Harry amidst the Vaults of Stone
Chapter 17
"Harry Potter! Did you eat breakfast? You still have those books to return before you leave, and we're taking you up so that Bogripple can have a word with you. It would not do to be late."
Harry waved to Sibilig. "I'll be back within the hour! I've got the books, I'll loop through town and drop them off on my way."
"Where are you going?"
Harry grinned, throwing a stub of charcoal in the air and catching it. "Down to the Bluestone cavern fields, to sketch ground insects. I want to compare them to the ones that live on the surface!"
His foster mother gave him a withering glare. "Don't. Be. Late."
An hour later, Harry reluctantly gathered his sketches and returned to the dwelling.
In his room, he dressed like a soldier preparing for battle. He pulled a wormhide vest on over his simple undershirt, cinching the straps until the leather was snug. The heavier vest which he used for staff-fighting – it was more like armour than clothing – went in his travelling trunk. His soft cloth trousers had marks where he had knelt in the dirt, so he replaced those with wormhide.
Black boots, the kind that stretched to the knee in goblin fashion. He checked the three buckles on each one. The heavy outer robes, cloak, pointy hat and gloves that were part of his uniform went in the trunk. The school was in the cold north, but from what he remembered from surface weather it should still be reasonably warm in this season.
A quick trim of his messy fringe so that it hung just above the top of his scar; this way he wouldn't have to bother with it for a few months. He never let his hair get long enough to distract him.
Glasses firmly on the nose. Plain black robes free of dirt. Buttons seemed shiny enough. Strange black tie as straight as he could make it. No wristbands or leather spaulders to adjust today.
Right, then.
Harry Potter slung his staff on his back and stepped out.
The serene Manager Bogripple had a little advice for Harry before he left the arms of the Brotherhood. Harry met him in his office at nine in the morning, where the goblin sat between folders and boxes marked 'Hogwarts', 'G.B. Wizard Culture', 'Hogsmeade site', 'Wizard magic – perils', 'A.P.W.B.D', and similar.
Bogripple considered him thoroughly over a mug of tadpole soup. It was the only time Harry had ever seen the Head of Information and Veracity eating. At last, the goblin closed the card file in front of him and spoke.
"Make friends and contacts. We would like to know about the freshwater merfolk, if they do exist. Speak to the centaurs if you have the opportunity, but do not venture too far into their woods. There are forest trolls in there, which would not take kindly to human intrusion. There are also rumours of darker creatures – dire wolves and similar. Keep within the grounds. There will be Aurors patrolling and Dementors posted due to the combined circumstances of you, Black, and Lestrange.
"Owl post is not secure, and we do not know the nature or extent of the castle's mail wards. Now that you know this, it will be impossible for you to discuss Brotherhood secrets by owl. Anything important, bring to Brother Filius. You could ask him any other questions you don't wish to wait for a reply to. We do have dossiers on the staff, but there is little of import. Be wary around Professor Severus Snape, who was charged with war crimes and acquitted at closed trial with the support of Professor Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore himself is always an unknown quantity, but no threat, I feel. Professor Septima Vector is a new member of the staff this year and we have no information on her. And there is one vacant professorial position, too – we do not know how it will be filled."
The manager splayed his fingers out on his desk, cocked his head to regard Harry, and continued.
"Tread carefully around the castle house elves. Were I you I would not seek them out, as you can do nothing for them and their ...dismal state may distress you. Do not drink or gamble, regardless of what older students may do. Wizards cook their food considerably longer than we do, but it is fine to eat, if bland. My personal experience indicates that you won't have to worry about not eating any green wobbly bits. Don't be greedy or overly fastidious. Adopt the manners and mannerisms of your peers. There is no need to hide the magic you know, but when in public, favour the wizard spells you are taught.
"Do not talk about the theft, at all. Do not let on about your ability with the snake language. If you damage something, pay for it or rebuild it. Take care of names and titles. Learn something about everyone you meet and look beyond the surface. Be respectful to your teachers even if they are the worst sort of wizard. Take note of everything interesting and be prepared to report back to me. Don't do anything stupid to the school's wards and enchantments. Keep your fingers out of your nostrils and your knife and staff in your trunk. Stay out of trouble. Questions? No? No. Go."
And with that, the goblin dismissed him, immediately picking up a thin gold pen and beginning to write.
Harry had farewelled his friends the evening before. All that remained was to exchange minimally tearful goodbyes with his foster parents and tickle Prettyroot's chin, and then he headed for the main foyer of Gringotts. His pockets were full of sketches of chrysalises, his wand was tucked into a narrow strip of material stitched into his sleeve for that purpose, and he felt only a small buzz of trepidation.
Mr Scintillion awaited him at the marble counters. The former curse breaker now permanently retained by Gringotts shook Harry's hand when he saw him. Then he dropped something into Harry's pocket with a silent wink, and picked up the magically shrunken school trunk. Harry set his jaw resolutely and nodded to Scintillion, who nodded back, drew Harry in close to his side, and then spun abruptly on his heel with the quiet pop of Disapparition.
There was a moment of disorientation as the universe digested the news that a tiny fraction of its particles had changed location for no good reason, and then shapes and colours came back, along with the hooting of owls and tumultuous chatter of children. Existence reasserted itself. Harry was looking out on the steam and chaos of Platform 9 ¾.
Harry staggered slightly, then looked cautiously around.
A large clock showed him it was not quite yet the tenth hour, while the sign next to it indicated the train would be departing from the platform at eleven. Why Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, anyway? Was there some occult significance to the number, or was it simply one of those weird wizarding traditions, like holidays and silly robes with triple ruffs – some idea that had stood around too long in the dry surface air, and ossified?
Harry's keen eye traversed the rest of the station. It was cavernous but brightly-lit, and studded with stone pillars along the sides. There was a wrought-iron archway nearby, with an open-air fireplace on either side - presumably for Floo travel, although people would have to bring their own powder.
Harry studied the other early arrivals. A handful of students sat on benches or their upturned school trunks, alone or talking in small groups. A few parents and younger children stood with them, while several Aurors lurked as discretely as they could in blood-red robes.
Scanning the platform, it looked like only one other person was wearing their Hogwarts robes already. The others were informally dressed. Well, he was learning things already, which was all to the good.
"Good luck, Mr Potter," Mr Scintillion said behind him. Harry acknowledged this with a wave as he stepped towards the bright red steam engine, which was producing wisps of smoke. He had a vague notion of what it is, but it was quite unlike any of the Gringotts carts – not even the largest spoil-hauling ones.
A quick examination with his magnifying glasses showed the train to be made of metal – probably a light steel or alloy. He wasn't sure what wizards were capable of in their steel mills and metal-casting. There were oil lanterns in brackets around what he took to be the engine. Harry tapped the glossy paint thoughtfully. No doubt the whole edifice was enchanted, but it would probably be frowned upon if he started casting goblin-charms to get a better look at the workmanship.
Harry hefted his shrunken trunk and glanced down the long platform. Curious eyes had already fallen on him from the sparse crowd. The closest wizards were staring thoughtfully at his scar, and one old lady was whispering to her friend behind a cupped hand, the other jabbing a finger in his direction.
Well, sparks and bolts to them. Harry wandered off down the platform, smiling faintly as he noticed Mr Scintillion discretely keeping pace with him behind the row of pillars. He passed an older boy with tousled hair jabbing his wand angrily at a heavy sea-chest. The chest was squatting on spindly legs, and appeared to be ignoring him.
Harry paused when he saw another boy, flushed and round-faced, wearing a strange chequered dress robe that was slightly too large on him. The girl he had spotted earlier in Hogwarts robes was talking to – or perhaps at – him. Both students seemed to be roughly his own age.
A forbidding-looking matron was standing just within hearing distance. If Harry was judging her expression right – he was more used to the wide range of grins and sneers goblins used to express their moods – she was looking disapprovingly at the pair.
Harry glanced down at what had caught his attention: a toad that had stealthily eased its way from the boy's side pocket and fallen unnoticed into the shadow of a pile of trunks. It was now making a desperate bid for liberty and glory, which Harry foiled by closing the distance between them and scooping it up.
"You appear to have lost a toad," Harry said, proffering the sickly-looking creature.
The boy seemed to flinch slightly. "Trevor! I didn't even see him go!"
He carefully took custody of the forlorn amphibian. "Thank you... er..." his eyes widened a little as they saw his scar.
"Harry James Potter," Harry said, apparently unnecessarily. The boy seemed to draw himself up a little as the old woman who had been watching them moved away into the growing crowd.
"Oh! Are you really him?" The girl was looking at Harry like a specimen for a preserving jar. "Oh, I've read all about you. You defeated a Dark Wizard who mustn't be named, and-"
Harry grimaced, and cut her off. "If you've already read all about me, maybe you should tell me about you?"
A brief look of panic crossed the girl's face. Then she drew herself up and folded her arms in front of her. "I'm Hermione Granger, and I only found out I was a witch a few months ago, my parents were very surprised, but once I had my wand I tried some spells and they all worked, and I've read all of the course books as well as Wand and Word: Improving Your Charmwork and Modern Magical History and Forays Into Foreign Spells and Break With A Banshee and Potions And You, and, oh, a few others, and this is Neville, uh..."
"N-Neville Longbottom," the boy said, looking askance at Hermione Granger, who hadn't seemed to draw breath once during her speech.
Harry shook hands with each of them, human fashion, and automatically committed their names to memory. He was about to ask the apparently well-read girl whether she knew the history behind the platform's name, when a loud voice interrupted him from behind.
"Harry Potter, is it?"
Harry turned quickly to see a pale, blonde boy, who was also offering a hand to shake. Harry tentatively accepted it.
"Draco Malfoy." The boy frowned when Harry immediately dropped his hand. "Recognise the name, do you? I do hope we can get off to a good start despite my father's politics. I'm sure I could sway him from speaking to the media any further about you. I trust you realise that I'll be the most useful person you could know in our class."
"Lucius Malfoy caused my family a lot of trouble," Harry agreed, staring the boy in the eyes. "But since you are not him, I don't see why that should matter."
"Your ...family?" Draco Malfoy seemed about to say something else, but shook himself and turned to the other two students. He eyed Neville Longbottom, curling his lips but not commenting, and then looked pointedly at Hermione Granger.
"You, I don't recognise at all. Not muggleborn, I hope?"
"I- what if I am?"
Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned back to Harry. "Potter, you'll soon find out that there's a type of wizard you don't want to be seen hanging around with. Names, you see, that you don't want to become associated with." He ignored the girl's gasp. "I can help you there."
Harry frowned, annoyed at the manner of this boy, and made a small humming noise of disagreement. "Why should I care about names? Names are nothing. A person stands on their own-" he searched for a word, but realised English was less craft-oriented, so had to substitute – "merit. If names mattered, I would not care to be associated with the name Malfoy, because of your father. As it is, you are lucky I do not care."
A tinge of pink marred the other boy's pale cheeks. "My ancestry is far better than yours," he said coldly. "And my father is a more powerful wizard than you can imagine. It seems goblins didn't raise you any with any idea of decorum or worth, but once you have your head on straight and come crawling back for my favour, I'll be waiting."
Harry opened his mouth to deliver a short lecture on the nature of worth, but Draco Malfoy was walking briskly away. He blinked, uncertain of what exactly had caused that. Hmmm. Hermione was mouthing 'thank you' and Neville had gone beet-red for some reason. "What did he mean by 'head on straight'? Is this a wizarding term, yes?"
Another boy suddenly stepped forward from Harry's blind spot, causing his hand to dart reflexively for his knife. The newcomer's lips quirked. "Have you really not heard the phrase? It means: come to your senses, think properly, become reasonable. There is a little irony, perhaps, in Messr Malfoy using it."
The new boy had circled around into Harry's field of vision. He was tall and dark-skinned, with close-cropped hair, and he too was carrying a shrunken trunk, which he dropped carelessly at his feet. He looked the three of them up and down, then addressed Harry.
"I watched your little byplay with interest. I met Draco once or twice, I'm sorry to say. A ghastly little prig, but my mother moves in certain... circles, you see, which involve his family. I'm Blaise. Blaise Zabini."
Harry filed the new name away, and shook his hand. "I am Harry James Potter. It is nice to meet you, Blaise Zabini."
Faint puzzlement registered in the boy's almond eyes "You do realise you don't have to call people by their full names? Just 'Blaise' is fine."
"Ah. I don't think I was raised with the same... traditions of naming and address that you were. I would never have used anything but the fullest title I knew until told otherwise. Uh, this is Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom."
Blaise shook hands with each, Hermione looking like she was bursting with unspoken questions and Neville apparently surprised that Harry had remembered his name.
Blaise propped his shrunken trunk on the stacked pieces of luggage already on the platform, then dropped to sit with his legs sprawled across them. "Do you really not care about ancestry and the old names and that whole rigmarole?"
Harry shrugged, and tried to explain. "A given name is just ...a name. Where I come from, people don't even have family names. If you make something really amazing – or do something important, I suppose – then you might become known by some kind of title. But being important because you are related to someone who did something important would be …bizarre, I suppose is the word."
"You're going to make a lot of enemies that way."
"Where were you raised, that doesn't have family names?" Hermione asked sharply.
The three boys blinked at her.
"I thought you knew all about me," Harry said dryly. "But obviously they need to update the modern history-books."
"I- I heard from the Prophet newspaper that you were raised by g-goblins," Neville proffered nervously, turning his toad over and over in his hands. "I- my Gran usually says not to pay that sort of gossip any mind, and that the Daily Prophet is a rag, but there was a whole, um, big thing about it."
Hermione frowned. "There are wizard newspapers? Where would I buy one? Were you really raised by goblins? Why don't any of the books say that?"
Blaise cocked an eyebrow at Harry, and rose from where he had been sitting, apparently in perfect comfort, on the pile of hard-cornered travelling trunks. "Well, you seem interesting enough to be going on with. Shall we go and find a compartment, then?"
Harry answered a steady stream of questions as they got on the train and moved down the carriages. The compartments near the front of the train already had children in them, most of them older-looking. He had just finished explaining what little he knew about the Daily Prophet when Blaise peered in through a frosted pane and opened the door.
A young, weedy boy glanced across at them from the corner, where he had been staring out the window at the platform. The compartment was otherwise empty.
"Do you mind?" Blaise gestured at the space.
The boy, who had almost ash-grey hair, shrugged, scrutinising their faces. "It's a free country."
Blaise smiled and threw his trunk up onto the racks, then helped the others with theirs. He tapped his fingers against his cheek, then snapped them and pointed. "Nott, right? Theodore Nott? We have a mutual cousin, Salisbury Borage?"
The boy nodded briefly. "He's a complete oik. Yes, Blaise Zabini, I remember. You're all first years, too?"
Each of them nodded, and introduced themselves. Theodore put a firm halt to Blaise calling him "Theo", which seemed reasonable to Harry, and then seemed to lose interest in the conversation. The four newcomers settled down and began to discuss their families. Outside, the station started to fill up.
It emerged that Neville came from an old, well-known wizarding line, and high expectations had been placed upon him as the Scion of Longbottom. A completely evil-sounding man by the name of Uncle Algie was implicated in trying to provoke Neville's accidental magic into flaring. The intense pressure seemed to have come close to cracking Neville instead of strengthening him. The same uncle had bought Neville his toad, which had escaped to the luggage rack to stare balefully down at its owner.
Blaise, on the other hand, was a sword whose edge had been well-whetted by familial trouble. His father had been his mother's fourth husband, and the boy had an older half-sister and half-brother from husbands one and three respectively. Blaise's mother was now on husband number six, and Blaise seemed rather hostile towards her. The unspoken implication was that the first five had died. Harry wasn't completely clear on what wizarding marriage entailed, but it seemed an unusual way of doing things. The fact that there were still adult wizards left suggested this was not the norm.
Harry learned very little about Theodore, but Hermione was a font of information. Her parents weren't witches or wizards, a fact which turned into a discussion with Harry about the terms 'magical' and 'non-magical', as contrasted with 'muggle'. After all, goblins weren't witches or wizards either, and nor were many other magical peoples. This new mention of Harry's background opened the floodgates for everyone to ask him about it. He was explaining to Blaise in exasperation that no, goblins didn't really eat gold, when the door to the compartment opened.
Harry looked carefully at the girl who had appeared and slammed the door behind her. She was flushed, grimacing, and leaning against it for breath. Harry instinctively read what her expression would have meant for a goblin – suggesting she was openly regretting having lost a small sum in a bet – before remembering where he was. The girl had a similar skin tone to Blaise, but it was only a passing resemblance.
She blinked at them. "Hello. Sorry for bursting in like that. I just managed to escape my sister's claws. Er, can I hide here for a while?"
Blaise gestured grandiosely to a seat. When she offered her hand he twisted it flat and brushed his lips against it, making her blush. "Good morning. I'm Blaise. Feel free to seek sanctuary from any sisters here."
"Yes, sanctuary sounds right. She wants to do everything with me and doesn't let me get a word in edgewise. Thanks, I'm Padma."
The girl sat down next to Hermione, and everybody else leaned across to shake her hand and introduce themselves.
"You're really Harry Potter?"
Harry wondered if this was going to get annoying. He ignored the gasped question. "Why are you hiding from your own sister?"
Padma frowned. "She's my twin. And we... don't see eye-to-eye, really. But I don't think she realises that. Parvati wants to be Sorted into Gryffindor, is excited about exploring the castle and seeing real live ghosts... well, real ghosts, anyway... and has spent more time fussing with her hair than preparing for Hogwarts. She's so- so noisy about it all."
"Oh? What have you done to prepare for Hogwarts?"
"Once we had learned our letters and numbers properly, my parents let us practise some things. Mainly more schoolwork, but..." Padma rummaged in her trunk until she found her wand.
She held it up, bit her lip, and then said slowly, "Tranquilla illusionari amplexus décora." After a few seconds, a small butterfly flickered into existence on the tip of her wand. It had one ragged turquoise wing and the other mottled black. The girl frowned, shook her wand, and spoke the incantation again, more carefully. Now both wings were whole, and a faint silvery-green colour. She tried a third time, and a much larger butterfly appeared in scintillating colours. It took off from her wand-tip and began to flutter around the room.
"Where did you find that spell? I'm sure that's not in the Standard Book of Spells! Can you show me how to cast it?" Hermione already had her wand out and was trying to mimic the movements.
Padma beamed proudly. "My mother taught it to me..."
Harry caught the butterfly in his cupped hands when it flitted nearby. It felt prickly, but he could tell it wasn't real. The wings continued to gently flutter even when they had to pass straight through his fingers to do so.
Interesting. He held the butterfly in one hand and made the revealing-sign, Ha'gplaz, frowning at how little it told him. He muttered a different goblin-charm. Apparently the butterfly was made of a dozen simple two-dimensional shapes, interacting with each other to give the illusion of form and shifting colours. Its prickly legs were only a small sensation charm tacked into the middle of it.
Harry sat back and began to prod at the web of spellwork, using little pulses of his own magic to shift bits of the spell around. He grimaced in amusement as the butterfly suddenly destabilised, becoming a mess of fluttering triangles and bright fractal patterns. The roiling colours were nauseating to look at as the charm continued to beat what used to be its wings, out of synchrony with itself, so he banished the threads of magic holding it together. It faded away into the air.
Harry realised that he had heard a gasp, and looked up. Neville was staring, and Blaise was watching him with undisguised curiosity.
"Y-you can do wandless magic?" Neville said, mouth hanging open.
Oops. Blood and slag, he had just that morning had a warning against using goblin magic in public. Harry felt himself begin to blush.
Hermione stopped conjuring butterflies and turned to look at him. She had conjured a small swarm in the few minutes since she had learned the spell, and they faded away as she stopped paying attention to them.
"That's not possible," she scoffed. "Casting spells wandlessly is very advanced. I doubt we'll be learning it before our last year in school. You can't really, can you, Harry?"
Harry flashed her a self-deprecating sneer. It seemed to alarm her, so he stopped. "Goblin magic is very different from wizard spells. We – I mean, they use three different forms of charms, none of which wizards would recognise."
They seemed interested, so Harry continued, ticking them off on his fingers. "Enchantments, which are intrinsically woven into items while they are being crafted. Glyph magic, which is tied to runes and sigils and can either be temporary or permanent. Goblin-charms, which are subtle and cumulative, drawing more and more magic from the environment instead of draining the caster. I used a goblin-charm, so I didn't need a wand."
"Oh, goblins can't use those, can they?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "They're banned." She looked inordinately pleased with herself for knowing this. Harry just stared at her.
Blaise coughed into his hand. "So can you use all of those types of magic? Are they really that different from the spells we might learn?"
Harry thought carefully, recalling which things the goblin-oath would let him say. "Well... no, I haven't learned anywhere near what I could from my – from the goblin sorcerers. I have a decent knowledge of the signs and marks, but I can't do much with them that I couldn't do better with other charms. I have learned Brother Häppälon's Elementary Enchanting, but that's only useful for increasing the durability and tensile strength of things like wood, leather and base metals. I might be able to help a master with preparing complex enchantments, though."
Hermione continued to use the spell to conjure butterflies as she listened, improving on their forms. Harry's explanation was cut short as the whistle sounded, making everyone jump, and the swarm died away again.
Neville, sitting next to the window, looked equal parts excited and ill. "I- I guess we'll be off soon, huh. I can hardly believe it."
The door slid open at that moment and a chubby boy peered cautiously inside. "Oh – I'm sorry – first years, too?"
"Yes," said Padma and Hermione together. The boy glanced around at the compartment. "I'm terribly sorry – I hesitate to ask, it's just it seems like everywhere's full already, and the older students don't want anybody sitting with them, and the train is due to depart soon-"
Another whistle and the carriage lurched.
Guessing that the boy was actually asking whether he could sit with them, Harry looked around the compartment. "I think we could make room."
Theodore, sitting in the corner opposite Neville, sighed.
Blaise slid towards the quiet boy. "Don't be uncouth, Theodore. Budge up." Then Harry shuffled further along towards Blaise until the newcomer could sit down.
"Much obliged, chaps. Ernie Macmillan," he said, offering his hand to Hermione and Padma across from him first, then standing up again to shake hands with Neville, Theodore and Blaise, before turning to Harry and gasping.
"You're not- are you..." his eyes seemed to be fixed on Harry's scar.
"Harry James Potter. Is this going to be a problem?" There was a clattering as the train began to steam out of the station. Beyond the windows, parents waved and owls swarmed. A sliver of bright blue became visible, making Harry shiver as usual.
"Oh – not – is that where..." Ernie's voice died to a hush as he stared at the jagged mark. "It happened?"
Goblins were pragmatic. It was normal amongst them to wear scars proudly if they were acquired in some exciting or important way. Scars acquired through stupidity or thoughtlessness were covered up or magically healed, being marks of shame. Harry wasn't certain whether either applied to his, so he usually just ignored it. That wasn't going to be a viable strategy on the surface world, obviously.
"Yes, that's from the night Voldemort came to kill my birth parents, succeeded, and was driven off somehow."
Theodore, Blaise and Ernie all jerked a little at the name. Opposite them, Padma remained placid, while Neville squeaked out loud. Hermione asked, "driven off? He was killed, Harry. The books say even his body was destroyed."
"I don't doubt that some books do say that," Harry said carefully. "The facts the books present, once you pare away the extrapolation, are that ash of human origin and burned robes were left on the floor, the house was destroyed, and there were no witnesses to any of it. And, of course, I have a scar, yes? Yes. We can hardly drawn any conclusions from that."
There was an awkward silence. Hermione was about to reply when Blaise deliberately cut across her. "We're probably going to have people beating a line to our compartment once word gets around that you're here. Just an idle observation."
Theodore scowled.
"Do you think we should lock and barricade the doors?" Blaise continued lightly, as if asking about the weather. "Is that what you normally do, or is there some other protocol?"
"I've never been on the surface in public as myself," Harry said. "I didn't think it would be this bad." Ernie blushed a little, and stopped staring at him.
"Really?" Blaise said. "I knew you were at least reclusive, given that you turn back everyone's owls. But... no, come to think of it, there would have been a considerable ruckus if you made a public appearance. Like that press conference a month ago, there were some pictures of you in the paper. The Prophet made a feast of it for days, even with everything else that was going on. My mother was bitterly disappointed she wasn't invited to attend. It was quite funny to watch, she damaged a lot of furniture."
Harry frowned, holding up his palm. "Hold. I turn back everyone's owls?"
Theodore leaned around Blaise. Apparently he had been listening, and now his dark eyes were fixed on Harry. "I'd imagine all the old pureblood families have tried to contact you. There are a number of annual functions, possible endorsements to be made, alliances and contacts... are you saying you didn't know that mail doesn't reach you?"
Harry shook his head, considering. "Filius had to bring me my Hogwarts letter by hand, I know that..."
Zabini nodded. "My mother wrote to you once, on some concocted excuse, but the letter came back unopened. We assumed it was Dumbledore's doing, or that of his followers."
"Ahhh, rocks fall. Yes, I suppose it makes sense: owls can't enter Underfoot, that would be a major security concern. I've only ever had an owl find me once in my life, and that was while I was in one of the Gringotts offices. Someone wanted to buy the right to use my name for a cauldron-cleansing potion, or something. My foster-father took care of it... in hindsight, that sort of thing should have been much more common."
That did shine a new light on the geode. Harry was still trying to think of the consequences when Padma spoke.
"Well, I don't know if it's funny or creepy that you've never been able to get your mail, but you should see to it that people know you're not deliberately shunning them."
Blaise was nodding in agreement. "I could probably see that word gets around, if you like. Of course, it'll mean that my mother starts writing to you again." The boy made a face.
"Okay." Harry hesitated. "I've heard that Hogwarts has mail wards, though. I don't know what they do. It's possible they only let things through from family."
Hermione looked concerned. "That doesn't sound right. Mail should be private. But... no, no I'm sure that's not the case. Hogwarts: A History says that all owls entering the grounds are automatically screened for curses, but cannot be otherwise tampered with except with the Headmaster's direct approval. That's Headmaster Dumbledore! He's the greatest Light wizard there ever was, it's not like he would interfere with the owl post."
"Jolly right," said Ernie.
Blaise and Theodore, though, made little synchronised choking noises.
"What?" demanded Hermione. Padma looked at the two boys in puzzlement.
Blaise sighed. "Everyone I know say that Dumbledore's gone completely off his rocker. It's not surprising, he's about three hundred years old. Who knows what he might do?"
"And he's done a lot of questionable stuff in the past," Theodore added darkly.
"No! Like what?" Hermione asked. She, Neville and Ernie seemed rather upset, while Padma was a little pool of calm.
"My step-father says he's favouritist, overly lenient, lets government become bloated, and stifles intellectual endeavours," said Blaise primly. "He takes more and more books from the Hogwarts library every year, helps the Ministry restrict more and more spells, and at the same time votes for lighter sentencing in the Wizengamot. As well as higher taxes to fund unnecessary welfare programs."
"He's the apple of everyone's eye for defeating Grindelwald," Theodore added, "But he uses his position in the ICW to push foreign agendas on Britain. Only the ones he chooses, mind. We're signatory to about half the international wizarding laws, and it's exactly the half that Dumbledore chooses."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, ignoring the noises of outrage Ernie was making. "A family friend told me he didn't think he was a threat, but he does have three extremely powerful positions, doesn't he? I wonder how many checks are on the powers of the Hogwarts Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump and Head Warlock."
Hermione stared at him. "Harry, you can't believe all this! Haven't you read about Dumbledore? He was the only one that- that You Know Who was really scared of!"
Harry shrugged, wondering why she thought that at all relevant to the conversation. "I'm …what do you call it? Ah, reserving judgement. I've never met him, yes? I don't know much more than what my foster-parents say about him."
"Well, what do they say?"
Harry opened his mouth, and found his tongue refused to move.
"Uuuugh. Hmbleh. Argh. ...Huh. Looks like that's a goblin secret. I didn't know, interesting. I can't talk about it," he added at their inquisitive looks.
"Dumbledore's a Light wizard, and he's against Dark wizards, and that's that," Ernie said, firm in his convictions. "He's not just a force for good, he's, he's practically the force for good."
"I've wondered about that distinction all year," Harry said. "I was working with the Underfoot healers, and they use all sorts of spells that some of my books would call 'Dark'. It's not very well-defined, is it? Or perhaps it is, here on the surface. I'll have to look up some more when I get back home, there's probably all sorts of things in the Libraries which your Ministry wouldn't allow in British wizarddom. Especially if what Blaise said about the Hogwarts library is correct."
Ernie, whose face had betrayed more and more horror as Harry went on, stood up abruptly and heaved his trunk off the rack, narrowly missing Padma. He pointed a finger dramatically at Harry.
"You are treading dangerously close to the Darkness! I- I think you've been corrupted! You said it yourself, who knows what actually happened when you got that scar? I don't want you hanging around me, understand?"
The boy stormed off, muttering about dark wizardry.
Harry sat with his mouth open, and then grinned and joined Blaise and Padma in laughter. Theodore and Neville shrugged at each other from opposite sides of the compartment. Hermione just looked shocked for a while, before her mouth set into a grim line.
"Wow!"
They looked around. A gangly red-haired boy was lingering in the doorway, gawping openly at Harry.
"Wow," he said again, "Harry Potter?"
Harry fought an urge to put his head in his hands.
"Cor! It is you! And that's-" the boy broke off, staring at the scar on Harry's forehead as if he wanted to reach out and stroke it. Instead, he sat down next to Harry in the seat Ernie had just vacated. "I'm Ron Weasley. Harry Potter, huh? How could that boy think you're dark? You killed the most terrible dark lord ever!"
It was by now fairly clear to Harry what he was going to be facing when most people met him. Well, he might have to test a few ways of dealing with it. Here was a good start: "What? You think I killed the Pharaoh Ptelmyptes?"
The redhead Ron looked bewildered.
Harry sighed. "You were talking about Voldemort, yes?"
This elicited another squeak from Neville and a look of awe from Ron.
Harry shook his head, and began to paraphrase one of his books. "A couple of thousand years ago, Ptelmyptes personally killed seven slaves each day and ate their hearts, every day of his ninety-six year reign. His armies slaughtered many millions more. He and his court created the Veshnepi, a race of curse-using lion demons made out of human eyeballs and nervous tissue. They often pitted them for fun against another of his monstrosities, the Eightfold Soul-eater of Bel-Sarlacc."
"That's not in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts," Hermione muttered. Harry grimaced, noticing Neville had gone whiter than a cave-fish.
"Well, records of it are – sketchy? That is the right word, yes?"
They nodded.
"Sketchy." He nodded decisively. "Some writers believe it was a cross between some huge species of hydra, now extinct, and a catoblepas, preserved with mummification rituals. They uncovered burial urns with – urnakgot – er, pictograms saying it was capable of tearing out the souls of eight victims at once, then digesting those souls over thousands of years. Not that I believe that, but there must be some basis in fact."
Harry glanced at Ron.
"If you only meant to talk about European dark lords, Grindelwald was easily the worst. Him and his cohorts killed almost as many people as Ptelmyptes, and in a much shorter time, yes? His legacy was the current form of inferus, a creature that can multiply itself by taking a victim. He also made things called 'brain bottles' which I have only read references about, as nobody seemed to dare to write down what they actually were. And the Dementors swarmed to him like tunnel roaches, of course. Some claim that he actually created them."
Hermione looked like she was going to be sick. Blaise was looking extremely interested.
"In second place for Europe would be Vlad the Impaler, a sorcerer who used human murders – sacrifices – to keep himself alive for four hundred years. Some of those centuries he spent taking feral wampyrs from Russia and blood-sucking butternut squash from Austria, and breeding them into the deadly modern vampires."
Neville was gripping the edge of the seat tightly. Harry kept an eye on him, in case he had to stop. Ron's mouth hung wide open.
"Then there was Baba Yaga, who was a mass-murderer on a much, er, smaller scale. That's... sorry, that sounded terrible, in context. She ate children alive, you see, and tortured their parents with constant nightmares and visions of what she had done. If you count the people she drove to death, she probably killed more than Vlad."
"How do you know all this?" Blaise asked curiously. "And you're lucky that Ernie idiot already left, by the way."
Harry clasped his hands together, looking serious.
"I read a lot. My point was: Voldemort is, at most, the fourth-most 'terrible' dark lord in European history, the second-most 'terrible' dark lord in recent European history, and I would be surprised if he was anywhere at all on the 'most terrible dark lords ever' scale. I mean, I don't doubt that he was powerful. I just..."
"Bragging about your victory, Potter? It's most unbecoming, you know." Draco slid the door fully open and stepped in, giving a slight nod to Theodore, who ignored him completely. There were two larger boys behind Draco, but no room for them in the already-full compartment. "Funny thing... I just heard someone going around telling people that you're a big, scary Dark wizard."
"And so naturally it piqued your interest," Blaise said snidely.
"Perhaps a little. But downplaying the Dark Lord's power seems to me to be a foolish idea. British wizards are many times more powerful than any mouldy old mages from ancient history. Our blood is simply stronger. Or at least, those of us who don't breed with muggles."
"If you had bothered to ask, you would know that I was correcting a misconception about the most terrible wizards, not the most powerful," Harry said, annoyed. "What is your basis for saying that your 'blood is stronger', anyway?"
"The Malfoys, unlike some, are fully pure-blooded, and therefore our power is-"
"No, I meant, where is the data backing up your assumption? How do you know a wizarding family produces more powerful wizards, on average, than muggleborns? What studies support the idea?"
Draco paused, and then began, "Our blood is, as a matter of simple fact, not diluted. We are hugely more distanced from the grubby muggles! My father-"
Harry sighed. "No, I thought so. You don't have any support for your arguments, and you just squawk your father's words like a trained slithersucker. If Lucius said the earth's crust was made of dried fish, would you be repeating that, too?"
Draco coloured, and the burly boys framing the doorway behind him scowled in concert. "Don't you talk about my father! His blood is a dozen time more pure than that of any Boy-Who-Lived-With-Goblins!"
Harry smiled, beginning to enjoy himself. "I've met your father, you know. He stares a lot. I never got to see his blood. Did you know that there have only been five true, home-grown British dark lords since the founding of Hogwarts? Of those, only the first two are definitively known to have been what you would call 'pureblood'. Of course, according to Fi- Professor Flitwick, many more wizards would have come from wizarding families back then. Just sheer statistics."
Harry's smile widened to show his teeth. "The fifth one was Voldemort, of course. We don't know about his ancestry, since he seemed to appear from nowhere. He claimed to be descended from Slytherin. More likely he was just some – sick French muggleborn with illusions of grandeur."
"Delusions," Hermione corrected quietly.
"Muggleborn?" squealed Draco.
"Sick?" puzzled one of the boys behind him.
"French?" grunted the other.
"Well, I could be wrong, but the name 'Voldemort' sounds remarkably like it came from the French section of my genealogy books. Although it does sound a bit trollish, too," said Harry, smiling vaguely as people continued to flinch at the name.
"I think it means, um..." Hermione's lips moved silently. "Flies from death," she finished.
"In trollish?" Harry asked, surprised. "Wouldn't that be, um, Gr'versh... Gr'takver... Gr'tak something, I think..."
"No, in French."
Draco scowled at both of them. "Shut up! What would a mudblood like you know about the Dark Lord?"
Harry was having a hard time not laughing. "So, his name means 'coward'? That's just... well... Anyway, yes, it sounds like an assumed name, so I doubt he is really descended from Slytherin, yes?"
He grew a little more sombre. "And given all the things he is supposed to have done, it is pretty clear he was – what is the phrase? Ill mentally. Hence my saying 'sick'."
Draco raised his wand, but Harry whispered three words and a small, greenish fireball appeared in his hand. It was just maggot-light, not even warm to the touch, but it made the other boy back off abruptly.
The door banged shut behind him.
Ron Weasley, looking pale underneath his freckles, turned slowly to Harry. "That was bloody brilliant."
Author's notes:
→ It should come as absolutely no surprise that I couldn't just stick to one chapter on the Hogwarts Express. I suppose it wouldn't be fair to stop it here, so I've posted the next chapter too.
→ I had a lot of fun writing both of them, anyway. They just expanded beyond my control from five or six pages of notes I've been jotting down all year. I hope you enjoyed this one, and that you'll read and review them both.