Unto the Breach
*
Abbe Faria: In return for your help, I offer you something priceless.
Edmond: My freedom?
Abbe Faria: No, freedom can be taken away, as you well know. I offer you my knowledge.
Count of Monte Cristo, 2002
*
Chapter Two
Harry had sent off a quick, brief one-lined letter indicating his House association early the morning after the sorting, before breakfast. He knew Edgar would reply later on in the week, near Friday, to give Harry a chance to explore and learn a bit more about Hogwarts before departing any knowledge of the place.
Once the first week was over, Harry knew there were things he just had to tell Edgar about; and by the end of that first week, there were several things that Harry was absolutely sure about.
The first was Severus Snape: the man hated him.
Although he was Harry's head of house, the man made it clear that he didn't like Harry, wouldn't tolerate Harry, and would most certainly not help him out under any circumstances. In their first potions class, with the Gryffindors, Snape quizzed Harry on material he knew to be well beyond the standard first year text—and it was only his prep before hand with Edgar, and Kettleburn's cryptic suggestion after Diagon Alley, that helped him along.
Afterward, Snape decided that exercising vitriol on Harry was worthless, and stopped speaking to him altogether. His first essay, a detailed, thoughtful piece of the uses of foxglove in their swelling solution, was given an 'A' whereas Theo's barely legible, last-minute and very rushed essay was marked as an 'EE.' Harry decided the class was no big loss, and focused instead on ensuring his potions were not tampered with and could easily settle for poor grades—Cedric informed him that their OWLs and NEWTs were graded from an outside source, and they were the only grades that mattered.
Other than Snape, the other professors seemed to get along with him well enough; as promised, Harry saw Kettleburn with Caesar that first Friday, and the man declared the python to be "blooming beautifully" under Harry's care. He then introduced Harry to Rubeus Hagrid, the keeper of keys at Hogwarts and the groundskeeper who knew almost more than Kettleburn. The giant—because there was no other word Harry could use to describe the man—was a bit unsure if he was to be aloof at Harry's Slytherin sorting, or bawling about how he knew him when he was a baby.
They finally settled on friendly, especially after the three ended up conversing on the differences between snakes and dragons.
Flitwick, his Charms instructor, was impartial and didn't seem to notice at all what crest he wore on his robes; neither did Professor Sprout—but when he caught her sniff of distaste when she moved past Malfoy, Harry decided that his association with Cedric Diggory must have helped him. Harry didn't even comment on the uselessness of Quirrell to Edgar.
Finally, Professor McGonagall, who had smiled at him during his sorting, was unnecessarily strict and behaved rather like Snape had—at least, at first. Once she realised he was answering her questions correctly (along with Granger), and he performed his needle-to-pin before anyone else, she revised her opinion. He was given beaming smiles from her since.
The second thing Harry was sure about was that he had mortally offended several classmates of his when he was sorted into Slytherin. His name was whispered in the hallways, and his blatant association with Theodore Nott, as well as being a Slytherin, created uproar amongst the students. In particular, there were three students who were the most affected: Ron Weasley of Gryffindor, who looked as though he just learnt Santa didn't exist; Ernie McMillan of Hufflepuff, despite Cedric's very public backing of Harry's sorting; and Susan Bones, who shrieked whenever she saw him and turned in the opposite direction when he wandered down the hall.
Harry wasn't sure if he was amused or completely mortified. Theo seemed to think it one big laugh, and sniggered whenever he saw Susan Bones and Ernie McMillan in their Charms class, which they shared with the Hufflepuffs. Still—he didn't let it bother him too much. He was at Hogwarts to learn magic, to defend himself and Eddy from the Dursleys and Dudley's friends, and to only please his younger brother and make him happy.
To Harry, the idea seemed completely alien that people would expect him to be something when they knew nothing about him. The books he and Eddy bought in Diagon Alley seemed to reinforce the image that Harry was truly Clark Kent in disguise, but with a wand. The details the books gave about his 'special training' and 'magical prowess' were laughable.
One such person had learned that first hand, and had triggered Harry's respect, albeit, reluctantly. Within days of his sorting, Harry decided that he would assume the persona of a diligent, studious pupil and would not hide his intelligence. This did lead to him and Theo spending a fair amount of time at the library, along with another boy who was sorted into Slytherin (and one whom Malfoy had not considered and therefore did not hold court with on the train): Nathaniel Moon.
On the first Friday of the week, the three boys were going over their transfiguration homework when they were interrupted by a large tome landing next to Nate. The three looked up in surprise—a girl with very bushy brown hair was looking at him, two expressions on her face: wariness, and sheer stubbornness. She settled for stubbornness.
"May I sit here?" she asked.
Harry shared a glance with Theo and Nate; they nodded, slowly. "It's a free country," retorted Harry, finally, recognising the girl as Hermione Granger, Gryffindor.
Granger sat, flipped open her book, and then, bluntly, said: "I've read all about you, you know; in Dark Wizards through the Ages and Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century."
Harry cringed. "Oh?"
Here, she paused. "I thought books never lied."
Harry sighed. It was a common mistake she made; Edgar had once thought the same, years ago, and learned that books could lie just as easily as a human could. Granger continued speaking.
"First off, they only ever call you Harry but your name is Henry," she said, tartly. "And they were confident that you would end up in Gryffindor."
"Clearly, he's not," answered Theo, bewildered, and slightly sullenly.
The girl rolled her eyes. "I know that, thank you very much." She turned back to Harry. "I grew up in the Muggle world, I didn't even know I was a witch so I got all these books to learn from and then I get here and learn they were wrong—but I was so pleased to be the first witch in my family, and my name is Hermione Granger."
She said that all in one breath, and very quickly. Harry was impressed, although Theo and Nate's glances indicated that they were not.
The boys all mumbled their names and went back to their books, but whenever Harry and his friends were in the library, she sat with them, and when they saw her in the halls, she would try to strike up a conversation with Harry. Once, she even sat down at the Slytherin table at lunch, and promptly ignored the glares and slurs that were directed at her while she sat next to Theo.
Harry had to admit it took courage to do it, and applauded the sorting hat's decision to place her in Gryffindor, even if he didn't know why she persisted to converse with him and his friends.
He confessed this all the Edgar in his letter to his younger brother, unsure if he should make an offer of friendship and create waves early on in his Hogwarts years, especially with the rampant prejudice, or not. However, he didn't linger on the subject.
He detailed exactly where the entrance to the Slytherin dorms was, though, to Edgar, in case of any emergencies when he came to Hogwarts the following year. Harry then proceeded to explain the layout. The ceiling was low and thick stone, and the rooms were small but shared between four instead of clumping each year together (he shared with Theo, Nate, and Zabini, although like Cedric said the boy was more of a loner, eager to do his own thing and not anyone else's).
Harry had a moment of panic when he realised he was going to be sleeping in a pocket of stone formed underneath the lake, but then figured that there would be spells to prevent leaks and cave-ins, and then spent the rest of the page in his letter detailing what he thought to be the most amazing part of the Slytherin dorms: the reflection pools.
Although Harry couldn't figure out their purposes, other than to look cool, the reflection pools in the Slytherin dorms were just small, but very deep, pools of water that looked down into the lake from the dorm room floors. Somehow, the water was clear and there were blobs of light that illuminated from below, casting eerie blue, purple, and white flecks of light against the walls of the dorms. A larger pool was near the very front of the Slytherin common room, with an invisible bridge that led from the school entrance to the dorms.
Harry settled fairly quickly into a routine at Hogwarts, and kept his correspondence to Edgar steady despite his homework and the social activities he participated in with his friends.
Eddy was happy that Harry had a few, solid friends in Theodore Nott, Nathaniel Moon and Cedric Diggory, but he also cautioned his big brother to maybe look elsewhere for others? Caesar, the opinionated snake that he was, chimed in that Voldemort was most likely biding his time and that Harry could use a larger support base—or rather, a large character based—if anything were to happen.
The letter arrived on October 30th, and Harry spent the time before the Halloween feast the next day asking Cedric who he thought Harry should socialise more with. Cedric replied he would think about it, but the decision was quickly taken out of the older boy's hands.
He was sitting with Theo and Nate at the Slytherin table, laughingly explaining about a bad fall the Hufflepuff Keeper took when Cedric accidentally flew past him at the same time as a Bludger during their practice, when Quirrell ran into the Great Hall.
"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!"
Harry immediately frowned, ignoring Malfoy's girlish scream a few seats down. There were no exits or entrances in the dungeons that lead outside of Hogwarts—he would know, with his dorm down there. Wouldn't the portraits or ghosts have seen something?
"Prefects! Take your students to their common rooms!" Dumbledore's voice was amplified in the Hall, and here Harry and Theo shared an eye roll. Yes, send the Slytherins where the troll was; very smart.
As the Slytherin first years passed the Gryffindor first years, in the main entrance way (they were going up, the Slytherins down), Harry overheard Ron Weasley and Parvati Patil.
"Aren't you going to say something?" the girl was hissing at the redhead.
He shrugged. "No. Why should I?"
"She was crying all afternoon!"
Here, the redhead looked uncomfortable, but Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas caught his attention and he gratefully left Parvati standing alone near the back of the Gryffindors.
"What happened?" asked Harry, curiously. Edgar did say it was going to get him in trouble one day. "Who's crying?"
Parvati jumped, not expecting to hear the voice. Theo and Nate stood behind Harry, watching the rest of the Slytherins descend into the dungeons. The Indian girl swallowed, glanced at Harry, and made a decision. "Hermione Granger. Ron was really mean to her after Charms and she spent the rest of the afternoon crying in the girls' bathroom on the first floor."
The little Gryffindor then dashed off, attaching herself to the straying Gryffindors. Harry felt his lips purse.
"Oh, no you don't," began Theo, seeing the look. "First off, Edgar's not going to like being the only Potter left if you get killed on a rescue mission."
Nate chuckled. "And you don't know where the troll is either."
Harry frowned. "She hasn't been all that bad, you know."
Theo shuffled. "I reckon…" he then sighed. "Oh, fine. Let's go save the Gryffindor."
Harry shot Theo a grin that his friend returned, and Nate began walking quickly towards the first floor bathroom. They found it easily, although their noses were beginning to wrinkle up at the stench of rotten sewage that was creeping up on them the closer they got to the bathrooms.
Harry looked in both directions before dashing into the girl's, with Nate and Theo on his heels. "Granger!"
A low snuffle caught his attention and a stall door opened; Granger's bushy head peaked out, her eyes red rimmed from crying.
She blinked at the three boys standing by the sinks. "What are you doing here?"
Nate glanced back, at the partially opened bathroom door, his nose wrinkling more. The stench was getting stronger. "We heard about Weasley… and during dinner Quirrell announced there was a troll loose in the school. Harry was pretty sure you didn't know, so we came to tell you."
"Troll?" asked the Gryffindor, pale. Her voice was rather high-pitched.
"Yeah," replied Theo. "So, hurry up, dry your eyes; we need to go."
"So… these trolls," began Granger, her voice still high, "are they really tall with rough looking skin tinged brownish green? Really stinky?"
Harry paused, considering her words, and then gagged as he took a deep breath. The scent of sewage was overwhelming, and he nearly bent double, in an effort not to retch.
"Harry!" moaned Nate, clutching at his friends' shirtsleeve. Caesar, hidden underneath Harry's shirt and wrapped around his neck and upper torso, chimed in as well.
"I do suggest you look behind you, Henry," he hissed, sounding almost dry and crotchety.
Harry obeyed, eyes watering, and took a fumbling step backward, dragging Nate and Theo with him. The troll had lumbered its way into the girls' bathroom, and instead of Harry and his Slytherin friends performing a rescue mission for the Gryffindor, they were all now in need of a rescue.
"Wands out!" shouted Harry, nasally, as he tried to breathe through his mouth and ignore the stench of the troll.
Where were the professors? He wondered, as he, Theo and Nate formed a line and held their wands out in front of them, their bodies sideways to make a smaller target. Granger remained crouched behind them, half in the toilet stall and half out, but her wand was in her hand as well.
"What now, Harry?" asked Nate, his voice low as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
Harry felt his mouth settle into a straight line. Was this what the sorting hat meant when he had a touch of destiny about him? He was so sure the hat meant Voldemort… not fighting some troll like St. George fighting a bloody dragon.
"Now?" he repeated, stiffening as though he was facing Dudley and his gang of friends, in a 6-to-1 fight, with the odds against him (and did Harry ever know that the odds were against him and his friends here). "Now, we show this troll what the Slytherins are made off!"
Theo paused, barely. "And what are Slytherins made of, Harry?" he asked, drawling the vowels out through his mouth.
Harry's eyes glittered in the flickering light that reflected from the candles hovering above the mirrors in the girls' toilets, and had Edgar been beside him—or even Cedric—they would've recognised the glitter for what it was: a dark promise of strength and retribution; Slytherin cunning with Gryffindor bravery, Ravenclaw intelligence and Hufflepuff loyalty.
"On three!" said Harry, ignoring Nate's heavy breathing and Theo's audible gulp; behind him Granger was murmuring under her breath.
Caesar was hissing in time with Harry's countdown, his own words of encouragement bolstering Harry's esteem. "Three… two… one… confringo!"
Harry shouted the blasting curse, from his book of 1001 Hexes; beside him Theo and Nate shouted their spells: "Defodio" from Theo, which had Harry raise his eyebrows in surprise at the Dark intent of the spell against a troll, and "expulso" from Nate. Granger's "wingardium leviosa" was incredibly tame compared to the three boys' choices, but then again, they were pointing their wands at a target that had the potential to kill them.
Harry had learnt early in life that force would only respond to force, and not passivity. Dudley and his friends wouldn't go whinging to a teacher if Harry managed to beat the bollocks out of one of them, because they would have to explain why he would beat them in the first place; Harry reasoned the same would be used in this situation. He and his friends came to tell Hermione Granger about the troll—all self-serving of course, everyone knew she was the brains of the class and three Slytherins could easily use those brains to be in their debt—and had the ill luck to run afoul with the troll and responded accordingly. Everyone knew Theo and Nate came from pureblood families; both with ties to suspect Death Eaters, and Harry's own past against Voldemort could be excused as a reason to use deadly force.
The noise was deafening as all the spells hit their target and a sonic boom shattered the mirrors around them, causing Granger to shriek in surprise and dodge backwards to avoid the falling glass. Theo managed to duck the majority of the glass; vaguely catching Harry's interested at how quickly he protected himself. However, Nate and Harry received the brunt of it, several sharp, but rather small, shards slicing their arms as they rose to protect their heads.
All four first years were crouched in various places in the toilets, with only Hermione unscathed from being in the stall. Even Harry was slightly dazed from the destruction their spells made, and the noise. His ears were ringing, and he thought later that must be the only reason why he didn't hear the professors enter the toilet.
He certainly heard McGonagall's screech, though.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?"
Harry glanced up, Theo and Nate beside him and Granger peeking her head around the stall corner.
Flitwick, Quirrell, Snape and McGonagall were all standing clustered around the entrance, mouths agape as they took in the dead troll oozing green pus-like blood from the very large hole in its chest, and the knot on its head from Granger's spell, to the glass shards on the floor and in the sinks.
"Potter! Nott! Moon! And—Miss Granger!" McGonagall gapped. "Explain yourselves!"
Harry blinked, his mouth opening and ready to defend his friends, when Granger spoke first.
"Please, Professor, it's my fault," the girl began timidly. Immediately, Harry and the other Slytherins adopted innocent 'don't look at me' expressions, turning to Hermione to listen to her. "I read about mountain trolls, you know, and when I heard that there was one loose… well, I just had to see it, didn't I?"
She ducked her head, ashamed, and Harry nearly applauded her acting skills.
"I completely underestimated them, though," she whispered, stricken. "I was stuck in the toilets and hiding when Harry and Theo and Nate came in and distracted the troll to save me."
Snape snorted. "Three Slytherins helping a Gryffindor? Highly unlikely." At his pointed look at the dead troll, he continued, "And that is hardly 'distracting' a troll, Miss Granger."
"Our grades aren't that good in history," defended Nate, to Harry's surprise. "Everyone knows Granger has the best grades."
Theo shrugged, and continued. "We figured that if we helped her out, she'd help us with our school work. Why in Merlin's name would we want to help a Gryffindor know-it-all like her?"
A flash of pain crossed Granger's face, and she blinked quickly to hide her tears at Theo and Nate's blatant dismissal of her. However, she glanced up at Harry, who caught her eye and gave a quick wink, before turning to the professors. "She owes us a life debt now, anyway," he shrugged. "We might as well collect."
Snape clearly disagreed with a sneer directed at Harry. "Be as that may, three students who did not listen to the headmaster will receive punishment."
"As will you, Miss Granger," interjected McGonagall, clearly disappointed in her favourite student. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and thirty from Slytherin."
Snape shot McGonagall a dirty look, and then another at the three boys which promised an additional punishment behind the scenes.
Caesar made his opinion clear following that, stating, "I highly doubt anything the smelly one comes up with will be difficult for you, Henry, after your life at the Dursleys." The snake paused and then continued, "And as for your nest-brother, Theodore, he is like you. You know hardship. Possibly the Moon child will falter."
Quirrell was staring at the troll with an ill look on his face, and he weakly leaned against the tiled wall and slid to a crouch. Flitwick seemed entirely unsure how to handle the situation, so he finally said, "Now, now, the four of you should return to your common rooms—the feast is concluding itself there instead of the Great Hall."
The four first years nodded and gingerly picked their way through mirror shards and splatters of green pus, exiting the toilets and walking in silence towards the entrance hall. They paused at the divider, Granger turning to the stairs to go up to the Gryffindor tower.
"Thank you," she finally said, looking still very pale.
Harry shrugged. "It could've been much worse, Granger. And you didn't have to say anything about us."
The girl shook her head. "I had to." Her eyes still looked suspiciously bright. "You didn't have to come for me. You could have walked by."
Nate chuckled, mirthlessly. "We might be Slytherins, Granger, but we're not monsters."
She shared a watery smile with the three boys and then said, "Goodnight," turning and starting up the steps. The boys continued down towards the dungeons, each privately wondering at Snape's punishment. Whatever he decided to dish out, however, wasn't going to change anything—the good that the three did far outweighed the punishment.
*
None of the Slytherins decided to remain at Hogwarts for the Christmas break, and Harry was eager to return to Privet Drive to see his younger brother and hear all about his own adventures instead of reading about them.
Harry sat with Theo, Nate and Hermione in a compartment on the way back to London on the Hogwarts Express train; the three Slytherins had oddly adopted Hermione after the troll incident—or, Harry mused, perhaps she adopted them? The girl sat with them in the classes they shared, and spent her time with them in the library. She hadn't sat at the Slytherin table again, after her first disastrous attempt, but no one bothered her again after Ron Weasley was brought to the hospital wing thoroughly hexed, and refusing to tell the professors—or his brothers—who hexed him.
Cedric had stopped by for a few minutes, wishing them happy holidays and giving them their gifts, which surprised Harry. Although he bought presents for his friends, including Cedric, Professor Kettleburn and little trinkets for the rest of the professors who taught him, he wasn't expecting anything in return except from Edgar.
Snow was swirling about outside the compartment windows, creating a picturesque Scottish winter landscape, but the closer they got to King's Cross and London, the fields barely had a dusting of snow and mainly everything was grey, damp, and dark.
Theo and Nate met their fathers, both who apparated them away quickly from the platform itself after they said their goodbye's to Harry and Hermione, with neither Pureblood family willing to remain behind nor "chat" with the halfblood and mudblood. Hermione and her parents offered to drop Harry off at Victoria Station so he could catch a train to Guildford. From there, Harry would take a cab or bus at the station to his relative's.
The Grangers were a nice, unassuming couple, both with rather large front teeth and wide, beaming smiles, asking question upon question about Hogwarts and magic in general. Harry had the feeling that they were glad that their daughter wasn't lonely and had friends—even if they were wizards.
At Victoria Station, the Granger's waved their goodbyes, heading to Reading. Harry waited until the car disappeared in the traffic, and then made the rest of his way to 4 Privet Drive under his own steam.
It was nearly nine at night by the time he arrived, freezing and shivering in the cool air, but his brothers' eager, happy face when he answered the door made Harry warm inside.
*
"…and then McCallister went, 'oh, is that what you meant?' and I replied, 'well, no, just because I called you an inbred ignoramus doesn't mean it's correct, it's just an opinion of mine, I can't help it though if my opinions are correct, though, does it?' and then he practically blew his top, Henry," laughed Edgar, rolling about the bottom bunk of their room on Christmas Eve, "but of course he couldn't do or say anything about it because the teacher was only a bit away and if he made a move on me he knew I'd just shout and call attention and then where would he be?"
"Oh, clever, Eddy," laughed Harry, clad already in his jimjams, watching his brother glow and giggle his way through a story about him and a bully at Little Whinging Public School.
Thank goodness that Dudley is my age and at Stonewall Academy instead of at the same school as Edgar, thought Harry.
Harry was fairly quiet since his return to Privet Drive—and not because of the glares his relatives gave him, for daring to disturb their perfect Christmas—but because he hadn't realised just how much he would miss his baby brother. He was trying to memorise his face: the way his brown eyes would scrunch up and narrow in laughter, the way his dark black hair turned red under the artificial light from their bedside lamp; the way his brother already grew another two inches and was nearing Harry's height and was eating properly.
Harry watched his brothers' eerily familiar middle-finger poke to the bridge of his spectacles and wondered if he had always copied his older brothers' habits, or if it was anew thing in the wake of Harry's attendance to Hogwarts. Harry loved Hogwarts, he did, but he loved his brother more and wondered how he made himself leave Edgar behind.
"You aren't listening, are you?"
Harry jerked in surprise. "Pardon?"
Edgar smiled. "I thought you were a million miles away. What's on your mind, Harry?"
"Just realised how much I missed you," the older Potter laughed, reaching forward and tugging Edgar towards him and under his arm in a lose chokehold. The two laughed and roughhoused on the bunker bed for a bit, ignoring Iris' indignant growls from her perch by the window and Caesar's grumpy hiss of "so immature."
Finally exhausted, the two fell asleep next to each other in the bottom bunk, their heads nearly touching. They had done that every Christmas Eve since they could remember, having never been separated before, and both sought comfort and familiarity that night.
The two never had the chance to sleep in on Christmas morning; Petunia's iron demand of the family was to continue the religious upbringing from the Evans family. The two Potters donned their Sunday best and helped each other with their ties, and tried to get their hair to lie flat. The Dursleys then joined them at the entrance foyer and the group of five drove to the nearest church for their holiday prayers.
Neither Harry nor Edgar considered themselves very religious, and with their recent discovery of their magical powers, Harry wondered if they would feel awkward in a church of any sort, but was surprised: Harry felt the same sense of peace as he always had—it was Dudley who was fidgeting and pulling at his neck cloth in agitation during the sermons.
After the morning church service, the Dursleys plus Potters returned to Privet Drive, and Harry and Edgar began the laborious task of preparing Christmas lunch with turkey and pudding in excess. It was only after two in the afternoon, once the two Potter brothers also had their midday meal and the Dursleys were settling down for afternoon tea and the Queen's Christmas message on the radio, when Harry and Edgar were able to escape to their room and give their presents.
"What the…?" were the first words from Harry's mouth as he stepped into the smallest room at Privet Drive, with Edgar just behind him. At the foot of each bunk bed, laid out on the duvet, were several wrapped gifts (with a notably larger bottom pile for Harry than Edgar's).
Harry reached over and picked the first up, blinking as he recognised the wrapper and tag: it was the gift Cedric gave him on the train several days previous, which he had stored at the bottom of his trunk with no intention of moving the present elsewhere until after New Years'.
"Are those…" Edgar hesitated, his voice whispery and almost breathless in wonder. "Are those Christmas presents, Henry?"
The novelty of actually receiving gifts from people other than the brothers was shocking and incredibly surprising. The Dursleys' gifts were usually items that aided the Potters in their chores or little tokens meant to insult and belittle, like an old sixpence or toothbrush. Vernon had taken great delight in telling Harry and Edgar at a very age that Santa Claus didn't exist, and even if he did, only "good boys" received presents.
Harry nodded, flabbergasted, and put Cedric's gift down. He began to catalogue the gifts, slowly sitting on his bed while Edgar scrambled up the wooden ladder to his bunk, exclaiming softly over his gifts.
There was the present from Cedric Diggory; two from Theo, and one from Nate; a rather large and heavy package from Hermione; Hagrid and Kettleburn both sent a chipped-in gift to Harry, and there were small gifts from McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Quirrell and two, surprisingly, from Dumbledore (although Snape was notably absent). A large, rectangular package was nearly buried underneath the pile, with a spiky script stating it was for Henry & Edgar; Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, from Remus Lupin.
Edgar's head appeared in Harry's line of sight, upside-down, startling the preteen. "What did you get?"
"I haven't opened them yet, I wanted to know who sent me things, first," argued Harry defensively.
Edgar grinned, and swung down to gently land beside his brother on the lower bunk. Harry glared, having admired Edgar's graceful swing. He was sure once at Hogwarts he'd get on a Quidditch team for his house.
"I got gifts from your friends, Harry!" smiled Edgar, "From Theodore," he began, relishing over-pronouncing the names, "and Nathaniel and Her-mi-o-ne, Cedric, Professor Kettleburn, and one from the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."
Harry smiled, amused at his little brother's enthusiasm. "There's one from a man named Remus Lupin for both of us."
Edgar's smile froze. "Who?" Neither Potter fully trusted strangers—especially those sending gifts.
Harry shrugged. "Shall we open it?"
"Is it hexed or something?" asked Edgar suspiciously. "And why aren't you more concerned? This isn't your curiosity that is taking you by the bollocks, is it?"
"Edgar!" snapped Harry, glancing in shock at his little brother. "It's one thing for me to say 'bollocks' but it's another coming from you!"
Edgar shrugged. "I attend public school, and you're not around to monitor my bad habits, Henry." Edgar finished with a cheeky smile. "Live with it."
Harry sighed and gathered the gift from Lupin in his lap, and slowly unwound the twine holding brown paper wrapping from it. The paper fell away to reveal a leather-bound book of some sort, but once Harry opened it, he felt his breath catch and Edgar muffle a gasp of surprise.
The leather bound book was actually a leather bound photo album, and the first picture was that of their parents, each holding one of the Potter brothers in their arms, posed in front of a quaint looking cottage.
Lily and James Potter were smiling, and James took picture-Harry's chubby baby hand and waved it as Harry's eyes darted towards his father.
"Do…" Edgar stopped to clear his throat, completely overwhelmed with emotion. "Do all wizard pictures move?"
"Yeah," breathed out Harry, his gaze still caught on his father.
The two Potters remained on Harry's bed for the majority of the day, slowly going through the various pictures in the album and lingering over made-up memories and feelings of want and loneliness until the room descended into evening darkness.
*
Back at Hogwarts for the New Year, Harry effortlessly fell back into his routine of study, socialise, and sleep. Harry had several classes before his Friday appointment with Kettleburn in his office, but was eagerly looking forward to speaking to the care of magical creatures professor because Caesar was crotchety, incredibly slow, and very moody, refusing the majority of food Harry pushed at him—and all Harry could figure was that he was fighting his nature to hibernate in the winter seasons.
Since he figured his meeting with Kettleburn wouldn't take too long, Harry made plans to see Cedric afterwards so that they older Hufflepuff could take Harry down to the greenhouses with a few of Cedric's friends following their Quidditch practice.
He had stuffed one of his Christmas presents from Dumbledore in his satchel (in case Cedric would keep out past curfew; he didn't need Snape to find him wandering the halls and remove points), which turned out to be an invisibility cloak that belonged to his father. Edgar was beyond raptures with the cloak, and the two brothers decided that they would rotate ownership by year. Harry would use it for his first year and then Edgar for his; if the other brother would require using it, it would be loaned.
"Hmm," mumbled Kettleburn, stroking Caesar's brown scales thoughtfully. Harry had explained the situation, and what his thoughts were. Harry knew Kettleburn didn't think that it was anything he purposefully did; Harry was diligent in Caesar's care.
"Tell the Pot-Warm one to stop stroking my stomach, Henry," Caesar finally grumbled as Kettleburn made another pass down the snake's body. "I think he's given me indigestion."
Harry struggled to not snigger, but Kettleburn turned to him anyway, a single eyebrow over his eye patch raised.
"And what about this situation amuses you, Mr. Potter?" the professor asked.
Harry cleared his throat, wondering how to proceed. After the boa incident at the London Zoo, Harry and Edgar promised to not reveal their abilities to speak with snakes unless it was an emergency. However, Harry was unsure if Caesar was sick—and he rather thought that the snake wouldn't tell him if he was, anyway—so Harry felt he had no choice in the matter.
"Caesar would prefer if you didn't stroke him anymore, sir," said Harry, tacking on the 'sir' hastily, "as he says it's probably giving him indigestion… and," Harry glanced at the snake in question, directing the next English sentence to him regardless if he couldn't understand it, "you really need to learn that his name is Kettleburn and not Pot-Warm."
Kettleburn's other eyebrow shot up.
Harry's face flushed and he shuffled his feet, misinterpreting Kettleburn's expression. "He sometimes has problems with names, sir."
At the professor's flabbergasted look, Harry continued, "I think he's just taking a longer time to digest his food. Uh, sir."
"You can understand him?" asked Kettleburn, finally, after several moments of silence.
"Um," said Harry, panicked. "Yes?"
Kettleburn let out a large breath through his nose, staring at Harry before sitting down heavily in his desk chair, looking between Caesar and the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Do you know anything about Parseltongues, Henry?" the professor began in a heavy-sounding voice, causing Harry to start. The professor only ever kept himself professional when the two were together, and he never, ever referred to Harry as 'Henry.'
"Parseltongues, sir?"
"'Parseltongue' is the name for magical folk who can speak to snakes," began Kettleburn. "It is a trait that is considered Dark in recent times, due to You-Know-Who, who was also a snake speaker."
Harry hesitated before slowly sinking into the seat across from Kettleburn's desk. "I… see."
Kettleburn regarded Harry from his single eye. "Do you? If the general population leant about your parseltongue abilities, Henry, I think that would be lynched despite being the Boy-Who-Lived. You're in Slytherin, like the Dark Lord; you speak to snakes, like the Dark Lord; you align yourself with friends who have known Dark pasts, like the Dark Lord. They'll see you as You-Know-Who reborn."
Harry felt a small bubble of hysteria float from his stomach to lodge in his throat, and a mental image of himself cackling evil and gleefully rubbing his hands together made it known in a few, brief moments. Harry felt that hysteria turn towards humour, and realised that while he had a fairly dark background—and how could he not after growing up in the Dursley household?—he was hardly going to become the next Dark Lord.
The two remained silent a little longer, both lost in their own thoughts, until Kettleburn shifted a little and Harry looked up at him.
"Mr. Potter," the professor began, looking hesitant.
"Yes, sir?" asked Harry.
The professor glanced at Caesar, who was watching with two lazy eyes, and then looked back at Harry. "Pot-Warm? Really?"
The gleeful, if not incredulous, tone made Harry burst into laughter, starting Caesar who rolled into a tight ball, and then hissed his complaints as his full stomach pained him.
*
When Cedric Diggory came to Professor Kettleburn's classroom, sweaty, dirty with grass smudges on his yellow uniform, and rather tired, he did not expect to see Harry and Kettleburn staring intently at Harry's pet snake Caesar, as though he were a trained dog ready to perform a trick.
And then… he did perform a trick: Caesar hissed something, and Harry translated and then Kettleburn tried to mimic the hiss.
Cedric wasn't exactly sure at first what he was seeing. He thought it was a bit of a hallucination from the Bludger that clipped his head during practice, intent to go after the new Hufflepuff seeker. And then his brain caught up to him and he realised Harry was speaking Parseltongue, and was… teaching Kettleburn.
And neither had noticed the door open or Cedric standing in the doorway. He rather thought it was poor observation skills from both the wizards, and was going to ream something harsh into Caesar, who, as a snake, should be able to sense Cedric's heat signature.
And then the rest of Cedric's brain caught up to that statement and Cedric Diggory, fourteen year old Hufflepuff student, Pureblood, realised that he just calmly accepted Harry's ability to speak to snakes, moved right past him teaching Kettleburn, to deciding that Cedric had the right to chastise a snake as though it were a friend—or another human—because he thought Caesar was in the wrong.
Cedric spent a moment thinking that that was just plain odd, but practically everything since meeting Henry Potter had been "odd." Inwardly, he shrugged and rapped harder on the wooden door, causing both wizards and snake to look up in surprise.
Harry paled, gulping, while Kettleburn twitched and remained in a half-standing, half-crouch.
Cedric decided to take initiative and looked at Caesar, who seemed ashamed and curled into himself in a ball—the Hufflepuff knew that the snake was feeling defensive or preparing for an attack.
"And what do you have to say for yourself, Caesar?"
Kettleburn, Harry, and the snake all looked surprise that Cedric directed his question at the snake.
Finally, Caesar unwound himself and hissed something; Harry glanced at his pet and then at Cedric in a decidedly nervous manner. "He asked what you meant by that."
"I meant," here Cedric stressed the word, "that I could have been anyone coming through the door, and there I see the three of you having a blast playing tourist!"
Harry shared a look again with his snake, who hissed something, and Harry hissed back, and then Caesar kind of wilted was the best way to describe it, thought Cedric. It was obvious the snake was suitably chastised, and feeling depressed.
"It's okay," continued Cedric genially, as he stepped further into the classroom and shutting the door. As he neared the snake, he pet Caesar on the head like one would a dog. "You just need to be more careful in the future, that's all."
Caesar hissed something that had Harry's cheeks turn pink; Cedric imagined it was something very uncomplimentary towards him, and he resolved to not pet the snake again on the head unless he was feeling confident that he could dash away from the tiny python quickly.
"Caesar, um," began Harry, his voice a bit higher than normal, "Asks that you politely not pet him on the head again, Cedric Diggory, as he is not a dog but a snake." Harry paused as Caesar continued, and this time Kettleburn looked a bit contrite—they had clearly been at translating for some time before he arrived. "And that he appreciates your… ah… kindness at not getting upset at my abilities, he will… erm… be terribly inconvenienced if he had to… um… yeah, I'm not translating the rest. Just that it'll be very, very unpleasant for you if you decided to stop being my friend or pet him on the head again. Or the belly. He's still a bit spotty about the professor doing that earlier."
Cedric did his best to keep his lips from twitching into a smile, and solemnly accepted the angry snake's words. He then turned to Harry and asked, "Ready to go?"
The Slytherin nodded, gently picking up the growing snake and wound him about his neck and tucked him underneath the collar. The snake was still hissing insults at Diggory, but they seemed to be in good sport now, Harry decided.
He still wasn't going to tell the older boy that, though.
*
By April, Harry could safely say that he was enjoying Hogwarts and was eager for Edgar to attend so that the Potter brothers could be together again. He did well in all his classes (except Potions); he had several very good friends in three of four of the Hogwarts houses, and found a best friend in Theodore Nott; he even participated in various social activities his friends forced on him (in particular Cedric and his mates' Quidditch practices, but since Harry wasn't too fond of using a broom to fly—it still boggled his mind something silly—he spent the time teaching the third year students football and somehow cricket was introduced as well).
And as far as he could tell, there wasn't a peep out of any of the professors about bad behaviour (how Snape wished that weren't true), about his social circle, or about his Slytherin placement. On the last matter, it seemed the majority of the school had managed to understand that Harry was a Slytherin and a happy one at that; and thankfully, his blatant association with Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger truly destroyed any chance of people seeing him as a Dark Lord incarnate.
There were a few students that still had issues with him, and although he got along well enough with Draco Malfoy and the other Slytherin first years he didn't have much exposure to them outside class or hanging around the common room near curfew. Harry stuck to Theo and Nate, and had no use for Crabbe and Goyle's thug-like façades, or Zabini's isolation, or any of the girls' scheming and giggling.
So, Harry was fairly confident that there was nothing in his life that would warrant Dumbledore sending him a note one morning at breakfast in April, asking him to skip his meeting with Kettleburn and join him in his office.
Had Harry known that Ashley Kettleburn returned from Privet Drive directly to Hogwarts, only to shout angrily at Albus Dumbledore until he was forced to take a throat-soothing potion, back in July when he delivered Harry's acceptance letter, Harry might have been a little more concerned. Unfortunately, he never knew about that meeting, and was thoroughly unprepared to meet Albus Dumbledore.
After giving the password to the guardian gargoyle ("Jelly babies"), Harry found himself surprisingly nervous. In the past, when facing authority, Harry always managed a cool façade that worked in his favour or his indiscretion was so well known about the school in Little Whinging he never had to deny anything. Dumbledore, however, was a bit of a void for Harry—he was an unknown element and Harry was unsure if he could get away with what he did at Little Whinging.
Harry raised his hand to knock on the heavy wood door, but before his knuckles rapped, a voice said, "Ah, come in Harry."
Startled, Harry took a moment to shift his face into a bland, uninterested look, and stepped into Albus Dumbledore's office—and felt like he was transported into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, minus the chocolate.
The office was large and spacious, designed to mimic a smoothed hexagon shape, and along the walls that weren't covered in portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, shelves were overflowing with knickknacks and trinkets and books. Several trinkets were emitting puffs of smoke; one whistled pleasantly; several knickknacks looked like they had springs or cogs hanging loose or had recently popped.
The room was nothing like the Spartan and minimalist offices his previous instructors favoured; Dumbledore's office was more like a favourite, eccentric uncle's study or library.
As he eyed a large wardrobe, or shelving unit, off to one side of the large desk Dumbledore use, Harry wondered if it would take him to Narnia. He almost suspected it would.
"Would you have a seat, Harry?"
The voice startled him and Harry turned to see Dumbledore standing just behind his desk, watching him with twinkling blue eyes and a slight smile.
Harry nodded and sat gingerly on a cushy chair in front of the desk, and waited until Dumbledore seated himself to ask, "Is there a reason why I'm here, sir? I don't think I've done anything wrong."
Dumbledore chuckled, waving his wand and summoning a platter with two tea cups, a milk jug, a small cup of sugar cubes and a plate of biscuits. "Not at all, Harry. I was just wondering if I could have a conversation with you."
"About, sir?"
"Anything and everything," began Dumbledore, taking a cup and offering it to Harry, who accepted but did not drink yet. Dumbledore offered a tong with a sugar cube and Harry nodded, holding out his cup. "How are you finding Hogwarts?"
"Very well," said Harry, answering truthfully.
"I'm glad. We were most anxious about your arrival," confessed Dumbledore, adding sugar to his tea as well.
Harry frowned. "Why was that, sir?"
Dumbledore blinked, momentarily surprised. "Ah… I would have thought that young Mr. Diggory had explained to you about your position in our world, Harry. Or that Professor Kettleburn had explained when he took you to Diagon Alley."
Harry nodded in understanding. "You mean the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, sir. No, Professor Kettleburn did not tell Eddy or I anything about what happened the night Voldemort attacked our parents, and neither did Cedric or my other friends. Eddy and I read about it in several books we purchased at Flourish and Blott's."
"Oh?" Dumbledore looked surprised, and then his eyes twinkled some more as he regarded Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "And how is your little brother doing? I only saw him once, when your mother was receiving guests just after his birth."
Harry's sip of tea mingled with an inhalation of surprise that had him coughing, and sputtering. "You… you knew my parents? You saw Eddy when he was born?"
"And you as well, Harry," confirmed Dumbledore with a reminiscent smile. "Your mother was quite unimpressed with your father when he began calling you 'Harry' instead of 'Henry' just days after you were born."
Harry felt a small smile appear on his face. "I never knew my father was the one who started that."
At this, Dumbledore's smile slipped a bit, but he recovered well, "Alas! It was not your father, but his friend, Sirius Black, who wanted you to have a more 'common' name, I believe he said. He and his brother, Regulus, had such strong, regal names amongst the Pureblood circle and I am sure that he did not want you exposed to that. Hence, Harry and Eddy instead of Henry and Edgar."
Harry murmured the name under his breath, tasting the syllables.
Silence fell between the two wizards.
"Are you enjoying Slytherin, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, finally breaking the silence of munching on biscuits and sipping their tea.
Harry smiled. "Yes; I can imagine it was a bit of a surprise for people… but I really do like it. I fit in well with my friends, and I tend to stay out of the power politics they play."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "And they let you?"
Here, Harry shifted uncomfortably, before mumbling, "They did when me mates and I hexed them enough."
Dumbledore chuckled, ignoring the confession. "I must admit, Harry, that at first I was worried about your placement in Slytherin."
"How come?" asked Harry, surprised.
Dumbledore had his turn to shift uncomfortably. "Long ago, another boy was sorted there and turned down a path of darkness." His eyes took on a look of sorrow and pain, and he continued in a much softer voice. "He was brilliant, talented, and very charming. And yet he later became one of the worst Dark Lords we have ever seen."
"Voldemort?" guessed Harry.
At Dumbledore's surprised, owlish blinks, the older wizard garbled out, "You do not fear the name?"
"Why should I? It's just a name," answered Harry.
Dumbledore smiled; one full of pride. "Quite right, Harry. Well done; most grown wizards and witches—some of our very brightest and talented—cannot speak his name without shivering in horror. It is quite admirable that you can, especially all that he has taken from you."
"You can't regret things you don't remember having in the first place," answered Harry quietly, lost in his thoughts of the photo album Remus Lupin had sent the Potters.
"No, no," agreed Dumbledore, just as softly. He cleared his throat. "I am sorry to learn that your home life was not as… agreeable as I had hoped."
"You hoped, sir?" queried Harry, a note of something sharpening his tone.
Dumbledore winced. "Yes. I placed you and Edgar at Privet Drive, hoping that your aunt would love you like her own. Professor Kettleburn quite assures me that this is untrue."
Harry snorted, refusing to answer.
Dumbledore sighed. "I am sorry Harry. I apologise to you, and I will apologise to your brother as well. There were still many followers of Voldemort's on the loose in the days following his departure from Godric's Hallow and I was worried they would try to track you down and harm you or your brother."
Harry immediately noticed he said 'departure' and not 'destruction.' It seemed Edgar, Caesar, and Harry were right: Voldemort was not gone, but hiding in the shadows.
"And afterwards?" asked Harry, waiting patiently.
"There were wards placed around your aunts' that would protect you and Edgar as long as you called that place home. It was the closest I could conceive in lieu of the Fidelius Charm, and that had failed your parents. I could not risk the last remaining Potters either."
Harry could almost, but not quite, read the words between what Dumbledore was saying. He tried to reason it out, verbally. "You had a reason, sir. And while Edgar and I hardly consider Privet Drive our home, or Petunia and Vernon and Dudley 'family' as the word implies, I understand you did what you had to during a period of war."
Dumbledore blinked, his eyes taking on a slight sheen. "That is very mature of you, Harry. I appreciate your words very much."
Harry shrugged, finishing his tea and placing the empty teacup on Dumbledore's desk. "We all do what is necessary at times, sir." Harry turned his head away to look out of the window, at a spectacular view of the Scottish highlands. "Just as I have done things that Eddy won't appreciate when he learns of them, or of things he already knows I've done—I did what was necessary at the time to ensure his happiness, or protection."
"You are truly your mother's son, Harry," answered Dumbledore, with a smile. The sombre mood passed as Dumbledore leaned forward, and asked enthusiastically, "Now—tell me if you are planning any midnight strolls with your father's invisibility cloak anytime soon? May I recommend the seventh floor corridor? There is such a lovely lavatory there…"
Harry burst out laughing.
*
While it didn't sit well with Edgar that Dumbledore had placed them in a generally unhappy home and left them there deliberately, Harry had no issues with it at all. In the letters that followed the incident, and as exams loomed, Harry and Edgar soon found themselves at odds on the issue of Dumbledore.
Harry, of course, knew how it felt to do something that he might not want to do, but was best solution at the time; he had done it often enough when he sacrificed his own studies or meals to ensure that Edgar was not bullied by Dudley or his gang, or the other schoolchildren in Little Whinging.
Harry had hopes and dreams before Hogwarts of a rich relative finding them, and when he grew older, that dream turned to him receiving a scholarship for grades he could never displays at school on the Dursley's orders, and taking Edgar away. Harry would become a famous footballer; a politician and later Prime Minister of Britain; later, it was anything where he had enough money to take Edgar away.
Oh yes, Harry understood Dumbledore well. It didn't mean he liked what the Headmaster had done… but he understood.
Edgar, however, was filled with anger and righteous fury against the wizard for circumventing proper channels of government. Edgar was still rather enamoured with laws and justice and government and authority, despite his own bad experiences with authority figures. Harry also did his best to keep Edgar away from the darker, nastier politics at Little Whining; he liked keeping Edgar in the dark as much as possible about what Harry got up to, ensuring bullies left Edgar alone, ensuring that the Dursleys never knew about Edgar's time in the school library.
It was unusual for the two Potters to be at odds, but Harry sadly realised that he was growing up, and possibly, away from his little brother. He didn't doubt that they would not be close—how could they not? They were the last two Potters—but perhaps they would soon be on different paths, learning different things. It made Harry sad and depressed for several weeks.
Things improved soon as the Potters "agreed to disagree" in one of their last letters of Harry's term at Hogwarts. Harry spent the majority of his time concentrating on his grades, and was found in the library with Theo, Nate, and Hermione.
They had commandeered a quiet, dusty corner in the library near a large stain-glass window depicting St. George slaying the dragon. A window seat, unusual for the library, was an added bonus.
Hermione would madly quiz them, and the boys would take turns answering her until they knew all the answers she threw at them. They were quiet confident that they would pass their exams with flying colours.
Harry knew that Hermione's blitzkrieg style of studying was beneficial, and thanked her profusely once their potions exam was complete. She laughed and waved her goodbyes to the Slytherin boys as they turned to the Great Hall for dinner, and she, to the Gryffindor common room.
Cedric, however, came upon them with his friend Mike Summers. "Harry! Have you heard?"
"Heard what?" asked the Potter boy, looking in surprise at Cedric's flushed face.
"Dumbledore's in the hospital! McGonagall and Snape are going mad, rushing about, and Quirrell's disappeared!" Cedric explained in a rush.
"What?" gapped Theo, wide-eyed.
"Apparently," interjected Mike, "Quirrell was going after whatever is in the third-floor corridor and Dumbledore and Snape knew about it. They went to stop him! But something happened and now Dumbledore's in the hospital wing."
Harry, Theo and Nate shared a look of surprise. Snape had seemed fine barely two hours ago when they had him breathing down their necks during their potions exam.
"Are you sure?" asked Harry, sceptically.
Cedric rolled his eyes. "Yes."
Nate shrugged when Harry looked at him. "I know as much as you, Harry."
Harry let out a breath. "I guess we'll have to wait and learn about it like everyone else."
Of course, he was lying; he and Theo and Nate would use the invisibility cloak and visit the hospital wing soon enough—after dinner though. They didn't want to be given away by their growling stomachs.
*
They had to wait until near curfew, but they managed to sneak out without anyone in Slytherin being any of the wiser (Slytherins always snuck out after curfew). The three boys fit comfortably under the cloak, and crept up several flights of stairs and down several dark passageways and had one, very worrisome near encounter with Mrs. Norris, but were soon sequestered in the hospital wing by Dumbledore's bed.
He was arguing good-naturedly with Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, about lemon drops or something and how they couldn't possibly interfere with Snape's potions, but Pomfrey was adamant.
Finally, once she left, sternly waggling a finger at Dumbledore's crooked nose to, "Get some rest because you aren't as spry as you once were and I saw those wobbly knees, Albus!", the three boys moved closer.
"I was wondering when you three would show up," Dumbledore finally said, turning at looking directly at Harry and startling Theo so bad he yelped and nearly knocked over a bedpan.
Dumbledore chuckled and Harry grumbled as he removed the cloak and folded it.
"Your curiosity will one day be the death of you," cautioned the Headmaster.
Harry shuffled his foot. "Eddy always says that."
"And he would be right," muttered Nate, rubbing his ribs where Theo's elbow had hit when he yelped.
"I imagine you're here to ask what happened?" interrupted Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as he took in the dynamics of the three Slytherin boys.
Harry, Nate and Theo all shared a look and turned their imploring gazes on the Headmaster, who chuckled some more. "Now, now, boys—I have been Headmaster for quite some time. I think I can spot that look coming a mile off." He sighed wistfully, recalling his own youthful escapades. "However, I think I shall tell you what happened."
"How come?" asked Theo, suspiciously.
"Because Harry needs to know, as some of it relates to him, and you are his friend, Mr. Nott. He would tell you anyway," explained Dumbledore honestly.
He cleared his throat and continued, "The wards I placed around a certain, priceless artefact were tripped after your exams this afternoon. The artefact, if falling into the wrong hands, would grant someone of a Dark nature almost limitless wealth and near immortality. An agent of Voldemort's had been hiding in the castle, and, I must say, right under my nose. Professors McGonagall and Snape, and I, went down to the room where this artefact was residing and fought the agent."
"Quirrell," interrupted Nate softly. "And the third floor corridor."
"Yes, very good, Mr. Moon," answered Dumbledore, nodding at Nate who flushed under the praise. "We managed to stop Professor Quirrell from obtaining the artefact for his master, but he perished in the ensuring fight. And Voldemort escaped."
"So he's still alive," sighed Harry. "I had thought as much." The four were silent, and then Harry shifted his weight. "Thank you, sir, for telling me and trusting my friends and I with this information."
Had Harry have any Legimency skills, he would have been humbled by the proud, awed thoughts Dumbledore had at that moment, thinking about his maturity and handling of the situation.
Unfortunately, Harry still did not know what Legimency or Occlumency were, having barely skimmed his Mind Magics book. The boy did know, though, that this was what the hat was speaking of, several months previous: there was more to the story than Dumbledore was currently telling, a reason why there were so many wizards and witches interested in him, Harry Potter.
And it had something to do with his destiny… and Harry was ready to meet that destiny head-on. Maybe he had a choice, and maybe he didn't… but he wasn't going to sit around and wait, no—he was going to learn, understand.
A touch of destiny? When he was done, it would be more than a touch, thought Harry determinedly. He thought back to the black king he carried in his pocket, and wondered if fate was taking a larger interest in his life than he previously thought.
As Theo and Nate shuffled the invisibility cloak over Harry's end, and murmured their goodnight's and goodbye's to Dumbledore (who was shooing them out of the hospital wing), Harry shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and his hand closed around the king piece.
"Kings to you," he murmured under his breath.
King, indeed.
*
TBC...