Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Thanks to all reviewers! Your comments always keep me going : )
I only need to clarify one thing:
Harry can only see the magic of Hogwarts, and he saw the magic in the unicorn's horn, as another example, because at this point, he can only see very powerful magic like that. Clearly, the wards around Diagon Alley aren't as powerful as Hogwarts' and that was why Harry only felt the magic –particularly in Ollivander's shop- but didn't see it. This will change as he grows up and becomes more magically powerful. The reason for this strange ability of his, that Tom doesn't have, will be revealed at some point as the fic progresses.
Note: I had to split the chapter in two because it got really long. So this is just the first part. I'll be posting the second part in a couple of more days, when I'm done with it. It is in this later one where the more important things -that were hinted at in the previous chapter- will happen. So I'm just going to ask you to be a bit patient, I won't take long in posting it.
I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway!
Part I: Chapter 16
That fateful day in which he discovered so many things, and which brought many consequences, began rather early for Harry.
Indeed, the previous day, he had willingly gone to the library, taking out several Charms books for his own interest, but also to find a spell that could be used to wake him up at the desired hour.
He had cast the charm at night, and at six in the morning, as he had wished, he had been awoken by the soft chirps and trills of a conjured small robin perched on his bed's headboard; the pretty bird's chest and face covered in orange plumage, its round tummy white and its back brown.
Quietly, he had bathed quickly and donned his Slytherin uniform and black school robes, to then sleepily make his way up to the common room. Tom had been nagging him incessantly for the last couple of days, demanding to know when Harry would start looking for the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.
Thus, Harry began his search that morning, two hours before the rest of the House woke up for breakfast.
Groggily, and now and then rubbing his eyes to stay awake, Harry started hissing at every crook and cranny of the common room, paying special attention to the many figures of snakes that were all over the place: decorating the dark wood of armchairs and settees; carved in marble in the fireplaces' mantelpieces; made of silver, wrapping around the torch brackets; embroidered in the tapestries displaying the Slytherin emblem; and the like.
Indeed, he hissed, "Entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, reveal yourself," or "Part open before my eyes," and lastly, just an impatient, snapped, "Open!" when he had become rather tired at his lack of success.
But nothing moved, the figures of snakes didn't twitch and even less hiss back, and Harry was rather startled when suddenly someone jeered loudly, "Listen to the mudblood! He's trying to imitate how snakes hiss!"
Harry spun around from the last fireplace he had been nattering at in Parseltongue, blanching when he realized that time had flown by and that he had quite an audience.
Girls and boys were coming out from the archways that led to their respective dormitories, many clearly having overheard his attempts, since they now started to surround him, mocking him, nastily guffawing, sniggering and jeering.
"How pathetic can he be! Snakes don't even hiss like that!"
"Someone must have told the mudblood about the Legend of the Chamber of Secrets and he wants to gain some prestige by finding it!"
"Another gullible first-year that has been put up to it!" one of the older Slytherins groaned.
"Every year it's the same – how stupid are you?" snapped a seventh-year girl, glowering at him with disdain as she puffed up with irritation. "Do you little children think you're going to discover it when, throughout the ages, all others have failed? Even purebloods of the most distinguished old families have been unsuccessful…"
"The monster in the Chamber eats your kind, you half-brained mudblood!"
"… it certainly wouldn't open for someone like you – it can only be opened by the heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, and his line died off centuries ago, you fool!"
Harry swallowed thickly at the onslaught of mocking vitriol shot his way, and then noticed two silent boys amongst the crowd. Alphard Black looked dismayed and was gazing at him with wide eyes, a glint of pity in them, whilst Abraxas Malfoy was frowning, piercing him with narrowed, silvery eyes.
Abruptly, Harry's scar flared most painfully, and he saw Tom making his way through their housemates, a murderous look on his handsome face.
His brother grabbed him by the arm, the clutch tight and painful, and then yanked him out of the common room, leaving all the others far behind, as he hissed out furiously, "What were you thinking, you idiot!"
"I didn't realize that it was breakfast time already," grumbled Harry as he was pulled along the narrow, labyrinthine corridors. He shot Tom a glower, attempting to free his arm from his brother's grip, to no avail, and then bit out peevishly, "I woke up at six in the morning to do just what you wanted, to start looking for the entrance-"
"You shouldn't be looking for it in the common room, you imbecile!" spat Tom, giving him a most disgusted and contemptuous look. "Salazar Slytherin was a cunning wizard, so he wouldn't have built the entrance in any part of the dungeons – it would have been a too obvious place!"
"You might've told me that before!" groused Harry, highly miffed, as they took the flight of stairs up to the ground floor of the school.
Tom shot him a very scathing look. "I thought your pea-sized brain would have realized that much!" He shook his head disparagingly, and then snapped harshly, "Don't put on a show like that again. Thankfully, no one suspects that you were really speaking Parseltongue – be very glad of that, because if they had realized the truth, I wouldn't have been at all forgiving." He shot him a most baleful, dark look at this, and then commanded sternly, "Start looking for it on the seventh floor and then make your way down. And don't bother with the dungeons again. Understood?"
"Yes," snapped Harry stiffly, as he was finally released when they entered the Great Hall.
Soon, the other Slytherins arrived and took their places along the table and Harry had to silently put up with his housemates' taunts and jibes, but not for long, since as usually happened during breakfast, a flock of owls flew into the Hall.
Harry's mood brightened when a tawny barn owl, with a collar around its neck bearing the Ministry of Magic's emblem, dropped two letters: one on his plate, the other on Tom's.
The owl nicked a piece of bacon from Harry and then took off, while Harry was rather happily tearing the envelope open, to see Alice's letter and those enclosed with it, from Mr. Hutchins, Amy Benson, Eric Whalley, and Billy Stubbs.
A week before, when he had realized that he hadn't been receiving any letters from the orphanage, and when he had finally remembered what Tom had told him – that Dumbledore had said to Kathy and Alice that their boarding school, 'St. Thomas', was in Edinburgh, Scotland, but clearly hadn't given them any address- Harry had finally asked his Head of House how he could send and receive letters from people in Muggle London.
Professor Slughorn had explained the system to him: he had to put his letter in an envelope with the muggle address written on it, and that had to be stuck inside another envelope, this one addressed to the Department of Magical Transportation of the Ministry of Magic. Apparently, in that Department there was a unit of Ministry workers who would then send his letter, in its first envelope, through a Muggle Post Office.
It worked similarly when Alice sent letters to him, since the Ministry workers covertly placed in the Muggle Post Network had magical ways of detecting all letters addressed to wizards – especially those bound to the false muggle address for Hogwarts that Slughorn had given Harry, and that he had passed on to Alice- and they would intercept them and then send them by owl to their recipients.
It was so, that this was the second time Harry received letters from his loved ones, and he most avidly read what they all had to say.
Amy Benson asked if he missed her, and then ranted about how she had rowed with her friend Mathilda because she was certain the girl had stolen two hair ribbons from her.
Harry shook his head as he read that, mystified since Amy apparently thought he would understand, sympathize and also denounce Mathilda as a horrible ribbon-stealing fiend. Really, all girls, except Felicity Prewett, were unfathomable, incomprehensible, strange creatures, in his opinion.
Eric Whalley complained about the local public school they attended, telling him how ghastly it was and how horrid the teachers were, to then ask him if in Harry's posh boarding school they were also caned on their hands or buttocks when they misbehaved, as often happened to Eric in the neighborhood's school.
Harry had to wonder about that, because so far he hadn't seen that happening at Hogwarts, and he was mightily glad about it. His memories of Mr. Jenkins' brutal canings had become something of the distant past for him, better to be forgotten.
Billy Stubbs bubbled excitedly throughout the entirety of his letter, telling him that he had had a wonderful birthday and that Alice had given him a stray kitten she had found in the streets. Harry had smiled as he read that, because Billy had mourned Puffy the Bunny for very long but had also yearned for another cuddly pet.
Harry saved Alice's and Mr. Hutchins' letters for later, since they were longer and he enjoyed reading them when he was alone, as if they were a special treats, since he felt comforted by the evident fondness and love they held for him.
Nevertheless, when Tom opened his letter, it didn't escape Harry's notice that both Alice and Robert Hutchins had sent the boy numerous newspapers clippings. Harry knew well that the only reason Tom wrote to them was to keep them happy, so that they would continue sending him news about the Muggle World.
Tom still despised Alice, considering her to be a sappy, sentimental, foolish woman, and he had only grudgingly tolerated and respected Mr. Hutchins in the past, because the man was intelligent and had educated himself, and particularly because he had always given Tom plenty of books. But now, his brother had nothing but disdain for them, since they were just 'mere, lowly muggles'.
Suddenly, as had happened every morning for the past week, another owl swooped down before Tom, this one with a small golden plaque that hung on the plumage of its chest, with the inscription 'The Daily Prophet Owl Delivery!', and carrying the rolled wizarding newspaper in its claws.
In exchange for allowing Harry to use Lord Horkos to send his letters to the Ministry, Tom had demanded to be given the three galleons Harry had been saving and hoarding like a tenacious goblin.
Harry had yielded in the end, grumbling and scowling, especially because he realized he had gotten the worst end of the bargain, since Lord Horkos was as vicious and nasty as ever, and always savagely bit Harry's fingers when he went to the owlery with tasty bits of food, presenting them as offerings to get the vulture-like bird to condescend to carry his mail.
With Harry's galleons, Tom had paid for a one-year subscription to The Daily Prophet, and had been very smug and content every since.
Just as many other students of all Houses received their copies of the newspaper as well, mutterings broke throughout the Great Hall.
Curious, Harry peeked over Tom's shoulder to see what had everyone so agitated.
There, in the front page of The Daily Prophet, was a moving picture of a wizard with a long, thin mustache with its tips curled upwards into spirals, magnanimously gesturing with a hand at the crowd of reporters that surrounded him. The caption underneath said: 'The Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen'.
Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. So that was the grandfather of the first-year Ravenclaw, Tiberius McLaggen. The wizard certainly looked as pompous and self-aggrandized as the boy.
However, it had to be the long article itself that had everyone so jittery. In big, bold, black letters, the title announced: 'Dumbledore's Greater Integration Law Vetoed in the Wizengamot by the Minister!'.
"The Minister is losing support," said Priscilla Pucey worriedly as she gazed at her own copy of the newspaper, "if he had no other choice but to use his vetoing powers to hold back the law."
"How dare Dumbledore try to pass that atrocious, muggle-loving law!" hissed out Capricia Carrow furiously. "It's what, the sixth time in these last couple of years that he's tried to push it forth?"
"Yes, but this is the first time that Dumbledore's faction in the Wizengamot has gained a majority of votes," interjected Abraxas Malfoy coolly, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.
"I don't see what the big deal is," piped in Alphard Black, his voice a bit hesitant as he fiddled with his bit of French toast. "It's not as if he wants to get rid of the Statute of Secrecy-"
"But his law will breach it, cousin!" snapped Orion, scowling at the boy. "If it gets passed, a Muggle Liaison Office will be created in the Ministry of Magic, and they'll contact the Muggle Minister and tell him about our world-"
"Exactly!" snarled Neron Lestrange, his brown eyes flaring in indignant and appalled fury. "According to the law, they'll connect the Muggle's fireplace to the Floo Network and they'll hang a magical portrait in the filthy Muggle's office!"
At that, Harry's eyes grew as round as moons, and he gaped. Dumbledore wanted to do what?
Then he brought a hand to his mouth, repressing his sniggers. He could clearly imagine the very proper Neville Chamberlain in his office in Downing Street, one day suddenly finding a portrait speaking to him and a wizard in flashy yellow robes bursting out from his hearth. Poor Chamberlain would have an apoplexy and keel over!
"We all know why Dumbledore wants that," said Druella Rosier poignantly, from her place nearby, having once more seated herself with Lucretia and Walburga Black on one side –the second-year girls rather occupied in discussing the article among themselves in angered whispers- and with Cygnus Black on the other. "It's because he wants to help the Muggles with what's happening in Europe." She shot them a superior look. "You know, given everything that the Dark Lord has been doing-"
"Hush!" whispered sharply Cygnus Black, glaring at the little girl. "You know better than to say that title in public. The other students don't know about that, Druella! Most wizards still don't want to believe Dumbledore's claims-"
"Oh, but Cygnus…" breathed out the beautiful, blonde girl in a mellifluous tone of voice, coyly fluttering her eyelashes at him, which only resulted in the boy's lips twisting with immense dislike.
Their conversation, however, was drowned as the first-year Slytherins continued voicing their horrified and angered opinions.
"And the Law would be changing Hogwarts' curriculum too, adding insult to injury!" bit out Capricia Carrow, looking enraged. "He wants to create a Muggle Studies course, no less!"
"Beauxbatons has one," pointed out Alphard Black softly.
"But they also have a Wizarding Studies class," snapped Priscilla Pucey, glowering at the boy. "And that's compulsory for all mudbloods and halfbloods. At least they teach them about our culture and prevent them from staining it with their filthy prejudices and false beliefs! And you don't see Dumbledore's Law forcing a Wizarding Studies course at Hogwarts, do you?"
"Not only that," grumbled Thaddeus Avery darkly, his voice more gruff than usual, "he wants to get rid of Care of Magical Creatures-"
"Oh, yes! He wants to leave it as a third year elective!" burst out Capricia Carrow. "Because apparently the current curriculum is too much for first-year mudbloods - we wouldn't want to overwhelm them, would we?" she spat fiercely, her tone nastily mocking. "It's too much of a shock for them to learn from the start that there are also magical creatures – their sensibilities have to be protected, of course! And we, purebloods, should just end up suffering from a deficient education all the while! The gall of the man – I don't know how he dares propose such a thing!"
"Quite right," agreed Orion Black, nodding at the girl. "The Hogwarts Express was enough, in my view…"
That opened a whole other thread in the conversation, which left Harry rather surprised.
Apparently, the Hogwarts Express was a new development. Eight years ago, purebloods students travelled to the school by whatever means their families had: in magnificent carriages pulled by pegasi, in the case of students like most of the Slytherins, who came from old families that had such things; others travelled in magical carpets, before they were banned; or their families brought them, by Floo or Apparation, to Hogsmeade; and meanwhile, muggleborns, and those halfbloods who lived in the Muggle World, were taken by Ministry officials to the gates of the school, by portkey.
From what the Slytherins said, Dumbledore had one day convinced Headmaster Dippet that a muggle-based means of transportation should be used - a train, so that all children arrived in the same manner, causing no distinction between them from the start, and also providing several hours of travel for all the students to mingle and get to know each other.
The wizard had proposed a train also because it was a new muggle invention, and Dumbledore apparently wanted wizards and witches to see that muggle things could be useful and shouldn't be disdained, providing an opportunity for greater wizarding understanding and tolerance for muggle creations.
Harry noticed that, in the midst of it all, his brother had also been intently listening to the Slytherins' conversation, as he did, but Tom also began reading again the article in The Daily Prophet, to then read the muggle newspaper clippings that Alice and Hutchins had sent him, with a musing and calculating glint in his eyes, as if he was figuring out plenty of other things.
Soon, they all had to leave for their first class of the day, though Harry made a mental note to ask Tom, before they went to sleep, just what he had discovered.
Double Potions with the Gryffindors proved to be a rather enlightening experience for Harry, for two reasons.
Firstly, because he managed, for the first time, to successfully brew the potion they had to work on. He had his brother's help, certainly, but slowly Harry began to understand some of the theoretical aspects and principles -about how all the different types of ingredients reacted when mixed together- that Tom had been drilling into his skull.
He would never be brilliant at Potions like Tom was, or very good like Abraxas Malfoy and Felicity Prewett, but his brewing skills apparently could be honed to be moderately acceptable – and that seemed to be enough for Tom, and it certainly was for Harry.
And secondly, they had both made a rather startling discovery after the lesson was over.
Tom had gestured at him to remain behind, while he dallied with his scales and other supplies, as the rest of the students left the classroom. Intrigued, Harry had followed his brother's lead.
The moment they were alone, Tom approached Horace Slughorn, who was by then organizing parchments of essays on his desk.
"Professor, we've been wondering," said Tom in a very polite and respectful tone of voice, as he inclined his head just so, in an angle from which he could peer at the wizard through his wavy black bangs, making him look handsomely endearing, "about the day we met you in Knockturn Alley…"
Slughorn at first looked surprised to find them still in his classroom, then he became flustered, as he cleared his throat and muttered uneasily, "Ah… yes… I hope you did as I asked and didn't mention that to anyone…" He gave them a forced, congenial smile, as he prodded a bit forcefully, "You haven't, my dear boys, have you?"
"Certainly not, sir," replied Tom solemnly, looking appalled at the very idea of not obeying his Head of House. Then his face adopted a humble expression, just displaying innocent curiosity, as he intoned softly, "But my twin and I saw a locket in the shop's window, and it puzzled and intrigued us a mite, because-"
Harry shot his brother a glance, his eyes widening slightly in understanding, as he realized why Tom might be interested in it. It dawned on him as he remembered what the locket had looked like. Could it possibly be…
"A locket? The locket in Borgin and Burkes'?" interrupted Slughorn nearly stuttering, blinking and then staring at them, looking taken aback. The wizard abruptly stood up and moved around his desk, his belly jingling all the way, before he planted himself before them, piercing them with his eyes. "You mean to tell me, that you saw that?"
It was Harry and Tom's turn now, to stare back at him, puzzled and confused.
"Um, yes," finally replied Harry, frowning at the wizard. "Why wouldn't we?" His eyes widened in the next second, as he remembered how it had happened, and he then waved off a hand dismissively. "Ah, we said 'Dark Arts', and then we saw all the stuff the stores had-"
"Oho!" exclaimed Slughorn, gazing at them as if he had never seen them before, a gleam of delighted surprise in his eyes. "Then you cannot possibly be muggleborns, my dear lads!"
Harry blinked, perplexed at how the wizard could have jumped to that conclusion, while Tom cocked his head to a side, as he said softly, "Perhaps you could explain what you mean, Professor, if you'd be so kind…"
Slughorn's eyes sparkled as he leaned forward and breathed out, "Tell me why you said those words."
Frowning, Harry said slowly, "Well, I saw a message appearing in Knockturn Alley's street sign. It said something like 'Darklings, speak Dark Arts'. And when we saw that all the shops were nearly empty-"
"You said the keywords," interrupted Slughorn, clasping his hands together in a gesture of delighted satisfaction, as if he had made some great discovery that pleased him to no end, "and all the wares were revealed before your eyes, correct?"
Harry nodded, but when Slughorn saw that they still looked confused, he chortled happily as he expounded, "That message can only be seen by dark wizards, and if the keywords are spoken in Knockturn Alley, they will only work if they are spoken by dark wizards, you see!" He let out a chuckle. "The message and keyword changes every week…"
He trailed off, his bright countenance sobering into a more serious one, as he cleared his throat and tried to put tactfully, "Knockturn Alley's stores have… unsavory items, let us say… and Aurors, from time to time, raid the Alley in search for such wares. That is why the shops have wards to Disillusion some of their merchandise, which would cause trouble for them with the Aurors, if found."
"Then, when we said 'Dark Arts'," said Tom quietly, piercing him with his eyes, "that was what brought down the wards for us?"
"Precisely!" Slughorn clasped his hands together once again, looking to be in a very jolly good mood, as he added, "Since it worked for you, it's evident that you have Dark Magic in your magical cores, my dear boys! One of your parents must have been a dark wizard or witch – you're not muggleborns!"
Then he shook his head, frowning thoughtfully, as he muttered to himself under his breath, "I wonder if Albus suspects… I could wager a bottle of Ogden's Finest that he might, as sensitive and perceptive as he is about Dark Magic…"
"I see," said Tom smoothly, though not very surprised by Slughorn's revelation. Harry wasn't either. After all, it wasn't startling to discover that they had Dark Magic coursing through their veins, since they were Parselmouths and Slytherin's descendants.
"I think it would be best if we didn't tell anyone about this, sir," added Tom softly, humbly hanging his head down.
Slughorn looked surprised at this, before he shot them a knowing glance, as he murmured gently, "But, my dear boys, if your housemates knew about this, they would treat you much better."
"They might, sir, but then everyone would know how we met, and what you were doing in Borgin and Burkes," interjected Tom, looking nothing but concerned for his Head of House's good reputation. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
Slughorn squirmed and uncomfortably cleared his throat, and then bobbed his head up and down, as he boomed, "You're quite right, my dear boy!" He then shot them a congenial, conspiratorial wink. "Best if we keep all of it a secret, eh?"
"Yes, sir," intoned Tom warmly, bestowing upon him a gorgeous, charming smile, before he added in a casual tone of voice, "But about the locket we saw-"
"Oh, that old thing!" exclaimed Slughorn, shaking his head disparagingly. "Caractacus Burke has had it for over twelve years, I think – claims that it's a Slytherin heirloom, he does! Yet he refuses to say how he came to have it! He won't outright sell it either – you have to bid for it. There are only three wizards and witches who still remain in the running, since in the last bid, the price for it reached the astronomical amount of sixty thousand galleons! Hepzibah Smith herself is still bidding for it, you know?"
The Professor puffed up self-importantly at this, as he added, "She's an old acquaintance of mine, of course – a dear friend. You might have heard about her – a very wealthy old lady, with the most magnificent collection of magical antiques. She's Helga Hufflepuff's descendant, as well!"
"But is the locket a Slytherin heirloom?" pressed on Tom, a bright, hungry and greedy gleam in his eyes, which seemed to pass unnoticed by Slughorn, but not by Harry, knowing his brother as well as he did.
Slughorn paused, thoughtfully playing with one tip of his bushy moustache, before he replied jauntily, "The locket cannot be opened, and Burke claims that this fact alone proves that it is indeed a Slytherin heirloom. According to him, only a Parselmouth would be able to open it. But since Parselmouths no longer exist nowadays, there's no way of knowing, is there?"
Tom's dark blue eyes flashed, before he ducked his head as he mumbled softly, "Thank you, sir, for clearing such matters to us. We'll leave you now, since we don't want to be late for our next class."
Slughorn looked very content, as if he had done his good deed for the day, and then merely waved as Tom and Harry picked up their schoolbags and dashed out of the classroom.
The instant they were in the corridors, Harry breathed out excitedly, "Do you really think the locket is a Slytherin heirloom?"
"Yes," said Tom firmly, as they both ran towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Remember that it had an 'S' made of tiny green gems, and snake-like in form – exactly like the one of Slytherin House's crest. There's no doubt about it." He shot Harry a side-glance, as he added quietly, "And it would explain why the Riddles don't have a vault in Gringotts."
Harry's eyes widened. "You think it's because our father's family is poor-"
"And they resorted to selling their heirlooms - exactly!" affirmed Tom, sounding extremely self-satisfied with his discovery. "Slughorn said the shopkeeper got the locket twelve years ago – exactly before we were born!" His eyes suddenly gleamed, as he added fiercely, "But I won't let the locket end up in some old witch's grubby hands. It's ours by birthright! We'll steal it, little brother!"
Harry hesitated at that, blanching, as he mumbled, "Um, I dunno about that… I don't want to get caught and chucked into Azkaban." He shuddered. "The Prewetts twins told me about the wizarding prison and those 'Dementor' creatures that guard it-"
"Of course we won't get caught," snapped Tom irritably, scowling at him. "We'll nick the locket when we're older and know all sorts of spells." He skewered him with narrowed, demanding eyes, as he bit out, "You'll help me steal it, won't you?"
"Well… if we'll only do it when we're older and after we come up with a good plan… then…" Harry shot him a toothy grin. "Then, of course I will, brother!"
Tom graced him with a wide, pleased smirk, just before they opened the door of their next class.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, shared also with the Gryffindors, would be their last class of the day. Since after lunch, they would finally have their first Flying Lesson. The first-years of all Houses were rather eager and excited about it, and some nervous.
In Defense, for the past month, they had learned several minor shielding charms and other basic defensive spells, but the previous week, Professor Galatea Merrythought had informed them they would start learning about dark creatures and the ways of battling them. Dueling spells and counter-curses would be resumed in their third year, since by then they would be old enough to learn such things.
Thus, for the last couple of lessons, they had learned about Trolls, the mischievous and nastily wicked Cornish Pixies, and about Grindylows – Harry finally discovering what those creatures were who made faces at him through his bathroom's window, sticking out their forked, blue tongues at him when he bathed.
The second Tom and he had taken a seat in the classroom, Harry blinked when he caught sight of Galatea Merrythought. Then he frowned, aggravated with himself. The old witch was dressed in dark robes buttoned from chin to toes, as always, but this time, she had a blood red flower pinned in the middle of her chest.
That flower, again! Harry started to feel quite frustrated about it. He had already seen it in the picture of Salazar Slytherin's likeness in Tom's 'Hogwarts, a History'. But the first time had been at the Hogwarts Express' platform, on Maximillian Malfoy's chest.
Thus, he knew that the flower looked strangely familiar to him because he must have seen it in the Muggle World, since before encountering Abraxas' grandfather, he had known no other place.
However, the sensation tingled and niggled in the back of his mind, and he still couldn't put a finger on it. It was very irritating.
"No need to take out your books," abruptly said Galatea Merrythought sternly, the moment they were all seated. "You won't find today's lesson in it."
A Gryffindor girl raised a hand, before she said confusedly, "But last time, Professor, you said we would be learning about Kappas today."
"I've changed my mind," snapped Merrythought crisply, her eyes darkly gleaming in the next second, as she added in a low tone of voice, "I'll be teaching you about Veelas in this lesson."
"Veelas?" burst out Algie Longbottom, looking thoroughly astonished. "But Veelas aren't dark creatures, Professor."
"That's a matter of opinion, Mr. Longbottom!" bit out Merrythought fiercely as she swiftly rounded on him, her long braid of grey hair swishing through the air. Her burned and marred face contorted, as she spat acidly, "Indeed, they might not be classified as such, but Veelas are one of the most dangerous creatures in existence. Their allure is no better than the Imperius Curse – enthralling decent wizards and making them do all sorts of things against their will! Wizards even commit terrible crimes, to impress the Veela who has ensnared them – horrid things that they would never do if they were sound of mind!"
Half the class was gaping at her, never having seen the old witch conduct herself in such a way and clearly taken aback by her view on Veelas, while the other half were stiff.
Indeed, to Harry's further bewilderment, he saw that Abraxas Malfoy's spine and shoulders were rigid, his silvery eyes silently flashing with fury; the boy's friends, seated around him, were tense. He even noticed that Felicity Prewett looked enraged as she glowered at their teacher, when she wasn't shooting Abraxas soft, compassionate looks.
Then Galatea Merrythought's thin lips twisted, her gaze swiveling to Abraxas Malfoy, as she added in a very low, vibrating tone of voice, "Oh, believe me, children, Veelas are the darkest of creatures! And today I'll teach you exactly how they should be treated." She cleared her throat. "How we could defend ourselves against their powers, that is."
It became the most uncomfortable lesson Harry had thus far experienced, and by the end of it, their professor had gained no friends among her students.
They all left rather quickly, their ears ringing with the old witch's loud, ominous warnings about all sorts of malevolent things Veelas had done to wizards throughout the ages.
Harry quickly intercepted the Prewett twins as soon as they were in the corridor. "What was that all about?"
Felix and Felicity shared a glance, nodded to each other, and then turned to him.
Felicity huffed out angrily, "We'll tell you, but first let's go to the Great Hall."
Harry mutely nodded, too curious and intrigued to do much else, and followed them as they quickly made their way.
Finally, they halted before the threshold of the Great Hall, as many students flowed in to have their lunch.
"Wait for us here," piped in Felix, his mismatched brown and blue eyes sparkling as he glanced at the school grounds through the parted doors of Hogwarts' entrance. "It's not raining today, at last - so we might as well make a picnic of it!"
And with that, the twins quickly slipped into the Great Hall, leaving a surprised Harry behind.
A few minutes later, Felix returned with a large pitcher of pumpkin juice under one of his arms and three goblets in his hands, whilst Felicity carried a large platter with all sorts of food heaped on it. Both beamed at him when they caught Harry's joyful expression.
Just when they were about to slip outside, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder. He spun around, fretfully biting his lower lip when he saw that it was Tom who had halted him. But in the next instant, he shot him a mutinous glare and squared his shoulders.
After they had met the Prewett twins in the Hogwarts Express, Tom had never condescended to be with them again. The twins had been offended and angry at first, but then they seemed to decide to simply ignore Tom altogether.
Tom, on the other hand, had quite plainly expressed to Harry just what he thought about his friendship with the Prewetts, especially after it had caused so much trouble with their housemates, when Head Girl and Head Boy had began the war of docking points from each other's Houses, left, right, and center, with Harry in the very middle of it.
A few days ago, one night, Harry and his brother had even ended up in a shouting match, because Harry still stubbornly refused to relinquish the only two friends he had in the whole school, while Tom furiously claimed that he was making everything worse by still cavorting with them.
Well, his brother had always despised all of his friends, but unlike in St. Jerome's Orphanage, where Tom had always wanted to have Harry's full attention and company at all hours, things were different at Hogwarts.
Tom had thus far ignored him, spending all his time in the library, obsessed in his research and all the things he was studying. And Harry understood it, a bit, because of course Tom would be thoroughly enticed by the sheer, staggering source of magical knowledge that Hogwarts' library offered.
Nonetheless, that didn't mean that he was happy about it, or that he would let his brother drive him away from his friends. In this instance, Tom had no right to do so, since he didn't offer his company in return.
So Harry glowered at him, at present, while Tom's eyes narrowed as he pierced the ginger-haired twins with his gaze. Felix glared back, while Felicity flushed under Tom's skewering, unpleasant gaze, but then she lifted her chin up, challengingly.
Tom let out a disdainful scoff, and apparently decided he wouldn't make a scene in public.
Instead, he briskly yanked his Slytherin scarf from his neck, and then wrapped it around Harry, up to his cheeks, only leaving Harry's surprised, wide green eyes peeking from above it.
"It's cold outside," was the only thing Tom said curtly, before he shot the twins one last glare and then coolly sauntered into the Great Hall.
Harry blinked, then grinned behind the scarf, suddenly feeling all warm and tingly due to his brother's unexpected gesture. Abruptly in a very good mood, he then marched off to the school grounds with a skip in his steps, the Prewett twins trailing after him.
They settled themselves before a couple of trees at one side of the Black Lake, its shore a few feet away. They even had the Giant Squid as an audience, its huge single eye peering at them from the lake's surface, as he moved around his countless tentacles in a languid manner.
It took Felix five attempts before he managed to transfigure a stone into a tablecloth –and it was quite threadbare and patchy, at that, but it served its purpose. Harry spread it above the grass and then helped the twins to settle pitcher, goblets, and platter of food, before they sat down, crossing their legs as they dropped their schoolbags to one side.
Harry popped a small, roasted potato into his awaiting mouth, and munched it down happily, before he began slowly, "So… what Professor Merrythought said today about Veelas and the way she glanced at Abraxas Malfoy… you seemed to know what that was all about…"
Felicity halted in mid-sip from her goblet of pumpkin juice, and then heavily sighed. "Did you notice the flower she was wearing?"
Harry's eyes brightened instantly, as he rushed out, "Yes! And I've seen it before, on Maximillian Malfoy and in a picture of Salazar Slytherin!" He then cocked his head to a side, extremely puzzled. "But I didn't imagine you'd say anything about the flower. What does it have to do with what happened today in class?"
"Everything," said Felix firmly, looking a bit angered. "That flower is the Egeriana Rose."
"Its full, proper name," interjected Felicity, "is Verus-Cruor Egerianus. And its magical properties were discovered by Salazar Slytherin himself."
Felix nodded, as he continued, "It was with it that Slytherin created the very first Fertility Potions. And it's believed that he wore the flower as a sort of medal." He rolled his eyes. "A medal representing his own brilliancy and ground-breaking discoveries in Potions."
"But his descendants adopted it as symbol of their beliefs," piped in Felicity, as she nibbled on a piece of toasted bread. "Especially one of them, who founded the TrueBlood Alliance, and made the Egeriana Rose its emblem. The group still exists nowadays."
Harry frowned at her. "A group? So Maximillian Malfoy and Professor Merrythought are members of this group, since they wear the rose?" He shot them a confused look. "But Professor Merrythought has never looked down on Tom or I for being muggleborns-"
"Oh, but the TrueBlood Alliance is not about blood purity. Well, at least not regarding muggle blood," clarified Felicity dryly.
Felix nodded in agreement at her words. "Yes, because beside the whole issue of Dark or Light Magic and the political-orientation that this brings, purebloods are also divided in the matter of how they regard having creature blood in wizarding bloodlines."
"Exactly," piped in Felicity. "Indeed, the Merrythoughts are a light pureblood wizarding family that have never held prejudices against muggles or muggleborns – these are humans, after all. But they object to wizards and witches procreating with magical creatures, and thus having wizarding lines with creature blood in them."
"Well, they didn't before," pointed out Felix, a musing frown on his face as he shot his twin a glance. "Do you remember what it was that happened? Father told us but I can't remember the details-"
"Oh, yes! It was a huge scandal, remember?" said Felicity eagerly. "Marlowe Merrrythought-"
"Ah, yes – what was he? Professor Merrythought's cousin?"
"No, her young brother!" rushed out Felicity. "The youngest one in the family and their heir! That's why the Merrythoughts took it so badly."
Harry's gaze was snapping from one to the other, until he asked insistently, "But what happened?"
"Marlowe Merrythought fell in love with a full-blooded female Veela, that's what happened," replied Felicity, shaking her head despairingly. "She was living in England because she had married a British wizard…" She trailed off, frowning. "I don't remember his name, though."
Felix rolled his eyes at his twin. "Never mind that. He was just someone from a minor wizarding family, I think. The point is that Marlowe Merrythought was besotted with the Veela. Rumors say that he even stalked her for months! And, of course, she wanted nothing to do with him, since she had already chosen a mate and married him."
"But one day," carried on Felicity, taking over her twin's explanation, "the couple was strolling down Diagon Alley and Marlowe Merrythought suddenly appeared, shooting spells and curses at the Veela's husband, like a madman!"
Felix leaned towards Harry, his mismatched eyes growing wide as he whispered, "It's said he even used the Unforgivables!"
Harry blinked, wondering what that was supposed to mean.
"Not all three," interjected Felicity. "He tried to cast the Killing Curse."
"Oh," said Harry, now understanding, since given the name, it was clear what the curse did. Then he frowned, as he muttered, "So he killed the Veela's husband?"
Felicity snorted, as she picked up a carrot from the platter. "No, of course. The Veela went berserk – they're very protective of their mates, you see- and she blasted him to smithereens, right then and there."
"There was nothing left of Marlowe Merrythought but a pile of ashes," breathed out Felix, his eyes wide.
"His family was furious," piped in Felicity, taking a bite from her carrot. "They tried to have the Veela convicted for murder and thrown to Azkaban."
"They failed, though," pointed out Felix, as he poured himself pumpkin juice.
"Yes, because she was within her rights to protect her mate under life-threatening situations," explained Felicity at Harry's bemused expression. "There are plenty of wizarding laws that protect Veelas, you see. They are one of the very few kinds of magical beings that have managed that. They have their own Council, and it's them that have always successfully lobbied with wizarding governments to have that sort of laws that protect their kind."
"But Veelas don't usually go to other countries," remarked Felix as he took a sip from his goblet. "They stick to France, mostly. There, they have towns and communities of their own, and the French are very used to them. That's why full-blooded Veelas don't often live in other countries, because if not things like what happened with Marlowe Merrythought occur."
"True, especially in England because we're not used to having Veelas among us."
Harry cocked his head to a side. "So Professor Merrythought hates Veelas so much because of what happened to her brother?"
"Exactly," said Felicity. "After that, the whole family became members of the TrueBlood Alliance."
"There are those who call themselves 'True Purists'," went on to explain Felix, after taking another swig from his goblet, "and most form the TrueBlood Alliance. And then there are those who are Traditional Purists, like us, who see nothing wrong in having creature blood in our lines - after all, it's still purely magical blood."
"You two have creature blood?" asked Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards in astonishment.
Felix Prewett grinned toothily. "We have an ancestor who was a siren!"
"And this is a common thing, is it?" inquired Harry, more intrigued and astounded as the conversation progressed.
"Well, not common, but there are several wizarding families with creature blood," piped in Felicity nonchalantly, waving her half-eaten carrot in the air. "Like the Weasleys." She frowned, as she added slowly, "They've always been very weird, but they have a Leprechaun somewhere along their bloodline, so that might explain it."
Felix guffawed loudly, his body shaking and the force of his laugh making him lean backwards. "Oh, yes! Last year there was a Weasley at Hogwarts - in our House! And he pranked everyone in sight, our cousin Muriel told us. Even his own housemates! Muriel didn't know what to do with him. Thankfully, he was in his seventh year, and Muriel said that she had never felt so relieved as in the day when she saw him gone."
"Well, yes," interjected Felicity, waving a hand dismissively. "But that case is a very odd one. In the old times, pureblood wizards and witches bonded and had children with magical beings or creatures because they wanted to gain some of their traits for the bloodline – useful things that would make their descendants more powerful in some aspect."
"Like mating with a vampire, for example," pointed out Felix, popping a tiny potato into his mouth, and munching it down before he continued, "because even though vampires don't tolerate sunlight very well and are nocturnal creatures and have the whole bloodlust issue, they have a very long life span and excellent sight and heal abnormally fast, and they passed on some of those positive traits to their offspring with wizards or witches."
"It's believed that the Princes intentionally had a vampire ancestor because of this," said Felicity giggling. Then she shook her head, as she took the last bite from her carrot. "But most wizarding families keep such things a secret, not because it shames them, but because it's a sort of secret weapon. So they don't want their rivals to know about it."
Harry, a bit dazed by the whole revelation, nodded in understanding. Then he frowned musingly, as he said slowly, "So given what happened in class today, Abraxas is a Veela? So that's what Walburga Black meant when she insulted him, implying he was a thing-"
"She did that, did she?" snapped Felicity, looking ferocious, her ringlets of fiery, red hair springing about. She pursed her lips and then added hotly, "I don't know how she dares! Many purebloods now know that she has Troll blood in her, and she goes casting aspersions on Abraxas?"
Harry gaped at her, his mouth hanging open, his hand carrying his goblet of pumpkin juice halting midway in the air. Then he managed to gasp out, utterly gobsmacked, "Troll blood!"
"Her mother is Irma Black, a Crabbe by birth," piped in Felix, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mirth. "The Crabbes had never revealed that they had Troll blood in them. And, well, they have never been the sharpest daggers in the drawer, to begin with. But one of them clearly thought that mating with a Troll was a brilliant idea."
Felicity snorted loudly at that, as her twin continued explaining, "Trolls are as dumb as doorknobs and incredibly ugly – no good traits there- but they're also very strong, physically, and their thick skins makes them naturally immune to several spells and curses. So that might be what the Crabbe ancestor could have been thinking about."
"Yes, but the point is that no one knew," interjected Felicity, a wide, toothy smile of relish then spreading on her beautiful face. "Pollux Black would have never married Irma Crabbe if he had known about that – that's for sure! The Blacks have always been extreme purists in all senses –despising both muggle and creature blood. Irma is beautiful, and she got that from her mother, who was a Greengrass, so Pollux never suspected anything."
"But it all came out into the open," breathed out Felix eagerly, leaning closer towards Harry in his excitement, "one day when Irma Crabbe was eight months pregnant with Walburga. Apparently, as a baby, Walburga kicked her mother so hard that Irma started fearing that her daughter might have inherited Troll characteristics. And it's clear that she decided to cut her loses and inform her husband about it, before a Troll-like baby came popping out and Pollux found out about it in the nastiest way."
"So Irma just came out with it, one day when our father was sitting in Pollux's study, waiting to discuss some business with him," continued Felicity, chuckling under her breath as she grabbed a slice of cheese. "That's how we know about it. Well, Father came out of the room when he overheard the couple shouting at each other. According to him, Pollux was beyond enraged, but also so shocked that one could have knocked him over with a feather!"
"Things were never right between husband and wife after that," piped in Felix, looking as if he savored the misfortune of those who later called his father a 'bloodtraitor' and became his enemies. "But Pollux didn't abandon her, because he couldn't, given the strict magical bond with which they had married."
"And Cygnus was already a little boy by then, and he's handsome," murmured Felicity absentmindedly as she made a cheese and ham sandwich for herself. "And Walburga is nothing to look at but isn't hideous as a Troll. And then Alphard was born, normal and as good-looking as his older brother and his father, and that seemed to soothe Pollux Black's ruffled feathers."
Felix shot Harry a wicked glance, as he grabbed a piece of bread and waved it around, intoning cheerfully, "But you must've already experienced how Walburga Black screeches, making your eardrums nearly burst, eh?"
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Felicity, tittering with laughter whilst she took a small bite from her sandwich. "Given that, we've always wondered if she might have some Banshee blood too! Perhaps the Crabbes didn't limit themselves just to Trolls!"
Harry choked, ending up snorting into his goblet, the pumpkin juice nearly coming out the wrong way. He wiped his nose clean the next second, and snickered under his breath. "I could believe that."
They all chuckled companionably, Felix and Harry grabbing roasted chicken legs, munching on them happily, while Felicity concentrated on her sandwich.
In between bites, Harry finally returned to one of his earlier questions, cocking his head to a side, as he murmured, "So Abraxas is a Veela?"
"Do you really need to ask?" Felix toothily grinned, waggling his eyebrows at him. "We've seen how you sometimes stare at him, looking all dazed and starry-eyed, as if he was some sort of dream."
Harry felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning, and he muttered grumpily, "That's not my fault! You heard what Professor Merrythought said about the Veela allure thingy and stuff!"
Felix mercilessly sniggered at him, looking vastly amused, whilst Felicity merely rolled her mismatched, beautiful eyes, as she said with some exasperation, "Harry is right." She shot him a gentle smile. "You can't help it. No one can, really. Abraxas is a half-Veela, because of his mother. With part-Veelas it's always impossible to know how many traits they'll get. Sometimes they get all, their faces turning bird-like, their fingers becoming claws, and with wings sprouting from their backs, when angered, and capable of shooting out balls of fire too. But sometimes they don't get any traits at all."
"Abraxas at least has the whole allure thing down pat," chortled Felix, shooting Harry a pointed look, lopsidedly grinning.
"No, he doesn't. Not really," retorted Felicity, frowning with consternation. "It will only become stronger as he grows up, and he'll have a hard time of learning how to control it, especially because he won't have an adult Veela to teach him."
"Why not?" asked Harry surprised, as he took another bite from his chicken leg. "You said he's a half-Veela because of his mother-"
"His mother is dead," interrupted Felicity softly, taking the last bite from her sandwich and then daintily dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin.
"Then his mother's family," pressed on Harry, frowning. "Or his grandfather could help him –" He clamped his mouth shut, his frown deepening. "Hang on. If Abraxas is a half-Veela, then why does Maximillian Malfoy go around with the Egeriana Rose pinned on his robes?"
"Because the old wizard is an extreme purist in all senses, like the Blacks," bit out Felicity crossly, after taking a brief sip from her goblet. "And he's as nasty as they get. He's even the leader of the TrueBlood Alliance nowadays. So, on one hand, he made Abraxas his heir, but on the other, he dealt him a backhanded insult, by openly being a True Purist, despising Abraxas for being a 'halfbreed'."
"Their relationship has never been an easy one," remarked Felix gravely, as he finished with his chicken leg and left the bone at one side of the large platter. "Back when our families were close, I clearly remember one day when we were in Malfoy Manor, playing in the gardens with Abraxas." He let out a snicker. "Chasing and tormenting those albino peacocks they have, in fact."
"Oh, yes, I remember too!" Felicity then bit her bottom lip, as she took a slice of apple. "A flock of beautiful white owls suddenly swooped down, carrying a very large package. It was from Abraxas' Veela grandparents."
"But Old Maximillian came running out of the manor," continued Felix somberly, "looking beside himself with fury. He destroyed the gift right there and then, without letting Abraxas even take a peek at the letter tucked under the ribbon. And then the nasty old curmudgeon dismissed us all."
"We all ran into the manor for the nearest fireplace to floo out of there, scared out of our wits," muttered Felicity grimly, as she nibbled on her slice of apple, "but we still heard Abraxas furiously yelling at his grandfather. He was six. I think that was the only time I've ever witnessed Abraxas losing his composure." She sadly shook her head. "Maximillian never let him have any contact with his maternal grandparents, and I think Abraxas has always resented and hated him for it, in return."
Harry blinked at her. "But he's alright with being a half-Veela, then?"
Felix snorted in amusement as he started peeling an orange. "Abraxas isn't the kind of person who would ever hate himself for being who he is. He has embraced it, clearly. And he's quietly proud of it, I think. That's why he has such a difficult relationship with his grandfather."
"It all started with Cassius Malfoy, really," said Felicity with a heavy sigh. "Abraxas' somewhat tragic past is all his father's fault."
"True," piped in Felix, popping a piece of orange into his mouth.
"Cassius Malfoy was very wild, from what Father told us," carried on Felicity, cleaning her fingers with a napkin after she was done eating her dessert which had only consisted of two bits of apple, while Harry was still busy with his chicken leg. "Caring about nothing but getting drunk with his friends, gambling, chasing after pretty witches, and travelling all around the world, from party to party, carelessly wasting all his galleons."
Harry's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, and seeing this, Felicity nodded, as she continued quietly, "He was young, of course, but it was no excuse. Maximillian Malfoy tried every ruthless measure and punishment to sort him out, but nothing worked. And the Malfoys have always been very strict with their rule of only having one heir per generation, so Old Maximillian was stuck with Cassius."
"But it got worse," supplied Felix, taking another piece of his orange fruit. "One day, young Cassius ended up in a ball in Paris, and there, he caught sight of a full-blooded Veela."
"She was astoundingly beautiful, of course," interjected Felicity, then waving off a hand as she settled herself comfortably against a tree trunk, "but also infamous. Her own Veela parents had disowned her, because she was very frivolous, cared for no one but herself and cared for nothing but having a lavish life. She latched herself to every rich wizard she could find, her goal being to catch a very wealthy husband from a distinguished, pureblood family."
Felix snorted, shaking his head as he tossed the remnants of his orange unto the platter. "Young Cassius Malfoy didn't stand a stance. He was completely mesmerized by her, according to all rumors, and he married her right there in France, two days later."
"The Veela was very cunning, too," continued Felicity, her expression souring, as she primly rearranged the hem of her skirt to cover her displayed knees, "because she got married to Cassius by using one of the strictest magical rituals, which formed an unbreakable marital bond, of course."
"You can imagine Old Maximillian's reaction when he found out about it," interjected Felix, shuddering, as he swiped his fingers clean with a corner of the tablecloth. "But the Veela wasn't cunning enough, as it came to happen."
Felicity nodded. "She got pregnant, clearly unintentionally. The couple then struck a bargain with Old Maximillian. Since they didn't want to be bothered with raising their son, they left baby Abraxas in Maximillian's care, while he agreed to give them access to the main Malfoy vault and thus most of his hoarded fortune."
"They didn't imagine how ruthless Maximillian could be," piped in Felix, as he took a sip from his goblet. "He had a new heir he could mould from the start, this time without making the mistakes he had in raising Cassius. This time, being thoroughly and mercilessly strict with Abraxas from the beginning. So Cassius was no longer of any worth to him."
"So while the couple continued to travel around the world, having a good time," continued Felicity, shaking her head disparagingly, "the Veela buying herself loads of jewelry and pretty, expensive clothes, and Cassius doting on her and giving her every little thing she wanted, Maximillian brooded and plotted."
"And one day, when Abraxas was two years old," carried on Felix, his expression turning queasy, his face a bit greenish, "Cassius and the Veela were in Greece, and wanted to travel by portkey to Venice. They did, but the portkey was faulty. Their body parts were scattered all over the place in chunks, some in Venice, some in Athens."
Felicity shuddered. "At first, it was called the most gruesome portkey accident in history. But then, authorities found the Greek Ministry worker who had created the portkey and sold it to them. He was put on trial, and yet he couldn't remember that he had made it. But there were Ministry records that proved it. The poor man was found guilty and carted off to prison for life."
"But it was Maximillian who was behind it, you see," interjected Felix, looking very grim. "Father was friends with him back then, so he knew the truth. Maximillian had bribed the Greek Ministry worker so that he would make a faulty portkey, but as soon as Cassius and his Veela wife were killed, he thoroughly obliviated the Greek wizard. So even though some suspected, there was never any proof that could be brought up against Maximillian. He had been very careful in covering all his tracks."
Harry stared at them with a pale face, as he mumbled, "Does Abraxas know about it?"
"We think he must suspect," replied Felicity, heavily sighing, a sorrowful expression spreading on her beautiful face the next second. "Maximillian never made it a secret that he had despised Abraxas' mother. And he would often say all sorts of horrid things about her, openly, to Abraxas, when we were little children. Clearly, because he didn't want him to have any positive feelings about his mother. Yet, we never saw Abraxas confronting his grandfather about any of it, except that day, when his Veela grandparents tried to contact him. But that was about the grandparents Abraxas wanted to get to know, not about his father or mother."
Harry frowned, and then scowled. He refused to feel any pity or compassion for the boy. He shot the twins a glance, and grumbled darkly, "He's still a git."
Felix quirked an eyebrow at him, then shot him a toothy grin. "Very true, my friend."
Harry left his half-eaten chicken leg on the platter, feeling quite full, and then helped the twins to gather everything up, to then leave it in the Great Hall.
However, through it all, he still couldn't stop wondering about the red flower. If it was just the 'Egeriana Rose', as the twins had explained, then why had it looked so oddly familiar when he had first seen it pinned on Maximillian Malfoy's robes, at the Hogwarts Express's platform?
"Harry, are you there?"
Hearing his brother's voice and the sound of shoes scuffing against the stone floors, Harry stiffened. He was seated on his bed, the curtains pulled shut around him, a pained expression on his face.
"All first-years are already gathering at the school's entrance for our Flying Lesson – what are you doing? You're going to be late-"
The next second, Tom yanked the bed curtains open and Harry shot him a baleful glare when his brother froze, his dark blue gaze zeroing in on Harry's forearm.
Harry had been peeling the bandages from his arm, with a bottle containing a thick, purple salve propped between his knees, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
The scar on Harry's forehead blazed painfully for a second, as Tom hissed out under his breath as he took in the burns and boils spread along Harry's forearm, "What happened to you?"
Harry shot him a scathing look, as he bit out peevishly, "What d'you think? What always happens, Tom! I was hexed, again. I was coming from the Great Hall, to leave my schoolbag here before going back to the entrance of the school-"
"Who did it?" said Tom very quietly, swiftly grabbing Harry's wrist.
"Ouch – be careful!" snapped Harry, trying to yank his injured limb from his brother's tight clutch.
"Who?" demanded Tom forcefully, without letting go.
Harry stilled and eyed him carefully, frowning when he saw that his brother's dark blue eyes were flashing with anger.
He nearly scoffed. This might be the first time that his brother saw, first hand, the injuries caused when he was attacked and hexed, but he had certainly informed Tom about it all the other times it had happened.
Indeed, just three days ago, at night, when he had told Tom how he had been attacked that day to press his brother to reveal to him what he was doing about the matter –since Tom only told him to be patient and that he would soon understand his 'plan' and 'the first stage' that he was supposedly already carrying on- Tom had shot him a contemptuous look, telling him that he whined too much since clearly the Slytherins couldn't really harm him.
To prove his point, Tom had showed him a passage in 'Hogwarts, a History', where it explained some of the wards in the school, like those which prevented Apparition and the use of portkeys. It also said that there was a ward that notified the Headmaster when the Dark Arts were used, and thus, Tom had told him crisply, the Slytherins couldn't use Dark Curses on him, so Harry had no cause for concern and he should just stop complaining about being attacked with silly hexes which really couldn't be that bad.
It had only made Harry furious, and he had swirled around and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut on Tom's face when his brother had attempted to follow him.
The only good that had come from it was that the mention about 'wards' had piqued Harry's curiosity. It had prompted him to go to the library, for the first time not to look for books about Charms. Instead, he had learned a bit about wards and had begun to understand that the magic he saw all around the school could only be, actually, 'wards'.
He had even discovered that wards were created with the use of Ancient Runes, and the following day he had spent a while closely inspecting the lattice of magic along the walls, seeing that, indeed, those little lines that he had just thought were scratches or something of the sort, were actually strange symbols – Runes, apparently.
Furthermore, he had overheard that there was an elective course of Ancient Runes that students could take beginning on their third year, so Harry had been quite content with that prospect, which would allow him to further understand all the magic he saw in the castle.
"Who attacked you, Harry?" pressed Tom, his voice now very low as his gaze remained fixed on the charred, crisped skin on Harry's forearm, huge, painful boils scattered here and there.
"Walburga Black," replied Harry flatly, irritated with his brother beyond measure, "and two others that I didn't have time to see who they were." He shot him a glower, as he added shortly, "They hexed me from behind, as always, and then quickly fled."
Walburga had only turned more vicious since the day in which Harry had managed to cast on her the Bat Bogey Hex, which made her have no other choice but to go to the Infirmary, since the 'bat' had ferociously scratched the girl's face, leaving welts on it, and since the girl hadn't known how to cancel the hex or heal herself.
Ever since, Walburga had turned even nastier, as if she now held a personal vendetta against him. It hadn't helped that Dorea Black and Algernon Wilkes had furiously confronted Walburga in the middle of the common room, due to all the points Muriel Prewett had docked from them.
Walburga apparently felt that Dorea and Wilkes had humiliated her in front of her friends, and she clearly blamed Harry for that as well.
"I see," murmured Tom as he started to take over what Harry had been doing, now carefully peeling off the bandages himself. The boy's dark blue eyes darted to the bottle between Harry's legs and then to the two fresh rolls of bandages on top of the bed covers. "You went to the Infirmary, I gather." He skewered Harry with a piercing gaze. "The mediwitch said you were good to go?"
Harry shifted on his seat, but then raised his chin and said smoothly, "Yes. I only have to apply the salve now, and bandage my forearm again. And then later in the evening, that's all."
Tom eyed him suspiciously but said nothing, which Harry was very glad for, since Miss Nightingale had actually told him that he shouldn't be using his arm at all and that he should certainly not go to his Flying Lesson.
Nevertheless, he had managed to convince her that he would do as she said but couldn't stay in the Hospital Wing as she had wanted, since he had books to read for class.
Thus, very reluctantly, Miss Nightingale had bandaged his arm, given him the salve and two rolls of bandages and then had let him go, after she had made him promise that he would go to his dormitory and lie on his bed for the rest of the day.
When Tom started to dab the thick, purple salve on Harry's forearm, Harry hissed in pain a bit, but then merely stared at his brother in silence.
Harry frowned the next second, closely observing Tom as the boy tended to him gently and carefully.
First, Tom had given him his scarf, which Harry still wore, wrapped warmly around his neck, and now this. Tom was positively doting on him, tenderly, and outright behaving like a concerned, loving brother.
It couldn't bode anything good. Harry eyed his brother very suspiciously.
His brother was only nice to him -as 'nice' as someone like Tom could be- when he was up to something. Indeed, most often than not, it was when Tom had been doing something behind Harry's back – something Harry wouldn't like at all.
Harry kept watching him warily, while Tom finished applying the salve and then solicitously wrapped Harry's forearm with fresh bandages.
When he was done, Tom shot him a glance, and said in a quiet, musing tone of voice, "Perhaps, given this-" he gestured at Harry's swathed arm "-it's time for me to implement the second stage of my plan." A dark, ominous smirk tilted his lips, as he added softly, "And in Walburga Black's case, I might even launch the third stage as well. Yes, I think the time is right for such measures."
Tom's smirk became even wider, as if thoughts of gore and bloodshed were happily floating in his mind, before he glanced at Harry again and said curtly, "Now let's get going."
They had to make a run for it, and they caught up with the other first-years being led by the famous Jocunda Sykes, marching down the sloping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch.