Chapter 4: Summer 1990

Either his father was extraordinarily observant or Professor Snape was woefully inattentive because Mr Potter discovered Medusa within hours of Harry's return home for the summer. To say that his father was displeased with Harry's new pet was a vast understatement. It took a fair amount of begging before Mr Potter agreed to let her stay, provided that she didn't bite anyone. Harry didn't dare tell his father how she came into his life and went about unpacking the rest of his belongings. Medusa quickly claimed a sunny patch on the window sill in his room, much to the ire of Hedwig. The snowy owl watched the snoozing snake with a predatory look that made Harry nervous for both of his pets. He would have to buy a cage of some sort for Medusa— sooner, rather than later.

Although his father and owl were less than ecstatic about Medusa's presence, John seemed to think the snake was an excellent addition to the household. By the end of the first week of the summer holidays, it wasn't uncommon to find John wandering around the manor with Medusa draped over his shoulders. Although neither could understand each other, Medusa quite enjoyed the attention John lavished on her. Not that he told John this— other than Cedric, Harry hadn't told anybody that he could speak with snakes. Whilst his little brother would have thought that Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue was cool, he knew the majority of the Wizarding World didn't share the sentiment. And John was incapable of keeping secrets— especially from their father. Their father, who hated anything remotely tied to dark magic, including things like the ability to talk to snakes.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been impossible to hide this from his father, but as it was, Harry barely saw him for the entire month of June. It wasn't because James was even busy— John merely commandeered that much of Harry's free time. When his little brother wasn't interrogating him about Hogwarts, he demanded that they fly together in the grassy field behind Potter Manor. When they weren't flying, John was sprawled out on the floor of Harry's bedroom, flipping through the first year's textbooks and asking Harry to decipher his class notes. In fact, John kept him so busy, Harry barely had time to write to Cedric.

It was only after John came down with a cold, that Harry found any reprieve. With his brother laid up in bed, Harry found himself with an abundance of free time— though that didn't last too long either. After discovering their stock of Pepperup Potion was low, James convinced Harry to help him replenish their supply. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have grumbled about having to help brew over the summer holiday (potions, after all, was far from his favourite class). But James, who had confiscated Harry's wand the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts Express, had promised that Harry could cast any spells the potion needed if he helped. After a month of no magic, Harry jumped at the chance.

James caught Harry as he stumbled out of the grate, cleaning off his soot-covered robes with a flick of his wand. Harry offered him an embarrassed grin before taking his hand and following him through the Leaky Cauldron. A few people greeted his father but nobody stopped them, a stark contrast to how it would have been, had John accompanied them. They made their way through the pub unharassed and found themselves standing in the dingy alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron.

His father nodded towards the brick wall.

Harry beamed and skipped forward, drawing his wand and tapping the bricks like he had seen his father do so many times before. The wall melted away and exposed the vibrant street, which was already bustling with witches and wizards completing early morning shopping. The air was full of noisy street vendors, shouting and hawking their wares. A snooty looking man proclaimed in a booming voice that two sickles for a scoop of Floo powder was far too expensive, and accused the owner of Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment of committing highway robbery. A herd of children ran amuck between food stalls as their mother tried to buy groceries. A shopkeeper tossed a cat out the front door of Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, yelling at it for knocking over a vial of expensive cold cream. On and on it went, the vivaciousness that defined Diagon Alley's genius loci surrounded him, filling him with a sense of both wonder and, well, magic.

"What do you want for your birthday?" his father asked as they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Besides books," he added when Harry opened his mouth.

Harry shut his mouth and gave his father an embarrassed grin. "I like books."

"I know you do," his father replied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head before musing his hair. "If you get any more, your bookshelf is going to explode."

"You could get me a book on expansion charms?" Harry suggested.

James let out a chuckle and pulled Harry closer, tucking him under his arm. They continued on towards their destination, a little apothecary towards the back of Diagon Alley. Greengrass Apothecary wasn't as well known as the larger Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, which catered to the casual brewer and potion's student. But what it lacked in size and name recognition, Greengrass' made up for in a wide array of odd ingredients, amassing a loyal customer base over the years. If Greengrass didn't have the ingredient you were looking for (especially if you were willing to pay), it probably didn't exist.

The bell above the door tinkled when they entered. They were greeted by the earthy, pungent scent of the hundreds of dried herbs, hanging in bundles from the ceiling. James made his way towards the counter, leaving Harry to peer into the barrels of ingredients scattered around the floor. He resisted the urge to stick his hand in a display of flitterby chrysalises and wandered deeper into the shop. He shuddered when he stumbled across a display of Adder's Fork, glad he had decided to leave Medusa in the loving care of John. She would have found the shelves of sliced up snake parts quite distasteful. He was reading a plaque beneath a bottle of Gaboon viper venom (which claimed the venom to be particularly useful for curing stomach ulcers) when his father stopped beside him.

"Why would you use a snake venom in a healing potion?" he asked, picking up the bottle to inspect it. "Isn't that counterintuitive?"

"Snakes have long been associated with the healing arts," his father explained. "Though I can't say I know why. We can find a book about it if you'd like." Only his father's voice didn't come from beside him. By the sound of it, he was still haggling with the sales clerk.

Heart pounding, Harry's gaze traced up the dark billowing robes of the man beside him, only to lock eyes with none other than Professor Snape. The two stared at each other, one with abject loathing, and the other in absolute terror. Harry felt his throat seize up and the gasp he would have let out spasmed in his chest. He was so stunned, he couldn't even run back to his father, let alone place the vial of venom back on the shelf. Instead, he remained crouched on the dusty wooden floor of the apothecary, looking every bit the simpleton he knew Professor Snape took him for.

"Harry, darling? Are you ready to—" his father's words died as he rounded the corner, taking in the pitiful tableau. He cleared his throat. "Professor Snape. How are you?"

If Harry thought his potions professor hated him, it was nothing compared to how he felt about James Potter. The glare Snape sent his father could have curdled dragon blood. His father gave no indication that he noticed Snape's hostility and gave him a serene smile, waiting for a reply. Snape responded by glaring even harder. With the absence of his professor's heavy gaze, Harry shoved the bottle back on the shelf and rose, scurrying to stand behind his father.

The movement drew Professor Snape's attention, who scowled down at him. "Having your son brew for you now, Potter?" He sneered in the venomous tone he usually reserved for Harry alone. "I always knew you were incompetent at potions, but this is pathetic."

James looked down at Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well, after how well he did in your class this term, I would be foolish not to."

Despite the tense atmosphere and the general untruthfulness of the statement, Harry couldn't help but beam under the praise. When the results of his final exams had been passed out, he had been pleased to see that his studying had paid off. Not only had he passed with high marks for all his classes, but he had also scored higher than Cedric in every subject but Transfiguration. Nettles had called him a swot when he found out, but Harry was certain he was just jealous— his primary bully hadn't done nearly as well on his exams. Though, considering how much effort the other boy put into tormenting Harry, it wasn't much of a surprise he had little time to devote to revision.

"Yes," Professor Snape drawled, ruining the moment. "A surprise to us all."

"He gets it from his mother," James replied in that same nonchalant way. Harry would have even believed it, had his fingers not dug into his shoulder. "She was quite skilled at potions if you remember?"

Professor Snape's jaw tightened and Harry swore he heard his teeth grinding.

Before Snape had the chance to respond, James bid the professor a polite farewell and ushered Harry out the door. His father didn't volunteer any explanation for what had transpired in the apothecary and Harry didn't pry. Professor Snape often left him in an untalkative mood too. They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping in the Alley and trying to forget about their encounter with the Potions Master.

Later that evening, with Medusa safely nestled in her brand new glass terrarium, Harry penned another letter to Cedric. He detailed the odd encounter with their potions master, though Cedric was largely uninterested in drama between the adults. In fact, he was more interested that Snape could find his way out of the dungeons and most of his reply centred on a compelling argument about how Snape was actually a bat Animagus. Cedric ended the letter by extending an invitation to visit his home in Devon, which Harry quickly accepted. Potter Manor, though vast, could be dead boring; the protective charms that surrounded the property rivalled even Hogwarts', keeping all but his father's most trusted friends out. A list did not include Harry's friends.

His father was reluctant to let him go, citing numerous safety concerns. Harry pleaded for days, trying to convince him otherwise, but his father remained steadfast in his decision. When he complained to Uncle Remus, his father's long time friend patted him on the head and refused to get involved, even if he did sympathise with Harry. His godfather, on the other hand, was more willing to intercede on Harry's behalf.

"You can't keep them locked up forever, James," Uncle Sirius murmured one evening after Harry was supposed to be in bed.

"I can damn well try."

"Harry won't see that you are doing this to keep him safe. He'll see you as a jailer who keeps him from his friend."

"I'd rather him resent me than be dead."

"He might not be dead, but how can he be truly alive if you don't let him live?"

"I have to protect them, Pads," his father said after a long bout of silence. His voice was wobbly and scratchy like he was trying to hold back tears. "I can't lose them too."

Harry drew away from the door to his father's office and slipped down the hall. It was a long time before he was able to push the sound of his father's sobs out of his mind and fall into an uneasy sleep. When he stepped out of the fireplace of Cedric's house several days later, there was little triumph in getting what he wanted. He didn't complain that his father followed closely after, and he couldn't find it in himself to feel embarrassed when his father interrogated Mr Diggory about safety precautions. If anything, he felt annoyed when Mr Diggory dismissed James's worries with a jovial laugh and a wave of the hand.

"The Weasley family lives on the other side of the town and the Lovegoods live just over the hill. They'll be fine."

James looked like he disagreed with Mr Diggory's assessment, and was even considering taking Harry home with him. He turned and fixed Harry with a stern look that did nothing to conceal his unease. "What will you do if something goes wrong?"

"Find a competent adult and hide," Harry responded.

James pursed his lips and gave him a stiff nod. He pulled Harry into a brief, yet tight hug, before disappearing back through the fireplace. Harry wondered just how brave his father had to be, in order to let him go.

"Good lord," Mr Diggory said with an astonished laugh. "Is he always like that?"

Since Mum was murdered, Harry wanted to snap.

Mr Diggory, oblivious to the awkward atmosphere, began questioning Harry about his term at school. Harry answered as best he could, though he never had been very good at speaking to new people. Cedric noticed this and took pity on him by redirecting his father's attention, asking for permission to explore the nearby muggle village of Ottery St Catchpole. It was a warm, sunny day in Devon and, not wanting to chaperone two preteen boys, Mr Diggory waved them off and instructed them to be home for tea.

"You look like a prat," Cedric commented as they slipped out of the house.

Harry glanced down at his white collared shirt and sensible dark trousers in confusion. "This is what my dad wears when he has to work with muggles." At least he had had the foresight not to wear a set of robes. He knew Muggles didn't wear those.

"Yeah, your dad," Cedric emphasised, his grey eyes crinkling with mirth. "Haven't you ever met a muggle our age before?"

Harry had rarely met wizards his age before starting at Hogwarts. Where on earth was he supposed to find a muggle? "My dad is a bit overprotective," he admitted finally.

Cedric laughed at the understatement. "Ah well," he said before extending his hands towards the bag Harry had brought along. "My god-snake better be in there."

He rolled his eyes but flipped open the flap of his bag, allowing Medusa to rise up and poke her head out. Upon seeing Cedric, she hissed with delight and launched herself into his waiting hands. Cedric cooed over how big she had gotten in their month apart, and Medusa twisted so that he could better appreciate her scales in the sunlight. Harry spent the rest of the walk into town acting as a translator between his two friends. When they got close to town (even he knew Muggles would have been alarmed to see two boys playing with a venomous snake), Harry was forced to return her back to his bag. Medusa hissed and let him know that Cedric was her favourite human.

Ottery St Catchpole was a small but bustling town, and the boys had a grand time exploring it together. Harry marvelled in particular at the paper shop, and whilst it didn't carry any parchment, Cedric showed him something called a fountain pen which seemed much more convenient than a quill. The muggle bookshop they found was filled with a dizzying variety of fiction and non-fiction alike, full of knowledge he hadn't known had existed. They purchased lunch at a stand Cedric called a 'chippy' and ate their fried fish on the grassy banks of River Otter, tossing their chips at each other to see who could catch more in their mouth. The day possessed its own unique brand of magic, despite having a muggle town as its backdrop, creating a bubble of idyllic serenity that was uniquely theirs.

Their peace was ruined by a large group of children that Harry assumed were related, if their identical shade of flaming red hair was any indication. Four of the children in the river wading towards them, their trousers rolled up to their knees as they caught frogs along the river banks, whilst another boy walked along the bank, his nose stuck in a book. The children in the river were a rambunctious lot, their shouts piercing the hot summer air, only to grow louder when the other boy asked them to settle down. One of the taller boys called out a greeting when they saw Cedric and the hoard descended upon them.

"The Weasleys," Cedric explained at Harry's alarmed expression.

Harry felt the overwhelming urge to sink into the grassy bank beneath him and hide. Fred and George Weasley were well known amongst the Slytherins for their proclivity for pranking, and not all of their tricks were funny. Some were innocuous enough, like the time they spelled Cordelia Gamp's hair lime green or set off a Dungbomb under the Slytherin table. Other pranks were less amusing and more dangerous, like when they swapped out valerian sprigs for lavender in Potions class, causing Adrian Pucey's Forgetfulness Potion to explode. Harry was one of the nine students sent to the hospital wing that day and he was still rather upset about it.

"This is Harry," Cedric said after pleasantries were exchanged.

Percy, a Gryffindor Harry had seen around Hogwarts but never had known the name of, nodded at him before withdrawing from the group and continuing his book. Harry felt a small degree of envy at the sight. Reading seemed like a much more attractive way to pass the time than talking to the Weasley twins. He didn't even have the option to read as Cedric had threatened to burn any book Harry brought along. Instead, he was forced to loiter awkwardly next to his friend as he talked to the neighbours about people and events Harry had never heard of.

"What house are you in?" Ron, the youngest of the brothers, asked. He looked up at Harry in wonder, though not by much. At ten, Ron was already long and gangly, and his oversized hands and feet foretold another imminent growth spurt.

The other Weasley siblings turned their attention to him and Harry felt his throat tighten. "Slytherin," he managed to choke out.

Ron's nose wrinkled. "Why would you want to go there?"

"My favourite colour is green," Harry replied for lack of a better thing to say.

This seemed to be a valid response for Ginny, the only girl of the brood, who nodded sagely. Harry had the brief mental image of Ginny with a long grey beard like Professor Dumbledore, which was ridiculous, considering she was eight. Harry had to fight to keep the grin off his face.

"Wait," Fred said, eyeing Harry with suspicion. "You're a Slytherin?"

The twins had never targeted Harry himself, but it was obvious now that it had less to do with tolerance and more with his own anonymity. Harry wondered where the twin menaces had been all year. They had, after all, shared several classes with the Slytherins. When he nodded, the two bowed their heads together and began to converse in low tones. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach when the twins shot him identical, calculating looks. He had the feeling that he might no longer be safe from their torment, come September.

Ginny didn't seem to share her brother's wariness and plopped down next to Harry. "Do you like Quidditch?"

Relieved at a more neutral topic, Harry nodded. "What team do you go for?"

"The Holyhead Harpies, of course," she said before launching into a sermon about why they were "the best Quidditch team ever". Ron was able to forget his distrust of Harry long enough to join his sister and loudly explain that she was stupid for not supporting the Chudley Cannons. Harry admitted that he was rather partial to Puddlemere United, but agreed with Ginny that her team was an excellent choice.

"The Cannons, though," he sighed in mock disappointment. "You could do much better, Ron."

Ron's chest swelled with indignation. "They're having a bad season, that's all," he proclaimed. "Who wants to support a team that wins all the time anyway?"

While the Weasley twins left much to be desired in the way of company, Harry found that the two youngest were rather pleasant. Harry could see John getting on well with Ron, which wouldn't be a bad thing considering they would be going to Hogwarts together. Perhaps he should introduce them— Merlin knew how badly John needed a friend.

Ginny, on the other hand, was… well, Ginny. Harry didn't know a person who was comparable to her. The other girls he knew from school tended to hold him at arm's length— either because he was a Slytherin or because he was the brother of the Boy Who Lived. But Ginny didn't have any of those reservations. She didn't know who Harry was, or who his brother was, nor did she seem to care to find out. All she cared about was that Harry let her crawl into his lap and told her stories about Hogwarts.

Harry could tell that the Weasley twins weren't happy with how friendly their little sister was with him. When Ginny pleaded for him to write to her, he thought their heads would explode. He could feel the weight of their glares, boring holes into his back. He knew the smart decision would be to refuse. She was eight years old. She had six older brothers. Six older, protective brothers. But when she looked up at him, her brown eyes blazing like the sun, he was powerless to resist her request. He knew that he would surely pay for it when classes resumed— if the twins didn't find a way to prank him beforehand. But the smile on her face was worth it.

Harry wouldn't know what that agreement would entail. He didn't know that he would have to provide play-by-plays of the five-day final match of the Quidditch World Cup later that summer. He didn't know that she would tell him about sneaking flights on her brother's brooms in the dead of night. That she would confide in him her desire to play Quidditch professionally. He didn't realise he would have to console the eight (almost nine!)-year-old when her brothers bullied her. He didn't know he would help her devise ways to exact revenge.

Harry hadn't learned how easy it was to talk to Ginny. He could tell her things he couldn't tell his father or his uncles or his best friend— like how lonely he felt sometimes, even when he was with them. He would eventually tell her that he was the elder brother of the Boy Who Lived. (And considering her crush on his brother, it was as awkward as one might think). He told her about his desire for people to recognise him for what he had accomplished, rather than his connection to John. She knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a sibling, after all. She had six of them.

But he didn't know any of this yet. All he had wanted was to make her happy. And then she beamed at him, and his chest burned with joy. He might not have made the wisest decision that day on the grassy bank of River Otter. But he knew, deep down in his soul, that it was the right one.

Genius Fratris

On the thirty-first of July, Harry awoke to John bouncing on his bed. His brother squealed with incomprehensible delight and dragged him down to the kitchen where a feast was waiting. It was the end of the table, however, that caught Harry's eye: a dozen brightly wrapped birthday presents sat, begging to be opened. He knew that only half of them were his, but the sight sent a childlike thrill through his body nonetheless.

By some stroke of fate (or perhaps the wild Halloween parties Uncle Sirius used to throw), both Harry and John had been born on the same day, exactly two years apart. Harry vaguely remembered the day John was born. He had been less than pleased to learn he would have to share his mummy and daddy. After promising that there had been no shortage of cuddles, Harry had accepted the squalling alien his parents claimed was his new brother, and that was that. Birthdays in the Potter home were always filled with love, and Harry knew his father took special care to make sure they were both treated equally, right down to the number of presents they received.

"Eat first," James admonished his sons with a laugh.

Harry nodded and tucked into his sausage and eggs with only slightly less gusto than John. Only after Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius arrived, were the brothers permitted to tear into their presents. Harry received several fascinating books from his father, who rolled his eyes at Harry's delighted cheers. Practical as always, Uncle Remus gifted him a handsome leather planner for school. Uncle Sirius gifted him a puzzle box he had found on his most recent trip to China and had filled it with enough sweets to last until Halloween. Cedric had sent one of the funny pens from the paper shop with a bottle of ink and instructions on how to care for it whilst Ginny sent a Howler extolling his virtues. That last one earned him relentless teasing from his family. After presents, the family gathered their broomsticks and went to play Quidditch in the back garden, with Uncle Remus playing referee.

The greatest gift he received, however, was the afternoon spent with his father. True, they only went to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies for the coming school year, but an afternoon with his father's undivided attention was still a precious gift. John had volunteered to remain behind with their uncles. Flying, he had proclaimed, was more exciting than restocking potions kits, after all. And if he hadn't wanted to venture into Diagon Alley (which would surely be packed with families completing their back-to-school shopping), no one could blame him. Picking up Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two and being mobbed by well-wishers wasn't an ideal way to spend a birthday. Fortunately for Harry, he had anonymity on his side, and he happily departed for the shopping district.

Whilst he hadn't been allowed to buy additional books from Flourish and Blotts, his father made up for it by buying them ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Although, he suspected the strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice cream was his father's way of bribing him into shopping for new school robes. Harry refused to admit that the bribe was effective, but allowed his father to usher him into Madam Malkin's with little grumbling. A flustered looking sale's clerk directed him towards a podium before shooing off a rowdy group of loitering teens.

His father fell into a conversation with another parent leaving him to the mercy of the harried seamstress. Harry tried not to fidget as the seamstress pinned the hem of his robes. He glanced over at the girl on the podium next to him, who also looked highly uncomfortable in her robes, though she managed to stay still for her own seamstress. Despite her pinched expression, Harry could tell that she was a very pretty girl. She had long, glossy black hair and smattering of freckles across her tiny nose. She was short, even compared to Harry who was amongst the smallest in his year. But whilst his height made him look scrawny, the girl somehow managed to make it look delicate.

"First year at Hogwarts?" he asked.

She gave him a shy smile. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her bell-like voice emphasising her lilting Scottish accent.

He offered her a small smile of his own. "A little," he replied. "Are you excited?"

She nodded vigorously and launched into what felt like her life story, starting with her birth to a witch and muggle, and concluding with receiving her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. "I'm hoping for Ravenclaw," she finished. "Like Mum."

Harry hummed for lack of a better thing to say. "Nobody truly knows where they'll end up," he said.

The girl nodded to concede his point and began to reply, only to be cut off.

"Ravenclaw is fine, I suppose," a boy said from behind them.

Harry startled before hissing in pain when the seamstress jabbed a pin in his arm. He craned his neck around, dismayed to find both Fred and George Weasley sliding over to the girl. They wound their lanky arms around her tiny shoulders, trapping her in place.

"But Gryffindor is the best house," said the one on the left.

"More fun than the dull bookworms in Ravenclaw," continued the one on the right.

"Or those duffers in Hufflepuff."

"Certainly better than the future dark lords you find in Slytherin," the right one said with a shudder. "I think I'd leave if I was sorted there. Wouldn't you, George?"

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes as the twins continued to spew heavy-handed insults about Slytherin. Even if Harry liked his house, he wouldn't have been offended. There was nothing clever or original about calling Slytherins "baby blood purists," after all. And calling them "slimy snakes" lacked any sort of logical impact, considering snakes had dry skin. After dealing with Atticus Nettles and his silver tongue for the better part of a year, Harry found himself unimpressed with the twins' juvenile taunts. That was until they called him a "Junior Death Eater".

Neither Fred nor George Weasley had been the first to hiss that particular epithet in his direction. He had heard it countless times, whispered in the corridors, shouted across Quidditch pitches, written in notes tossed at his head. But for some reason, hearing it fall out of one of the twin menaces lips, in the presence of this girl who had looked at him without fear or disgust, caused something to explode in his chest. It was personal here, he supposed. None of those people had known who he was beyond the colour of his robes. But Fred and George did. They knew his name, saw him trying to befriend someone and decided that was something that could not happen. It was a familiar, bruising feeling he was all too accustomed to.

They were just like Atticus Nettles and Edmund Sparrow and Terrence Higgs, and all of the other Slytherins who gave him hell. Like Adrian Pucey and Peregrine Mulciber, who saw his loneliness and relished even more in excluding him. Like Cordelia Gamp and Beatrice Trouche and the other first-year girls who shrieked with laughter when they saw Harry humiliated. Just like Professor Snape who asked Harry a question in class, knowing full well that he physically could not answer it. They were bullies, Harry realised in an instant. And Harry hated bullies.

His blood was pounding in his ears, his heart about to leap out of his chest. He wanted to open his mouth and disparage their character like they were doing to his. He wanted to make them hurt, embarrass them as they did him. He could feel his tongue, twitching in his mouth, ready to spew vitriol that could come so easily. He would let them hear what a real, well crafted, Slytherin insult sounded like. For once, his throat felt clear, free, at the ready. All he had to do was open his mouth and he knew his voice wouldn't fail him.

Then he glanced at the little first-year girl, who watched him with curiosity, waiting to see how he would react. That's when he realised something: there was nothing to gain in this situation. Insulting Fred and George might feel good at that moment, but there was no long term benefit. They would only have more reason to dislike him, and he, in turn, would look cruel to the first year, tainting her fledgeling opinions of him. He would look every bit the cruel, stereotypical Slytherin. She would lump him together with all the peers that he disliked, which was a greater insult than anything the twins could come up with.

So he tramped down on his anger, quelled his quivering tongue. He was better than his housemates and he was better than the bullying twins, he reminded himself. He rolled his eyes and shot the girl a playful wink before shifting his gaze away, feigning boredom with whatever the twins had to say. He would let them think him haughty. He would show them that they were nothing more than inconsequential nuisances to him. But most of all, he would never let them think that they had power over him.

"I'm not sure leaving would make any difference," she said in her bell-like voice, cutting off one of the twins. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her brow furrowed in confusion as she raised a contemplative hand to her chin. When the twins paused their diatribe against Slytherins to ask her what she was talking about, she gave them a pitying look.

"You said you would leave if you were sorted into Slytherin," she explained in a patient tone. "But what good would that do? I mean, if all Slytherins are evil like you claim, then whether you decide to leave Hogwarts or not wouldn't make a difference. You'd already be evil."

The twin on the right's face twisted with annoyance. "Slytherin turns people evil," he huffed.

"So Slytherins aren't inherently evil?" she asked. "Then why not befriend them, and protect them from falling into wickedness?"

The right twin was losing his patience. "Why would I want to befriend an evil person?"

"You just said that it was the house, not the person, that induces evilness," the girl pointed out. "So befriending them would be the best course of action at diverting future dark lords. Unless of course, you do believe that only the wicked are sorted into Slytherin. In which case, you are already evil and leaving Hogwarts would be a waste of time. You might as well stay and take advantage of a full education and an impressive library."

"That's not—"

"Look," the girl said, fixing him with an unimpressed look. "Either the people are evil or the house corrupts them. You can't have both. Besides, if Slytherin house was such a bad influence, I doubt the school would have allowed it to exist for so long." She shrugged and hopped off her podium. "I don't know, your argument seems a bit silly doesn't it?"

"Supremely," Harry replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Enjoy your time in Ravenclaw…"

"Chang," she said, granting him a friendly nod. "Cho Chang."

"I'll see you around," he said before stepping off his own pedestal. He gathered his new sets of robes and moved to join his father, who was waiting for him at the till. He could hear the twins grumbling behind him, jumping onto the newly vacated pedestals, ready for their own robe fittings.

"Oh no," he heard one of the seamstresses say. He turned his head in time to see the woman collect her tools with a flick of her wand and stand. "You don't want me to fit you. I'm a duffer Hufflepuff. I'd mess it up."

The door to Madam Malkin's swung shut behind him before he could hear their reply. Still, he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face for the rest of the day.


"Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness." – Lucius Annaeus Seneca


A/N: "Use your free time to write!" I said. "Quarantine will let me be so productive!" I said.

Oh, that sweet summer child. So young, so naive.

This chapter took way too long to finish. But it is now. I hope you liked it. Leave me a comment and let me know what you thought? -CheckAlexa