Title: In Memory I
Author: Becka
Chapter 2: Recollection
o
Today was the day, or so Harry thought. Today was his eleventh birthday, and soon he'd be away from the Dursleys and on his way to recreating the wizarding world at large.
The clock struck twelve, midnight. It was official.
Lucius knelt before him, warm arms encircling Harry in a gentle embrace. His blue eyes were alight with pride as he said, "Harry Birthday, Harry."
His other teachers, his followers, his shadows, echoed the sentiment. Harry wasn't concerned about the noise – he'd long since learned that a silencing spell was cast around the garden every night.
The Dursleys' backyard was crowded with former Death Eaters. Looking around at their smiling faces, Harry found himself smiling a little as well. He knew all of them by name, having long since removed the masks and the Dark Marks from each of them personally. Instead of black, regulated robes, his shadows wore whatever colors they felt suited them best. Predictably, Lucius had chosen to remain in black.
As Lucius stood, Peter knelt to take his place. His arms were a bit stiffer than Lucius', but he was still having a difficult time coming to grips with forgiveness.
After the revelation that Peter was responsible for the deaths of his parents, Harry had done a lot of thinking. He'd found that he couldn't fault the man. Peter had been under Voldemort's influence at the time, had been trapped between two paths, and had made a bad choice. Harry had never known his parents, but Peter had been with him for nearly all his life.
Harry knew people made mistakes; he also knew that unless they were forgiven, nothing would ever really change. In the end, how could he not forgive Peter? The man had placed his life in Harry's hands after all.
They'd talked, and Harry had learned the full story. How Peter had been grateful that Sirius Black was the Potter's Secret Keeper, how he'd been horrified to find that Sirius wanted to switch with him, how Voldemort had found out somehow, how the information had been tortured out of him, and how, in his darkest moments, he'd followed through with Voldemort's plan to frame Sirius and condemn him to a life in Azkaban.
Harry vowed that the first thing he'd do was find a way to remove his godfather from Azkaban, and make things right between him and Peter.
Of course, that discussion had led to Harry's animagus training, and again he'd defied the laws of magic by taking on two separate forms, one of which was a magical creature. Lucius had been delighted to discover this, and had told Harry that only Merlin himself had been able to take on the form of a magical creature.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," Peter whispered, and the arms around him tightened. There was a tremble in Peter's voice, and he choked, "You look so much like James; he would have been so proud."
"Thank you," Harry replied, and for a moment he let himself go and returned Peter's embrace.
It was a celebration like none Harry had ever witnessed. Each of his shadows knelt before him, putting them on level ground. They hugged him, murmuring "Harry Birthday, Harry," and all the dreams and hopes they'd hung on him sounded clearly in their voices.
And the gifts!
He already had his schoolbooks, all of which had been handed down to him by his teachers. The secondhand books were cherished by him – his book The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection was embossed with Lucius' name, the older man's scrawled notes in the margins; Peter had gifted him with his Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, and had managed to find Harry's father's copy of A History of Magic; his Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and Magical Theory were from Crabbe and Goyle; Zabini had proudly handed him a tattered copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, as well as Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them; Avery's Magical Drafts and Potions was almost falling apart.
It didn't matter that his books were used, because they'd been used by the people most precious to him.
But on top of the books he'd be expected to have for his first year, all of his shadows had brought him advanced tomes so that he could continue his studies. Staring at the daunting piles of books, he'd been stunned and asked where he could possibly store all of them.
It was then that Crabbe and Goyle came forward. They had brought him a special trunk to replace his old one – six separate keyholes lined the top, and each opened into something different. The first keyhole was for his robes. It was here that his shadows' house colors had shown through, because he'd been gifted beautiful dress robes of red and gold, green and silver, yellow and black, blue and gray.
The second and third keyholes were for his personal effects, gifts from his shadows over the years, etc. The fourth opened to a warded jewelry box where he could store his enchanted rings, pendants, and clasps.
The fifth had revealed a staircase, and when he'd gone down he'd been delighted to find a room very similar to a dungeon. The shelves were lined with all manner of potion ingredients, both legal and illegal. He'd spotted several cauldrons in the corner, all shapes and sizes, and it even looked as though one of them was solid gold.
The sixth keyhole had been the true surprise. Another stairwell, which led to a small study. Ebony shelves lined the walls, and his shadows had laughed as they stacked all of his books inside the room, telling him he could organize and reference them when he had the chance. There was a desk in the center of the room, and when he'd peeked into the drawers, he'd found them overflowing with parchment, inks, and quills. Everything had been carefully labeled so that he could tell which ones were enchanted.
Even more stunning was that his shadows promised to look out for any books he might be interested in, and send them throughout the school year. Harry had come to the conclusion that by the time they were satisfied with his library, it would rival that of Hogwarts!
As his shadows happily chattered amongst themselves, Lucius pulled him aside, kneeling again so that he could look into Harry's eyes.
"The years have passed too soon for my liking," the older man murmured, a smile on his face. "And yet I find there is still so much I need to tell you."
"Do you fear truth?" Harry asked softly.
"No," Lucius responded, running his hand through Harry's mop of hair affectionately. "I no longer fear truth. But it saddens me that I have to let you go. You are truly our Lord, Harry, but you are also our child."
"Tell me, then," Harry responded gently.
"Many of us have children of our own, Harry. Children we have raised to love and respect you as we do. Some are first years, like yourself. Some are older. Some will not go to Hogwarts for several years to come." Lucius smiled again. "Many are Slytherin. Some are Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. But no matter what house they are sorted into, they will be loyal to you."
Harry nodded.
"You must purchase a wand and use it, if only for the sake of appearance. Every gift you have that is not public knowledge is an advantage to you."
At this Harry smiled. Lucius was Slytherin, through and though.
"Those of us in Slytherin put in a petition last year," Lucius continued softly. "Until this point, the only familiars allowed in Hogwarts were owls, cats, or toads. We've insured that you may take Samson with you."
Harry's face broke out into a wide smile. Samson, currently dozing around Harry's neck, had been his companion since the beginning, offering support and advice. He would have missed his snake.
Again, he was struck by how much Lucius and his shadows gave to him. Beyond their gifts, at every turn they tried to make his life easier. They put so much thought into loving him and asked so little in return that he could do no less then make their dreams reality.
"Ah, Harry," the older man said, pulling him into a fiercely protective hug, "It's a wonderful feeling - a terrible feeling - when a child you love grows up. I find myself twice blessed and twice cursed, because when my son leaves tomorrow, I know it will feel like this."
"Thank you," Harry said softly. "I would have been honored to be your son."
"You are my son, my Lord, in all but blood." Lucius eyebrow raised, and there was a hint of humor in his voice. "Though I find myself hard-pressed to imagine you and my Draco growing up together -" The silky voice broke off suddenly. There was a pause before the older man said softly, "I will miss you, Harry."
"Lucius."
Lucius blinked and pulled back a little. Harry had never addressed one of his shadows by name before.
"Harry?"
Without speaking, Harry reached forward, pressing his hand lightly against Lucius' arm. Lucius hissed softly; Harry's hand rested where his Dark Mark had once been burned.
Instinctively, Harry pulled a tiny strand of power from himself and let it flow into his shadow. Lucius gasped as Harry removed his hand; a thin lightning-shaped mark shimmered beneath the pale skin.
"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing his head.
Harry slipped one of his hands under Lucius' chin, tilting his shadow's face up. There was a smile on the boy's face, full of love and respect. "You are the first, Lucius. Peter is the second. You shall each choose one of my shadows, give them my mark, and they will be the next."
"_Harry_." The older man's voice was awed.
"As you are connected to me, they will be connected through you. And their shadows will bring shadows until we achieve what we set out to do." The smile on Harry's face was radiant. "We're a whole, Lucius. Voldemort tried to tie everything to himself, but I can't do that. Shadows in darkness know only each other, and that's the way it has to be."
Harry extended his hand, pulling his first Shadow to his feet. The older man seemed stunned.
"I have to see Peter, now," Harry said, his eyes truly alive for the first time in years. "But perhaps you might see if your son will invite me over for Christmas break?"
Laughing, Lucius tousled Harry's hair once more. "I don't quite know if the wizarding world is ready for you, Harry. But I think it will be a pleasure to find out."
o
The next morning, Harry took in the day's mail, searched through it, and found his letter from Hogwarts. He slipped it into his back pocket, where he'd already placed his trunk and broom after he shrank them. Samson curled contentedly around his neck.
Aunt Petunia had just woken up and was walking down the stairs when she saw Harry. She glared at him, "Slacking off already, you pathetic lump? Go make breakfast."
Slowly, Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said politely. "But I've just gotten my letter from school, and I'll be leaving today."
The older woman's mouth flapped comically, wide open, but no sound was forthcoming. Her face turned bright red as she finally managed to shriek, "VERNON!"
Harry sighed, knowing the conversation was going to be... unpleasant. He wished he could simply put the Dursleys behind him without a second thought and use the portkey Lucius had given him to the Leaky Cauldron. He never intended to come back, though, and he had to make things right with his relatives.
"Boy!" Vernon bellowed from the top of the stairs. Petunia was shaking and cowering behind him, her white-knuckled fingers clutching Vernon's shirt like a lifeline.
"How _dare_ you bring that abnormality into my house?" Vernon stomped down the stairs, each footfall rattling the plates that were aesthetically arranged on the walls. The racket apparently woke Dudley, who poked his pudgy face around the corner curiously. Sensing that Harry was most likely going to be beaten, he let out a squeal and followed his father down the stairs.
"I'm not bringing anything into your house, Uncle Vernon," Harry said softly. "I'm simply letting you know that I'm leaving, thereby relieving you of the unnatural freak, the waste of space, and the good fuck."
Vernon went red at Harry's last words, and Petunia stared at him, momentarily forgetting to be frightened.
"I'll not having you talking such _trash_ in my house, boy," Vernon growled, ripping the belt from his round waist as he advanced on Harry. The belt lashed out, slicing deeply into Harry's cheek.
Harry touched the wound, looking at the fingers that came away bloodied with detached, almost clinical interest.
"If you fear the truth, then I leave you your lie," Harry said sadly. He pointed one of his fingers at the Dursleys and murmured a quick "Obliviate."
"You do not have a nephew named Harry Potter," he said softly, looking at their slack faces. "He died in the same car accident that killed his mother and father. The last eleven years, you have lived quite happily as a perfectly normal family."
Reaching for his portkey, he paused. Glancing at Petunia, he said, "Take good care of your garden, please. It holds some very fond memories for me."
To Vernon, he added, "I'd appreciate it if you'd board up the cupboard. It wasn't much, but it was mine."
Noticing that their faces were showing the first signs of awareness, he touched the portkey, the silver serpent ring that Lucius had given him so many years ago, and activated it.
When the Dursleys came around, Dudley demanded his breakfast. Neither of his parents paid him much attention, which infuriated him to no end. For some reason his mother was muttering something about needing to get an early start on preparing the garden for winter, and his father was headed to the shed to pick out a few sturdy sheets of plywood and a handful of nails.
o
The din around him was deafening, wizards flitting between tables at they chatted and drank their butterbeer. Self-consciously, Harry flattened his bangs against his forehead. Lucius and Peter had told him how the wizarding world viewed their precious Boy-Who-Lived, and he wanted to remain a nonentity for as long as possible.
Of course, being dressed in Muggle clothing was no help at all, and he slipped away to the loo, enlarging his trunk and pulling out one of his black school robes. He changed quickly. As an afterthought, he murmured a healing spell on the cut on his face. The scar it left was faint and didn't bother him.
After re-shrinking his trunk and checking to make sure the purse of galleons Lucius had given him was securely hidden in his robes, he made his way to Diagon Alley.
His movements jostled Samson, who hissed sleepily, / Ssskin-brother, calm yourssself. /
/Sorry, / Harry replied, too softly for anyone but Samson to hear him. / I just... I feel as though, after this, there's no turning back. /
/ After thisss, there isss no turning back, / Samson replied, amused. / But you are prepared, and your shadowsss have faith. /
His snake's quiet reassurance calmed him immediately. / Thank you, Samson. /
/ My pleasure, ssskin-brother. /
First stop on Harry's list was Ollivanders. He zigzagged through the crowd of wizards and entered the tiny building whose sign read, "Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C."
The shop was dingy and poorly lit, but Harry had spent his life learning in the darkness; he was comfortable there. His eyes easily made out the figure stooped over the desk, aged fingers plucking at a Dragon's Heartstring.
"Hello, sir," he said politely, taking another step into the dreary shop. "Perhaps you could fit me for a wand?"
Mr. Ollivander glanced up, squinting at him curiously. "Name?"
"Harry Potter, sir."
The man didn't seem at all surprised. He nodding curtly, grabbing a small measuring tape from the cluttered desk before advancing on Harry.
"Which hand do you use?" Mr. Ollivander asked.
Harry blinked. He'd never really thought about it before, because his magic worked with both hands. He settled on an appropriately cryptic response: "It depends, sir. I can write with either."
The man's brow rose sharply, but all he said was, "Curious."
Mr. Ollivander took measurements of both of his arms, then had him spread his hands, noting their span and the length of his fingers. With a surprisingly spry step for such an old man, he darted around the room, plucking a series of slender boxes from the shelves. He opened one, offering its contents to Harry.
Harry tentatively reached for the wand, and stood uncomfortably, unsure of what he was expected to do.
The wandmaker rolled his eyes and said, "Well? Swish it around a bit, child!"
Resisting the urge to tell the man he had never been a child, Harry did so, sweeping the wand in a graceful arc. It felt unnatural in his hands.
Before he could comment, Mr. Ollivander had already taken the wand back from him and was shoving another into his hands. Every time he waved one of the older man's creations, Harry was struck by how very wrong they felt. He wondered if it might be easier to create a play-wand, as he had done so many years ago.
"A very tough fit," the older man muttered. "But perhaps...?"
He walked to the very back of the shop, disappearing from Harry's view for a moment. When he reappeared, he held an old, wooden box. With a strange gleam in his eyes, Mr. Ollivander presented the box to Harry.
As Harry took it, he felt a strange tingle run through his fingers. The warmth spread into his hands, creeping up his arms, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. He opened it without a thought, fingers curling possessively around the sleek wand.
With an elegant arc, rainbow sparkles erupted from its tip like miniature fireworks, illuminating the room with an iridescent light. Harry was enthralled. The wand's hilt fit into his palm as though it had been molded with him in mind.
"Interesting," Mr. Ollivander said, eyeing Harry with something like respect. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. And that wand is meant for greatness. Though it is curious..."
"What's curious?" Harry asked, his fingers memorizing the sanded holly.
"Every wand has a core, be it a phoenix feather, a dragon heartstring, or a unicorn hair," Mr. Ollivander said. He continued softly, "The phoenix who gave up the feather in your wand also donated another, Mr. Potter. Just one. And I find it curious that this wand should be yours when its brother gave you that scar."
Harry's mouth curved up a little. If a part of Voldemort had been transferred into him, as Lucius had theorized, then it made sense that they would share brother wands. He mentally noted to pass that bit of information to his first Shadow as soon as possible.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said softly. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nine galleons," Mr. Ollivander replied.
Harry paid the wandmaker, thanked him again, and slipped out of the shop. He headed towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.
/ He knowsss much, ssskin-brother. Perhapsss, later, you will ssspeak with him again? / Samson hissed softly from his perch around Harry's neck.
/ What happened to 'stupid men and their stupid sticks'? / Harry asked, amused. Belatedly, he realized his wand was still in his hand. He picked up a pebble from the ground and transfigured it into a holster, similar to the ones he'd seen Lucius and Peter wearing. He attached the holster around his wrist and slipped his wand into it.
With a flick of his wrist, his wand slid into his hand. Satisfied that the holster was securely attached, he anchored the spell and slid the wand back into place.
/ Mossst men are ssstupid, ssskin-brother, / Samson replied, / Mossst, but not all. /
/ True, / Harry replied. / Most men are ruled by fear. You taught me that. /
The snake preened, pleased. / My ssskin-brother isss wissse to remember. /
/ Better to have you, / Harry murmured fondly. / You remind me when I forget. /
Their conversation was cut short as Harry arrived at the Owlery. His shadows had suggested that he purchase an owl, in case he ever needed to reach them. There were other methods, of course, but an owl would raise the least suspicion.
As he stepped through the barred doorway, he was immediately overwhelmed. The trio of owls on his left hooted, and the sounds they made twisted in his ears to form words.
{Another wizard-child, come to stare,} the small gray owl hooted indignantly.
{Or to buy, as if they understood our true import.} Harry turned his head to the snowy white owl and blinked.
{Too young to buy, this one.} The brown owl sounded resigned.
{If he pokes at me, I shall nip his fingers,} the gray owl responded.
/ Samson, / Harry hissed, surprised, / I understand them. /
{A Parselmouth! In this day and age?} Despite the din from outside, the snowy white owl picked up his soft hissing with ease.
/ Indeed? / Samson replied, startled. / Can you ssspeak with them asss well? /
{Bloody serpents!} the brown owl hooted. {Imagine, a wizard-child bringing one of _their_ kind in here!}
{I'd really appreciate it if you refrained from insulting Samson,} Harry muttered, thinking about how much the creature sounded like Aunt Petunia. He was surprised when the words came out of his mouth as a clipped series of hoots.
The response from the owls was deafening, as every owl in the building flapped their wings. Harry was grateful that the owner of the shop didn't appear to be around, because he believed he'd be kicked out for upsetting the owls so. Their startled hoots blurred together, asking him how he could speak with them and demanding he tell them at once.
{Silence.}
The hooting died down immediately, and Harry turned to stare at the most beautiful ebony owl he'd ever seen. All of her feathers (for Harry was positive the lovely creature was female) were black, save a single pure white feather at the tip of each wing.
{The featherless one might find it easier to speak without you drowning him out,} she stated calmly once she'd gained their attention.
{Er. Thank you,} Harry said politely. {I don't know how I understand you. It feels the same as when I speak with Samson.}
The owls hooted, denying any affiliation with serpents, but the black owl cut them off again. She flew down from her perch and landed on Harry's shoulder. Her claws were sharp as they dug into his skin, and she was quite heavy.
He dismissed the pain as inconsequential, and he refused to bow under her weight. After a moment, she nipped his ear, and though she did not speak, he felt that she was pleased.
Samson hissed curiously, / Isss thisss the owl you want, ssskin-brother? /
/ Perhaps, though if she chooses to stay, it will be her own decision, / Harry replied softly. He didn't voice the thought to the owls; his Uncle had trained him better than to ask for such a favor.
{My name is Hedwig, featherless one. I have decided you are fit to be my wizard, despite your age.} There were several hoots of protest, but they fell silent under Hedwig's stony gaze.
Harry felt the words in his heart, and spoke them because they seemed right. {My name is Harry, beauty, and I am honored that you would choose me.}
Hedwig made a pleased sound. She confided, too softly for the other owls to hear, {It will be nice, I think, to speak with one who does not gossip.}
Before Harry could respond, a large man stepped through the door. Dark eyes noticed the black owl perched on the boy's shoulder, and a quirky smile turned his lips. "Deemed you worthy, has she? You'll be wantin' to buy her, I suspect."
"I would, sir," Harry replied. "Are you the shopkeeper?"
"Indeed I am, boy. Just had to nip out for a moment, but you look like you've done right enough on your own. Whatever'd y'do to get that one's attention? Most stuck up gal of the bunch," the man, Mr. Eeylop if Harry had to guess, concluded fondly.
"I don't know," Harry said lightly, "But I feel like she understands me."
The owls tittered, and he heard a deep rumble of amusement from Hedwig.
"Good trait, that," the man said as he gathered up a perch and box of mice. "Sometimes I feel like they can understand us, if y'know what I mean. Anyway, that'll be fifteen galleons for the lot."
Harry paid without question, murmured a soft thank you, and promptly shrank his purchases when he was sure no one was looking.
{Aren't you going to your wizard-school to learn magic?} Hedwig asked, surprised.
{No,} Harry replied, veering back to the Leaky Cauldron. {I'm going to revolutionize the world.}
{Indeed? Then I think I'll be most happy to accompany you. This world is too comfortable with itself.} Hedwig nipped his ear, and somehow Harry felt that though they'd only just met, she was fond of him.
/ What did she sssay to you, ssskin-brother? / Samson hissed, adjusting his body so that his tail was as far from the owl's claws as possible.
/ The truth, / Harry replied happily.
/ A bird who speaksss truth? / Samson mulled over this for a moment, then muttered, / Your shadowsss were right. You will change thisss world. /
With a small smile, Harry carried both of his familiars into the Leaky Cauldron and booked a room for the three weeks before school began.
o
Harry stood at the platform of 9 ¾, for all appearances silently waiting for Hogwarts Express to arrive. In reality, he was listening to a heated conversation between Samson and Hedwig, and it was only years of self-control that enabled him to do so without smiling.
After realizing what a bother it would be to constantly translate for his familiars, he'd spent the better part of a day creating a spell that would enable them to speak with each other. Thanks to his schooling in Magical Theory, he'd succeeded, and had been delighted to find that the pair of them got along wonderfully.
There had been a bit of tension in the beginning, but after they'd gotten over their initial hang-ups, they found that they had a good deal in common. Hedwig's dry humor and Samson's biting wit were evenly matched.
/ I'm telling you, you sssilly featherbrain, there'sss absssolutely nothing wrong with a diet of ssspidersss. It'sss better than that thossse mice you ssseem ssso fond of! / Samson hissed.
{Have you ever tried any of my mice?} Hedwig asked logically.
The snake had the decency to look chagrinned.
{Well, I have tried your spiders, thank you, and while they're not bad, I think you should expand your diet.} To Harry, she hooted, {And you spoiling him doesn't help.}
Wisely, Harry refrained from taking sides.
"Um. 'Scuse me?"
Harry glanced at the owner of the voice, a dark-haired boy with a round face. The boy was just a bit taller then Harry was, though not older, and his face was very red. He seemed to be uncomfortable.
"May I help you?" Harry asked, examining the newcomer.
"Um. I lost my toad, and I was wondering if you'd seen him," the boy said shyly.
"What's your name?"
"Neville," the boy replied. "Neville Longbottom."
Ah, Harry thought to himself. The Longbottoms. Lucius had told him that they were very brave people who'd fought hard for what they believed in, but that two of them had ended up in St. Mungo's because of Voldemort. Harry figured they were probably this boy's parents.
Harry turned around, eyes scouring the platform, and he discreetly whispered, "Accio Neville's toad."
The toad flew out from behind a nearby pile of trunks, but Harry caught it easily. He turned around, presenting the toad to Neville.
"I found him hopping near the tracks earlier," Harry said softly.
"Oh! Thank you!" Neville's face beamed. "Um, I didn't catch your name..."
"LAST CALL FOR HOGWARTS EXPRESS!" An enchanted voice boomed out, causing the entire platform to rumble. "ALL ABOARD!"
Harry nodded politely to Neville before slipping onto the train. He found an uninhabited room towards the back and slipped inside. He contemplated restoring his trunk to its normal size, but decided against it.
The train jerked forward, slowly at first, but gaining in speed. Hedwig fluttered off of his shoulder and perched on the armrest near the window, though Samson chose to remain around Harry's neck, hidden beneath the collar of his school robe.
The door slid open, and Harry blinked as a young boy walked in as if he owned the small room. Two other, slightly larger boys flanked him. The silver-blonde hair and the gray-blue eyes made Harry's mouth curve up into a tiny smile. The boy couldn't be anyone but Lucius' son, Draco.
Harry took a moment to study him, noting that his posture was very similar to that of his first Shadow, and the aristocratic sneer was a dead ringer for the one the Lucius' used during Harry's childhood lessons. It seemed as though the blonde boy was _trying_to project the same image as his father – not the man Harry had come to respect, but the façade that Lucius wore for the wizarding world.
Perhaps, Harry mused, the air that the blonde presented was a façade as well? If so, Lucius had certainly raised Draco as a Slytherin.
The other boys bore a striking resemblance to his teachers, Crabbe and Goyle, save the scowls on their young faces. Another façade?
"Oh," Draco drawled, "I didn't think there was anyone in here. Mind if we join you?"
Harry inclined his head. The three boys filed dutifully into the room and sat on the opposing bench. It didn't seem like they knew who he was, and there was a stretch of silence as they studied him.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," the blonde boy said finally.
"Vincent Crabbe," the taller of the two boys said.
"Gregory Goyle," the other concluded.
"Pleasure to meet you," Harry replied, extending his hand to the younger Malfoy.
Draco reached out and took his hand, and as their fingers met, a strange electric shock passed between them. Harry noted that Lucius' son had a firm, steadfast grip. His soft hand contrasted with Harry's rough, callused one.
Before Harry could introduce himself, Hedwig hooted softly, {This wizard-child is dangerous, my featherless fledge. He has the potential to be a great asset to you... or a deadly enemy.}
"That's your owl?" Draco asked. At Harry's nod, his face softened a little, the unguarded innocence there wiping away the sneer. "She's beautiful."
"Thank you," Harry replied. "Her name is Hedwig."
"Hedwig?" Draco's nose scrunched up. "Odd name. What's it mean?"
Thankful that his owl had told him the origins of her name, and Harry replied, "Hedwig was a twelfth century German saint."
"What's a saint?" Draco asked. Though Crabbe and Goyle hadn't said a word after introducing themselves, Harry saw that they were paying close attention to the conversation.
"It's a Muggle term," Harry explained. "Basically, it's someone who's recognized as being virtuous."
Draco's sneer returned, full force. "You're not a mudblood, are you?"
"My mother and father were a witch and a wizard," Harry replied. He remembered that Lucius had been quite adamant about Muggle-born wizards being less than Purebloods in the beginning. It had taken several conversations before the older man admitted that he'd been wrong.
Still, it made sense that Draco would hold true to those beliefs. It wasn't as though a known Purist fanatic could suddenly go around singing the praises of Muggle-borns without someone getting suspicious. Or perhaps Lucius had kept Draco purposefully ignorant, preferring that Harry teach the blonde boy personally?
Harry decided that whatever the reason for Draco's ignorance, he'd best begin to educate the other boy immediately.
"Why?" Harry asked in a misleadingly innocent voice. "Is there something wrong with being Muggle-born?"
"Of course there is!" Draco replied heatedly. "They shouldn't even be allowed to go to Hogwarts! They're not real wizards at all."
"Why?"
"Because they aren't," Draco said, as if it was self-explanatory.
"If the ability to do magic is all it takes to be a wizard, then I'd have to disagree." Harry's voice had a steely undertone. "Unless there's something else that wizards have that I'm not aware of."
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally he said petulantly, "Most of them don't even know about magic until they get their letter."
"They go to Hogwarts to learn. That is the purpose of a school, isn't it?"
"But-"
Harry cut Draco off with a wave of his hand. "Do you know everything that's going to be taught at Hogwarts?"
"Well, no-"
"Then you can't fault them for not knowing." Harry's raised his brow. "After all, you were raised in the wizarding world, and even you don't know."
"He has a point, Dray," Vincent said quietly.
Draco glared at his companion, a hint of red on his cheeks. "Whatever," he said, dismissing the conversation entirely. Harry let it drop; the seeds had been planted, and he knew Draco would give them some consideration.
Vincent's soft statement seemed to break whatever self-imposed silence he'd been under, and the scowl abruptly vanished. "Do you play Quidditch?"
"I haven't had much of an opportunity to," Harry replied. "But I do love to fly."
"Got your own broom?" Draco asked, once again interested in the conversation. "My father promised to send me the newest model for my birthday next year."
"I have a broom," Harry said softly, fondly remembering the day Peter had presented him with the Nimbus 1996. It was no longer a top-of-the-line model, but he still loved it.
He felt a bit guilty, though. In the three weeks that he'd spent at the Leaky Cauldron, he hadn't been able to resist the impulse to purchase the Nimbus 2000. He ached to try it out.
"I don't see why first-years aren't allowed to have their own," Draco continued. "And I can't believe we can't play Quidditch for our house team until second-year. Know what house you'll be in?"
"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "I'd be happy to be in any of them."
"Even _Hufflepuff_?" Gregory exclaimed, clearly surprised.
"Each house has its own strengths," Harry said softly. "Cunning for Slytherin, intelligence for Ravenclaw, bravery for Gryffindor, and loyalty for Hufflepuff. How could loyalty be considered a bad thing?"
"True," Vincent mused, ignoring the startled looks his two companions gave him.
After a moment, Draco nodded slowly. "I never really thought of it like that before. My whole family was Slytherin. I always thought Hufflepuff was the house for people who didn't fit into the other three."
Harry shrugged. "It's only an opinion."
Vincent glanced out the window. "How long do you think it'll take to get to Hogwarts?"
"Probably another hour, at least," Gregory sighed. He fished into his robes and pulled out a thin book. Harry glanced at the title: 101 Charms to Help Your Housemates.
"My father gave it to me before I left," the youngest Goyle explained at Harry's look. Draco and Vincent also fished some reading material out of their robes, and seeing that Harry didn't have anything to read, Draco slid into the space next to him, silently offering to share.
They settled into comfortable silence, and the time seemed to fly. Harry and Draco had just finished the third chapter of A History of Misunderstood Curses when the train came to a screeching halt. It only took Harry a moment to collect Hedwig, but before he could leave, Draco called out, "I never did catch your name."
Glancing back at Draco, Harry let a wicked smile that would have made Lucius proud cross his face. "Harry," he replied. "Harry Potter."
He turned, his robes billowing around him as he made a graceful exit, leaving his three newfound friends sputtering in surprise.
o