For anyone who has read the first epilogue, the first section of this is the same. I didn't change it. You might find Harry's summer similar to the first epilogue as well. But everything keeps diverging until Harry gets to Hogwarts. Then things drastically change (for the better, I think.)
Harry sits on his bed, fiddling with the bracelets Draco gave him for his birthday. He had put them on once the boy was gone and hasn't taken them off since. The bottom is soft against the skin of his wrist. The top is warm where he traces his finger over the pattern, again and again. Now, instead of tracing the names on his wrist, he traces the designs on the band.
And it is fitting that he does so, for it is the boy who he is thinking about now. Draco Malfoy. He has changed, since his birthday, a week ago. Or he appears to have changed. There has been a shift in their relationship and Harry cannot understand what it is. Draco has been... nicer to Harry. He had stopped mocking him before, but now it goes farther than that. Now he smiles and talks to him. Tentatively. As if he is unsure he is doing the right thing.
But why would he wonder that? Why would he care? He never did before. He took delight in making Harry's life as miserable as he could. Ever since that first declaration in first year, he has gone out of his way to make it clear he hates him. Now he is doing the opposite. Now it seems as if he is trying to show he cares.
He doesn't know what Draco wants. That is the real problem. He could deal with the change in attitude, if only he knew what Draco wanted. If he had more faith in people, maybe he would believe Draco is trying to make it up to him. To apologize, through actions, for the past four years. But Harry doesn't have that faith. Nor is he is Gryffindor. He is a Slytherin. He knows better.
Everything has a price.
So while, yes, he understands that Draco is making an overturn at something, he doesn't know what exactly it is. Nor does he know why. He knows he has to think, but about what?
It's maddening. All of a sudden, he can't get the blonde out of his head. He thought he was past this. Thought he no longer cared about soulmates. They only bring pain. People can talk all they want about how great they are. For Harry, that is never true.
And he doesn't care. He doesn't. What is the point? A monster or the boy who hates him. It is never going to turn out well, so why would he care? Life has brought him enough pain, without this. He is better off alone. He does not care about his soulmate. He has no reason to.
And yet...
He pulls his hair in frustration. And yet the hope refuses to die completely. It's still there. It may be small, a fragile thread in a strong wind, but it still exists. It's still there. It lies right next to the sassy part of his mind that he always buries. It is just as helpful to him as his hope.
Maybe that's part of the problem. Both Regulus and Severus have been encouraging that part of his mind to come out more. Not that Severus ever encourages disrespect or cheek. But he has a habit of smirking whenever Harry says something particularly sarcastic. Regulus assures him that he finds it entertaining, even if he'll never admit it. It shows spirit.
It shows he is not broken. He can carry on. It is the Slytherin way, to thumb his nose at the rest of the world when they try to keep him down. When they try to tear him apart simply for existing. He will not yield. He will not hide. He will not surrender.
He is a survivor.
Every day he goes on, he is a survivor. Every time he smiles. Every time he laughs. Each time he relies on a friend instead of going on alone. It shows he can go on. That they haven't broken him yet. That he is stronger than they are. He can take what they throw at him. They will never win.
At least that's what he's told. Some days he doesn't believe them. Some days it feels as if the world has won. What does he have after all? Massive trust issues, depression, nightmares, ptsd, and a mass of scars. That's not anything to be proud of. It's a list of failures, not accomplishments. So what if he is still here? He doesn't want to be, not really. Not most of the time.
But still he carries on. Not gracefully, but he does. Luna tells him the Jackalburs haven't won yet. He wishes there was a potion to get rid of them all at one time. He had asked Severus, once, if there was. All the man did was laugh. A bitter laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. He took it as a 'no'.
All this trouble over two stupid names. Who even decided what they meant anyways? Maybe they aren't the names of your soulmate and your rival. Maybe they are just the names of the two people you will interact with the most. Or maybe they are the two who will make the biggest impact on your life. The latter is certainly true for him. No one can explain how the names work. They put it down to magic and call it a day.
That doesn't sit well with Harry. He doesn't have any faith in destiny and no trust in fate. Both have screwed him over far too many times for him to. He doesn't believe in a faceless, nameless being who decides how life is run. He believes in things he can touch. The unseen is never for him. It's one of the reasons he hates Divination so much. Besides the fact he is convinced the Professor is out to get him. Why else would she predict his death so much?
Magic is not some unexplained, mysterious phenomenon. It has rules and regulations, just like everything else. It has its limits as well. So to explain something away by magic does not work. Magic can be explained. Not to do so is both stupid and ignorant.
Nor is magic perfect. Nothing is perfect and magic is no exception to this. Mistakes can be made, spells ruined or mutated, potions changed. Nothing is forever. Everything adapts. The world would not exist if it did not. So by that logic, magic can make mistakes. If soulmates are magic, can soulmates be mistaken as well? Could the names be wrong?
He has never voiced such thoughts. He knows how that would go. He would be seen as even more of a Freak than he already is. Society as a whole holds soulmates to be sacred. Nothing is more special, more extraordinary, than soulmates. Even the names of the enemies are held to the same level.
It is as if the two words printed neatly on your wrist is in charge of your entire life. It is absurd. But Merlin forbid you question it. Clearly there is something wrong with you if you do so.
As if there aren't enough things wrong with him.
He gives his hair another sharp tug for good measure. This is ridiculous. He shouldn't be wasting time thinking about such rubbish. And that is what it is, rubbish. But he can't help it. There is some part of his brain that cannot let it go, no matter how much he wants to. He assumes it is the part of his brain that absorbs all social expectations and cues. He was raised in this culture of thought his entire life, be it Muggle or Magical. There will probably always be some part of his brain that categorizes it as important. That doesn't mean he has to agree with it.
Still, he wishes that part of his mind would belt up. He doesn't need the added stress. Things are bad enough without worrying about the social concept of soulmates and enemies. He has other things on his mind.
But it would potentially explain why Draco is acting the way he is. If he has decided that Harry is his soulmate, than he would want to make amends. He want to be with him, romantically. Maybe. It could be that the idea is better than the actual thing in this case.
Or maybe his Godfather's lessons have finally gotten through his thick head and he is attempting to be a decent human being. They have been talking with him quite a bit. Severus will talk with Harry about his issues and Regulus will talk to Draco about his. So, maybe that is it.
He believe that less than his first theory.
Or maybe it is neither. Maybe this is all a cruel prank and as soon as he lets his guard down, Draco will strike. He has never forgotten that first Christmas, with the prank 'present'. He remembers the hope he felt and how quickly it was crushed. It is always that bloody hope that gets him into trouble. It has done him more harm than any of the dangers he has faced.
More than dragon fire, more than basilisk venom, more than Dementors, hope has proven to be the most dangerous thing in Harry's life. It burns more than anything. It drags him down deeper than anything. It tears him apart more viciously than anything else he has encountered. Hope is the true enemy because it can destroy you better than any hate can.
It is this theory that he fears most of all. Because it is the most likely one to be true.
.
.
Do people ever really change? Can they? Do they have that ability? Or do they simply hide parts of themselves from the world, showing them as need be?
.
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"Harry Potter," Tom Riddle greets coolly.
He is back in the Chamber. It looks the same as the last time he was here. The same chill in the air. The same puddles of water. The same looming walls. Eternal, as if he has never left. Only this time there is no diary laying on the ground. No Ginny laying beside it. He and Riddle are alone.
"I have been waiting for you, Harry Potter," he says, smiling then.
It is a smile that has Harry suppressing a shiver. Not only is it cold and cruel, there is a possessive streak in it that scares him. An edge of madness in the shadow of that handsome face. Not that he shows his fear. He knows better than that. Never show your fear. That makes you prey.
Even as Riddle stalks forward, Harry does not move. He stands his ground. But he can't help notice just how graceful Riddle moves. Beautiful yet deadly. Like a jungle cat who has spotted its next meal. If Harry isn't careful, he just might be it.
"Far too long," Riddle says as he stops in front of Harry.
Too close. He is far too close. But Harry doesn't run, doesn't retreat. He stares up at that handsome face and waits.
Riddle lifts a hand and gently strokes Harry's cheek. "For far too long have I been waiting for you. But now you are here. And you are mine, aren't you?" he asks.
"No," Harry says in denial, "I'm not yours." He shakes his head, turning away from his hand.
"Aw, but you are. You have my name, do you not?" If Riddle is discouraged by Harry's refusal, he certainly doesn't show it. All he does is cup Harry's face so that he has to look at him.
Harry does. "Yes, but that doesn't mean your my soulmate. That means your my enemy."
Riddle laughs. "Come now Harry, you know that isn't true. For one thing, who can tell? It is only through our interactions can we figure out what our name represents. And we do fit so well together, don't we?"
"No we don't," Harry says in denial. He wants to pull away, but he can't. Not because Riddle's hold is too strong. No. He is holding Harry as if he is something precious. And maybe that is the problem. People don't touch Harry. He goes out of his way to avoid physical contact. Because nothing good comes from touch – only pain. But even as part of his brain screams at him, another part enjoys this. Cherishes that softness Riddle is using.
"Do I have to remind you how similar we are? I told you once before. Your soul calls to me Harry, how can you not be mine?" He runs a thumb over Harry's cheek.
"It's not real," he says and it almost hurts to do so, "There's been some kind of mistake, when it comes to my names. They only bring pain and hate. Never love. I'm not yours."
"The world hasn't treated you right has it? It never has for me. That is why we belong together. Because between the two of us, we can bring it to its knees. We can make it suffer for all that it has done to us. Can't you feel it? The way your magic sings? We fit." Riddle's eyes bring with the bright intensity of his conviction. More than a little mad now, but oh so bright.
"I don't want to world to burn," Harry says, "I just want to be left alone."
"Oh Harry," Riddle laughs, pulling him even closer, "Don't deny it. You are a Slytherin after all. What Slytherin does not like revenge? Don't deny it, embrace it. Together we can change the world."
Riddle is hugging Harry now. Trapping him in his arms. Oh but what a sweet trap it is. A false promise of safety and power. A chance to pay back all the pain he has been caused over the years. A chance to show them all who he really is. A chance of happiness, with his soulmate by his side.
But a trap is still a trap, no matter how attractive it is. And Harry has had enough of cages and of traps. Hasn't he lived in one his entire life? Doesn't he trade one for the other at the end of each summer and the beginning of it? No, a cage is not something Harry will ever choose. He may have to now. He may not have a choice. But once he graduates, he vows that he will never be caged again. He will find a way. He will finally be free.
So he fights. He jerks violently away from those too tempting arms. From that possessive smile. He shakes his head. "No, that's not what I want. I don't want to rule the world. I don't want to have revenge. I want to be free. I doubt you can give me that." He watches warily for Riddle's next move.
But Riddle doesn't approach him again. "And what makes you think that? You are mine Harry Potter. I take care of what is mine."
"Isn't that just another cage then? Doesn't the idea of soulmates come with an implied cage? You are chained to another person for the rest of your life. You cannot tell me that you want that. That you believe in it. Love doesn't seem like something you want."
"Love?" Riddle laughs, "No, love is for the weak," he says in agreement, "But power. Power is another thing entirely. And oh what power you could bring me Harry Potter. Your blood sings with it. Isn't this a fair trade? You give me power and I stop the pain. I put you on top of the world, where no one else can touch you. Is that not what you want?"
Harry shakes his head. "No," he says.
Riddle stalks forward again. "Let me show you. Let me show you just what I can give." Giving Harry no time to move, he pulls him into a kiss.
It is like nothing Harry is expecting. If he ever thought of it, he would expect something rough. Demanding and taking. No thought of any other than himself. It isn't like that. No. Yes, there is still passion and possession enough in it. But it is a soft claiming. A gentle one. Careful, in the way one is careful with a frightened animal.
Yes, this is nothing like the kind of kiss Harry would have expected. It's almost nice. But that still does not mean it is welcome. He tries to get away from it, but unlike the hug, he can't. It is as if his feet are now stuck to the floor. He can't move.
Riddle ends the kiss, that crazed gentleness in his eyes. "Do you not see little one? You belong to me. Nothing can change that – not you nor me. Mother Magic has proclaimed it so. How can you fight that?"
That is definitely the wrong question to ask. Because Harry is a fighter. A survivor. A hero he will never be, but that does not mean he is weak. He has not surrendered yet. Why would he now? What makes Riddle so special that he thinks that Harry will yield to him? He won't. Even when he doesn't want to continue, still he does.
With that thought in mind, he is able to move away. He throws himself violently back from Riddle, weakness be damned. You only stand your ground if it won't get you killed. "No," he says firmly, feeling his blood rush through him. "No. I am not yours. I belong to no one."
"Oh little one," Riddle advances once more.
Harry feels a familiar tingle in his hands. He flexes them as he watches Riddle come towards him.
"Don't fight it little one. You are mine." He reaches for Harry. "Don't deny it. Harry Potter, you are mine."
"No!" Harry shouts and thrusts his hands forward, unleashing his power. There is a rush of gold and then he jerks up, waking from his nightmare with a start. Rapidly he checks to make sure he is alone. That Riddle hasn't somehow followed him. It is a ridiculous thought, but he doesn't care. He has to be sure.
But he is alone. He must not have shouted because no one comes in to check on him. All around him is silence, with only the usual creaks of the house. No sign of anything – or anyone – else. Good. He releases a sigh.
Voldemort is dead. Tom Riddle has been dead for even longer. Voldemort killed him before Harry had even been born, likely. There is no chance that he is coming back. Severus and Regulus made sure of that.
Still he has trouble going back to sleep after that, Riddle's words haunting him still. Because, however much he wants to admit it, Riddle was right. They fit. Damn him..
.
Sometimes hell is not a place, but a state of mind. Thoughts and fears run wild. The mind can make a heaven out of hell or a hell out of heaven. Sweet dreams.
.
.
Harry is exploring again. It was something he had been hesitant to do when he first arrived here. This isn't his home after all. He can't go snooping around as if he has a right to. All he needed to know was where the kitchen, the library, the loo and the room he is staying in is located.
But then it was made clear that the bedroom is his bedroom. His and no one else's. That he – somehow – has a right to it. A bed is a right and not a privilege. And oh boy, Severus' face when he said that. Yes, he certainly hates the Dursleys. There is no doubt in Harry's mind about that.
After that he had been ordered to explore. To make his room his own. To put his mark on things, so to speak. Then, after the legal guardian conversation, and especially after the adoption conversation, he was encouraged even more. If he agreed, this would be his home. Regulus assured him that it already was, whether he agreed or not. He will not be going back to the Dursleys. Ever. Apparently Severus just might kill them if he does. And "seeing as I happen to like my partner by my side and not in Azkaban, you will be doing no such thing."
Well then.
That just might be the best news Harry has heard since this summer began. Maybe the best news he has ever heard, besides Voldemort's death that is. Never having to see the Dursleys again? Yes please. Briefly he wonders what the point of trying to legally tie Harry to them is, if he is never going back in any case, but he dismisses the thought. The answer is likely something he won't be comfortable hearing. Best to avoid that.
So he explores. Logically he shouldn't have anything left to explore by now. Grimmauld Place is big, but it is not that big. But every time Harry looks, there seems to be something new that he hasn't seen yet. A new room to see. It is almost as if the house has a mind of its own.
Regulus says that it is a possibility. Grimmauld Place is an old house, filled with ancient Black magic since it was built. Ancestral homes have a way of absorbing a family's magic after enough time has passed. They cannot technically think by themselves, but they do develop quirks of their own. And it is a good sign, that he is able to see so much. It means the house is warming up to him.
Harry isn't sure what to think about that. Even now, sometimes he wakes up expecting it to all be a dream. That he made up magic and Hogwarts and everything to cope with his life. It seems impossible that he will get the hang of it all. There is just so much to learn and to know about magic. So many rules to figure out. One life time doesn't seem like it will be enough.
The room he is currently in right now seems to be all boxes, junk and things that haven't been used in some time. The layer of dust speaks to that. There isn't much that is interesting, but Harry looks just in case. After all, he should know that looks can be deceiving. And that 'one man's trash is another man's treasure'. You never know.
But he thinks that looks are pretty straight forward this time. All he has gained for his trouble is a lung full of dust and cobwebs in his hair. Nothing exciting at all. But then he sees it, shoved into the very back corner of the room. A gramophone. An older one than the one in the sitting room by the looks of it. Carefully he maneuvers his way over and inspects it. Everything looks as if it should work. And there are even a stack of records sitting beside it.
Curiosity isn't in his nature, but he wonders. Well no, that isn't exactly true. Curiosity has been forcibly removed from his nature, but Regulus and Severus seemed determined to bring it back. Yet another reason to order him to explore.
He remembers when he first heard about magic. He had wanted to know everything about it. Yes, part of it was about survival. A very large part of it, there is no denying that. But another, smaller, quiet part wanted to know because he could. He could wonder. He could question this, surely. Magic was something new. Something exciting. A new thing to cautiously hope about. How could he not be curious about it? He wanted to know everything. However quickly that changed, he had burned with curiosity.
Now he is cautiously curious again. Music has never been a large part of Harry's life. It was never allowed to be. But now, here is an opportunity to change that. He doesn't even know what kind of music it is yet. He still wants to listen.
It takes a couple of trips, but eventually he has all the records in a neat pile outside the room. Hesitating only briefly, he goes back for the gramophone as well. This way he won't be controlling the one in the sitting room if anyone else wants to use it. He gathers everything up and goes to another sitting room that is rarely used. Setting everything down, he takes the time to look at his prize.
It doesn't take long to figure out he has probably found Black's old collection. For one thing, there is a strong rock theme to it. For another, it is all Muggle. Even he has heard of some these bands, although others he has no idea who they are. He may not know all of the songs, but he should recognized some of them.
Choosing a record at random, he carefully sets it down and sets the needle. The song has him by the first note. There is something hauntingly beautiful about it. Something that touches Harry like nothing else has before. And then the artist begins to sing.
Every time when I look in the mirror/All these lines on my face getting clearer
His breath catches in his throat. Without even realizing it, he leans forward, as if he can absorb the music better that way. He isn't even sure that he is breathing anymore. He certainly isn't moving. It is as if the song has frozen him.
Sing with me, sing for the years/ Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears/ Sing with me, just for today/ Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away
Yes. This. This exactly. The song ends and Harry blinks as if he has been released from a trance. He has never realized that music could touch you so. That it is magic in its own right. He has heard music before, of course he has. It would be impossible not to. But until now, it is as if he has been deaf. Nothing else he has ever heard speaks to him like this.
Absently he goes on to the other records, but that one song sticks with him. None of the others manage to pull quite the same reaction out of him although some are very good. Eventually he goes back to that song. Puts it on repeat and lays down, letting the music take him. Spread out on the floor everything seems easier to deal with just then. All of his worries and questions and insecurities. None of them seem to matter quite as much just then. As if they are a problem for another Harry Potter, not him.
He startles himself when he realizes that he is singing along with it. Obviously he is no Aerosmith, but at least he isn't too off tune. Singing is certainly not in his future, but once again, he doesn't care. Not here, not now. Not when he is alone at least. He isn't about to start singing around Severus or Regulus. Definitely not around Draco.
He stays like that until dinner, reluctantly dragging himself away. When he is done eating, he goes back to the room and the song.
Regulus had seemed amused by this. "Found Siri's old collection did you?"
Harry nods shyly, not sure if he is going to be mad or not. He had said he could explore, but what if this was something off limits? These aren't technically Regulus' after all. What if he isn't allowed to touch it? What if-
"I can't believe Mother kept it," Regulus says.
"The mutt likely spelled it so she couldn't," Severus snorts.
Regulus grins. "Sounds about right," he agrees, "Merlin how he use to annoy her before he moved out. Drove her up a wall. She tried everything from banishing it to silencing it. Nothing ever seemed to work. I had thought he took it with him when he moved in with Potter, but I should have known better."
"Five galleons he charmed it to play even after he left," Severus says with a smirk.
"No bet," Regulus says, returning it, "It's far too likely. I never heard it, but then again, I didn't have the same burning hate for it. I only pretended I did when Mother was watching."
"Yes well at least your taste in music is somewhat tolerable."
"I could say the same to you."
Draco doesn't say anything, although he does look questioningly at Harry.
Harry just shrugs and goes back to his plate. He leaves after he finishes, Regulus shooing him away with a smirk.
"And Potter," Severus says, "do remember that other songs exist than just Dream On, hmm?"
Harry blushes. "Yes Sir," he says and then flees. Back to his music.
.
.
They say music is the key to the soul. It opens the heart and let's the spirit fly free. Music is able to break through even the coldest of hearts. So don't be afraid to feel whenever that special song starts to play. Embrace it. Happy flying.
.
.
When Harry comes down to breakfast, it is to find Draco practically bouncing in his seat. He watches curiously, but doesn't say anything. He has never seen him act so... undignified before. Not like this. He has seen Draco sneer and smirk and laugh, but he has never seen him act like this. Like a kid. Just like an excited kid. He didn't think he knew how, honestly.
"Harry," Draco greets happily, "Uncle Sev is going to take us to the Manor to fly!" he says enthusiastically.
"I won't be if you keep annoying me," Severus says from behind the paper he is reading.
"Of course not Uncle Sev," Draco says in agreement and goes back to bouncing.
Severus sighs. "If you cannot seize behaving as such, then go get ready," he orders.
"Yes," Draco shouts as he leaps from his seat and runs out the room.
"And no running," Severus calls after him.
Harry watches and then goes back to eating breakfast. Flying. He isn't sure how he feels about this. Just because he now has a broom doesn't mean he really planned on using it. Black had been so excited when he gave it to him, but Harry is rather indifferent to the whole thing. Faster broom on the market or not, he is in no real hurry to try it. He takes his time eating.
Food is still somewhat of a novelty, when he isn't at Hogwarts. It deserves much more attention than the day's activity. He briefly wonders if he can get out of it, then dismisses the idea. Severus isn't likely to let him excuse himself. He is funny about making sure Harry burns off his 'excessive energy that all teenagers are blessed with and all watchers curse'. Then again, neither is Regulus. Maybe if he truly hates it enough the first time, he won't have to do it again, but today he is going.
"You do not seem to be sharing Draco's level of excitement," Severus says. How he knows this is a mystery. He is still reading the paper.
Harry shrugs.
"I require a verbal answer Mr Potter," he says sternly.
"Um no Sir – Severus," he corrects, "not really."
"And why ever not? I assumed that the broom is of some interest to you. If not before, at least when it was received."
"It's not bad," Harry admits, "But the only time I've ever flown was in first year with the Gryffindors. It was better to keep my head down then. And everyone acts as if the only reason to fly is playing Quidditch. And I don't play," he says obviously.
"Hmm, yes well I can see why you would have a bad first impression of it," Severus says as he folds the paper, setting it down, "The dunderheads are rather obsessed with the game, as it were. But despite popular belief, one does not need to play Quidditch to enjoy flying. If your genes are anything to go by, you should be an excellent flier."
Harry holds back a wince. Black had already told him what a wonderful flier his Dad was. He was a star Chaser for Gryffindor. Apparently there is even a trophy with his name on it somewhere in Hogwarts. He doesn't know what to think about that. He always gets a bit wary when Black mentions his Dad. It is as if he is comparing them, looking for his best friend in his son. To see if he is measuring up or not. That's not really something Harry is comfortable with.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is afraid that one day Black is going to decide he doesn't measure up at all and cut their connection. It wouldn't be surprising at all actually. From the stories he likes to tell, Harry is nothing like his Dad. Not really. James was handsome and popular and a prankster. Harry isn't any of those things. And some of those stories make him uncomfortable as well. The pranks... they don't always sound like pranks. They sound like bullying. The saying 'boys will be boys' can only go so far when excusing certain behavior. He wonders some times, although he'll never ask, that if he were alive at the same time, if James might 'prank' him too. Like he pranked Severus. He's Slytherin and an easy target. It seems likely.
Not that he is close to Black, for it to hurt that badly when he does. But would still be another blow. Even his godfather – the man who was suppose to raise him – doesn't want him. He is getting better, that is clear from the letters. But does he really want to know Harry? Or James Potter's son?
"Black mentioned that," he says cautiously. He never mentions Black's name in front of Severus if he can help it. Those two still don't get along. Not that Harry blames him.
Severus scoffs. "Black would. No, I am not referring to Potter. I was talking about Lily in fact. She was always an excellent flier, although she never played on her team. It never appealed to her."
Harry perks up at that. Everyone always has a bad habit of talking about his Dad, but never his Mum. Only Severus really does and only sparingly at that. He has never said anything about it, but from what Severus has said, Harry can tell they were close. It must have hurt, losing her. "Really?" he asks lowly.
"Yes," he nods, "I have mentioned that we grew up together. The first time I saw her, she was using magic to fly off of a swing – literally. She had excellent control even then. Everyone can brag about the wonder that is James Potter all they like, but if Lily had ever decided to play, she would have been the star Seeker. There is no doubt of that."
"Wicked," Harry says softly.
"Wicked indeed. Never let anyone tell you that you are all Potter's spawn. It is clear to those who care to look that you are Lily's son as well."
Harry is tempted to ask what exactly does he share with his Mum. How are they similar? But he can see the shadow on Severus' face just from saying that much. So he nods instead. "Thank you."
"You are quite welcome. Now eat up. Flying, no matter how little or much enthusiasm, is involved, burns many calories. You cannot afford to lose any extra as it is."
"Than maybe I shouldn't go," he says.
Severus snorts. "Nice try brat. You are going. If anything, you can truthfully tell your dogfather what you think of it next time he writes. Because he will ask, believe me. He is persistent like that."
"What an inspiring talk," Regulus says as he walks into the room. "Mentally preparing yourself, are you?" he asks, motioning to Severus' very large cup of coffee.
"I am taking the tornado flying today, what do you think?" he asks dryly.
Regulus laughs and kisses Severus on the cheek. "Well the tornado is ripping through his room upstairs getting ready. You best hurry if you do not want to be left behind," he teases.
"He better not if he wants to go today," Severus says darkly. "You are aware that you owe me, correct?"
"As if I could think anything else," Regulus says as he sits down and begins to eat. "I would take them myself, but I really do need to finish reviewing that law today before it goes to the Wizengamot on Friday."
Severus nods. "I am aware," he says stiffly.
Regulus laughs. "Come now, it can't be that bad. Maybe having Harry there will calm Draco down some."
Severus looks at Regulus disbelievingly, not even bothering with a verbal response.
"Go on and get ready now," Regulus tells Harry, "And don't worry, everything will be fine."
Harry does as he is told, resisting the urge to echo Severus' look. Everything will be fine? Since when has that ever applied to his life? Never, that's when. But it will do no good to point that out, so he stays silent. Better to keep quiet than to risk another lecture about pessimism and being 'too realistic'. More like the rest of the world is too optimistic.
Harry has always been a 'glass is half empty' kind of person. Really, who could blame him? He absently rubs the teeth mark between his forefinger and thumb. No one, that's who, if they have any sense. Then again, Harry has come to find that so few people actually do. It's both shocking and yet not surprising at all.
Draco is already waiting in the hall when he comes down again. He is still bouncing and still clearly trying Severus' nerves. He must really hate flying to be in a mood like this right now. "We are taking a portkey," he announces.
Harry's stomach drops. A portkey. Of course they are taking a portkey. Bad enough that it made him sick when he had to use one to get to the Quidditch World Cup. Then he was whisked away by one when Voldemort was resurrected. He really hates portkeys.
And that's likely why they are using one. Severus is forcing him to face his fear. Merlin. Couldn't they go another way? Then again, Harry can name a mishap with every single magic transportation he has been forced to take thus far. So maybe it's not the method. Maybe it's just his luck instead. That sounds about right.
"Hold on tightly," Severus says as he holds out a quill.
The familiar twist in his stomach takes him and then they arrive. Harry stays on his feet by virtue of Severus holding him upright. He grimaces, both at the weakness and at the sensation. Merlin does he hate portkeys. Never mind the trauma involved. Can't they invent a way of travel that doesn't make you sick?
Draco clearly has no problem with it. With an excited whoop, he mounts his broom and takes off.
Severus hands Harry an anti-nausea potion. He nods and drinks it. Yuck.
"Better?" Severus asks.
Harry nods again and Severus lets go. He pockets the empty bottle and motions for Harry to follow him. "Come," he says.
Harry does, looking around with interest. He can admit that Malfoy Manor is impressive looking. It is big and beautiful and just what one would expect when the word Manor is mentioned. There are extensive gardens out front. A groomed forest off to the side. There are albino peacocks walking around for some reason or another. Maybe because Lord Malfoy felt he could relate to them – stuck up and white.
He bites his tongue to hold back a giggle. He probably shouldn't mention that thought out loud. It isn't really appropriate. Although Severus would likely find it amusing, even if he didn't say that. And the twins definitely would. Maybe he should mention that in his next letter? It can't hurt after all.
It certainly explains why Draco has the personality that he does. How can one grow up here without being spoiled? It seems inevitable. He is surrounded by wealth and by beauty. How could Draco ever have wanted to befriend a scrawny mutt like him? Oh that's right.
Because of a name.
Because of a stupid title.
What a waste. It is enough to bring down his mood even farther. Without much thought, he begins to sing Dream On in his head. He is still mesmerized by that song. And it makes him feels slightly better.
"In the air brat," Severus says as they reach an open field obviously designed for flying, "I do not plan to spend my entire day here."
"Yes Severus," Harry says and mounts his broom.
"If you truly hate it that much, you can come down. But I require a ten minute test run before you do. Yes?" he asks for confirmation.
"Yes," Harry repeats, feeling better at hearing that. He pauses for one more moment and then kicks off. It only takes a second for the lessons Madam Hooch taught him to come back to him. Just like riding a bike, although Harry can't say how accurate that is. He was never allowed to learn. Leaning forward, he shoots up and out. The wind blows through his hair and he can't help but let out a quiet whoop of his own.
Draco is busy zooming around the field, paying no mind to what Harry is doing. That is fine with him. He doesn't want the extra attention right now. But it doesn't take long for excitement to sweep him up as well. This... he has never experienced anything like this. He always stayed close to the ground. It was better that way. He wasn't joking about the Gryffindors. It was better to pretend to be invisible around them. Just like the Dursleys – pretend that he does not exist.
As if their first class wasn't a minor calamity enough, what with Draco and Longbottom and everyone else. Longbottom was a bit of a disaster then. To be honest, he still is. Not that Harry has anything against him. Honestly, not counting the twins, he's the most tolerable Gryffindor there is. He's never said or done anything against Harry. Mostly, he's just kept out of his way. Actually, Harry is fairly sure Longbottom was terrified of Harry during their younger years – especially second. Now he just avoids him. He avoids most people actually.
But enough of that. He does a loop because he can. And then he does another one. Then a flip and then a spin. Yes. Alright, so he likes flying. As he is discovering, he likes flying quite a bit. He feels free. As if, when he is up here, nothing else matters. All the chaos and the mess and depression are down on the ground, but he is safe up here. It can't get him. Can't drag him down.
He zooms across the field like those demons are chasing him. But they'll never catch him. Not up here. Not when he has the wind in his hair and the broom between his legs. He is invincible up here. Free.
He is so free.
Never before has he felt something like this. Most of the time, everything threatens to drag him down. For the ground to open up and swallow his whole. To crush him beneath its weight. Even when nothing specific is going wrong, he has always been aware of that pressure. It never leaves him, just increases or decreases as life goes on. He never realized just how heavy it was until now.
It is likely to be even worse than ever now, since he knows this. But he doesn't have to think about that yet. Just this once, he is going to ignore the oncoming reality for now and enjoy this. Everything else will catch up with him soon enough. Now is the time for fun.
Maybe Severus is right and he is an 'excellent flier' because this feels as easy as breathing. He barely has to think about what he wants to do before he is. There is no worry and no hesitating. He flies.
"Potter," a voice calls up at him, breaking him from the zone his mind had settled into.
He looks down and sees Severus motioning for him to come down. He waves to show that he has heard and turns back around towards him. A crazy thought enters his head and he lets it. Why not? He knows he can do it. And think of the rush. He drops down into a dive.
Watching the ground carefully, he leans forward so that he is practically laying on the broom. Wind rushes all around him, whipping his hair against his head. His eyes tear up slightly. As the ground gets closer and closer, he waits. He keeps going, watching, waiting, steady until – now. He pulls out of the dive, barely a meter from the ground.
"Merlin Harry," Draco says, "that was wicked!"
"Oh joy," Severus says with a sigh, "there are now two of you to give me grey hairs. Were you attempting to become one with the ground with that stunt? Or are you convinced you are now indestructible?"
Harry shrugs, looking down. He didn't think he did anything wrong. He knew he could do it. He wasn't in any danger. But obviously Severus disagrees. And here comes the weight again. It is almost a physical presence as he dismounts and joins them.
"You are a natural," Draco continues as if he didn't hear Severus at all, "A bloody natural. I can't believe it!"
"Language Mr Malfoy," Severus says and is promptly ignored.
Harry fidgets. This isn't that big of a deal, is it? So he can do a couple of fancy tricks, so what? He's seen a few Quidditch games, even if he never joined the others in the stands. He knows that they all have tricks they can do. Draco certainly does from what he has seen. Doesn't everyone? What is the big deal? He can't be anything that special. Ignoring those first year lessons, this is the first time he has flown. He can't be that good that Draco, someone who has been flying for years, is that impressed.
"You should join the Quidditch team this year. You'd be the greatest Seeker ever! Think about how much we could crush Gryffindor then. Weaslette wouldn't stand a chance against you."
Harry hunches further into himself. Quidditch? Seeker? Him? What a ridiculous idea.
"Enough Draco," Severus says sternly, "It is time to go. Grab hold of the quill now."
Both Harry and Draco obey. Harry doesn't even feel so nauseous this time, mind too occupied by what Draco said. Of course this makes his landing even worse than usual and he almost knocks Severus over as he stumbles.
"Easy brat. No need to take both of us out," he says, but his hold is still gentle.
"Sorry Sir," Harry says, eyes on the ground.
"Go wash up Draco, it will be time for lunch soon."
"Yes Uncle Severus," he says as he rushes off, that bounce still in his step.
"Mr Potter," Severus says, tilting his head up, "remember now – do not let anyone bully you into something that you do not wish to do. Is that clear?"
"Yes Sir – Severus," he corrects. He can remember the order most of the time, but there are still times that he slips back into old habits.
"Very good. A love of flying does not mean a love of Quidditch. There is nothing wrong with having one and not the other. Just as there is nothing wrong with having both – in moderation," he adds.
Harry can't help the small smile that forms at that. Yes, Severus must really hate flying for some reason. "Yes Severus," he says.
"Good," he nods sharply, "Now go clean up and come back down for lunch. Maybe this will finally help your appetite."
"Yes Severus," he nods and goes to obey. What he says is true. Harry finds that it is hard to eat sometimes. He isn't always hungry enough for it. Likely a cause from his childhood. He is being given nutrient potions of course, but those can only do so much. They aren't a substitute for real food. And he needs to gain the weight apparently. Something about there being a difference between skeletal and lanky. Plus he will never reach his full height potential if he doesn't. He is already unlikely enough to reach it as it is. Merlin does he hate being the shortest person in their year.
But now his stomach is growling, ready for food. Maybe this will help.
.
.
Freedom from the Earth's gravity is wonderful thing. There is noting weighing you down. Noting can touch up, up there. It is only when you come back down do the troubles start again.
.
.
Of course that isn't the end of it. Now that Draco has the idea in his head, he won't let it go. He is determined to convince Harry to play Quidditch. He is absolutely positive that Harry is the best flier he has ever seen. And he is perfectly built to be a Seeker. More than Draco himself is. He says that he likes being a Chaser more, but they needed a Seeker when he joined the team.
He is like a dog with a bone with the idea. No, not a dog with a bone. That is too mild. He is like a hungry tigers after a deer. He is determined to corner it and have his way. It is an apt description in Harry's mind. He certainly feels hunted.
He has gone from trying to be nice to Harry to constantly badgering him. It is as if the mere idea of Quidditch has taken over his mind. He has noticed a similar effect in others at school. The twin's little brother Ron is a good example of this. He is Quidditch crazy. Especially about the Chudley Cannons. However little they actually win.
Regulus and Severus are good at putting a stop to it whenever they hear him, but they can't always be around. Mostly Harry tries to ignore him, but he isn't always successful. It's like a mosquito that is bothering you – sometimes you just have to smack it.
Such as:
"But why not?" Draco says – whines rather.
"Because I don't want to."
"But you're an amazing flier! How can you let that talent go to waste?"
"I'm not. I just don't want to play."
Or:
"I bet everyone will love you then. You'd be the star of the team."
"And what happens when I lose a game?"
"How could you lose? But it will be fine, the team supports each other. Just like the House supports each other."
"Have you by chance suffered from memory loss? Or were you just that blind to my past four years?"
"That was then, this is now," he waves off, "They'll love you now."
Or:
"Seriously Potter, why?"
"What else in on the field besides our team?"
"The Gryffindors?"
"And?"
"The quaffle?"
"And?"
"The bludgers? Is that what your worried about? You'll be fine. That's what the beaters are for."
"And when you don't trust your beaters?"
"Merlin you're impossible."
So overall, Harry doesn't know what to think about the entire thing. Or, he does, but that doesn't mean a small – very small – part of him isn't constantly thinking about it. Not because he really wants to, but because Draco won't belt up about it. It's hard to ignore that buzzing in your ear forever.
Sure, he has some good arguments. But Harry has some better ones against it. It's just that Draco isn't hearing them. As if the mere thought of Quidditch has robbed him of all common sense and basic listening skills.
So yes, the Slytherins will probably love him when they see how good he is. But how long will that last? In Harry's experience, fame never lasts long. Look how quickly it abandoned him once he was Sorted. It never came back after that either. Sure, there were times when life was better or worse, but it was never really good. He was most definitely never popular.
Why would he do anything for them now? House pride is suppose to be an important thing. That's the first place you form your social connections for the rest of your life. Where you meet your friends and the people you are going to spend the next seven years with. Your House is suppose to be your family and the crowning characteristic about you. Everyone always looks for the color of your tie before anything else.
But what if that isn't true? What if you don't fit in with your Housemates? Luna is a prime example of that. They are always stealing her things and mocking her. Or what if everyone thinks you belong in another House? People always complain the Granger should have been a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. What if your House has never done anything for you? Like Harry. How can you have House pride then? There is nothing to be proud of.
This isn't malicious. It's not as if he wants them to lose or anything like that. He just simply doesn't care if they do or not. He may be in Slytherin, but he's not a Slytherin, not really. Not in the ways that count. Yes, personality wise, he is definitely a Slytherin. But for everything else? No. No he's not. He never will be.
Maybe this would help. Maybe this would be the tipping point to include him. They would accept him then if he would be their prized Seeker. But Harry has a distinct dislike for people who use him like that. They only keep him around when he is useful and throw him away when he is not. No thank you. He has been used enough against his will without voluntarily signing up for more.
He may not have House pride, but he still has his own pride. And if not pride, then dignity at least. Enough to want to avoid being another whipping boy if he can help it. Because he is worth it.
Or at least that is what Severus and Regulus keep telling him.
Maybe one day he'll even believe it.
And there is another reason he doesn't want to be on the team – the twins. They are on the Gryffindor team. Not that he thinks that they will hate him if he plays against them – mostly. But that still doesn't mean that he wants to play against them. They are his only friends besides Luna. And while it's unlikely that he would lose them over this, why take that chance?
Add to that that they are the beaters of the Gryffindor team and Harry is most definitely bowing out. He doesn't fancy breaking an arm – or worse – by being hit with a bludger. Because while they are his friend, they aren't likely to go easy on him. Where would the fun in that be? If he doesn't trust his two friends not to break him, he certainly isn't going to trust his Housemates to keep him safe.
Besides, the rest of the Slytherins have a way of cheating. Or most of them, anyways. There are a few that don't. They play rough – rougher than the other teams. Although, funny enough, no one seems to realize just how vicious the Hufflepuff team is. For the 'spare' House that everyone seems to forget and dismiss, they always seem like one of the strongest to Harry. But just because they don't stand out, they aren't important. Stupid.
So Harry thinks that he has plenty of good arguments against playing Quidditch. Now if only Draco would really hear them.
.
.
You cannot force a butterfly out of its cocoon before it is ready. It will never be strong enough of you do. Unable to survive. And just like a butterfly, you cannot push a person into doing something they do not wish to do. Eventually they will break, one way or another.
.
.
But just like all pressure that builds, it always finds a way out eventually. If not slowly, carefully, then violently and abruptly. And that is exactly what happens. Obviously Draco hasn't learned from the first time that Harry does have a temper. It just expresses itself different than other people. Ironically enough, it isn't even Quidditch that tips the scale.
They are both in the library reading. Or Harry is reading and Draco is pretending to read. He is fidgeting more than anything else. Harry wishes that he would say what he wants or leave. His tension is like another person sitting in the room with them.
"So Harry," Draco says, trying for casual, but falling short of the mark, "I was wondering when we go back to Hogwarts if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me?"
Harry lifts his head so that he can stare at him. Hogsmeade? He wants to go to Hogsmeade? With Harry? "As in friends or a date?" he asks, just to be sure. He assumes he knows which one Draco is hoping for, but better clarify it now.
"As a date obviously," Draco huffs, crossing his arms. It still does a poor job of hinding his nerves.
Harry thinks about it – for about a second – and then shakes his head. "No thank you," he says.
"What?" Draco asks, sputtering, "What do you mean no?"
"I mean exactly that. No. I do not want to go with you on a date to Hogsmeade."
"And why not?" he asks.
Merlin, here comes the pouting. How predictable. It might be fair to say that it is to be expected, that old habits die hard, but Harry isn't feeling particularly fair right now. He's been annoyed with him for some time. And now he wants to go on a date with him? No thank you indeed. There are much better ways to get to know Harry then the way he is going about it.
"Because I don't want to. It's not a hard concept to understand," he pauses for dramatics, "Or at least I didn't think it was. Do you need me to explain it to you?" Alright, so he's more than a little annoyed. He's pretty much done.
"I know what 'no' means. I want to know why you are saying no," Draco says angrily.
"And I just told you why," Harry says, much calmer by comparison, "This isn't some elaborate plot or whatever it is you're thinking about. I said no because I mean no. Take it at face value for once. Not everything has a deeper meaning."
"Obviously there must be if you are rejecting me."
Harry snorts at that. Really? Well he always knew Draco was a bit of a drama queen, so no real surprise there. Still.
"What is that suppose to mean Potter?" Draco frowns across at Harry as if he thinks that will do anything but make him look like a spoiled brat.
"You don't know the meaning of the word reject Malfoy," he says. Well if Draco wants to play that way, then they can. He might think he can win that way, but Harry has far more practice with this. Draco is the one who wants him right now, not the other way around.
"Of course I do. I have an extensive vocabulary after all. You are rejecting me right now."
Harry rolls his eyes at that. "No, I'm saying that I don't want to go on a date you. That's something simple. Do you have any idea what true rejection is?" Because Harry knows. He has lived it all of his life.
"What?" Draco makes that mistake of asking, "Since your obviously so much more superior that I am."
Harry smiles. It's not a particularly happy smile. "Rejection," he says, "is when the people who raise you want nothing to do with you. When they stuff you into a cupboard and leave you there to forget about you. When they do the bare minimum to keep you alive and nothing more. When they make you feel worthless and a burden all your life.
"Rejection is when the people who are suppose to be your family mock you instead. Belittle you. Hurt you and abandon you and isolate you. Get entertainment from your pain and then leave you when you aren't fun anymore. Rejection is when time and time again your entire world turning against you. Rejection is trust issues and self esteem issues and depression because no one ever gives a shite about you. Why should they? You aren't worth it.
"Rejection is being used when you are needed and then tossed aside again. Rejection is no one ever listening to a word you say because why would they? Obviously you don't matter. Obviously it doesn't matter what your opinion is. They will do it anyways."
Draco's mouth hangs open.
"That is what rejection is. That is what my life is. Grow up Draco," he says as he stands up, taking his book with him, "Get over yourself and learn that no means no." He turns to walk out of the room.
"What about our name?" Draco asks, finally getting his voice back, "You're my soulmate. Isn't that suppose to mean something."
Harry sighs and turns his head back around. "I thought it did when I was younger. Now I'm not so sure. What is the point? The only reason you want anything to do with me is a printed name on your wrist. It could mean something, but it doesn't always have to. What does it say about people, that they only care about someone because of a phenomenon they can't explain? They don't care about the person. They care about the name."
"Soulmates are suppose to be magic's gift to us," Draco says softly.
"That's nice," Harry says, "It's a nice thought I suppose. But that still doesn't change anything. It still doesn't change your reasoning. It still doesn't change my life. What of it?"
"Do you not believe in soulmates then?" he asks.
Harry laughs bitterly. "More like soulmates don't believe in me. Have a good day Draco," he says, leaving the room.
Merlin, what a time.
.
.
Be careful not to get burned.
.
.
Harry is laying in the middle of the floor, gramophone on full blast. Dream On is on repeat. He is trying to drown out all of the thoughts in his head. Needless to say, it isn't working. It is still far too loud in his head. On the floor beside him is one of the reasons for these thoughts. A letter from Black.
Hey Pup,
I'm glad to hear that you like your broom. I knew you would be a natural. How could you not be, with James as your Dad. He was a great flier. He won Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup three years in a row. He'd be ecstatic to learn that you inherited his skill. Have you thought about trying out for your team? You'd be playing for the enemy of course – ha, ha – but you should try. It's a ton of fun.
Besides flying, how else is your summer going? I hope you aren't spending all your time reading. Although Moony likes to remind me that reading is a fine past time. Nothing wrong with studying, according to him. Swot. Make sure you are having fun though. Get out and run around a little. A kid like you needs that.
And don't let my little brother and his greasy git boss you around too much either. Despite what they might think, they aren't in charge of you during the summer. Let me know if they get to be too much and I'll pay them a little visit. I haven't had a chance to pull a good prank in such a long time. You could help, if you wanted. Learn the family trade. I'm sure you have fun with the Weasley twins. The stories I've heard about those two, it makes me so proud. Not as proud as I am of you pup though.
Hey, or maybe you can come see us instead. We are on the beach right now. The sun and the sand and the waves. I'm learning how to surf. Moony laughs now, but I'll show him. I'm getting better at it. Seeing you at your birthday wasn't nearly enough time. I want to get to know my favorite godson. Think about it, it is sure to be fun.
Love, Padfoot
ps Moony sends his love and 'well wishes' too
Harry is trying not to think about it. It's not that there is anything inherently wrong with the letter, it's just... there are things wrong with it. Things that make him uncomfortable. Black doesn't mean any harm. He knows that. He never means any harm. But, at the same time, he always says exactly the wrong thing.
Take Quidditch for example. He has already heard what an amazing flier James was suppose to be. He's heard it multiple times. But there is no mention of Lily. Nothing about his Mum at all. Did he not know she could fly? Or did he just not care? Does that make him one of those people that think flying is for Quidditch and nothing else, then? And that note about him 'playing for the enemy'. Sure, he says that he is joking. He even makes a note about it so that Harry will know for sure. But is he really joking? Or does he still care that much that he is in Slytherin?
Sometimes he acts as if it is no big deal. Other times he acts as if he thinks all Slytherins are either Death Eaters, or destined to become one. As if Slytherin is another word for evil. And even if he thinks Harry is the exception, well. That's still not all that reassuring. Because what if one day, he decided Harry isn't any more? Or that Harry is really a Gryffindor inside, he just needs someone to bring it out for him. He hates when people attempt to 'bring something out' in him that isn't there to begin with. It's terribly uncomfortable.
The Wizarding World has been trying to do just that ever since he came to Hogwarts at age eleven. He was suppose to be Gryffindor and their beloved hero and the poster child for everything good in their world. Instead he is a reflection of everything that went wrong. Everything that they want to hide. So he is a disappointment instead. When they learned that they could not force him, they turned on him. Abandoned him. Either he fits their image they have of him or he is worthless.
He has been worthless for a long time now. Ever since he was born, practically. Sure, Black and Lupin have told him how much his parents loved him. But what do they know? He knows adults can put on a good show when they want to. And even if they are right, well, it hardly matters. It's not as if he remembers his parents. All he remembers are the Dursleys. And he was certainly worthless to them, beyond the manual labour he provided.
Severus and Regulus both like to tell him that he is wrong. That he is worth something. He is more than people's expectations. Sometimes he believes them. Most of the time he doesn't. After all, what are two people compared to the rest of the world? Well, five people. The twins are always insisting that he is their best mate or little brother. When they aren't insisting he is 'their Lord' that is. Because that joke hasn't grown old to them yet. And then there is Luna, who has never said anything about it directly, but tells him in her own unique way.
Black and Lupin have never said it, but then Harry isn't sure that they understand that they need to. He isn't sure that they understand a bunch of different things about him. Him being a Slytherin is only one of them.
What does Black mean that he is proud of Harry? Why? Proud of him for what? As far as Harry knows, he hasn't done anything deserving of much praise. Especially from a man he barely knows. Letters can only do so much after all. Not when they haven't been in contact all that long, according to Harry. He is sure others would say differently. And Black has been recovering from Azkaban for a long time now. So what is his reasoning? Are they just empty words?
Harry cannot stand empty words. They are useless. Words in general tend to be useless. It is actions that matter. If you have actions to back up your words, then that is different. They can mean something then. But until that point, they are a waste of time for everyone involved.
And what is this about him being his favorite godson? Of course he is. He is Black's only godson. More empty words. Because if he claims that he loves him so much, why did he abandon him as a baby? Why was he raised by the Dursleys instead of him? He says he lost his temper and went after Pettigrew for revenge. That means that revenge means more than Harry does. Right? Between your godson and the person who betrayed your best friends, shouldn't you choose the former to take care of first? Isn't that a godparents job?
But he didn't. He let his temper control him. He let Harry fall through the cracks. He wasn't as important, therefore he was forgotten. How is that love?
Yes, that is the kind of love he is use to. Never being anyone's top priority. He's use to it. And maybe Black is trying to make it up to Harry now. Maybe he is trying to correct his mistake. But if he is, he is doing a poor job of it. Most of the time, he makes Harry ache more than anything. It is a familiar ache, so he doesn't think much on it. But that doesn't mean that it isn't there. That doesn't mean that it hasn't always been there.
The ache for connection. The ache for someone – just once – to truly care. It has never happened before. It will never happen now. Because, even if it happens, Harry won't believe it. He is too damaged by now. Too cynical. Too distrustful. Too broken. He can't believe that anyone could truly care for him for just him – just Harry. Not for the Boy-who-Lived or anything else they want from him. It has been too long. He has heard too much hate. How can he believe when, eventually, it always seems as if he is proven wrong?
So he never says anything to Black when he talks like that. When he makes Harry ache. How do you even have that conversation anyways? He doesn't know how. With Severus, he is the one directing the conversation, asking all the questions. He seems to understand, at least a little bit. More than most people anyways. Regulus too, in some ways. Then again, sometimes they don't get it either.
So Black? Harry doubts he would ever understand. If Severus and Regulus don't, why should he. Then again, if Regulus understands some, it would reason that he would as well. But he wouldn't. Because he doesn't want to understand. That's what it seems like to Harry. He rejected his past – all of it. And that means not reflecting on past hurts. On the things that would help him see Harry as he is, not what he should have been.
And then there is the note about the pranks. How he assumes that Harry likes them. Sure, he doesn't mind them. That would be impossible, being friends with Fred and George the way he is. But he doesn't ever really help them. He has, with a few, but only a few. And that was because they were a school wide event. It sounded fun. But other than that? No. He will listen to them, yes, but he lets them be.
Black sees them as the next generation of Marauders. But they aren't. Not really. Yes, they are master pranksters, there is no denying that. But they aren't bullies. They never targeted one person or one group for long. Anyone was fair play to them. The only exception seems to be Harry himself. He's even seen them pull a prank on each other before. The results are usually hilarious to watch. And it they did cross the line, well, that was also what Harry was there for. Not that they would do it maliciously. But sometimes they get so wrapped up in the plot that they forget to look beyond that.
Of course they have a malicious side to them as well. They can be just as cruel as anyone else. But they usually save that for those that deserve it. Mainly, those that hurt Harry. Protective they are and they aren't afraid to show it either. Last year was testament to that. They can be downright vicious when they decide there is a call for it.
But that is not the point right now. The point is – how could he even consider visiting someone that misunderstands him so much? It sounds like a disaster in the making. Either he would spend the entire time being frowned upon because he is not conforming to standards or he would be pretending. Either way he would be miserable. He'd be constantly tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He's never been to the beach before. Never seen the ocean. He can admit he is curious about that. It sounds like a good thing to see. But another thing, to add to why it is a bad idea – he can't swim. Forget learning to surf, he has no idea how to even stay afloat. Of course he can't. Who would have taught him? Nor would he trust either Black or Lupin to teach him. So he would be limited to what he could do.
He sighs in frustration. So much for not thinking about it. At least it is better than thinking about his latest fight with Draco. It seems that every time he does, he ends up revealing uncomfortable truths about himself that he had no intentions of sharing. He really needs to control that before it gets him into trouble. Just because he hasn't used those truths against Harry yet, doesn't mean that he might one day. Or that he will use this unfortunate habit to his advantage.
But what he told him is true. Not just about rejection, but what he thinks about soulmates. About how meaningless it can all be. Everyone is so focused on the name that they forget to focus on the person. It is so easy to objectify people that way. The person doesn't matter, it is what they represent that they look for. It is degrading.
It is the same as if someone was being judged for their looks or their clothing or their upbringing. People make assumptions on those things all the time. It is the same with the names. Is this person an enemy or a soulmate? Well what do they look like? Do they come from an 'appropriate' family? Are they in your social class or not? How much do you like them?
It is all decided before you even get to know them. It all depends on what is on the surface. He supposes that there must be people out there that take the time to get to know the person before they decide. They make an informed decision regarding the entire thing. But just how many? Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Just look at Draco for a prime example. He decided Harry was his enemy within five minutes of knowing him. Less. Now, suddenly, he has decided that Harry is his soulmate instead. Maybe he shouldn't be so harsh. Draco was only eleven at the time. Eleven year olds aren't always the smartest people out there. They are just kids after all.
Then again, so was Harry. He was just as young and just as curious about his names. But he was never given a chance to find out for himself. Draco took that from him when he decided that he hated Harry. Harry was his enemy. His rival. Someone to scorn. And all because of a name on his wrist.
It makes him think of the whispers about the names. About the rumours no one likes to think about. The theory that, if you only have one name, that the name is one and the same – both your enemy and your soulmate. Could this be true? People might wonder how you could be both, but if it is true, then he knows exactly how. Because Draco managed it. He managed it perfectly. He has made his life a living hell. And now he is determined to spend the rest of it making it better. That is the way that someone can be both.
Or that's what he thinks he wants right now. There is always the possibility that, once Draco gets to know Harry better, he will change his mind. It seems more than likely. Once that happens, he will drop the notion of them being soulmates fast enough. But until then, he is a prime of example of the forbidden theory.
Harry thinks that it is stupid that it is taboo. What does it matter? It doesn't, not really. What they should be focusing on is the 'how' of it. How did they come about? How was it decided that this was the meaning of the names? No one besides the scientists are interested in that. Which makes everyone even more stupid, as far as he is concerned.
Because the names seem like the perfect example of self fulfilling prophecy to him. They spend their whole lives looking for this one – or two – people and then find out just how much they are going to impact their lives. This is the person they fall in love with. But is it because of the name? Or because, even without it, they would have gotten together? You hate a person. But do you hate them because you truly don't like them or because of the name you bare?
Forewarned is not always the best way to go. Maybe it would be better if they didn't have the names. If they were allowed to fumble through life unaided. Wouldn't that be better? No expectations. No stress in deciding what your name means. A chance to find out what people are like for yourself. Nothing to guide you into making choices – it is you and only you. No doing something, because it has been foretold, but only because you are going to follow it in the first place.
Personally, Harry has had enough of prophecies. Hasn't his whole life been dictated by one? Voldemort killed his parents because of one. He tried to kill Harry because of one. He was defeated because he heard the prophecy and acted on it. Maybe if he had ignored it, he would still be in power.
He is sure, that if Severus and Regulus hadn't acted when they did, Harry would have been pushed to fight. He would have been the poster child for the war that would develop. He would have been expected to be the hero. To defeat Voldemort again. All because of a prophecy.
But he didn't because they broke the chain. They were able to defeat Voldemort just fine. Yes, it took years and research, but they were able to do it. Harry didn't do a thing. But he can't imagine what his life would have been like now if he had to. Or, he can. He can imagine exactly what his life would be like. He just doesn't want to.
Harry groans. So much for not thinking. His thoughts are never going to belt up this way. Not with the way they are going. At this rate, he might as well hit every depressing subject he can think of. Or most of them. There are so many, he doesn't think he would be able to cover all of them today.
Sing with me, just for today/ Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away
Take him away. That sounds like a good thing right now. That would mean that he wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore. Sure, some of the others might be sad, but they'll get over it. He's nothing special after all.
That is right when Severus storms into the room. And boy does he look pissed. "Mr Potter, if you are going to insist on listening to the same bloody song, then I insist you listen to something a bit better for your mental health." He stops the gramophone, takes the record off, drops another one on and stalks out of the room.
Harry watches him so, feeling frozen. It must have taken only a minute, but he feels himself shaking as if it lasted longer. An hour – a day – a lifetime. Music begins playing without him having to start it. He misses the first few lines, but when he listens, he wonders just why Severus changed it on him. He claims Dream On isn't good, but how is this better? But then he hears and understands.
Livin' just to find emotion/ Hidin' somewhere in the night
Harry can relate to that well enough. Sometimes feeling nothing at all is worse then feeling everything. Even if you are drowning in it, you know you are alive.
Some will win/ Some will lose/ Some were born to sing the blues
Another thing that Harry can relate to. He is one of the ones who lose. Who is always losing, no matter what it seems like. He never seems to be able to check a break. That is just the way his life is. Nothing is going to change it, no matter how much he may wish.
Don't stop believin'/ Hold on to that feelin'
It's about surviving. Never giving up. Carrying on. About living life, no matter what. About the price of living, of trying to feel. Plus it is catchy as hell. He begins to hum along without quite realizing that he is doing so. Yeah, this is going to be in his head for a while.
And then he blushes, realizing that Severus must have been able to hear him today. He has been putting up with Dream On for some time now. Likely since Harry first found the song. Oh. Um, oops. No wonder he was so irritated with him. Well he hopes that he now likes this one because this is the only song on the record. And Harry can appreciate the message in this as well. Survivor. That's what the Hat asked him to choice when he was eleven. Hero or survivor.
The song going on repeat.
.
.
Thoughts have a way of consuming you. Just like a dark wave, they rush up and over you, threatening to drag you under. Like a black cloud always hanging over your head. Be careful, lest you fall and never get back up.
.
.
The rest of the summer follows the same. At least once a week, either Severus or Regulus takes them to the Manor to fly. Severus still forces Harry to have biweekly sessions with him. Regulus still works with Draco and makes time for him.
Draco goes between ignoring Harry and trying to be nice to him. He blows hot and cold, as if he doesn't know how to act around him. One would think that the Malfoy heir would be more smooth than this, but one would be wrong. Draco is a mess of a person right now. He clearly has no idea what to make of Harry, even if he is still determined to get to know him better. It is clear that he knows even less after Harry turned him down. He hasn't brought it up again, but Harry can feel his eyes on him sometimes. Watching him.
One good thing is that he finally dropped the Quidditch topic. He hasn't brought up the possibility of Harry being Seeker anymore. That isn't likely to last, but it is nice while it does. And who knows, maybe it really will? Probably not though because Quidditch takes over a person's brain. It is never gone for long.
He still either has Dream On or Don't Stop Believin' – Severus finally told him the name, although with that, he could have guessed himself – stuck in his head. Usually he finds himself accidentally humming them or tapping them on something. The table, a book, his leg, anything he can if he isn't paying attention. It's getting to be a problem. Even when he branches out to other songs to stop, he still can't. It is always one or the other.
The twins, Luna and Black continue to write. Not that Harry has figured out what to do about Black yet, if anything. Likely he won't. He will continue to stay silent and uncomfortable. Isn't that what he always does? But he doesn't want to be anywhere alone with him either. Everyone wants something. Black wants him to be the godson that he never will. Better hide that fact for as long as he can.
Thoughts and doubts still circle in his head. Panic attacks occur, although they are finally lessening. And the nightmares continued to plague his sleep, no matter what he did.
He is forbidden to use a silencing charm, so that means sleepless nights for more than just him, if he is not careful. At least he is much better at biting his hand to keep quiet now. Not that either Professor agrees with him. Apparently it is not a healthy response. He is just trying to let them sleep. No reason for them to deal with every one of his dumb problems.
Before he knew it, it was time to return to Hogwarts.
.
.
Drown in the noise of life.
.
.
The first sign that something is wrong started at the train station. Severus and Regulus dropped them off and then flooed to Hogwarts. The twins and Luna met him and they secured their own compartment. Draco had nodded at him and went off to find his friends. Nothing unusual. Harry wasn't expecting anything else. He very much doubted he was going to see much of Draco from now on.
It is a quiet ride. Sound from the other carriages float over, it all a dull noise. Inside Harry and Luna sit on one side and the twins sit on another. They catch up on everything that they didn't write in their letters. They get snacks from the trolley and eat lunch. Harry deliberately avoids mentioning Draco too much. If they find out about the fight, they are going to be terribly protective. He doesn't want that. Not now. Now he wants space to think about things.
They end up talking about music – both Wizarding and Muggle. As it turns out, the twins' father is big on anything Muggle. He knew that of course. They have mentioned it before. For all they complain about their siblings, they are a close family. But he never asked if that meant they knew anything too. But they do know a fair bit of music. To none of their surprise, Luna knows all the obscure bands. He can't even say if they are good or not because he can't even begin to guess the genre.
It passes the time nicely. Most of the time he stays quiet, letting the others talk instead. He wedges himself into the corner and lets everything flow around him. There is a strange tension in the air. One he has never felt before. He doesn't know what it means, but it makes him wary. Tension like this usually leads to change. And change is not always a good thing. It can be, sure. But not always. It is always best to prepare yourself, just in case.
Add to that, it seems people are paying more attention to him than usual. The whispers always follow him, for one reason or another. But they are extra loud right now. It's not hard to figure out why they are now again. It is Voldemort of course. Voldemort's final defeat. And by someone who wasn't Harry, in addition to that. How shocking.
He snorts to himself. For all the they ridicule him, they still see him as a symbol. As their Saviour. The one who is supposed to protect them. Forget that, most of the time, they are convinced that he is evil because he is Slytherin. Or he is a disappointment because he isn't always in the limelight. Or a number of other things that means he doesn't meet their expectations.
If anyone had asked him, he would have said that they were being stupid. For one thing, he never asked for this. He never wanted the fame and the title and everything that came with it. All he wants is a place to belong. For another thing, how do they really think a baby managed to defeat a fully grown and trained wizard? Never mind how powerful and terrible he is supposed to be. Babies are good at three things – sleeping, eating and wetting their nappy. They don't go around defeating Dark Lords.
Too bad no one ever asked him.
He hopes this passes soon. He really hates being stared at. It makes him nervous. And it makes it even harder for him to eat. He already has a problem with that to begin with. Severus is keeping him on his potion regiment to help him build up to where he should be, growth wise. Missing meals doesn't help with that. And it makes him cranky.
Harry thinks that's a good one. It effects Severus' mood more than it does his own. And it's his body. But Severus is funny that way. So is Regulus. As if it matters that Harry gets three full meals a day. And that is able to get a good night's sleep. That he doesn't have to work until he drops and beyond. That he is able to learn freely. That he knows he has people – adults – he can count on. As if all of that matters. As if he matters. Weird.
He ends up drifting off to sleep for a bit. Surprisingly no nightmares wake him up. Instead, Fred gently shakes him awake when they are close. Harry stretches, feeling a bit better after that. Amazing what some peaceful sleep can do to a person.
They change and exit the train among the rest of the rush trying to get out as quickly as possible. The Hogwarts might be tradition and an interesting experience, but it is also a long ride. When Harry sees the carriages, he freezes. There are... things pulling them. Things he has never seen before. He always thought that magic moved them, but obviously not. He's not sure what they are.
Some kind of horse, but with a black, leathery skin. He can see their bones sticking out from where he is standing. Great bat wings are folded up against their backs. What...?
"They're Thestrals," Luna says, coming up beside him, "Only people who have seen someone die in front of them can see them."
Oh. Well that would explain it. He has seen enough death at the end of the last school year. Cedric. The Death Eaters that didn't make it. Voldemort. Part of him wonders why he couldn't see them before, since his Mum died right in front of him as a baby. But maybe that doesn't count. Maybe he was too young then. And he only remembered that a few years ago. Now... now the memory of it is all but burned into his mind.
"They have such a bad reputation," she continues, "but really, they're just misunderstood. Really they're quite gentle." She walks over confidentiality to one and begins to pet it. "Her name is Cecil. Come join me. She likes behind her ears."
Harry goes over cautiously and strokes the spot behind Cecil's ears. He thought that was cats that liked this spot scratched. Or was that dogs? Either way, apparently Thestrals like it as well. Or this one does. She snorts into Harry's hair. He lets out a light laugh in surprise.
His back itches and he knows that there are people watching him. Trying to ignore them, he focuses on the skin under his hand. It is warmer than he thought it would be. Softer too, instead of the harsh leather it looks like. She's nice to pet. Soothing. He has the oddest desire to hide himself behind her wings, away from all the stares and whispers. Would anyone be able to see him then? Or would he vanish, hiding behind something they can't see.
Briefly he wonders who it was that Luna saw die, but he doesn't ask. It seems rude. Too personal as well. He wouldn't want people asking him either.
"There is a herd of them that live in the Forbidden Forest. I like to visit them when I can. You can join me, if you like," she offers.
"Maybe," Harry says tentatively. That doesn't sound so bad.
Fred and George come up on either side of them, throwing their arms around them.
"Why Luna bell,"
"Going out into the Forbidden Forest are you?"
"Breaking the rules?"
"Showing the man?"
"We're so proud." George wipes an imaginary tear from his eye.
"Our little rebel." Fred copies the gesture.
Harry fights a smile. Typical Gred and Forge. They really do know how to lighten the mood. Always joking until you piss them off. Then you might not be dead, but you'll wish that you were.
"If you two are done talking to the ponies,"
"It is time to enter your humble transport,"
"Before we have to walk in with all the firsties."
They all get into the carriage and set off. Harry watches from the window as the village falls away and Hogwarts slowly comes into view. It is still a breathtaking sight, even after all of this time. Even with everything that has happened and all that he has endured, he still loves this castle. Not for the people in it, not for the memories it holds, but for the castle itself. There is something truly magical about it. Something wonderful that he has never felt anywhere else. Almost as if it is alive.
Who knows, maybe it really is. After all these decades and centuries of being soaked in so much magic, maybe it picked some up. Maybe enough to give it sentience. Maybe enough to give it a personality. Who knows. Everyone likes to say that anything is possible with magic. That isn't exactly true, but that doesn't stop them though.
Parting ways in the Great Hall, Harry goes to his usual seat by himself near the younger years. They care less if he sits near them then the older years. They always tend to be more hostile. But as he does, he notices something. There seems to be a greater divide among the groups right now. And they are different. Slytherins like to have a hierarchy to their seating that determines social status. It looks as if it has changed. And changed drastically at that.
Just because Harry isn't a part of any doesn't mean that he is oblivious to them. He knows what they stand for, if he doesn't know all of the people in them. It is The Game after all. Most Slytherins revel in it. Not all, there are some that don't care. Some that don't find it fun. But the majority do.
"Can we sit here?" a voice startles Harry out of his thoughts. Draco.
He looks up to find that he, Nott and Zabini are standing in front of him. He is minorly surprised that Goyle and Crabbe aren't with them, but he had seen those two sitting by themselves earlier. Neither seemed to care. He nods and looks away.
"Thank you," Draco says. He sits down beside him while Nott and Zabini go around so that they can sit across from him.
Harry doesn't say anything, but he is shocked. For one thing, he truly thought Draco would forget about him once they got to Hogwarts. For another, if they are sitting with him then things must be changing more than he realized. Sitting with him before has always been social suicide. Now, for them to be doing so willingly? Things must be dire indeed.
"So Potter, I heard you spent the summer with Professor Black and Professor Snape," Zabini says.
Harry starts slightly, not having expected any of them to talk to him. Just because they were sitting with him doesn't mean anything. He nods cautiously.
Zabini smirks. "Bet that was fun with our Princess over here."
"Oh belt up Zabini," Draco grumbles.
Nott is watching the rest of the table, a blank look on his face. As if he is assessing the situation and deciding if he really cares or not. It isn't disgust or arrogance, it's indifference. From the looks of it, it's not likely he does.
That doesn't surprise Harry overly much. Nott is as much of a loner as Harry himself is. But while Harry is by circumstances, Nott is by choice. He never really seems to care if he has anyone else with him or not. In fact, he might prefer that he didn't. A lone wolf, as they say.
Harry has never had any problems with him before. It's not because Nott likes him. Or because he can't be cruel – he can, he has seen it before. It's just that he can't be bothered to put the effort into it. As Harry said, indifferent. Bored even. As if he is waiting for Hogwarts to be over so he can move on to something interesting.
You certainly wouldn't know by looking at him that his House is trying to push him out. Why he even bothered to join Draco and Zabini is beyond him. Most people tend to forget that he is even in the room when he is quiet enough. And Nott is always quiet.
Harry thinks that if things were different, he would have been like Nott too. If he ever had the opportunity to simply fade into the background. For everyone to forget about him. To have them let go of their ridiculous expectations. They always have them, even when he is a disappointment. Even when his House isolated him, he was still being targeted. He just wants the chance to be himself without anyone always watching him. Too bad that is not likely to ever happen.
"It's all so ridiculous," Zabini says, complaining, "All this maneuvering for something that doesn't even involve us. It isn't our problem no matter what people think. This war is something that happened before our generation. That everyone cares so much about it now is pointless. There is bound to be some backlash of course, but no need to get this worked up about it."
"Tell that to the dead," Draco says with a growl in his voice. He still isn't taking his Father's death very well, although it is getting better now, "Tell it to the ones in Azkaban. Tell that to my godfathers. Just because the war doesn't touch you, doesn't mean it's true for all of us." Oh and there's that famous temper of his, rearing up. Good to know that it comes out with his friends as well, not just at Harry.
Zabini shrugs, not looking the least bit repentant over it.
Harry, for his part, is also darkly amused by his statement. 'Something that happened before our generation' indeed. Tell that to Voldemort, all the times he went after him. To them, the war may have no effect, but to Harry, it was a very real thing. He was born into it and it is only thanks to his two Professors that it is ended. He has no doubts that it would have continued, with him in the center, if not.
He has always been a child of war.
Their attention is drawn away as Dumbledore calls for everyone's attention and the Sorting begins. He watches as always, not all that interested, but still paying some attention. It's not as if he has anything else to do, is there?
He notices that all the kids who are Sorted into Slytherin look nervous. Scared, almost. Well, it would appear that the stories have already reached them. Stories that are likely even worse than when Harry was first Sorted. None of them look happy to be where they are. In fact, a couple look as if they are going to cry. He could almost feel sorry for them. But Slytherin take care of their own. They will be fine.
He feels a brief pang, but he shakes it off. No use in thinking about it now. Sure, it would have been nice to be accepted as an actual Slytherin, but there is nothing he can do to change that now. He made his choice when he was eleven. Survivor or hero. He chose survivor. If given the choice again, he would still choose survivor. That is just who he is.
Throughout the meal, Zabini keeps trying to have a conversation with him. Harry answers his questions, but only sparingly. He isn't sure why he is doing this. Why he suddenly seems so interested. What his motive is. There has to be something. Just because Zabini has never been one of the students to mock or hurt him, doesn't mean that he is a friend. He's not sure if he is anyone's friend actually. He always seems so aloof at time. Not like Nott who is uninterested, but still apart from the others. Blasé.
Sure, he gets along with Draco, Crabbe and Goyle and he is sometimes with Parkinson. But does that really mean anything? You can be around people and not like them. Or is he simply so reserved that he is still that way among friends as well. Maybe it more that he just goes with the flow of things instead of removing himself from it entirely. He doesn't know.
What he does know is that Draco is glaring at the both of them when he does. Every time Zabini says something, he glares. Every time Harry answers, it gets more intense. He is surprised that he does not burst into flames by the end of meal. Draco certainly tried hard enough. Zabini, for his part, seems more amused by it than anything.
Nott is watching all of this with those blue eyes of his, silent. Judging the situation. Harry wonders if he would tell him what he thinks about it if he asked. Because he certainly doesn't know what to. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Something else? He doesn't know. It seems like he hardly knows anything when it comes to social interactions. And sometimes it seems as if he will never figure it out either.
That's just his luck after all.
Just his life.
.
.
The only certainty in this world is that everything will change.
