A/N: Three cheers for HPMOR and LessWrong's growing(?) cult of rationality (semi-referenced in this chapter). I respect and enjoy that story. I do not subscribe to that particular method of logic and reasoning. Anyway. I'm not attempting to write an extremely rational fic here; just perhaps provide some enjoyment to the reader who happens to stumble upon it.
Enjoy. Skittles are served at a dislike-Ron party at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 7
Repercussions of Saturday
Sunday morning dawned for Harry earlier than normal. He had managed about seven hours of sleep, but that included collapsing nine, too exhausted from Gringotts and shopping and then coming back to Hogwarts and dealing with all the rumors. The rumors spread to fast for Harry to believe. While all the Gryffindors seemed at least slightly straight on the details, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and blown reports of Harry's inherited wealth way out of proportion. Slytherins just sneered. Sunday morning was when Harry had arranged to speak with Alicia and Sarah, together, without anyone else involved. He hoped Alicia knew him well enough to know that there wasn't really any ulterior motive, but still it was a little nerve wracking to tell someone "oh, hey, I inherited a fortune that should rightfully be yours, but by law, I can't give it to you. Haha! Lucky me."
He hadn't had time to ask Hermione how Hogsmeade was. He'd barely managed to snag a quick conversation with Able before exhaustion chased him up to bed. At five on Sunday, Harry gave up on trying falling back asleep and rolled out of bed, heading for the common room. He dressed in some of the casual clothes from yesterday's shopping trip: slacks and a patterned button down shirt. Two boys that he didn't know, either second or first years, were playing gobstones by the fire. Paradise was curled into an armchair, watching them. Neither of the boys seemed to intent on noticing her. Sarah Spinnet, a small, black-haired girl who'd nearly had a panic attack when Harry last talked to her, was a few chairs over from Paradise, reading a book. It was five am! Why where they up? Well, besides Paradise.
"Hi Harry," Paradise said, before he even claimed a seat.
"Hi Paradise, hi guys." He plopped down into an armchair next to Paradise. Sarah and the two boys looked at him. Sarah turned a bright shade of red. The boys looked a little quizzical before going back to their game. How on earth would he start a conversation with them? Gah. His conversation skills needed to so much work. "How's the game going?"
"Eh," said one of the boys, "Harry's winning pretty handily."
Harry Potter blinked. The other boy playing wasn't Harry Bailey. There were multiple Harry's in the younger years? And, did Harrietta Turpin count, or was that just having a big head? Because it was a little freaky.
"Not true," said the other Harry. That Harry had blonde hair and gray eyes and an overload of freckles. "Jack's just being humble."
They went back to their game. Paradise hopped over the arm of her chair and perched on the left arm of Harry's chair. "It's Jack Sloper and Harry Bellwood; they're in my year. You know, you're sort of behind in meeting the guys in my year… and second year. Why's that?"
"Just… stuff," Harry said. He pulled out his potions textbook and started rereading the section he'd need for the next class. Of all his classes, Professor Snape was still the hardest teacher to learn from. And he had constantly accused Harry of cheating last week. He needed to prove that he could actually brew potions.
Paradise wrinkled her nose as she looked over into the textbook. "You should stop reading textbooks this early. Read a novel or something. It's the weekend!" Harry put the textbook down on the floor and sat back in the chair. It was a bit chair and really, it could have fit three people his size, so it certainly didn't feel crowded with Paradise perched on the side.
"Hey, Harry…" the first year Jack started, almost cautiously, "is it truly you're an heir of Gryffindor?"
"No!" The other Harry said. "I heard it was Merlin!"
Harry laughed. He couldn't help himself. The things people thought and said were really just ridiculous. "I don't know, Jack. Gryffindor's sword helped me in a tight spot last year, but I don't think I'm a physical heir of Gryffindor, or Merlin. I don't think Merlin has any heirs." The two boys looked disappointed. They went back to their game and Jack got spewed with a face full of the gobstone goo. The other Harry laughed.
"Harry," Sarah said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her, "you should put on a dramatic personification of when you slayed the basilisk last year; like you did with the patroni. I think everyone would learn a lot."
From there girls' staircase, there was a small, heartrending gasp. Harry turned just in time to see a flash of red hair flying back up the stairs. He knew it was Ginny. "You know, Sarah, I don't think that's such a great idea."
She looked disappointed. "Do you think you'll ever do another performance?"
Harry was finding it very difficult to say one of the simplest words in the English language. Paradise was watching him, her face pinched like she was begging him to perform some feat of great magic or dramatic sway, while Sarah just looked hopefully intrigued. "I… I don't know. What do you think, Sarah, of talking with Emma and seeing if you can organize a little in-house talent show? Then I could see what you're good at."
Sarah paled. "But I'm not… good at anything." Paradise nodded in agreement.
"That's not true," Harry countered. "Come on, tell me something you're good at. You too, Paradise."
Paradise shook her head, refusing to speak.
"I…" Sarah Spinnet stuttered, "Alicia's the talented one. I just… draw."
Someone ka-thumped down the girls' stairs, very loud, and sounding very, very not awake. Ruth Turpin tumbled down the stairs, her bright orange hair and knotted mess. "Oh I hate mornings. I hate Tonks' training schedule. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!" She stumbled out of the portrait hole, mumbling obscenities about early Sunday mornings and aurors who need to meet at odd hours during the day. Ruth's arrival, as hurried and rushed as it was, opened the floodgates of all the idiots who got up early on Sunday mornings. Oliver Wood was one of the first to come down to the common room.
There were quite a few early risers in Gryffindor: Oliver, Emma and William from the seventh years, none of the sixth years, Alicia, and that other girl – Patricia or something, Queenie, Katie and Able, and then Harry and sometimes Hermione. In the newer years, Harry really didn't know who got up earliest, but so far, it seemed like Paradise constantly won the title of earliest riser. After Oliver, Emma and William came down at about the same time – Harry was starting to think the two of them were telepathically linked, it was a little scary how they acted sometimes – and the two of them claimed a secluded corner just to talk. Just talking, in all honesty. Which, Harry really didn't understand. He realized that he probably wasn't mature enough to really understand, but he thought relationships involved like… more.
Able was the next one down, and he claimed a seat near Harry before cracking open a book of magical mythology. Alicia was the next one down. She yawned, rather sleepily, and Harry felt the nerves creep back into him. How on earth was he going to approach Alicia and Sarah about this?
Thankfully enough, Alicia made her way over to Harry and her younger sister. Still yawning, she asked "Could we maybe get whatever this is over with before breakfast? I've got three more essays to write this weekend."
"Sure," Harry said, getting up from the comfy armchair. Paradise rolled over and plopped into the middle of the chair, all slouched and looking rather comfy. Harry rolled his eyes at her, but gestured for Sarah to join him and Alicia in heading towards one of the portrait-less rooms not far from the Gryffindor tower. As they went, just Harry and the two girls, the young boy noticed Sarah getting more and more nervous. Alicia just seemed vaguely curiously, but as if it whatever Harry had to say was above her interest. What if it was? What if he was being presumptuous or one of those other big words that Hermione and Kenneth loved? The room had a few chairs scattered around it, as a lot of people had taken to using it for more private matters. "You guys know that I went to Diagon Ally yesterday, mostly on Gringotts' business?"
Alicia and Sarah nodded. The two of them, Harry realized, could have been twins if Sarah were taller or Alicia shorter. Although, Sarah's hair was a lot longer than Alicia's. "Well," Harry said, "I, uh, was named heir in nearly thirty various wills, and one of those was the Spinnet family."
Sarah looked confused. Alicia's eyes went wide.
"That…" Harry shuddered, "I didn't like that. And so I asked Mary why – sorry, she's just seemed like the most knowledgeable at the time – and she told me a bit about your family history. And, I'm definitely not a blood purist."
Alicia snorted, softly. "I met my great-grandparents Spinnet, once. They hated me, but I mostly got the sense that they hated everyone in my family. Sarah here wasn't old enough to remember."
"Well," Harry said, when Alicia stopped, "one of the houses I inherited was the Noble House of Spinnet and I wanted to give it back to you guys, but there's a provision that says I can't – Neville took notes, if you're curious – but I can take you on as a ward of one of my other Houses, say the House of Arthure, and provide you with the exact same benefits you would get as Ladies of the House of Spinnet. It's just… you'd need my signature for more things." At Alicia's and Sarah's fairly shocked looking expression, Harry dashed on. "I tried, though. I really don't want or need your house, but there's nothing—"
Alicia hugged him. Harry squeaked and tumbled backwards. His teammate managed to let go before he completely lost balance and then she conveniently didn't catch him, so Harry hit the floor with a pretty loud thump. "Harry, you're a dear, okay? But we've still got parents and we're still pretty well off. And while I can't say that I wouldn't like the Spinnet House and everything, I can't really do anything until we talk with our parents."
"They're going to say no," Sarah said, softly.
Harry nodded. With Sarah's help, he got back to his feet and dusted a few specks of dirt from his new clothes. "Okay." He still felt as if he were stealing from them. "But if you – or your parents – ever need anything, or if you want to use the Spinnet mansion-" Alicia and Sarah blinked "—just let me know. And, would you or your parents object if I got each of you a more expensive gift? I don't want you to feel like I've stolen anything from you."
"Harry!" Alicia started laughing. "You can't possibly—"
"Want a Firebolt?" Harry asked, knowing it would shut her up.
Alicia gaped like a fish. Even Sarah, who probably wasn't real interested in Quidditch, still understood how momentous that offer was. After a few heartbeats, Alicia gained control of herself. "Desperately, but I'm not going to let you give me a random gift out of nowhere. Christmas, though. If you still want to, you can definitely get me a Firebolt for Christmas." At Harry's laugh, Alicia kissed him on the cheek and then exited the little room, a cheery grin affixed to her face. Doubtlessly, word that Harry Potter had wanted to transfer a whole fortune to someone else and when that didn't work, buy her a Firebolt would spread incredibly quickly through the school. Harry sighed. Dratted fame.
Sarah stayed in the room. She was close to bright red. "What about you, Sarah?" Harry asked, when he found the courage to speak again. "What do you want for Christmas?" She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. She opened her mouth. She squeaked. She put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened. Sarah fled, brighter than a tomato.
Harry looked down at the floor.
That had been… successful.
Sort of.
No.
Not really.
o.o.o.o.o.o
Harry saw Ron towards the end of breakfast on Monday; they'd been avoiding each other all weekend. He came into the Great Hall, escorted by both of the twins. Ron slouched, appearing even more surly than normal. He made eye contact with Hermione, who winced and looked away. About six people down from Hermione, Harry caught Kenneth Towler looking murderous. Something had happened in Hogsmeade. Harry didn't see Ginny at all during breakfast, which was rather worrying. But he thought he knew what happened there. Sarah had spooked her earlier in the day. All the problems with Ron and Ginny… the only Weasley he'd previously disliked was Percy. And now he found himself nearly hating Ron, and Ginny hated him. It so was not a good feeling.
"Harry," Dakota said, dragging his attention away from Ron and the twins, "Have you completed our latest assignment?"
The fourth year girls had split everything up. Eliza and Mary – with tons of help from Neville – had become his "how to act like a noble" teachers. Which he thought was odd, because Eliza herself was a muggleborn. Katie and Demelza worked more normal social things, like how he should act when the nobility thing did not come into play. Dakota and Queenie were by default teaching everything he missed growing up in a muggle family. Which mean old-wives-tales, basic history, folklore, the usefulness of household charms and potions, and – Dakota seemed especially eager to start this one – a unit on actually managing a household. None of the girls believed he could cook. He'd have to find time in his schedule to take them all down to the kitchens and cook them lunch. Not that the house elves would appreciate that.
"No," Harry said, looking down at his plate. They'd given him a book of magical fairytales to read. He'd read two, both featuring an off-beat little rabbit; Babbity Rabbity. It had been interesting enough, but with potions later, he needed to be ready for that lesson.
Dakota made a face. "I'd nag you to do your homework faster, but as it really isn't homework…"
"Yes it is," Katie said, smirking. "We can nag all we want."
Harry closed his eyes and shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth. He was royally screwed. The girls in Gryffindor didn't outnumber the number of boys, but the fourth years and the second years definitely had a female majority. And Harry was learning that girls liked being able to tell him what to do. Which was annoying, for sure, but it was better than not interacting with them at all. "Just don't kill me," Harry said. It was a defensive tactic; recognize that the girl held all the power and she'd be less likely to hurt him. Hm. He'd have to talk with Able and Kenneth – no, no, not Kenneth; maybe William? – and ask them how to actually talk to… girls.
"Have you read any of the fairytales?" Dakota asked, not really acknowledging Katie's comment with anything but a grin.
"Yeah. I started the Babbity Rabbity ones, and now I've got first year girls asking me to put together another dramatic performance."
"Oooh," Angelina Johnson spoke up from down the table a ways. "Little Sarah asked about putting together a Gryffindor talent show. You could do it then."
"And big Sarah's talking to the teachers about putting together an interhouse play," Ruth Turpin called, from near Angelina. "You know you're auditioning for that, Harry."
Harry gulped. He couldn't. He had Quidditch and classes and people and HE COULDN'T HANDLE A PLAY. "No. No, I am so not."
"Singing!" "Music!" Demelza's and Dakota's cry came in unison that only twins could normally manage. It didn't surprise anyone at Gryffindor though; the Robbins girls were normally considered to be twins. The Robbins looked at each other and then at Katie and Queenie. "We've completely forgot that," Dakota said, "well, beyond the dancing and things. We need to check out his voice and talent and—"
Katie was nodding. Harry felt a level of dread start to trickle into his toes. Not another something to deal with. "Who'd teach him though? I mean, maybe big Sarah—" that was something Harry had just started to pick up on. Big and little Sarah were a good five years apart, but they were normally predicated by a big or little if their name was used in dialogue. Besides Harry, Sarah was the only name claimed by multiple Gryffindors. Harry tuned back into Katie's babble. "—or Eric, but in all honesty, neither are probably the greatest teacher. So that means going to another house."
"We could ask Leann or Danielle," Queenie suggested, frowning.
"Fae and Brian are pretty gifted," Angelina said, when the fourth years looked slightly lost, "but it's OWLs year for us."
"Selene and Julius are the best singers and musicians in our year," Dakota said, a slight whine in her voice. "And they aren't evil."
"That is true," Mary said, slipping into the seat besides Katie. Mary and Eliza had left towards the beginning of breakfast, muttering some excuse about homework. "What's up?"
Demelza grabbed another breakfast sausage. "We forgot music. If Harry's going to audition for big Sarah's play, he should have some training."
That pretty much broke Harry. He stood up, picked up his bag, and turned to the girls. "Look, sure, I'll do whatever you think is necessary, but it's the third week of school and I'm feeling overrun. I just—I don't think I can keep up with this all. So, let me know when you've picked out the potential singing tutors, whatever, and tell me how to ask them. In the meantime, I've got class."
He didn't really. There was still a good half an hour until Potions, but still, it was Potions. Snape would probably take points just for being early. Merlin, he hated Monday mornings. True to prediction, Snape was awful. The only thing he could have done to make the class period worse was pair Harry with Ron or Malfoy. Instead, he was paired with Tracey Davis, which wasn't bad at all. Tracey was in his runes class, likeable enough, and had a fun, if overly sarcastic sense of humor. She wasn't on par with Kenneth's sadistic ways yet, but in a couple years or so, she might be able to give him a run for his money.
What made the class awful was Snape constantly jeering about students who didn't understand how to perform. Ron and Millicent were paired just in front of Tracey and Harry, and Millicent looked like she wanted to scream. Malfoy and Theodore Nott were paired together and positioned right behind Harry. Both Malfoy and Ron seemed intent on making Harry fail. In truth, Tracey mostly brewed the Potion while Harry kept all the sabotage attempts out. Of course, Professor Snape only focused on the first part of that equation and docked Harry some fifteen points for letting his partner do all the work.
Yup. Harry still hated Potions.
o.o.o.o.o.o
Care of Magical Creatures was the last Monday class, and Harry had asked to meet with Sinistra before dinner instead of afterwards so he could spend more prime time in the library with some of his out of house friends, which seemed to be growing in number nearly every day. But Hagrid had told him that McGonagall wanted to see him, so Harry told Hermione and Neville where he was going and headed for the Transfiguration classroom. His teacher was in her office, attending to some paperwork. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you understand how prefect's recommendation works?"
"Not really," Harry said. He had stayed in his seat, which was on the right side of the second row. "Isn't it how the prefects can suggest something be changed and you'll consider or… something?"
"Prefects are encouraged, even expected, to bring me possible solutions to various problems. I have received six prefect recommendations regarding the situation with you and Mr. Weasley." Harry swallowed. There were only six prefects per house. "Not to mention the half dozen or more other people I've had speak to me about a possible solution. I have reprimanded Mr. Weasley on his actions, both in regards to you and to Miss Weasley. I would like your take on the situation."
Harry stuttered. He didn't know how to understand his own viewpoint on the whole problem, let alone relate it someone else! "I don't know. I think Ron's jealous. We were really exclusive before and… I don't know. I got mad at him and wanted a change and I changed and he couldn't handle that. And, I don't know. I just—" Harry trailed off.
McGonagall didn't frown, but the firm line of her mouth was just as condemning. "Percy Weasley and Mr. Towler seemed to be in agreement that you should move dorm rooms in order to spend less time in closed quarters with the young Mr. Weasley. Mr. Waller is in agreement, and the female prefects appear to support them. Are you aware that if all six prefects from the same house are in agreement, they can effect change that only the Headmaster or a Head of House can overrule?"
"No ma'am," Harry sighed. It appeared as if he was going to be changing dorm rooms. He was not looking forward to that. Neville was really his closest friend, and he liked Dean and Seamus well enough.
McGonagall smiled, if just ever so slightly. "It was Mr. Towler's suggestion, apparently, that Mr. Longbottom and you should be moved into the fourth year boys' dorm. I believe that Percy disagrees; citing that it is likely unnecessary for Neville to join you, but he followed the general consensus of his fellow prefects. I have approved. The house elves have moved your things into that room today and Mr. Longbottom has been informed. I hope you will be understanding of your new arrangements?"
Harry nodded.
"Good. Would you like to head to Professor Sinistra's room directly? She has been particularly anxious to see you." McGonagall gestured to the mostly hidden door at the back of her classroom. It seemed like all the used classrooms and teacher's offices had direct links to wherever in the school that particular teacher wanted to go. Oh, magic. Harry grabbed his book bag and bounded through the magical door. It spat him out in directly in Sinistra's office.
His favorite professor was bent over a bunch of essays. She didn't even look up when she spoke. "What did Minerva want with you now?"
"Room change," Harry said. He hadn't really figured out how to truly talk to an adult until late last year, when Sinistra had listened to him about the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. She had, although, been in unsuccessful in convincing everyone else. Professor Snape, particularly, had been judgmental. As had Dumbledore, which made Harry more than a little resentful. Sinistra told him that Dumbledore had returned to the school before Harry had decided to take matters into his own hands. Harry supposed that mistrusting most adults wasn't really healthy, but he couldn't bring himself to actually trust anyone other than Sinistra or even like anyone besides her, Professors Lupin, Babbling, McGonagall, and Flitwick. "They're moving Neville and me into the room with Able Vane and Cormac McLaggen."
That was a thought. He hadn't actually interacted with Cormac McLaggen a whole lot. He really didn't even know what the older boy looked like.
Sinistra nodded and eventually looked up from her notes. "Oh? Are you excited for that?"
Harry nodded as he took out his book on Latin. He was about three-fourths of the way through it. If the girls didn't really take up the whole music thing, he might be able to finish studying the book within the next couple of days. Sure, he was actually somewhat interested in music, and acting in a play with other actors and singing and… that might actually be interesting.
"Harry, what's your mind on now?"
"The play," Harry responded, rather lackadaisically. "I think I'm going to be forced to audition." He sort of wanted to, but unless the girls actually forced him, he wouldn't.
Sinistra laughed. "We're planning on doing The Five Founders, which is a tragic love story that fantasizes about the founding of Hogwarts." Harry sat up, intrigued. He hadn't actually heard anything about the play other than big Sarah had gotten it in motion. "Sarah moved rather fast," Sinistra said, noticing Harry's seeming thirst for information. "She convinced me to be the staff adviser, just yesterday now, and Flitwick's going to run the magic crew. It's a pretty in depth play; Sarah wants to hold auditions in two weeks." Harry winced. That would mean he'd have someone try and teach him to sing, probably sooner rather than later.
"Why'd you choose the Five Founders?" Harry asked. He didn't know the play, but Hermione had told him about an anthology of wizard plays, so he'd heard it mentioned before.
"Flitwick wanted to do the Tragedy of Light, but there aren't enough female roles – or roles of any kind – in that play. The Five Founders has a pretty large cast, both male and female, so we figured it would be a good starting place."
Harry nodded. He actually knew the Tragedy of Light. Able was reading the play on assignment for his father; he hated the book. Kenneth found the play amusing, and Harry was vaguely aware of a few people that thought that play was incredible. Apparently, Flitwick was one of those. The professor and student sat in silence for a little while; Sinistra graded and Harry read. Harry relaxed. He felt so comfortable in the warm, unassuming walls of his professor's office. After a while, his professor put aside her grading. "Harry, when you asked the goblins about giving up one of your titles, where you thinking of the Spinnet girls?"
Harry stayed relaxed, even if he did get slightly wary. He should be more at ease, he told himself, this should be easy to talk to his professor. "Yes. I wanted… I wanted to give it back to them. But, I can't. I offered to take them in as wards, you know. I've got more than enough money, and if they were wards of the Fallus house, or the Carines or just… me… I could give them the equivalent of the Spinnet wealth. Alicia said no, but I'm getting her a Firebolt for Christmas."
Sinistra nodded. "You, Harry Potter, are an extraordinary kid."
Harry looked at the floor. Hesitantly, he looked, "I haven't asked Neville, so I don't know if it's possible, but… do you think I could take in Paradise as a ward? Or adopt her as a little sister? Or something that'll take her away from her parents?" He hadn't been able to ask Neville or Mary about it. They knew about the abuse; pretty much everyone knew about the abuse now, but it was overwhelming to actually bring it up in conversation. And so Harry avoided the topic, but he was going to make sure that Paradise didn't get hurt again, even if he had to break her out himself.
Sinistra stood up from her desk and joined Harry in one of the chairs usually designed for students. It put them closer together. "I will guarantee you that Paradise is not going to be returned to her parents' custody. As for your ability to take her in, I'm not sure. I will ask Minerva."
Harry nodded. "I'd figured that I need a guardian too, but, do you think if I asked Professor McGonagall, I could have some say in the matter? It's just… I want to be able to take care of myself, and I can do that. I want someone who will let me do that."
His words sounded increasingly dangerous. Sinistra was a Hufflepuff by birth, by nature, by schooling, and by choice. She was good enough at reading students to understand that Harry desperately needed someone to stand by him and support him, impose a few boundaries, but let him care for himself. Harry needed the perfect guardian. And, well… "Would you object if I volunteered?"
The boy blinked. And then blinked some more. He opened his mouth and couldn't really say anything. But he was trying. When he finally managed words, he squeaked out. "Really? You'd… you'd do that for me?"
"Harry," Sinistra whispered, "I'd like to believe that you trust me, so trust me when I tell you that people care. Your friends care about you. Adults – myself, Remus, Minerva, others – we care about you. We want to do what's best for you. I'd love you as a ward, as a son, as a student, whatever the decision comes out to be. Just know, Harry, that you are loved."
The boy was nearly crying.
Sinistra glanced at the clock. "Do you want to eat dinner in here?" It was six o'clock, and the boy certainly didn't look prepared to handle the Great Hall.
Harry nodded. His eyes threatened to spill with uncontrollable tears. Sinistra acted instinctually. She opened her arms and gestured for the hurting little boy to come closer. Harry came. He was tense, at first, when she first wrapped her arms around him, but he relaxed in seconds. Harry cried, and in his tears, he began the road to healing the gruesome, emotional scars that crisscrossed his entire life.