," he groaned later that afternoon during his free period.
Rather than join Draco and Nott in the library Harry had returned to the common room hoping to have some time away from the blond. Just thinking about having to take Draco Malfoy to a death day party was causing him to rethink his attendance. If Harry hadn't already given his word to Sir Nicolas that he would attend he would simply not show up. "What has you bothered, mon petit chou?" Daphne asked from her perch across from him where she was scribing an essay for Arithmancy.
He thought about admitting Draco's sudden actions to her, but knew it would probably turn into one of her three hour 'people watch' sessions where they would sit in a corner and Harry would be expected to point out different power dynamics he saw. Wanting absolutely nothing to do with that at all, he decided to ask about something else that had been bothering him. "What are Kwik spells?"
Daphne didn't even bother to glance up from the parchment in front of her. "Like spell chains? They're indicative of some sort of law enforcement training as all members of the MLE learn a basic set to incapacitate targets. Although I think Aurors have more advanced and extensive chains than other members of their department."
Harry tilted his head and made a mental note to research that later. "I don't think that's it. It's spelled k-w-i-k."
Daphne scrunched up her nose and put her quill back into her ink. "Well... it's supposed to be really easy magic taught to adult wizards that didn't receive proper schooling."
She accented the words 'supposed to be' as if that was the reason why something existed, but that wasn't what everyone used it for. Like how the abandoned classrooms were supposed to be used as study rooms but most upper forms used them as designated snogging spots. Harry tried to think of an alternative use for such a particular course, but he was coming up with a blank. What else could they be for? "'Didn't receive proper schooling...' like dropouts or expulsions?"
She made another scrunched up face. This one was almost exclusively one she used when she was skirting around a topic not spoken of so plainly in polite conversation. "Not exactly... It's notoriously used by those with... subpar magical abilities."
Harry frowned. Davis had accused Goyle of being subpar in their charms lesson last week and Vince had hexed her for the slight. "Like they were too stupid to pay attention to lessons or...?"
"Squibs, Harold," Helena announced as she plopped down in the chair next to Daphne and draped her arm across her chair. "The darling is trying to say squibs."
"Helena," she chided. It was remarkably similar to how Lady Malfoy would say Lucius' name whenever he was being especially creepy about talking to Harry.
"My name is Harry. Not Harold or Harrison. Just Harry." He addressed the newcomer first. It was becoming a concern of his that Helena was actively trying to change his name amongst their group of peers by calling him out of his name.
She waved his correction away as she always did. Helena may be a prefect, but she was a right menace when she put her mind to it (which she did. Often). Harry had even heard rumors that she had been something of a terror in her childhood before Hogwarts. "And what's a squid have to do with anything?" he asked.
Helena giggled and Daphne let out a long suffering sigh. Both her and Vince had been infamous for that sound anytime he asked a question in their discussions, but it had considerably lessened since last year. Harry had thought he was done with the 'things every wizard should know' list. "A squib," Daphne stressed the 'b' sound at the end so he noticed the difference this time. "Is a non-magical child born of magical parents. They are the opposite of muggleborns essentially."
Harry's eyes widened in shock. A magical child born without magic? That couldn't possibly be a thing. But then again, the same could be said for muggleborns. But it was different for them. Muggleborns were allowed into this secret world hidden within their own filled with magic and wonder. To be born a squib would be... "That's... but that's horrible!"
He couldn't possibly imagine being born into this world and yet being completely separate from it. "You've said most children don't even exert accidental magic until they're six or seven. Longbottom didn't do anything noticeable until he was ten!"
That meant some children would spend as much as a decade waiting for magic that would never come. Would be told after all the stories and all the miracles they had witnessed that it was never meant for them because they were born without magic...
Harry looked to Helena as the oldest. "What happens to them? The kids that don't have magic?"
Her sober expression told him more about the bitter truth than her next words. Neither of the girls were as open as they had been only moments before. This was the face one put on for strangers, to distance oneself from the conversation. "If the family is half blood they are often sent to live with muggle family members or simply raised in the muggle world. Purebloods, especially more traditional ones, tend to... wash their hands of the children entirely."
'Wash their hands of them entirely,' Harry thought with venom in his mouth. 'I can only imagine what some of these old houses would do to a magicless heir being born to their line...'
It wasn't a pleasant thought in the least. Which brought him back to why he had even needed to learn about squibs in the first place. "The caretaker..." Harry whispered.
He wondered if the man was disowned as a child and that was the reason he was so bitter to the children here. Why would Dumbledore force such a thing upon the man? If Harry was forced to be on the cusp of a wonderous world of miracles yet separate and have to watch a bunch of unruly and ungrateful children squander the gift they were given in favor of goofing off, he'd make it his goal to terrorize them too. "Oh. Heard the rumors have you?" Helena asked. "No one's confirmed that he's a squib, but there have been speculations about it for as long as I've been here. Filch has been here almost as long as the Headmaster has, I've been told."
"But I thought wizards live longer than muggles."
"Oh we do," Helena waved a hand through the air as if batting away Harry's forlorn mood. "But squibs aren't the same as muggles per se. There's magic there. They just can't use it or there's not enough to amount to anything."
"In theory," Daphne pointed out. "As you can imagine no one actually likes to speak of squibs. It is simply not done."
Harry frowned, but allowed the subject to drop. Daphne hands were resting on the couch rather than clasped on her lap. This generally indicated she would soon pardon herself from the room to flee the conversation. Helena for her part looked as if nothing bothered her but Harry was still unable to read her at all. "I understand," he said even though he really didn't. This was probably one of those things that one simply accepted being born and raised in the wizarding world. It wasn't Harry's place to tell an entire culture they were wrong (although he could speak with his father about ways to address his discomfort with the entire situation).
Harry wondered belatedly if the monster would even care. He doubted Lucius Malfoy gave much weight to everything Draco prattled on to him about. But surely the Dark Lord would see that Harry's concerns were valid and not the misgivings of a school boy...
He wasn't entirely sure and that bothered him. (Harry did decide that perhaps that the treatment of squibs shouldn't be among the first group of things he asked his father to address.) By the time dinner time came around and Harry had to go and retrieve his allies from the library he had also removed his concerns for the astronomy class and the need for so many silk dublets for a proper wardrobe as well. He was debating the benefits of asking a screening process for information distribution (the Daily Prophet was complete rubbish most days) when an unwelcomed yet familiar voice echoed down the corridor. "Hiya Harry!"
He didn't groan aloud but Harry's fingers itched to reach for his wand and throw a ward up to stop the little stalker. He regretted not telling Vincent and Draco where the party was going to be held. Surely Draco would have had some complaint or other about walking himself to the event (and it might even be considered rude to not walk with him considering the blond was only going thanks to Harry) but if Harry hadn't been heading to the library to go check on the two, he wouldn't have been found by his gryffindor stalker. "I did not give you permission to use my first name," Harry said bluntly, hoping it would discourage the boy from whatever obsession he had with him.
The curly-haired boy didn't even lose a step. "Of course Mister Potter. Where are you headed? It's time for dinner-- I've heard that the Halloween feast here is amazing-- but of course you already know that. Anyway, where are you going? Can I come with you?" he said in one long breath.
Harry's right eye twitched. "What's your name?" he asked.
There was a sudden squeal that had Harry whipping around his wand at the ready for an attack. What he saw was the first year looking like he had just seen Merlin's return. "I-I'm... Colin. Colin Creevey," he choked out seeming on the verge of tears (Harry wondered if perhaps he had offended the boy).
Harry sighed and resheathed his wand. "Creevey. I have other things to attend to this day. I expect you to respect my privacy."
"Oh yeah I get it!"
The boy continued to shadow him down the corridor proving that he did not, in fact, 'get it'. "I want to be alone Creevey," Harry stressed.
"Yes sir Mister Potter! I'll make sure no one bothers you!"
Harry got the impression that this little ball of energy was speaking in exclamations, he seemed to be so hyper. It was annoying and without a proper night of rest it was also causing a headache. "You're bothering me."
"Oh. Of course! I'll see you at dinner then?"
And without having lost a single step-- or that smile-- Creevey hurried down the corridor away from Harry. He had no idea how the kid was so happy all the time, but it was exhausting just to look at. Thankfully he hadn't taken another picture of Harry-- he had heard that he's been going around taking pictures of whatever caught his fancy. He never felt happier to skip a meal before in his life. It would only stand to reason that he got to the library only to discover that Vincent and Goyle had gone to dinner for some sweets leaving Draco to finish his transfiguration essay before Harry sequestered them away for the evening. Which meant Harry now had to go to the great hall and risk being caught by Colin Creevey to go get his ally. "I told him that we could always stop by the kitchen on our way back from the party, but he wouldn't hear it," Draco explained as they entered the rambunctiously loud great hall.
Harry glanced at the large jack o' lanterns that had replaced part of the floating candles above. "Goyle probably had more to do with him coming to dinner than his desire for their cupcakes."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I swear those two--"
"Nice to see you take time out of your busy schedule to join us mere mortals, Potter."
Harry blinked in surprise at the sudden venomous voice that cut through their conversation. There was a girl with light brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail adorned with Slytherin robes. Harry didn't know her per se, but did recognize one of their classmates. She was in his year. By the look of the malicious smile on her face, she was not a fan of his. "You should learn your place Davis," Draco warned.
Her smile fell but she did not back down. Harry had had it with everyone at this point and wanted to sequester himself away amongst the ghosts. Somehow this was all Professor Snape's fault, he was sure of it. "Can't get mad at her for saying what we're all thinking," Analise Bagshot said as she stepped to Davis' aid.
Vince appeared as if by magic at Harry's other side. This time, Harry outright bared his teeth at the two women. They were challenging him! This was an attack on his placement in the hierarchy. Davis and Bagshot weren't even in the same rank area as him and they were trying to usurp his position? "Aren't you ranked amongst the second years?" Harry sneered allowing his mask to show his more negative emotions.
Lady Malfoy had warned there was a time and place for such emotions and to use them sparingly less his enemies be too used to his temper. Harry in particular would be working against Lily and James Potter's sorting into Gryffindor house. If he lost his temper too frequently he would be accused of being just as brash and hot-headed as the lion house was rumored to be. This was to be avoided at all cost. Thankfully he had as of yet to lose his temper publicly so neither Davis nor Bagshot were prepared for the anger that lurked in the sharpness of his gaze. Both took a step back as he approached. "Your own rank is below Gregory Goyle's and he isn't even proactive in the hierarchy."
"Because he's allied himself with you," Davis spat.
Harry tilted his head. "Yes. He has. Remarkable how remaining in my good graces can gain one success in their endeavors. It makes one wonder what would occur if you found yourself at the other end of my wand."
Bagshot jutted her chin out, but Harry saw the tightening around her eyes. She was afraid. The stare down continued for a few more tense seconds before Davis clutched at her robe and pulled her back. The two made quick work of disappearing from his sight after that. "What, by the gods, was that?" Draco hissed.
Harry relaxed his sneer into a more appropriate frown. "What indeed..."
It was clearly an attempt at usurping his power, if a poor one. But the fact that it was made at all meant that others in the hierarchy believed he was weak. Others were sure to follow after Bagshot and Davis' show of solidarity. If not a classmate then an upper year who would seek to get to Daphne through him. And they wouldn't be so easily handled by a few choice words. "You'll need to learn some more spells," Vince warned.
Harry nodded. He would. And soon by the looks of the askance glances he was getting from others seated at their table.
A/N: I know it's been a long time coming by here are the rewritten chapters I promised last year. I'm posting a bunch of chapters all at once-- many of which have been rewritten and the last of which is an update. Because of this it might be helpful to reread at least from chapter 8 onwards where a lot of the additional scenes begin cropping up. That also means the author note will be identical for half of the chapters so every reader that's already started the story knows what's going on. I thank everyone for their patience.
Aerialas