It had been relatively easy to sneak in and out of the Muggle hotel Harry had stumbled upon, but the long trek to the Leaky Cauldron was something he had yet to get used to. He was far from over his newfound discomfort in the place, but nonetheless, stops were needed. Harry would be more clueless than he already was if it weren't for the updates he was getting in the Prophet. He was lucky to get them at all.
He had been able to get by in peace these past few days, but it was today that Harry had the attention of the bar's regulars once more. Or rather, the one who's attention he didn't want.
"The very subject of conversation," came the dry, gruff voice of Mr Orson. "A mysterious, shaggy-haired boy with a strange penchant for the news."
Harry said nothing.
Orson freaked him out – a man who felt the need to give him the location of someone named Riddle was more than enough to do that.
"Come now, son," grunted Orson. "You surely won't ignore an interested party?"
"Some are often undesirable," rushed Harry, warily.
"Is that so?" boomed a laughing, lively voice. Harry finally turned his head. Next to Orson sat a much younger man, casually rubbing at the stubble on his chin. He had thick, straw-colored hair and was wearing a flamboyant, multi-color overcoat with far too many silver buttons on the side.
"I happen to be quite interested," the man said jovially. "You were the one content to send myself and my colleagues a letter, after all."
That was what made Harry stop from leaving the Leaky Cauldron right then and there.
"You're from Hogwarts," he breathed. Harry was not complaining, but this was certainly far from convenient.
"Don't sound so dissapointed, m'boy!" The man practically jumped out of his seat, walking over and giving Harry a surprisingly firm handshake. "Professor of Potions Horace Slughorn," he introduced himself.
"Harry Evans." The sudden neutrality in his voice was difficult to mask, and Harry was confident Slughorn didn't miss it. The man shifted, smiling brightly still.
"We don't get many transfer students, you know," said Slughorn. Harry sensed discomfort. "Why, if I recall, I don't think any are attending Hogwarts right now."
"You act as though I'm already guaranteed to attend." Harry laughed, nervously.
"I don't see any reason why you would be denied," Slughorn waved him off. "Unless you harbor ill allegiances, you should be just fine, m'boy."
Orson looked scandalized at Slughorn's lack of subtlety, who in return, merely shrugged his shoulders. He turned his attention to Harry once more.
"All the same, you will be examined, as you seem to be aware of," Slughorn smiled, sounding more formal than before. "Though," he whispered. "We best not do it here."
"Where would we be going?" asked Harry firmly. "We could use a silencing charm."
Slughorn didn't miss Harry's wording. "A silencing charm doesn't obscure vision, Mr Evans," he said. "And I find the prophet's attention rather irritable to me these days." Harry didn't have to second-guess as to why.
"We would be going to an old family home of mine," continued Slughorn. "If, of course, you don't mind."
Harry furrowed his brows. Slughorn was a Hogwarts professor, and it was extremely unlikely he would try anything. But Slughorn's companion had anything but trust from Harry.
"As long as Orson does not come with us," he nodded.
"You wound him, Harry," joked Slughorn. The old man looked little offended or surprised. "But as this is official Hogwarts business, my friend will have nothing to do with our job today."
"Now," continued the Potions Professor, sticking his hand out, "take my arm, and we will be apparating t-"
"I can apparate on my own," said Harry to a now very surprised Slughorn. Well, that was only technically true. He wouldn't splinch himself, but the technique took a lot out of him, more than he preferred. And underage practice used to be monitored through a now nonexistent Trace. "Just give me the coordinates, sir."
"If you… so insist." Slughorn hastily wrote the coordinates on a napkin, handing it to Harry.
The young boy made his way out of the Leaky Cauldron right as Slughorn disappeared, feeling Orson's gaze burn into his back. It took everything not to glare back at the old man.
"Serpensortia," Harry whispered. The snake he summoned had sharp fangs, more than good enough, and he could sense its potent venom.
"Protect me, if something goes awry" Harry commanded in Parseltongue. "You will serve your noble speaker and guard him with your life."
The snake bobbed its head, hissing in pleasure and excitement. It slithered under his shirt, and Harry stayed still, staring at the location that had been handed to him.
"Breathe, Potter," Harry said to himself. He closed to eyes, counting down. 3… 2… 1.
And Harry was gone.
Harry was not expecting as lavish a place he was seeing when he first apparated to Horace Slughorn's family home, but neither was he complaining.
Tall, untouched trees surrounded the giant home before him. A well-kept garden was at the front, populated with a gorgeous selection of flowers, and shiny window panes allowed Harry to see partly through to the inside.
"Ah, Harry! There you are," he heard Slughorn's voice. The man looked surprised that he somehow hadn't splinched himself or apparated to the wrong place.
"Here in one piece," said Harry calmly, despite the fact he was panting from the magical exhaustion that apparation brought.
"I can see that," said Slughorn. "Let us make this quick. Why are you here?"
The sudden question threw Harry off, but he knew it was to see how honest he would be with his reply.
"Grindelwald killed my parents," Harry growled, probably the first true emotion he'd shown in front of Slughorn. "We were English, living in Norway. The died – they died saving me," his voice dropped to whisper. It was a lie, but there was truth embedded into it. Too much.
Slughorn didn't yet seem sympathetic – obviously, he would be a fool if he'd already let his guard down. "What were their names?"
"Anemone and Albert Evans."
"Blood status?"
At that, Harry noticeably twitched in anger. Why did it matter? Slughorn no doubt noticed.
"Pureblood and mugggleborn."
Slughorn didn't judge. Not visibly. "Where in Norway were you living?"
"Sandnes." Harry recalled from skimming the Prophet that it was a city Grindelwald had went after.
"What have you been doing since then?"
"Wandering," said Harry. "Traveling. Looking for a place to stay. And eventually, I found only one." The implication that Hogwarts was all he had was not lost on Slughorn.
"Remarkable," the Potions Professor murmured. "Have you run into any more trouble on your way here?"
"Given I am able to disillusion myself," that wouldn't hurt to drop, "I have not." Harry looked at Slughorn in the eye.
"Can you disillusion others?"
"Most things, yes," Harry nodded.
Slughorn furrowed his brows. Harry was quick to react when the man reached into his pocket for his wand, but it wasn't an attack the man was going for.
"Accio Serpent!"
The snake flew out from under Harry's shirt, hissing violently and attempting to sink its teeth into the Potion Master's arm, but he had already vanished its fangs, all while Harry made a poor attempt at remaining stoic. The snake was basically harmless now.
"Should've disillusioned him, then," Slughorn said coolly. Harry frowned.
"I'm sure you know it's nothing personal," Harry replied in the same, cool tone.
"I would sure hope not," said Slughorn. "There is a line when precaution becomes excessive paranoia. I suggest you learn it, Mr Evans."
The stung more than Harry would like. It was only a precaution as far as he was concerned.
"How old are you?" Another question to throw him off.
"16."
"We'll send you to fifth year, then. What's your wand made out of?" Slughorn seemed frustrated that his questions had yet to throw Harry off like he had with the snake.
"Aspen, spine of a White River Monster." There was no way Slughorn was a Wandlore expert, or even knowledgeable.
Slughorn continued to meander with his questions, watching Harry closely for reactions. Harry did fine, but he knew that the obvious one – one he needed to answer, was being savored.
"Can you verify your identity, Mr Evans?"
"N-no," Harry stumbled. "Everything got lost in the raid. As far as law is concerned, I have no name."
"I expected such," said the professor. Harry watched him closely for suspicion – and indeed, he found some, but Slughorn seemed more intrigued with him now than anything else.
"I believe this will be first for me," began the Potions Master, "but I will help you change that, Mr Evans."
"Thank you," said Harry, earnestly.
"But," stressed Slughorn. "I know you are not telling the truth. Not the full truth, at least. No ordinary teenage boy would find himself in the middle of an entirely different nation without being detected. I can see your talent. There is something different about you, Mr Evans – and I think you will find different is just what I'm looking for."
Slughorn was an opportunist, Harry could tell that just from reading about him. Harry hadn't had the man for even a moment – he'd controlled everything from start to finish.
"Now," he said, "Let us test your magical aptitude."
It took a few days for Harry to notice that since his meeting with Horace Slughorn of Hogwarts, Orson had not popped up at the Leaky Cauldron, nor his younger companion, who always sat right next to him.
It made Harry more comfortable sitting down and reading the papers he always grabbed, but there was always a sensation that the old man would walk in at any moment and force a confrontation.
The Prophet did not seem too important today. A headline on Grindelwald's stalling siege, some articles on Magical Britain's latest pureblood tussle and a healthy amount of Wizengamot drama made up today's edition. A new law was being passed, apparently, one that didn't restrict or prohibit, but 'highly frowned upon,' and set a, 'plan to regulate usage of the Dark Arts among underage magicians."
"Fucking nonsense," Harry mumbled under his breath. Truthfully, there were no such thing as Dark Arts. It was an urban legend spread mostly by Purebloods who sought to ensure that children of opposing factions would grow up fearing them. They would refuse to learn more powerful, dangerous magic that lead to Purebloods monopolizing, both academically and through usage, an entire field of magic. It would render those children weak heads of their factions and families, and make them easier to manipulate.
One needed to understand all magic to began to grasp even a part of it on an expert level.
Then again, the legend hadn't seemed to take hold in this time as it had in Harry's. It only became truly powerful at the dawn of the First Blood War. Compared to the 7 Wizengamot factions of his time, here, they were split into 13.
Transfiguration Today seemed uneventful. Right now, anyway. The first page contained a timeline of Albus Dumbledore's academic breakthroughs in the subject from his final year at Hogwarts onward, but little else.
Harry turned to pages two and three, suddenly feeling remarkably out of place. Only other adults were here; the closest to his age here were in the their 20s.
He ignored the feelings as best he could.
Gamp's Laws withstand new experiments… Ruellia Spindle makes a name for herself with potential discovery… and Harry stopped.
He never paid much attention to the ending box at the right of the final page – it always contained some mundane academic information about another subject that was woefully understudied or the like. But today, it was different. Today, it was about Potions.
Potions was certainly interesting to Harry, and he had a healthy respect for the subject, but that alone would never be enough to grasp him like this.
HOGWARTS STUDENT SUBMITS GROUNDBREAKING NEW POTIONS DISCOVERY!
By Erend Jenkins
At the end of June, most Hogwarts students are frustrated and exhausted from a week of grueling examinations, a certain persistent poltergeist, and a year of rigorous learning. But when the Wizengamot lifted the long-held Trace on underage users of Magic – now fifth year prodigy Emily Riddle sought to complete the final touches on a study long in the making. Now, we in the academic community are graced with potentially groundbreaking discovery on the properties of a rather obscure plant – the Crimson Rantipole.
"I was fortunate to have a safe and accessible environment to conduct my experiments in," she wrote in a letter to Transfiguration Today. "Without the aide and guidance of my professors, this would have never come to fruition. And for that, I am incredibly grateful to all."
The Crimson Rantipole is an especially unstable ingredient – relatively unheard of before now, it had little true use to most potioneers, but the heart of Miss Riddle's discovery begins here, where she had the brilliant idea to crush the plant into a halfway-brewed Draught of Peace…
"Good read, son?"
Harry jumped, glaring at the figure above him. "Quite," he said dryly.
"You'll leave now, boy?" Obviously, Orson had noticed Harry's avoidance. Not that it was important.
"No," said Harry, standing up to look the old man in the eyes. "Let's talk."
A/N: This was a fun one to write. Reviews, thoughts, and the like are all apppreciated. Again, they do wonders for my dopamine levels.
Thanks for reading, everyone!