The summer started out as any other for Harry. He was picked up late by his relatives, his trunk was shoved into his old room and locked and he was given a list of chores. This wasn't anything unexpected. He just wishes they would let him have his books and parchment. He has homework.
But of course telling them this would be a mistake. They will definitely keep his school work from him then. They might even go so far as destroying it so it is forever out of reach. Best to keep quiet about it. He can always do it on the train.
It started out the same. But it did not end the same. A house elf is currently in the process of making trouble for him. He didn't realize at first. He knew magic was happening, but he couldn't figure out why. He wasn't doing it. Now that he knows about accidental magic, he can tell if he did something or not. And he isn't.
Still magic was happening and he is getting blamed. Then, when the house elf finally showed himself, well. Things got interesting. He had been sitting on his bed, locked in, when he appeared.
"Mr Harry Potter sirs," he squeaks, "Dobby has heard tales of your greatness."
"You must not have heard anything about me recently then. No one thinks I'm great anymore."
"Oh nos, sir, you is great! And that is whys yous can't returns to Hogwarts this year. Mr Harry Potter sirs is in grave danger."
Harry stares at the little creature. Not go back to Hogwarts? He can't do that. Hogwarts is his escape from here. Yes, he is trading one hell to another. But not go back at all? Never? He can't do that. He has no future here. Maybe, if he gets really really lucky, he might after he graduates Hogwarts. He shakes his head. "I can't," he says.
"Yous must. Master is plotting somethings bad."
"Master? Who do you belong to?"
"Dobby can't say. Dobby is bad elf. Can't speak bad of Master. Bad, bad, bad," he pulls his ears harshly.
"Stop that," Harry says, "and be quiet. You don't want my relatives to hear you."
"Yeses Mr Harry Potter sirs, Dobby has seen bad relatives. Bad like Master. No, bad Dobby," he starts hitting himself in the head with his fist.
"Dobby," he says sharply and the elf stops, "no. If you know how my relatives are like then you know why I can't stay here."
"Theys treats the great Mr Harry Potter sirs like bad house elf."
"Exactly," he agrees, "so you know why I can't stay here."
"But Mr Harry Potter sirs will be killed at Hogwarts," Dobby cries.
Harry shrugs. "And my relatives will probably kill me if I stay here."
Dobby wrings his hands, clearly unhappy.
He sighs. "Dobby, if you had a choice between staying with a Master that is bad and obviously punishes you and a new place that is just as bad, but you don't have to be around your Master, what would you choose? A known fear or a new danger?"
"Dobby wants to be free of bad Master sirs, but Master only frees if Dobby is given clothes."
Harry nods. "Then you see why I have to go back to Hogwarts. It may be dangerous, but so is living here. And at least I am away from my 'bad Master'," he quotes.
Dobby nods. "I bes understanding. Yous needs hope."
Harry smiles bitterly, but doesn't correct him. "Thank you Dobby."
"Oh! Oh Mr Harry Potter sirs is thanking me! Mr Harry Potter sirs is great wizard," the elf gushes.
Harry's smile gets a little more real and a little bit happier. The irony of the situation does not escape him. He is able to convince Dobby not to cause trouble because he is able to relate to the abused house elf. Because, here, that is exactly what he is.
"Dobby, maybe, if it won't get you in too much trouble, you can help me this year," he says softly.
"Oh!" he repeats, "Oh Mr Harry Potter sirs is wanting my help! Yeses Mr Harry Potter sirs. Dobby can helps the great Mr Harry Potter sirs! It would be honor to serve yous Mr Harry Potter sirs."
He shakes his head. "No, not serve. I'm not your Master. Maybe we can be... friends instead?" He doesn't know what makes him offer. Yes, he doesn't want a servant, but why would he ask Dobby to be his friend? That's a stupid idea, why would Dobby say-
"Oh yeses Mr Harry Potter sirs. The great Mr Harry Potter sirs wants to be Dobby's friend. No wizard is friends with house elves. But Mr Harry Potter sirs wants to be friends! Mr Harry Potter sirs is great," the elf is beside himself with excitement.
"Friends," Harry repeats.
.
.
And that is how Harry Potter got his first friend.
.
.
After Harry's talk with Dobby, things get a little bit better. Or, rather, they go back to the ways things were. The house elf doesn't visit again, so he is left alone with his relatives. He doesn't mind. He probably can't come too often without drawing attention to himself. And it's not as if Harry expects him to visit often. Why would he?
And so the summer goes on. The most exciting part is when Hagrid takes him to Diagon Alley to get his supplies again. The man is much less friendly this time and Harry is reminded of his opinions of Slytherins. He probably hates him now too.
By time Harry boards the train, he is a little scrawnier, a little more burnt from the sun and a little more scruffier than usual. Things he can fix when he gets to school. He is almost late, because his Uncle didn't want to take him. He complains the entire way, while Harry keeps his head down.
As a result, all the compartments are full when he goes looking for one. He ends up sitting with a group of first years. He keeps his head down, still, and his scar covered, so none of them know who he is. At first, they think he is another first year. He is the same size of them after all. But then he pulls out his books and they realize he is already a student. They seem almost in awe of him and don't speak to him after that.
All except one small firstie with blonde hair, radish earrings and vacant eyes. Her look makes you think she is not all there. Or maybe that's just what she wants people to think. People underestimate you that way. It's a safety Harry has never been able to use. He is a target, no matter what he does.
"Be careful of Nargles. They seem to like you," she warns seriously before going back to staring at nothing. Harry shrugs it off and then gets to work on his homework.
During the feast, he only looks up long enough to note the odd girl is Sorted into Ravenclaw before going back to his reading. No one talks to him. No one looks at him. No one acknowledges him. It makes him feel invisible, but it is still better than last year. Sometimes invisibility is the only protection you have.
He stays up all night, finishing his work. By time breakfast is served, he is exhausted. But he is use to being tired. He is use to long hours. His relatives never cared if he was well rested after all. They just cared that he has completed his chores.
They didn't care about the nightmares either, as long as he didn't wake them up with his screaming. Then Uncle Vernon had something to... say... about it. A rather hard lesson, but one he learned well. He has a scar from his teeth between his thumb and forefinger now. It is better than the alternative. He flexes his back in remembrance.
The first thing he learns that school year is the silencing charm. He casts it around his bed each night religiously. No need to add to the problem. He only wishes he could have done this sooner.
His housemates continue to surround him during the day and abandon him at night. Professor Snape continues to sneer and mock him. The rest of the school continues to bully or ignore him. As he told Dobby, he has traded one Hell for another. One of his choosing.
Although he would choose Professor Snape over Professor Lockhart any day. He makes Harry deeply uncomfortable. His gut twists when he enters the DADA classroom. No one else seems to have a problem with him. Half of the girls have a crush on him. Other students roll their eyes and mock him. No one learns anything besides the man's favorite color.
But then again, no one else had a problem with Professor Quirrell either and look how that turned out. At least he doesn't make his scar hurt.
But the way he looks at Harry... He doesn't know what it means. But he doesn't like it. And he refuses to be alone with the man. Who knows what he will try to do? Maybe it is because Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived. Maybe because he is the hero who was Sorted into Slytherin. Maybe it is something else. He doesn't know. And he doesn't want to find out either.
Adults are not to be trusted.
Professor Black doesn't talk to him until a month has gone by. Until a routine is formed again. He doesn't ask Harry how he is doing. They both know that. But they talk about other things. School things. Nothing important. Nothing that can be used against him. He makes sure of that. He still doesn't know what the Professor wants. But the man insists on keeping these meetings a secret, so he is always on his guard.
Worse yet, he thinks he is going crazy. He keeps hearing voices in the walls. 'Kill. Rip. Shred. Blood.' It chills him to the bone. But no one else ever hears it. Even when he is surrounded by people, he is the only one. His relatives had made their thoughts plain about people who hear voices no one else can. They belong in an asylum. If he tells anyone, is that where they will send him? Does the Wizarding World have asylums?
He has heard stories about old asylums. About the treatments that were used. About how people were tortured in the name of science and health. He doesn't want to end up in a place like that. His Uncle has threatened before. When he did something freaky. It was the orphanage when he was bad. It was the asylum when he did something freaky.
He still hasn't seen Dobby, but he isn't worried about it. It would be nice to talk to someone occasionally, but he doesn't need that. He has survived this long without a friend. He can go longer. And who is to say Dobby would make a good friend? He recognizes it as self-preservation now. Get the elf on his side so he is not against him. He doesn't know what house elves are capable of, but he has a feeling having one for an enemy – even if he doesn't call himself one – would be bad.
He is on his way to the common room, alone since he was in the library, when the staircase moves. He lets out a squeak and holds on. He hates when they move while he is still on them. He is afraid of falling off. When they come to a stop, he walks off quickly and looks around. He doesn't know where he is. Great. Even after a year, this school is still a maze.
He takes a right at random and begins to walk. He'll figure it out eventually. He always does. It's a stupid system. Moving staircases, classrooms that like to rearrange themselves. Ghosts that like to chase you. This isn't just a school. This is a training camp. Survival of the fittest.
And speaking of ghosts. He recognizes where he is at now. The girl's loo that no one uses because of the ghost that lives in there, Moaning Myrtle. Everyone complains about how weird she is. And creepy. Harry thinks it must be lonely, but he has never talked to her before. He has never had a reason to. Just because he thinks she must be lonely, doesn't mean he is the one going to keep her company. He has enough problems without worrying about someone else's.
And so the year goes on. He feels like a ghost himself at times. Like he isn't even there. Disconnected from the world. Nothing is real. But then someone pushes him into the wall. Or he hears the whispers and laughter behind him. And he is reminded that everything is all too real.
His nightmares slowly, ever so slowly, ease up. Nothing bad happens and he thinks that maybe he is alright. He may have bad blood, but it won't affect his everyday life. He still killed a man. He is still a murderer twice over. But maybe nothing else will happen again.
And then the attacks begin.
.
.
An outcast person in a House full of outcasts. That doesn't leave many places for one to go. No one is to be trusted. No place is safe. Keep your eyes to the ground and your wits about you. Anything can happen when you least expect it.
.
.
Harry is the one who finds it. Or rather, her. Mrs Norris is frozen on the floor, not moving. Still. Much too still. The ground is wet below them. The wall above her reads 'The Chamber of Secrets opens again. Enemies of the Heir beware.' The writing looks like it is in blood.
"What have you done?" Filch screeches at him, "What have you done to my poor kitty?" He gently picks her up and turns his glare onto him.
Harry backs up slowly, ready to run at a moment's notice. "Nothing," he protests, even though he knows he won't be believed. Truth is, he likes Mrs Norris. It isn't something he would tell anyone, even if he had someone to talk to. But he does. He has played with the ugly cat sometimes. She is a good listener when he desperately needs one. He knows the other students hate her. They like to play tricks on her. But Harry actually likes her.
And she likes him, oddly enough. He never thought she would like anyone but Filch. But she likes Harry. And now something has happen to her.
"You filthy little liar. You little beasts are always doing something to my poor kitty. Now tell me what before I hang you up my your toes!"
"I didn't do anything. Honest," he backs up farther as Filch advances.
"Liar!" he screams, "Disgusting little creature. Maybe a good whipping will get you talking."
Harry shakes. No. Not whipping. Not that. "No sir, please! I didn't do it."
"That's what they all say boy. That's what they all say."
He flinches, hard. He isn't going to get out of this in one piece.
"What is going on here?" a voice demands. Professor McGonagall. He isn't sure whether to be thankful or not. She may be fair, but she is strict and scary. And he has always gotten the feeling that she is disappointed in him for not being in her House. Professors Snape, Black and the Headmaster are with her.
"This little beast has done something to poor Mrs Norris," Filch tells them.
Harry shakes his head, but doesn't say a word. It is no use. Even if Professor Black is here, he doesn't think it will do any good. He doubts the man would protect him, even if he was acknowledging him.
Professor Snape sneers. "I doubt it was Potter."
He jumps in surprise. Is Professor Snape really going to defend him?
"He has the brains of a flobberworm and the skill of a toad."
Oh. Of course he isn't. He is just going to insult him. The man can't pass up an opportunity. Still, he was the one to speak up. Could it actually mean something? He raises his head from the ground high enough from the floor to catch the Professor eyes. He scowls. No, it doesn't. What a stupid thought.
Stupid hope.
Professor McGonagall waves her wand over Mrs Norris. "She's petrified," she announces, "something perfectly remedied as long as we have mature mandrake root available. I shall ask Professor Sprout how long until they are ready."
Harry let's out a quiet sigh of relief. She is going to be alright.
The Headmaster examines the writing on the wall. "Tell me, my boy," and here is the uncomfortable familiarity again. He is not the Headmaster's boy. He is not anyone's boy, "did you see anything when you arrived?"
"No sir."
"And where were you coming from, exactly?"
"The library Sir. I was on my way to supper."
"All alone?"
"Yes Sir."
"And can anyone confirm your whereabouts?"
"Oh honestly Albus," Professor McGonagall huffs.
"Madam Pince can, Sir." Now he is beginning to get nervous. Does the Headmaster really believe he is behind this attack? Does he think he is capable? Like Professor Snape said, he doesn't have the skill. Or does he?
Does it have to do with this power he seems to have? The one that killed Professor Quirrell. The one that was deadly enough to kill Voldemort when he was only a baby. It must be a terrible power. A dangerous one. If he can kill a person, surely he can petrify a cat. He is already hearing voices. Is it a stretch to think he could have done this too without knowing it?
Bad blood.
"Really Headmaster," Professor Snape scoffs, "insinuating Potter is responsible? Blaming a Slytherin, such a shocking development. What happen to your Hero Boy? Discarded now that he is a snake? Potter is too pathetic to have part in this."
Harry trembles. But what if he did it without knowing? What if this power, now awakened, can take over him and do things he shouldn't be able to do?
"Severus," Professor McGonagall warns, "but I have to agree with him."
"That's a first," Professor Snape mutters.
Professor McGonagall shoots him a sharp look. "This is much too advance for Mr Potter. He is just the unfortunate child who has discovered this. And this is no discussion for said child to hear either. Run along Mr Potter. Off to supper now."
"Yes Ma'am," he mutters and runs away before they change their minds. Dignity be damned. Pride is not worth it. He doubts he can get any lower in their eyes in any case. He is the useless hero who was Sorted into the wrong House. He is the one with the strange power to kill a man just by touching him. He is the Freak.
The story spreads through the school like wildfire. Everyone knows what happened by the end of the day. Or thinks they know. Of course the story grows with each telling. It is exaggerated. It takes on a life of it's own. But one thing stays the same, and that is Harry himself. He is always at the center of it.
The Professors may not blame him, but the students do. They fully believe he is responsible for the attack. Things get worse after that. He is no longer a ghost, although he wishes he was.
Not even the Slytherins are enough to protect him. Not that they are trying too hard. He knows they let some of the curses hit him on purpose. They act outraged, but Harry knows that it is fake. They are thrilled when he gets hit. They laugh at him. They do it themselves. It is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Target practice on the Freak.
He withdraws even more, if it is possible. He spends all of his time in the library now, the only place he is safe. He rushes to it's safety any time he is not in class. He could be mistaken for a Ravenclaw, with the time he is spending there. Professor Black doesn't say anything about it. It wouldn't do any good if he did. Survival of the fittest.
He hides among the shelves. Books are his safety. Books don't judge him. He can't kill them. They can't laugh at him if he has to stifle sobs. He doesn't cry. He never cries anymore. But he can still sob. Dry, tearless sobs that shake his body. They don't tell anyone how weak he is.
And then it gets worse. Professor Lockhart announces he is going to start a dueling club. Professor Snape makes it very clear they are expected to join.
So, on the appointed day, Harry joins the rest of the students, waiting for it to begin. He lingers in the back of the crowd, hoping to be invisible. In a crowded room is the last place he wants to be. Too many people to watch. Too many things that could happen.
Still, he will cherish the memory of Professor Lockhart flying into the wall by Professor Snape's disarming spell. He silently cheers his Head of House on. The Professor may hate him, but even he is preferable to Professor Lockhart. He is honest in his hate. Others are not so clear.
But then he is called up on the stage to duel Weasley, the young red head that was so excited to meet him that first train ride. Now the boy hates him, just like everyone else. He is one of the worse Gryffindors. Funny how Weasley and Malfoy hate each other, but share the same favorite pass time of tormenting Harry.
Of course he doesn't stick to the disarming spell. Harry knew he wouldn't. He was prepared for it. He disarms the boy as quickly as he can. The redhead has a mean streak that Harry does not want to be a part of right now. Or ever, really, but he doesn't have a choice most of the time.
He thinks that's it, but then Malfoy is called up on stage. Great. Another person who hates Harry. Malfoy seems to take the name on his wrist as seriously as he can. He never passes up a chance to make him miserable. Too bad Harry can't bring himself to do the same.
Professor Snape whispers something in Malfoy's ear and Harry swallows. This is not going to be good. Who knows what he told the boy. Probably a spell. And Professor Snape probably knows many that can hurt. He can make him hurt worse than Uncle Vernon and Dudley combined.
Malfoy smirks, "Scared Potter?"
"You wish," he replies, trying to sound brave. Yes. Yes, he is very scared. But he can't show it. Never show weakness. It will always be used against you.
"Duelers ready," Professor Lockhart announces, "One, two,"
"Serpensorta," Malfoy shouts. A black mist comes out of the boy's wand and forms a long, black snake on the ground. It hisses threateningly as it moves towards Harry.
"What is happening? Who are you?" it hisses.
"Allow me to get rid of it," Professor Lockhart says.
"No!" Harry shouts, but it is too late. The snake is knocked into the air. It lands on the ground. Hard.
"Foolish two leggers, you will pay for that," it threatens, making it's way towards one of the students.
"Stop!" Harry tells him, "it's not his fault. Our Professor is the one who did it. But he's a twit. No one meant to hurt you."
The snake turns towards him. "You are a speaker. I shall obey you this once. But should the fool try it again, I will not hesitate to bite him." he tells the boy regally.
Harry giggle slightly at that and grins up at the student, a young Hufflepuff, who would have surely heard the snake as well. But the boy backs up in fear.
"Don't come near me," he says, voice shaking.
Harry looks at him in surprise. Then he realizes that he is not the only one looking at him in fear. The entire room is silent, staring at him. Their eyes burn him. He looks up at the Professors, but they are staring at him too.
Then the whispers start.
"Potter is a parselmouth."
"Did you hear him talk to that snake?"
"I bet he told it to attack Justin."
"He is a Slytherin. It doesn't surprise me he has a Dark gift."
"No wonder he was able to kill You-Know-Who. He's Dark too."
"Potter is Dark."
"Potter is evil."
"Freak."
Harry runs out the door. The students part for him, as if they are afraid he will touch them. As if he is contagious. As if he could kill them by brushing against them. He doesn't know where he is going, all he knows he has to get away. He has to hide.
Dark. Evil. Freak.
Bad blood. Murderer. Worthless. Burden. Freak.
Freak.
He is gasping for breath by time he finally stops.
"Hello?" a voice greets.
Looking up, Harry sees the ghost of a young girl in front of him. Moaning Myrtle. He is in Moaning Myrtle's loo. He doesn't have the air to greet her, even if he wanted to. All he wants right now is to be left alone. All he wants is to disappear. Vanish into thin air. Die. Never have been born in the first place.
Everything is wrong. He really is a Freak. His relative were right all along. He wraps his arms tightly around himself, sobbing violently. His eyes are dry, but he can't breathe. He is trembling. His head feels as if it might explode.
Myrtle sits down in front of him. "I use to cry all the time," she tells him, "no one really liked me. They all thought I was weird. I've never seen someone cry without tears before. Does it hurt? It sounds like it does."
Yes, it does. His chest aches with the force of them. But he can't stop. No matter what he does, he can't stop. He curls into himself farther and lays down on the ground. He wishes the floor would open up right there, but he knows that won't happen. That would be too merciful. Freaks don't deserve mercy. They deserve everything bad that happens to them and more.
A chill runs through him and he realizes Myrtle is stroking his hair. "No one ever comes and visits me. Not Moaning Myrtle. But I'm a good listener. If you want, I can share my stall with you. No one else wants to, but you can."
And now a ghost feels sorry for him. No one wants him, but a ghost is offering to take care of him. He continues to sob.
Eventually he stops and he takes in air in heavy gasps.
"Are you going to live? Because if not, if you want to be a ghost, you can keep me company. You seem like you need a friend. No one was my friend when I was alive. They all laughed at me."
"No one wants me either," he tells her hoarsely, "I'm just a Freak."
"And what makes you think that?"
"I have bad blood. I've killed people. I can talk to snakes."
"You're a parselmouth," she exclaims, "there hasn't been a parselmouth in Hogwarts in fifty years. Not since I was alive. He wasn't very nice. He had cruel eyes. You don't," she says as she looks at him closely, "your eyes just look sad."
He closes his eyes, not wanting to see her.
"Were they bad people?"
"What?"
"The people you killed. Were they bad? I wasn't bad, but someone killed me."
"One was Voldemort and the other was my Professor."
"Why did you kill your Professor?"
"He was trying to kill me. He was strangling me and I touched him and he burnt up. His skin burned just by me touching him."
"They sound like bad people. You shouldn't feel bad about killing bad people. They started it."
"Killing people makes people bad. I've killed two."
"And they tried first. Death puts things into perspective. I would have killed whoever killed me, if that meant I would live. Of course being a ghost isn't all that bad. You learn to like it. Still, I never graduated. I wanted to. It would have been nice."
Harry doesn't say anything.
"People are mean. Some people deserve it."
He doesn't move.
"Parseltongue is useful. You never know when you might need to stop a snake from killing you."
Harry doesn't reply. Not even when she decides to start a one sided conversation. He never looks at her. Never says anything. Never really moves except for the occasional twitch. The floor is cold, but he doesn't mind. Maybe if the cold soaks in deep enough, it will numb him all the way through. That way he doesn't have to feel anything anymore.
He can be a ghost too.
.
.
To wish you were never born. Such a simple, small wish. Nothing as brutal sounding as the desire to kill yourself. But oh, what a violent existence it is.
.
.
Things get worse after that. People go out of their way to avoid him. Or to hurt him. The whispers and the stares never stop. Even the Slytherins have abandoned him. No matter how little their protection was, it was still protection. Now he has nothing.
They say he is the Heir to Slytherin. That he wants to kill all of the muggleborn students. That he has Dark powers no one understands. That he is the next Dark Lord in training.
Not even the library is safe anymore. No where is safe. They follow him everywhere. He always has to be on his guard. The students will not hesitate to attack him, whether it be magical or otherwise. Not even the Professors can stop them. He wonders idly if they are even trying. Or if they believe the rumors as well. He stops talking to Professor Black altogether. If he thinks that, Harry doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to destroy the illusion that the Professor cared. Just a little. Just the slightest.
No where is safe. Except for one place. With Moaning Myrtle, he is safe. No one bothers him there. No one can find him. And anyone who gets too close, Myrtle scares off. She is thrilled to have someone share her loo with her, even if they are still living.
And slowly, ever so slowly, but surely, Myrtle becomes a friend. His second friend. First a house elf. Now a ghost. What a life he leads. But Myrtle is kind, if a bit odd and creepy. She cares. She never laughs at him. She listens. She understands.
And all she wants in return is company.
It is a novelty for the boy. It is such a simple thing, she wants in return. Everyone wants something, but Myrtle is easy to repay.
.
.
Most people think loneliness is a room to one's self. It's not. Loneliness is the most suffocating in a crowded room alone.
.
.
"Well lookie here."
"If it isn't the little Dark Lord,"
"Tiny Harrykinns himself."
"Better be careful Forge."
"Yes Gred. He might kill you with a glance."
"Very intimidating, our little Dark Lord,"
"So big a strong wind might blow him over."
Harry glances up to see the Gryffindor twins in front of him, grinning. Not mean grins or mocking ones. But happy ones. Kind ones. As if they are sharing a joke with him. He doesn't say anything. It is better not to.
"Oh look Gred, our little Dark Lord is shy."
"I do believe you are right Forge. Our shy baby Lord."
The words sound cruel, but the tone is anything but. He knows those two are the pranksters of Gryffindor. Hell, they are the pranksters of the school. Is he their next target? They don't sound like it, but you never know. Trust no one.
They place themselves on either side of him. "Might we walk you to lunch my Lord?"
"It would be such an honor."
"I'm not going to lunch," he tells them warily.
"Oh we know you haven't been eating in the Great Hall."
"What, being surrounded by all those commoners, staring at your greatness."
"But we have another place."
"One that will be much more welcoming."
"After all, we don't want our baby Lord starving before he gets a chance to take over the world."
"That would be a tragedy."
"The world would never be the same."
They herd him along. His shoulders are tense. He is ready to flee at any point. They may be older and stronger than him, but he is faster. He is always faster. He has to be. They lead him to a portrait of a pear and tickle it. The pear laughs and it swings open. Inside is the kitchen. They place him at a table, right in between them.
"Hows mays we be helping yous?" a house elf asks.
"Lunch for three please."
"Rights aways."
In short order, they have their own feast set out in front of them. There is no way they are going to be able to eat all of it. He looks at the older two boys. They shrug.
"House elves like to serve,"
"No matter how few people,"
"They always go overboard."
He watches them carefully as they eat. When he is sure the food he wants is safe, he makes himself a small plate. The twins don't say anything about his caution. In fact, they don't say anything at all. Nothing important at least. They babble on about this class and that student and some other prank they have pulled. But nothing valuable. Nothing to show what they want.
"Why are you doing this?" he finally asks. Not that he expects the truth, but it will be a start.
They share a look. "You looked like you needed it."
"Everyone else is stupid enough to think you did it."
"But people are stupid."
"And bullies."
"And we are tired of it."
"Pranks are fun as long as you don't cross a line."
"We don't. But everyone else seems to think that bullying you is alright."
"Even your own House."
"Not that they were worth much to begin with."
"But now they are worse now."
"We know Rule Number One,"
"They are suppose to protect you."
"But they aren't."
"So you need someone."
"And besides that,"
"Parseltongue is wicked sounding."
"Why anyone would be afraid of you,"
"Is beyond us. But if you do decide to take over the world,"
"We want to be your right hand men."
"So it's a win either way."
They grin at him, largely and mischievously. It was like watching a tennis match, when the two of them spoke. But he was able to follow it fine. He can see it will take some getting use to, but he can understand them without any problems.
Now the question is, does he want to give them that chance? They don't seem like they are trying to pull a prank on him. They seem honest enough. In this at least. But can he take that chance? Is he able to? What will the price be if he does? They joked about wanting to be his right hand men. Why would they want that, if they were serious?
Why would anyone want to be around him? He doesn't understand. But he gets the feeling he isn't going to have a real choice in the matter either. They don't seem like people who give up very easily. "I don't have a choice, do I?" he asks them warily.
"Nope,"
"We've already decided,"
"You are our baby Lord."
"We shall follow you anywhere,"
"You lead oh Captain my Captain."
Well then. Hopefully he doesn't get too hurt when they finally reveal their hand. He lets out a small sigh. "Fine. Now which of you is which?"
They just give him identical, large grins. Great. He'll figure it out eventually. Hopefully. He sighs again. At least things will be interesting.
Just what he needs.
.
.
It is a story that has been told before – three children against the world. Will they save it? Or will it burn?
.
.
The year goes on. The attacks continue. The next is a ghost, Sir Nicholas. Then there is the first student, the same one Harry stopped the snake from attacking, Justin. Then a small Gryffindor. Another muggleborn from Ravenclaw. Finally the know-it-all Granger.
Through it all, the students steadily blame Harry. As the attacks on the student body gets worse, so do the attacks on the boy. He has ended up in the Hospital Wing a few times already because of them. He escapes as soon as he can, deeply uncomfortable with the petrified people laying there. They seem to stare at him accusingly.
And he is still hearing the voice. It seems to get louder, as there are more attacks. Stronger. It sends shivers down his spine. 'Kill. Rip. Shred. Blood. Die.' No one else ever hears it. No one gives even the slightest hint. But he does. It haunts his sleep, joining his dreams of Professor Quirrell and Voldemort.
There is still a part of his mind wondering if they are right. What if he really is doing it and he just doesn't know? He doesn't understand this dangerous power he has. Only that it is bad. The Headmaster called it protection from his Mother. He thinks it is good. But how can it be good if it kills people? It doesn't seem impossible that it can take over him and make him do things. He doesn't think he is losing time, but would he notice if he was?
Maybe not, but surely Myrtle or the twins would. Because he still spends the majority of his time with Myrtle. She is still the safest. And the twins are still determined to be around him. They have become his unofficial bodyguards. They can't protect him all the time, their schedules don't match up. They are two years older after all. But they do the best they can.
They teach him spells. They include him in the planning of their pranks, which is all the involvement he wants. They show him the secret passages of the school. They even show him this map, that shows where everyone is all of the time.
Harry doesn't know what to think. On the one hand, he likes it. The twins are great company. They joke and they grin and they don't take anything too seriously. Not even themselves. They have the great ability to get Harry to laugh. He doesn't remember the last time he laughed so much. He doesn't remember the last time he laughed at all.
On the other hand, when they call in their price, it is going to be a big one. Doing all this? Spending all this time with him? Every day the debt keeps getting larger and larger. Every time he laughs. Every time he smiles. Every time he learns something new.
What is he going to have to do to repay them?
.
.
People are complicated. You think you know a person and then they turn around and so something completely unexpected. They constantly surprise you. Who can truly understand humanity?
.
.
'Her skeleton will lay in the Chambers forever.'
Harry stares at the message in horror. Someone has been taken. A girl. She will be the first death, just like Myrtle was when the Chamber was open last time. Maybe now Myrtle will have someone else to keep her company. If she does, will she talk to him anymore? Or won't he matter again?
"It's Ginny."
"She's missing."
"None of the Professors can find her."
"She's the one that's been taken."
The twins tell him frantically as they walk towards Harry's common room. All the female students had been ordered there right away and now the male students are being ordered to return. The school is going to be shut down for sure now.
He knows the twins have a little sister. They talk about her occasionally. More than their little brother at least. They say Ginny in much more tolerable than Ron, even if she is a girl. They talk about their family quite a bit, actually. Harry knows how important it is to them. Their parents actually love and care for them. And now their little sister is missing.
Harry knows what he has to do.
This is the price. And he will pay it, if it means keeping the twins. He changes direction, walking quickly. Not running, for running will draw attention. But he hurries along the corridors as fast as he walk. With is quite fast, all things considered.
"Where are we going?" Fred asks, because he is finally able to tell the twins apart. He's rather proud of that actually. It all has to do with the placement of freckles and the pitch of their voice. George's voice is slightly lower. Fred has more freckles under his left eye.
"To talk to someone," he replies. They walk into the loo.
"Little Harrykinns,"
"We aren't sure if you know or not,"
"But this isn't the right loo."
"Myrtle," Harry calls out.
"Harry," she smiles, "and you've brought some friends. Have you come to share my stall too?"
"Myrtle, their sister has been taken. You were alive when the Chamber was open fifty years ago. Do you remember anything?"
"You want to go after the nasty monster, don't you?"
"Someone has to. And the Professors here are going to be too late." Not that he trusts any of them in any case.
"The monster is very fast. It can kill you before you even know it's there."
Fast. Before you know it's there. "Myrtle, that's how you died, isn't it? The monster of the Chamber killed you."
"Yes. Poor Moaning Myrtle. Went to the loo and never came back. A bit embarrassing, dying in the loo. No one laughed though. It was too late to laugh then."
"Can you tell me anything useful?"
"It came out of the sink. All I saw was golden eyes, nothing else. But it came out of that sink."
Harry goes over to the sink in question and looks at it closely. There, above the tap, is a small snake. A snake. He wonders. "Open," he hisses. It does. He has to stare and blink for moment because he didn't think it would actually be that easy.
The entrance to Slytherin's great Chamber of Secrets is in the girls loo. Well, no wonder no one could find it. Who would look there?
"Well, well, well,"
"Would you look at that."
"Our baby Lord found it after all."
"Our baby Lord is so smart."
He had almost forgotten the twins were there.
"What now oh Captain my Captain?"
"Now I stop it."
"Don't you mean we stop it?"
He shakes his head. "It's too dangerous. You should go back for help."
"And it isn't too dangerous for you?"
"It's our little sister down there. We should go with you."
"Besides, who would we tell?"
Harry shrugs. "Not Professor Lockhart?"
The twins snort in agreement.
"And it's better if I go alone." He's replaceable after all. "I have a feeling it's going to be a snake. And I can talk to snakes." Plus he has his dangerous power. He might end up using it again and he doesn't want the twins to see it. If he can kill a man by touching him, who knows what he can do to a snake?
They look at him as if he is the stupid one. He growls in frustration. This isn't how this is suppose to work. He is the one who is suppose to face the danger. They should stay up here, where it's safe. His debt won't be paid if one of them gets hurt.
He then remembers one of the spells they taught him. Who knew it would be so useful now. They only showed it to him for a laugh. Quickly he takes out his wand and sticks them to the floor.
"Hey!"
"Baby Lord this is not part of the plan."
"You can't go alone."
"I have to. How else can I repay you? I'll bring your sister back." He slips down the slimy pipe. The last thing he sees before the entrance closes is their confused and angry faces. It's for the best. They have a family. No one will miss him.
He lands with a thud. It is cool down here. He can see his breath. The floor is wet. As he goes farther along, there is old snake skin on the ground. Really big snake skin. He swallows hard. He can do this. He has to. He has to repay the twins for all they have done for him.
This is the price.
He keeps that thought in mind as he walks along, shivering and scared. He can do this. He can talk to snakes. He has his dangerous power. He can do this. He hopes.
The hall leads to an open chamber. The ceiling stretches up farther than Harry can see. More puddles of water cover the ground. And there, in the middle of the chamber, is a small girl with red hair laying on the floor. Ginny. He runs over and shakes her shoulders.
"Ginny. Ginny, can you hear me?"
"Most likely not. She's almost gone now," a voice answers him.
He looks up in surprise. Standing in front of him is a handsome teenage boy. Probably about fifteen or sixteen. Dark hair, brown eyes, pale skin. He's... well, Harry can feel himself blush. Now is not the time. And he's never thought about anyone like that before. But this boy is... beautiful. "You have to help," he says instead, "I have to get her back to her brothers."
"Why?"
"I owe them a debt."
The boy nods wisely. "Yes. You are Slytherin. We know all about owing people, don't we? No time or need for those silly needs and distractions they call friends. People are made to use and be used. What they call sentiment is really the repayment of a favor they did for us."
Harry nods in agreement. Yes. This is it. He's never known anyone who has thought like that. Or maybe he has, but they've never said anything about it. The other Slytherins most likely understand, but they are hardly going to hold a conversation with Harry, now are they? "So will you help?"
"I'm afraid it's too late for that. Her life force is almost gone."
"How can you know that?"
"Because," he motions to the book laying beside Ginny, "that's draining her life force. Soon it will be all gone."
He looks at the book. It's a diary, he realizes. Tom Marvolo Riddle is written on the front. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom Riddle. He thinks instantly of the name on his wrist. He has found him. He has found his soulmate. Or his soulmate's diary at least. But something doesn't seem right. He takes a good long look at the boy in front of him.
He isn't solid. Not fully. "You. You're the one taking her life force," he accuses.
The teen bows. "Of course. Tom Marvolo Riddle, at your service." The name forms in front of him and begins to rearrange itself. 'I am Lord Voldemort' it reads.
Harry gasps. "No," he breathes. No, this can't be happening to him. This can't be it. This can't be his soulmate. He is the one who tried to kill him. He is the Dark Lord. No.
"Yes. I see you recognize the name. I plan on having a name that all fear. I am glad I succeeded. Might I know your name now?"
"Harry Potter," he answers.
"Harry Potter," Riddle's face sneers, "you are Harry Potter? You are the one that supposedly defeated me? You, a scrap of a thing? You look so pathetic, I bet a strong wind could knock you over."
Harry flinches when the teen echoes the words the twins first used. He knows he's small, but why does everyone have to point it out? Really, they would be small too if they use to live in a cupboard and never got enough to eat.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why? You dare question me? I would think you of all people would understand. After all, we both have so much in common."
"We do not," he says, but he's really not that confident about that.
"No? We are both orphaned half bloods. Both of us have been raised by Muggles. Both of us have the gift of parseltongue. Both Slytherins. There are even similarities in our appearances. I bet the old fool was sweating in his shoes when you showed up."
"The old fool?"
"Dumbledore," Riddle sneers the name. "Everyone thinks the old wizard is so great, so good. But he is nothing but a washed up goat."
Harry has to stifle a giggle, for all that is wholly inappropriate. The Headmaster has always made Harry terribly uncomfortable and the mental image Riddle just gave him is too good. Still, there is something wrong, agreeing with Voldemort about anything. Even if he isn't Voldemort yet.
"How do you know all of this?"
"Dear Tom," Riddle mocks, "I am so glad I have you to talk to. Dear Tom, no one understands me like you do. Dear Tom, my brother just told me the oddest thing today. Do you know Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is a Parselmouth? Blah, blah, blah. It was all very boring, but I did get some good information out of her. And I was able to use her."
"You used Ginny to open the Chamber."
"Very good," he praises condescendingly, "I'm glad to see not all of my old House are idiots."
"I won't let you win."
Riddle sneers. "Oh how very Gryffindor of you. However, you don't have a choice, I'm afraid. Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. Come to me," he hisses.
The statue of Slytherin opens it's mouth and Harry hears an answering hiss. He was right. It is a snake after all. Now the question is, how loyal is it to Riddle? Then he sees it. It is not just a snake. Not even just a large snake. It is a basilisk. Bloody hell. He's dead.
Basilisks can kill you just by looking at you. No wonder Myrtle only remembers golden eyes before she died. That's all she would have had time to see. No matter what power he has, it can't be enough to kill a basilisk. But he has to try.
For the twins.
"Kill him," Riddle orders.
Harry stands his ground, watching its reflection in the water. It is huge. This is it. But then a sound echoes through the Chamber. Music. In comes a phoenix, flying low. His breath catches. He's never seen a phoenix before. He never thought he would, outside of a book.
The bird swoops down and attacks the snake, clawing out it's eyes. He looks up and sees the bloody streaks where they use to be. His chance of survival just went up. Although he can't help but feel sad for it. It's not the basilisk's fault it is being forced to kill him, or anyone. Or maybe it wants to and just needs a target. He doesn't know. But the basilisk is a magnificent creature, deadly or not.
He runs. That's all he can think to do. The snake has to be nine meters tall and who knows how long. Just because it's blind doesn't mean it is defenseless. The basilisk follows, relying on scent and sound to guide it. The phoenix let's out a trill of music and Harry feels his courage increase. That's useful. Now if only it could have brought a weapon with it. Even a sword.
He runs and the basilisk gives chase. He is very much aware he has a time limit. He has to stop both the snake and Riddle before Ginny is dead. He has no doubt that Riddle will kill him if he isn't already dead by then.
Riddle laughs at him as he dashes from hiding spot to hiding spot. "You think you have a chance? Better just give up now. It will be better that way."
The basilisk has him cornered. He looks around desperately for somewhere to run. But he can't. The basilisk's body is blocking him. The only place to go is up. So he climbs the wall. The basilisk hisses angrily. The phoenix trills. Riddle laughs. Harry feels an odd mixture of terror, determination and pain. There is a pressure in his head building. It almost reminds him of the headaches he got last year. But it is different this time. More direct.
The snake strikes at the same time Harry does. He thrusts out his hands, feeling the power in them. Hoping for a similar result as the one he got when he touched Professor Quirrell. A fang sinks into his arm. The wall explodes.
Harry goes flying from the blast. Rocks fall all around him in large chunks. It is a miracle they don't hit him. But they do hit something else. The basilisk. A huge piece comes down from the wall, crushing its head.
"No!" Riddle shouts, "how dare you kill my poor basilisk."
Harry gasps, holding his arm in pain. A fang is embedded in his arm. He thought he knew pain. He thought he had a high tolerance. He thought he could handle it. He was wrong. He has never felt pain like this before. Any pain his relatives have shown him is nothing compared to this.
Riddle sees this and laughs. "And so goes the Wizarding World's Saviour."
Harry sneers at him through the pain. No. He is not going to win. If Harry is going to die, so is Riddle. He takes the fang out of his arm and stabs the diary with it.
"No!" This time it is a shout of pain. The diary bleeds. He stabs it again and again. Riddle fades more with every stab. When he is gone, Harry drops the fang, strength gone. He is going on will power alone and that won't last long now.
The phoenix lands beside him. He slowly stretches out a hand and pets him. It is soft. He smiles. At least when he dies, he won't be alone. He has the phoenix with him. It's a comforting thought. And he saved Ginny. He has repaid the twins. The phoenix can surely take care of the rest. He has nothing left.
But then it bows his head and cries over his wound. It hisses and sizzles and begins to heal. Harry watches in amazement as the skin knits itself together again. But it still hurts and he is still too weak and dizzy. He lays his head down, beside the bird. If this is death, he is alright with that.
The last thing he sees is the vanished image of Riddle, his name printed neatly on his wrist.
.
.
Fate is a funny thing. Too bad no one ever feels like laughing. It's only funny if it isn't you.
.
.
He wakes up to white. At first he thinks he really is dead. And then the smell reaches him and he realizes he is in the Hospital Wing. Again.
"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey greets, "I hope this will not become a yearly habit."
"Sorry Ma'am. I didn't mean to."
"Humph. Well do you remember what happened?"
"Yes Ma'am. It's hard to forget fighting a basilisk."
"I would hope so," she answers tartly. As she runs a diagnostic over him, she mutters about meddling fools and crazy schemes and blatant disregard for safety. A trill sound, seemingly agreeing with her. He turns and sees the phoenix, sitting on the headrest of the bed.
"Fawkes hasn't left your side since you've been here."
"Fawkes?"
"The Headmaster's phoenix. Even Albus can't get him to move. He seems to be quite attached to you."
"He saved my life."
"Well everything seems to be in order. You have been unconscious for a week now. I recommend being careful with that arm. It's healed, but it's likely to be tender for a few more days yet. There doesn't appear to be any lingering affects."
"Does this mean I can leave?"
"Oh no young man. You have just woken up from battling a basilisk. You are staying right here. But this does mean you are fit for company. I can tell you I have two students who are very anxious to see you. Keep sneaking in, of all the nerve."
As if her complaints summoned them, "Harrykinns!"
"Our baby Dark Lord is awake!"
The twins arrive. They sit down, right on the bed.
"Do not wind him up," Madam Pomfrey warns as she leaves, "or you will find yourselves banned from here. Do you understand young men?"
"Of course dear Lady,"
"Nothing could be clearer."
"See that it is," she says sternly, but Harry swears he sees a small smile as she turns and walks away.
"You know baby Lord,"
"If you didn't want to take exams,"
"There are better ways to get out of them,"
"Then battling a basilisk."
"No matter how bad arse it makes you sound."
"Don't worry, I never want to do that again. How is your sister?"
They turn serious. "She'll be fine,"
"But she's in St Mungo's right now."
"The Healers want to be sure she is fine."
"Madam Pomfrey wanted to take you there as well,"
"But the Headmaster insisted you stay at the school,"
"So the Healers checked on you over here."
"Madam Pomfrey was furious,"
"But they couldn't find anything wrong with you,"
"Besides the healed basilisk bite."
"I'm glad she's going to be fine," he tells them. It would all be for nothing if she wasn't. He's happy he wasn't too late.
"You will never do that again," George says and he has never seen them so serious.
"What?"
"Risk your life like that."
"Someone had to do it. And there wasn't time to fetch a Professor."
"And it had nothing to do with 'repaying us'?"
"Well, yes, but it's fine."
"It's not fine. You almost died!"
Harry flinches at the harsh shout.
"You were bitten by a basilisk. If Fawkes hadn't healed you, you would be dead."
"But I saved your sister," he says, confused.
"This isn't about debts and keeping score. This is about friendship and the fact that you almost got yourself killed to repay something that doesn't exist."
"Yes it does."
"No, it doesn't. We talked to the ultimate Slytherin about this,"
"Professor Black and he said that Slytherins think in terms of deals and favors most of the time,"
"If they aren't dealing with someone they consider a close friend."
"And that's why you would feel that you would owe us."
"But we don't think like that."
"You were our friend,"
"The moment we started talking to you,"
"We didn't expect anything in return."
"Everything has a price. Everyone wants something," he tells them gravely.
"Even us?"
Harry nods, not looking at them. He has an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't want to see the look on their faces. It can't be good. After all, who would want to be friends with someone like him?
"In that case,"
"We owe you now."
"What?"
"You risked your life."
"You almost died."
"Repaying us would have been finding the Chamber and opening it,"
"Going after Ginny was extra,"
"So we owe you now."
Harry shakes his head. "No you don't."
"And why not?"
"Because I was paying my debt."
"You did more than could ever be expected,"
"So try again."
Harry is silent for a long time before he finally whispers, "Because I'm not worth it."
The next thing he knows, he has two pairs of arms wrapped tightly around him. "Yes you are little brother."
"And if we have to spend the rest of our lives proving that, so be it."
"You are one of us now,"
"No matter what anyone else says."
Harry can't help but lean into the touch. No one has ever hugged him like this before. It feels nice. He never wants it to end. Fawkes trills in agreement. They stay like that for a long time.
.
.
Once the bond of brotherhood is forged, it is nigh impossible to break. No matter how suspicious or distrustful you are.
.
.
It is only when Harry is alone that he remembers. Harry Potter. Tom Riddle.
His name was on Riddle's wrist. On Voldemort's wrist. He is Voldemort's soulmate. Or he could be. Soulmate or enemy. Loved or hated. That's how it goes. There is never anyway to tell. He remembers last year, how frantically he searched for a Tom Riddle. Well now he has found him. He gently traces the name on his wrist.
Tom Riddle.
How can he know? For anyone else, surely it would mean that Tom Riddle is his enemy. He has tried to kill him three times now. But what if he is his soulmate? What if, because of this strange and dangerous power he has, he is Voldemort's match? He has killed two people now, a basilisk and a memory of a person. He made the wall explode with his bare hands. He hadn't even thought about it. It had just happened when his hands tingled.
What can that mean? He has heard of accidental magic, but that can't be what that was. That was much too big for accidental magic. The most he has ever done before was end up on his old school's roof when running from Dudley and his gang. Everything else was small.
But now he made a wall of solid rock explode. What can that mean?
And even if Riddle isn't his soulmate, that doesn't mean it gets any better. Draco hates him. He lives to make his life miserable. He is fully convinced that Harry is his enemy. His rival. He hates Harry.
Draco Malfoy
Tom Riddle
Does it matter? Both hate him. He is alone in this world. Unwanted. For who can really care for him, if his soulmate hates him?
Unlovable.
.
.
Everyone talks about how great soulmates are. They describe the joy and happiness of having one. They talk about Fate and perfect matches. Everyone talks about the good things. No one talks about the problems.
.
.
When he is released from the Hospital Wing the next day, he is summoned by the Headmaster to his office. He fidgets nervously before knocking.
"Come in," he call, "Ah Harry my boy, how are you?"
"Fine Sir."
"Good, I am glad you have recovered from your little adventure."
Little adventure? Is that what the Headmaster calls it? Some game he played and got a few scraps in return. Everyone keeps telling him that he almost died and here the old wizard is acting as if it was all a game. A meaningless, little game. "Yes Sir."
"Good. Now this is suppose to be a secret, so naturally the entire school knows about it. Now I am sure you are wondering why I called you here. Rest assured, you are not in trouble. Indeed, I found myself wondering if you might want this? A small souvenir from your little adventure." The man's eyes are twinkling.
In his hand, he is holding out the basilisk fang Harry had been stabbed with. "It is perfectly safe to handle. The venom is all gone from it."
The venom is gone. Because it had been in Harry's body instead. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and takes the fang. Not because he wants to, but because it is expected of him. The Headmaster clearly wants him to have it. That was no question, but an order. "Thank you Sir."
"You are most welcome, my dear boy. Now,"
He is interrupted by a tall blonde man entering the room. It doesn't take much to figure out who he is. He looks just like an older version of Draco.
"Headmaster," he greets coldly, "you have reason to ask for me?"
"Ah yes Lucius, I did have some business. You see,"
Harry doesn't listen to what is being said. For there, trailing behind Mr Malfoy is Dobby. Harry doesn't say anything, but his eyes widen. Oh. This has to be Dobby's master. And that means that Mr Malfoy is the one responsible for opening the Chamber to begin with. Dobby looks from Mr Malfoy to the Headmaster's desk. He turns and looks and sees the final confirmation.
The diary sits on the Headmaster's desk. He nods and understanding as he listens to the two men threaten each other without uttering a single threat. So this is how the game is played. As Mr Malfoy turns to leave, he knows what he has to do. He is going to help his friend.
He grabs the diary and runs after the man. "Mr Malfoy," he calls.
The man turns and sneers down at him. It must be a Slytherin ability, to sneer like that. He wonders how long it will take him to be able to do that. "What boy?"
"You forgot your diary," he hands it to him.
"This is not mine, you stupid boy. Whatever gave you that idea? Has the Headmaster been filling your head with stupid stories."
"No Sir. But this is yours," he insists.
Mr Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Fine, I do not have time for such games. It's not mine, but if you insist, I will take it. Here," he grabs the diary out of Harry's hands and thrusts it into Dobby's. He turns and walks away. Harry motions for Dobby to open the diary.
"Oh Master has given Dobby clothes," the elf exclaims excitedly.
"What are you raving about now?"
Dobby holds up the sock. "Master has given Dobby clothes. Dobby is free house elf."
"I didn't give you any clothes you demented creature."
Harry smirks and lifts up his trouser leg, showing his missing sock.
"You," Mr Malfoy growls, furious, "you little brat. I'll teach you a lesson," he stalks towards him. "You think you can mess with me and get away with it. I'll show you, you little-" He is cut off when Dobby flings him back with a blast of magic.
He tumbles head over arse and Harry can't help but laugh. He will remember the look on Mr Malfoy's face for the rest of his life. The wizard snarls at him, but flees, looking none too dignified.
Dobby looks very pleased with himself. "No one hurt Mr Harry Potter sir. Mr Harry Potter sir is Dobby's friend."
"Thanks Dobby."
"Oh Mr Harry Potter sir is thanking Dobby. Mr Harry Potter sir is great wizard! Great!"
Harry laughs.
.
.
Always make friends with the ones who no one else wants. They are the ones who will stick by you the most. And you never know when they can be of use.
.
.
That is the last time he laughed. Once again he is sent home to his relative's 'loving care'.
The list of chores gets longer.
The nightmares get worse.
His Uncle gets angrier with each time he is woken up.
The scar between his thumb and forefinger gets deeper.
The regret that he survived the basilisk grows each time it happens.
.
.
Oh the toils of life. The older you get, the harder they get in return.
