Title: In Memory I
Author: Becka
Chapter 8: Changing Seasons
o
Halloween was a huge affair at Hogwarts – Professor Sprout had used the lesson to teach each of them how to bake pumpkin pie and prepare apples for making cider. The class had ended early, too. Magical Theory was a history lesson on the origins of All Hallows Eve, and Professor Binns had instructed the house elves to distribute bat-shaped sugar cookies at the beginning of class. Even Professor McGonagall had joined in the festivities, in her own way. The assignment for that week was to transfigure a cone of parchment into a witch's hat.
Throughout the entire day, everyone had been talking about the feast. The Great Hall was supposedly going to be decked out in its finest decorations, courtesy of Hogwarts itself. Rumor had it that Fred and George Weasley had been trying to stealthily sneak some of their joke-candies into the candy bowls in the kitchen.
For the wizarding world, Halloween was like Christmas come two months early. The same laughter, the same joy, like the flip side of a coin.
Harry had come to the conclusion that there was no force on earth that could convince him to go to dinner.
He didn't _want_ to be surrounded by students who would make a show of liking _everyone_ simply because they were "in the spirit" of the holiday. What was the point of enjoying the night when everything would go back to usual the next day?
It was for this reason that Harry had excused himself from Draco's company, feigning a stomachache. He'd told his blonde friend that he would be in the Slytherin dorms, resting, and politely declined Draco's offer to keep him company.
Just because Harry had no interest in participating in such a two-faced holiday didn't mean he would begrudge Draco the pleasure.
Now, Harry wandered through the corridors aimlessly, the Bloody Baron floating beside him. The silent companionship was a welcome respite from Hogwarts' usually bustling halls, and since he was the only one in the hallways, there was no need to hide their association.
Just as he was about to round a corner, he heard a faint series of grunts and snarls. He glanced at the Baron and mouthed quietly, "What's that?"
The Baron cocked his head to the side, gaunt face blank. He motioned for Harry to stay where he was, and disappeared through the wall in a swirl of stained, silvery robes. After a few moments, he returned. His ghostly face was an even paler shade than usual.
His voice was barely audible. "The Defense teacher, Quirrell. He is talking with a troll."
Only Harry's blink betrayed his surprise. Even as he gestured for the Baron to lead him, his mind raced over the implications of the statement. Somehow Professor Quirrell could talk to trolls, and had gotten one into Hogwarts. But why?
The grunts and snarls grew progressively louder, and the Baron paused suddenly. The ghost made a gesture, indicating that Quirrell and the troll were just around the corner, and Harry nodded. Pressing closely against the wall, he cautiously peeked around the corridor.
Harry had read about trolls before, but the pictures in his books couldn't prepare him for how truly disgusting they really were. Nearly twelve feet tall, the creature towered over Quirrell, lumpy and slobbering. The stench was incredible.
Harry wrinkled his nose up a little, and quietly breathed a freshener, tying the spell to only work on the air nearest his nose.
Quirrell made a sweeping gesture with his arm, and pointed toward a deeper section of the dungeons. The troll grunted and lumbered off, the club it held dragging against the stone floor with each lurching step. Quirrell smiled unpleasantly, narrowed eyes studying the creature as if to make sure his orders were being carried out. After a moment, the older man turned and strode confidently in the opposite direction.
Harry was torn. Should he follow Quirrell or the troll? If only there was a way to...
Resisting the urge to slam his head against the wall, he muttered, "Alteralius." The feeling of being ripped in half passed quickly, and if anyone had been looking, they might have seen Harry Potter slip silently after the troll. A moment later, Harry Potter stepped around the corner, footsteps mirroring those of Professor Quirrell.
o
As Harry melted into the shadows, a curious warmth spread through his body. He was comfortable like this, in the darkness - away from the whispers of children and the heavy gazes of teachers who couldn't possibly understand. In the shadows of the hallway –
/ dungeon /
– he could let his mind wander back to his garden, to Lucius' cool blue eyes and the benign smile on Peter's homely face. He could indulge in the childish fantasy, his own small world that existed only within the confines of the white picket fence – a world of soft, cool grass and rich, warm earth, of planting with grubby, callused hands, and green and brown stains on the knees of his slacks.
Quirrell –
/ the troll /
– ducked suddenly, heavy footfalls coming to a sudden halt in front of a doorway. The man –
/ beast /
– paused, reaching forward to violently open the door to the Great Hall –
/ girl's bathroom./
"There's a troll in the dungeons!" Quirrell cried before slumping to the floor in a dead faint.
/ The beast let out an angry groan, lifting its club to beat against the floor. /
As the hall erupted into a panic, Harry pressed himself against the wall, murmuring a quiet incantation to make himself less noticeable. His eyes never left Quirrell's still form.
/ Harry decided that the troll didn't have any destination in mind. His eyes never left the hulking form as he considered his options. He had no desire to kill it, but at the same time, he couldn't let it continue to roam the corridors. What if it ran into someone? After a moment of hesitation, he murmured a quiet full-body bind, and the troll went rigid and toppled forward. /
As the students fled to their dorms, and the teachers scurried toward the dungeon, Harry continued to stare at his fallen professor. It was then that he noticed the dark energy around Quirrell's head flare, a leeching spider web with a thousand tendrils that seemed to be searching for... for _something_. Harry could _feel_ them exploring the castle, dark power violating every corner of Hogwarts. The energy touched upon him, but instead of passing over him as it did the other students, it wrapped around him. He –
/ couldn't breath. He slumped against the wall of the restroom, fingers clawing at his own chest as if he could peel away the layers of skin and muscle. The energy – Quirrell? Voldemort? – _squeezed_ at his heart, worse than the pain of his scar because it permeated his entire body. He couldn't breath. The Alteralius spell only made it worse, an echo of phantom pains. He gasped /
– the sound echoing in the empty Great Hall. Harry's vision flickered, but for just a moment he was able to focus his eyes. Professor Quirrell stood barely three feet away from him, arm stretching towards him. The smile on Quirrell's face was a reflection of madness, lips stretched thin and teeth flashing. His scar pulsed against his forehead, the pressure so intense he felt as if his head would split. Something warm and wet trickled into his eyes –
/ and he crumpled to the floor, head knocking against the bottom of sink. There was so much energy – energy searching, and with dark delight, _finding_ / ! /, energy inside of him, clammy hands clutching at his heart / ? /, energy that _called_ to him /
– so he reached out –
/ and he took it. /
Distantly, Harry heard himself whisper as if from across a great canyon. Just as Quirrell's fingers brushed against his forehead, he wished himself away. To somewhere Quirrell could not touch him. To somewhere that he could be safe.
In the blink of an eye, Harry disappeared. Professor McGonagall burst into the girl's bathroom, brows drawn up in confusion as she stared at the incapacitated troll lying rigidly on the floor.
With a curse, Quirrell smothered his flaming fingertips against his robe.
o
Harry heard someone crying, and felt something scalding and soft splash onto his cheek. The... boy? sounded so sad; why was he crying?
It took more effort than Harry believed possible, but he opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light of the torches. He wasn't wearing his glasses; the room he was in seemed smudged. He could barely make out the figure who sat next to him, the mop of short blonde hair that moved in time with shaking shoulders.
Harry's fingers twitched marginally. The cloth beneath them rumpled.
He was lying on a... bed? A bed in a room that was unfamiliar to him. It wasn't a bed in the hospital wing, because he could make out a dark green border that circled along where the ceiling met the walls. Slytherin green.
What had happened? His head throbbed in an unpleasant reminder, and he remembered Quirrell's smile. He remember Quirrell reaching towards him, fingers splayed. He remembered the dark energy – Voldemort's energy.
A muffled sniff reminded Harry that he was not alone. He turned his head slowly, mindful of the ache, and reached out a hand that wouldn't stop trembling. Hesitantly, he touched the top of Draco's head.
"Dray?" he whispered.
Draco's head immediately shot up, and Harry's hand fell away. He found himself starring into wide, blue eyes beneath tear-spiked lashes.
"Harry!" The relief in his friend's voice was palpable.
"What's going on?" Harry asked as he struggled to sit up.
"You tell me! Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, screaming about a troll, and the teachers herded us out of there and to our dorms, and I went to your room first 'cause you said you were going to lay down, but you weren't _there_, so I waited outside your door, and all of the sudden Blaise ran up to me and said you were in _my_ bed, but you looked like you were _dead_ –" Draco's voice broke off suddenly, and the blonde turned away.
Harry took a moment to sort through his friend's babble, and when Draco turned to face him, he noted that though the blue eyes were puffy and red, they were dry.
Draco repeated in a calmer voice, "You looked like you were dead. Your scar was crusted with blood, and you were as pale as a ghost. I sent Blaise to get Professor Snape, but he couldn't because the teachers locked us in."
"Because of the troll," Harry said softly.
The blonde boy let out a shaky laugh. "Piss poor idea. Safe from the troll, but if anything happens inside the dorm, we're screwed." Draco bit his lip. "I thought you were dead, Harry."
Harry took in Draco's pale skin, his puffy eyes, and his hoarse voice. He saw Draco's hands were clenched together, and he was wringing them fiercely.
The realization dawned on him slowly; Draco had been crying... because he'd thought Harry was dead.
"You..." Harry hesitated. "You'd be... sad. If I died."
Draco stared at him, anger flushing his cheeks with red. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I wouldn't be sad, Harry. I'd be bloody devastated. You're my best friend."
Harry felt something squeeze his heart. It didn't burn like the dark energy; it ached.
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. "I didn't mean to worry you."
Draco leaned forward. "You're forgiven. So, you gonna tell me what happened, or are you going to leave me in the dark about why you were passed out in my bed?"
Harry bit his lip, and said slowly, "I don't know how I got here. I –" He paused. "Is this room warded?"
"Are you kidding?" the blonde said frankly, momentarily affronted enough to put aside the seriousness of the situation. "We're in the Slytherin dorms. Of _course_ it's warded!"
Reassured, Harry continued. "I was walking with the Baron –"
"The Bloody Baron?" Draco's brows drew together sharply. "I thought he lost interest in you."
"Publicly." Harry hesitated. It was difficult for him to talk so openly. The mantra his mind whispered to him looped; Draco could be trusted, Draco was Lucius' son.
Draco grinned. "You mean you've been meeting with him in private?"
"On Monday nights. We talk."
"So, you were walking with the Baron, and...?" Draco prompted.
"And we heard Quirrell. He was the one who let the troll into the school." Harry pressed his hand to his scar; it pulsed angrily, a slow, throbbing burn. "He can talk to them."
Draco's eyes widened. "That complicates things."
Harry nodded. "The troll headed to the dungeons, and Quirrell headed to the great Hall. I used that Alteralius spell I told you about and followed both of them."
"Good thinking. What happened then?"
Draco was Lucius' son.
"The troll didn't have any destination in mind. I... used a full body bind on it. Quirrell passed out in the Great Hall, and I watched him after everyone left."
"Back up a bit," Draco said, nibbling his lip. "You beat a _troll_?"
Harry nodded, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He glanced down, fingers trailing a design over the green comforter.
"Bloody hell, Harry," the blonde whispered. "That's amazing."
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Rather than giving Draco anymore time to dwell on something that wasn't very important, he continued, "I think... that Quirrell is Voldemort. Or that he's channeling Voldemort. I don't know."
"What!"
Draco was Lucius' son.
"After everyone left, he... did something. He sent out some kind of dark energy, and it was searching for something. " Harry frowned. "I think he found it."
"Found what?"
/ ! /
The hazy memory flitted away before Harry could make sense of it. "I don't know," he said finally. "I think he reached out to touch me, but... something happened." His brow furrowed. "I... did something. With the energy. And I woke up here."
Draco leaned back, exhaling heavily. "We'll figure out a way to stop him. Even he wasn't Voldemort, or channeling Voldemort, he _hurt_ you." Blue eyes narrowed. "I'll kill him."
Suddenly, Draco grinned. "Oh. By the way, do you wanna visit my manor for Christmas break?"
The change in Draco's face was so abrupt, flitting from murderous rage to boyish hope, that Harry found himself smiling too. He wasn't even consciously aware that the mantra in his head had shifted; Draco was Lucius' son, but Draco was also Harry's friend.
"Love to," Harry said. He didn't even flinch when Draco pulled him into a hug.
o
Everything was back to normal the following day, though all the professors were tight-lipped about what had happened with the troll. Professor McGonagall simply announced that it had been "taken care of." Only Draco knew that Harry had taken down the troll, and he'd sworn he wouldn't tell a soul.
The following weekend brought them into November, and the start of the Quidditch season. Throughout October, his weekends had been taken up with practices for both Slytherin and Gryffindor. It had been strange, going straight from one practice to the other, and very tiring as well, but his stamina had increased as he became accustomed to the rigorous schedule.
Not to say that he wasn't exhausted at the end of the day, but he could at least make it to his room without staggering, and he always made it to his bed before he passed out.
Gryffindor practices were scheduled bright and early on Saturday, which the Weasley twins, Fred and George, constantly moaned about. The three Chasers, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell seemed resigned to waking up with the sunrise, and the Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood, _always_ bounced with barely concealed enthusiasm, a perpetual "morning person."
Despite the fact that Gryffindor house as a whole still didn't like Harry very much, the members of the Quidditch team didn't treat him badly. Oliver always patted him on the back – Harry could usually control his flinch – and told him "this year is the one," and "the other houses won't know what hit them!"
Angelina and Alicia were distantly polite, content to smile and nod in his direction when they ran into him in the hallways. Katie, on the other hand, didn't look at him very much, and when she did, she always blushed for some reason he could never puzzle out.
The Weasley twins were by far the most confusing members of the team, and subsequently the hardest to read. They treated him the same as they treated everyone else, all laughter and jokes, but sometimes he'd look up and find two pairs of brown, cunning eyes staring at him. Perhaps it was because they weren't quite sure what to make of him, but more often than not, their weighty stares made him feel like some sort of bug in a jar.
As soon as the twins noticed Harry had caught them, they'd look away from him and at each other. Then they'd grin, falling back into the roles of happy pranksters, but their eyes said they were silently talking. Somehow Harry got the feeling that they were talking about him.
Gryffindor practice usually ended around noon, and while the rest of the team ambled off the field, Harry waited. Exactly five minutes later – he'd timed it – the Slytherin team would appear.
Marcus Flint might be a solemn, angry student, but out on the pitch, he was just like Oliver Wood. He was energetic, enthused, and sometimes downright bubbly. Draco hadn't believe Harry when he'd described Marcus as such, and said that "bubbly" could only be used when talking about girls, but after he'd watched the team practice, he'd been wide eyed.
"Yeah," Draco had admitted later, still shaken, "You're right. Flint _is_ bubbly, _and_ bloody scary at that!"
Adrian Pucey and Cassidy Warrington were Chasers along with Marcus. It was strange to Harry, because both of them went out of the way to try and include him in conversation, as did Miles Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper. Half of the time they wanted to talk to him, and the other half of the time, they just _looked_ at him, awe and reverence on their faces. Harry wondered if, perhaps, their parents were among his shadows.
The two Beaters, Derrick Ludemeer and Willow Bole, were like two sides of the same coin. The few times Harry had seen Derrick in school, he was as lighthearted as Fred and George Weasley. But when he was out on the pitch, he was calm, collected, and completely focused. It was eerie. Willow, on the other hand, was calm and collected in school, but she seemed like a little kid when she was on a broom. Relaxed and happy, but upon closer inspection, no less intent than Derrick.
Both Slytherin and Gryffindor had excellent teams. Individually, Gryffindor had stronger players, but as a whole, Slytherin worked better as a team. Marcus and Oliver were the best on their respective teams, hands down, and Harry decided that it probably evened out. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were great Chasers, but Marcus was in a league of his own; Oliver was probably the only Keeper who could block him.
Both teams had selected reserve Seekers for when they played against each other. Slytherin had chosen Terence Higgs, a 6th year who was a very good flyer, and who had been their main Seeker before Harry came along. Gryffindor had nominated Andrew Kirke, a second year who didn't have much experience with flying, but had the potential to be a fair Seeker.
In a way, Harry could understand why both houses had chosen their reserve Seekers. Terence was a sure bet, but he'd be graduating in two years, which meant that a new reserve Seeker would have to be found and trained. Andrew, on the other hand, had six years before he graduated, which meant that by the time Terence graduated, he'd be comfortable with his position, and Slytherin would be floundering.
Unless, of course, Slytherin picked a secondary reserve Seeker and started training him as well. Harry figured that was probably what Marcus would do. The older boy _was_ a Slytherin, after all.
"You ready, Harry?" Marcus said softly to his right. The quiet voice called him back to reality.
Harry blinked once, then nodded. He made his way to a secluded corner of the locker room, careful to make sure no one was watching as he donned his green Quidditch robes. He supposed he should be excited – this was his first real match: Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw.
After he'd changed, he made his way to where the rest of the team stood. Marcus raised a hand, and the Slytherins were immediately silent.
"All right," Marcus said, drawling the words out with calculated coolness. "We've trained for this, and we've got the best team in the school. Derrick, Willow, their Beaters are pretty good. Spruce is fast, but his aim isn't very precise. McGonahan is the one you have to worry about – he's fast _and_ accurate."
Derrick and Willow glanced at each other. Harry head Willow murmur softly, "Do you want to take McGonahan?"
Derrick nodded.
Marcus continued, "Bratton is probably their best Chaser, so I'll cover him. Davies is pretty good, too, but Clearwater is hopeless. If you have to, you can leave her unguarded for a little bit. Now, their Keeper, Nollan, is decent, but not great. He can't handle a lot of people around the goals, so if we have the Quaffle, swarm him."
Adrian and Cassidy nodded, their twin smiles both eager and intent.
Finally, Marcus looked at Harry. "Their Seeker, Chang, is good, but she's no match for you. She's got decent eyes, but you're twice as fast as her." Unexpectedly, Marcus reached forward to tussle Harry's hair affectionately. "Don't worry. You'll kick her butt, hands down."
The clock on the wall struck eleven, and the team grabbed their brooms; it was time.
Harry followed Marcus' lead, and walked out onto the field. The cheers from the stands were thunderous, and it looked as though the entire school was there. Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, stood in the middle of the field with her broom in hand, and waited for both teams to get into place.
"All right," Hooch said loudly, "I'll be referee, so I want a fair game, you hear?" She gestured with her free hand and instructed, "Mount up, all of you."
Harry swung a leg over his Nimbus 2000, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted several Ravenclaws eyeing his broom appreciatively. The Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, looked a little envious as she mounted her own broom, a Comet Two-Sixty.
Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle, and the shrill noise pierced the air. Fifteen brooms rose sharply, rocketing to eighty feet above the pitch. Marcus grabbed the Quaffle and took off toward Ravenclaw's Keeper; Adrian and Cassidy flanked his sides.
"And they're off! The Quaffle is stolen by Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint, without any dirty tricks, for once – Flint's a decent Chaser, even if he does look like the lovechild a troll and a –"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
Harry scanned the field, trying to block out the commentator's voice. He'd seen Lee Jordan watch Gryffindor practice occasionally, and the older boy was a good friend of both of the Weasley twins. A Gryffindor himself, he wasn't very sympathetic toward Slytherins.
The only thing that made the commentary bearable was that Professor McGonagall cut Lee off whenever he went too far.
"He's speeding along quite nicely actually, a quick pass to Adrian Pucey – another quick pass to Cassidy Warrington – Warrington ducks a Bludger sent by Tommy Spruce of Ravenclaw and – Nope! – a second Bludger sent by Ravenclaw's Patrick McGonahan clips the end of Warrington's broom – Ravenclaw Captain Rodger Davies grabs the Quaffle, speeding towards the other end of the field. He's going to sco – No! – Nice save by Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley – passes to Flint who sends it to Pucey – Charles Bratton intercepts! He's got a clear field ahead of him and – OUCH! – that has to sting, Bratton drops the Quaffle, but you can't really blame him with a Bludger to the back of the head – Flint grabs the Quaffle, passes to Warrington, up the field, dodges a Bludger, passes to Pucey – Warrington and Pucey seem to be playing ping-pong, Quaffle goes back and forth – doesn't look like Ravenclaw Keeper Sean Nollan knows who to guard against – Adrian takes a shot – Nollan dives – misses – Slytherin scores!"
The Slytherins in the stands cheered loud enough to cover Ravenclaws groans and Gryffindors booing.
Harry sighed, lazily scanning the field for any sign of the Snitch. He spotted Cho Chang a few meters away, though it didn't look as though she was having any more luck than Harry.
"Flint takes control of the Quaffle again – both of Ravenclaw's Beaters slam Bludgers his way – Willow Bole, fairly attractive girl for a Slytherin, packs a powerful punch, deflects one –"
The Bludger Willow blocked ended up speeding towards Harry. Unconcerned, Harry let his broom dip sharply to avoid being hit.
"– and nearly takes out Harry Potter! Couple more plays like that and Cho Chang, Seeker for Ravenclaw, won't need to worry about the competition –"
"Sorry, Harry!" Willow called over, looking contrite.
Harry shrugged.
"Penelope Clearwater, lovely girl, makes a grab at the Quaffle – misses – Warrington takes a shot – Nollan blocks and – hey, is that the Snitch?"
By the time Lee had spoken, Harry was already diving for the little, golden blur. Cho Chang spotted it as well, and also dived, but she was so far behind Harry that he knew she wouldn't catch up. He pressed his broom for a little more speed, reaching his hand out to grab for it –
– and bit back a cry of pain as a Bludger whacked his outstretched fingers.
"Foul!" Marcus yelled, echoed by the Slytherins in the stands.
"– _nice_ play by McGonahan," Lee crowed. "Take _that_, you slimy –"
"Jordan," Professor McGonagall hissed.
"Right. Um – Hooch shakes her head, no penalty, and what does Flint mean by 'foul?' It's only a Bludger, Seeker Harry Potter is fine – if he can survive the Killing Curse, a stray Bludger shouldn't even phase him –"
Harry cradled his injured hand to his chest for a moment. He certainly didn't feel fine, and he was willing to bet that at least two or three bones in his hand were broken. He looked around for the Snitch, but it had already disappeared.
Marcus pulled up along side him, concern etched onto his face. "You all right, Harry?"
"I'll live," Harry replied dryly. Then he clenched his hand into a fist, ignoring the pain. "I can still play."
Marcus nodded, a strange glimmer of respect in his eyes, before he sped off.
"Ravenclaw in possession of the Quaffle, Bratton passes to Davies who takes a shot – Bletchley is busy avoiding a Bludger – Ravenclaw scores!"
Harry ducked a passing Bludger, a little more leery of them than before, and continued his search for the Snitch. Just as he caught a glimmer of gold out of the corner of his eye, his broom gave a sudden lurch.
Harry blinked, wrapping his hands around the hilt more securely, and ignoring the twinge of protest from his injured hand. His broom gave another lurch, and he blinked. There was a strand of Dark Magic coming from the teacher's box; he could feel it.
No one seemed to notice his broom acting up, and he spared a glance towards the stands. It had to be Quirrell.
His suspicion was confirmed a moment later; Quirrell was staring at him intently, and his lips moved silently. A few feet away, Snape was also mouthing a spell. Harry wondered, briefly, if Snape was trying to help him, but he decided it didn't matter. He had more pressing issues to deal with.
As his broom jerked rapidly back and forth, trying to buck him from his seat, Lee Jordan exclaimed, "– Ravenclaw in possession of the Quaffle, Bratton seems to have gotten his head straightened out after that last Bludger – a neat pass to Davies and – what's this? The Slytherin Seeker appears to be having some problems –"
The Slytherins in the stands stood as a whole, their voices raised in anger – they wanted the game stopped and Harry's broom searched for hexes. The Gryffindors on the other hand, booed and yelled that Slytherins couldn't win in a fair game and to stop trying to pull stupid stunts like this.
The broom gave another wild jerk, successfully tossing Harry from the seat. He made a wild grab at it, callused fingers wrapping around the hilt. As he dangled there, his precarious grip the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground at least one hundred feet below, he heard the Slytherins cry out again.
Frustrated, confused, and feeling helpless, Harry tightened his grip on the hilt and hissed, "Behave!"
The broom stopped bucking.
Rather than examine his good fortune too closely, he grabbed the broom with his other hand and pulled himself back into a sitting position. He waited for a moment to see if the broom would start up again; it didn't.
The Slytherins let out a cheer.
With his broom finally under control, Harry glanced back down to the teacher's box, and met the startled, angry eyes of Professor Quirrell. The man was still trying to curse him, but it didn't appear to be working, and Professor Snape looked perplexed. Harry was confused, but nonetheless thankful. When he was sure he had Professor Quirrell's complete attention, he gave into his impulses and stuck his tongue out.
Then he turned back to the game, dodged a Bludger, and let his eyes wander the pitch. Cho Chang hadn't even noticed his predicament and was still searching for the Snitch.
"– Slytherin scores! Potter looks like he's back in control of his broom – probably faking it, anyway – just the sort of trick that Slytherin _always_ pulls, like that game last year when –"
There was a scuffle, and Professor McGonagall's muted voice growled, "Jordan, I swear, if you don't –"
"Right, right. Sorry, Professor. Davies is in possession of the Quaffle, with a neat pass to Clearwater, who fumbles –"
Harry spotted the golden blur down near the grass of the field. This time, he vowed silently, it wouldn't get away. He lined up the tip of his broom to almost a ninety-degree angle, flattened his body against the stick, and he dove.
"What's this? Potter looks like he's lost control of his broom again, and now he's in free fall – narrowly misses a Bludger on the way down, and MERLIN – if he doesn't pull up soon, he's going to be a smear on the pitch –"
Harry ignored the startled cries in the stands, ignored Lee Jordan's hysterics, ignored everything except the sweet sing of the wind in his ears. The ground loomed below him, his field of vision narrowing, and he clung to his broom with his injured hand, stretching the other hand out in front of him.
"Somebody call Madam Pomfrey – Potter is closing in on the ground fast, fifteen feet, TEN, EIGHT, SIX, FOUR!"
Harry grabbed the Snitch, pulling up barely three feet from the ground. His toes skimmed the grass, and he raised his fist high. The sunlight caught the golden glow of the Snitch as it franticly beat tiny wings against his palm.
"Holy mother of Merlin, Potter caught the Snitch!" There was a pause, and Lee muttered, "I need to sit down," accompanied by a heavy thump.
The rest of the Slytherins landed nearby, practically crawling over one another to get to him. Soon he was surrounded by his team, who cheered and laughed and tried to hug him, much to his discomfort. Professor McGonagall's voice came over the speakers and announced, "Slytherin wins against Ravenclaw, one hundred and seventy to forty."
"Merlin, Harry, you nearly gave me a bloody heart-attack up there!" Marcus exclaimed, grinning widely. "What happened with your broom? Is your hand all right? Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?"
Derrick slapped him on the back, and Harry winced. "Great bloody game! Great bloody Seeker!" and Willow wrapped herself around Derrick, and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
Adrian and Cassidy and Miles were all laughing, and Marcus grabbed Harry's hand which still held the Snitch and raised it up high. The cheers from the Slytherins in the stands were deafening, and all Harry could make out was "We won! We won!"
"Um," Harry said hesitantly, and Marcus leaned down to hear him better. "I do need to go to Madam Pomfrey, actually."
Willow was by his side instantly, and Derrick came up beside her, his face bright red. The older girl asked quickly, "Why? What's wrong?"
"I'm pretty sure that Bludger broke a couple bones," Harry replied quietly.
The team looked horrified, and Marcus instantly let go of his hand. They surrounded him like an escort as they led him off the pitch, but even inside of Hogwarts, he could still hear Slytherin chanting: "Potter! Potter! Potter!"
When he caught the Snitch for Gryffindor in the match against Hufflepuff two weeks later, the cheers weren't even half as loud.
o
If things had been strange _before_ Harry had been sure of Professor Quirrell's deceptive nature, they'd now escalated to the point where even _Draco_ occasionally teased him about being paranoid. It had been... difficult, in the beginning. The first few DADA classes had born witness to a certain inexplicable tension between Harry and Quirrell.
The rest of the class had noted this, but most of the Ravenclaw's had written it off to Quirrell's inherent jumpiness. Even Hermione had commented, teasing that Quirrell was prone to jump at his own shadow, and Harry was as slight as a shadow himself.
Draco had heard her and Harry remembered seeing the blonde quirk a lazy smile at that. He could practically hear Draco thinking, "If only you knew."
For the most part though, Harry and Quirrell avoided each other completely. Harry knew that eventually he would have to deal with the older man, but for the moment, they shared an uneasy "cease-fire" of sorts. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted any public attention brought to themselves.
In the last week of November, during Potions Class, Professor McGonagall stopped in. She strode to the front of the room, spoke softly to Professor Snape for a few minutes, and handed him a small square of paper. She murmured a short farewell to Snape and swept out.
There was a moment of silence as Snape glanced over the note. Without looking up from the desk, he called out, "Mr. Potter, see me after class."
Even though he had won them a game, Gryffindor still refused to acknowledge Harry as one of their own. There was a quiet titter from them, and Ron actually called out, "Not so perfect, are you, Potter?"
"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, unless you believe you possess the dexterity necessary to insult Mr. Potter and brew simultaneously," Snape said mildly, still not looking up.
The Gryffindors immediately calmed down, and Ron flushed a bright shade of red.
Draco leaned over and said softly, "Any idea what's going on?"
"None," Harry responded in the same tone.
They spent the rest of the class working in companionable silence, and by the time the bell rang, they'd just finished bottling two vials of perfectly colored Forgetfulness Potion.
As the rest of the class filed out, Harry hesitantly approached the desk. "Professor?"
"The Headmaster wishes to see you," Snape said shortly. "The password is 'Razzles.' I trust you can make your way to his office unchaperoned?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you." Harry politely excused himself.
Just as he was about to exit the classroom, Snape called out, "Detention with me, Potter, for talking during class time. I'll see you tonight at eight."
"Yes, sir," Harry replied. He stepped out of the room and headed towards the Headmaster's office. The students in the halls cupped their hands to their mouths, but he still heard their whispers.
"Did you see him play against Ravenclaw?"
"Who didn't?"
"Did you catch the game with Hufflepuff?"
"I know–"
"Youngest seeker of the century!"
"Of course. But c'mon–"
"Yeah–"
"– He's Harry bloody Potter."
As he reached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office, he murmured softly, "Razzles." After the stairs appeared, he began the long trek upwards, and hesitantly peeked through the doorway.
The Headmaster sat regally behind his desk. As soon as he spotted Harry's messy mop of hair, he smiled. "Come in, Harry. I've been expecting you."
Harry entered, wondering whether he should sit or continue to stand, when Dumbledore waved a hand toward a clutter-free chair. "Please, have a seat."
Harry slipped into the chair, and from the corner of the room, he heard a quiet trill. In his mind, the beautiful sound whispered, {Lovely, lonely, little boy.}
Harry started slightly and glanced around.
Dumbledore smiled, "You haven't met Fawkes yet, have you?"
"Fawkes?"
"He's a phoenix," the Headmaster replied, gesturing towards a perch to the side that Harry hadn't noticed. The beautiful bird there stared at him with small, intelligent eyes that reminded Harry of two glass beads. The bird flapped his wings once, regal and proud, and the red and gold feathers caught the light, shimmering every color of the spectra. The phoenix trilled again, and this time Harry heard, {Abashed, apologies, angry boy.}
"I..." Harry paused. "Do you understand what he says, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore laughed, "Alas, no. Only a bird-speaker could truly understand Fawkes, but I do well enough. When a creature such as he is your companion for so many years, it's impossible not to attune yourself to what they mean, if not what they actually say."
Harry pressed, "What did he mean?"
"I believe he was apologizing for startling you, my boy. Phoenixes are mysterious creatures, and I have noticed that unless they choose to announce their presence, they will, for the most part, be ignored." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Now, I am sure you are curious as to why I called you up here. There are three reasons, all to do with Christmas, actually."
"Christmas isn't for another month," Harry said softly.
Dumbledore waved a hand. "Yes, well, no harm in getting an early start on things. And Christmas gifts can never come too early, you know. Why, the best gift I ever received came three months before Christmas, from a dear school mate of mine, and my feet certainly didn't complain when the snow came around."
"Sir?" Harry said hesitantly.
"Lovely pair of socks, wooly without that dreadful itch," Dumbledore sighed happily as he reminisced. He blinked, then cleared his throat. "Ah. First, your key to Gringotts, as I imagine you'll be wanting to purchase gifts for your friends. Hagrid, our groundskeeper, was supposed to deliver this to you at the beginning of the school year. Unfortunately, he was called away on some rather important business. He apologizes sincerely for the inconvenience."
Harry blinked as the older wizard placed an ornate key onto the table. For a moment, he wondered how Dumbledore believed he'd paid for his robes and his books, but he realized that the older man probably believed the Dursleys had supplied him with what was needed.
The Headmaster continued, "Now, as to your second gift, well." He paused. "I had contemplated simply leaving it in your room. But even so, I do believe you'd still know it was from me. Takes all the fun out of it, really."
Harry mulled over that for a moment, and decided it was probably true. After all, the Headmaster was the only one who had access to his room without permission, and if something _had_ shown up, it would have had to come from Dumbledore.
With a flourish, Dumbledore placed a small, wrapped parcel onto the desk, nudging it towards Harry. "Your father left this in my possession before he died. I feel is time it was returned to you." One bushy, white eyebrow raised slightly. "You may open it now, if you wish, or wait until Christmas. All I ask it that you are careful."
Harry hesitated. Curiosity, the ugly habit, prompted him to reach forward and unwrap the gift. A moment later, he turned the soft, shimmering material over in his hands, recognizing it as an invisibility cloak. Very old, very rare, and _very_ valuable, he remembered. Lucius had once told him that you couldn't _buy_ such a thing anymore, and that they were passed down through families as priceless heirlooms.
Harry swallowed heavily, and glanced up at Dumbledore. The older man was studying him through sharp, blue eyes.
"Use it well."
Something happened then. Something that Harry couldn't quite put a finger on. Perhaps it was the Headmaster's expression, contrived altruism over cunning purpose, or perhaps it was the startling depth of clarity in his eyes, but either way Harry finally realized why Lucius had told him to be careful of Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore smiled suddenly, benignly, and the tension in the room disappeared. "Which brings us to the final reason I called you up here today. With Christmas comes Christmas break, and I thought, perhaps, you might be staying at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall is currently taking names–"
"Draco invited me to spend Christmas at his Manor," Harry interjected quietly.
The old man's eyebrows rose sharply. "Did he now?"
Harry nodded.
"Did you accept his invitation?"
Again, Harry nodded.
"Well." Dumbledore stroked his fingers on the underside of his chin. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to revoke such a gift. It was most gracious of Mr. Malfoy."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said softly. "And thank you for the cloak."
"Think nothing of it, my boy." Dumbledore's voice was vague. Harry took the Headmaster's indifference as a dismissal. He gathered up the key and the cloak and carefully packed both into his bag. Then he turned and headed toward the stairs.
Dumbledore's voice interrupted him just as he reached the door. "Harry?"
Harry turned. "Yes, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore's eyes were intent on his own. "The dual nature of Gryffindor and Slytherin is a difficult path to walk, my boy." The older man paused, then added, "Much like the nature of the human soul."
Harry blinked. After a moment of silence, he said softly, "Headmaster?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"What if I don't have a soul?"
Dumbledore blinked and replied mildly, "Then I suppose you have nothing to worry about."
After another moment of silence, Harry turned and walked down the stone steps. From a distance, he heard Fawkes trill, {Lovely, lonely, little boy.}
o
Draco had, of course, been almost jealous when Harry showed him the invisibility cloak. He'd confessed that his father had one, too, and that it would be passed onto him one day. The blonde had brightened considerably when Harry told him that until that day came, Draco was always welcome to use his.
"You've got to try it out, Harry!" Draco had prompted him two weeks into December. He stretched out on Harry's bed, stroking the top of Samson's head gently; the little snake hissed approval. "I mean, you've had it for _weeks_ and you haven't even used it once!"
"Where would I go?" Harry replied softly. He stood by the window, petting an approving Hedwig in much the same manner.
"Explore the castle, dummy! I mean, you could sneak into _anywhere_, and no one would ever know!" Draco raised his chin a little, donning a superior attitude the same way Harry might don his cloak. It was impressive that he could pull it off, considering his sprawled position on the bed. "You go out tonight, explore the castle, and find something really interesting that the students don't know about. Then tomorrow we'll go together and you can show it to me."
Harry bit back a smile and remained silent.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Okay. You win." The blonde clasped his hands together beneath his chin and begged, "Please?"
This time, Harry actually did smile. Just a little, and just to quirk his mouth, but it was a smile nonetheless. "All right, Draco. I'll do it."
"Brilliant!" Draco exclaimed. "Can I stay here tonight, then? So you can tell me about it when you come back?"
"Of course," Harry responded easily. "Hedwig and Samson would be lonely otherwise."
Later that night, the Slytherin portrait swung open. No one entered, and no one left, and it closed a moment later, with no one the wiser as Harry crept silently beneath his invisibility cloak. He roamed the corridors, wondering where to begin his search. What was something the students didn't know about? What was something interesting enough to appease Draco's curiosity?
He briefly contemplated going to the corridor that Dumbledore had forbidden at the beginning of the school year. Where was it again? The third floor corridor on the right hand side?
Even thinking the words sent a chill through Harry, and a knot of ice seemed to settle in his stomach. He didn't know why, but he found himself loath to explore the hidden corridor.
Harry heard a gruff voice close to his left and he froze. It only took him a moment to place the voice, and by that time, Filch, the custodian of Hogwarts, had come into view.
"You really think a student would be thick enough to try an break into the Restricted Section again, Professor? I mean, after the example you made of that last one –"
It was Professor Snape's voice that responded silkily, "Do you really need me to dignify that with an answer? I've yet to meet a student who could learn from just _one_ example."
Harry pressed back against the wall, and the two men passed him by. There was a moment where Harry thought that the invisibility cloak wasn't working, because Snape paused and turned, staring intently at the exact spot where Harry stood.
"Everything all right, Professor?"
Then Snape sighed, the puff of air brushing one strand of hair away from his face. He replied, "Yes. I think I must be loosing my mind."
Filch laughed heartily. "Teaching does that to a man."
Snape actually smiled, and the expression wiped years from his face. "I suppose it does, at that."
The pair continued to walk, and when they were out of sight, Harry let out a soft, relieved sigh. He glanced around, and started when he saw a door directly across from him, slightly ajar.
He blinked. He could have sworn that there hadn't been a doorway there a moment before. Cautiously, he moved across the hallway and peeked inside.
The room was empty, save a towering mirror at the far end. The top touched the ceiling, and the ornate golden frame shimmered faintly. As Harry stepped into the room and walked closer to the mirror, he could make out an inscription.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
Harry blinked. Lucius had taught him several languages, but the words were completely foreign to him. There weren't _any_ similarities, which he'd thought was impossible, because all languages were descended from a basic few – consequently, the few Lucius had insisted he learn.
If it wasn't a language, though, what could it be? A puzzle, perhaps?
He played around with the letters, rearranging them into a series of anagrams, but there were so many possibilities. He even tried to rearrange the letters into other languages.
He wondered, idly, why someone would make it so difficult to decipher the inscription. Then again, perhaps he was looking at it all wrong. What if he was making the solution more difficult than it had to be?
On an impulse, he read the inscription backwards.
"Is... no. I show no... not your face but your he... hearts desire." Harry blinked, stunned, and repeated. "I show not your face but your hearts desire." He moved forward, letting the cloak fall to the floor, and peered into the mirror.
He paused, then glanced behind him. The room was empty.
But the mirror – he looked at it again – the mirror showed a room full of people, crowded together, grinning and laughing. Lucius stood in the front, Draco in his arms, and Harry squinted.
No, it wasn't a trick. Lucius looked like a new man. There weren't any shadows in his eyes, and his shoulders were straight and squared. His smile was brilliant, and he looked... happy. He looked happier than Harry had ever seen him.
While he watched, Lucius pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of Draco's head, and Draco opened his mouth in silent laughter. Draco's arms encircled Lucius neck, and Lucius looked every inch the proud parent, indulgently and lavishly spoiling his son with adoration.
Crabbe and Goyle were there, too, with Vincent and Gregory. Two women stood with them – women who Harry had never seen before – but he could see traces of them in the two boys, and realized that these women were Vince and Greg's mothers.
Zabini, his faithful, stoic shadow, was grinning. Blaise stood by his side, but Harry had seen Blaise smile before. In all the years that Harry had known him, he'd never seen Zabini smile, much less grin.
And there, a little further back, was Peter. He stood with a haggard, shaggy man who Harry only recognized by description – Sirius Black, his godfather – and another, smaller man in plain, brown robes who Harry guessed was probably Remus Lupin. The three men were huddled together, arms draped over one another in a show of friendship.
Looking at this Peter, his mischievous, smiling face, and his twinkling brown eyes, Harry could see the boy that had once been a Marauder.
All of them, all of his shadows and their children were there. Avery, Parkinson, Pansy - all of them were smiling at him, carefree and joyous.
Abruptly, Harry turned away and refused to look into the mirror again. He grabbed his cloak, wrapping himself in it, and fled from the room.
Later he would tell Draco that he hadn't found anything interesting, and apologize and promise to buy him as many chocolate frogs as he wanted until the blonde forgave him. But for now, as he headed back to the Slytherin dorms, he tried to erase the image from his mind. He couldn't.
The mirror was good. It had shown him what he desired.
He just hadn't seen himself anywhere in the inviting image.
o
A week later found Harry and Draco trying to stuff all of Draco's robes into a trunk. Finally they resorted to magic to shrink them, and Draco was thrilled to finally learn the charm.
"I can _never_ fit everything in the way my father does," the blonde confessed with a frown. Then he grinned, "Now I won't have to."
Harry tucked the information away for later. Perhaps he could buy Draco a trunk like his own for Christmas? He'd have to talk to Lucius about going to Diagon Alley – there were so many people he needed to find (or make) presents for.
After they finished packing, Harry swung by his room to shrink his own trunk. After he pocketed it, he glanced around and spotted Samson snoozing contentedly on the bed. He gently tapped the snake on the nose. / Lazy serpent, / Harry murmured affectionately.
/ Isss it time to - / the snake paused, jaws opening wide in the likeness of a yawn, / - to leave, ssskin-brother...? /
/ It is, / Harry replied softly. He carefully picked Samson up, wrapping the slender serpent around his neck. Samson snuggled into the folds of Harry's robe, hissed something too soft for Harry to understand, and promptly fell back asleep.
{Lazy serpent,} Hedwig hooted indignantly from her perch. But her words were belied as she flew over and landed gently on Harry's shoulder; she was very careful that her claws didn't touch the serpent's tail.
As Harry walked through the dorms and back to Draco's room, Hedwig questioned, {Are you excited, fledge?}
Harry glanced around, and seeing no one, he replied, {About what?}
There was a soft rumble of amusement, and Hedwig nipped his ear. {About Christmas! About visiting your shadows! About spending time with the sun-kissed child!}
{I... } Harry paused. He'd never really had a good Christmas before. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always spent the day with Dudley as they unwrapped their gifts and Harry had been left sitting in a corner to watch. And he'd never spent Christmas with his shadows before, either, because Christmas was a time for family, and they'd all had family to spend it with.
Now he'd be spending Christmas with Lucius and Draco. Was that the name for the ball of tension in his stomach? Excitement?
{Fledge?}
Harry stroked the bit of her that he could comfortably reach – her tail feathers – in reassurance. {I'm all right. It's just... I think I am excited. It feels... strange.}
As he reached Draco's room, the door burst open and Draco nearly ran into him. Hedwig gave the blonde a reproachful stare, and ruffled her feathers. Samson continued to sleep, softly snoring.
"Ready, Harry?" Draco asked. "Father said he'd meet us in the Great Hall, and then we're going to walk to the Hogwarts Express and he's going to apparate us home!"
The knot in Harry's stomach tightened at the last word, but Harry ignored the feeling and replied, "Let's go."
The pair of them made their way to the Great Hall, and nearly everyone they passed by wished them a Merry Christmas. As the doors of the Hall swung open, Harry immediately spotted Lucius' long, blonde hair. Another feeling crept its way up his throat, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to see someone he missed.
"Father!" Draco exclaimed, and took off towards the older Malfoy.
Harry saw Lucius look over from where he was currently engaged in conversation with... Professor Snape? The Potions Master frowned when he spotted Harry silently trailing Draco.
"Draco," Lucius replied softly, calm and controlled. He reached forward, and the two Malfoys shared a brief embrace.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Before Harry could respond, Lucius drawled, "Why, Severus, hadn't you heard? After Draco told me how..." The blonde man paused, as if searching for the right word. "... _close_ he'd become to young Potter here, I simply had to invite the boy to stay with us over Christmas break."
Snape's jaw worked comically for a moment before he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. "No," he hissed, "I hadn't heard."
Lucius laughed, the picture of innocence. "How strange." Then he smiled, like a hungry predator. "I must admit, I am looking forward to getting better... acquainted with young Harry." Without taking his eyes off Snape, he reached over and gently tussled Harry's hair.
Harry blinked, confused, and stared up at Lucius.
Professor Snape practically snarled, "Perhaps I might stop by some time. For old time's sake."
Lucius purred, "I'd be most pleased if you would." Then he leered, "For old time's sake."
Snape went rigid. His lips pursed tightly, and he glared, first at Lucius, and then at Harry. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy."
"Lucius," the blonde correctly lightly. "And good day to you, Severus."
Snape whisked away, stalking from the Great Hall, and Lucius led both Harry and Draco out of Hogwarts. As they walked briskly across the snow-covered path, Harry asked softly, "Why did you do that?"
Lucius glanced down at Harry, and smiled sadly. "Because he expected me to." He paused, then sighed. "Severus most likely believes that my intentions are to gain your trust, then to use you. Or, perhaps, to deliver you into the hands of the Dark Lord, should he ever return."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Draco reached out and took Harry's hand. Draco's fingers were warm, despite the chill. Surprised, Harry looked at his blonde friend, but Draco simply smiled.
All three of them boarded one of the many enchanted boats that littered the shore of the school, and as soon as they settled, the boat took off, gliding gingerly along the frozen surface of the lake.
Harry contemplated Lucius words, then asked curiously, "Would you?"
Lucius started and stared at Harry, affronted. "Should the Dark Lord mean you any harm, I would fight him to my dying breath, Harry."
Draco's hand squeezed his lightly, echoing the sentiment.
Harry nibbled his lip. "So... if you don't intend to use me, and you're not going to turn me over to Voldemort, why does it matter what Snape believes?"
Lucius smiled, a Slytherin smile, and replied, "My Lord, he'd have been _more_ suspicious if I hadn't done anything. Right now, I know where he stands, and he knows where I'd like him to believe I stand."
Harry mulled over that for a moment, and a slow smile came to his lips. Then he laughed, surprising both himself and his companions. To explain, he simply said, "Slytherins."
Both Malfoys joined him in laughter, and the sound rang out across the lake and traveled up to the castle where an old wizard sat and stared out the window. Albus Dumbledore watched, a small, curious smile tugging at his lips.
Beside him, Fawkes trilled.
And Dumbledore murmured softly, "Indeed."
o