Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. A/N: SHE LIVES! This chapter has been kicking my keister for over a year. But I have triumphed! ...maybe. Tell me what you think – have I won?
Chapter Five
Curiosity Killed The Cat...
Lessons started with no consideration for students still wishing it was the holidays. The older years were already facing the reality of future-defining exams; the younger years bemoaning the amount of homework most teachers were piling on them.
The first years had their own troubles. Learning to compose essays and how to research an answer properly and stretch as little information as possible into as large a space as possible, and working on their handwriting and, for some, learning to write with a quill on parchment. Hermione had the opposite problem, having to learn to keep her answers concise and to the point. She was sure it was a conspiracy against over-ambitious students; maybe Ron and Harry would look into it with her... well, maybe not.
That was if – and sometimes it was a big if – they could find their classes in the first place. Hogwarts was a veritable maze, with corroders twisting and turning and sometimes even deciding to go in circles every now and then for a while. The first time the trio was walking up a set of stone stairs that decided to go for a wander they were nearly late to class... after they got over the shock of being deposited three corridors away from where they were heading. There were doors that liked hiding and walls that liked to pretend to be doors, and staircases that went a different place on Fridays, and the invisible step caught every first year at least once. The portraits were no help as landmarks as they liked to visit each other in their frames, and if Harry were as immature as the other first years, he wouldn't have allowed Ron and Hermione to talk him out of keeping the suits of armour under surveillance – as they didn't seem to be stationary either, moving whenever they fancied; and he'd wanted to catch them at it.
Some of the ghosts could be counted on to help out, but most didn't seem to be bothered much about anything in the living world. Peeves, of course, was a completely different matter.
Harry, Ron and Hermione met Peeves on their first day of classes before breakfast when they caught him attempting to cover the stairs out of the dungeons in some type of slime. After the encounter neither ghost nor first years were very impressed with each other, and Ron was sure that an eternity-long rivalry was about to commence – as soon as he convinced his friends that the poltergeist was worth the trouble. He didn't think it would take much.
Their classes were, while interesting, not overly challenging, at least in the opinion of three of the new first years. Probably the most interesting thing that happened during the first week of their classes was the extra attendee that most hadn't counted on. Pasht had been shut inside their dormitory when they left for breakfast on the first day; but she turned up outside their first class waiting to enter just like the first years. Harry had looked at her in bemusement, and turned to his friends for advice.
Hermione frowned. She didn't think the teacher would accept the animal in the classroom, but... "We don't have time to take her back now," she said, and the boys agreed. They had entered and sat in the back with Pasht perched pertly on Harry's desk, watching the teacher with bright eyes.
Most of the first years had noticed their extra classmate, but they didn't have time to say anything before the class started. The class had run over, and they all had to rush to get to the next one. Pasht tagged right along.
The reactions of the different professors had been interesting. Professor Sprout, their Herbology teacher and Professor Flitwick who taught Charms both thought she was beautiful, and welcomed her in their classrooms.
Binns, their History teacher and the only professor they had that was, well... bodily deficient, didn't even notice the feline and the Transfiguration professor, McGonagall – surprisingly – had taken one look at her and pretended to ignore her. The teacher's eyes could be seen though, now and then, straying to where the animal had settled; and it became common practice for her to spend several minutes during a lecture absent-mindedly petting the kitten. For this reason, and because it was the most challenging subject they studied, it became the only class the trio sat in the front.
Professor Sinistra was violently allergic to cats, and the first time Pasht attempted to join their midnight Astronomy class she was nearly thrown over the edge of the tower they studied on. The cat didn't even attempt to enter the Potions classroom – not being at all impressed with Professor Snape – and the one time she attended Defence, she'd taken one whiff of Professor Quirrell's turban and left the room as though she'd been personally offended.
The trio quickly learned to follow Pasht to their classes, and they were never lost again. How she knew where to go and what classroom they were meant to be in was anybody's guess, but none of the three canny first-years were going to question their good fortune.
Every morning at breakfast, hundreds of owls would swoop into the great hall, delivering post or just simply to say good morning to their owners. Michael-Angelo, Isabella, and Hedwig would often visit their owners to say hello; though they were rarely carrying mail.
On Friday morning, however, Hedwig arrived with a rough note full of messy writing.
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
Hagrid. (1)
Harry grinned and quickly dashed a response, which Hedwig flew off with.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked inquisitively.
"Hagrid invited me for tea this afternoon. Would you like to come?" he invited his two companions. They looked at each other.
"Sure, that'd be great, Harry," Ron answered as Hermione smiled and nodded.
"We have potions today, right?" Harry changed the subject.
"Yes, and we should get there. I don't think Snape's reputation for favouring Slytherins will extend to those that are tardy," Ron quirked a smile – something that was becoming a far more regular occurrence for all three of them – and they quickly rose from the table and made their way into the dungeons.
Severus Excelsior Snape despised first years. He hated the way they looked around with eyes too big for their faces, and he couldn't stand the fact they were all so small, and their incompetence left a sour taste in his mouth. It should be noted, perhaps, that Severus did in fact hate all children – and oh! how he hated pandering to any of them, even his Slytherins – but he absolutely abhorred first years.
He especially hated the first-years first potions class. Of the two he taught each year – each year! What had he done to deserve it? – it was the Slytherin/Gryffindor class he reviled the most, and was the absolute worst. Of course, this particular first, first-year, Slytherin/Gryffindor class also contained something he hated perhaps more than children – why had he ever let Albus talk him into it? Azkaban wasn't that bad, surely? He could endure the torture leaving the proximity of Dumbledore would incur, should the Dark Lord ever return, couldn't he? – a Potter. A Slytherin Potter, no less.
Severus scowled at the bright chatter the brats were indulging in, in his classroom. Time to dissuade yet another generation of the notion that he was, in any way, nice.
Severus couldn't help it – he gaped. Of course, the moment he realized this, he stopped; and would never admit to it having happened, even under threat of torture and death – but he did gape.
His first, first-years Slytherin/Gryffindor potions class had gone just as they had every other year. He'd had them silent, still and quaking in their annoying children-sized school shoes within thirty seconds of opening his sarcastic, insult-ridden mouth. He'd then jumped – almost literally – on some hapless first year (he'd taken great pleasure in choosing Potter for this yearly ritual) and proceeded to attempt to humiliate the child. By the time he was finished, usually his victim was close to, if not in, tears; and was jumpy around him for the rest of their Hogwarts career. When he'd finished this time, however, he'd had to admit to himself he'd failed.
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered rood of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" the boy had started to open his mouth, but Severus hadn't allowed him time to answer, not that he could, he thought, and went onto the next question he'd decided on for this year's list. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, and why would I need one?" the boy looked at him blankly, and he smirked maliciously, purposely ignoring the tentative hands in the air across the room. His attention remained solely on his victim. "No? Well how about this: what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Again, the boy gave no response; save to fix an implacable gaze upon him. Severus had the queerest sensation that he'd lost in some way, and so he scowled again (it was his favourite expression, and he took great care to maintain it whenever possible) and decided to punish the whole class for it.
"Since it's doubtful none of you even cracked open your text books before arriving here," lazy brats, he thought furiously, I'm not giving them the answer this time! "and because I've got no doubt in my mind that none of you could answer my questions, anyway, I expect a twelve inch essay for each question, explaining the answer; due next Friday," he finished in satisfaction. Ha! Let's see the mess they make of that one! After he'd finished doing a victory dance in his head – again, he wouldn't ever admit it, or the thought that accompanied it: one to me, brats: ZERO! – he told them to work in pairs and put the recipe for a simple – mmph. Like they'll even stir themselves to try – boil-curing potion.
Of course, he thought in despair, as he glanced up the back, sometimes I give these simple-minded baboons too much credit. Most of his Slytherins had taken seats down the front – brownnosers – bar the three that were along the back bench of the classroom. In latter years it would come to be known as theirs, but right now it was annoying him, as there was three children seated at the bench instead of two, which is the only way he knew to interpret the word 'pairs'. He huffed in irritation. Yes, far too much credit.
He strode towards them, just as Potter was gathering up his belongings to move to a different seat, but Severus stopped him. "Too important to sit near the rest of us mere mortals, Potter?" he sneered softly – they were Slytherins after all; it wouldn't do to appear anything but doting in front of the other houses – "You can do this assignment alone, Potter... in fact, it would benefit all of you," he continued spitefully, hoping he might rid Potter of the only friends he'd deigned to make. "Spread out and each complete the assignment separately," he instructed. They didn't question him, as he'd expected; barely even hesitated in fact, and he sneered at them again and left to sort out the other pairs – leaving poor Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor at the mercy of the vindictive Theodore Nott – not that he cared at all; it was quite amusing.
He saw disaster coming before it happened, of course, and could have prevented it; that was one of the reasons he stalked around the classroom like a giant bat (he'd heard the description half-way though his first year teaching and happily took great measures to ensure the likeness ever since. Also a secret he'd take to his grave, especially as he used some theatrical spells to ensure success) – the other reason being to terrifying them out of their minds, obviously – he'd simply chosen not to act. Pain was a very effective teaching tool in his opinion.
Unfortunately the three troublemakers in the back were too far away to blame for the incident, so he contented himself with allowing the child to suffer while he tore verbal strips off him, took twenty points from Gryffindor in satisfaction, and then instructed the boy to go to the hospital wing.
Finally, the torture had ended – how did he endure it? – and the brats were packed up, cleaned up, and walking out his door. He allowed himself to breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief as he watched the last child leave the room. It was Potter, of course. Lazy.
Naturally, before he did leave, he left Severus in his aforementioned state of huh? and forced him to stop himself gaping of all things.
The child had very quietly, but firmly, stated:
"Asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone that will save you from most poisons, and is taken from the stomach of a goat. Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the same plant; it also goes by the names Aconite, Auld Wife's Huid, Blue Rocket and Friar's Cap; it's a genus flower that belongs to the buttercup family. I believe there are over two-hundred and fifty species world-wide(2)."
And then he left. Severus scowled. Brat.
That afternoon Ron, Hermione and Harry headed for Hagrid's cabin, which was out on the grounds not far from the Forbidden Forest. Pasht pranced regally in front of them, leading the way, and the three children discussed their potion masters... unique teaching method.
"Is it just me, or was that a little – strange?" Harry asked his friends. "I thought everyone said that Snape pandered to Slytherin house because he's our head?"
"Maybe he's the type of teacher that needs to establish dominance over his students by ridiculing them," Hermione suggested, her brow creased in thought.
"All my brothers complain about Snape – how he only ever picks on Gryffindoors, and likes scaring Hufflepuffs, and stressing out Ravenclaws by never giving them full marks. They always said he never does anything to punish Slytherins – at least not where anyone can see – and that he always takes their side. I don't know... it was strange. He seemed to have it in for you, Harry," Ron observed.
"A lot of teachers like to pick on their students, Ron," Hermione replied to his thought. "Maybe we should see if it's just Harry that he seems to – umm," she faltered trying to think of a diplomatic way to describe the teacher's attitude.
"Despise?" Harry offered.
"Loathe?" Ron contributed.
"Disparage," Hermione answered firmly.
"Did either of you notice how he practically whispered about us doing the assignment separately? Like he didn't want anyone to know he was making the class harder for us?" Ron said. "That's what makes me think it was personal. He doesn't allow anyone to see him disparaging Slytherins, but he couldn't stop himself doing it anyway."
"Ron's got a point there, Hermione," Harry commented as they arrived at Hagrid's cabin.
"I suppose," she conceded, and the three of them looked up... and up... and up at their destination.
It was circular, with a thatched roof, and would have looked like a charming little cottage – if everything about it hadn't been thrice the size a regular man would need it to be.
Harry shot a quick glance at his two friends, then stepped forward to knock.
Bam! Clang! Crash! Pasht bristled and all three Slytherins cringed back from the disaster apparently happening on the other side of the enormous, closed door in response to Harry's knock. Deep, throaty barking was interrupted by Hagrid's words of "back, Fang! Back!"
"Fang?" Hermione questioned apprehensively. It crossed all three minds that elsewhere sounded a pretty good place to be right now. Too late, Ron thought as the door opened, and there was Hagrid, attempting to keep a hold of an enormous border hound by the scruff of his neck, grinning at them from under his unruly beard.
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry jumped in quickly, "is this a bad time?"
"Nah, course not," Hagrid assured them. "Come in, all of ye."
"These are my friends, Ron and Hermione," Harry introduced the other two first years. "I hope it's ok that they came too?" he inquired politely.
"'Course it is. The more the merrier in my opinion!" Hagrid boomed. "Down, Fang!"
It was, of course, a hopeless cause. 'Fang' was too excited by the idea of company, and managed to slip out of Hagrids hold. He leapt at the three visitors and managed to bring all three of them to the ground – where he promptly slobbered all over them.
Once Hagrid had rescued them and showed them to seats with soup-like cups of warm tea in their hands, Fang calmed and settled down in front of the fire – which is when Pasht made her presence known. Surprisingly, Fang didn't react to the kitten, other than to lift his large head, perk his ears and twitch his nose in her direction. In turn, Pasht sniffed delicately at the huge border hound, meowed in approval, and proceeded to jump up on his back and settle in for a nap.
The visitors exchanged amused glances, and Harry had to wonder if they'd ever stop being surprised by his new familiar, as they settled in to chat and make a new friend.
When they got back from visiting Hagrid, they found Draco Malfoy in the first-years common room. It seemed he'd been waiting for them, as he moved to intercept them before they could go to their room.
"Where have you lot been then?" he demanded, obviously annoyed about something.
Harry had been practicing with the skill he'd learned from Hermione, and sent his magic out gently to probe the other boy's emotions lightly. He was... nervous, yet curious and feeling vaguely offended for some reason. Harry smiled gently to cover the moment, then said neutrally, "out on the grounds. Did you want to talk to us?"
Malfoy frowned. "Just you, actually," he paused significantly, but Ron and Hermione didn't move, and Harry didn't ask them to leave.
"Yes?" he asked innocently instead.
The boy frowned, obviously displeased. "The thing is Potter, I was going to ask you to sit with me at breakfast tomorrow," he blustered, as though ordaining a great favour.
Harry smiled shyly, keeping to the character he'd presented to Malfoy when he and the other boy had first met. "That will be most pleasant, Draco. We'll save you, Vincent and Gregory seats at the table tomorrow, alright? See you then... we have homework to finish now." With that, he quickly led his friends away from the gobsmacked boy.
"Was he trying to be... friendly?" Ron asked once their door was firmly closed behind them.
"I think that was more political with a dash of childish possessiveness thrown in to spice it up, actually," Harry replied thoughtfully.
"What makes you think so?" Hermione asked curiously, as they pulled out the little bit homework they hadn't yet finished in class from pure boredom.
"When I first met Draco he wanted to be impressive, he wants a real friend even if he doesn't realise it himself. The next time I saw him, he was with his parents... his father is obviously political, and I'm pretty sure Draco looks up to him," Harry explained his thoughts slowly as they sat down and started their work. "When we met him on the train, before he knew I was Harry Potter, he was trying to make it clear to the two of you that he knew me first so he should come first as my friend... it was like he was trying to mark his territory. Remember?"
"Yes, it was like that," Hermione mused.
"Then we arrived here, and suddenly I'm more than some kid he's decided is going to be his friend. Suddenly I'm Harry Potter and that makes me a political commodity for his father if he can cultivate my friendship," Harry started winding up his thoughts.
"...and he's been in contact constantly with home over the last week, so Lucious Malfoy could have sent instructions to make nice with you," Ron realised.
"Yes. Which makes me being his friend suddenly all the more important to him... and he sees the two of you as a threat. The saying 'doesn't play well with others' is an understatement in this case," Harry finished.
"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked.
Harry paused for a moment before he answered. It was an important consideration. "It depends on Draco. I don't mind being friends with him, I think it would do him some good to have people around with opinions that are different to what he grew up with; but I won't be friends with a bully. So it'll be up to him," Harry decided.
"I think he'll have to grow up a bit before that'll happen," Ron commented.
"Well, maybe we can set a good example for him," Hermione said, irony heavy in her tone; finding it amusing that the three of them – such outcasts in their lives until now – should be role models to anybody, let alone someone their own age. Harry and Ron easily caught on to what Hermione found amusing, and the three shared a grin before getting to work.
The next morning the trio were amongst the first to breakfast, as usual, and as promised saved three seats for their fellow Slytherins. When they arrived, Malfoy sat down with all the attitude and aplomb of an heir apparent, his two companions on either side of him.
"Good morning, Malfoy," Hermione greeted politely.
It went downhill from there.
Draco sneered, snarled and generally snarked his way through the meal, ignoring Ron and being downright rude to Hermione. At each insult the three friends became ever more rigid; an icy facade on each face hiding the anger and disgust they were beginning to feel.
At the conclusion of the meal, they stood as one. Draco floundered, having been right in the middle of an animated and elaborate story that seemed to star himself narrowly escaping a muggle helicopter while riding his broom.
"I must say, Malfoy, that this experience has been very educational for me," Harry spoke tightly, and for the first time Draco considered that perhaps the youth was made up of more than what he'd allowed the young Malfoy heir to see before. "You'll understand, I hope, that I do not wish to repeat it," Harry finished scathingly, "until you've grown up."
The three left him to go to class – a glowering, furious expression growing on his face.
At the beginning of the second week of classes Susan Bones approached Ron while he was studying in the library. Harry and Hermione had disappeared into the stacks a few minutes before to procure more reading material, leaving Ron to lay claim to the study table buried in the dark alcove no-one else seemed to know existed. The vivacious girl dumped her bag on the table and plopped into a chair across from him.
"So I've managed to get an empty classroom that we can turn into a meeting room for social," she started, as though continuing a conversation they'd already started, "and I've made up flyers for each house." She pulled out a colourful piece of parchment from her book-bag. "This is the Slytherin one. Can you hang it up in your common room?" Susan handed the parchment to him. It was an invitation for a first-years Social Gathering. "I'm glad you three were sorted into Slytherin, I didn't know the other first-years from your house very well – well, I don't know you very well, either, yet; but at least you're friendly. The others haven't really been, but I'm sure that will change." Ron raised an eyebrow in amusement, he himself not as certain. Susan didn't lose any momentum, though. "I hope you and Harry and Hermione will come, at least. It took me awhile to find you – why do you hide all the way back here?" she didn't give him a chance to answer, though. "I have to get going now – I'll see you there!" she grabbed her bag and rushed away.
Ron blinked. Then he found himself chuckling. When Harry and Hermione appeared again, each bearing a tower of books, they noticed the flyer. Hermione picked it up to examine it. "Susan gave you this?" she deduced, asking Ron to confirm her hypothesis.
"Yes, to hang in our common room. I wonder how many people will go?" he answered.
"I hope it's a success. Something like this should help with the prejudice that's running out of control around here," Harry commented, as he took the flyer from Hermione when she handed it to him.
"It's good that Susan's doing this," Hermione noted. "It's not the sort of thing I'd be comfortable organising," she continued, thinking of all the charity functions her mother was involved in running, "but Harry's right, this is an ideal way to reach out to the other first years."
"We'll have to keep supporting Susan," Ron observed. "She could become disheartened if this venture of hers doesn't succeed."
Harry smiled. "That shouldn't be too difficult," he said. Though he'd only just met Ron and Hermione, he was left with little doubt that together, the three of them could accomplish anything they set their minds to.
When they returned to the first-years common room that night after dinner, Ron hung the Social flyer under another notice that had been put up some time that day.
"Looks like we have our first flying lesson this week," he commented to his two friends. "It's with the Gryffindors this Thursday," he elaborated.
"That will be interesting. Have you had much chance to fly, Ron?" Harry asked, interested in the concept of flying on broomsticks, as they walked back to their room.
"A little. Only when my family was pre-occupied, of course. It's quite – exciting. Freeing, I suppose is the best way to describe it," the red-head replied.
"It is... hard to do?" Hermione asked tentatively, as they entered their room and put their things away in the study area.
Ron considered. "No, not really. Some people have natural talent, of course; but the thing that makes the most difference is confidence. When you have confidence in yourself your magic takes firmer control of the charms on the broom and it responds better," he explained.
Hermione nervously bit her lip. "I guess that makes sense. I suppose we'll see if it's as easy as that this Thursday," she smiled at the boys and then the three room-mates scattered to get ready for bed and a few hours of homework.
Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. As was their custom by now, the three Slytherin friends were up and about with the sun; first the boys joining in with Hermione's dance warm-ups and routines that she claimed would be the best physical exercise they could get in a place like Hogwarts – Harry and Ron had soon realised she was right – then moving on to Harry helping his two friends learning some more advanced musical theory. Ron had joined the school band in Ottery St Catchpole to learn the basics and Hermione had taken a year of piano, but they had both expressed an interest in learning more after they heard Harry practice his violin. After that they spent some time studying whatever took their fancy (they each usually chose a muggle topic to take a break from magic); and then preparing for their magical lessons – gathering completed homework and packing book-bags up with texts and everything else they would need that day – all in the hours between the dawn and leaving for breakfast.
When they walked into the Great Hall they were among the first students to arrive as usual, and had their pick of seats. They each grabbed their preferred breakfasts and settled in to eat before their familiars arrived for a visit.
This morning when the mail arrived, Michael-Angelo was carrying a parcel. Ron rewarded his familiar with a bit of bacon before opening it. It turned out to be his enrolment notification and first lesson package from the muggle correspondence school his teacher had recommended. He smiled, realising from the information included that he'd been right about being able to finish his muggle education in only a few years. He looked up from his mail to find two curious, but restrained friends – friends – waiting to see if he was willing to explain. He was.
Ron told them of sneaking off into the local village a few times, of being interested in the school, and perhaps making friends, and finding out that he really enjoyed learning. He explained about his teacher and the advanced classes he'd been able to take and that his school professor had recommended the correspondence school.
"But how does the mail system work?" Harry asked; puzzled at how a muggle institution could contact Ron via owl post.
Ron described how it worked. "The school sends everything off to a muggle post office box that they think is my address, which is a centre run by the ministry for magical/wizarding mail exchange. They in turn send everything off to the recipient – either with one of their own owls or by putting it all aside for a personal owl to collect. When I need to send something in, I send it to the exchange with Michael-Angelo, and it's then sent on via muggle post to the school. It takes an extra few days, but the system works very well."
"What are you studying?" Hermione asked, very interested.
"I'm completing my muggle secondary education. I figure I've already done so much, why waste all that effort by not finishing?" Ron answered.
"What did you have to do to do that?" Hermione asked, interested.
"A few placement tests, then enrolment stuff," Ron explained. "Why?"
"I'd love to finish Muggle School, I'm nearly done as well," Hermione answered. "My tutor was aiming for me to start tertiary-level classes when I turned twelve, so I'm nearly ready to take my A-levels." (3)
"I can send a new student inquiry if you like," Ron offered.
"That would be brilliant!" Hermione stated.
"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked, turning to his other friend, who had been very quiet but was obviously listening with a laser-like focus.
"I'd love to as well, but I'm not sure what kind of level I'm at with school. It's not like my schooling has ever been very formal... are you sure it'll be ok?" Harry answered.
"Yes, lots of different people attend, some of them get left behind in subjects in mainstream school before they join, so they'll be used to students with uneven results," Ron reassured him.
"Then yes, that would be great!" Harry smiled the most brilliant smile his friends had ever seen him give.
Ron pulled out a sheet of paper from a muggle writing set and dashed off a quick request for two more student placements.
"Are you up for another delivery, Michael-Angelo?" he asked his owl. The creature ruffled his feathers and hooted proudly.
Ron grinned at his affronted familiar. "I know you're a brilliant postal owl, Michael-Angelo. I'm just looking after you. I don't want to send you straight away if you're tired from carrying that package," he explained to the bird.
Michael-Angelo answered by sticking out his foot for the note.
That afternoon, the trio made their way out onto the open area of the Quidditch Pitch with varying emotions. Ron was feeling quite excited, although you wouldn't guess it from his cool, blue eyes. He'd often snuck out flying on his brothers' broomsticks, and enjoyed the feeling of freeing himself from the confines of the earth and leaving his problems behind. It was the same feeling he got while losing himself in his art. Hermione was feeling apprehensive; while she didn't really have a problem with heights, the thought of soaring miles high in the air with nothing but a temperamental, magicked piece of wood supporting her sent her stomach to hatching butterflies by the droves. Harry's feelings fell in the middle. He was uncertain how well he'd do on a broom, and didn't want to look foolish; but on the other hand the thought of flying filled him with anticipation and excitement.
The lesson had been progressing well; Harry's broom had smacked into his hand hard enough to smart; Ron's broom had bunny hopped three times before jumping into his hand; and Hermione's broom had rolled over a few times and then floated serenely into her hold. They then started to work on how to mount and hold the broom – the three friends had had to hold in snickers when Madam Hooch had corrected Malfoy's grip – and they were about to have a go at floating when it happened: Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor (they'd met briefly on the train) had been so nervous that he'd accidentally zoomed straight up into the air. His broom had bucked him off when he reached about thirty feet and the poor boy had headed straight back to the ground.
It was pure instinct for Harry; before he'd had a chance to blink the power, his magic, had been there, ready to be used. Slow him down, Harry commanded desperately. And still Neville fell. Slow him down! Harry commanded again. And still Neville fell, but... he was slowing down. When Neville hit the ground, it was still pretty hard, and he landed awkwardly, with a sharp crack! from his wrist; but otherwise, he was unhurt.
Ron and Hermione looked at him sharply; they had felt his magic in the air, and though they didn't say anything their eyes promised they would be talking about this later. Harry nodded silently, agreeing without words.
Madam Hooch, had, by this time, taken off to the hospital wing, Neville in tow; and Harry noticed that the boy had left something behind. Harry recognized it as the Remembrall that Neville's grandmother had sent him, the one that had arrived this morning at breakfast. The only reason he'd notice the occurrence was because of Malfoy – typically he'd tried to bully the shy, bumbling Gryffindor by snatching it away from him...
After Ron's familiar had departed, the three Slytherins had settled in at the breakfast table to chat until they needed to leave for class, but were soon interrupted by a commotion at the Gryffindor table. They looked up to see Malfoy, backed by Greg and Vince, standing menacingly over Gryffindor first-year Neville Longbottom. Malfoy was holding something out of the boy's reach and the other Gryffindor firsties were scowling at the interloper.
Hermione frowned. Having lived through many years of school-yard bullying, she didn't like to see it happen to anyone else. "Should we..." she started to ask her friends, but Ron – experienced in deflating such situations through the timely intervention of a handy adult – interrupted her.
"Look," he pointed out McGonagall descending on the situation like an avenging angel of doom.
"Seems McGonagall has things well in hand. Smells trouble a mile away, that one," Harry commented. "Though... maybe we should make it clear to Malfoy that his behaviour is unacceptable. We've finished here and classes are starting anyway. Come on."
Harry's two friends followed him, their features morphing into masks of icy disapproval. They timed their approach well, passing Malfoy and his goons just after McGonagall had shooed the Gryffindors off to class and left. As they passed Malfoy, who was still angry about his 'fun' being cut short, he automatically lashed out at his housemates. "I suppose you lot agree with her, you bunch of goody-goody wanna-be Gryffindors!"
The three paused. Ron and Hermione expressions became, if possible, even more disapproving; though they left Harry to answer, knowing Malfoy would take more notice of the famous boy.
Harry turned his head to the other but not his body. He knew Malfoy would understand the implication that he wasn't worthy of Harry's complete attention. "I think someone of Slytherin house could be a little more dignified, instead of acting like a second-rate school yard thug."
Malfoy flushed in embarrassment and displeasure, and was silent as the trio left the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall had interceded then, but she wasn't here now, no teacher was, and Malfoy jumped at the opportunity.
He grabbed up the small trinket, with an ugly sneer on his face, made fun of all the Gryffindors – Neville in particular – and took off on his broom to hide the gift somewhere Neville would never find it. The trio glanced at each other, and then moved quickly.
"I'll go after Malfoy," Harry said, and took off. Ron and Hermione agreed, as Harry could withstand the political consequences of an annoyed Malfoy far easier than either of them could.
"I'll calm down the Gryffindors," Hermione offered; as she was muggleborn, it was far easier for them to accept her than the 'traitor Weasley'.
Ron nodded, and said, "I'll keep the Slytherins from interfering." Even though his family was seen as being 'blood-traitors', he himself was pure-blooded, and in Slytherin; and so he was far more easily accepted than Hermione, as a 'mudblood'.
While Ron and Hermione handled the rest of their peers on the ground, Harry had flown after Malfoy. He'd been surprised at how easy it was – this was wonderful! – and felt a surge of pure joy, that he had to push aside quickly in order to deal with one Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy," Harry ordered sternly, "stop acting like a spoilt brat and give me that thing."
Malfoy sneered at him. "You're such a goody-goody Potter; one would think you were standing up for Gryffindorks! What are you going to do if I don't?"
Harry's eyes narrowed and grew cold; they looked like green ice. His face became hard and resolute, and his magic seemed to ripple the air around him.
Draco swallowed; and he lost any and all belief that this was going to go his way at all. Draco didn't ever think anyone his own age could be so scary – let alone the small, shy boy he'd met in Diagon Alley!
"You won't like the consequences, Malfoy," Harry answered his question softly, deadly.
Draco Malfoy had grown up with the firm belief that everything in this world was his for the taking; that anyone around him was inferior; and if he wanted something, all he had to do was demand it and it would be his. And so, even though he was afraid of the boy in front of him, his own nature wouldn't allow him to give in all the way. In an act of pure spite, Malfoy shouted, "you want it, catch it!" threw the Remembrall as far and hard as he could, and beat a hasty retreat to the ground.
Harry immediately dismissed Malfoy from his mind, his focus solely on one thing: the falling glass ball. He shot towards it, gaining speed in a sharp dive, ignoring the screams coming from the ground, and managed to catch it a foot from being smashed into smithereens. Harry pulled out of the dive sharply and landed firmly.
He rejoined the class just in time for Madam Hooch to return and dismiss them; and in the chaos the three friends slipped away to talk and return the Remembrall to Neville. They missed the sharp pair of eyes that had watched the whole thing, hidden in an upstairs window...
Once they had left their classmates behind, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked to the hospital wing, each deep in thought. When they arrived, they found Neville sitting up on one of the beds, with Madam Pomfrey – the school's medi-witch – standing over him, waving her wand in complicated patterns and mumbling under her breath. She had a furious scowl on her face to go along with it. "...utterly ridiculous practice; should be banned from the curriculum – just what do you think you're doing here?" she snapped at the three Slytherins when she noticed them. A quick look shared between the three had Hermione stepping forward to speak for them.
"Hello Madam Pomfrey. We've just come from class, and wanted to see if Neville was alright," she said respectfully with a polite smile.
Neville took the opportunity to speak. "I'm fine, really – Madam Pomfrey already fixed my arm, I don't need to stay any longer – " he was interrupted by an irate healer who had obviously heard this a number of times from various charges over the years.
"And you would know, would you? Taken your healing degree already? Had how many years of experience to make you an expert? As I've already told you Longbottom, you'll stay until I say otherwise!"
"But – " Neville didn't get the chance to argue, as Harry spoke – softly, but still cutting across the combatants firmly – with an aura of quiet authority that he projected effortlessly.
"Neville, you fell a very long way. You could have damaged more than just your arm. Madam Pomfrey wants to make sure you're alright," as Harry spoke, both Neville and Pomfrey seemed to calm, and Neville started looking sheepish.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I won't argue anymore," he muttered to the healer, clearly embarrassed.
"That's alright, Mr. Longbottom. Now, you will stay here for the afternoon so I can observe you. Your friend is quite right; I need to be sure you haven't suffered any kind of head injury. Magic can't fix everything you know!" she turned to the trio. "You may stay for a little visit as long as you're quiet," she decided after studying them for a moment.
"Thank you, ma'am," Hermione took over speaking for them again. The three Slytherins approached their injured year-mate.
"Here," Harry said quietly as he handed Neville his Remembrall.
Neville's eyes widened in awe. "Thank you!" he said shyly, taking the trinket.
Harry shot him a quick smile. "Wasn't too much trouble," he replied.
Neville bit his lip, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what.
"What is it, Neville?" Hermione encouraged the reticent boy.
"Oh, I just – um..." he stuttered.
Ron realised then that Neville didn't have anything to say, really; but didn't want them to leave yet. He gave a smile of his own and grabbed a chair, swinging it around to straddle it backwards, resting his arms along the back. "Do you mind if we wait with you for a little while?" he offered.
"Oh yes, please!" the bed-bound boy blurted out, and then blushed a spectacular red.
Harry and Hermione couldn't help but smile themselves, and they pulled up chairs of their own. They spent a quiet afternoon chatting softly about classes and teachers, hobbies and year-mates; gently encouraging Neville to join in the conversation. By the time Madam Pomfrey told them they had to leave – or they'd miss dinner – the Gryffindor had become quite comfortable with them and had promised to come to Susan's Social Gathering. The three Slytherins took their leave after promising to fetch him from the hospital wing before bed, leaving Neville to the practical mercies of Madam Pomfrey and her hospital food.
Severus Snape had a problem. A dilemma. A difficult choice to make. One that centred around James Potter's brat-child. In the future, he was sure, this certain boy would be the cause of many such dilemmas; the headache sitting at the back of his head ready to pounce was surely prophetic. He ignored the fact that he had never taken divination, and thought the whole thing a crock reserved for the most simple-minded fools – a thought he had to be very careful to conceal from two very powerful wizards that had the annoying tendency to try tip-toeing through his thoughts on a regular basis like a herd of elephants. Yes, Severus Snape was certain this turn of events would be repeated many times; but this particular man was also very talented in the art of self-deception, and decided to leave himself in blissful ignorance.
Coming back to the current situation: Severus had just been approached by Slytherin Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint, about adding a first year to the team. Usually, bending the rules in aid of his Slytherins was Severus' favourite past-time; and there was also the fact that it had been several years – thanks to Charlie Weasley – since Slytherin had taken the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, and though Minerva didn't have any likely prospects to solve her little Seeker problem, he also had a healthy respect for the Gryffindor trait of pulling a victory out of their – ahem, wizards hats (otherwise known as thin air! It was most vexing...). (4)
On the other hand, however, this meant bending the rules for Harry Potter, bane of his existence (even though he'd only seen Potter in class and the child hadn't said much more than three words in each after that first day, he was still a bane, dammit!); arrogant, stuck-up, prideful brat that he was. Apparently Flint had seen the boy pull off a feat of untold proportions in his flying class while he'd watching from the bathroom (and Severus didn't want to know what Flint had been doing in that bathroom that required him to watch a bunch of first-years; he was sure it wasn't anything good) but Severus didn't care for the details (really, really didn't). (5)
So the dilemma: annoy Minerva, aid his house, and most likely win the house cup (which they would, if the brat had inherited even the slightest amount of his father's talent, he was loath to admit); against allowing the spawn of James Potter something that would make him – shudder – happy.
How had the boy ended up in his house anyway? He should have been in Gryffindor like his thrice-dammed father and mudblood mother (he also ignored the fact that he had, in fact, admired Lily Evens; she had been very smart and didn't put up with his attitude, and had been counted on the very short list of people he called friend). The boy should have been Minerva's problem, not his! His father would turn in his grave – wait. Now, that was something he had yet to consider. Harry Potter, son of James Potter (who had been the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors Severus had ever met), winning Quidditch matches for Slytherin...
Oh, yes. Severus smirked, and strode out of his office to see the headmaster. Harry Potter would play Quidditch.
And he would win. (6)
That evening, after dinner had ended and Harry, Ron and Hermione had changed out of their school robes, they went back to the hospital wing to pick up Neville.
Madam Pomfrey was giving some last-minute instructions to the Gryffindor. "...and remember if you develop any pain or dizziness to come back for a quick check – " she stopped in surprise, obviously not expecting to see the three Slytherins again that day.
Neville, however, brightened. "Hi guys!" he greeted them enthusiastically; the shy Gryffindor hadn't really expected them to return for him.
The three friends returned his welcome, then Hermione turned to the medi-witch and asked "is he ready to leave now?"
The matron shot one last, penetrating look at the recently injured boy. "Yes," she conceded, "but keep an eye on him tomorrow," she instructed, causing said boy to cringe in embarrassment, and the three Slytherin first years to become bemused at the sudden responsibility. "If he looks off, bring him back. Mr. Longbottom, the next time your head is in the clouds, keep your feet on the ground!" With that, the woman turned away briskly and went into her office, the door snapping shut behind her.
Ron smiled in amusement. "Come on, Neville. Let's get back to our dorms before curfew," he rounded his friends up quickly and they left, falling back into the friendly chatter of earlier that afternoon.
They reached Gryffindor tower in good time and said goodnight. As Neville turned to the portrait guarding his house – a depiction of a rather rotund woman by the unfortunate moniker of "The Fat Lady" – however, his Slytherin friends noted the look of mortification crossing his young features.
"What is it Neville?" Harry asked.
"I... can't remember the password," the boy fretted.
"Oh. Well..." Ron addressed the portrait. "Would you let him inside without it?"
"Absolutely not!" the woman exclaimed, scandalized.
Neville sighed. "You go on. I'll just wait here. Someone's bound to walk by sooner or later," he told them.
"Don't be silly, Neville. We'll just go and ask Professor McGonagall," Hermione stated logically.
"Besides," Ron pointed out, "it's nearly curfew. Everyone else is probably already inside." Decisively, he turned towards the deputy head's office, his friends falling into step, Neville trailing uncertainly behind.
Minerva McGonagall supposed it was a good thing she didn't suffer from low-blood pressure, and wasn't prone to silly flights of fancy; for if she did, when one of her Gryffindors was escorted in to see her by three Slytherins because he'd forgotten the dormitory password after they'd fetched him from the hospital wing subsequent to him being hurt in class... she might very well have fainted.
As it was she handled the situation with as much dignity as she could muster, and when they left she was sure they'd had no idea of the shock they'd caused her to suffer.
Helpful Slytherins. Three of them.
It was fortunate, perhaps, that neither did the Master Trafigins (7) fancy the thought of being compared at all to Sibyl Trelawney – or she'd be sorely tempted to walk around the school spouting portents of doom and the end of the world. Minerva's gaze dropped to the summer homework she was marking for a moment, before making the decision to leave it to tomorrow. She really could use a hot toddy before bed...
The four students were making their way back to Gryffindor tower. Neville had offered to go alone, but Ron had vetoed the idea. "There's curfew for a reason, Neville. I don't think anyone should be wondering around the castle alone after hours. Besides, if we meet a teacher or a prefect, we'll need to tell them – " Ron was interrupted before he could finish.
"Meow," Mr. Filche's cat, Mrs. Norris, appeared from a side corridor to the one they were walking down. Pasht, who had been prancing on ahead, stopped, turned and growled at the other cat. Mrs. Norris hissed in challenge, and Pasht's fur stood on end.
That was enough for Neville. "Mrs. Norris!" he squeaked, and took off down the hall.
"Neville, wait!" Hermione called. She glanced at her friends, and realised that they all felt somewhat responsible for the awkward Gryffindor.
Casting a quick glance at the stand-off between his familiar and Mrs. Norris, Harry shrugged and gave his opinion, "I think Neville's the one who's more helpless."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Let's catch him up," he sighed, and they ran after him. Being a lot fitter, the three Slytherins caught up in no time, and Ron reached out and snagged the back of Neville's shirt, stopping him short.
"Neville, she's gone, don't worry," he spoke quickly.
"But Filch is always around where Mrs. Norris is!" Neville protested.
"I think Mrs. Norris is a bit too pre-occupied at the moment to fetch him," Harry smiled, amused at his own feline familiar's actions. "Come on, we need to get back to Gryffindor tower. Pasht will meet us later," he said as he looked around with a frown on his face.
Hermione noticed. "What's wrong Harry?"
"Well, I don't want to alarm anyone but..." the boy trailed off uncertainly.
"What?" Ron prompted.
"Does anyone know where we are, exactly?" Harry asked.
The other three first years looked around.
Ron blinked.
Neville swallowed nervously.
Hermione bit her lip, and then muttered "Oh dear."
Harry absently reflected that the girl had managed to sum up their situation most succinctly.
By the time they found their way back to Gryffindor tower, they were sweating, panting and pooped. Even Hermione, the fittest of the four, was coming to the end of her endurance. They all leaned against the wall across from the Fat Lady's portrait, trying to catch their breath.
It was then that Neville looked up and whimpered. "No..."
"What, Neville?" Ron asked, too breathless to consider being gentle in his question.
"She's gone..." Neville whimpered, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.
"What?" Hermione asked, raising her head to follow their new friends gaze. When she realized what it was that Neville had seen, she herself collapsed to the ground with a defeated groan.
Ron and Harry quickly saw the reason their friends were so upset – the portrait that guarded the house of Gryffindor was empty. The Fat Lady was nowhere to be seen.
The two boys exchanged a look and joined their two friends sitting on the floor.
Tonight had been one miss-hap after another, it seemed. Harry supposed it was a good thing that McGonagall had written down that password for Neville, as he was sure the absent-minded boy wouldn't have remembered it otherwise.
Not long after the four first-years had realised they were lost, they had encountered Peeves, who had attempted to intimidate them, then blackmail them, gotten annoyed when it hadn't worked and chased them throwing anything he could get his hands on, hoping that the racket would get them caught and in trouble. They had ended up losing him down a dark corroder and piling inside a room. Of course they could have chosen a better door, Harry mused, remembering the enormous mythological creature they'd found on the other side of it. Deciding that Peeves was the better of two evils, the four frightened children had run back the way they came, and soon after found a corridor they recognised. They'd run all the way back to Gryffindor tower, only now to find that Neville couldn't get in until the Fat Lady returned.
Harry sighed, closing his eyes and centring his thoughts on his magic. It was something he'd learned to do even before he knew to call the power within him magic. It was calming to him; his mind drifting in the currents of energy that ran through his body, allowing him to 'see' the delicate balance of his bodies systems – blood, oxygen, chemicals, everything that made his body work. If something was out of balance, damaged or not working properly, he could direct more of his magic to that area, correcting the function. Once he completed this exercise, he would be left completely calm and exceptionally clear-headed, allowing him to perhaps think of a solution to their current dilemma.
It felt to Harry as though an infinite amount of time had passed, but he knew from experience it was only a few minutes – his mind, body and magic were now in perfect alignment.
Perhaps they could find the Fat Lady and ask her to return to let Neville in. Automatically, Harry sent his power out to the frame, hoping to track where the Lady had gone...
...and met an awareness the likes of which he'd never encountered before. It was old – no, ancient – and powerful. It felt like secrets well-kept and charges well-guarded; beyond that Harry had the sense of both great pride and profound sadness. He felt an answering emotion inside himself; a desperate need both to please and comfort this presence. Suddenly its attention seemed to focus on him for a moment, before it sent something out into the castle. Harry wasn't sure what had happened, until he realised Hermione was shaking him free of his meditation.
"Harry, are you awake?" she asked him softly.
"Yes, what is it?" he replied.
She smiled. "The Fat Lady came back. Neville's gone inside; we should get back to our room. I think I'm ready for bed."
Harry nodded back. "Yes, I know what you mean," he murmured, and he and his friends left for bed. He had a great deal to think about.
The next day the three young Slytherins decided to forgo most of their usual routine in exchange for discussing everything that had happened to them the day before. They slept in a little, and after their daily exercise routine – Hermione would have a very successful career as a drill sergeant, should she choose to pursue it, both boys were sure – they settled into the comfortable armchairs on the opposite side of the room to their shared study table.
None of them really knew where to start. Sharing and discussing an experience was something only Ron and Hermione had done with adults – even then it was almost always never the full truth. Harry had experience talking with Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly, but usually it was about music or schooling – never about his life, never about magic.
Ron cleared his throat. "So..." he kicked off the discussion. "Three heads."
The tension broken, Harry and Hermione couldn't stop themselves from laughing.
"Yeah. Three heads. A Cerberus, isn't it? A hellhound?" Harry commented.
"A hellhound, yes; according to Greek legend, a hellhound called Cerberus guarded the gates of the underworld, preventing those that had died from escaping. I suppose they were afraid of spirits," Hermione remembered (8).
"What on earth could one be doing here? I don't know if the whole Greek legend thing is true, but I do know that they're really rare, and classified XXXX by the ministry (9). Only licensed breeders are supposed to handle them!" Ron exclaimed.
"Didn't you notice what it was standing on?" Hermione asked.
Ron paused, closing his eyes and bringing the memory of the room into focus. He explicitly focused on remembering every part of the room until it was crystal clear in his mind. He looked down at the hellhound's feet. "...a trapdoor?" he asked Hermione, wondering if he'd remembered correctly.
The girl nodded. "It's guarding something," she deduced.
"Well, at least we know where that package from Gringotts ended up," Harry commented dryly. He had always been able to predict human behaviour fairly accurately, and considering the personality of the headmaster, the boy knew that if for some reason he didn't trust that the Goblin bank was safe, he would have whatever it was that needed to be protected close to him. Harry also had quite a keen instinct for putting the pieces of a puzzle together so that they fit correctly.
Hermione considered the possibility. "I think you're right, Harry. It's the only thing that makes sense; it was taken from Gringotts to be guarded here," the girl nodded as she concluded her thought progression. Hermione's mind was intensely logical, able to pull facts from the different places where they were stored in her mind and measure them against each other to come up with theories that fit those facts. These theories were usually right.
Ron nodded in thoughtful agreement. He could see the sense in what his friends were saying; his own mind that of a strategist, able to see the different possibilities and knowing which course of action would be the most effective. If the security at Gringotts was faulty – and they knew it was, considering the information from the Daily Prophet – and if the object belonged to the headmaster, then it would only make sense for him to bring the aforementioned object here, where his power was most consolidated.
The three considered the mystery for a moment longer, before Hermione decided to change the subject to the other important thing that happened yesterday – in her mind, it was more important, in fact. The drooling dog was the headmaster's problem. Harry was her friend. "You... did something yesterday in class, didn't you?" she asked, uncertain if her question would be welcome.
"Yes," Harry paused, considering how best to explain something that was so much a part of his life. At the beginning, he supposed. "When I was younger, I had some pretty extreme cases of accidental magic," he started. "Not uncommon, I know, but... my circumstances meant they usually happened when I was in danger, and because of that, I became aware of what was happening. I knew it was me, and I knew it wasn't something that happened to everybody.
"The first time was when the street gang I ran with was culled by hunters...
Memory
Harry, Age 6 ¾
Harry had been living on the streets of London for the last three months. When he'd first run away, he'd been unsure whether or not he should merely stay out of harms way for a few days and return, or move on completely. He supposed he could have gone back easily enough, but that in itself was something Harry hated to do – the easy thing. It had decided him; he wasn't going to trust his safety to anyone but himself.
It had been hard. Harry knew it would be; he wasn't delusional about the life he had chosen. It would have been ten times as hard, though, had Harry not met Bent. He was the leader of a group of street kids that called themselves the Lost Boys (even though there were also girls in it), because they were made up of everyone that didn't fit into some other category (like the Wolves, who were a violent, animalistic pack of kids; or the Blades, who ran drugs and other illegal goods for money to survive; or the Peaches, filled with older kids who turned tricks).
Harry, himself, became a teacher to the other kids whose literary skills were next to nothing and couldn't add or subtract to save their lives; and they in turn taught him the mandatory skills of one living on the streets: how to steal without being seen, how to pick pockets and, perhaps the most important skill of all, how to blend in. He was a willing and talented student; able to adapt to any situation with ease – one day, he'd even hoodwinked a bobby (10) into thinking a strange woman Harry had never seen before in his life was his mother – all of which earned him the nick-name Quicksilver; for his quick thinking and lying tongue.
Although he was counted as one of them, Harry didn't have any particularly close friends in the group aside from Sky, a rather sweet girl with blond hair and blue eyes whose head was always in the clouds. She had wondered away from her parents one day when they were out shopping in London, quickly become lost, and been adopted by the Lost Boys. Harry enjoyed her odd personality.
All of this came to an end one cold, dark night. Harry had been heading back to their latest lair – to stay in one place was to invite ruin – when his instincts suddenly went on high alert. He stopped and looked around; there was nothing out of place. But Harry knew that danger was near. He dropped back into the shadows surrounding the warehouse the Lost Boys were living in, and started to sneak forward.
It was then he saw the Hunter. A vicious group of criminals who culled street kids to sell them for money, Hunters were the most feared danger any of them had. It was strange that they were here; they usually left the larger groups alone… unless they'd tracked a contract to their group.
Which one of the Lost Boys had come from a family rich enough to hire the Hunters? Harry didn't know, and he didn't care; the Lost Boys had become his family, and they were now in danger. He had to do something.
A surge of power ran through his body; Harry didn't know what it was, only that it was strong. It felt like a more potent version of the instinct that had developed lately – the same one that told him the Hunters were there – and yet, different at the same time. Harry suddenly knew that this power would obey him; all he had to do was guide it with his will. He wanted to be invisible to the enemy – a tingle ran across his body, starting at the top of his head and flowing down his back like paint had been spilled on him – and Harry knew that he was. He moved quickly to the building, through the net of Hunters on the outside. Harry wanted there to be a loud bang (to wake the Lost Boys) and a bright light (to illuminate the Hunters), and the power surged again and then there was chaos – Lost Boys running and Hunters chasing and Harry was still invisible in the middle of it all.
Then the head Hunter was calling off the hunt; and Harry saw that three kids had been caught. At least most of them got away, he thought; and he heard the one in charge complain that so many had escaped, wondering where the light had come from, but at least they had their main target. Harry wondered who it could be; but then he saw the three that had been caught, and who exactly the man had been referring to: Sky. Harry felt his heart contract. There's nothing I can do for her…
Harry didn't sleep very well for a while after that.
End Memory
"...after that, I knew that there was something – some kind of power – inside me. I wanted answers, and I literally lived the next few months in a library… but what was in me didn't match anything I read about. When I couldn't find answers anywhere else, I started looking inside. I learned meditation techniques; easy enough to find instructions for. Soon I was able to sense that power inside me... and then eventually I managed to manipulate it."
Ron frowned thoughtfully. "And because you had no frame of reference, you didn't know it was magic?" he reasoned.
Harry shook his head. "No. Not until I stumbled across the Leaky Cauldron. After that I learnt a lot more."
Hermione was frowning thoughtfully. "Do you think it's something we can learn to do?" she asked.
From the intensity of Ron's gaze fixed on him, Harry assumed it was something he was interested in, too. "I don't see why not," he answered. "I've never taught anyone before, of course, but…" he trailed off, thinking. "We can start with meditation, like I did. I'm pretty sure it should be easy enough to learn." He shook off his thoughts, turning to his friends. "We have some time before breakfast. Let's get started."
Very soon the date Susan had set for the first Hogwarts Social was upon them. Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived ten minutes early to the designated 'Social Room'. They had dressed carefully in casual clothes without any affiliation to house colour. Susan had recruited her fellow Hufflepuff's to help her set up, and they were just putting the finishing touches to the room. As the three Slytherins entered, the friendly chatter quietened, and the first years setting up turned to stare at them.
Susan didn't let it last long, however. "You made it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, moving to greet them and usher them inside. "I'm so glad you're here," she said quietly, guiding them toward a small two-seater couch that sat right-angle to a matching armchair. Both couch and chair were a deep royal purple colour, reflecting the décor of the rest of the room with its royal hues and conspicuously absent house colours. "All the h'uffs are here, of course; and Lisa promised she'd come, but I don't know how many other Ravenclaws will bother and I haven't heard anything from any of the Gryffindoors…" Susan continued to fret.
"Susan, stop worrying. I'm sure today will be a success, even if not everyone comes," Hermione said firmly, but encouragingly as she sat in the armchair. "Now, did you need any further help?"
"No, we're all set up," Susan replied, as she seemed to relax on Hermione's command. "Now we're just waiting."
"Well, we've never been to one of these Socials before, so what happens at them?" Ron asked as he and Harry took their seats on the two-seater.
"Oh, it's nothing fancy, really. Usually the parents or grandparents set them up for themselves, and the kids just tag along. We've got refreshments set to be served in half an hour or so, and I thought we'd finish with an entertainment cube after that; I didn't want the first meeting to be overcomplicated," Susan explained.
"Sounds lovely," Hermione complimented, as Lisa appeared at the door with a few Ravenclaw first-years, closely followed by Neville arriving with all their Gryffindor class-mates, and neatly distracting Susan.
"Oh!" she said in surprise, and quickly excused herself to greet the new arrivals.
"Looks like Neville came through," Ron commented. "I wonder how he got all the other Gryffindoors here?"
"Well, they are a little overprotective of him, have you noticed? Likely all he had to say was that he was coming," Harry said, eyes sparkling in good humour.
Ron grinned back, "or mentioned that we were the ones who invited him."
"Noticed they're a little paranoid about Slytherins, have you," Hermione murmured, laughter in her eyes if not her tone, as Neville descended upon them.
Emboldened by their shyer member, the other Gryffindors eventually came forward and introduced themselves, followed closely by Lisa and Susan leading their own house members.
Soon the trio found themselves surrounded, chairs and cushions pulled close to where they held court and most of their year-mates chatting amicably around them.
The rest of the Social meeting had gone well, Harry and Hermione as well as the other muggle-born or raised being introduced to the concept of an 'entertainment cube' which most likened to a futuristic television. It sat in the middle of the group, a small, shimmering cube that would play music with pictures or colours projected into the air; while the children sat around it sharing sweetmeats and tea. Everyone who attended left looking forward to the next meeting. Susan was overjoyed.
"I'm so relieved," she confided in them quietly as they left. "I really wanted this to work out. Thank you so much for coming... and you know, supporting me and everything."
The three shared a surprised look. "You're welcome Susan, but, we didn't do anything, really," Harry answered.
"Somehow I don't think this would have worked as well if you haven't been here," Susan said thoughtfully as she looked at them in a way well beyond her years. As suddenly as the moment came it was gone again, however, and the Hufflepuff girl was all smiles and enthusiasm once more. "I can't wait for the next one," she gushed. "You'll come to that too, won't you?"
The three Slytherins looked at the expectant expression on the girl's face, shared an amused glance, and answered as one.
"We wouldn't miss it."
As time passed, as it was wont to, the three friends grew in both knowledge and power. Of course they were still children, and no matter how mature they were for their young age, there was always a limit to their patience. Peeves had just reached it.
The three Slytherins stalked – it was the only word for it – through the castle, dripping wet. Literally. They left a trail behind them that Argus Filch would rage over for days. When they finally reached the sanctity of their suite, Hermione had only one thing to say.
"I don't care what I have to do. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care how difficult it's going to be. I am going to exorcise that poltergeist!" she spat.
"I'll help," Ron growled.
"In the meantime, I think it's time that troublesome spectre had a taste of his own medicine," Harry gritted out.
The three shared a very Slytherin smile.
Weeks passed, and before the students realised it, Halloween was upon them. The last class was over, best robes and hats were pulled out of trunks and straightened, house colours proudly paraded across the entrance hall, and a school full of magical children were looking forward to stuffing themselves silly on a feast of goodies.
All bar three of them.
Harry and Ron were becoming worried. They had not seen Hermione since charms earlier that day. The teacher, Filius Flitwick, had – like every other teacher – sorted the class into pairs. Hermione had taken her turn to be separated from her two friends and had partnered Pansy Parkinson, who had been incensed when Hermione had managed the new charm before her. As they were leaving the class, she deliberately turned to Tracey Davies, her best friend, and – ensuring that Hermione could hear her – hissed furiously, just loudly enough, "what a freak! No wonder the only ones that can stand her are the other two freaks! Mudblood's parents probably can't stand her…" and she and Davies swaggered off to their next class as Hermione went white. Before Harry or Ron could say or do anything, she had hurried away. Thinking to catch her before their next class, the boys had picked up their pace; but when they arrived she hadn't been there, and hadn't shown up all period. It set a distressing trend for the rest of the day.
The boys had been a little late getting to the feast – having waited in their room until the last minute hoping their friend would appear – but when Hermione was again missing, they turned around and walked out. Their friend was more important that a feast, after all. They didn't see Professor Quirrel arrive a moment later, breathless, white faced, and run into the great hall to make a terrifying announcement…
The boys had finally found their female friend – with considerable help from the ghosts and portraits – in the girls bathroom in the charms corridor. Her bloodshot eyes, red nose and wet face were testament of what Hermione had been doing in there.
"Hermione!" they both cried, and – though they had no experience of comfort themselves – followed their instincts to take the girl in their arms between them.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked gently. "Surely what Parkinson said – "
The girl shook her head. "It's not her. Not really – she's just an ignorant, jealous child," she spoke truthfully.
"Then what?" Ron asked, confused.
Hermione held out a letter.
Ron took the letter from his friend and, at her urging, read it out loud:
"Dear Hermione, hoping this letter finds you in good health, and we are sure you are doing well in your studies, as always. Onto more important matters.
Your father and myself have been given the opportunity to organise and accompany a team of volunteer doctors going to work with underprivileged children in some third-world country. Most of those volunteering will be from our own medical practices; we shall be able to both aid in an humanitarian effort and raise the profile of your fathers business and my own charity organisation. This will enable us in turn to help more people. I'm sure a conscientious girl like yourself understands the importance of this work. The program will last a full year.
An enquiry to your professors should help you discover if students are permitted to remain in attendance over Christmas, as most boarding schools allow such things there should be no problem; and I'm sure one of your friends will invite you to stay over the summer.
The house will be rented out to that wonderful family we met in America two years ago, the Burshaws. They are taking up residence for a year here in England. I'll leave all your personal arrangements up to you. We'll see you the year after next sometime, darling. Sincerely, your loving Mother and Father…"
Ron's voice trailed off at the end; both boys looked rather shocked at the callous treatment of their friend.
Ron sighed. "You can't go home, and I'm dreading to go…"
"So stay with me this summer," Harry suggested absent-mindedly.
"What?" Hermione asked, just as Ron asked in puzzlement, "how's that?"
Harry smiled at them, re-focusing on his friends and their conversation. "I'll teach you to survive on the streets. Handy skill to have, really – "
Harry was cut off by the door to the girl's bathroom crashing open, a stench and an indignant roar invading their senses as they looked up… and up… and up…
"That's a mountain troll…" Ron whispered in confused horror.
They were in trouble.
(1) Page 101 Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
(2) Info on Aconite found on Wikipedia and botanical dot com.
(3) I am Australian, and any information in this story on the British school system comes from wikipedia [Education_in_England]. Sorry if it's inaccurate at all!
(4) In the books, either Charlie has left for at least a year at this point or he wasn't as brilliant a seeker as Harry, and Slytherin won the Quidditch cup resoundingly at least once. In this story, Charlie left only last year, and helped Gryffindor to victory more often than not, so Snape is desperate to win back the cup.
(5) Actually, Flint was cutting class. He was bored and watching out the window. What Severus Snape thought he was up to... well, thankfully I'm not in his brain.
(6) This is my idea as to why Snape would let Harry play, considering the extreme feelings of jealousy over Lily and an intense school rivalry he had with James Potter.
(7) Made up to mean 'Master of Transfiguration'.
(8) This I remembered, but I backed up my knowledge with Wikipedia! Searched for Cerberus on Wikipedia and it states: 'Cerberus or Kerberos, (Greek form: Κέρβερος) in Greek and Roman mythology, is a multi-headed hound (usually three-headed) which guards the gates of the Underworld, to prevent those who have crossed the river Styx from ever escaping. Cerberus featured in many works of ancient Greek and Roman literature and in works of both ancient and modern art and architecture, although, the depiction and background surrounding Cerberus often differed across various works by different authors of the era. The most notable difference is the number of its heads: Most sources describe or depict three heads; others show it with two or even just one; a smaller number of sources show a variable number, sometimes as many as 50.' Had a cool picture to go with it too!
(9) Harry Potter Lexicon says this: 'Hellhound [rating unknown]: Muggle name for the sleepless three-headed dog who according to their mythology guards the gates of Hades. The dog's name was Cerberus, and the only time when he was ever overcome save by brute force was when the great musician Orpheus sang him to sleep. Hagrid had a huge three-headed dog which he called Fluffy, who now is reported to be living in the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts.' I just added a rating of my own, which is XXXX – dangerous/requires specialist knowledge/skilled wizard may handle from page xxii of Fantastical Beasts & Where To Find Them by Newt Scamander. I have an old copy of Harry's…
(10) Bobby – the British nickname for a police officer.
A/N: ...so, I've had a few people complain about the interludes between each chapter, that they're not long enough etc, and though I do think about what my readers want in this story and their opinions, this is one thing I'm afraid isn't going to change. It helps me keep everything straight in my mind – especially as I don't want to contradict myself by writing something into the story that I've stated differently in the "back story", or history of the trio. Sorry if this upsets some people, but I do try to make sure my chapters are really long to make up for the interludes. They are interludes, by the way, not chapters in their own right, really. Hope this helps those who are disappointed by them. Usually they're posted right away after a chapter because I've written most of them already. I did try to put them in the story, but they're out of chronological order and didn't really gel with what I was writing, which is why there's a lot less of them in later chapters compared to, say, chapter one. Also, they'll probably get longer as the kids grow up as well. Anyway, now that I've waffled for long enough... hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to hearing what you think!