Sorry for the wait! I am seemingly incapable of keeping a regular update schedule. This is the first chapter that is beta'd! Corvus_of_the_Night_Skies, gattoartico, and acourtofbooksandtea (all on AO3) have all volunteered to help fix my mistakes. I am incredibly grateful to them for making my words flow better and picking out spelling mistakes (and some plot errors).
I have also had it pointed out to me that I neglected to have the goblins mention Harry's inheritance from Sirius. That's on me, I completely forgot about it. I will be reworking that chapter to include Harry being made aware of what all he got from Sirius. Thank you to the guest who reminded me of that! The comments you left made my week.
TW: mentions of r*pe
Saturday, September 7, 1996
"Potter! Get that fine arse down here!"
Blushing furiously, Harry tilted the handle of his Firebolt down and gently touched down on the Quidditch pitch. He'd gotten up early so he could do some individual flying before tryouts, the calming influence of having the pitch to himself was sorely needed after a mere week back at Hogwarts.
Looking toward the castle, Harry saw Katie Bell leading an army of students across the lawn, looking every inch the Captain. "Katie. I was beginning to think you wouldn't know what a good arse was if it…well, you know."
"I take offense to that! There was nothing wrong with Samuels," she protested, raising her chin haughtily.
"Keep telling yourself that. I'll remind you that we both shared a changing room with Oliver Wood, who has no shame to speak of." Ignoring her glare, Harry scanned the crowd Katie had brought with her. "All these kids want to try out?"
Katie shrugged, "They were all down in the Entrance Hall; I told them to follow me if they were there for Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts."
Half of the kids gathered behind her were so small they had to be first-years, and Harry was sure he'd seen a few yellow and blue ties amongst the sea of red. A flash of dirty blond hair caught Harry's eye and he raised an eyebrow at James Tuckett, a boy he'd helped out after a rather nasty fall. He knew for a fact the kid was a first-year Hufflepuff. James gave Harry a crooked smile, scuffing his shoes against the turf. The younger students all looked at him with eager smiles and hero worship shining in their eyes, so much so that it made Harry want to sigh in exasperation. It didn't take a genius to figure out why they were here.
"Right, if anyone's a first-year or not in Gryffindor, you can go back to the castle now," Harry said. Groans met his declaration and there was no small amount of muttering, but James and the others followed his directions.
"Is that everyone?" Katie finally asked, tapping her foot. Giggling, a pair of Ravenclaw girls ran away from the group. Then they were left with the older students, a decent chunk of lower years, and to Harry's surprise, Dean and Seamus.
"Harry, I blame you entirely," said Katie.
"That's nothing new, you blame me for everything," Harry shot back.
Katie just grinned unrepentantly and began issuing orders, "Listen up you lot! Every single spot on the team is open except for mine, and yes that includes Keeper and Seeker. I'll separate you by position and we'll do trials individually as well as in groups to see who works well together. Keepers, I want you over by the goal posts, Beaters by the Ravenclaw stands, Chasers by me, and Seekers by the Hufflepuff stands."
Everyone went to their assigned place without a word of complaint. Harry retreated to the Hufflepuff stands as he'd been told, but no one followed him. Harry was half relieved that he'd get to keep his spot and half disappointed that he wouldn't get a chance to fly. He leaned against the bottom of the bleachers, wondering how long it would take Katie to notice.
As it turned out, not long. "Harry! Get back over here," shouted Katie. Shrugging, Harry ran back to the centre.
"Our Seeker is Harry Potter, because he's bloody amazing and all that rot," Katie announced, managing to sound pleased and roll her eyes at the same time. Chuckles sounded from the now separated candidates, Seamus in particular looked like he was pleased to witness Harry getting the perpetual mickey taken out of him.
"Katie! Sorry - I'm - late, overslept," Ron panted. He was jogging toward the Quidditch pitch with his broom over his shoulder, no Quidditch robes in sight, and a half-eaten bagel in his hand. Harry was mildly shocked to realize that he hadn't even noticed Ron was missing.
"Ronald, good. You can go stand with the other Keeper candidates by the goal posts for now, we're starting with Chasers," Katie said dispassionately. It was no secret that she and Ron did not get along.
"Other Keepers?" Ron demanded. "I was Keeper last year!"
"That was last year, all of the positions are open this year regardless if you've played on the team before. I said so in the announcement I put up on the notice board, did you not read it?"
"I - well, no! You said to be here at eleven for tryouts, I thought that I'd just be helping," Ron blustered. He then noticed Harry standing alone a few paces behind Katie and a red flush started rising in his cheeks. "How come Harry hasn't got to try out then? He was also on the team last year, and the year before that, and the year before that!"
"He would have to try out like everyone else if anyone had bothered to come and challenge him. Frankly, I doubt there's anyone at Hogwarts who could outfly Harry, and I include Professors McGonagall and Hooch in that," Katie snapped.
Realizing that he'd be fighting a losing battle if he pushed further, Ron shut up and stalked off toward the group of Keeper hopefuls. A stocky blond boy Harry didn't recognize and Seamus Finnegan already stood there.
"Harry, you want to take the Beaters and put them through some drills?" asked Katie.
"It would be my genuine pleasure."
Sighing heavily, Harry entered the sixth-year bathroom and stripped off his dirty Quidditch robes. He'd never been more glad that he'd turned down the Captaincy than in that moment. Katie had spent half the time yelling at McLaggen - the Keeper hopeful Harry hadn't recognized - and the other half attempting to keep second-years from falling off their brooms.
After a gruelling three hours, they had their team. Dean had flown extremely well, which surprised Harry as he hadn't known that Dean had any interest in Quidditch besides yelling at the ref to give a red card to any Slytherin in the air. Katie had selected him as the second Chaser, with a fourth-year named Demelza Robins rounding out the trio. Their Beaters were Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, both of whom were short and lean but could wallop one hell of a Bludger.
The Keeper trials had made Harry want to quit playing Quidditch right then and there. Cormac McLaggen had made a right nuisance of himself and tried to tell Katie how she was going about tryouts the wrong way. Harry knew he'd gotten himself disqualified after he grabbed the Quaffle from under her arm and proceeded to show her a Chaser maneuver she was well versed in. Cormac at least had some skill, Ron had performed terribly and barely blocked any goals. Seamus Finnegan blew them both out of the water and had saved several tricky goals, making him the new Keeper. Cormac, Ginny, and Colin Creevey were on the reserve team. Harry, being the only Seeker available, had no reserve and had been told in no uncertain terms that if he got himself knocked out, in detention, or killed on a game day, Katie would ensure that the rest of her time at Hogwarts was dedicated to making Harry miserable.
Harry shook his head and turned the shower on. Some battles weren't worth fighting.
"Acid Pops," Harry said to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. The creature nodded and slid aside for Harry to enter. On the ride up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, Harry mentally prepared himself. Dumbledore was a dangerous man, despite the grandfatherly persona he liked to give off to the public.
Before Harry could knock on the door, a voice rang out, "Enter."
Gritting his teeth, Harry opened to the door to reveal Dumbledore seated behind his desk, the damnable sparkle in his eyes twinkling at full force.
"Harry, excellent! Sit, sit, I trust your first week back has gone well?" Dumbledore inquired.
"It's been eventful," Harry answered truthfully. He somehow doubted things were ever boring with a Reaper hanging around.
"Good, good, I'm glad you're settling in, my boy. Now, I believe it is time to get into the material I have prepared…" here Dumbledore paused, pulling out a very recognizable Pensieve.
"Er, sir," Harry began, "what exactly will you be teaching me?" When Dumbledore had offered these lessons, he had been frustratingly vague to the point that Harry nearly declined. One would think Dumbledore had learned his lesson about keeping information from him after the Ministry fiasco.
"I believe, Harry, that the better you know someone, the closer you are to them, the better your chances become of finding their weak spot. No one, not myself, not you, and certainly not Tom Riddle, holds complete dominion over their weaknesses," Dumbledore returned to his desk with a single crystal vial filled with a wispy, pale substance. "I have found, over the course of my life, that answers to such questions lie in the past...that is of course, if you can find the right memory."
With that, Dumbledore wandlessly uncorked the vial and emptied the contents into the empty Pensieve.
"Hold on," blurted Harry, "You mean to say you've called me up here to look at memories? Excuse me, sir, but I fail to see how shadows of the past can help me defeat Tom Riddle in the present. As it currently stands, he's got fifty-four years of experience on me and a wand that refuses to fight mine. According to the prophecy, I'm meant to be his equal."
Harry looked down at his hands, folded nicely in his lap. He couldn't afford to make an enemy of Dumbledore but surely the old man realized how stupid his plan was. "The way I see it, the only way I'm defeating him is with a lot of training and sheer dumb luck."
Harry hardly thought he could be blamed if a bit of bitterness leaked out in his voice. He looked back up at Dumbledore and saw that the twinkle had dimmed. Harry viciously thought that he'd like to curse that twinkle into oblivion. He refrained from saying anything about the power the Dark Lord knows not as he knew that would just invite trouble, or at least more than he'd just gotten himself into. With the awakening of his elemental powers, Harry reckoned he was close to Voldemort's power levels, if not above.
"The prophecy says nothing about you being his magical equal, my boy," Dumbledore pointed out. "You are his equal because you have everything Tom Riddle lacks, Harry. Kindness, compassion, friends, and above all, the ability to love."
That might've been the biggest load of hogwash Harry had ever heard spewed from Dumbledore's mouth, and that was saying something. He acknowledged that being a fundamentally decent person gave him good qualities, but it also gave him a moral compass. Riddle and his followers had no such restrictions. And love? Love had certainly motivated his mother to save him, but a sacrifice of such magnitude that it lingered in Harry's very blood after his mother passed couldn't be built on love alone. Love motivated him to look after his friends and save them when they needed it. Harry refused to see that as a weakness, for his friends were his strength and he would call up Death himself (again) to ensure that they would make it through the impending war alive.
Harry took a deep breath. "We must agree to disagree, sir. I believe you have a memory to show me?"
"Yes, yes, indeed!" said Dumbledore jovially, the thrice damned twinkle back to full brightness. "I obtained this memory from Bob Ogden, a member of the DMLE who once made a quite unusual house call. After you," he gestured with his good hand toward the Pensieve.
Shoving his apprehension down, Harry stuck a finger into the swirling memory and, with an unpleasant jolt, landed on a street just outside Little Hangleton.
Harry was unceremoniously rejected from the Pensieve at the conclusion of the memory. He had to repress the bile making its way up from his stomach. It was one thing to be told of Voldemort's origins by Rami and quite another to witness them for himself.
"What are your thoughts, Harry?" Dumbledore asked mildly.
"My thoughts? I think Merope Gaunt made some pretty bad choices, that's what I think!" Harry snapped.
Dumbledore had clearly not been expecting that. "Merope?"
It infuriated Harry that Dumbledore was genuinely asking what Merope had done wrong. That one memory had told him more of Tom Riddle Jr.'s conception than he'd ever wanted to know.
"For one, it's clear that Voldemort's father was the man on the horse at the end of the memory. He looks just like Voldemort did when he came out of the diary, although Riddle Sr. appeared to be a bit older than sixteen in that memory. Since I doubt that Tom is the product of Riddle Sr. and the girl on the horse next to him, who are both clearly muggles, I'd bet all my galleons that Merope is Voldemort's mother. Riddle clearly had no interest in Merope, so I'd guess she resorted to using a Love Potion on him." Harry had gotten up and started to pace at this point, fuming at the implications. "That's rape, sir, no matter how you try to dress it up. She obviously didn't have the best home life, but that doesn't excuse her choices, nor did it cause them. If that were the case, I'd be running around trying to dose everyone in Hogwarts."
Harry took great pleasure in noting that he'd managed to render Dumbledore speechless. The old man's mouth was hanging open and he looked like someone had beaned him over the head.
"You'll attract flies if you leave your mouth open any longer, sir."
Dumbledore closed his mouth with an audible snap. He frowned, looking down at the gaudy ring on his left hand. "I see," he said slowly. "You are correct in your observation that Merope was Voldemort's mother, and that the man we saw at the end was his father. I also agree that Merope likely used a love potion, especially since she didn't have much magic herself. They were together for a few years before Merope got pregnant. Riddle Sr. broke things off with her four months into her pregnancy and moved back home, so I assume she stopped dosing him when she realized she was pregnant. Merope would later die in childbirth and leave her child to the care of an orphanage, and Tom murdered Riddle Sr. in his own home the summer before sixth year. Do you not think, though, that Merope is to be pitied? She was in an impossible situation."
"I cannot condone her actions. As callous as it sounds to say, she brought it on herself, Professor. Love potions do not create love, they create a pale imitation of the real thing."
Dumbledore was frowning now, frustrated that Harry was not saying what he wanted him to say. Merope Gaunt was simply not, in Harry's mind, a pitiable figure. She was in full control of her actions and had known exactly what she was doing.
Dumbledore raised his arms and leaned against his desk, preparing for another round of persuasion. His sleeve, spangled with stars and moons, slid down to reveal a blackened hand. Harry had already known of it, but the sight was still startling.
"Professor, if I may, what happened to your hand?" Harry blurted, partly to change the subject but also because he wanted to know if Dumbledore would admit the truth. Rami had told him what the ring Dumbledore currently wore had been and how the man had come by his injury.
"Never you mind, my boy." Dumbledore said airily, pulling his sleeve back up. "Oh my, look at the time. I think you'd best be going, Harry. Please do think about what I've shown you tonight."
Relieved that he had an easy escape, Harry bade the professor a good night and beat a hasty retreat. The man hadn't said why his hand was so blackened, which was hardly a surprise. Dumbledore was the type to hold all his cards close to his chest and wait and see which way the wind was blowing.
They'd reached the point where the wind wasn't blowing, it was howling, and borne upon that wind was echoes of the drums of war. If ever there was a time to reveal your hand, it was now, and Harry was furious that the old man was still keeping secrets from him. He'd worked himself up into a right strop by the time he reached Gryffindor Tower.
"Dilligrout," he told the Fat Lady, who obediently swung open. Harry made for his bed, eager to finish the last of his essays and rest.
It wasn't to be, however, as Ron was lying on his bed tossing a miniature Quaffle over his head. Dean was sitting in the window alcove, drawing in his sketchpad and studiously ignoring the steady thwaps of the ball hitting Ron's hand. Both boys looked up as Harry entered. Dean waved and returned to his drawing, but Ron swung his legs over the side of his bed and stared at Harry.
"Potter."
"Weasley. What've I done to get the last name treatment?" asked Harry.
"You know full well what," Ron scowled, "You let Katie kick me off the team!"
Harry couldn't say he hadn't seen this coming, Ron was nothing if not predictable. "First of all, no one lets Katie do anything, she does as she bloody well pleases. Second, I'm not the Captain, so I have no say when it comes to who is on the team. In any case, Seamus performed better than you, therefore he's the Keeper."
"I was on the team last year," Ron shouted. "That should count for something!"
"Take it up with Katie, I'm done with your shit," Harry snapped. He wasn't lying either, Ron had been much more prone to flying off the handle at the slightest provocation lately.
Ron's whole face had gone red and he was squeezing the poor Quaffle to death. "Fine, Potter, I'll get out of your way," he spat, storming out of the room.
Harry slumped down on his bed in exhaustion. As of late, being Ron's friend seemed like more work than it was worth.
"Ron's an arsehole," Dean piped up. He'd set down his drawing and was focusing on Harry.
Against his will, Harry chuckled. "No arguments here."
Dean fidgeted with his hands for a moment, looking as if he was weighing his next words carefully. "I'll be honest, I don't know what you see in him and Hermione," he said finally. "I mean, Ron's hot-tempered, jealous, and fickle with his feelings. Granger seems to think she knows best for everybody and constantly looks down on the rest of us for not being as smart as her.
Harry sat up straight at that. Ron and Hermione had been his very first friends at Hogwarts and while a part of him would always be loyal to them for that, he was hard pressed to refute any of Dean's points, and he told Dean that.
"It just seems like you could do better than them, mate. Both of them seem to like riding your coattails, they just like the reputation they get from being your best friends," said Dean.
"At any given time, half the school hates me and the other half thinks I can do no wrong. It's exhausting, Dean, trying to live up to expectations. I thought they'd stand by me regardless of what others think, but I guess I was wrong," Harry sighed. This schism between him and Ron and Hermione had been growing for a while now, he just never thought it would end in a complete fracture of their friendship.
"Hey, you've still got the rest of us," Dean nudged his shoulder. "I promise that Neville, Seamus, and I don't hate you or think the sun shines out of every bodily orifice you possess."
Harry laughed bitterly. It was true, every other boy in his dorm had never been anything other than unfailingly polite to him, excluding that period last year when Seamus thought he was an attention-seeking liar. Harry couldn't help but wonder how things would've turned out if he'd met one of them first instead of letting a snot-nosed ginger sit beside him on the train that day.
"Thanks, I really do appreciate it," said Harry, giving Dean a slight smile.
"Anytime, mate," Dean said cheerfully. "Now, if the Boy Who Lived could go mope on his bed, I need to see out the window so I can finish my drawing," Dean shook his sketchpad for emphasis.
"Well, I can see when I'm not wanted," Harry said with an affected sniff.
"Seeing as you don't have the sun shining out of your arse, I'd rather get this done before I lose the light." Dean joked back. Suddenly serious, he continued, "You're welcome to sit with me - with us - anytime, though."
"I'll hold you to that," Harry warned. "I'll leave you to it, then."
As I've mentioned before, I made a discord server for my fics! Join for discussions about cloning, procrastination, google translate, and general mayhem. discord . gg / PhguAGRTPs