Chapter 6: Second Thoughts
Hermione gave a frustrated sigh and pushed her potions text away. Studying always helped her clear her mind and organize her thoughts, but that didn't seem to be happening today. Taking her quill and absently running the smooth feather back and forth across her lips, Hermione considered the situation.
Harry and Ron were having problems; that much was obvious, and had been for some time. Ron had been badgering Hermione all summer about Harry and his actions, claiming that Harry truly was the glory hound the Daily Prophet made him out to be. Where he had gotten that idea, she wasn't really sure. In fact, she had a sneaky suspicion that he was just jealous of Harry and had let that jealousy overrun him.
But how to confirm that?
Talking to Ron about Harry wasn't working at all; point of fact, it hadn't worked all summer. He would simply turn a deaf ear, or change the subject, ignoring anything she said unless it pertained to Quiddich, his continual topic-of-choice. She wasn't going to get any information out of him.
But what about Harry?
He had seemed shocked at what Ron had said, and though he'd covered it up quickly, she'd seen a momentary betrayed look before it hardened into determination and then was subsequently wiped from his face like marks from a chalkboard. And then he'd stood to his feet with a grace she hadn't known he'd possessed and had told Ron to face up to his actions and then broke things off with him without so much as batting an eye.
Then again, neither had Ron. Perhaps he had been expecting Harry to cut things off, or maybe he was going to do it himself?
Hermione frowned, and set her left elbow on the table in front of her, absently bringing her hand up to her head and running her fingers through her hair, separating out a single curl and bringing it around her shoulder where she mindlessly twirled it around one finger.
Why had Harry cut things off? And what was that look of determination about? Hadn't he said something about not letting people walk all over him? Perhaps, she thought, that was what Harry thought Ron had been trying to do, and he was willing to cut things off with Ron because of it.
Reversing the direction her finger was spinning, Hermione began to unwind it from the coils of her hair, frowning as her thoughts spiraled outward as well. There was something missing here, some larger picture that she just wasn't seeing. Casting her thoughts back to the brief conversation she and Ginny had had with him before Ron's spell timed out, Hermione began to pick apart the things Harry had said and done, searching for subtle nuances and careful phrasing that he was so fond of using to keep his friends in the dark.
Maybe…maybe it had more to do with what had happened the night before than with what Ron had said. Both Ron and Harry were terribly impulsive people, not always bothering to think things through before jumping into something, and Harry might have done something like that the night before when he ran away. But what exactly happened? Sure, the Ministry threatened to break his wand, but that couldn't be the only reason he had run. After all, Harry had more faith in the Headmaster than that.
So, something happened to Harry that made him stop trusting people, even Ron –and perhaps Hermione – and the Headmaster, he takes nothing on faith now. Yet he took Ron's words at face value, not the actions of some one who didn't trust anyone.
"This doesn't make any sense!" She groused, frustrated with her inability to bring some form of logic into the equation. She simply did not have enough information.
Well, if I need more information, I might as well to talk to Harry; he's the one most likely to talk to me anyway. Ron'll just demand that I agree with him again.
Releasing her bit of hair, Hermione stood from her table and began to efficiently pack her papers away, mentally making a list of questions she wanted to ask Harry, and adding little side-notes to them as to how to get him to answer some of the more difficult ones, like how the Dursley's had treated him, and whether he had any nightmares lately. He was looking far too skinny for her liking, and those dark marks under his eyes told her he was tormented at night. Probably about Cedric.
Poor kid.
Picking up the strap from her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, Hermione headed out the door, setting her feet firmly in the direction of Harry's room. If she went about this carefully, she just might get the answers she needed to fix this problem after all.
As she approached the door, Hermione was surprised to see Ginny coming out of his room.
"…sure, bye, Harry." She was saying as the door closed behind her.
"Ginny?" Hermione asked, slowing to a stop a few feet away.
"Hermione? I thought you were studying in the library." Ginny asked, turning to face her.
"I was, but I'm worried about Harry and Ron, I was coming to talk to Harry about it now."
"Yeah, me too. Harry says he doesn't know why Ron is mad at him, though. He did tell me that he was regretting his decision to stop being Ron's friend and he's planning on trying to make things up with him as soon as his temper cools off a bit more. He seems a bit depressed or distracted to me." Ginny turned her eyes to stare at the closed door to Harry's room where she could hear the faint sounds of his singing, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
"I think there's more going on here than meets the eye. Ron's jealous, of that much I'm certain, but what's going on with Harry? He overreacted a bit much to just be mad at what Ron said. Did he say anything to you about it?" Hermione asked, stepping closer to Ginny, trying to make out the words of Harry's song.
"Yeah, he said some, not much though. He seemed to have a lot on his mind." Ginny turned her head to look appraisingly at Hermione. "How about we go back to our room and talk about this? Between the two of us I'm sure we can figure out what's going on."
"That sounds like a good idea," Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration. "Is he listening to Tool?"
"Tool?"
Hermione waved her hand dismissively as she linked her arms with Ginny and turned them towards their room. "They're a Muggle rock band from America."
"He was listening to music, even let me hear some before he kicked me out. It sounded a lot like him and Ron right now."
"Really? What were the words…?" The two girls' voices disappeared down the hallway and into their room, both of them plotting and to get the two best friends back together.
oo00OO00oo
In his room, Harry put the song he'd let Ginny listen to on repeat and let it play through three times before allowing the rest of the CD to play through to completion and beginning it again. While he listened, Harry looked down at his bit of parchment with its half-completed list of questions. What else did he want to know? Thinking of something else, Harry dipped his quill in ink and scrawled it onto the paper, his thoughts moving faster than his hand could keep up.
Harry continued to add and subtract questions from his parchment, adding to some, making them more specific, and crossing out others that he'd managed to figure out on his own. Finally satisfied, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the device Dumbledore had given him, actually looking at it for the first time.
It was small, barely three pounds, made of metal, and completely spherical, without a single blemish or indentation to show where he should speak into it.
Shrugging slightly, Harry brought it to his mouth and pretended he was speaking into a microphone.
"Professor Dumbledore? I'm ready to ask you some questions now."
Moving the sphere away, Harry couldn't help but feel slightly foolish for talking to an inanimate object that had no way of responding. But the Headmaster had said that it was a one-way communication device, so apparently he wasn't going to get an answer. That also meant that he had no idea when Dumbledore would show up to answer his questions.
Glancing down at his watch, Harry was disappointed to see that it was only three o'clock. He had the whole afternoon ahead of him, and nothing to do. He packed his music away and patted a sleepy Hedwig on her head, earning a muffled coo from her. He could always go talk to someone.
Harry headed for his door and stopped short when he realized he didn't have his wand. Turning back around, he noticed that he'd left it on his bed and that, once again, Serin had wrapped himself around it.
"Sserin!" He hissed, rather annoyed. "Do not wrap yoursself around my wand!"
"I don't ssee any reason not to." The reptile replied, annoyance in his tone as well. "I told you not to leave me behind, and you were going to. You only remembered your wand."
"How did you know that?"
"Becausse," Serin said, sounding insufferably smug. "You jusst told me."
Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. No wonder snakes were the symbol of Slytherin. "Look, I'm ssorry." Harry said, picking up his wand and gently unwinding the adder from it. "I'm jusst not ussed to having a companion. And you can't sstay on me at all timess, you could get hurt, or ssomeone could ssee you."
"Would that be ssuch a bad thing?" Serin asked, his tone soft and tentative, "For ssomeone to ssee me?"
"It might be, little brother. Ssome humans do not ssee the elegance and nobility of ssnakes. All they ssee iss your efficiency at hunting, and they become frightened of you. Humanss have a tendency to desstroy the thingss that they are sscared of, and I do not want that to happen to you." Harry gently ran a forefinger down the adder's spine, trying to sooth him.
"Perhapss I sshould find a good place to hide."
Harry chuckled sadly. "Perhapss you sshould."
He was looking around for a good place to hide the little reptile, though he was sad about not bringing Serin with him, when he heard Serin hiss:
"Your hair."
"My, what?" Harry choked; sure he'd misunderstood.
"Your hair. I'll hide in your hair." Serin flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth in a satisfied manner.
"Sserin, you can't hide in my hair."
"Why not?"
"Because," Harry said, dismayed. "You jusst can't."
"But,why?"
"Because…" Harry trailed off. Why not indeed? His hair was messy enough already, nobody truly paid it any mind anymore, and it was thick enough for Serin to hide in, if he could manage to stay there.
"Do you think you'll be able to hold on?"
"Hold on?"
"Er, manage to sstay there and not fall off if I move ssuddenly?" Harry clarified awkwardly
"Of coursse," Serin sounded insulted that he'd even ask. "After all, I am an Adder."
"Of coursse," Harry chuckled. "Here." He lifted the tiny reptile up and placed him down gently onto the top of his head, stifling a laugh as the writhing motions of Serin's coils wrapping themselves around the thick strands of his hair tickled.
When he'd stopped moving, Serin's body was wound securely through his hair, his head resting on top of his glasses where they sat on his right ear.
"All sset?" He questioned with amusement. This put a whole to meaning to the term 'snake in the grass'.
"All sset," the adder replied softly, his proximity to Harry's ear making it sound almost as if he was speaking from inside of Harry's head, rather than from atop it.
"Then letss go."
Emerging from his room, Harry heard muffled giggling from two doors down, which he assumed was Ginny and Hermione's room. More bangs and some strange whistling sounds were coming from the twins room and Harry grimaced, quite certain that he was only going to bother them if he wanted to be transfigured into something strange. Well, Sirius is here, I can always go catch up with him.
Nodding silently, congratulating himself on his own genius, Harry headed down the Hallway in search of his elusive godfather.
ooOO00OOooo
A scream was once again trembling on the tip of Harry's tongue that night when he woke up suddenly from a night terror. Sitting upright in his bed, sheets against his clammy skin, Harry suffered a moment of disorientation where he was unable to identify his surroundings and he began to wonder if he had truly woken from his nightmare after all.
The sensation passed, however, when he heard the comforting hoot of Hedwig combined with Serin's gentle hissing in his ear.
"Oh, god," he said, his voice catching roughly on the scream trapped in the back of his throat. Leaning forward, Harry buried his head in his hands and opened his mouth, taking deep gulps of air, desperately trying to replace the image of Voldemort's blood-red eyes and sneering face once again pronouncing, "Kill the spare," with that of the hear and now.
When relief from the terror was not forthcoming, Harry flung the covers on his bed back and stood shakily to his feet, blindly slipping into his jeans and running shoes; preparing to once again to outrun his nightmares.
Closing the door behind him, Harry made his way down the stairwell, his quiet steps loud in the silence of predawn. As he approached the foyer door however, Harry's steps slowed as he realized that here, he would not be able to escape from his nightmares. He could not leave Grimmauld Place like he could Privet Drive; he couldn't risk letting their location being discovered, Fidelius Charm or not.
He could not run.
Dismayed, Harry turned his back against the door to freedom and slumped against it, legs giving out beneath him so that he collapsed in a pitiful heap, his thoughts turning black. "Now what?" He whispered softly into the darkness.
Harry began to think, and then desperately tried not to. He needed something, anything, to get his mind to be silent. Imagining his thoughts as words on a chalkboard, Harry began to meticulously erase them, one by one, until the board was empty.
His relief was short lived however, because as soon as it was blank, he would relax, and all of his thoughts and emotions would come crowding back in, swirling and taunting him with his inability to save Cedric, or himself, from danger; until he erased them again, fiercely concentrating on the details of the powder trail the eraser left behind, and the grooves cut into the ledge below the board for the pieces of chalk.
How long he sat there, playing a game of erasing his own thoughts, Harry did not know, but eventually other things began to intrude, things beyond that which he was trying to desperately to ignore.
Things like the fact that, his ankle was twisted at an odd angle and was beginning to hurt. Things like the fact that, the door was not smooth; but made of pieces of old wood with carvings in them that dug into his back painfully. It was cold in the foyer, he realized belatedly, and Serin had been hissing at him for some time to get up and go somewhere warm.
"I'm sorry." He gulped, and then shied away from even that. No, no, don't say that; don't be sorry. Sorry…for Cedric; for Cho, his girlfriend; for…No! Don't think of that.
"Get up, Wizard-mine." Serin insisted yet again. "It iss cold here, for you and me. Get up and go ssomewhere warm."
Recognizing that he was not getting through to Harry, Serin slithered around so that his head was sticking out of Harry's hair on the right side of his head and curled his body so that he could hiss directly into Harry's ear.
"Get up," he said desperately, worry increasing with every moment that his wizard remained unresponsive. "Get up, get up, pleasse get up."
"I'm…" Harry came to, "I'm moving, Serin; don't worry."
Serin continued to hiss words of encouragement into Harry's ear, telling him to walk down the hall and towards the stairs, letting him know how warm his bed would be, how comfortable.
"You'll be warm, not like Malfoy." Serin informed him.
"Wha—?" Harry jerked sideways, surprised and slightly disturbed by what Serin had said.
Not that Serin had said anything particularly evil or shocking, but it was upsetting and worrisome how sensuous Malfoy's name could be when said in parseltongue. Even considering the fact that it was Serin who was saying it.
Unfortunately, when he jerked, Harry had flung his arm out and it had connected with the wall. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, beyond a bit of pain in his fingers and wrist, but his hand had hit the bit of wall that just so happened to bear the painting of one, Mrs. Black.
"Oh, no," Harry said softly, but with dread. He remembered how loud the painting was capable of screaming, and he was standing almost on top of the thing. This would not be pretty.
"Ermph?" She said, sounding disturbingly like a living person waking up from deep sleep. "Who is it that's bothering me now? Must be one of those bloody mudbloods…"
Through the thick black curtain, Harry could almost hear Mrs. Black's mind coming to life, waking up enough to begin a new round of screeching.
"Who iss that?" Serin asked, curious in his naiveté.
"Its –" Harry gulped at the sudden pause in Mrs. Black's grumbling. "Itss Mrs. Black, the lady who wass sscreaming earlier yessterday."
"Oh, no," Serin said, instantly making the connection between how loud she had been yesterday, and how close Harry was standing to Mrs. Black's portrait.
"Who's there?" Mrs. Black's portrait suddenly asked, the curtains swinging open to reveal her scowling countenance.
There was a moment where time was frozen in a strange tableau. Mrs. Black's mouth was open in a round 'o' of surprise, her lids drawn back from tiny eyes. Harry was crouching slightly, his head turned to the side as he spoke to Serin with softly hissing syllables. Serin, for his part, was looking with mild curiosity at the painting, rather like it was a small rodent that he was considering biting, approximately half an inch away from Mrs. Black's startled expression.
"Hmm, sshe doess not ssmell alive." The adder noted, slithering out a little farther from Harry's hair, placing himself nose to nose with a silently shocked Mrs. Black.
Despite himself and the situation, Harry could not help but laugh at Serin's observation. "Of coursse sshe doessn't ssmell alive, little brother. She issn't alive."
"What is…did you…" Mrs. Black seemed to be at a loss of words, and her tone was neither patronizing nor sneering, as she struggled to express the depths of her confusion.
Harry drew himself up to his full, if a bit stunted, height, and glared at her as best he could, silently wishing he had Serin's ability to perpetually stare. "I am a parselmouth." He stated without a hint of shame. I'll be damned if I'm going to apologize for who I am to a portrait! He thought severely.
"A parselmouth?" the portrait questioned, clearly flummoxed. "Are you a pureblood?"
Harry considered the question. Was he? He was born from both a witch and a wizard, that much was true, and his father was a pureblood, so did that make him one as well? Or did the fact that Lily Potter had come from Muggles change him to something like a three-fourths-blood?
"Yes, I am." He stated clearly, his mind made up that anything more than half was whole.
Mrs. Black's eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously, and Harry began to wonder if he was about to be subjected to a personal demonstration of her voice's range.
"A pureblood parselmouth, you say? What's your name, boy?" There was something sly about the way she said that, and it made Harry's skin crawl.
"Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter." Though he wasn't sure if he was saying the right things to prove to this woman that he was a pureblood, at least she wasn't yelling at him, yet. In fact, her voice was strangely subdued.
"Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, is a parselmouth? Oh, that's priceless." She cackled, her voice harsh and grating on Harry's ears.
"At leasst sshe issn't yelling at us," He hissed to Serin out of the corner of his mouth.
"Perhapss, we won't have to wait long before sshe will oblige you." The reptile responded tersely.
"Is that your familiar, Harry Potter?"
"Excuse me?" Harry asked; startled at the polite tone the painting had used. It has sounded almost…civil.
"The snake," She repeated slowly as if talking to a child, "Is it your familiar?"
"Er…"
"Yess." Serin hissed at the portrait. "I am hiss familiar, and he iss my Wizard."
"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Black asked of Serin kindly.
"He said that, yes he is my familiar, and I am his wizard." Harry translated, unsure as to where this conversation is going.
"He called you his Wizard?" Mrs. Black sounded impressed.
Replaying the last few exchanges in his head, Harry came to the distinct conclusion that he was missing something. Serin and Mrs. Black had both said 'Wizard' as if it had more importance and credence than the word was normally afforded.
"Er, yes, he did," Harry confirmed; then, taking a chance, "What does that mean, exactly?"
"You don't know?" Small eyes narrowed dangerously once again. "I thought you said you were a pureblood."
"I may be a pureblood, Madam," Harry bristled, "But I was orphaned at a young age, I'm sure you already knew, and have been raised by Muggles my whole life. I don't know anything about the culture and customs of the wizard world like I should."
"Hmph. Damn Muggles," She snorted. "All right, listen closely then. When a wizard takes a familiar, it is commonly a creature that is already partially magical. This allows for the formation of a familiar bond for wizards who do not have the magic to have a true familiar."
"True familiar?" Harry cocked his head to the side, puzzled.
"Hush, child, and let me talk." Somehow, Mrs. Black managed to convey the idea that she was doing him a great service in even talking to him civily, much less explaining something to him, and he should be dutifully respectful and in awe of her knowledge because of it. "To have a true familiar, a witch or wizard must have a certain amount if innate magic, and have the willingness to share a certain percentage of that magic with their familiar. A true familiar is a common, unmagical animal that becomes the life-long companion of a witch or wizard though this sharing of magic. When a person chooses a familiar, if they are lucky enough to find a true one, there must be a ceremony of sorts, specific to each bonding pair, in which they both accept the companionship of the other. It is during this time that the exchange of magic takes place, and several things happen. The familiar gains the ability to understand their bonded's language, even if they can't always grasp the concepts, they become more intelligent – to a degree – and they become very protective of their bonded. In some rare cases," Here she gestured at Harry and Serin, "The familiar forms a deep attachment with their partner and they give their bonded an honorific of Witch or Wizard, obviously dependant on the gender."
"Wow, Serin, did you know all that?" Harry asked the snake, rather stunned at this new revelation.
"No, I did not. Though I did know I wass ssuppossed to undersstand your language, sso that did not come ass a ssurprisse to me." Serin seemed to find the whole thing rather boring, and he quickly retreated into Harry's hair, having determined that the painting was neither alive, nor was it going to begin screeching at him. "I am tired, time to ssleep."
Harry suppressed a chuckle, certain that Serin would be insulted if he laughed. "Good night, Madam" Harry said, sweeping an imaginary hat off from atop his head and giving Mrs. Black a courtly bow. "I truly appreciate the information you have shared with us this night, and I apologize for waking you up so early. Please, do not let us bother you anymore."
"Hmph. I should hope not." She said scathingly, though her volume did not rise above that of a low whisper. Settling herself in her frame, Mrs. Black closed her eyes while Harry silently, and courteously, brought the heavy black drapes back across her portrait.
It wasn't until later, when Harry was drifting off to sleep in his bed, that he realized that he'd actually had a civil conversation with Mrs. Black, and had, in fact, gotten some rather valuable information out of the woman. To sweeten the bargain, he thought with the last of his cognitive abilities before he settled into peaceful dreams, he hadn't had to outrun his nightmares.
ooOO00OOoo
The following day, the Headmaster returned to Grimmauld Place and shared much of the information with Harry that he had been unwilling to divulge the day before.
Voldemort, it seemed, had done more to Harry than give him a scar when he had tried to kill Harry fourteen years ago. He had transferred some of his power over to Harry, which was probably why Harry was a parselmouth, and had created a link of sorts with him, which was why Harry had sometimes had visions of things Voldemort had been doing when the bastard had extremes of emotions.
To protect Harry from these visions, and to prevent Voldemort from using the connection to gain access into Harry's mind, Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn something called Occlumency, which was a type of wandless magic that protected one's mind from intrusion. Which was all fine and dandy except for one thing: Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn from Professor Snape.
Professor Snape: the one and only teacher that had hated Harry on sight.
Though he'd argued against learning from the man, citing everything from their differences, to their similarities with explosive tempers, Dumbledore had remained firm, and had informed Harry in no uncertain terms, that if he wanted to be treated as an adult, then he would be treated as an adult. Which translated in Harry's mind to 'Snape is too much of a child to put the past behind him; so it is up to you to be the adult.'
Though awfully amusing, that still didn't change the fact that Harry was going to be taking Occlumency lessons from Professor Snape two times a week under the cover of 'Remedial Potions', which was horrendously humiliating. The only good thing about it was that Harry had managed to convince the Headmaster to allow Harry to wait until after Christmas to begin the lessons, hoping that they truly would not be necessary.
After arguing Harry to an impasse, and getting his reluctant agreement to follow Professor Snape's instructions to the best of his ability when the lessons began – which had taken the better part of an hour – Dumbledore had sat back in his chair, eyes twinkling madly, and had asked Harry what other questions he had.
Questions? Oh, Harry had questions.
First and foremost, Harry had wanted to know why he had survived the Killing Curse that fateful day fourteen years ago. If so many other good witches and wizards had fallen under that bright flash of green light, Harry's Mum and Dad included, how is it that he, barely a year old at the time, had survived?
The answer had been heart-wrenchingly painful in its simplicity: his Mother.
Lily Potter had given her life to save Harry, and in the process, invoked deep ancient magics that were part of the stream that tied all living and non-living entities together. When pressed for more information, Dumbledore had confessed that he truly didn't know how Lily had done it, only that she had, and he'd shrugged noncommittally; chalking it up to her superb instincts and understanding of all transfigurations and charms.
This was why, the Headmaster had gone on to explain, Harry had to go back to the Dursley's every summer and stayed there for a few weeks before being allowed to stay with the Weasley's or, as demonstrated this summer, to come to Grimmauld Place. So long as Harry was a minor in the wizard world, and so long as he could still claim shelter from a blood relative of his mother's, Harry was safe; the old magics invoked with Lily's death would still be in effect and Voldemort would be unable to harm Harry.
This, Dumbledore claimed, was the cause of Professor Quirrel's death in Harry's first year at Hogwarts, when the Voldemort-possessed man had attacked Harry, only to have his skin burn where it came into contact with Harry's.
When asked about the blood Harry had been forced to donate to Voldemort's…resurrection the previous school year, the Headmaster had turned pensive, his thoughts whirling about for a moment, much like many of the items in the Room of Shiny and Spinny Things, as Harry had come to call it.
Eventually, he had admitted that, though he'd thought long and hard on the matter over the summer, Dumbledore had been unable to come to some definitive answer as to what sort of effect the blood donation had upon Harry's protection. Staying on the safe side of things, he'd returned Harry to the Dursley's and posted a guard around him, trying to ensure that he'd covered all his bases.
It was then that Dumbledore had begun to apologize to Harry for keeping these things from Harry, and from isolating him from information about the Death Eater attacks. He informed Harry that in one of the attacks, one of the victims was a Master Occlumencer and had managed to form a shield over one of the last thing's he had seen while alive, and preserve that image just under the surface of his mind so that when another Occlumencer or, even better, a Master Legllimencer (which, it turned out was the flip side of Occlumency: the actual act and technique of breaking into someone else's mind) happened to touch his corpse, they would receive the protected thought and image, allowing him to incriminate his attackers from the grave.
A Master had indeed touched his corpse and received the thought, and Lucius Malfoy was now enjoying the pleasures of a small stone cell on Azkaban. Voldemort, the Headmaster had continued with a chuckle, was rather angry with Lucius at the moment and he was probably safer in the hands of the Ministry than in the Dark Lord's.
Most of this Harry had already heard from Sirius the night before when the two of them had a heart to heart about what Sirius had been up to during the summer, and how Harry had been affected by the things he'd seen and done the year before. Still, Harry had appreciated the different points of view he received from Dumbledore, plus the extra information as well, as he provided some details that Sirius had been unable, or unwilling, to divulge.
In response to Harry's question about the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' Dumbledore had shaken his head sadly and informed Harry that, though he had some ideas, he was not willing to share them at the moment, because most of them were discarded even as he thought them. After all, the ability to blow abnormally large bubbles from a soap and water mixture was a power the Dark Lord wouldn't know about, but also rather useless for stopping him. Though it would make Harry a hit at children's birthday parties.
Dumbledore was willing to inform Harry about the extraordinarily powerful, and long, use of wish magic that he had used two nights previous. Apparently, Harry's wish to escape from the Ministry had been so complete, for so long, that he had actually been able to confound both the Order members searching for Harry, and the owls that delivered the post, for a period of about four hours.
It wasn't until he had stopped to rest on the side of the road, that the wish magic had dissipated, allowing both the owls and the 'retrieval squad' to locate him, accounting for the bizarre time lapse between the sending and the delivery of the letters.
Noise from the foyer, namely a screeching hag, had interrupted their talk and Dumbledore had apologetically told him that their meeting must be over for now because the Headmaster had an Order meeting to attend. Even so, he had paused long enough to inform Harry that the Order of the Phoenix was a secret organization he had founded at Voldemort's last bid for power in direct retaliation to his reign of terror. At the Dark Lord's return, Dumbledore had reinstated old members, and had even acquired some new ones, and now was actively fighting the Dark Lord through various means.
Albus Dumbledore had smiled then, his eyes twinkling merrily, and had advised Harry not to worry overly much about things for the remainder of the summer. Though Harry acted like an adult for the most part, and was now being treated like one, at least by the Headmaster; he was asked not to forget the fact that he was also a fifteen year old boy, and, if he could find it in his heart, he should try to enjoy the rest of his summer, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of an old man who wished to relive his youth vicariously through Harry. Unable to deny the Headmaster such a simple request, especially since he'd been planning just that sort of thing anyway, Harry had agreed easily and had gotten a warm, though short, hug from Dumbledore in response.
Now, Harry was doing just that, laughing and joking along with the twins, who were halfway to convincing him to be a beta tester of their jokes and costumes along with Ginny.
Ron had finally been allowed out of his room while Harry had been talking with the Headmaster, and the two of them had run into each other in the hallway shortly thereafter. Harry had tried to take advantage of the situation and apologize to Ron, but the stubborn redhead wouldn't hear of it, and had left before Harry could properly explain.
Hermione and Ginny, who had watched sadly from their room, had told him that perhaps it was just too soon to try to talk to Ron just yet; maybe he should give Ron time to cool down before attempting to patch things up. Harry had agreed sadly and left.
"…ooo, helloooo! Harry!"
Harry jerked suddenly and sent the deck of cards he had been playing with scattering all about the floor.
The twins laughed at Harry as he smiled sheepishly and began to retrieve the scattered cards. "Er, sorry about that guys, guess I was woolgathering."
"Yeah, well, try not to do that anymore, or we'll just test stuff on you without you noticing!" Fred laughed as he scooped up some cards from beneath George's bed.
"How are things coming with the shop?" Harry asked, settling the cards in some semblance of order.
"Very well, thank you!" George beamed at him. "We've almost got enough money to start the shop thanks to you. All we need to do is sell a couple more things, perfect a few others, and we'll rent a space in Diagon alley. We already have our eyes on this one spot."
"There's an apothecary there at the moment, but it doesn't look like it's doing too well." Fred took his wand and turned it on the knickknacks sitting on his bed, muttering spells under his breath.
"Hopefully, it will be available by the time we go looking, because it's in a prime position, with lots of traffic passing by." George went over to the closet and retrieved a few items, bringing them over for Harry's inspection.
"What do you think?"
Harry peered over the edge of the box George was holding and inspected the small, oblong, bi-colored objects laying scattered at the bottom. "Erm, wonderful. What are they?"
"Skiving Snackboxes. Named 'em myself." Fred finished his incantations and wandered over. Reaching in the box, he retrieved one that was red and yellow, holding it up before Harry's eyes. "This one is a nose-bleed nougat."
"Let me guess. It makes your nose bleed?" Harry took the tiny object and turned it over in his hand.
"Exactly." George said, fishing around the box for another one. "All you do is nibble on the red end, and your nose will begin bleeding, allowing you to skiv off class to go to the hospital wing."
"Then, when you get out," Fred continued "you just eat the rest of the yellow end and, voila! No more nose-bleed, allowing you to do whatever you feel like."
"Ah, ha!" George crowed, having located a second nose-bleed nougat. Biting off the red end, he paused a moment before, sure enough, his nose began to bleed, and rather spectacularly too. Fred held a towel to his nose while George ate the yellow end, and suddenly – like magic – Fred's bleeding nose stopped.
"You see," George picked up the narration, "they work rather well. Or at least the nose-bleed version does. We're having some trouble with the vomit one because it's hard to stop puking long enough to eat the other half of the pill."
"So we're not entirely sure that it works." Fred finished.
"But there's all sorts of different types of Skiving Snackboxes now. Some make your nose bleed, others make you vomit…" Said George.
"Some make you cough, some make you cry…" Fred said.
"And we even have one that turns your skin green, for use in potions." They said together.
Harry laughed and returned his Nosebleed Nougat to the box. "You guys are amazing. How do you come up with all of these things?"
Fred shrugged as George returned the box to its hiding place in the closet. "Various things. Mostly we just think up harmless stuff to do to other people and try to make it happen. The Snackboxes came from our love of skiving off class."
"Wizard-mine?" Serin cut in softly from his position on top of Harry's head. "Perhapss we could go ssomewhere else? I am very hungry and thirssty."
"Oh, no!" Harry said, momentarily forgetting about the twins, appalled at his lack of concern for Serin. What sort of wizard was he to Serin if he completely forgot to give him food and water for three days?
"What's wrong, Harry?" One of the twins asked, Harry didn't know which.
"I'm a moron, that's what." Harry responded, shaking his head in agitation. "Look, guys, this is great, but I gotta go, um, I gotta go."
As Harry left the room, the twins' looked at each other for a moment in trepidation before nodding silently at each other and following Harry.
The moment he was back in the hallway, Harry reached his hands up to his head and took Serin down, cuddling the little adder in his hands and stroking him gently on his spine. "I'm sso ssorry, Little Brother." He hissed contritely. "I sshould have been paying attention to you."
"It iss no problem, Wizard-mine." Serin responded, gently nuzzling Harry's palm. "I have not been hungry or thirssty until now. We adders can ussually go longer without food or drink, but I am young yet, and sstill growing." He said the last bit with some embarrassment.
"Well, don't worry." Harry said as he walked into his room, determined that he would take care of Serin, just like he said he would. "I'll get you ssomething. For now, I'll jusst – oh. Maybe not."
Harry stopped in dismay as he saw the state of Hedwig's cage. He had fully intended to place Serin at the bottom and allow him to drink from Hedwig's bowl of water, but had been shocked to see that the bottom of her cage was filled with shed feathers and droppings, and that her bowl of water was bone-dry.
"Oh, no, Hedwig. I'm so sorry. I've been neglecting you for the last couple of days, haven't I? If I'm not complaining to you, I'm off talking to someone else, and I've completely ignored your needs." Harry set Serin on his bed and turned to Hedwig, who was looking at him rather crossly. "I know girl, I'm sorry. But I'll fix things right now, I promise."
As Hedwig flew out of her cage to sit on his bed, Harry was dismayed to hear the distinct sounds of someone 'tisk-ing' from his doorway.
"Now, now, Harry. You should know better than to let your owl and your – snake? Go hungry and thirsty." Fred said, coming into the room.
"And such squalor!" George said, with a mischievous grin. "How could you?"
"Fred! George!" Harry squeaked, unable to stop himself from looking guiltily at Serin, "Uh, what are you two doing here? I thought you had costumes to design."
"We do." George answered. "But you were acting kind of odd."
"So we decided to do the right thing and follow you." Fred said, walking over to where Serin lay coiled on Harry's bed. "Who's this?"
"Uh, that's Serin. He's, uh, my, uh…"
"Familiar? Wow, Harry. You have two familiars? It takes a lot of power to have one familiar, much less two. Where did you get him?" George, too, walked over to Harry's bed and joined his brother in leaning over to inspect the small serpent, both very carefully not touching it.
"My familiar, yeah…" Harry trailed off, taken aback as to the twins reactions. Up until now, Harry had been keeping Serin a secret because he was not sure how people would react to him having a snake. After all, the only other parselmouth in existence was Voldemort, and he'd already been unfavorably compared with the bastard because they shared that trait. "Are you guys…okay with that?"
"Okay with it? Of course we're okay with it, Harry." Fred said.
"We understand how confused you might be, after all, some people were really mad at you during your second year when they found out you were a parselmouth, but we were just surprised you never got a snake before now." George informed him matter-of-factly.
"Oh," Harry said in a small voice, then louder, "Thanks guys. This means a lot to me. Here." He walked over to his bed and scooped Serin up, cradling the serpent in one hand. "Serin, this is Fred and George Weasley, they're some of Ron's older brothers. Fred, George, this is Serin, my friend."
"Nice to meet you." The twins intoned together.
"Likewisse." Serin responded.
"He says, 'likewise'" Harry translated, absently petting the little serpent in his hand.
"So, tell us about him." Fred asked, flopping down onto Harry's bed, giving Hedwig an absent-minded "Hey, girl," on his way down.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything," George made himself comfortable on the floor.
"First I gotta feed Serin and get him some water. I've had him for three days and I'm not gonna ignore him or Hedwig any longer." Harry placed Serin back on top of his head and turned to clean Hedwig's cage.
"Scourgify!"
Harry wasn't sure which twin had said the spell, and it truly didn't matter, but now Hedwig's cage was perfectly clean, and it even had new linens at the bottom. "Neat! Thanks guys. How about some water?" He asked, holding up the empty dish.
Fred waved his wand negligently in Harry's direction, mumbling something under his breath, and the bowl filled with water.
"Thanks, Fred. Here you go, Serin. Have some water. I don't know what to do about food for now though. Any suggestions?" Harry posed his question to the room in general.
"Jusst place me next to the wall." Serin suggested when he'd drunk his fill. "I can ssmell mice from here. I sshall hunt ssoon."
"Can you do that?" Harry asked, doing as Serin had bid.
"Of coursse." Serin was affronted. "I am an Adder, Harry. Have no fear." He assured Harry. "The mice will feel no pain. I'll be back ssoon." So saying, Serin slithered along the wall to a crack in the plaster and disappeared inside.
Harry laughed and rolled his eyes, calling after the rapidly disappearing reptile, "Silly snake. I wasn't asking about the mice, I was asking about your ability to hunt. When you bit Vernon you told me you weren't sure if you knew how to do the bite-of-death."
"What? Serin bit your Uncle? Now you've got to tell us everything," George sat up from where he'd sprawled himself on the floor, ready to listen attentively.
"All right," Harry said with another laugh. "Serin is off hunting, so we have some time." Grabbing his chair and twirling it so that it was facing him, Harry straddled it backwards and laid his forearms along the upright back of the chair. "I met Serin three days ago around 7:30 in the morning when I was weeding the flowerbeds…"
ooOO00OOoo
I would like to take this time to thank all of the people who have taken the time to review my story. I am finding, to my chagrin that I live for the little note in my inbox that tells me I've just gotten a review. Sad and pathetic I know, but I wanted my beloved readers to know that I appreciate each and every review I've gotten. Thank you so much to all of you. See you next time. Tootles!