Arts and Sanctuary

by DoctorD

In the summer following his first encounter with the Dark Lord, Harry has managed to find himself in a situation where only a miracle could allow him to survive. Fortunately for him, Harry has that miracle inside him: it's called a Horcrux, but what is Harry willing to do to survive? Dark AU. Dark Harry Potter.

3. Chapter 3

"Harry?"

Her voice was soft, though not unsure. She often poked about his room once the sun set, perhaps to offer the comfort of her presence, perhaps to make sure he wasn't out of place. He suspected it was a combination of both, of attending to a task that was beyond house-elf nannies and making sure her ward was tucked away and secure. Tonight, however, he was awake-wide and unblinking-allowing the brilliant light of the half-formed moon to catch the twisting bands of his multilayer ring.

"Yes, Madam?"

For a moment Narcissa stood just beyond the threshold, perhaps to examine him in the silent introspective manner she often did, but soon enough she released a soft sigh, "I wouldn't wish for you to call me that within the security of our home."

Our home, as if the space was just as much his own as it was theirs. Maybe, it was. Maybe, his presence alone and the weight of his magic claimed this space apart of him just as much as the people were apart of him, additions to his small collection of the precious and treasured.

"What should I call you?" He said, curious if not a little amused. "We're related, did you know that?"

Narcissa lifted a well-manicured nail to tap at her chin, a slight smile upon her lips. "I was told earlier today, by an excited Lucius, yes."

"So, what if I called you Aunt Narcissa? Would that please you."

For a moment she seemed slightly dazed, and Harry smiled, something sly at the idea that, perhaps, the odd spike of Narcissa's magic-a flex of chill and pine-had something to do with a particular blood curse.

"That would be fine," She said, before unfocused eyes of blue were back upon him, "If it's comfortable with you."

Harry gave a nod, a quick affirmation of his ease with their newly established address before he began to approach her, "You need something."

It was in the way she held her body, in the haughty pure-blood posture of her spine and the furrowed brow that disrupted her perfect mask of arrogant airs.

"Lucius has someone he'd… like you to meet."

"You disapprove," Harry said, stating a fact.

"Yes." She murmured, cautious and solemn.

He could understand that, he supposed. To Narcissa he was, in all appearances, a child. His prodigal nature and eloquent speech aside, there were a great many things out there that could harm him. He understood this more than most, knew that due to the power that swam in his veins and the might that filled his vaults, he could be-and had been-targeted. Due his nature, his true nature, Narcissa left him to his own plans and most decisions, but she still hovered and dotted. It was only slightly bothersome, but not unwanted. He would play his part and cultivate his gentryhood, as was appropriate under her tutelage so that she could feel somewhat in control of his development and protection. At least in this instance, he knew Narcissa worked for a greater need-his survival and cultivation.

She was not Petuna, and that reason alone was why he enjoyed her mothering.

"Are they in the study?"

Narcissa nodded before she made an odd sound, like a worried sigh. "You wish to go."

"I must," Harry answered, but he knew how to please, how to manipulate, and slowly-almost shyly, he lifted his hand to place against hers, "Will you take me?"

If she thought him in need of the extra courage she didn't say, instead she grasped his hand and Harry took care to note that it was solid and firm, heavy, warm within his grip and a tad too tight. Whoever she was taking him to meet she did not seem to care for. At all.

"Of course, little lord," She stated, and while she tried to put forth a semblance of normalcy Harry could sense the frantic flutter of her magic as she pulled it to her command, just in case…

Ah, now he was incredibly curious.

They walked in silence, Harry withholding his questions in exchange for haste. She took him to the massive study Lucius often occupied for business and with only a moment of hesitation, for she would not show weakness here nor to Harry, she lifted her hand to knock briskly.

The door was answered with barely a moment's breath between Narcissa's knock and the hallways suffocating silence. Lucius was on the other side, face drawn in usual Slytherin chill, with only a spark of recognition within his gaze to keep it from seeming like cruel indifference. "Narcissa."

She released Harry's hand, but only so that she could wrap that delicate hand around Lucius throat, holding it, feeling the pulse, but not squeezing. She didn't need to. The threat was clear enough, "If he is hurt-"

Lucius rumbled slightly, his voice a whisper, "He will not touch him, Cissa-"

"I will kill you, Lucius. I will," But her heated tone held a tinge of playfulness.

Lucius swallowed harshly anyway.

"I'll call for you when we're finished," Lucius said right before he lowered subdued eyes to Harry, who smiled broadly.

"See that you do," Narcissa said, before, with only a moment spared to make sure Harry looked proper in his robe and spider-silk pajamas, she turned and glided back down the hall, grace and fire.

"Scary." Harry said, before he moved to follow Lucius.

He made an odd sound in the back of his throat in response.

"A strong powerful woman of the house, isn't she? A bird she may be, but she's still got teeth and claw."

A loud laugh filtered out from the space, the owner of the crude if not truthful words, and once the door closed behind them Lucius swept forward to introduce his current company. The room, though small, seemed to perfectly fit the beings within it. With its green carpeting, deep Oakwood desk, and cushioned chairs. There, against the wall, beside a floating globe of deep amber liquid-a station for Lucius elven cognac-stood a beastly man, whose clothing seemed far too large and somewhat frayed to be worn in polite company. This man oozed bestiality, something that slipped along Harry's skin like a tentative whisper. It was taint, it hummed under his skin and intertwined deeply with his magic. Harry could feel it, could nearly grasp the magic that sang of wilderness and snap it just so…

He approached without fear as the male against the wall moved off, arms crossed and lips twisted up in what might have been a silent snarl-but Harry presumed it to be a smile. "Who are you?"

The man against the wall gave a tilt of his head, "Greyback. Fenrir Greyback."

Lucius moved to place a hand upon Harry's shoulder, "Harry, this is… this is one of His followers."

"Faithful, 'n all that." The man laughed hoarsely, his wheezing tones like gravel underfoot. "Eager to see the Harry Potter."

Harry tilted his head, gaze curious as he combed it over the man, as he listened to the steady pulse of his wildness and magic, "Ah, a werewolf, a creature of the dark."

So, it was fitting that he bowed.

"Yes, he is… touched." Lucius corrected politely, if only because Greyback was currently in their company, "But he is also one of the few that is privy to your condition."

Harry gave a soft laugh of his own, "My condition?"

"Lucius here has told me a most interesting story," Greyback said, "He's telling me that you, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was blessed by the Dark Lord, himself."

There was a declining joviality to Greyback's tone, as if his initial amusement at meeting Harry had deteriorated into unveiled disgust. Indeed, his entire expression soon changed to one of disbelief and irritation, "But I don't see anything special."

Lucius tightened his grip but Harry's shoulder, and while Greyback drew himself up to his full height, to cut an imposing figure, Harry only continued his quiet observing.

"I'm not a fool, Lucius. I don't bow to just any wizard with a fresh scheme and a few galleons."

"I am finding it difficult to see you as anything but, however, since you doubt my claim. I know what I saw. I know what I've seen. What I feel-"

"Hogwash," Greyback interrupted, his gaze upon the dirt beneath his inhumanly long fingernails, "you're harborin' a blood-traitor's son for nothin', Lucius, and not just any kid, this is the kid, the one who destroyed our Lord-who ruined my chance for more."

Lucius' lips twisted up in a sneer to rival Greyback's own expression of displeasure, "How dare you even begin to fathom speaking to me in such a way. Speaking before him in such a way, as if he-"

But Greyback ignored his caretaker and instead turned the eerie wolf-glow of his gaze upon him, "You shouldn't even be alive, 'n you aren't much worth the air you breath."

Enough.

While the exchange between his would-be father and the wolf had been somewhat entertaining the amusement factor had lowered dramatically as Greyback spat out words of worth. Harry held little care for the less than astute, and he was done playing the role of the nobody, of The Boy, who was little more than just a face to covet or harm or toy with. He was not a child without value, and certainly not a being without malice. He met Greyback's stare without so much as a flinch and he allowed such emotion to unravel from his person-let the shadows streak the green of his gaze and make them twist and swirl with building displeasure. He lifted a hand to firmly, but gently, remove Lucius grip from his person, but the Malfoy lord had gone somewhat pale and still. Was he still breathing, this man who defended his honor? Was he able to think past the oozing suffocation that rose from his flesh and spread out from his person? Or did he feel the potency of his call, of the lure that thickened his magic and called for surrender.

Lucius fell to one knee at his side with a gasp, his head bowed, his posture reverent and low. A good lord for his king.

While Greyback stepped back, shuddered as he pressed against the wall with wide eyes and an open mouth. His tongue twitched, a flapping trapped thing, as he throat flexed but was unable to form words. Harry, with tilted head, only lifted his hands and clasped them together, back at his front, the perfect picture of innocence as he spoke with a curious cantor-

One, perhaps, so very familiar to those present, "And, why would you say something like that, Mr. Greyback?"

There was no answer forth coming, but there was something rolling, shifting beneath Greyback's skin, forcing the man to breath heavily and his eyes to bulge.

"Is it because you think that I'm beneath you?" Harry whispered, patient as Lucius shivered at his side and Greyback panted, "Do you think I'm not alpha enough to destroy you?"

That got his attention, or rather, the attention of something, something wicked and vile and hungry that clawed at Greyback's person and made his magic beat against Harry's own.

But, Harry's magic was stronger, broader, so raw and so much darker.

Greyback's beast, his wolf of madness and blood, faltered-

"I won't have you running wild, Mr. Greyback. You've come into the home of a lord and insulted his charge and his honor. I've been reading a great deal of books, all on the behavior of true witches and wizards, and I must admit that this is a grievous insult."

Harry stepped closer, unafraid as he swept more of his power over the wolf, as he watched him crumble down the length of the wall and press close to the material there. His gaze was wide and flickering, frightened-whatever conscious thought Fenrir once had had retreated, swallowed by the wolf, by the instincts that told him to run or fight.

But Harry wanted him to obey.

"I could demand my pound of flesh and blood in duel. I could ask the magics that be to judge us, embracing the Ways of our ancestors-yes, even yours, I think…" Harry paused here, watched Greyback carefully, and knew by his pale parlor and sweat drenched brow that he had his attention, "But I would much rather like something else."

Slowly Harry pulled back, easing the pressure of his magic from the trembling bookcase and groaning walls. It allowed Greyback to blink rapidly, to breath as if he'd never had air before and Lucius, once so still and silent-as if he could possibly disappear if he remained quiet enough-began to stir and slouched in his once perfect kneel. He waited for the men to recover, for Greyback to sit up against the wall with a weary understanding and his face in his hands.

"And… what would that be?" He croaked, voice almost so low Harry might have missed it.

But he'd been listening and excited to reply, "I'd much prefer your friendship and fealty, as we both await His return."

For a moment there was absolute silence.

Then it was broken by wheezing laughter.

"You bloody scared me, bloke!" Greyback laughed, his expression still haggard and his gaze still a bit frantic, "I thought… I thought…"

Lucius was silent in the background, watching Harry with the sort of intensity of the fanatical. Harry only smiled in response.

"Then…" Harry said, extending his hand, waiting…

"Y-yes…" Greyback said, somewhat sobered and certainly unnerved as he reached out a trembling hand to grip Harry's own, the grip strong despite his terror. Impressive.

Good. Good.

"Excellent, Mr. Greyback. Then I hope I can count on you." And the wolf that hummed in his blood, eager to serve.

"Ah, but let it be known that if you are rude toward me again," Harry tightened his grip a bit in a childish expression of what he could do, would do, with his magic. A slow and complete strangulation.

"Understood, Mr. Potter." Greyback murmured, begrudgingly impressed no doubt. "But how about some of that elven whiskey for my trouble, then?"

Lucius snorted, "No."

Well then.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sky was an interesting shade of blue, a twisting kaleidoscope of clouds that faded into greys and pale ocean tones. He stood there, beneath the expansive umbrella of nature, and experienced a peculiar serenity that had assaulted him unexpectedly. This was not the first time he'd experienced the Malfoy gardens, nor would it be the last, but something had drawn him past the doorway and out into the open space shared with frolicking peacocks and spiraling magical flora.

Maybe it was the hissing nearby, the soft whispers that crawled across his consciousness, incoherent and yet so easily understood.

He took a deep breath and then released it before he turned toward the gardens, careful and cautious of the creeping plants that wriggled and writhed, unusual and no doubt dangerous to all but the woman who took such great care with them. He had seen her among them once, with a serene smile and her own soft whispers-coos to trembling roses and gentle finger strokes to unfurled leaves-but he knew that he was, like the Malfoy men, another intruder. He wouldn't dare touch them.

Least they also know how to bite and maim as well as they trembled in their beauty.

Instead he carefully crouched, robe hung over one of his arms and bum hovering over the cobblestone so that he would not get his freshly pressed slacks marked with soil.

"Come to me," He whispered, his lips set to form a sibilant lullaby, "Come to me, friend."

There was a pause in the whispers, followed by an odd sound of confusion and for a moment there was nothing but a sweeping stillness-Harry, rocking slightly on his heels, and his friend, hidden in the dangerous foliage.

Then, from the grass, something came forth with scales of silvers and blacks that caught the light of the sun and reflected then brilliantly. Harry was taken aback, his heart set to pound, not from fear of the creature that revealed itself but out of… freedom, the freedom to choose to speak with it, the notion and idea that if someone were to see him he would not be beaten for his enjoyment or demeaned for his gift.

Mentally, with soft prayer, he thanked Him again.

"My friend, my new friend." Harry whispered in low tones, the magic of his voice, of his Parseltongue, crisp and clean in the manner befitting him. His exploration of the Malfoy library and wizarding history he'd once be too lazy to dive into, had been a fascinating reveal. This gift he had yet to display before his family was not meant to be hidden… but his secrets were his own, and he intended to unleash them appropriately. One at a time, he suspected. "Come here, to me. Let me see you properly."

The snake in question obeyed, an animal of nearly two feet long, "A speaker?"

Its voice was soft and youthful, feminine if Harry wagered a guess, "Yes, a speaker."

The snake lifted slowly, tilted its head this way and that, "A speaker, a speaker!"

Harry could tell that there was some excitement in the animal. A difference from the somber sadness of the snake he'd freed in at the zoo, "What are you doing, out here in the sun?"

"Hunting for meat, for shelter."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "I have meat, and I have shelter."

"Speaker has meat and shelter…?"

The snake lowered slightly, an act that Harry understood as thoughtful, "Yes. I have meat, and shelter, and purpose for you. I need a friend, someone to keep close, to share my thoughts, to teach and in return be taught."

The snake shifted closer, tongue set to poke near Harry's foot, "Speaker is powerful?"

"I am powerful."

"This one is young."

"That's fine," Harry said, wanting a creature of similar age, despite the advantage an older more experienced magical snake could provide. There was a bond here, one just waiting to be forged, "I am also young."

"But, speaker is a powerful wizard…" The snake seemed to rationalize, perhaps they began to develop the needed intellect the longer they were near humanoid sources of magic, Harry fathomed, "This one will go with speaker. This one is ready for purpose!"

Harry smiled slightly and lowered his arm, "And what is your name?"

The comforting weight of the snake as it wound around his arm and toward his shoulder felt right and his magic seemed to click into place between them, "This one has never met a speaker. This one has no name."

"Harry!" A voice called behind him, "Harry James Potter! Where are you? Get here right this instant!"

Narcissa's collected-and yet, was that a hint of nerves in her speech-voice washed over him and the plants around him seemed to react, swaying closer-ah, naughty things they were!

"Then we shall find a name," He whispered, standing quickly as a vine swung toward him and-"Ach! Ouch!"

"Ah, in the gardens, are you?" Narcissa's voice called over, and while he couldn't see her he could imagine her standing proudly upon the back porch, sly and wicked, "Quickly, quickly. We mustn't miss the train. It will already be crowded, no doubt. Lucius had our… good friend release the Prophet article this morning and there is bound to be a bit of ruckus. Getting there early is best as I'd really prefer it if we avoided the Weasleys, since Lucius was so kind as to embarrass himself in front of the entire wizarding community the other day."

Her sing-song tone and idle threat was distracting-as was Lucius sudden and loud yell of indignation-but the snapping of the vines at his person was even more so. He sneered, the thought of burning the wayward vines rather apparent, but he had no desire to risk an angry Narcissa and it would take time to pacify her.

If snakes could giggle, he suspected his new companion would have.

As it was, her light hissing against his neck was more than enough to convince him she enjoyed his suffering.

He hastened his walk, eyeing the twitching roots and shifting flowers wearily, "Jaculus, I think. For a future weapon of warning and speed."

The snake was silent, but he could feel her squeeze him tighter, in agreement or maybe in fright as he had to hop over a particularly energetic snapping root.

Yes, definitely fright.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"It was brutal, a complete slaughter of the Headmaster's character and the fact that you'd been found as you were by another noble family, will only increase public outlook in your favor."

Draco was talkative, whether due to nerves or the excitement of starting another school year at Hogwarts proper Harry couldn't be certain. After affirmations of good behavior and pure-blood formalities they'd departed from the Malfoy adults to make their way toward the train itself. With their belongings delivered to the train already via well-trained house-elf, it allowed Harry some time to enjoy the hustle and bustle and the odd whisper or two as wizards and witches saw him pass. He'd been waiting for this day, the moment that he would return and properly claim what had been denied him. His proper house, his respect, his visibility. Yet, there was still one thing or a couple of things that would stand in his way.

He'd thought long and hard with how to deal with them, those who claimed to be his friends, those who currently still were his friends, if he forwent technicalities. They had, in fact, tried to contact him before Dobby's meddling but he wondered idly what had happened thereafter and if they had bothered the second half the summer.

"Draco," Harry said, interrupting the babbling of his house-brother.

"Yes, my lord?" Draco whispered, wide eyes set Harry's direction.

"There are things I must take care of, trials to set into motion." His smile was slight but he knew he reflected the appropriate amount of seriousness, "I will not return to how I once was."

Draco nodded slowly, understanding clear upon his features as he turned a narrowed gaze to the sight of a red-headed gaggle, "You'll rid yourself of them, won't you?"

Draco said such with a hint of introspection, and while Harry might have thought him possessive-and rather obvious with his dislike of his previous companions-there was an absence of such behavior here. They would play their part, the part of the ambitious and hopeful, while hoping childish notions bred from a lack of forethought held no weight among them. Harry liked to think his maturity was a sign of his summer growth. A gift granted by his true power, mental ability, and the benefit of a much needed pure-blood education. He also liked to think that, over the course of the summer, Draco had absorbed some of said maturity by being so close to Harry's own might.

Only time would tell.

"I'd like to know for sure," Harry whispered, "Whether they were aware…"

Granger was caged by authority, wound so tightly in the chains of power that even when he'd once believed Snape a threat against his life she had still demanded proper address of him. While Weasley was… loyal, to a point, if a bit bumbling and rough-nowhere near acceptable in terms of propriety, and certainly lacking in a certain amount of intellect for a boy from a once-noble house.

So, were they also puppets, kept bound by strings?

"Father said the Headmaster is an interesting man in that he has a great number of contacts." Draco whispered, "The Weasley family is one of his strongest supporters and no doubt the mudblood adores him as well."

"Language, Draco," Harry said fondly, "I'm aware of their adoration, and I wonder if they… well, it matters not."

His change would not be diverted, his loyalty was firm and unbending. They would fall into place and bow, or they would be forgotten like so many others.

"There is something I've pondered," Harry said, watching the nearby family with a mild amount of boredom as the Weasley madam began to fuss and squawk over her boys and one uncomfortable daughter. "Does the magic on the Malfoy proper enhance and assist with creative reasoning and mental processing?"

Draco seemed slightly taken aback by the question, "Come again?"

Harry gave his companion a snort, "Does it make you smarter?"

Draco tapped a hand against the top of his leg, thoughtful, "It depends on the child, the wizard or witch that is. The more magical potency, the greater and more effective the ancient magic within an ancestral home. However, there does need to be a great deal of magic in the home itself to assist with the process."

Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment at the family, "Does this help by amount of wizards and witches in the home itself, or-"

"By the home itself. The magic that's saturated in the grounds and the building, which doesn't necessarily come with the amount of magical persons occupying it but more like how many years or centuries a magical person of prominence has occupied and invested magic in the space."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "The Malfoy wards, then?"

"They do more than just protect us," Draco smirked, "They also mask most of the magic within the home too, making it possible for us to practice our abilities without the activation of the wand trace."

Harry nodded, curious, "And the Ministry? They know of this? The true nature of your wards?"

"My Father-"

"Say no more."

"The trace is not activated by wandless magic, of course," Draco was quick to correct, knowing Harry had shown an impressive manipulative ability of magic without said wand lately.

"Of course," Harry confirmed, before he redirected their conversation back to the original topic, "But I asked this because, well-"

Here Harry motioned toward the family, where most of the red-gaggle were loading the train while Ronald waited outside of it, hands in the pockets of his trousers and a tense expression on his face.

"Ah, Sir Weasel's home, I suspect, doesn't have the magical potency to increase his uh…mental processing."

"And his own core?"

"I'd say it wasn't anything special enough to assist in a significant increase in his mental processing. Just enough where he is recognized as a wizarding child. Which, isn't difficult to do mind you, as we're all much smarter than Muggles anyway."

"I see," Harry smiled, somewhat off and wicked, "Curious. How curious."

Draco licked his lips nervously, as they began to walk toward the red-head, "Why do you ask?"

Harry shook his head, keeping introspective thoughts about particular Muggle-borns with interesting ability to himself.

"Find Zabini and tell him this, we will keep my connection to Him between ourselves for now. Those that you have alerted already, those who you wished to embrace me, should make sure to do the same."

Draco gave a swift nod, "And where will-"

"I," Harry interrupted, giving Draco a slight look of exasperation, "Have work to do. Will you be ready for me, at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Draco replied, sidetracked and effectively distracted.

"Thank you, friend," Harry smiled, "But before you leave, tell me, does the amount of magical potency within you make you more… adaptive?"

Draco wrinkled his nose, "In a… pragmatic manner?"

Harry would not bother Draco with ideals of compartmentation and terms that might have been beyond him-and if Harry were honest, he was still often caught unaware by his own understanding of such subjects, though he felt the power that He had given him seemed to assist with this.

Harry nodded, nonetheless.

"It's difficult to know. I think the ability would have to be within the witch or wizard. The magic itself would… evolve and grow. The core's development would, um, dictate if it were possible…"

Here Draco paused, as if trying to remember lessons he'd been given some time ago, even if he didn't understand the depths of his education. "If another, stronger wizard began to provide differing thought than, maybe, the longer the wizard was in their presence? I… can't remember the exact magic behind it, but it has something to do with… potency, overwhelming the weaker party…? Bonding? Vassalage? Something."

"It's fine Draco," Harry said, just as Ronald caught sight of him. His face split into a wide and relieved smile, before a scowl and a frown quickly covered his features and he began a rapid march in their direction. "Mm, we're out of time."

Without another word Draco turned away from him, attuned to specific phrases due to their summer together, and left, moving swiftly toward a collective of green and black.

Leaving Ronald to come upon him like a hurricane, "Are you okay Harry? What did Malfoy," he spat, "want? Did he bug you about anything? Are you-"

Harry interrupted him swiftly, holding a hand out and placing it before him. "Ronald… Ron," Harry corrected himself, "Where is Hermione?"

Ronald blinked a couple of times, his shoulders hunched before he stood up a bit straighter, "Holding the compartment for us, I told her I'd wait on you. I…"

There was an awkward pause as Ron shuffled through his wrinkled robes, only to pull out the very article that Lord Malfoy had been swift to release today. He took a shaky breath, article in hand, gaze upon what was not doubt a vile and yet poetic betray of the Headmaster's injustice and his rescue from the Dursleys. He swallowed harshly, adam's apple bobbing, before he tried to speak again.

"M-mum read it this morning. Had a right fit. For good reason though!" Ron whispered, as if their conversation was treasonous to discuss. "She wouldn't let me have it, not at first, but George managed to snatch it and, boy he was mad."

Ron swallowed again and Harry watched him, patient, quiet.

"I… is it true? That…"

Harry reached out to place a hand upon Ron's shoulder. His behavior was strained, and perhaps, as a youth and a pure-blood to boot, he didn't understand how anyone-Muggle or otherwise-could beat a child nearly to death. He was pale and shaken, but more than that, in the depths of Ron's blue eyes, there was a hint of hint of hurt and anger.

How curious.

Ron shook his head and then turned to move toward the train, the haunting call of the whistle jarring enough to shake him from his poor attempt at speech. "Y-yikes! Don't wanna miss the train, We… we can talk about this in the compartment."

Harry, seeing no immediate reason to reject such, followed Ron without preamble. There was an odd tension in Ron's back as they moved, something that seemed to ease the closer they got to the compartment Hermione held for them, and upon entrance to the space she was quick to get up from her seat, somewhat flushed from her cheeks to her neck.

"H-harry!" She blurted, another copy of the article held between her fists. "I… w-we tried to contact you and-"

Harry slipped into the space, past a frozen Ron, and right up to a trembling Hermione, "Did you?"

Hermione leaned back slightly, pupils somewhat dilated as she furrowed her brow, "Of course! Of course we did!"

He knew they could feel his magic, the rolling curl of it against their skin, a gentle prod here and there they might not have understood… "I received nothing."

Hermione straightened a bit, her expression one of defensive indignation… before it crumbled into slight confusion. She lifted a hand to rub at the back her neck as she groaned, "I just don't understand h-how or why! I swear I addressed it properly and… and after the first few letters I was so sure…"

She didn't finish her statement and instead her gaze wandered back to the article still clasped firmly in her tight fists.

"W-we… we thought the worse, my brothers and I." Ron said, only pausing in his speech to slip past the threshold and close the compartment door, "We even, uh…"

Ron coughed, while Hermione remained eerily silent, her gaze on the paper, "We even s-stole my father's uh… Muggle-mobile."

That, oddly enough, made Hermione snort, but Ron paid her no mind.

"And we went to those… those…"

Ron's voice was a curious rumble, a harsh hiss that ended with him shaking his crumpled paper in his hand-

"The Dursleys, Ronald." Hermione offered, an automatic correction.

"Them, yah," Ron mumbled before, with a shake of his head, he continued, "but you weren't there. We thought about knocking, yelling, anything, but there wasn't even a feather out of place."

Silence hung in the space before them, tense and thick with things left unsaid. He found their hesitation to voice their ideas somewhat bothersome, but there were shadows in their gaze, twisted up doubts and proclamations. Hermione, with her vivid opinions and pinched brow, seemed on the verge of speaking but Ron was faster, speaking his mind without much thought to the damage of his words.

"Where were you? Did you run away? Did they really, you know, h-hurt you like it says?"

Most wizards would swear by the Prophet but he was not in the company of most wizards. He was in the presence of two children, raised and born into an era of worship when it came to the figure that ruled their school. Indeed, he felt somewhat removed from their naive deductions and nervous airs, but they couldn't possibly understand his awakening nor the purpose that gripped him. Their lives, though not pampered, could have been without hardship which only strengthened their disbelief that something so vile could have happened to Harry, of all people, their precious Boy-Who-Lived.

Then again, this was a difficult topic to discuss and confront, the idea of abuse. He could not blame them for their… lack of tact and understanding.

But he could blame them for other things.

"You were too late, you know. When you came, whenever you came, Ron… you were too late."

Harry turned to his friend, the first, with gentle tone and callous words, "How long did you wait before you tried to rescue me? How many letters did you send to no response?"

He cast a glance from the corner of his eye to Hermione, to make her aware that she was not free of his scrutiny, "The Prophet has not lied to you. They were awful, the worst sort of Muggles, trusted and endorsed by our Headmaster."

To this Ron swallowed harshly, face flush as he croaked, "No no, no he wouldn't have done that. Not.. not on purpose. He couldn't have known-"

"He knew I didn't like it there, Ron." Harry corrected, "For good reason. He told me I was safer there-"

"They're your relatives, you were safer there." Hermione said, though her tone was tentative and her eyes had dropped back to the article, "This, this can't be… true."

"I was there," Harry whispered, and while he tone was somewhat venomous he found it interesting that Hermione had slipped into a defensive state, crafting excuses to uphold a throne of lies. "And yet you dare to tell me otherwise? That I was treated any better than the lowest house-elf?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, but she didn't dare spare him a look, "It's… a few chores, Harry-"

"A few chores?" His tone was incredulous, he wanted them to realize that they were… overstepping.

"Hermione," Ron hissed as he drew a hand through uncombed hair, "There were bars on his window."

That made her snap her mouth shut.

"They wanted to keep me caged, you know. They hate magic, they hate me." Harry said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, "It went beyond chores and discipline. That last night, the night I ran, he hurt me badly."

And Harry had yet to repay the favor, something that would need to change and soon.

"D-don't you think that it's all very suspicious? That maybe they were under some sort of spell-compulsion, perhaps-that made them act so violently?"

Ron looked thoughtful, but Harry could feel his somewhat amused expression falter, shifting into a cool apathy. He felt his magic react, spreading from his person like an unfurling blanket, chilling their small compartment with just a taste of his ire, of his disappointment in such a notion, that his word was not enough to sway them, not enough for her, and that she believed she intrinsically knew what must have been when he'd been the one to live through the pain and the terror and the fear.

Perhaps, she needed to experience such things, before she found herself more sympathetic to his cause.

Ron spoke, his voice shaky while his eye-lids fluttered rapidly, impacted by the pull of his magic despite being unaware that it was Harry that made his palms feel slick and his breathing short. He let it weigh them down, watched as Hermione hunched over, her gaze flickering back and forth from Harry to the article with a sudden unsureness that Harry didn't think she'd ever experienced before, "W-we should try to find out. T-there has got to be a reason I… Harry is great, so why would they hurt him like that? The H-headmaster must know!"

"T-that's it," Hermione muttered, "The Headmaster would know. He could help you Harry. Maybe clear up this mess."

"Mess?" Harry rumbled, that one word an echo of disgust that made Hermione flinch and Ron swallow audibly, "I have no desire to go to Dumbledore-" He paused for a moment, to narrow his gaze of green as Hermione opened her mouth to correct him, before she slowly shut it and cleared her throat, unnerved, "for any sort of assistance. He put me there, Hermione."

He rolled her name off his tongue as if it were something displeasing, and indeed, being in her presence was somewhat displeasing, but more than that, the way Ron seemed curiously introspective was somewhat off. Or maybe their dynamic had always been this way, Hermione set to dictate while he and Ron followed like eager sheep to a beat none of them could see. She was somewhat controlling, and certainly bossy, with an attitude of superiority that came from little while he had done so much.

And so, it was time for a lesson in humility.

"He left me to those Muggles, spelled or otherwise. I was there to die, no matter the circumstance, and were it not for the Malfoys-"

Ron flinched.

"I would indeed be dead. And so, one must ask themselves what is currently more important at this time. My life and security, which the Malfoys have promised me-"

"But they, they're Dark!" Ron blurted.

Harry ignored him, "Or the discovery of why Muggles thought it proper to do what they've done to me."

Hermione swallowed thickly, but it was Ron who spoke up, almost frenzied by Harry's speech, "Harry! We, we would never even… I just… what if it was a trap? What if… because of the stone? T-the Malfoys?!"

He seemed broken, or maybe it was panicked, by the prospect of his saviors. "I've spent all summer with them, Ron. If they were untruthful in their desire to care for me, I very well would be dead."

There'd been plenty of time for them to do something to him, but he'd been treated with nothing but kindness.

"M-my mum could have cared for you, Harry. W-we still could!"

To this Harry snorted, "And yet you barely thought to take me from that place before the end of summer."

And he would not live among the barely functional squalor of the Weasley family, putting a strain upon their already strained finances, moving from one prison to another-caged in by obligation for something as small as affection. He already received plenty of such at the Manor without price or expectation.

Ron rubbed a hand down the length of his face, flushed in a manner that made his hair nearly indistinguishable from his cheeks, "But they are… they're Dark, Harry. They can't possibly be good for you."

"And my previous residence was certainly not good for me." Harry drawled, pressing his influence upon the occupants until Hermione-with buckling knees-fell back onto her seat and Ron began to instinctively move to the side of the compartment, further from Harry, and out of his way. "But I have had enough discussion about my well-being for one day."

"Harry," Hermione croaked, "We do care."

And, on some level, Harry believed that that may have been certain. But, it scarcely mattered now.

"Then, Granger, do be a dear and prove it."

His usage of her last name seemed to startle her, so much as that she flinched.

He only gave a soft sound, a signal of his amusement, before he turned to leave.

"Harry!" Ron blurted, standing despite the pressure that came from Harry's person, a feat that could have been chopped up to his bravery or a lack of insight, "Where are you going?"

"Ah," Now Harry turned to face them, hand upon the handle of the compartment, "To pay my respect to the family that saved me by spending some time with his son. It's all very polite behavior, Weasley."

Ron blinked once, then again, "But…"

He made a lackluster motion of his hand to the compartment, "We haven't talked all summer, I doubt a little more time apart will bring either of you harm."

Then, with that crooked smile set to display perfect teeth, he turned… and left.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"They hurt, master."

"Good," Harry whispered to his companion, whose body was mostly hidden beneath the bulk of his well-managed robes, as he stepped down the length of the train, a great burden lifted from his person. His talk, while unpleasant, had not been unfruitful. His friends were swaddled in doubt, startled by his change and, certainly, unnerved by his dismissal. He thought he would mind more, that guilt would tighten his throat and pain at their callous-though, in their own way, somewhat concerning-words would send him spirally back into a well of self-doubt and loathing.

Those feelings were absent, replaced instead by the familiar warmth of his magic and the numbing distinction of his logic. Excitement bubbled and clawed at the edge of his consciousness, dampened only by his need to appear relatively unbothered by his ordeals. He wrapped himself in a cloak of indifference, content in the calm that spread from his mind-and the pulse of his scar, a reminder of his mission, of his… determination to do what was right, instead of what was easy.

His world was his own, the ownership of such granted with his awakening. He would do things for his betterment, so that upon His return the world could bow properly.

"You wish them to suffer?" His companion hissed.

Harry narrowed his eyes, lips pressed thin to repress a small smile, "Through suffering we learn humility. Through suffering we grow our understanding."

They would not be the only ones to experience his ire and school of thought. But, perhaps they'd be some of the first.

"H-harry?"

Harry paused in his walk, the voice at his back familiar and of interest. It was not the first time his name had been called in the hallway, for many of Hogwarts students were curious about his trials, pity or sympathy reflected in their spying gaze, but this was the only one he would have stopped for.

"Neville," Harry said, cordial to a fault, "How are you?"

Neville began a slow and cautious approach, like weary prey set to size up a possible predator. His hands were grasped tightly around one another, and his youthful face seemed pinched with worry. They were not particularly close, Harry and the squibling, but they had shared a dorm together along with some end-of-year dramatics.

That clearly meant something to Neville, "I'm fine Harry but…"

The other paused for a moment before he shook his head, "I just wanted to say that what I read in the Prophet this morning was horrid, and while I understand why it was there… to have your business displayed in such a manner is probably unnerving. Still, I am… upset, that y-you were hurt over the summer in the manner you were."

Harry quirked a brow, surprised by the admission as Neville cleared his throat and continued on, "I understand that the Malfoys have asked to be your magical guardians. I… am not sure how they treat you there but if you need h-help I'm sure I could convince Gran-"

Harry laughed softly, his expression one of mixed interest and caution, "The Malfoy family has treated me with nothing but kindness, respect, and reverence. I have felt more secure there in just these last few months than I have anywhere else."

Neville gave him a strained smile, his gaze one of disbelief, and yet- "Then that is enough for me."

How strange was it that Neville believed him? That he listened to his words without proclamations of political alignment or over concern. Did he truly trust that Harry knew what he doing? That he held a deeper understanding than most of his own situation? How refreshing.

"You've changed," Neville whispered, "It's in your, um…"

He made an idle motion with his hand toward Harry's overall person, as if to express that the change had been overall and all-consuming.

"I have," Harry chirped pleasantly, "I feel stronger now. More sure."

Neville stared at him, solemn, "That sounds amazing, Harry. To go through what you have and come out so… confident. D-did the Malfoys h-help with that?"

"Do they frighten you, Neville?"

Neville jerked for a moment, before he fiercely shook his head. Though the change of subject was abrupt it wasn't unwelcome, "N-no, not for a moment! It's just that, e-even your magic feels different. Overwhelming and, I wondered if… maybe…"

His voice trailed off and he made a slight sound, a sigh of defeat if Harry had to guess, "Neville, would you like to come sit with me?"

The boy blinked slowly, "Ah, with Hermione and Ron?"

"No," Harry said playfully, "I'm trying something different. I'd like to make even more friends and, I think that you could use more… stability. You should be around others that understand you, us."

Pure-bloods.

Heirs.

"A-ah, Harry they… those like Malfoy, they think I'm just a squib." Neville said, though he was quick to snarl out a- "I'm not though, I just… bloody hell, I just need…"

Harry clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, he knew what he needed, "Come, this way."

With a lazy motion of hand Harry bid Neville to follow.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There was an unspoken rule on the Hogwarts train. One Harry had learned rather quickly on his second venture upon it. There was a certain social contract established by the students, one passed on from the highest year to the very lowest. Each house seemed to stick to a general order, and though Harry was not privy to the hierarchy of houses beyond his own-which had seemed wild to Harry, with far too much impulse and very little structure-he had a particular understanding of the overarching rule set. Houses claimed sectional compartments, six or seven per house-year, which tended to consume entire train cars versus a more scattered and interactive placement. Gryffindor tended to flex their political muscle with its seventh years claiming possession of the secondary or third train cars for the house proper. Their positioning was mostly based on randomization, on whether they would get to the secondary train car before Ravenclaw, or if the Quidditch Captain decided to take a seat in a compartment in the third. This year in particular they had managed to secure the 'glory' of the secondary car, with Ravenclaw in the fourth through a measure of bad luck and being pushed out by an uncharacteristically rowdy and restless group of Hufflepuffs that had commandeered the third.

But the first car, had always belonged to the Slytherins.

"H-harry," Neville whispered, "Is it okay for us to be here?"

Harry laughed softly, almost bewildered by Neville's sense of fear, but he had not spent his summer among the gentry-children of the elite.

It only made sense that Neville feared a powerful hexing.

"This way."

Tense, but curious, faces peered at him from claimed compartments. A few were carefully controlled, masks of apathy and disregard while others were open and sneering, confused or delighted by his plight.

Harry ignored them all until he was before one compartment, which opened as if controlled by his very presence. Not entirely untrue, Harry mused.

"Heir Potter," Zabini drawled as he stepped to the side, "welco-"

But his voice was cut short as Neville, once hidden behind Harry's person, tripped over the threshold into the almost literal den of snakes.

"L-longbottom?" Zabini whispered, thrown off by his appearance.

"We've much to discuss," Harry said, cutting off any complaint from the occupants within the compartment, one of which-Goyle-had risen from his seat. "Sit."

Draco swallowed slightly and gave Goyle a look, some cross between demand and concern for his person if he didn't follow Harry's order.

He sat.

"Neville, take a seat."

The compartment was nearly full, occupied by Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe on one side, and the open space that Zabini had once settled in on the other. He presumed that the empty space had been left behind for him, incase he'd felt compelled to join them. Indeed, while this hadn't been his initial intention, it would do more than well enough for the discussion he wished to have and the privacy he wanted to covet.

Neville filled in the open spot while across from Nott and once he did the boy in question looked up from his open book, frown in place and gaze somewhat pensive. It wasn't until he turned to look from Neville to Harry that he took a deep breath and shot up from his seat, almost comically startled by his presence but certainly not unprepared. He was the only boy in the compartment that Harry had not seen over the summer, and the only unknown in the space to know his secret, his purpose. Crabbe and Goyle had accepted him easily enough, with their frequent visits to the manor under the obvious banner of grooming them for Draco's vassals and Zabini had, of course, been more than willing to depart his own home for fear of 'being swept away by the over-eagerness of love', a hunting remark in terms of his mother.

Yet, this boy, with his rather thin appearance, large eyes, but impeccably combed hair, had yet to be brought to heel.

So, Harry, in a display almost casual, lifted his hand-taking great care to make sure the gleam of the lighting above caught the haunting beauty and mystic of his heir ring-in an offering of peace and exchange, "Heir Nott. May your growth be prosperous. We have not officially met."

Nott was carefully withdrawn, far greater at keeping his trained mask of indifference than Draco had been upon their meeting, but his gaze was drawn to the ring and his expression was tight. He knew the semblance of the offer, and he understood the power of Harry's gem, that much was certain. Perhaps, it bothered him to know that Harry, a meager half-blood, nearly broken and starved, had surpassed him in terms of future prestige. Harry could see it in his gaze, in the idle twist of shadows that crossed ocean-blue eyes and the way his lips pressed further together as he prepared his speech.

Then, there was a release, a gentle sigh that was expressed past flared nostrils as he lifted his own hand, his simple, but no less striking, ring of twisted black and yellow gem set firmly on the hand he shook Harry's own with. For a moment, his grip was firm, unyielding, and Harry returned it with crooked smile and deep chuckle. But more than that, he felt his magic slip from his flesh, moving over the other heir with a firm strength that could not be denied, one that made Nott's eyes widen just a fraction.

"Congratulations on your elevation, Heir Apparent Potter." Nott said, his tone a tad soft, as if he weren't very used to talking, but his mask did not slip and his voice remained steady. "I've been waiting to meet with you."

"Thank you, Heir Nott." Harry said, while Neville watched the display with disbelief but gave no interrupt. "Were you terribly busy over the summer?"

"Not in particular. Though, I was absorbed by my studies."

"Oh?" Harry murmured.

"I have… aspirations," Nott muttered, "Father was not entirely satisfied by my ranking last term."

Harry nodded, needing no further explanation. Nott had been fierce competition for Hermione, both of them ranking rather high overall in terms of academic achievement. Harry had thought it rather grand that Hermione, a Muggle-born, had managed to be, and quite often, more proficient at magic than the pure-bloods that had harassed her. Yet now…

"I find your achievements rather inspirational." Harry said as he released Nott's hand, "I, too, spent a great majority of my time among the Malfoy library in hopes that I could increase my ranking as well."

For a moment, he allowed silence to reign between them as Harry made an idle motion of fingertips, one Draco knew well enough. Magic leapt to his command, crisp and sudden, but controlled and put to focus. It swept from his person and moved over the occupants, prompting a shudder from Draco, who nearly swayed forward and a harsh gasp from Neville, who pressed further back against the couch.

"Warded," Zabini croaked, wanting to assure a stiff-backed Nott that what was to be said would remain within their realm of secrecy.

Nott bobbed his head in understanding.

"I find it odd that a Muggle-born was able to rank so highly last year, a Muggle-born with no prior knowledge of our world."

Draco was quick to interject, "She's cheating, that's all there is to it. Somehow, she's cheating."

Nott's face twitched and Harry must have thought he tried hard to repress a sneer of agreement.

"Hermione would… would never-!" Neville, said, starting to rise.

"It's fine Neville, I don't really think she's cheating. There is magic in place to prevent such things. I merely wanted to raise the question to Heir Nott."

That seemed to pacify the lion and he sat down with a heavy thump as breath released from his chest in a 'woosh'. Draco merely wrinkled his nose in distaste, but it was Nott who said-

"I… understand that there is an oddity surrounding mudblood Granger." He paused, perhaps, wondering if Harry would have a reaction to such a term being used toward someone Harry had associated with.

Harry gave him nothing.

"And," Nott then continued, posture less tense, as if relieved that Harry had passed some unspoken test. "It is not one I have been able to discover, though we often toss speculation around in Slytherin dungeons."

"She's stealing magic and smarts from real witches and wizards," Crabbe blurted, to which even Goyle, seemed to give him an exasperated look.

"I can't imagine how," Zabini quickly said, if only to keep the red-faced Neville settled in his seat, "That's just rubbish."

"Hogwash, I agree. One cannot simply steal magic. Our bodies are maintained in such a way that our cores are unplottable. There is certainly an ability to share magic, to pull it or push it into another being in the manner you spindle magic into and from a familiar, and maybe even potential for growth through advanced ritual, but it is beyond any of us."

Including Harry himself.

"I've heard of that, the bond and share theory," Nott said, and while his tone still kept a careful level of caution there was a sliver of passion among his words, as if this were a talk he'd been waiting to have with someone who might have understood, "There's a bit of material on it, extremely obscure, by Herpo the Foul in how he managed to bind-"

Harry's soft laughter interrupted Nott's explanation, and he clamped his mouth shut with an audible snap at the idea of ridicule. So, Hermione was not the only one that enjoyed a good lecture, was she? Was this the reason why Nott was often so quiet, keeping to himself and his own inner thoughts?

"Please, don't be alarmed. There is much to discuss before our arrival and while I, too, am interested in the obscure now is not the time to investigate it." Harry said, "That was my fault. Let us put aside our talk of summers and theft and focus back on the task at hand."

Nott gave a slow exhale, whatever embarrassment or anger he may have felt set to melt away with Harry's admission, but he was hesitant to speak again. Not because of what Harry had done, but because…

Harry followed Nott's line of sight to his company, Neville, who looked between the two of them as if they'd both grown extra heads. "Is everything alright?"

"It's just that. You… the Slytherin's are so…"

"Welcoming?" Harry offered.

"And," Neville continued, "You… you're a heir. And, and you just know how to act around them, like it's instinctual."

Harry cast a casual glance to his hand as the men in the space settled around him, amused, with idle smiles that seemed neither malicious nor kind. They had their own language, silent yet effective, of shifting eyes and casual motions. They were observing them, like kings testing the strengths of separate courts and in that environment, it was no wonder that Neville looked nervous, with his hunched over form and fidgeting hands.

"Sit up straight, I will not talk to you while you behave like some plebeian servant."

Harry's voice was a whip, his magic a snap against his company, one that he knew Neville could practically taste as he took a shaky breath and sat straighter, back against the cushion and lips trembling. Harry turned to face him fully, head tilted ever so slightly as he pondered the boy beyond his nose. The Slytherins seemed to subconsciously shift, one great wave of interest as they, too, sat straighter-held captive by his magic and the rolling curl of his authority.

"Better," Harry commented, "But not perfect. How long do you plan to play at idiocy, Neville?"

The boy in question grew red in the face, his breath released in a hiss of offense, "What did you just say?"

"They call you a squibling, you know. Those of the noble and brave in Gryffindor. They think you're incompetent, for a boy of a noble house. It's laughable, they say, that the legacy of Longbottom has fallen to you. They think you're worthless, an outsider of barely any talent and wonder, just how, you managed to become a Hogwarts student, let alone a lion, at all."

Had this been a public ploy, a spat meant to demean and devalue, the Slytherins in the compartment might have been laughing at his words. But the truth of them stung, reached within his current company and slipped them into an unbreakable silence. They were not unaware of Neville's lack of worth, they had goaded him more than once in the previous year. Yet, to hear such fact laid down before them, naked and raw… it was more than just shocking. It was, Harry suspected, unnerving.

For he did not taunt. He did not bait. He sought to take Neville's current perception and shatter it. Let the boy be strung up by his failures.

So that he could cut him down.

"So, then I wonder, as one member of the Circle to another, how you continue to persist in a role of stagnation. We are young, you are young, and yet we've already been judged and marked and tagged for weakness. And, Neville, my friend, you are weak."

He let that statement hang in the space before them while his carefully crafted silence, only shaken by the rapid breathing of embarrassment, shame, and fury, spilled past the open mouth of the Longbottom heir. He wanted it to thicken, to hang as heavy as his own might and absolute confidence, so that Neville would be forced to toss his gaze upon Harry's own and see, reflected there, the churning pit of his disgust.

"H-how could you?" Neville sputtered, but Harry was pleased by the lack of tears, pleased by the rage that swirled darker flecks of green among Neville's abnormally lighter shade. For one split moment, they were brothers, held patchworked together by obligation and the expectations of others. Their only difference was Harry had torn free from the chains of his suppression while Neville allowed them to drag him down.

"I won't let you suffocate," Harry whispered, his tone no less chilling in delivery, but Neville leaned forward with one balled fist, his lips pulled back and teeth set to grind as he strained to hear him over, what Harry assumed, was the rapid pounding of his own heart. "There is no more need for these games and airs of vulnerability."

Confusion shifted briefly across Neville's expression, erasing shame but leaving more room for a building loathing of those within the compartment. Harry could tell that the only reason he had not risen from his seat to defend his honor might have been due to the sheer number of those Harry held under his sway. A smart move, Harry was pleased to note.

"You haunt these halls but a shadow of what you could be. You accomplish a fraction of what you should. I've watched you Neville, you're fumbling, and we've all grown weary of your self-crafted bondage. I know you hide behind nervous smiles and ineptitude, but something else is in there. Clawing to get out. Tapping against your ribcage. Tap, tap, tap."

The trembling of Neville's fist eased, and though he did not lose his expression of ire, what slithered through his gaze was something far more interesting: fear.

And understanding.

"Y-you don't know what you're talking about," Neville hissed, but his tone had changed, strengthened perhaps by his indignation. Harry could tell he was thinking, carefully backtracking through cruel words to pick and peck at the meaning. "This is all there is."

But it wasn't with resignation Neville spoke, and Harry was somewhat amused by his lack of excuses. Did he truly believe that he could do nothing else? That his power had peaked when there was so much more buzzing and rolling beneath his flesh? Harry very well presumed that, if Neville had so desired to draw his wand-

"Give me your wand." Harry said suddenly, his power a heated press.

Neville balled up his face, but the full force of Harry's attention was upon him. Despite his tremble and his clear desire not to, he found himself almost thoughtlessly removing his wand from his waist holster and handing it over. Harry, only reached out to grasp the sturdy wood, a thoughtful 'hmmm' upon his lips.

"Whose wand is this?"

"Mi-"

"Do not lie to me," Harry said, with just the slightest bit of… annoyance, one that made the Slytherins press just a bit closer to one another, as if they could hide within one another, instead of beside one another.

Curious that.

"My father's," Neville whispered.

This caused Harry to quirk a brow, "Your father's? As in, Frank Longbottom's wand is in your possession for use as your wand of choice?"

Did he know this before? Had he heard Neville muttered a phrase or two, back when he'd been so blind to everything because he'd known nothing?

"Yes," Neville said, with more conviction in his tone and determination in his gaze.

"This is why you've failed. Why everyone sees you as nothing. Your magic sputters and chokes as it fights to be free. You've been purposely suppressed by those who were meant to elevate you."

Neville's face took on a peculiar shade of green, "T-that can't be true. We can't be certain of that. Gran said that he said-"

He cut himself off, mouth open, pupils dilated as he lost himself to memories and ideals far beyond Harry's reach. He bit his bottom lip, first firmly, then harder and harder until blood began to well in the indents and dribbled just slightly down his chin. His chest swelled with a deep inhale and he held it while his once distant eyes began to focus and sharpen and-

Harry's nostrils flared as they were leveled upon him and suddenly Harry saw a lifetime of weariness, of terror, of confusion, of long nights spent wondering why, why, why collide and boil to create a vicious anger that only Harry and his company's presence probably kept in check.

If they hadn't of been there, when the dawning swept over him, Harry wondered just what Neville would have done.

Instead, he opened his mouth once, twice, and ignoring the blood he croaked out a- "My parents were taken from me when I was young."

There's a sharp intake of breath in the compartment, perhaps due to Neville twisting that look upon Draco, who sat straighter and hid his unease rather well, Harry thought.

But then, Neville's attention was back upon him, "You-Know-Who's followers came for them." His voice was strained but steady. It did not shake like his pupils seemed to, nor did it tremble like his twitching fingers, "They were changed by a… curse and became unresponsive. That was when Gran became regent of my family. "

Harry did not interrupt and neither did his company. They waited, all of them, with a patience Harry was pleased by, for Neville to finish.

"Gran told me that, in those first few years, they were concerned I was a squib. She left me, sometimes, with my uncle who… promised to bring out the wizard in me." But he had always been a wizard, "He did things to me, things I could not explain. Things I barely remember. Things Gran never knew because I kept them, ashamed at my lack of magical prowess."

There was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, of a private horror and a great deal of respect being expected of those that listened to it.

He continued, "Then… then I got my letter, and he came," He licked his bottom lip, dry and bleeding still, "He told my Gran he was so proud, so excited, to have me here."

Neville spat out that word with so much venom that Zabini flinched.

"And that he'd be honored to… that if I could join with…"

His voice petered out, strangled by the weight of sudden understanding, leaving behind only a suffocating silence and budding implications of realized betrayal.

Suddenly, Draco spoke from his seat, "It's fine. I see you, Neville. I see you."

And in that one moment Harry felt something click into place, some unspoken thing that was born from experiencing a childhood of purity, of heirs who knew they would have to be heirs, and brains that had to work far too fast to understand concepts so beyond their current maturity. To the left of Draco, Goyle grunted his affirmation while Crabbe looked somewhat forlornly out the window. Even Zabini gave a slight nod of understanding, and while his was not of an Ancient nor Noble house, his mother still had a frightening reputation and that alone had gained him a bit of… notoriety and political push.

He closed his eyes, and then, as if embolden, Neville continued, "He told my Gran to give it to me, this wand." And despite his anger he still spoke of the wood with fondness, a testament for his admiration of his father, "And that I must uphold his legacy. He'd be disappointed any other way."

Slowly, Neville hunched forward, his voice almost contemplative, if not for the anger there, "Gran did not allow me to get a new wand. Dumbledore said something to her and she just…"

"Obeyed," Harry interrupted, knowing that he would uncover a pattern, "His political clout would no doubt subdue even her, the Regent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom."

"This entire last year has been hell. I was sacrificed-"

"You were manipulated in the same manner your Gran was manipulated, and while there is fault and blame, there is one point of reference at the heart."

They didn't have to say his name to know who Harry meant.

"The past cannot be changed," Harry said, his gaze drawn to the wood in his grip, to the intricacies and the craftsmanship and the strange hum of power that ebbed there, a slight thread, dark and thin.

How odd, that.

"But our future can be twisted. Manipulated. Controlled." Slowly Harry tightened his grip, "So we must make a decision and regain mastership of our very being in the present. Do you understand?"

Neville stared at him wearily, and only when the boy took a drawing breath did Harry look up from the wand and back to the heir in question, "And what could I do, to change my future? How could I become more than this?"

Harry delightfully noted the disgust in Neville's tone at his own state of being, but pushed forward, "I like you Neville. I believe in your ability. I see it there..." Harry paused, before he motioned to those behind him, "We, those of the Circle, can help you."

Neville was, perhaps, too tired to put much strength into his incredulous look. His expression of righteous anger had left him somewhat shallow and numb, and yet…

As Harry allowed the silence to stretch between them, he could see the flicker of something more within that gaze. Desperation? Hunger? In the depths of Neville's being, where those shadows twisted and the flame of inspiration attempted to ignite, there huddled starvation. It curled in on itself, a growing cannibalistic storm of sudden comprehension, the look of a boy who had been given nothing only to be presented with something to grasp and hoard and covet.

Neville wanted a great many things, Harry knew. He wanted to be respected, to walk the halls of their illustrious school without the hook of slander set to carve into his flesh. He wanted to get back the year, the time, he'd spent subjected and weak and worthless.

But more than that, he wanted to belong, to feel a part of that grander ideal, to bond with those who understood the plight of the responsible child, who had little room to make mistakes and only endless pathways to failure.

So, Harry called out to him, to that weak trembling child, to the filthy disgusting thing within Neville, and coaxed it with sweet promises. There was only one thing, one aspect of their fleeting reality, that would bring Neville security.

And that was self-worth and power.

"Do you trust me?"

For a moment silence stretched between them, tight and so so real. Harry could sense a tremble within Neville, a flicker of his magic, of conflicting concerns and caution. Yet, soon enough, what slipped past Neville's lips was a word spoken with a calm finality-

"Yes."

And it was then, with Harry's darker shades of murky green set to peer at Neville's own-so light, so innocent, so open and suddenly eager, ready, and needing direction, that Harry raised his other hand and palmed the Longbottom wand between them both.

Without breaking eye contact, without a twist of his lips or even a blink, he gathered strength to his grip and snapped it.

The sound echoed loudly in the space, a great sealing piece of finality that had Neville's nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. At his back he heard Draco give a sharp exhale, but Harry's attention was on the boy.

His boy, his brother, Neville.

Whose face was drawn, whose gaze was shiny and wet, but there was no weakness, no explosion of anger. Only that shared understanding.

Harry carefully pocketed the pieces and was interested to note that Neville didn't even watch the movement of his hands. No, he continued to stare unblinkingly at Harry, who gave him all the focus he deserved, it was only once the wand halves were carefully put away that Harry spoke, his voice a curious purr-

"Neville, it is unfortunate that you've suffered an accident. A hasty Slytherin Prefect is an oddity indeed, but when one has a purpose they don't usually step aside of ickle second years, do they?"

With Neville's tilted head the only sign that he was listening, Harry continued, "In his rush he's kicked the pieces of your most precious possession about, scattering them into the dark recesses of a compartments nooks and crannies. In your desperation to find that possession you missed the face, the identity, of your hasty aggressor…"

Neville slowly stood, his posture tense, yet something in his gaze was relaxed, accepting.

Good.

"So, it is no wonder that you have to go to your Head of House and ask, rather regretfully, to be taken to purchase a new wand so that you may continue to academically participate within Hogwarts proper."

With a slow blink Neville bowed his head before he turned to exit the compartment, one hand opening and closing as he came to terms with the situation and himself.

"When you are whole again," Harry whispered, as Neville touched the handle of the compartment and the shimmer of Harry's ward rippled across the door, "you will find me."

It wasn't a question nor a request, and Neville wouldn't interpret it was such.

And yet…

Neville tensed as Harry took a step, then another, and was suddenly pressed against his back. With one hand he reached out, to place his fingertips-so much smaller than Neville's own-lightly against the back of the trembling hand that held onto the handle. There, together, Harry paused, his shorter stature making their position somewhat unnatural but not cumbersome as he shifted just slightly to the side. He wanted to be able to place his face beside his own, to allow the curtain of his growing, maintained-and yet, there was still something so wild about it-hair to hide the glimmer of fanatic possession in his gaze.

No need to scare his good friend away, not this one.

"You cannot hide from me, Neville. From this. From us. You belong to the Circle and power begets further power. I see you Neville. We won't be slaves to weakness again."

When Harry stepped back from Neville, to release him from the captive weight of his very presence, he found it oh so amusing that Neville could move so very fast without tripping over the threshold.

Maybe that was progress.

"Now, Heir Nott. Let us talk about the future and your place in it and thereafter, perhaps, you'd like to discuss the eccentric experiments of Lord Herpo the Foul."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were upon him as soon as he exited the train. He'd expected as much.

Mostly because he hadn't thought to find them while he'd been on the train, so great was his business and the knowledge of the Nott heir in comparison.

"Mate, just wanted to say-"

"Incredibly, ah, rude of me to have been-"

"-nobody cares about any of that and I certainly-"

"-it would appear that I've upset you, which wasn't my-"

Harry allowed them to babble over themselves as he moved forward, hands clasped behind his back and head tilted as he contemplated their nervous admissions and awkward body language from the corner of his eye. They kept pace with him easily enough, Ron and Hermione, despite the words they attempted to speak with little regard to whether he digested them. They practically tripped over one another trying to get their point across, and Harry had little desire to interrupt the act of it. It was just a good thing that he had sent his court ahead of him, as they would have been far less tolerant of the babble than he.

"-I just wanted to say-"

"Sorry, sorry I just didn't really understand-"

Harry held a hand, wishing for silence, and with an awkward sort of sound they both squeaked into a moment of quiet.

Harry savored it for a moment, before he turned to see Professor Snape motion almost restlessly in his direction. It seemed that their apologies had taken the entire trek up the autonomous carriages that would take them to Hogwarts.

Ah, no, that wasn't true.

What was hitched to one of the rocking carriages was a great beast of black, with folded wings and angular features, so very visible… It might have been startling had he not been prepared to view the creature, though he wondered what death he had witnessed that allowed him to see them with such clarity. Was it Quirinus, whose flesh had burned and blistered at the end of the last quarter? Or was it-

Ah, well, there was no need to think much on his curious summer spent with the Dark Lord practically riding his person. Those were secrets that were meant to remain tightly backed beyond the wildness of his… queer occlumency shields.

"Snape-"

"Professor Snape," Hermione whispered, through her gentle correction fell on deaf ears.

"Is waving to you, mate." Ron's tone was somewhat terse, tinged in disbelief and annoyance. Harry figured it was due to the interruption of his oh so heartfelt apology. Granted, both of them had seemed sincere in their admission to him. He'd think on that later. After the Sorting Ceremony.

"So he is," Harry said, amused now by the slightly cocked brow of the professor and the scowl that was starting to pull at his features, "I best not keep him waiting."

Oddly enough, neither Hermione or Ron disagreed with that assessment, especially considering that the professor was beginning to stalk toward them, instead they took a step back-Ron, with a bobbing adam's apple, and Hermione, with a slight frown.

"Good luck," Ron mumbled, right before Snape was upon them, his hard features directed not at Harry, but at the company that crowded his back.

"Mr. Weasley," Severus drawled, with enough mild venom that the boy rolled his shoulders back, "I assure you Mr. Potter will need nothing of the sort, and certainly not from you. Though, I must admit, a great deal of your achievements have been backed by that, luck."

Ron's brow pinched and his lips turned down, but there was no flush of embarrassment like Harry expected, only a sharp jerk of his head as he lifted a hand-trembling, Harry noted curiously-to weave through his wild hair. Hermione on the other hand.

Well, she was watching him, not the professor or Ron's fidgeting.

So, he gave her a… off smile, one devoid of warmth and interest. No, he was... Well, he hadn't decided just yet what he was. Curious, yes, but there was no use in mustering up some grand gesture of friendliness. Besides, he was already attending to a merciful service by saving Ron from wilting under Severus immense gaze of distrust and, in turn, disgust.

"I apologize, Professor. It wasn't my intention to keep you waiting. Shall we go?"

Hermione had a question poised on the tip of her tongue, but a withering look from Severus had her swallowing the ask. There would be no more gabbing.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. As much fun as this is, you've a task to attend to. The third carriage, if you would? I will join you shortly."

Then, without another word he moved to stalk between the pair at his back and Harry, feeling no need to address them further, moved to obey the given order.

It would, certainly be, the first and last order he received and obeyed for him, but for good reason.

"H-harry, do you want us too-"

Hermione's question at his back was cut short by a voice tossed over shoulder-Snape's to be exact, "No, Ms. Granger. He does not need nor want either of you to join him in the third carriage."

With a flinch she was unable to hide she turned stiffly to walk in another direction, her grumble low, her tone irked. "Yes. Of course. Right."

Well, that was a first, and even Ron seemed hesitant to follow after her, since she was not normally in such a mood that she'd cattily mumble about a professor's diction toward her. Still, with slouched shoulders he followed, only pausing briefly to give Harry a lackluster wave-

Which, Harry, of course, did not return.

Instead, he focused ahead and stopped spying upon his friends from the corner of his eyes to peer at the willowy girl that dared to interact with the thestral before the carriage. As he drew closer she paused in her petting, only to tilt her head and whisper-

"You're here."

That was enough to raise a brow, "I am."

She gave a soft sound of interest, but never thought to turn and face him. A mistake, when encountering a stranger, he thought. Yet, she carried herself with such a strange air. It was in the line of confidence among her shoulders, in the dreamy almost distracted cadence to her tone. It was like she was there, and yet, beyond him. He could… sense something, something that buzzed about his consciousness, some idle hum that slipped under his blood, and yet… was it magic that sang to him? Some sort of rawness that oozed off her person like a natural cloak?

Yet, as quickly as the sense of it had come to him, it was gone, leaving him almost disorientated in the absence of it.

She smiled at the thestral, something slow and hazy, "Sorry, that wasn't meant for you, yet."

He smiled back, nostrils flared and teeth on display, "Name."

She didn't hesitate, which was pleasing to him, "Lovegood, Luna Lovegood, though I surmise that may change."

There's a… curious quality to her tone, and her gaze is pointed skyward, to the darkness and the skies and the answers they never gave. Still, eventually, her eyes lowered and the shifting shadows of silvers that nearly paled into whites, was settled on him.

"I'd like to share this carriage with you, Harry Potter."

He sniffed slightly and motioned toward the door, he wouldn't tell her no. In fact, he stepped up lightly to open the door as she made action to enter. "You are aware of me."

It's not a question, but a fact. His fame often preceded him, an intense annoyance.

"All the pieces, they fit differently, but they do fit." She replied, eyeing him in a manner that was both so terribly off and unfocused. Like she wasn't seeing him, or bothering to.

He sat across from her, hands clasped together on his lap, tented, interested, "I am nothing like the stories that speak of me."

"Nothing like them," Luna confirmed, head tilted, eyes wide, far too wide. He thought, for a moment, she might have repeated his words in surprise, but her tone was too assured, "far too many pixies for that to be true."

"Oh?"

Luna lowered her gaze for a moment, if only to play with the metal ring around her finger, something that looked far to commonplace and ordinary to be remotely as important as a promise of lordship. In fact, Harry might have thought it the ring-pin from a metal can. "There are many would-bes, many will-bes. Out of those many woulds, this is the would where you wouldn't-be."

Harry blinked once, then again, "I beg your pardon?"

She only smiled, something he might have described as coy, but not on her features, "What sort of ritual circle did He use? I imagine it was rather quant. It's all very fascinating, but it seemed to go well enough. I don't think anyone else will notice for some time, actually."

That made him freeze, made his brows practically recede into his hairline, made his hand twitch as he went to grasp his wand-because he wanted to be sure, needed to be sure, whether or not she spoke coincidental nonsense or-

"Mr. Potter-"

Snape's voice came from the doorway, an unwanted interruption that Harry had half a mind to send away, but one look back at the girl made him pause. That, naturally, drew Snape's own gaze and soon enough he was addressing her, instead of him.

"Ms. Lovegood? Were you not informed that this carriage is restricted for Hogwart's personnel and those they invite therein? Furthermore, as a first-year, you should have been directed toward the waters-"

She took in a sharp breath, a gasp that sounded more like a curious 'mroewl' than a draw of breath, "I was not told, Professor."

"Then, I assume you are unaware that-"

"I was not unaware, not really."

Snape narrowed his gaze, "Is that so? And I'm to believe then, that you entered this carriage with some understanding that it was not to be entered?"

"Some understanding," She bobbed her head innocently.

Whatever else Snape was about to snap at the girl was silence as Harry raised his hand, his own gaze narrowed at their exchange. This first year, with her odd behaviors…

Well, he didn't want to let her out of his sight just yet.

"Professor. Please, come in."

Severus hesitated, his mouth opened as if he might argue, but they had wasted enough time and Snape-for all the fear the students held of him-was not about to forcibly attempt to remove the child. So, instead, with a grunt, he slipped into the space and shut the door.

All too soon, the carriage rocked with their motion.

"Position," Harry drawled lazily as Luna turned her attention to the sprawling countryside, cooing whenever something caught her fancy.

"Last carriage."

Harry kept his gaze upon the girl, "Did you have trouble?"

Snape gave the girl a look, his hesitance clear, but Harry waved the concern away. They could always obliviate Ms. Lovegood after the meeting, but Harry had a… sense about him, one that poked and prodded curiously at the being across from him, seeking that raw response he'd been met with earlier. Whatever she heard was inconsequential, and he would make that rather clear.

Only her slight humming made him aware that she knew he was trying to peel back the layers of her mediocre magical core to find that buzzing otherness again.

This might be a problem…

"Lucius pushed, rather strongly, that as your magical guardian-officially, since two days before yesterday, were you aware?-that he can demand a resort if past trauma may have prevented the correct house placement."

Harry nodded, privy to this information.

"Upon our arrival, you will be resorted, though I would prepare to be detained by our illustrious Headmaster before that takes place. My assumption is that he will wish to speak with you, under the illusion of briefness, about the happenings that took place to land you in Lucius care. He was quite…"

Snape paused, perhaps uncomfortable with giving such information with the girl in the carriage.

With a sigh Harry turned to address her, "This information is about my wellbeing. You are aware."

"I am aware."

He was not surprised, she seemed specifically placed, "Are you meant to be here?"

"It is a good night to make friends," she drawled, "the darker pockets are meant for shared secrets and magic bonds well under starlight, so I've heard."

Harry snorted and leaned back, before he motioned toward Snape to continue. One thing was certain, Luna was not some spy set upon him, he suspected. He left that classification to be earned by others.

No, there was too much genuinely in her very being. She did not hide from him. She'd come to him.

She was strange, but he intended to keep her. For now.

"He was concerned."

Harry wondered how much.

"He thought, at first, you'd been accosted. That, maybe, the suffering portrayed in the Prophet had been done to you by Lucius himself. He imparted to me, and those present-the other professors, Potter-that they should take great care to watch you for further signs of abuse from your new magical guardian."

Harry tilted his head, "How did they react to that?"

"Minerva was…" Here, Snape sniffed slightly as his lips trembled. Harry realized he was repressing a laugh, "rather furious. She didn't much care for the way he immediately dismissed the Muggle's hand in the abuse and blamed another. That she had suspicions that they were The Worst."

Harry had a feeling, by the manner in which Snape said those last two words, that they had capital letters.

"Naturally, some of the others, Flitwick in particular, was more concerned about your mental state and why you hadn't come to anyone for help after the first year."

Silence dwelled between them after that, but Harry knew there was more to the story, that Snape hesitated, not because of the girl, but because he could feel the slight curl of Harry's magic and the chilling fury there. Luna shivered but didn't turn her gaze from the window, and instead began to blow on the glass and draw little figures in the fog left there.

"Did you tell them, Professor? Did you tell them-"

"I did, Harry," Snape whispered, his hands clasped with one another, as Harry's magic licked across his flesh to purposely share his cultivated rage-and in return, Harry could feel Snape's own magic twist in response, taking on his emotional response.

He felt so much, his poor professor-guilt, shame, loathing, rage, confusion, bewilderment-but most of all there was loyalty. Loyalty to him. Loyalty to his wellbeing, and that was an emotion Harry would be sure to hoard and manipulate and keep.

After all, did he not own some portion of his professor through bond to Him?

"It was not my intention, not at first, but I could not… would not… allow that question to go unanswered."

Because Harry had come to Albus, had hinted at pain and agony and a lack of love… but he'd been sent back, sent back to suffer, to die. And, had he not nearly done so that summer, then certainly the next or the next or the next-

"I told them that you had come, that you had begged. You said as much. I told them that I had been there, to protect you at the manor. That I had been called to help save you by Lucius himself when there had been so much blood." Snape swallowed harshly, for a moment lost in some memory Harry was not privy to, before he returned to himself. "I told them that Lucius and Narcissa, that the evil Malfoy's had paled considerably upon seeing your state. That their fright and despair came from your state of being, not your title or their alleged allegiance to Him."

Snape tossed a look out the window, to view the towering castle that came closer and closer, "I told them that I was not impressed with our Headmaster's claims, that Lucius had done nothing but share joy and pride in your management and that I would never allow you to return to those Muggles again."

Who still lived, oblivious and unknowing of what they'd caused.

Snape sniffed, an act meant to get ahold of his mask, to draw his emotional response back into the recess of his person, even as Harry greedily sought to pull it back out, to feed his response so that he could devour it, dissect it, truly understand it… and then use it later.

"I did not say much else thereafter. Minerva had begun her shrieking again-you see, she was very upset at the fact that you had suffered, as she is… was your Head of House and felt responsible for your agonies-and the room devolved in the sort of chaos that could leave any man cowed."

With a soft rumble of his chest Harry gave a nod, "Then, nothing else of worth was said at that particular meeting?"

Snape shook his head, a slight motion that he caught right before he spoke again, "Nothing. At the end Minerva, as angry as she was, claimed that she would see to your comfort-more as Deputy Headmistress than Head of House, of course. The other professors made similar sounds of agreement. Albus, no doubt humbled, agreed that the best thing to do would be to see to your recovery, for no doubt he believes you to be some poor broken thing."

Luna made a sound then, some cross between a sigh and a giggle that faded easily into the silence that came over them. With a near echo of the noise, in a manner that seemed to both capture Luna's attention from the window and delight her, Harry allowed that silence to reign.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Harry, my boy."

His voice carried throughout the hallway, over the curious heads of awe-struck first years and toward the 'boy' in question. Harry briefly considered playing at ignorance, at ignoring the figure that caused those in attendance to part from their place and spread before him like separated water. He held a peculiar grace, one that screamed concerned and parental, but his expression was off. Harry could see it now, the twinkle to his gaze, the strained downward smile that wrinkled his cheeks and the pinch of his brow. In that brief moment he was being examined. Poked and prodded with a gaze far too sharp to be gentle or genuine.

It was so very different from Lucius cautious glances, so very wrong compared to the blind friendship inspired adoration of his budding circle. And idly, with mild interest, Harry noted that he could tell the difference. He wondered if that was due to an extensive study in being cared for properly by a collective of Slytherins or if the pain of his trial had broken his ignorance to such facts.

Thoughts for another day, he supposed.

"Headmaster," Harry drawled, respectful, polite, patient, "Good evening."

Dumbledore paused before him, hands behind his back, no doubt hidden among the many folds of his elaborate shimmering robes. It was easy for Harry to focus on him, to look just slightly to the left of his pressed thin mouth and ignore the wave of whispers that had started up from the new years still hovering in the hallway. For a moment they stood like that, Harry unwilling to offer anymore words or noise to the collection about them and Dumbledore with tilted head and flared nostrils.

Yet, all too soon he spoke again, "Harry. I'd like to speak with you."

Of course.

"Is it about what happened this summer, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore didn't bother to act surprised, he was painfully aware of what had happened over the summer, at least the public portion of it. "It is, I'm afraid. Which is, undoubtedly, a shame. I know you've no doubt had to talk about it quite a bit."

Harry nodded, his eyes wide but his expression lacking any solemn attitude. He was carefully empty, devoid of much other than his constant curiosity and thirst for more. "No more than necessary."

The Headmaster nodded, as if in understanding. Harry only quirked a brow, he couldn't possibly understand his previous suffering nor the horror of exposure, a horror Harry refused to feel but could certainly acknowledge. He was meant to be vulnerable, betrayed by those that held his blood when he'd always been betrayed by the system that placed him there.

"Come, come." Dumbledore said, ignorant of the tumbling storms that shifted ever so slightly beyond Harry's gaze. His own was focused on the nervously shuffling students, before he furrowed his brow. What was he looking for, exactly?

He turned either way, to shift toward a private alcove, not out of sight but far enough that the rumble of excitement faded into a dull buzz beyond them.

"Harry," Dumbledore started, "it has come to my attention that you were greatly hurt over the summer."

Harry nodded, played the fool, even as his magic felt hot and heavy within him-begging to be used, to twist and rise and burst from his person with all the emotion he felt carefully contained. He twisted those feelings instead, took their solid weight and turned them into churning smoke. He breathed in. He breathed out. Inhale. Exhale.

"I almost died, Headmaster." Harry answered, calm, innocent, as the blackness within him hissed and whispered, "It went beyond being hurt."

"And what did you do, Harry? How did this… come to be?" If Dumbledore attempted to be careful with his words, Harry suspected he'd done a poor job at it.

"What did I do?" Harry whispered, a playful drawl to his tone, one that Dumbledore did not miss as his lips parted slightly with the intention to interruption. Harry would not allow him, "I was a child in a household that hurt me. It was bothersome for them, in the end."

Dumbledore paused and the silence hung between them. Potent. Heavy. Soothing for Harry, who relished the quiet.

"But it seems unusual, Harry, for them to attack you in such a way." He broke it with soft words meant to coddle, or maybe to confuse.

Harry blinked, "It is not unusual. They have been attacking me, hurting me, for some time. I told you this, last year…?"

The Headmaster tossed his gaze to the left, then the right, as if the words would escape their small space and insight the wrath of his deputy again. "They had you doing chores, Harry. I suspect they had you do chores again-"

"Correct," Harry interrupted, his tone a soft chirp of interest.

Dumbledore continued, "And we had decided, together, that maybe there had been an exaggeration or two in your explanation to me last year. That, maybe, you had been awed and greatly influenced to stay within the wizarding world due to it being something new and mystical."

For a moment Harry was quiet, quiet as the smoke within him filled his chest, as his lungs constricted and his throat tightened. He… smiled, eased the pressure within his body and kept his magic within him, where it festered and gurgled. So hungry. So furious.

"True."

"So," Dumbledore said, slower now, as if concerned about Harry's expression. Or, maybe, he thought him on the verge of a childish tantrum. "I just want to be sure that this, right now, is not an exaggeration. That Mr. Malfoy has not asked you to say these things, things that can be damaging and hurt your family."

With a slow lick of his lips Harry tilted his head, "I would never want to hurt my family."

For the Malfoys, were in fact, his true family. But more than that, he would never want to hurt Him, his savior, his god, his Lord.

His family.

"Then you can see how this article can be vicious and confusing to others?"

"Yes, of course Headmaster."

"So then, I ask again, if you could tell me exactly what happened at the Dursley residence?"

Harry linked his hands before him, contemplative, while his mind continued to twist and shudder, a storm that bade him to speak, "I reached for a plate to clean, I was washing the dishes you see, and it leapt to my hand. An accident, I know not to use magic beyond these walls, of course."

Dumbledore listened intently, unaware that Harry's gaze had shifted, that he was looking beyond him, to the tall imposing figure with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils at his back.

Harry made his voice just a bit louder, allowed just a little bit of panic real panic to slip easily into his tone. He drew upon those memories, upon the wild need to survive, to stop the pain. Upon the eagerness, the maddening crazed desire to submit to death-or to Him, and end his weakness-and he used it, embraced it.

He trembled, "He came at me, fiercely, without warning. He knocked me from the stool and I hit the ground, hard. I can't remember what broke, because so many things were broken. I don't know what he used to destroy me, only that I had been destroyed. I remember the cupboard-that's where I slept, where they locked me away, with only the spiders and the dark to keep me company-and I remember the blood. There was a lot of it-"

The figure, feminine in shape, began to draw near but more than that, he could feel the controlled hum of Snape's magic at his back getting closer.

"I remember thinking 'all of this is mine, and it's leaving, forever' and I remember wishing I could do anything, anything, to stop it."

The Headmaster had a peculiar expression on his face, one that spoke of frustration and disappointment-at Harry or the Dursley's, he'd never know. But beyond that there was budding understanding, a growing horror for whatever Harry described.

"When I opened my eyes, the pain was all consuming but I was gone from that place. I woke up in the Manor with Lord Malfoy. He had found me, me, and he took me in."

Now Harry grew excited, now he lifted his fists and balled them, pumped his hand in a childish amount of joy that he knew made Dumbledore's insides twist. Let him look upon it, his adoration, so very real for this family that he no doubt abhorred. Let him look upon it and mistake it for love of Lucius, instead of an obsession for his true savior. His Lord.

"I'm so excited. He said he'd care for me. That I'd never experience pain again! He said he went to school with my father, my mother, he told me about them! This summer was wonderful, Headmaster, and they were ever so kind to me. Me! The freak!"

Dumbledore snapped open his mouth at that term, something no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but all too soon Professor McGonagall was upon him, his cheeks flushed and her gaze venomous.

"Albus? Albus?! What do you have Mr. Potter saying?"

For a moment Harry thought that even Minerva was upset with his praise of the Malfoys, but it went beyond that. She was upset that Dumbledore was forcing the confession. Upset that he had been forced to describe his trauma. Upset that he was being doubted.

Being a cat animagus probably gave his professor quite the hearing range.

Dumbledore stood up straight then and twisted around to face her just as Snape came upon Harry's back. He did nothing, but was patient, as the other professor raised a hand in his direction-

"Were you trying to… were you asking Harry if he was…" She couldn't get the words out, but she was fierce in a manner Harry had never seen before.

She pulled her lips back in a sneer even Snape rose a brow at, how delightful!

"Professor Snape," She said, tone strained. She never took her eyes off Dumbledore, who stood ramrod straight and indignant, "Please take Mr. Potter to be resorted. We owe him that, at least."

"But Minerva," Dumbledore dared to speak, "I was just about to ask Mr. Potter if he'd like to remain in Gryffindor, as that is surely his current and no doubt true house? I don't believe that he'd really like to lose the friends he'd made there-"

Minerva cleared her throat, whatever phrase she originally meant to spat swallowed and exchanged for a calm she didn't really express with her tense body language, "It has been asked of The Board. They will not be denied in this. Trauma impacts sorting, among other things. Mr. Potter will be given the chance to see if he is a true Gryffindor."

Then, under her breath, she snarled, "as much as that pains me."

But clearly, she blamed that on the Headmaster.

She only spared Snape a look, but it was a mighty look, one that made Snape gently turn Harry toward the sorting with but a nudge of his shoulder. Harry repressed a soft laugh, knowing that if he ever let loose the idea of Snape looking uncomfortable and pale in the face of his former Head of House and formidable transfiguration professor he'd been in a spot of trouble.

Best to pretend he didn't notice.

Best to also pretend he didn't hear his former Head of House tear into Dumbledore proper.

But he wouldn't forget it.