Chapter Eleven
Hufflepuff Common Room, Hogwarts, Scotland, 2 September, 1991
He sat in an armchair, brooding. He'd wanted Gryffindor. The people here were polite, even friendly, but he'd wanted Gryffindor. He shuddered to think of his dad's reaction.
He was the bloody boy-who-lived! He was brave, and certainly reckless, boundlessly loyal to his family. Why couldn't he be in Gryffindor? He moved the chair closer to the fire, shivering in the cold. The common room was somewhere in the center of the huge sprawling building, the door in the same corridor as the passage to the kitchens. No one else was awake yet.
He smiled sadly. Every morning, his dad made everyone a huge breakfast, singing in a wobbly tenor as he fried the eggs, graciously ignoring the many jokes about his singing. The Potter family was up and about by six each morning, laughing and joking when the rest of the world was still sleeping.
The world of Hogwarts was sleeping.
Sighing, he pulled a ball out of his pocket. At least, it looked like a ball. It was a Rememberall of sorts, except that instead of glowing red when something was forgotten, you held it when you were feeling lonely and it would show you who or what you were missing in a continuous cycle of your own memories until you felt better. It was his mother's own invention, and used a small amount of legillimency. It also had the unique ability to trigger smells and sounds, textures, even tastes from those memories. Lily had finished it a week before he went off to school; the prototype, the original, was their going away gift to him.
He looked into its rounded surface and saw himself at about five running through the yard chasing a huge stag, screaming at the top of his lungs. He felt his feet pound against the ground, although they didn't move, and distantly heard the clatter of hooves.
He saw his dad dancing around and cooking bacon as he sang, his mother rolling her eyes and laughing at this particular tradition. He heard the frying pan sizzle and his dad's subpar voice, and smelled the delicious scent of fresh bacon.
He saw some of the training sessions that had peppered his childhood, though he didn't know why he was in training. Still, it was a part of his daily life, and had been since he was eight. Sometimes, he wondered if he was being trained like a soldier for a war, as most of the stuff he learned was offensive, with almost no charms or transfiguration. The thought made him uncomfortable and he pushed it aside. All of these memories were happy ones, like when his mother had taught him about potions (he especially liked potions), or when his dad brought home magical creatures to show him. He'd liked hippogriffs the best; the demanded respect or they showed you none.
Then, he saw something he didn't recognize; he was his nursery, standing up in his crib. His mother was smiling down at him. The memory was blurred around the edges, and the faces and objects appeared as though he was seeing them through water or smoke. His father was across the room, a green-wrapped bundle in his arms. He reached up toward his mother, whimpering slightly, and she picked him up effortlessly, cradling him in her arms. She walked over to James and they pressed their foreheads together, smiling at each other. The bundle in his father's arms was a boy, a boy who looked very like he did, except that this boy's eyes were a bright, acid green. They had the same hair, black tufts of fuzz that stuck up everywhere, same round baby faces, same facial features. The other boy smiled cheekily at him, green eyes twinkling.
"Mumma!" he heard himself coo. She smiled at him. "Da!" he gurgled, and his dad poked him lightly in the stomach. He giggled and touched the other boy's face. He could feel the softness of the baby's skin on his hand.
"Hawwy!"
The boy, Harry, touched his head and his smile broadened. "Henwy."
What?
He felt an odd sensation, like falling from a warm, cozy room into a pool of ice water and shuddered slightly. He had fallen out of his own mind.
It was not a sensation he'd enjoyed.
"Alright, Potter?"
Henry turned and saw a concerned fourth-year looking worriedly at him. What was his name? Fredrick? No, it was-
"Cedric Diggory."
Cedric's chestnut hair fell into his gray eyes, and he looked to have just rolled out of bed, as he was still wearing bathrobe and slippers.
"Wha- Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine," Henry mumbled distractedly, looking hard at the ball in his hand.
"You were just staring at that Rememberall, totally blank. Thought you were having a fit or something," Cedric said, glancing curiously at him now that it seemed he was fine.
"Oh, um, I just forgot something that might be important," he said, ruffling his hair, a nervous habit he'd inherited from his father.
Cedric nodded sympathetically and stood up, stretching. "I'd best get dressed. It's about time for breakfast, you know."
Henry nodded and slipped the as-yet-unnamed invention into his pocket. He was already dressed. "Could- could you show me where the Great Hall is?"
He half expected Cedric to refuse, but he only smiled. "Yeah, I couldn't find it my first day either. It's no problem."
Maybe being in a house full of friendly, loyal people isn't so bad after all… he mused.
I know, I should die a slow, painful death for making you guys wait for such a short chapter, but my thumb is finally healed once again, and I've gotten over my rather bad case of writer's block (something I suffer often, I'm afraid). But, I'm back now and the story will continue at a semi-normal pace from now on! Thanks for sticking with me through the two week drought!
(also, I apologize for the utter lack of Mooney! I know I hinted at it, but I wanted to rank this out pretty quickly now that I'm better!)
-TheNefariousMe
