The Dragon
July 16, 15 years after Godric's Hollow
Harry emerged from a three-hour bath feeling no cleaner than the moment Bellatrix left him drenched with her juices.
With his dad's bedroom no longer a viable sanctuary following his mark's exposure to Sirius' portrait, Harry shuffled toward the stairs so as to ascend to the master bedroom — or per Black tradition, the "duke's chamber."
Bellatrix of all witches proves how meaningless this all is, Harry thought with a bitter snort. As patriarch of the "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry supposedly commanded the loyalty of all with Black blood — especially those who bore the family name. But he was pretty sure shows of loyalty did not include coercing sexual favors from one's house head.
"You could consider it a compliment," an unwanted opinion sounded in the air around him. "I can count on one hand the number of wizards Bellatrix has engaged in bedroom relations with. Why, her own husband has to debase himself before her to receive the slightest touch."
"Am I hearing right?" Harry snarked. "Is the great Marvolo finally not too good for sex?"
"She is of higher caliber than the trollops you have so far defiled us with," Tom Marvolo Riddle returned coolly. "And perhaps she will teach you that if you must pursue such crude activities, you use it for domination and subjugation. Not simply for fulfillment of craven desires."
"You know, I think I subjugate you when I 'fulfill my craven desires'," Harry riposted smugly as he walked up a flight of stairs.
"Fortunately, your magic has been curing you of such impulses as of late," Tom rejoined.
Harry silently conceded the point. He had come to learn dark wizards possessed low libido. Even with how beautiful he found Bellatrix, Harry doubted he could have maintained an erection for a prolonged period without her compulsive application of erotic magic.
Reaching the twelfth floor, Harry pressed his hand and magic on the entryway to open the two-roomed floor. He passed through the antechamber without regard to make his way to the bedchamber — the largest room in the house, and perhaps the largest bedroom in Wizarding Britain. Naturally, Harry decorated the room with only a real-time projection of the universe against its surfaces and a circular, obsidian dias for meditation and rest.
Sitting at the dias' center with crossed legs, Harry did the former. Blue fire consumed all save a small inner-circle of the platform as the youngest Death Eater searched his soul. Bold explorations of the occult over the years etched into his essence a most storied tale. But in this moment, the Death Eater sought only one kind of mark — that of murder. He expected to find eight new such imprints, each of which would haunt him for years, and two for life.
So when Harry found only five, a rush of surprise blew out his flames and billowed through the room. The howl that filled the air verbalized the despair within his soul.
"Where are they?" Harry inquired aloud once the gale quieted. "Roger? G-Gold Mac?"
"Can you truly not determine that for yourself?" Tom admonished.
Harry replayed the memory of entering the safe house. Focusing on the soul wound formed by his Avada Kedavra murder of Lee, he re-experienced his comrade's final emanations of shock and pain. While Harry committed to later meditate on Lee's life and death in tribute to the fallen warrior, he in the moment focused on his subsequent victim — Roger Davies.
"Hmm," Harry sounded when he relived the moment he subconsciously recognized Roger, That was when he knew to handspring backward to avoid a volley of detonating spears. As for the Confringo that Harry retaliated with, it fell far short of his standard performance. So too did his lacerating curse, despite occluding his feelings toward and memories of Roger.
He had known that Roger did not possess the ability to kill him, and that their duel could end only one way. But when Harry saw the killing curse he sent at his friend to spare him from choking on his own blood, he realized he used the ice-blue "mercy-kill" variant.
I murdered him all the same, Harry acknowledged as he dipped his head in mourning — both for a close friend and the fact he would not bear a murder mark for his death.
The reason Cormac McLaggen's death didn't scar Harry's soul proved more obvious — and devastating. The Gryffindor scion possessed great power, Harry knew that since their first meeting. But in their final meeting, Cormac demonstrated as much combat prowess as Harry hoped for in such an hour. Indeed, Cormac almost killed him.
Almost.
But Cormac's killing curse failed. After that, Harry could no longer hold Tom back from commandeering his own magic to defend himself. Harry could only watch helplessly as Fiendfyre burned one of his favorite friends to ash.
"Gemma too. Or have you forgotten her?" Tom taunted.
Harry narrowed his eyes, but gave no verbal response. Not that Tom needed one.
"If it truly means so much, your destruction of Roger and 'Gold Mac' was but a touch more direct than those of the 'friends' you have already led to the Veil," Tom mock-consoled.
Harry understood this to be true. He'd known from the first day he stepped inside Hogwarts that he was bad news. Known that he held greater ties to history's darkest lord than anyone alive, and that said dark lord wasn't quite as dead as most thought. He should have kept to himself. Pushed people away if they tried to get close, for their own good.
But he'd been selfish. He wanted companionship, and so whenever a wizard or witch approached him with genuine friendship, he accepted and returned it. Hell, he worked for it. Wormed his way into each of his friend's hearts even as it became obvious how dangerous he was. And now, in the end, who among his friends wasn't worse off due to him?
"Do you understand why?" Tom asked.
"I wasn't honest enough with myself, so I wasn't truly honest with them," Harry answered.
"I hated the order of things. I hated those in charge. I wanted change. I wanted to rise above what others decided I should be. I wanted to leave my mark. And that's still me, to this day."
"And good that it is," Tom agreed as he materialized in the form of his modelesque 18-year-old self, dressed in Slytherin robes and adorned with a gold Head Boy badge. "But you discredit yourself. Just because you did not raise your wand as a 13 year old and cast a killing curse at the Minister does not mean your friends did not know who you truly were. Know you would never be an establishment-worshiping goon, fated to languish as a bureaucrat under the thumb of the financial mercenaries Britain calls leaders. Know you would lead a life of power, passion and purpose. Know you would grow into a mighty fireserpent that burned down the old to usher in a new age. Know you would spill rivers of blood and gore galore in pursuit of your vision. Know your lust for the din of battle, and that life with you would prove anything but safe. Know, admire and follow you for that, at the expense of comfort and longevity."
"I didn't expect…" Harry started.
"Even as early as your first months at Hogwarts, you prepared yourself for a life of war," Tom cut off. "Your friends would have had to be blind or stupid to not see it, and those in your company were neither. Indeed, all who called you friend knew you may one day call upon them for aid. And they made themselves ready to raise their wands for you."
"Not all of them would have…" Harry tried.
"Every last one of them would have chosen you," Tom dismissed. "If you doubt that, think back to the loyalty you commanded as an eleven-year old in your quest for Nicolas' stone."
"They chose wrong," Harry murmured sadly. "I failed them. Every last one of them."
"You did," Tom agreed. "You allowed them to believe one can find honor in death, because you cherish that same fallacy yourself. So when confronted with my majesty, too many of your friends chose oblivion over acceptance of me as their lord. And you decided that you prefer oblivion to watching them suffer the consequences of stupidity. So here we stand."
"I'd die to save any one of them," Harry said. "Or even just die for what they're dying for."
"Yet you have failed, and I laugh at your attempts," Tom stated. "And soon, so shall you."
"Don't count on it," Harry responded determinedly.
"You understand your master has known of your weakness this entire time, yes?" Tom asked. "I suspect he has found it amusing, as I have. Even with your suicidal intent, you have proven one of our most effective servants. And perhaps some blame lies with us. Albus would have destroyed you by the end of your first Hogwarts year had he not seen your devotion to your friends — a weakness we tolerated for that reason. But Albus is gone."
"But my friends aren't," Harry returned. "And I'm going to fight so each of them can live their best possible life. The ones who choose to live under the new regime? I will serve the Lord on their behalf so that they can live as well or better than under the old order, regardless of their 'blood' or actions of their families. Those that rebel? I'm going to ensure that their struggle has meaning. That their goal is feasible, even if it means fighting them until they kill me. And the ones I've killed and gotten killed? I'm going to carry on their memories so that one day, when I face them again, I can look each of them in the eye and tell them their deaths meant something. Then, they can throw me in the hell I deserve."
Tom chuckled with amusement.
"Soon enough, you will realize the futility of your devotion to mortals," Tom promised. "And then, you will not spare a second thought for the dead fools you once called friends."
12:00 a.m., January 10, 10 years after Godric's Hollow
"Ready, friend?" Anthony questioned as he raised his wand in salute.
"If you're ready to eat dirt," Harry returned while giving an extravagant bow.
Anthony snorted at Harry's presumption. Which was fair, since he hadn't been there the previous Friday midnight to see Harry beat Ron and Ernie in every single one of their spars. Said Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stood at either side of the corridor, ready to watch the duel. Theoretically as seconds, but all four trusted each other not to pull any funny business.
"Rapio!" Harry opened by aiming a gripping spell at Anthony's wrist just as Anthony conjured Armatus armor-like protection over himself. Anthony rescued himself from the brunt of Harry's spell, but he still had to twist and jerk his wrist to throw it off completely.
"Impello!" Harry shouted while thrusting his wand toward Anthony's midsection. The Ravenclaw stumbled back as if a Quidditch beater punched him in the solar plexus. That didn't deter Anthony from retaliating with a Glacius aimed at Harry's legs.
"Incendio!" Harry answered, sending a small stream of fire directly into the path of Anthony's ice-blue spell. Overpowered in the head-to-head, Anthony resorted to a Protego shield charm to ward off the flames.
"Gee, really?" Anthony called out as Harry's attack died down.
"Nothing you can't handle," Harry assured. Also, unlike with a Confringo, Harry maintained a steady grip over all the flames he had projected against Anthony. Had Anthony not cast a shield, he could and would have retracted them before they hit his friend.
"Alrighty," Anthony said, clearly ready to cast some of his own more intense spells. "Diffindo!" he called out while aiming at Harry's wand hand.
Harry hissed as Anthony made a stinging cut across Harry's right wrist.
"Flipendo!" Harry retaliated, upending Anthony and sending him into two backward flips.
"Locomotor Mortis," the Ravenclaw called out rather than cushioning his landing.
Harry's limbs went rigid and numb, killing his mobility.
"Rictumsempra!" Harry called out to disable his opponent. Anthony however reinforced his armor charm and thus successfully deflected the spell.
"Ventus Duo!" Anthony shouted in spite of his broken nose.
Harry reflexively cast an Averto deflection spell to bat Anthony's magic away, but the Ravenclaw's spell did not hurtle his magic on a direct collision course with Harry's own. Rather, Anthony stirred the air in the corridor, wound some into a tight funnel, and then sent it as a mighty gust toward Harry.
"Bloody hell," Harry complained as he was pitched into the air, limbs still frozen. He'd have to fix that, but that delayed him from launching a counterattack. Especially since hex counters came slower to him than hexes proper.
"Motus Libero!" Harry called out, grateful his immobile hand still clutched his wand.
"Obtorqueo!" Anthony shouted before resetting his nose with an Episkey. Meanwhile, Harry began to twist like a top just as he made a painful landing.
"Depulso!" Harry blasted. Unfortunately, Anthony hit the ground just as Harry finished incanting his oft-used spell. The blond donned a prideful smirk as he shot back up.
"Prurio Totalus!" Anthony unleashed a new spell just as Harry shouted "Depulso!" again.
Anthony hurled up a Protego shield, but he stumbled back wildly all the same before tumbling onto his bottom and skidding back further. Meanwhile, Harry contended with the urge to scratch the itch consuming every inch of his body.
"Domino, Domino, Domino," Harry whispered a mantra he and Niall had been practicing for the past week.
It paid off. Instead of wasting precious time trying to counter Anthony's spell, his frequent downfall in duels with the Ravenclaw, Harry rose to his feet while simply ignoring the hex.
Shock flashed across Anthony's face, but not concession.
"Armatus," Harry wove the excess energy of his aura around his body in preparation for Anthony's coming offensive. Harry saw in Anthony's eyes that the Ravenclaw would no longer hold back. But as a Protego shield was far more costly in power and concentration, Harry banked on a passive armor-weave derived from raw power to deflect the lion's share of Anthony's hexes. A Domino chant could push him through the rest…hopefully.
"Impello!" Harry directed at Anthony's midsection just before Impedimenta hex made Harry feel as if he had bell weights strapped to his torso and limbs.
"Glomero Disploso!" Harry called out as he amassed a ball of air, electromagnetic energy and magical power to send at Anthony — then explode it three feet from the older boy.
"Aaah! Baubillious!" Anthony cried out as he tumbled roughly on to his back and went rolling, bouncing his head once or twice against the stone floor as he did so.
An arc of white electricity collided with Harry, shocking him head to toe and taking him to his knees.
"Tone it down, yah!" Ron suggested.
"B-brace yourself, Harry," Anthony warned in a ragged voice, still lying down.
"Tony…" Ernie said in a warning tone.
"Protego," Harry conjured just before Anthony sent a Bombarda at him.
"Aaaah!" Harry shouted as his right forearm snapped from the force of the explosion sent his way. Clearly, he needed to work on properly applying his power to the shield charm.
"Domino, Domino, Domino," Harry chanted under his breath.
"Ooo—ow. Ugh. Ooof," Anthony sounded as he forced himself to his feet. He then limped toward Harry.
"Yield?" he asked while pointing his wand toward Harry's face.
"Seven," Ernie began.
If Harry couldn't get out of his position in seven seconds, the match would be lost. But with his wand hand hanging limply and in pain, he'd only be able to conjure one good spell.
Or maybe two. Darn it, he hoped he could pull off Goldwin Avery's "golden trick."
Need'ta get his wand, but distract 'im first, Harry decided. Harry focused on what he wanted to do, what he wanted to conjure.
"Three, two, o—" Ernie wound down the count.
"Flagel-liarmus!" Harry shouted at the top of his voice. With his first two syllabus, he manifested a Flagello whip that raced toward Anthony — one Anthony raised his wand to casually block. However, Harry pivoted his focus mid-incantation to his treasured disarming spell. One he perfectly executed by way of his conjured whip.
Opening his left palm, Harry silently summoned Anthony's airborne wand to his grip. "Yield?" he returned to the blond while pointing the blackthorn wand at its owner.
"Seven, six…" Ron dutifully began the countdown. Anthony remained motionless and open-mouthed throughout.
"Well…I'll be," he finally said several seconds after his defeat was made official. "Heh, guess Ernie wasn't exaggerating…for once."
"Hey!" Ernie took offense.
"Took everything I had," Harry stated honestly as Anthony helped him stand.
"I'm sorry to hear that," an unexpected voice said from behind him.
"Draco?" Harry asked while turning around. "Draco!" he shouted when his roommate sent Anthony flying with a Flipendo, one unleashed as quick as any Harry had seen.
"Locomotor mortis," Draco directed at Ron and Ernie just as the two pulled out their wands. Despite only a single casual wand flick on Draco's part, Ron and Ernie both seized up before falling to the floor — the former on his face and the latter on his arse.
"What?" Draco drawled when Harry fixed a glare on him.
"Seriously?" Harry questioned indignantly.
"I could ask the same of you," Draco returned frostily.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, taken off guard by the hostility.
"Dueling practice, yes? To compensate for your lack of training?" Draco rhetorically asked.
Harry nodded, not that Draco needed an answer.
"Tell me, why would you not come to the best duelist in your year? Especially if he is 'one of the best friends you have ever had'?" Draco pressed. "Why would you go to these buffoons?"
"Hey, don't talk 'bout them like that!" Harry exclaimed.
"You know Nott would destroy you in a duel, yes? Since it 'took everything I had' to beat Tony," Draco mocked, badly-imitating Harry's words and practically spitting out his former friend's nickname.
"Speaking of duels, I remember you standing me up," Harry pointed out.
"And you should be very glad I did," Draco sneered.
"What's your problem!" Harry demanded.
"Them," Draco stated.
"Draco…come'on," Harry sighed. To be fair, he figured this discussion would come at some point, given how much contempt Draco held for the majority of the Hogwarts community, and how most students reciprocated that. And he understood Draco's anger too — he was widely hated for being the son of Lucius Malfoy and the "nephew" of Sirius Black. First-cousin-once-removed technically, but very few cared for the distinction. Particularly since Draco was the presumed heir of the House of Black as Sirius' nearest male relative.
"Look, I stand up for you whenever someone trashes you. And I've never dissed you, never. You know this. You can ask anyone, heck you can get Snape to read my mind," Harry said.
"But…" Draco prodded.
"But," Harry continued. "I've got other friends too. And these guys are my friends, just like Nott is your…acquaintance."
"I am not friends with Nott, unlike you with Goldstein," Draco sniped.
"And I'm friends with you too, no matter what he says about you," Harry returned.
"You prefer him," Draco accused. "And Weasley, with his muggle-loving mother, and high-and-mighty Macmillan. Because they're easier to be friends with, right? They don't have the 'stain' of the Malfoy and Black names, despite you all being Blacks yourselves!"
"I don't care about family names!" Harry shouted. "And I'm the last person who c-would judge."
"What's that supposed to mean, Potter?" Draco demanded.
"I'm the son of a muggleborn, remember?" Harry pointed out. "And she was one heck of a witch, even in her first year…"
"You meant something else when you said that," Draco rejected. "'Would'? You nearly said 'could'! So I ask again, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Draco," Harry shut down with crossed arms.
"So, you don't trust me," Draco declared while crossing his own arms.
"Come ON Draco!" Harry shouted in exasperation.
"Muffliato," Draco suddenly said. A faint hum set in around where Harry and Draco stood.
"They can't hear us," Draco explained. "So I'll ask again, what did you mean? If you truly believe in me, in our friendship, then you know I will hold your secrets. As you hold mine."
"I…I…I'm…I'm a…" Harry stammered before quitting.
"You're a what?" Draco pushed.
"Draco…I can't. Not now," Harry begged him to understand. "It's my family's biggest secret…please."
"Henry Potter's consort," Draco deduced. "You're talking about what she was?"
Harry didn't answer, but that proved enough.
"Are you a half-breed of some sort?" Draco speculated, to which Harry glared. "There is no need to burden yourself with shame. You might be surprised how many wizards are hiding a creature or two in their tree. Why, even the Flints are suspected…"
"I'm not a half-breed!" Harry snapped.
"Then what are you?" Draco asked again.
"I'll tell you by month end," Harry postponed. "I promise."
Draco seemed unimpressed.
"You…you can ask Nott to hex me if I don't," Harry offered. "Heck, I'll do it if I don't. I'm serious, I'll tell you. I wanna tell you, I just…"
"Need more time? Very well," Draco accepted. He then waved his wand to cancel the Muffliato spell and turned toward the Grand Staircase. "We should get going."
"Sure, let's just leave them," Harry retorted while waving at his incapacitated friends, two of whom were still immobilized while the third was unconscious.
"Ugh…" Draco groaned as he turned toward Ernie's supine figure. But he abruptly stiffened.
"Harry…we have to go, now!" he whispered urgently.
"What? Draco, come'on, please?" Harry pleaded. "I know you don't like them, but…"
"Filch!" Draco hissed while pulling at Harry's right arm. With a gasp of pain, Harry dropped his wand.
"Filch?" Harry questioned incredulously.
"Hogwarts' resident squib, who else?" Draco answered while jerking Harry's arm again.
Filch is a muggle? How didn't I realize that? And there's no way we're losing to him again!
"I'm not gonna let them lose points again!" Harry determined while painfully wresting free of Draco's grip. "Tony needs help, and I need'ta cast the counter charm on Ron and Ernie."
"There's no time!" Draco warned.
"Then go! I'm not leaving them," Harry responded while pointing Anthony's wand toward Ron, too weak and frantic to summon back his own.
"FIENDS!" Filch's voice boomed, sounding much more ragged than when Harry last heard it.
"Harry…" Draco said one more time.
"Go! Save yourself. But I'm staying," Harry told his friend.
"YOU WON'T ESCAPE ME!" Filch shouted as he shone a blinding light at Harry. But he only sighted one Slytherin, as Draco had slipped into the shadows just in the nic of time.
"I KNOW THERE'S MORE OF YOU WRETCHES!" Filch yelled as he sprinted toward Harry.
"Motus Libero. Motus Libero. Motus Libero!" Harry mouthed until he finally managed to free Ron.
"Free Ernie," Harry mouthed at the ginger just before a crushing grip enveloped him.
"TELL ME!" Filch bellowed.
"Just…me," Harry wheezed out, knowing now that Filch could not sense any of them — it was the cat that had all the powers.
"LIAR!" Filch accused.
Harry sensed Ron free Ernie. Trusting them to help Tony, Harry occupied the lunatic raging against them.
"Oblido!" Harry pronounced while shoving his power through Anthony's wand. Filch's lantern shattered, creating a thunder-like boom while the light within burst through the corridor. Fortunately, Filch's proximity to the light blinded him to the position of Ron and Ernie, who used the chance to dash to the stirring Anthony.
"CURSED CHILD!" Filch howled, courtesy of the non-negligible volley of glass shards that embedded themselves in him. Ironically, Filch's own sinewy grip on Harry had sheltered the boy from this. Seemingly recognizing this, Filch repositioned his arm to deliver a chokehold.
"BASTARD!" Filch ranted in a way that very much reminded Harry of the Dursley pigs. "YOU! YOU LIVED WHEN SHE DIED! MRS NORRIS! NO ONE CARES! NO ONE MOURNS HER—SHE'S BETTER THAN ALL YOU! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! YOU, THAT RED WHELP, THAT MUGGLESPAWN WENCH!"
How dare he call Hermione that.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONES TORN APART, LIMB FROM LIMB—"
"Filthy muggle!" Harry strangled out.
"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!" Filch roared. But Harry was now just as angry.
"You…care more…animals…than wizards!" Harry wheezed. "Muggle…filth!"
Harry could breathe again — an ability he used to cry out in pain as he was hurled to the stone floor.
"I HATE YOU!" Filch clamored. "YOU AND YOUR KIND!"
"You were born from our kind!" Harry returned defiantly as he rolled this way and that to avoid stomps aimed at his ribs, collarbone and throat. "Have a care!"
How dare he! How DARE he say three wizards should've died instead of an animal!
The wild-haired freak loosed a shriek of unadulterated rage before making a successful grab for Harry's face, which he transferred to Harry's throat. The Slytherin struggled uselessly as the seven-foot mountain of a man lifted him to eye-level.
"What say you now?" Filch growled in a quieter yet all-the-more dangerous tone.
Harry tried to defend himself, but between the deadly grip on his neck, his multiple injuries, his mounting exhaustion, and holding a foreign wand, he found it difficult to muster the necessary strength to smite the unhinged madman before him.
"Relashio!" Cormac's voice suddenly called out. Filch instantly released Harry, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived to drop to the floor in a heap.
"Flipendo!" the Gryffindor seeker followed up, sending Filch hurtling back half-a-dozen meters until he hit the ground with audible cracks — and stayed there.
"Take your friend. I've got Harry," Cormac directed at Ron and Ernie. Harry rolled Anthony's wand in their general direction and used a final burst of energy to call back his own before letting the travails of the night take him into unconsciousness.
"Ugh," Harry groaned as he came too.
He tried to prop himself up from the (bed?) he lay on, but quickly reconsidered as aches popped up through his body.
"Rest," Cormac half-suggested, half-instructed as he provided a small Lumos to light their immediate surroundings in the otherwise pitch-black room. "You got beat up pretty bad. And…and it's kinda my fault."
"Terence?" Harry guessed.
Cormac's sea-green eyes flickered with surprise.
"You, Draco, both in the corridor within minutes of each other when we haven't been found for months," Harry listed the evidence. "Found by anyone 'cept Terence, who you both have a connection to."
"Yah," Cormac confirmed.
"Filch…did you sic him on us?" Harry asked tentatively. To his disappointment, but not necessarily surprise, Cormac nodded.
"I—I didn't think he was that far gone, you gotta believe me," Cormac insisted. Harry growled and glowered briefly, but he let his anger pass. Cormac had saved him after all, and he would be in just as much trouble for using a Flipendo on the Hogwarts' warden.
"Now you know," Harry muttered. Remembering his own altercation with Filch, he groaned as he realized Cormac probably heard him call Filch a "filthy muggle." And given what Terence probably told him, that was a terrible look.
"So…" Harry decided to tackle the elephant in the room.
"Are you the son of Voldemort?" Cormac beat him to it.
Well, God damn.
"Love that you use his name," Harry appreciated.
He found it inane how most wizards believed him to be dead, but all the same scurried around using his name as if he be some dark deity. A lot called Voldemort "the Dark Lord" or "You-Know-Who." Some called him "the most recent dark lord," "The Death Eater leader" or "the serpent lord." Ernie and a few others called him "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," while some Slytherins such as Draco and Nott referred to him as "The Heir of Slytherin." But Hermione and Professor Quirrell ranked among the few who used Voldemort's actual name. So Harry was glad to add Cormac to that list, if only for the sake of his own sanity.
Cormac looked intently at him, imploring him to get to the point.
"I'm the son of Lily Evans Potter," Harry stated. "That is an absolute fact, and I'm pretty sure a blood-purist leader wouldn't sleep with her. And Voldemort didn't look like the type to sleep with anyone. He referred to himself in the third-person, for magic's sake."
"My dad told me you'll find muggle dead ends on lots of the so-called 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' family trees if you do your homework," Cormac replied. "Yours is just more obvious."
"There's also the fact that I look like James Potter. A lot like him," Harry provided.
"That can be faked," Cormac pointed out. "Especially since Voldemort was a master at human transfiguration."
It was a fair point — and one Harry had considered at length after Marcus' words.
"I have the Potter talents for martial, physical and aerial magic," Harry offered. "The Gryffindor gifts," he added with a gesture toward Cormac.
"They say Voldemort could fly in physical form without using a broom or even a wand," Cormac countered. "His son would be one hell of a Quidditch talent — like you."
"Look…I don't know what to tell you," Harry shrugged in defeat, not really having anything else besides the words of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid. Three individuals he neither trusted nor cared for. "I'll be honest — I am an heir of Slytherin."
Cormac's lack of surprise confirmed that Terence blabbered.
"But I don't believe in blood purity," Harry insisted.
Cormac gave an incredulous look.
"Okay, so I called Filch a 'filthy muggle.' Muggles suck! I'd know, having lived with them for ten years!" Harry defended himself. "But a wizard is a wizard. A witch is a witch. And when Filch tried to say he was worth more than Hermione because his parents were wizards, or I think that's what he was saying, I snapped. Not to mention he cared more about a house pet than wizards. Typical of a muggle."
"Fair," Cormac conceded.
"To be clear, I one-hundred percent denounce Voldemort's cause, and I'm glad he failed," Harry stated. "Muggleborns are precious, and not just because my mother was one. There're few of us as it is, so when a new blood comes into our society, we should welcome them with open arms. Not drive them away — or worse, kill them!"
"You know your family's been fighting to 'purify' wizard society for a thousand years," Cormac asked with amusement.
"I don't see them here," Harry returned with a confident smirk.
"Works for me," Cormac said. "What about you guys?"
Huh?
"It's a yes from me," Roger's voice uttered.
"Yessss for ickle—" Fred's voice hissed.
"—Sssslytherin pickle," George's voice completed.
"Four for four," Cedric's voice stated.
A semi-circle of wands just outside the range of Cormac's Lumos simultaneously released gold-and-red fireworks that shot up, collided with each other, then exploded into the shape of…
"A dragon," Harry gaped. The lights came on just after he said that, revealing a lavishly-decorated bedroom with golden walls and dragon iconography.
"Damn," Harry admired the bed he was sleeping on, which now that he thought about it, was far more comfortable than those in the Slytherin dormitory. And speaking of dormitories.
"This isn't one of the Hogwarts houses," Harry noted.
"It's our clubhouse, if you will," Cedric answered. "Typically your initiation tour would start from the front, but Cormac here decided to bring you in half-dead."
"Hey!" Cormac and Harry exclaimed simultaneously.
"On the bright side, the bar's low for when you bring in your bud," Cedric grinned at Harry.
"Bud…" Harry murmured in consideration. Cormac bringing me here makes me his bud then…
"The snitch!" Harry realized. "That was you! I've been wondering who it was."
Cormac answered with a smile and by lifting an identical snitch to flutter about the two of them.
"Who gave that to you?" Harry asked while nodding at the four third years. Roger raised his hand to that question.
"Ha…that's why you were so rankled when I said Roger bet on me," Harry laughed.
"To be fair, Cormac's a better flier than you," Roger answered. "But I knew he'd underestimate you, not to mention your position on your team was riding on your victory."
"Uh…thanks?" Harry muttered at the assessment to the amusement of the five others in the room.
"So, is this…Dragon?…why you, Angus, Eddie and Helen are such good friends?" Harry asked Cormac.
"At this rate, we won't have to really…" Fred — the Weasley twin with a slightly more angular and freckled face — started.
"…explain much to the icky-Slithy," George — the twin with a faintly paler complexion and marginally more defined muscles — finished.
"If you can guess who is whose in one try, you get a bottle of Swott Malt," Roger challenged.
"Hmmm," Harry pondered. "Two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff. Two Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws. The Raven chose a Gryff. So a Gryff had to choose a Raven."
That's the easy part. But who chose a Ravenclaw? Fred or George? George or Fred? Or Fred and George? Fred's usually the conversation starter, but maybe also the type to stay in house. George…George likes twists, right? Both do. But he usually brings the punchline in their best jokes. And they're good 'cause they don't repeat each other. So Roger chose Cormac…
"George, Eddie. Fred, Angus. Cedric, Helen," Harry rattled off after his fifteen-second brainstorm.
"Already getting your grand-bud drunk?" Cedric mock-chided.
"That's a stupid name and you know it," Roger huffed. "But yes. Let me tell you, once you have Swott, swot's going to be your new favorite world. I promise you."
Harry grinned in anticipation.
"Where is this place anyway?" Harry wondered. He tried to sit up again, but once again fell when he tried to prop up his arms.
"Your bones are healing, after your intimate session with the—" Cedric explained.
"Quad courtyard," George and Fred answered simultaneously.
"—corridor floor," Cedric finished.
"Underneath," Roger added — to Fred and George's statement, Harry guessed.
"The attraction went one-way!" Harry mock-protested Cedric's assessment.
"I'm sure the floor's broken up about that," Cedric responded to the laughs of all.
"So, how do we get in and out? How long's this place been around? How many others?" Harry fired off.
"Mac will show you," Roger answered the first question.
"Since before Dumbledore—" Fred started.
"—became a Dumble-bore," George finished.
"Centuries before that actually," Cedric corrected. "Not that Headmaster Dumbledore's a bore, of course."
"Four official members per year, but every cohort can bring in one honorary member unanimously," Roger answered the third question.
"You're the only Slytherin though," Cormac added. "And just remember, if you decide to bring a snake bud in, Eddie, Angus, Helen and I have to approve him."
"Or her," Cedric added pointedly.
"Right," Fred and George laughed.
"I'm guessing Ron's gonna be here, right?" Harry asked with a nod toward the ginger twins.
"Never fear," George answered.
"All Weasleys come here," Fred stated, though with a spring-green twinkle that signified an unsaid joke.
"Besides nine-headed Percy, our brother-not-so-dear," George finished.
"Percy's in the Hydra, one of the two other clans," Cedric answered Harry's unasked question. "You should ask Warrington and Montague for details on that one, though."
"Short answer — it's the old-money pureblood circle jerk," Cormac flatteringly described.
"Fun," Harry drawled. "Who do you think Eddie and Helen will pick by the way, since Angus will probably go for Ron?"
"Well, Eddie wants a Claw and Helen wants a Puff, so you've made it pretty easy with your mini-dueling club," Cormac answered. "If there's already a group of four…"
"Nice," Harry happily agreed.
"We have a dueling spot in here, by the way," Roger informed. "Since it's safe to say yours has been compromised."
"What happened between you and Terence, by the way?" Cedric asked. "He made some strong accusations."
"I thought he was just friends with you?" Harry directed at Cormac.
"Our parents are all officials or representatives in the liberal coalition," Cormac explained. "So when you set a snake on him — that's how he said it, anyway — he ran to us."
"Wrote, more accurately," Cedric provided. "As long a letter as I've ever gotten from him."
"I'm betting Flint covered for you in Slytherin," Roger determined. Harry nodded.
"He's the one who set the snake on me, probably to impress that Rowle girl he's shagging," Harry explained. "Biggest king cobra I've ever seen, and if I was a split-second later in telling it to stop, I'd have gone to Saint Mungo's or the morgue. But that's not even what got me. See, I gave him a chance to fess up when he led me to the Slytherin door the following Friday, which he had 'locked' us out of again after calling Ha—the snake to slither near the entryway. But he pretended he didn't know what I was talking about when I explained the entire situation without naming names, so I sicced the snake on him to 'jog' his memory."
"Hmmm. Well, he is a Slytherin, so maybe trying to sweep it under the rug was his way of trying to move past it?" Cedric proposed. "Like a half-apology?"
"Half?" George snorted.
"You are too good for this sinful world," Fred teased. "Icky Slithy here did right."
"It's caused you a bit of a headache though," Roger pointed out. "It's not like you can set the snake on him now. Not that you can do much of anything anyway, because if he claims he's getting harrased, the professors will get protective of him. Which will give him the wriggle room to broadcast your identity to the student body."
"Pretty much," Harry huffed, having thought through that himself.
"We're not just going to let him do whatever he wants with Harry, are we?" Cormac asked.
"Didn't you just set Filch on your own bud?" Cedric chided the Gryffindor's eagerness.
"A test…" Cormac muttered.
"I lived," Harry backed him up. "And it was kinda fun, looking back at it."
He and Cormac shared a devil-may-care grin at this.
"You're welcome, by the way, for the obliviation, bone-resets and relocation I performed on our warden," Cedric sighed. "Which I only did because of how out of line he was. We shouldn't abuse our powers on the less-gifted of our community."
"You can obliviate?" Harry asked, surprised a third year was capable of such advanced magic. Even one as talented as Cedric.
"And you destroyed a troll with a Confringo just after learning the spell," Cedric pointed out.
"Touche," Harry accepted. He still felt Cedric's feat to be much more impressive, as it required great finesse on top of raw power, but the Hufflepuff was likely being humble.
"Anyway, Diggs' wand-wagging aside, we protect our own. You're safe with us," Roger assured.
"And when we're finished with Higgs…" George began.
"…he'll squeal like a dozen pigs," Fred completed.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Cedric muttered to the snickers of the rest of the room. "Anyway, we should let Harry here get his rest. Not to mention get our own."
"You guys don't sleep here?" Harry asked, wondering why any member of the Dragon clan would bother with the dormitories.
"They're only so many beds, best not to make a habit of it," Roger answered.
"'Sides, they aren't for sleeping alone," Fred added.
"They're for tending to the bone," George said with a wink and a thrusting motion of his pelvis. In a blush-inducing instant, Harry understood the "Weasleys come here" joke.
"Please say you washed this before putting me here," Harry muttered.
"We won't say a thing," Fred and George answered.
"Ugh," Harry groaned.
"That's what she said after a night with them," Roger quipped, prompting a round of laughter.
"Lucky I have Swott to wash out the bad taste, huh?" Harry followed with a cheeky wink.
"Getting you drunk will be my day's work tomorrow, Roger honor," the strapping chaser promised with a mock-bow before turning for the door.
"Nighty night," Fred offered his farewell.
"Sleep tight," George gave his goodbye.
"Rest up, and let me know if you need any more treatment in the morning," Cedric said. "I can tell Adrian a truncated version of events so Flint doesn't kill you for skipping practice."
"He'll ride my arse this week," Harry shuddered. "I've gotta get good enough to beat Valerius Aharya next Saturday."
"Funny enough, he's a Dragon too," Cedric informed. "And yes, if you want to beat him — or more reasonably, not lose horribly to him — you better rest."
"I can trust you to watch over him?" he directed at Cormac, to which the younger blond snarked back, "Yes, Father Diggory."
Cedric rolled his eyes, gave a parting wave and grin, and then left for his dorm as well.
"Alrighty, move over," Cormac demanded as he made a move for the bed.
"Nuh-uh," Harry defiantly refused.
"I wanna sleep too," Cormac whined.
"Make me move," Harry challenged.
"'Lil prick," Cormac laughed before hopping on the bed and lightly tousling with him till Harry was forced off-center, giving both a comfortable amount of space on which to lie.
"Little! I'm just a year younger than you," Harry retorted.
"I'm thirteen next Thursday," Cormac shot back.
"Old," Harry insulted to be difficult, while internally resolving to get Cormac something.
"Pecker," Cormac returned petulantly.
After a few more minutes of verbal sparring, they grew tired enough that Cormac cast a Nox Totalus to turn off the room's lights and give the two occupants space for shut-eye. Unfortunately for Harry, Cormac fell asleep faster and began snoring.
"Guess this is what family's like," Harry groaned. Reviewing his words, he at first felt amusement, then surprise, then acceptance, then satisfaction.
All his life, he'd just wanted a family. The centuries-long feud between the Gaunts and Potters left him as the sole legacy of either. And in truth, he felt in sync with neither. Yes, it was fascinating that he could call many of the past millennium's greatest wizards his forebears, but that said nothing of who he was.
He often envied Hermione in fact. Not for the burden of muggle parents, but for possessing a fresh name. An open destiny that Harry knew she would make worthy of the history books. Why? Because no one would tell Hermione who to be besides Hermione herself!
But with the Dragon clan, Harry now knew a brotherhood that supported members for who they were, not what others demanded them to be. They accepted that he hailed from the Gaunt dynasty, but that didn't define him in their view. At the same time, they seemingly wouldn't burden him with expectations of the Potter lineage that many older wizards heaped on him.
Thus, while Harry had yet to figure out how to take the warrior essence of the Potters, the fire of his mother and the serpentine shade of the Gaunts to construct his best self, he no longer needed to seek out their specters for the facsimile of family. They were the past, he was now. Now part of a family that chose him, and that he chose back. A family that included some of his favorite older students. A family Ron, Tony and Ernie would soon join. A family that he'd bring some younger wizard into in due time and help grow into his own.
The more he thought about it, the more he didn't mind being the last wizard of his descent.
In fact…it'd be rather nice if the muggle filth dirtying my mother's blood didn't exist.