Hello!
I like this chapter because on the conversations and the pace. This is a fairly decent sized chapter-13K words-so no rush. It also answers some of the questions left in the comment section.
Without Further Ado...
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-=REVISED 4/4/2023=-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I had some time and thought I thought I'd do some simple revisions-mostly grammar stuff, but also including changing the narrative from present tense to simple past tense. Hopefully, it's a better read this way.
Chapter 09. Should I (Not)?
"So…" Draco gasps between deep breaths. "How'd I do?"
Harry and Draco had just finished their morning swim and were starting their walk back to the Slytherin common room. They hadn't talked much since Harry had broken into Malfoy's room that morning and woke him up via Stinging Hexes—though Draco was happy to hear it took Harry longer than a few seconds to break into his room.
"You mean your evaluation?" Harry asked as he looked around the grounds for any dueling Beauxbaton students. At Draco's nod, Harry answered in a drained analytical tone, "If you consider three strengths of combat; creativity, quality, and execution. Creativity being your weakest point, I would rate your performance as Poor. With some training, maybe Acceptable."
"What!" Draco called, winded. "That's rubbish! I was up against seven wands. I brought them down to four before I was downed. Even for an adult, that'd be hard to do."
"I'm not comparing you to your everyday wizard," Harry stated. Malfoy hitched his head back, confused, as he looked at Harry. "I'm comparing you to Voldemort, which for all intents and purposes, is the only standard that matters. If you fought him as you are, at best you'd last seven seconds."
Draco's eyes and tone expressed deep sarcasm as he asserted, "Oh, my fault. I hadn't realized we were using the bronze standard, 'pretend you're fighting the Dark Lord,' to rate my dueling ability. There's a reason why he's the Dark Lord, P- Flamel. I wouldn't even think of surviving against him. No one would."
Harry exhaled his annoyance, easily recalling how effortlessly Draco could irritate him. "Well, maybe you ought to," Harry responded, noting the Elixir he had taken yesterday coursing through his veins, rejuvenating all the strength his body lost in the run and swim. "You need to start thinking about not only fighting against the odds but winning against them, no matter how impossible it may seem."
"You need to recall the natural order of the world," Draco returned. "It's the most normal thing for the weak to lose to the strong. That's so basic I shouldn't have to even explain it. We can't all be supercharged magical freaks like you or the others."
"What others?" Harry questioned, genuinely curious as he turned to Draco.
"The founders, Merlin, Morgana, Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort," Draco listed absentmindedly. "All larger than life figures exalted by magic itself. They're a cut above the rest and having felt your power, I'd say you're not far behind."
"I don't care about my place in history Malfoy, as long as I bring Riddle down," Harry proclaimed. "That brings us to your first, and honestly, your most vital point of improvement: Creativity. It doesn't matter how strong a witch or wizard is, if you're clever and inspired, there's nothing to say you can't do something that hasn't been done before."
"This is weird," Malfoy disdainfully regarded, as they reached the entrance to the castle. "You giving me a pep talk is so very weird."
"What's weird is someone as old as you getting your ass handed to you by school children," Harry rebuked. At the sight of the first portrait, he waved his hand and concentrated on wandlessly erecting a privacy charm around them. "Last night, the battlefield changed on you. You went from fighting a few to fighting a squad. I know it's difficult, but I also know you still could've beaten them. If you train yourself to think under pressure and come up with a new strategy to combat the changing offensive, you would've won."
"You say that like it's the most effortless thing to do," Draco hotly contested. "I'm nowhere near as strong as you. Even when I was older, I couldn't wandlessly or wordlessly do shit! That's Lord level magic you're talking about. Us regular wizards aren't strong enough to do whatever it is you did to the Upper Order," Draco defended.
"It was a simple body bind charm and you don't have to be," an irritated Harry reiterated. "A creative mind can think of alternative ways to fight even in the most desperate of situations. Look, pretend you and I are dueling and we both knew you were stronger. My plan would start by yelling out at the top of my lungs, 'surrender to me now or I'll flood the entire dueling ring.' When I only raise enough water to reach your knees, looking stupid for boasting, what would your immediate thought be?"
"That you're a daft wanker, who's far too wounded and in need of a good shag," Draco answered with a smirk.
"Don't tone down your hormonal instability on my account, Malfoy, but do shut up about it," Harry declared. "Are you going to take this seriously? Because if not, I could be-"
Draco put his hands up in defeat and quickly replied, "Alright, alright, alright, alright. Jeez, I'd think that person is all talk and no skill."
"...Right," Harry agreed after a moment. "That's a natural assumption I would then use against you, because the moment I conjure hundreds of hungry piranhas in that water, you're going to freak, and that's all I need. Listen, I'm not attempting to beat you with my skill, per se. I'm attempting to break your focus and attention. And while you may not be able to beat everyone with your skills alone, you can break their concentration. That'll lower their guard and give you an opening. Creativity leads to the unexpected, the unexpected leads to hesitation, and when they hesitate, you execute."
Draco took several moments to absorb Harry's combat insights before asking, "Are we training tonight? In the chamber?"
Harry recalled the baby basilisk and thought to warn Draco of the large snake for all of a second before deciding not to. Harry nodded to the blond, all the while smiling on the inside, and the morning continued unremarkably until breakfast. That wasn't to say it was uneventful. As soon as Harry came out of the fourth year corridor, most of the Slytherin older years were waiting for him. It was none from the Upper Order. As far as he knew, they were still in the infirmary recovering.
The ones glaring daggers at him seemed to be the supporters—mostly wizards, but a few witches as well. They seemed about ready to ambush him, but he showed no concern and stood his ground calmly. None attacked him as he made his way to the exit—Nova on his shoulder, Draco trailing beside him, and most of the fourth years keeping their distance. He could tell his year-mates were torn between wanting to avoid catching the fury of the older years and supporting their fellow year-mate.
Walking into the Great Hall, his eyes immediately looked for a number of people. As expected, Ron was absent, likely still asleep; so was Hardwin, it seemed. Barty Crouch Jr was also absent, and while that worried him immensely, he also knew that for the moment, there wasn't anything he could do that was worth the risk. 'Map first, then him,' Harry mentally reminded himself. He wasn't going anywhere.
He spotted his mother speaking with Snape, and it made Harry very uncomfortable to see the Potions Master so... alive. 'Prat,' Harry thought. As for Lily, Harry still felt a hopeful joy at the sight of her, as well as woeful despair. 'How much does she know?' Harry continually wondered. He needed to make plans to interact with her, but finding the motivation was problematic. Pulling his gaze from his beautifully living mother, they landed on Hermione and Luna.
Both girls seemed well enough sitting together at the Ravenclaw table quietly reading; one a large ancient-looking tome while the other was reading the Quibbler right-side up. Looking at them, Harry had the oddest sensation at the pit of his stomach. It was indescribable in words, but the feeling he got when he looked at them was like watching a boat drift aimlessly or like a puzzle with missing pieces. They reminded him of when Umbridge took over Defense Against the Dark Arts, and they were only allowed to read what they should've been practicing—all theory without action.
'Books and cleverness,' Harry remembered Hermione once saying.
It struck Harry when he realized that books and cleverness were never enough for Hermione. She had the drive to do more than observe and learn, but to charge at life, armed only with her intellect and conviction. Or how else could she stand beside him through thick and thin when even Ron couldn't? As he took a seat at the Slytherin table, all Harry knew was that Hermione, and possibly Luna—he wasn't afraid to admit he didn't fully understand her—needed something else.
Harry ignored most of the differing looks from his fellow Slytherins, primarily because if he allowed himself to be annoyed too much, he was likely to kill any future Death Eaters—if only secretly. It was a slippery slope from miffed to murderous, and it wouldn't do to attract that kind of attention, so instead he focused on checking his food then eating until the post arrived. The majority of the table and room received either letters, parcels, the Prophet, or a combination of those. For Harry, it was the most unexpected shock he should've predicted. Like all his other friends, he knew she'd be alive as well, but he couldn't seek her out knowing he caused her death.
A snowy white owl landed gracefully in front of him, just as beautiful as he remembered. After the many bouts of emotional mania he had suffered since entering Hogwarts, he was having an easier time keeping his longing, melancholy, delight, rage, thrill, and remorse from debilitating him too much. Nothing else existed but this owl. Even still, he had a hard time reaching for his post. She dropped it in front of him and nipped at his hand exactly as he remembered she did, forcing him to act.
"Thank you," he happily croaked to the snowy owl. "Have as much bacon as you want." Both of his birds ate from his plate as he took the letter to force his focus on something other than his snowy friend.
He wasn't expecting to receive anything from anyone unless it came directly from the Flamels. To help guard against cursed or dangerous mail, Perenelle had insisted Dumbledore reroute all incoming post for Ares to their family home in London. Their home's wards would do all the work of sorting out the good mail from the bad and send him the letters afterward.
Harry had originally wanted to throw them all away. It wasn't as if he knew anyone in this new timeline he'd correspond with, nor was he interested in all the rubbish that would likely come in the mail. He was sure it was all garbage, but Perenelle convinced him otherwise. Garbage or not, it was all still information—good for political insight or maneuvering—and while it might all seem useless in the present, he never truly knew when having it might be useful in the future.
The letter he picked up—all the while staring at Hagrid's gift from so long ago—was from Perenelle. He opened the envelope to two pages of a short letter.
Dearest Ares,
It's only been three days but we miss you immeasurably. It's quiet without you, and I cook too much food now. We should scrap this whole experiment. Come home... or not. It's up to you. Your father has been crying. He says hello, by the way.
Your Ageless Mother,
Perenelle.
Harry chuckled with a shake of his head as he easily spotted the hidden message. He flicked his wrists and out popped his white wand, scaring a few Slytherins nearby. Harry tapped the letter and whispered, "From Ruin." The rest of the letter revealed itself.
Well, I can't expect you to have much difficulty with this password, so we should come up with a new one to keep our letters private. I recommend telling us in person next you visit. We've also purchased a new owl for your letters so you won't need to use Nova all the time. Nicolas expected we might have a lot of mail and so felt we should buy one dedicated to corresponding with you. I picked her. Consider her yours. We named her Hedwig, after the first name you gave us. We thought it would be funny, but you never told us the significance of that name so I hope it's not inappropriate. Please let me know if it is.
Harry took a moment to pull himself together. Even in this timeline, she was a gift for him and still named Hedwig. Looking at her dining with Nova, Harry was suddenly happy that Nova wasn't the jealous type. Returning, he read...
Please send Hedwig as often as you can so she can deliver your letters to you. I'm certain it'll be a lot, which is sure to pile up. Also be sure to send us the ''junk'' letters you've already read that might give us some insight into the current political landscape. Letters of intent, invitation, pledges, support, they can all be useful should the need arise.
I have been forced to add the following to this letter. Nicolas wanted you to know his top three names for the baby basilisk are, Asmodeus, Gorgon, or if you're feeling a little silly, Snakespeare. I thought you should name it Gryff, after Gryffindor because I felt it would absolutely take the piss out of Salazar... that pervert.
Now, on to some serious business. Nicolas and I have reached out to the Ministry to speak with the heads of both the DMLE, and of the Aurors Department. The official purpose is to discuss potential theft of our valuables and additional security precautions to our home. Unofficially, we're using the meeting as a soft contact with Sirius. The fact that he's the head of the department will work in our favor as we'll insist only he and possibly the head of the DMLE be allowed to enter our home to look for vulnerabilities.
We have a few ways we can play this but I'm certain we can keep them around for dinner and go from there. We'll be sure to keep it light and fun, per your suggestion, and I'll let you know how it goes. I'll also keep you apprised of any back-story we may have to invent for you to fill in any unexpected holes. I'm certain we'll mention adopting you, but I don't think it'll get quite so personal, so soon. Knowing Nicolas and his propensity for drama like I do, I thought it best to warn you now.
'Nicolas,' Harry mentally bemoaned. 'That mischievous old timer.'
The three had already established a general outline of his back story, but the consensus in the Flamel household was to avoid those questions whenever possible. No one needed to know everything about him, and that was exactly how Nicolas and Perenelle liked it. At Perenelle's warning, Harry wondered what nonessential details Nicolas might enjoy adding. Harry sighed deeply, drawing the attention of a blue-eyed blonde.
"Is that a letter from your parents?" Daphne asked, her own letters in her hand, unopened. Tracey looked up the table to the older years, seemingly concerned they had heard Daphne speak to him. Zabini was also extra attentive to Daphne.
Harry eyed the beautiful girl sitting across from him warily before answering, "Yeah," in a mundane tone and returned to reading.
I'm sure you've noticed the additional scars that are now on your body...
Harry did, much to his complete surprise and subsequent anger. Removing his clothes to take a shower that morning, Harry was very surprised to see more fake scarring on his torso and back, adding more gruesomeness to the painting that was 'Ares Flamel.' He was ready to call Nova and flame straight into the townhouse to yell at them, but upon playing the argument out in his head, he realized he already had fake scars on his face. What would it matter if he had a few on his body as well. They'd only add to his authenticity and weren't even permanent, so ultimately, it didn't matter.
He returned to the letter.
I first want to apologize for doing that while you were unconscious and without your consent—no matter how opportune the timing, it was still very inconsiderate. If you feel the extra ''detail'' is unnecessary and want to remove them, we, of course, understand and will do so, post haste. Nicolas felt the facial scars without body scars was like, and I quote, 'the meat without the potatoes.' Silly, I know, but he really felt additional scars would better help explain your magical aptitude should you ever happen to lose your garments in a bloody mess again. I made sure he didn't tattoo more than five scars—though he did make them on the larger side.
If you're wondering why the scars align with a few of the wounds I've already treated, well, in all honesty, I wanted their placement to be physical reminders. Again, I am sorry for agreeing to this without your consent, but I don't disagree with the scars themselves. I think of them as notes, reminding you that you are NOT immune from severe or critical injury, and regardless of the elixir coursing through your veins, or how strong you are, you can still die! So, for me, please be careful whenever possible. I know there will be more battles ahead, and they will be hard fought, but if you could stay clear of any more basilisks, I would greatly appreciate that.
The rest of the letter explained, in some detail, tests Nicolas was performing on the Basilisks venom, along with a request to write often, before she signed farewell. Once he secured the letter in his robes, Draco leaned over with the morning paper in his hand, showing Harry the front page. He glanced at it a moment before rolling his eyes and turning away in favor of petting Hedwig. Still, his retention acuity was amazing enough to mentally read a good portion of the article before he turned away.
IMMORTAL HEIR COMES TO HOGWARTS!
Revelations from Hogwarts' opening ceremony are
prodigious and astonishing, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.
For the first time since its cancellation centuries ago,
the TriWizard Tournament is revived and will be hosted
in our very own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
For those unaware, the legendary tournament saw its
last day after tragic deaths and injury of spectators from
a rampaging cockatrice. I'm certain many would agree
this tournament is a spectacular announcement, and
this reporter promises to cover every moment as news
develops. But, it pales in comparison to a most amazing
and unexpected revelation the very night of the
tournament's announcement.
The reclusive head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Flamel,
best known for the creation of the Philosopher's Stone and
the Elixir of Life, Nicolas Flamel, and his beloved wife, Perenelle Flamel
have finally returned to the magical community in the most
prodigious of ways! Along with the immortal pair, now comes
an immortal heir! Yes, witches and wizards, you read correctly.
The the lovely Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel now have an
heir to their untold fortunes, eternal youth, and magical knowledge
amassed throughout the centuries. And if that wasn't astonishing
enough, along with the promise of certain fame and fortune,
the young man is accompanied by a familiar of legendary
proportions, a midnight black Phoenix! What a glamorous life
this youth must lead. The heir-apparent is 14 yr old, Ares Flamel.
This determined reporter will do all she can to bring you
the very first photo of this young man, but sources close to
the heir have described him as having devastating
good-looks with soulful green eyes.
Why is the magical world just now hearing about
such a prominent youth, you ask? A question I will work
tirelessly to answer for you. From the little that is known, the
young man has been home-schooled until recently, presumably
by his parents, and has now been transferred into the fourth year
curriculum at Hogwarts. As close friends with the immortal
Alchemist, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts is the
ultimate benefactor to this jewel that is Ares Flamel, for who can
tell what exciting revelations this young man will have on the
future of the Magical community but the Grand Sorcerer
himself. While it's too early to tell how magically proficient
young Ares is, the political implications already have most in
the Ministry and in the Wizengamot reaching out to the
immortal family for their affluent power and support. Who will
have the most luck is hard to say. While arguably thought
of as a light or gray family, one must now also consider what
house the Flamel heir has been sorted into. Young Ares has, as
of this published date, been sorted into none other than the
house of the cunning, Slytherin. It's now anyone's guess
what political inclination this family leans toward and
how they might affect policy votes in the future.
For hopeful heiresses interested in tips and tricks to
courting young heirs of great houses, see
our sister paper, Witch Weekly, for a special report.
For the analytical minds interested in predictions of
the economical impact the Flamels will have in the
magical community, domestically and
internationally, see Galleons Galleons Galleons(3G).
For more news on the Triwizard tournament, see page 7...
'Yeah, definitely worse than the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense,' Harry inwardly said with a long sigh. At least he knew why so many in the Great Hall were randomly eying him. Harry was halfway done with his meal when he sensed a presence walking in line to approach him.
"Mr. Flamel," Snape announced. Harry turned to the man, and with as much lack of respect he could muster, he chewed slowly on his flaky scone, waiting for the slick-back-haired professor to continue. "See your way to my office. I'll expect you shortly." He turned and left, robes perfectly billowing behind him.
Harry looked down the Slytherin table and saw that the older students were snickering amongst themselves at his expense. Turning back to Draco, he simply said, "See you in class." Harry grabbed another scone and calmly trailed after Snape. Nova left Hermione and Luna as Harry exited the Great Hall, landing easily on his shoulder.
Along the way to Snape's office, Harry leisurely wondered what specifically might this be about. It could be a number of things, from the Upper Order to some digging for Dumbledore, to something else he hadn't anticipated, or all of the above. As a Potions Master, it was possible that Snape could be hoping for phoenix tears, but Harry wouldn't be surprised if it was more along the lines of insults or belittlement.
Harry knocked on Snape's office door, earning a firm, "Enter."
Harry let out a deep breath, resolute in playing the goodish Slytherin, and entered the office. It was as gloomy and dimly lit as the Slytherin dungeons, but without so much green or ornate snakes.
"Have a seat, Mr. Flamel," Snape neutrally offered.
Harry passed the shelves of plants, pots, and jars filled with liquid and animal bits, including a human hand, and took a seat ahead of the man's humble desk. Harry happily noted there wasn't a single portrait that might overhear him in the man's office—not that he was planning on revealing anything of note. He was also aware Snape could easily just give Dumbledore a memory.
"Professor," Harry returned, deliberately keeping it open-ended. Harry had done a number of things to be sitting before the man, so he'd rather let Snape take the lead.
Snape conjured a bird stand for Nova, immediately making Harry suspicious. Not only because it was a kind gesture he was unaccustomed to, but because he couldn't be sure the stand was something more sinister than it appeared. Rather than scan it to make sure it was safe, Harry patted his leg, prompting Nova to hop off his shoulder and rest on his thigh instead.
Snape raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing about the slight snub. Harry met the man's dark eyes unflinching, and he could see subtle micro expressions of suspicious familiarity. Like a hound with the slightest trace of a scent, Snape leaned in, focused—not on his scars, but on his eyes.
'Damn, he's sharp,' Harry thought as he prepared himself and raised his occlumency shields.
"I realize class will start soon, so I'll be brief," Snape began in a deep, drawn out tone.
Harry found it bizarre listening to Snape speak to him without the derision, condescension and or loathing he was accustomed to from the Snape in his timeline. The man wasn't happy or cheerful, nor did he strike Harry as cordial, but it was definitely not repressed rage. Harry kept his face passive as he listened.
"I've been meaning to speak with you sooner, but with the usual chaos that comes with every opening ceremony—along with other events—I haven't had the chance until now."
"I see," Harry responded evenly. "What did you want to speak with me about, professor?"
"I'd first like to know how you're settling in," Snape inquired. "Home-schooled the last three years, I can imagine adapting to a setting absolutely brimming with students must be overwhelming."
"My education started longer than three years ago, but a castle as big as this is a lot different than what I was used to," Harry casually replied, recalling his decades in Azkaban. "So far, I haven't had any issues finding my classes."
"And your classmates?" Snape continued, leaning back in his chair, yet no less perceptive. "Have they been helpful or have raised any issues you'd like to inform me of?"
'Here we go,' Harry mentally noted. "I'm getting along with my housemates, well enough. As the year moves on, I'm sure we'll get to know each other better."
"I've noticed Mr. Malfoy seems particularly helpful," Snape said, altering tactics. "I don't believe you've left his side since opening ceremony. Knowing him as well as I do, I'd almost say he considers you a friend."
'Ugh, haven't left his side?' Harry groaned internally, feeling his stomach turn. "He's been helpful; showing me around, informing me about the odds and ins of the school. He actually knows quite a lot. More than I think he lets on."
Harry swore Snape hadn't blinked once since Nova took residence on his leg.
"Yes," Snape agreed. "I've always suspected latent talent within Mr. Malfoy. He'll be a good ally to have in the future, should you ever have need of one."
"Well, yes, but he's already helping out immensely by keeping away selfish witches and wizards that have a mind to gain favor with the house Flamel. You can never be too careful when desperate or greedy wizards want something from you."
"Has that been your experience?" Snape carefully asked.
"It's happened from time to time," Harry answered before quickly adding, "with a family like mine, we draw out the worst megalomaniacs."
With a stern nod, Snape then asked, "And your impression of Hogwats, thus far?"
"I certainly didn't know what to think about yesterday morning," Harry claimed with a tone of feigned disbelief. "That was unexpected. It was a relief to learn that's not normal here."
"Quite unexpected, I'd say," Snape asserted before changing tactics once again. "What led to the duel last night? And I ask you not to insult my intelligence by claiming not to know what I speak of. I have thirteen students in the infirmary, and as the Head of this House, they all speak to me."
Snape applied a thick layer of pressure in hopes of getting the boy in front of him to break or slip, but Harry kept his quaint poise as he answered without pause, "That certainly was some funny business. It seems that I was to be made an example of by a group of older students who are referred to as the Upper Order. I got the impression they have a tyrannical rule over the Slytherin body. You may want to check on that, if you were unaware, I mean. It seems they've been in operation for a while. They insisted I duel them. Draco tried to be a good ally and duel them on my behalf. Helpful as Draco continues to prove himself to be, ultimately it was too many wands for him to fight on his own."
"But not too many for you?" Snape quickly asked.
"We told Headmaster Dumbledore I was advanced," Harry answered the attentive professor. "I learned a lot before I came here."
"And that includes how to send thirteen of your fellow Slytherin to the infirmary, and inciting a touch of madness in them? Most of them are scared to sleep and Mr. Vonner still refuses to speak," Snape snapped at him, but oddly enough, Harry didn't get the impression that he was angry, or genuinely upset. To Harry it felt more like an act to understand his social cues and reactions.
Harry just shrugged. "I never told them to go thirteen against one. If they wanted to be honorable and duel one at a time, it might've gone differently for them."
"Mr. Flamel, as your Head of House, you must know I would have resolved a situation like that without anyone requiring a visit to the infirmary," Snape responded sternly, and Harry could feel a small rise of agitation within him. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy has told you much about his father and what he can do as the Chairman of the Board of Governors. As a close friend, I can tell you he would not approve of his son's injury, even if it was in your defense."
"Is it normal for me to call my head of house to report on the house's prefects and friends?"
"If you felt your safety was imperil, yes," Snape responded. "I do not tolerate physical harm within my own house. Why didn't you come to me first before taking matters into your own hands?
"Short answer? I have no confidence in you to properly resolve the situation," Harry bluntly replied, much to Snape's surprise. Harry was sure the man's raised eyebrows have more to do with his brazen audacity to question his position, than the Upper Order's rule itself. "Though, to be honest, that rationale largely depends on how long you and the Headmaster have known about their totalitarian grip over Slytherin house. Because I've been told this little faction have been imposing their ill-will and demands on whomever they please for years, and instead of sanctioning the group with expulsion, they're rewarded with the title of prefect. What sense would it make for me to report this group of Slytherin prefects and company to an administration that's done nothing—seemingly for years—to restrain them?"
"How dare you lecture me on how to run my domain and appoint yourself judge, jury and executioner," Snape quickly snarled. "Regardless of the back alley talk, rumors, or what you may think you know, you are incapable of knowing the full scope of past situations. It is for that very reason that an institution—not one wizard—is the absolute arbiter of guilt or innocence, and I am that institution, Mr. Flamel. How can I be sure you didn't do this out of some self righteous revenge, which would make you just as guilty as them?"
"For the most part, I agree," Harry calmly answered. "However, they're the ones who challenged me, not the other way around. The facts speak for themselves. I don't know what more you'd like me to say on this topic, professor, but you're more than welcome to bring this up to the headmaster or the governors. Though, I fail to see how a brand new student, who was forced to duel thirteen to one, is guilty of being a self righteous avenger." 'Even if, in some ways, that's true,' Harry mentally finished.
Snape gravely eyed Harry, appraising his unflinching gaze, and clear tone. Harry didn't say more, and with a straight face, he was vaguely dumbstruck that Snape seemed more concerned with his daring to question a teacher than with the Upper Order's reign, as if this band of terrorists beating and abusing others was the most natural thing in nature. Harry had said all he was going to on that topic, and if Snape wanted to push it further, Harry wouldn't mind seeing how they'd try and justify thirteen seniors dueling a single fourth year.
The silence stretched for a full sixty seconds as they took stock of one another, before Snape decided to irritably move on. "...The curriculum. Any difficulties you'd like to share with me?"
"None at all," Harry responded easily. "I'm finding it all very easy."
"I've been told by professor Flitwick you performed well in his charms class," Snape added. "You'll meet the second half of your course load today. Do you foresee a similar experience?"
'With everything I know, I could be teaching the teachers,' Harry internally mused. "Well, you can never really say for sure, but I don't think I'll encounter much struggle."
"It's never wise to get ahead of oneself, Mr. Flamel," Snape suggested. "It can lead to an over-inflated sense of self-worth. I can assure you my potions class has never been described as easy."
"I wouldn't say Potions is my greatest passion—I'm partial to Charms and Defense," Harry quickly added. "But I'd say I'm fairly competent there as well. So, I have no doubt I'll be fine in your class, too."
Snape tilted his head and inhaled a longer stream of air, as if gathering patience into his lungs instead of air. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind a small test then. Tell me, what potion awakens a person from a magically-induced sleep as well as cures minor damage?"
"That would be the Wiggenweld Potion," Harry answered easily. "Strong enough to even cure Draught of the Living Death." Harry easily recalled the first test the dark haired professor ever gave him, happily taking him back to simpler times of public shaming.
Snape eyed Harry a moment before asking, "Name a potion that produces a choking gas that can also suffocate those near it?"
"Garrotting Potion," Harry answered.
Snape hastened his questions in hopes of throwing Harry off, starting with, "Describe the Erumpet Potion."
In less than a second, Harry located the potion in his mental archives and recited, "It's a potion that's highly explosive when it touches, or is touched by, any outside source. Widely used in the manufacturing of racing brooms, actually. It's the secret to their acceleration."
"Name two potions that use Aconite."
"Wolfsbane and Wideye, or Awakening potion," Harry answered, unbothered by the increased speed of Snape's questioning.
"What ingredient is used as an antidote to ague and Love potions?"
"Ashwinder eggs."
Snape squinted his eyes a moment before stating, "Final question. List all uses for the Valerian plant."
"Draught of Living Death, Draught of Peace, common sleeping draughts, Forgetfulness Potion, and in the tasty dessert Treacle Fudge from Honeydukes; though I'm a bigger fan of their Marshmallow Fondue."
Snape leaned back on his seat with a measure of finality, not impressed by Ares, but not disappointed either. "At the very least, you seem to know your facts, Mr. Flamel; though that can easily be attributed to an adequate memory. All that's left is to see how well you brew. If your knowledge is anything to go by, I don't expect an exploding cauldron."
Harry snorted, saying, "Even with my worst instructor, I've never caused a cauldron to explode."
Snape tilted his head, asking, "You've had multiple instructors? I was under the impression you learned solely from your parents."
"Well," Harry began, pausing shortly for dramatic effect. "As impressive as Nicolas can be behind a cauldron, he's no professor of basic potions for beginners. He located independent instructors to elevate me to a high enough level where he can then properly take over my studies and instruct me. If not, I'm sure he would've ripped out what's left of his hair in sheer frustration," Harry quipped, and Snape actually smiled. It was so creepy to see, Harry forgot to fake a smile of his own.
Snape corrected himself and cleared his throat before saying, "I can sympathize... intensely."
Harry nodded his head and continued. "Potions can be an unforgiving skill to acquire if not taught properly. Some time ago I had an instructor whose idea of teaching was, 'the instructions are on the board. You have two hours.' And would then glare at me as if hoping I'd make a mistake."
The crease between Snape's eyes deepened, vexed. His tone was more sinister when he asked, "And you think you know the appropriate way to teach the noble art of potions, do you?"
Harry raised his eyebrows, answering, "No, professor. As I said, potions isn't really my passion."
Clearly incensed, Snape retorted, "Then scrutinizing an instructor's method of educating as an uniformed student yourself is just ignorant!"
"Maybe," Harry calmly acknowledged, apathetic to Snape's verbal venom. "I'd argue constructive insight can come from multiple perspectives, but more to the point, I wasn't the one who initially felt that way—how could I, young as I was. It was the Immortal Alchemist, who I'm sure you'd agree has a fair hand in potion making. He told me that man was a worthless instructor for never demonstrating how to properly store, maintain and prepare ingredients, didn't lecture on the multiple techniques of brewing, or ever explain proper cleaning procedure so as to not contaminate future potions." Snape's expression was still fierce but receptive. Clearly, Harry was hitting close to home, but without outright accusation, the black-eyed professor listened. "When he told me that incompetent instructor could've possibly killed me by instilling gross negligence in a skill that can very easily cause your cauldron to explode, I took that to heart; like everything else they've taught me."
Harry was certain Snape would never have taken him seriously without invoking the name of one of the greatest potioneers in magical history. Nicolas Flamel might have even been a hero to a young Serverus Snape. Harry's logical assessment of Snape's teaching methods carried all the weight in the world now.
Harry was a little surprised when Snape left it at that by saying, "It's nearly time for classes, Mr. Flamel. I wouldn't want you to be late." Harry nodded and stood, Nova hopping to his shoulder. Before he exited the office, Snape asked, "Should I expect more dorms in Slytherin's halls to be warded, Mr. Flamel?"
'He's good,' Harry thought before turning to the man and answering without a shred of sincerity, "How would I know, professor? Being new to the school, I wouldn't even know why those wards are necessary in the first place."
—
Harry entered the Arithmancy classroom moments before the final bell. Much like Babbling's Runes class, Professor Vector's course included almost all of the same fourth-year students from every house. Daphne, Tracey, and Zabini had been eyeing him just as inquisitively as they had been at breakfast. He found Hermione's bushier tresses easily enough at the front of the class, hiding behind a large tome with her eyes barely clearing the top of the book as she spied on him. Just like in Runes, she had been sitting alone.
"Take your seat, young man," Vector called as she began writing a 'complex' number chart consisting of natural, integer, rational, imaginary, magical, and real numbers. Understanding Horcrux-Voldemort's arithmancy necessary to travel back in time, Harry wouldn't have to worry about this course in the slightest.
Ignoring Corner and Boot's glare, Harry had walked over to the spot next to Hermione and asked, "Is this seat taken?"
"Just sit," Vector had called to Harry, the last man standing. "There's very little time for your courtesy while we have equations to master."
Harry had taken his seat next to Hermione and for the entire course, there wasn't a word of discussion between them that didn't pertain to class. By the end, Hermione seemed torn between wanting to level a mountain of questions at him—likely around the fact that he had answered every problem effortlessly—and not wanting anything to do with him. In some ways, he had hoped she had picked the latter.
While he would love—far too much—to talk to his strong best friend again, he also didn't want to drag her into the dangers of his world. His fate had been sealed and death awaited him, along with anyone around him in the near future. He couldn't let her sacrifice her life for him again.
Add to that the emotional component he dreaded would overtake him. How could Harry bare having a form of his Hermione back in his life, as if he wasn't the reason she was raped and murdered in his timeline? How could he possibly laugh innocently with her, or genuinely hug her, all the while knowing what his presence in her life could lead to? Harry didn't think he was strong enough to overcome that crippling guilt—just thinking about it made him breath heavily.
The entire time he gathered and shrunk his belongings, she still seemed very conflicted, which oddly mirrored his own inner turmoil. 'Should I, or shouldn't I?' Regardless of how little she was involved in his life, he was still going to find that Ravenclaw who raped her and deprive him of his fun sack. That was a certainty that made his blood rush. Without the Map, he'd have to break into Ravenclaw and dive into every fourth through seventh-year male to find him. There was no other option until he got his hands on the map.
'Should I, or shouldn't I?'
Harry curtly nodded to her, saying, "Granger," then left, deciding for the moment her safety came first. He may want to kill a certain Ravenclaw boy, and he may want her to be as strong as he remembered her to be, but that didn't mean he could allow her to be pulled into his perilous world, not if he could help it.
He was in the hallway by the time Nova landed on his shoulder, trilling sympathetically. "Thanks girl," Harry exhaled. Nova must have sensed some form of how much he hated walking away from Hermione, especially after everything she did for him in his timeline.
Harry stopped by Myrtle's bathroom. She told him that Dumbledore did rush in moments after they disappeared, but she said nothing. Harry then made her promise to tell him or Draco if she saw any girls being bullied before heading to Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration. He met Draco and Hufflepuff house in the room, and much like every other class, he was far ahead of the curriculum, much to the surprise of everyone who didn't know him.
"What did Snape want?" Draco asked Harry as they walked to lunch.
Harry looked around, and Tracey, Daphne, Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle were close enough to listen. It was depressing for him to see the company he now kept. Harry vaguely noted Crabbe and Goyle flanking Nott instead of Draco like they usually did. With a droll tone, he mildly answered, "Nothing much. Just wanted to welcome me to Slytherin and ask about the Upper- excuse me, the former Upper Order."
"It's not former, actually," Pansy called. "No matter how badly you want everyone to think they are. Everyone knows you cheated."
"Who's saying that?" Tracey asked, surprised to be out of the loop.
"Everyone," Zabini answered. "It's why most are keeping their distance. They don't want to be collateral damage when the Order comes back... and they will come back."
"I heard Vonner and Drach went home and maybe even withdrew from Hogwarts," Pansy shrilled. "You should count your blessings they don't have an influential family, Flamel, or you'd be expelled for sure; maybe even be made to pay an honor tariff, or possibly sent to Azkaban," Pansy said, annoyingly making her thoughts known.
"It was an official duel, and Vonner and Drach aren't even noble," Nott reminded her. "There's no way those small houses would dare to go against House Flamel. They'd be stupid to even try!"
Pansy added, "I hear the rest of the Order should be out by dinner."
Harry was struck with the sudden urge to kill her just to shut her up.
"Do you realize none of the Upper Order have been to classes yet?" Tracey humorously commented. "They keep getting too hurt to go!" she said with a laugh.
Everything Pansy said, Nott's laughter, and Crabbe and Goyle's subsequent chuckles grated on Harry's nerves. For what must feel like the hundredth time, Harry couldn't believe he wasn't killing or seriously maiming these future Death Eaters.
"What did you tell Snape?" Tracey asked Harry.
"I told him what happened," Harry answered, holding back as much agitation from his tone as possible. "We dueled, they lost."
"What did you do?" Zabini asked suspiciously, and Harry was instantly struck with how much easier it was to tolerate the tall dark-skinned boy when he said nothing. More specifically Blaise asked, "What magic did you use in order to stop all of them? You haven't exactly explained what you did. It's why everyone's saying you cheated somehow."
"Only because no one could hear what he said over the crowd's cheering," Daphne pointed defensively. The way Zabini stared at her, Harry could understand that there was some story between them, but he didn't care enough to think further on it.
Harry hesitated to say what he actually used on the off-chance they didn't believe him and pestered him more. Fortunately, Malfoy answered perfectly for him. "You don't think I was the first to ask, Blaise? He couldn't tell me just like he can't tell you, or anyone else. It's family magic."
The group seemed to accept that with nods and hums of approval. Upon entering the boisterous lunch hall, Nova made her way to Hermione and Luna, and he found Hedwig waiting for him where he normally sat. Her beautiful hoots and three Slytherins running out of the Hall with egg yolk slime running down their faces had a very positive effect on his mood.
He noted the stack of posts in the snowy owl's talons and scanned them with his wand. Sure enough, they were safe to read—not that he would. Sifting through all of them, he recognized a few family names, like Nott, Zabini, Vane, and Diggory, and many he didn't recognize, so he just stuffed them in his robe to read later. Harry dined and dashed out of the Great Hall, eager for fresh air and a good amount of time alone.
By the Forbidden Forest, watching Nova fly high in the sky, Harry thought of purchasing a broom—not to play Quidditch, but to fly with Nova and Hedwig. He always enjoyed how flying helped clear his mind of all that ailed him. Watching his familiar, a sound of bushes rustling, leaves crunching, and twigs snapping alerted him to the tree line where a group of Beauxbaton girls burst out of the forest. On instinct, Harry snapped his wand in his hand, mentally ready to engage any threat to the girls as they ran to their enlarged carriage. Harry sprinted flat out for three seconds, desperate for every millisecond before he registered their cries as laughter and the overall mirth.
Harry slowed to a confused halt when one of the girls spotted him—Fleur, he recognized. She faltered in her steps a moment before changing direction and running toward him. He wasn't sure what to make of this, so he didn't retract his wand—it could be an unexpected and elaborate trap for all he knew. He scanned his surroundings and besides the giggling girls—nearly to their carriage—there were a few older Durmstrang students near the lake, and no one else he could see. Fleur slowed as she approached with the grace and poise of a divine creature, and even if her radiant smile seemed to soothe his body's restlessness, his mind was strong enough to remain wary.
"You will pretend we were speaking, yes? Togezer?" Fleur said with a throaty moan, winded by her run.
Fleur looked around with excited nervousness, as if she had done something silly she wasn't supposed to. She was close enough for him to feel her labored breaths and despite his mental discipline, his mind was, to some extent, breaking down under her overpowering scent. Focusing on his confusion, Harry was about to ask what she meant when Hagrid and Madame Maxime walked out of the forest quite close to one another with an air of magnetism around them, if their smirks were any indication.
Harry wasn't as confused anymore but still didn't know the whole situation. Fleur panicked when Maxime and Hagrid saw them and made to grab Harry's robes by the elbow, a move that elicited an extreme reflex from him. In no time flat, he gripped her wrist tightly and stepped in close to press the tip of his white wand under her elegant chin.
Fleur seized in his grasp, and panicked at the weapon that had her at his mercy, immediately sobering her of the jolly fun she was having with her friends to the cold, hard reality of danger. Fleur was scared, and as much as the wand pressed under her chin or the strong hold he had on her propelled the panic rising in her, it was his eyes that threatened her safety the most.
His brows were knitted fiercely—like a snarling predator—his scars cracked his handsome features like a trench, and the bright green of his clear eyes reminded her of the only killing curse she had ever seen. The bright green of the Avada Kedavra that swelled in her eyesight as it raced towards her, its only intention to kill her and her sister.
Fleur's mind was instantly transported to the night of the Quidditch World Cup; when those masked cowards caught her and her sister; when she tried to fight them off to protect her sister; when they disarmed her; when they tore off her blouse; and when they tortured her with the Cruciatus Curse. With those disgraceful images flooding her mind, came the high waves of emotions; anger, shame, regret, guilt, disgrace, and chief among them, helplessness. To be so easily subjected to the whims of cowards for their own sick amusement was the shining bane of her existence.
In that moment, Fleur couldn't justify wasting time fooling around with her friends and snooping on her headmistress and the gamekeeper when she was so weak. It felt worse when she thought about her cherished little sister and what that night had done to her since.
Her beautiful sister meant the world to her and that night plagued her sleep with horrific night terrors. Now Gabrielle was tired all the time because she could never get a full night's rest and barely ate. Fleur would do anything to help her feel safe again, but right now she could barely coax a smile from her once-vibrant Gabrielle. It broke her heart like nothing ever had to be so weak when her sister needed her the most.
It was looking in his bright green eyes that brought it all back; the horror of it all. But more than that, Ares' eyes also reminded her of their mysterious savior. Ares' eyes weren't glowing like her savior's but the green was at least a similar shade.
In the dark night, terribly injured and highly stressed as she was, she never got a good look at his face, but her Veela nature still felt the rage of his tremendous magic as well as his absolute passion to protect. She distinctly remembered feeling like he would never let harm come to them or leave them. Of course, Fleur was aware that her helplessness under that amount of trauma must've exaggerated the details and her feelings, but even still, in her greatest moment of need, he was there.
That moment was a shocking revelation for her and she begged her Papa to do everything in his power to find the man responsible for saving their lives. However, even with her Papa's influence, they could not find a single solid lead on their protector, and the closure she sought seemed destined to stay beyond her reach. That incident—knowing exactly what would've happened to her and her sister if not for their savior—had pushed her in ways she never felt capable of.
In the infinity of that moment, Fleur was entirely scared, but not completely for her life. She was forcibly held and under another man's wand. She stared into murderous eyes and saw a similar, familiar fear. Something about her Veela nature told her his scars extended past the flesh and ran deep into a fractured soul. While she may not have known why or how, she could infer his reaction was not out of malice, bigotry, or love of violence, but of hurt and vulnerability. It scared her to see that in someone else because it easily reminded her of her own vulnerability.
Suddenly his expression morphed from confusion to shock, then remorse. Harry immediately let go of her wrist and hopped several feet back, fumbling as he spoke. "Fleur- I- I mean Miss Delacour. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I- I don't know what came over me. That was- I shouldn't have done- I apologize," Harry expressed vehemently as he took slow measured steps back.
His eyes navigated from the reddish purple hues she was massaging from her wrist to the fearful look of concern imprinted on her beautiful face, and it made him want to throw up to know he was the cause of that. He could actually feel bile rising as he recalled flashes of her rape and torture from his timeline. He never wanted to be the cause of her pain or any of their pain again. He just wanted to save them. But here he was, hurting her.
His mumbling apology was cut short as he noticed Maxime and Hagrid walking towards them. With a final, "I'm sorry," he abruptly turned and rushed away, barely restraining his growing sense of shame and guilt. Chastising himself, he didn't stop, nor would he have stopped if she had called for him to, which she didn't.
Nova's beautiful song relieved most of the crippling remorse, but he still carried his shame into Potions, where he quietly went with the flow and absentmindedly brewed the perfect Girding Potion despondently. Harry mildly noted Snape actually guided the class on proper preparation and brewing. While it wasn't professor-of-the-year ardor, it was more than he had ever done, surprising some students.
Harry remained quiet and somber all the way into Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors. He ignored everyone, including Hardwin, Ron, and Draco. Hardwin and Ron gave him neighborly glares, while Draco gave him curious if not worried glances. Class started off similarly to how Harry remembered, though not exactly.
"If you lot really want to learn to defend yourselves against all the dark dangers eager to get yer tiny little arses, you won't be learnin' how to REALLY do that from no book," Faux-Moody started off. Like every other student in the room, Harry paid close attention to Faux-Moody, but not for the same reason. Barty Crouch Jr's preference to the practical approach of teaching the Defense seemed to include getting the useless book stuff out of the way as fast as possible so they can start on the real work. So, the class studied Erklings and Redcaps, and he assigned a massive amount of homework to be tested on first thing next class.
Remarkably, Harry had a far easier time controlling himself than he had expected. After hurting Fleur the way he did, he had anticipated a hard spike of rage at the first sight of the man, but as the imposter limped in, Harry felt only deadly resolution. Harry was comforted by his plan for Crouch. The dangerously clever and ruthlessly determined wizard would be captured by him, alive, and tortured for information before he continued his torture as recompense for past crimes, and finally killed him... or not. There was something much too final about death, and Barty deserved the harshest hell he could give him that had no end. Harry had his plan, and he would not settle for anything less than this cretin deserved.
Before the end of class, no one knew why or how, but a large stack of parchment was blasted everywhere. In the confusion, Harry's wand was immediately in his hand, and he was already reading the room for any presence of threat. After a second, a small enchanted parchment slid right in front of him. It was a note with impressive flowing cursive.
After dinner, Owlery?
-DG.
Harry turned to Daphne as she and Tracey left, Zabini and Nott following after them. She eyed him impatiently, but he didn't nod to accept before she left with the other Slytherins. Harry wasn't sure he was up for any interaction for the remainder of the day.
He cast muffliato around himself and Draco as they left the defense class and asked, "What can you tell me about Daphne Greengrass?"
Draco seemed taken aback by the abrupt question, but quickly took a moment to gather his thoughts and answer, "Uh, well, she's first born and heiress to their house—a fairly wealthy family. Mostly gray political affiliations but I know her father is an ambitious businessman trying to enter the political game. Her mother is gone, passed away I think. She has a little sister, who she loves a lot though she tries to seem aloof about it, which is smart. You don't want other Slytherins knowing your weaknesses. Daphne herself is one of the most cunning witches in Slytherin, and certainly one of the hottest girls in the school. Only a few guys have managed to get close but she's real picky about men. I also remember from our time that she's into women too."
Harry looked at Draco like he lost his mind, and stipulated, "Facts, Malfoy. I just need to hear the facts, or at the very least if she's a threat to us or not, and why. Did she become a Death Eater? Does she believe in their dogma or that pure-blood nonsense? Things like that, not her sexual preference."
Draco looked sheepish a moment before answering, "No, she never became a Death Eater. At least not entirely. She's an heiress of a noble house that deals a lot with dark families. So, in many ways she's meant to act a certain way whether she wanted to or not. I know she did end up working as an Unspeakable. She never married but she was supposed to; to Nott, actually. I know, she's leagues too good for him, but that's the power of alliances through arranged marriages. The marriage never happened because of a freak accidental death, killing Theodore. Rumor was she killed him and even with veritaserum, no one could prove she did it. Most men stayed away after that."
"So she didn't become a Death Eater," Harry repeated the important point while mentally giving her credit for taking Nott out. "Did she work for Voldemort in some other way? Can't you tell me anything more about her character?"
"I don't know," Draco insisted. "She's hard to read, and whatever she did for Voldemort, I wasn't in on it. She was in the brain sect. Planning, potions, prophecies, whatever. My crew was for... well, you know."
At least Draco had the decency to look ashamed, so Harry let it go, and asked instead, "So she did work for him?"
"Everyone worked for him in the end," Malfoy stated solemnly.
"Can't you tell me anything else?" Harry asked. "Use your brain; Think."
Rolling his eyes, Draco sighed before irately confessing, "Look, she turned me down... several times, so being the way that I was, I did my best to ignore her very existence. Everything I heard about her came from future-Zabini, who only did it to take the piss. And most of what he said was bragging about what a wildcat she was in the sack. Aside from her sister dying and her taking it really hard, that's all I know."
"How do you know she took it hard," Harry asked. "Her sister dying, I mean."
"Zabini claimed she lost herself after her sister died. Like Daphne always had lines she wouldn't cross here and there, but apparently after her sister's death, she'd do anything; didn't matter what. At the time I just thought Zabini was scared to lose his weekend girl, but now I'm not so sure. I didn't hear about her after that."
Harry took a few moments to consider that. Of everything he had heard, her reaction to the loss of her sister was the most humanizing bit of real interest. Though buzzing around in his mind like an annoying gnat was curiosity to know the type of things Daphne did in the sack. It made his heart speed up and it irritated him that he was reacting this way when there were infinitely more important things to do.
'Stupid hormones,' he thought as Draco asked, "Why do you ask? You're not feeling a little sex-crazed are you? Because impure thoughts are for young knobs, remember?"
With bitterness, Harry looked at Draco incredulously, saying, "I can't wait to train tonight. Aren't you glad we have potions that can heal broken bones quickly?"
Draco's antics deflated quickly, and to move them along, he repeated, "Yeah, so, why ask about Daphne?"
"She wants to meet after dinner in the Owlery," Harry answered. "But I needed a little more background on her."
Entering the Slytherin common room, most of the students were settling in to get as much homework done before dinner as possible. Harry spotted Daphne seated next to Tracey at a table across from Nott and Zabini. She noticed him as well.
Draco asked, "Are you going to meet her?"
"I guess," Harry lazily answered. "I already told her I'd talk to her. I might as well get it out of the way."
Harry walked over toward them and Draco rushed beside him, remarking, "I thought she said after dinner."
"Why wait?" Harry returned.
"Well, she isn't a Basilisk for starters," Draco said somewhat desperately.
Harry stopped and turned to him, asking, "What?"
"All I mean is this isn't a combat situation, so there's no need to rush," Draco explained. "Greengrass is cunning and hyper-aware. If there's something you don't want her to know, she might still figure it out. She can read people like a book. If she's looking to speak with you, I guarantee you it's because she has an angle."
Harry thought nothing of it and stated, "Unless she tells me she has a line on our missing parasite, nothing she says will work with me."
"Fine," Draco acknowledged with a sigh. "I'll see you at dinner then."
"No, no," Harry quickly said before Draco could take a step away. "I'm going to need you to help split this group up so I can signal Daphne to meet now. Zabini's been giving me dirty looks all day and Nott is toxic to my patience. I don't want them around."
"Fine," Draco conceded. "Want me to do anything specific?"
"Yeah, ask Tracey to speak in private," Harry started to which Draco immediately responded, "No, that's a bad idea."
"Have you apologized to her yet, like I told you to?" Harry pointedly asked. When he got no response, he added, "Mend the fence Draco. Now."
Obviously irritated, Draco huffed in anger before walking over to the table. He stepped up to the seated Tracey, who was eying him apprehensively. Draco paused for several seconds, adding to the awkwardness, and coaxing Harry to slap him hard in the back of the shoulder, proclaiming, "You got this!"
Draco whirled around and glared at Harry's smug smirk, and he wanted to curse him on the spot. Instead, Draco forced himself to look at Tracey and said, "Future heiress Black, I'd be humbled and honored if you would consent to allow me a moment of your time to speak in private. To convince you of my sincerity, heir Flamel has agreed to chaperone."
Other than letting out a longer breath of air than normal, Harry didn't show any sign of irritation. He nodded when Tracey looked at him. Harry could tell the entire table was surprised by Draco's formal request and how respectful he asked of it. To hear him asking Tracey, visibly upset both Pansy and Nott. Zabini showed no reaction. Tracey herself didn't quite know how to respond and turned to Daphne.
She caught Harry's eyes and curt nod, and it takes Daphne less than a second to realize what was actually happening. Daphne whispered to Tracey who then responded, "I accept your request, heir Malfoy, only under the condition that Daphne chaperone as well."
With a nod from Draco, the four found themselves walking the wooden bridge behind Hogwarts that led to the rear forest. Tracey and Draco were several meters ahead, giving Harry and Daphne plenty of privacy.
"So you wanted to talk," Harry began after casting a privacy spell. Both Harry and Daphne are keeping their eyes forward watching Draco and Tracey as they speak to each other.
"What was wrong with the Owlery?" Daphne asked. "After dinner would've been the best time to meet."
"Why is a best time necessary in the first place?" he countered. "I don't see the need for all this cloak and dagger. If you wanted to talk privately, why not simply ask no matter who's around?"
"Clearly you don't consider social snubs and or alliance alienation," she noted. "Lets just say when I do something, I'm either gaining favor or I'm losing it, and currently, talking to you is not very popular in Slytherin."
"Is that what this is? Gaining favor? Please tell me I didn't carry on this silly charade so you can gain favor with House Flamel?"
"Of course not," Daphne returned confidently. "I'm here to help you."
"Oh," a bored Harry lamely sounded. "And what specifically are you supposed to help me with?"
"Protection," Daphne replied.
Harry wanted to snort at the insinuation, instead he smiled lightly and asked with a humorous tone, "And who are you protecting me from?"
"The Upper Order, the other insulted years, threats by other houses, and anything else I discover that you might want to know about," she sweetly answered. "I said protection, but I meant via intelligence. With a name like yours, you should be the most sought after wizard in all of Hogwarts, but you don't socialize or network the way you're supposed to. That can be very offensive to those who expect affirmation of their reputation from someone like you. It hasn't been a week and you're already a threat to their influence, popularity, or some other form of power, making for a very hostile environment to live in. For a wizard who takes delicate precautions—even with your food—information concerning these hostilities would help you."
"Okay," Harry replied. "If you want to tell me something, then feel free to. If you don't, then don't. I don't mind either way."
"Don't pretend you don't want to know these things," Daphne responded curtly. "I can easily tell that unlike other wizards, you value knowledge."
"I do, but the knowledge you're selling has no worth to me."
"All knowledge has worth," she asserted. "You just need to know how to make it work in your favor."
"You really are a business man's daughter," Harry lightly noted.
"You know of my family," she commented. "It's why I make it my business to know as much as I can about what people don't want me to know. It's why Tracey and I are kept up to date with a lot of what goes on in the castle. We have insight and without my intelligence, you may not know when the Upper Order figures out you had something to do with those wards in the first year dorms."
Feigning a curious look, Harry asked, "You think I had something to do with those wards?"
"I can't prove it, of course, but what would that matter to the Upper Order, right?"
"That sounds dangerously close to a threat, Greengrass," Harry commented lightly.
"I'm not threatening you, but do you actually think they won't come after you again?" she genuinely asked, looking at him as if he might be naive. "Or that your family magic is going to keep you safe in the future? Slytherin is the house of the cunning, and the year is long. If a direct approach won't work, they'll simply change tactics and ambush you when you least expect it. That's how Khan works. He doesn't let things go. He doesn't let anything slide. And when they have you, they'll make you wish you never crossed them."
"Call it arrogance if you want, but they still don't worry me."
"I call it foolishness," she retorted.
"Do you always insult everyone you're trying to help?"
"No, but you're making it impossible for me to help you when you don't even realize the situation you're in," she exclaimed with mild irritation. "What else would you call that?"
"Do you really think I don't realize the situation? I've been told you're one of the smartest witches in Slytherin—with the cunning of Salazar himself. Think about everything you've seen me do, heard me say, remove your expectations and answer me this, 'why don't I care?' Look me in the eye and tell me. You answer me that question to the best of your ability and we can continue talking. Don't, and I leave."
Daphne took a moment to herself to decide, then turned him, staring intently into his green eyes, and Harry could tell her mind was working a mile a minute. After several seconds of silence, she answered, "I don't think you're lying, or, at the very least, I believe you believe what you're saying."
The political response made Harry smile a little.
She continued, "Based on what I've observed thus far, you're not concerned—as you should be—because they don't actually worry you. And the reason they don't worry you is the same reason why you have those scars, your phoenix, why you can do some wandless magic and why your studies seem to come easy to you... you're strong, advanced, and you've gone through a lot—maybe more than most. If you were older, I could believe you'd be fine against them but-"
"But that just means I'm abnormal, Greengrass," he replied. "So, shall we start again? Why did you want to talk?"
"I really do want to be of help to you," she said stubbornly, returning to watching Draco and Tracey. "There must be something."
"There isn't," he flatly said.
"Perhaps a token of sincerity," she stated, and Harry didn't say anything. He almost looked bored so she continued. "Perhaps you'd like to know more about Hardwin Potter. I'll admit I don't know too much more than what most of the world already knows, but I do have a connection most don't." Again Harry didn't take his cue to speak, so Daphne continued. "I can tell you a lot about the Potters or Weasleys, the Blacks, and other prominent families."
"Were you invited to the Black wedding?" Harry abruptly asked.
"Yes. I'm a bridesmaid, in charge of pinning a flower or ribbon on the guests."
"Do you have a date?" Harry quickly asked, unwilling to acknowledge an elevated heart rate or how bizarre this tactic to get into the wedding was. She turned to him with a confident smile and it made his palms perspire a little.
He was almost relieved when she said, "It's a tradition for the bridesmaid to accompany one of the groomsmen, but I can ask."
"Don't bother," Harry told her, relaxing again. "It's fine. I was just curious."
Daphne huffed loud enough he could hear before continuing. "It's not just prominent families I can tell you about. I have information about other families or lesser popular students. Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Diggory, Bones, Patils, Lovegood, Granger. I can tell you more about the first person you met at Hogwarts if you like."
"You can?" Harry asked, turning to her. 'Was it possible she might know who the Ravenclaw is?' he mentally wondered. "Like what?"
"She's smart," Daphne began. "I hate to admit she's smarter- or at least, academically ahead of me."
"You said she might be too distracted to stay top student a couple days ago," Harry reminded her. "What did you mean by that?" Now Daphne said nothing, somewhat to his irritation. Not because she was being smug, or anything like that, but because she might know who was bullying her and hadn't said. "What is it I can help you with, Greengrass? That's what this is, isn't it? Trade? You offer me something because you need something from me?"
"I won't deny you might be able to help me with a concern of mine," she stated. "But I won't accept charity or the invisible strings it might carry, so yes, fair trade."
"And I won't deny that I'd like to know more about Granger, but I think I'll wait until she tells me," Harry countered. "So, if there's nothing else..."
"Granger is being bullied," Daphne pressed on as neutrally as possible. "And that's something she would never tell you about, or anyone else for that matter. There's an underlying fear there that's common behavior among the abused."
"I've gathered," Harry absentmindedly said, though his exasperation was rising.
"And you don't like it, do you?" Daphne continued with a tone of levity, finally feeling like she was making progress.
"I can't say that I do, no," Harry replied, trying to remain calm.
"I'm certain you'd like to know more," Daphne teased, playing the information game just like she was taught. "It's only natural if you care."
"Why are you doing this?" Harry leveled on her. "Trading on misery for your own gain, like some ancient, chaos-loving warlock?"
"I'm not," she stated in a low tone, somewhat taken by his callous question.
"No? Aren't you telling me that you know Granger is being bullied, and possibly more than that, but you're refusing to do anything with that information unless you benefit as well? That sounds exactly like trading on misery to me."
It took Daphne a moment to move past her surprise before her brows furrowed and she responded in kind. "Now you're starting to act like some bleeding heart Gryffindor. Should I expect you to mindlessly charge to her rescue next? Perhaps tell the professors? You think it's so easy to get anything done in this school with a headmaster who's positive to a fault? Who insists people are good by nature and should they happen to do bad, it's because they don't know any better or are simply misguided? That they should all be given heaps of chances to change regardless of offense? Go report to Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore. See what that gets you when everyone idolizes Dumbledore like the second coming of Merlin; then suddenly the offended party is wrong, or misguided, or partly to blame and it's hard not to think it's your fault somehow because they're the adults. The authority with reputations to maintain, won't change without public shame, and if you can't change anything, then you look out for you and yours. You have no reason to help me, a stranger, right? Just like I have no reason to help Granger."
They stared at each other intensely, taking measure of each other quite accurately.
"You represent so much of what I hate about people," Harry told her honestly. "But I can't say you're wrong, even if it is. I see a lot of that in the mirror... weakness. I don't even think I can blame you. For much of my life, I've had to solve my own problems despite being surrounded by adults, and that didn't always work out well. It's shameful, but I can be guilty of the same thing."
Harry had been deliberating on whether he should or shouldn't be more involved in Hermione's new life since Arithmancy. Keeping Hermione at arms length may save her life but it may also continue her misery. Was that acceptable to him?
'…Fuck it,' Harry mentally declared. If there was anyone smart enough to be ready for the future if properly trained, it was Hermione Jean Granger. Harry had to admit he was feeling charitable toward Greengrass for providing him with a bit of clarity, and while he may not want to get too involved with her, he was willing to hear her out more.
"So what's this about?" he calmly asked.
For many seconds there was total silence, then Daphne said, "My father's a businessman and has amassed a large amount of wealth on his business acumen. It's also why I know that everyone wants something... myself included. I'll admit it's difficult for me to infer what it is that you want, but believe me when I tell you I'm not expecting something for nothing."
"I'm not looking to make a trade," Harry calmly, almost softly told her. "But feel free to tell me what you want, and if I can help, I will."
Daphne took a moment and neutrally said, "What I would like is to read a book or two from your family library. None of your family's grimoires, of course. Just whatever is available to read."
"I can send a letter to see how they'd feel about it," he began. "But I need to know why. They're not just going to allow anyone into their library—it's among their most treasured possessions. They were around for a few of history's mass book burnings, so they've amassed the largest library I've ever seen—it's literally mountains of all sorts of old and new books. If that's what you really want, you need to tell me what this is about."
"...I can't," Daphne answered. "I don't know you, Flamel."
"I don't know you either, Greengrass," Harry easily returned. "But between the two of us, I can learn what I need without the other."
"Look, if Granger's ordeal isn't important enough for you to not ask questions, then just tell me what you want," Daphne implored. "Anything! Really. I- I'll be your girlfriend, if you want... do things for you," she said in a low tone. "There are things I know boys like, and I can do that... for you."
Harry mechanically turned his head to her, staring at her in surprise. "You don't know me, and so can't tell me what this is really about, but you're willing to prostitute your own body to get what you want instead?"
"If you get me access to your family's library and don't make unreasonable demands of me, then yes, you can- we can do certain things." Harry was stunned for a moment. Long enough for her to nervously add, "Despite my maidenhead, I know I'm... proficient at some things."
"…Greengrass-"
"I've just offered you my body, Flamel," she hotly pointed out. "I think you can call me Daphne now."
"...Daphne," Harry began. "I'm going to have to say no to your... proposal, and it's not because I don't think you're pretty or wouldn't want to. It's because I know what being dependent on abusers is like. Before the Flamels took me in, I went through far too much and did many things at the behest of others just to survive. I know that doomed feeling of helplessness and I wouldn't make terrible demands of you because I wouldn't condone that situation in the first place."
Daphne seemed to be hanging on every word, so he continued, "You don't want to tell me because this means more to you than yourself; which means family—more specifically, your sister. They, or she, mean everything to you, and that knowledge gives me power over you more than your body does, which is why you don't want to confide in me. But, since I already know what your sister means to you—that this is about her in some way—and I'm still not playing this trade game with you, how about you take a leap of faith and just ask me what you really want to ask me."
Her beautiful eyes reddened and glistened with tears refusing to shed, making her arctic blue eyes dance in place. Her eyebrows crinkled closer together with desperation and her cheeks flush deep red, as she sniffed, then asked, "…Can you help me save my sister?"
"Sure Daphne," Harry answered.
First, thank you for reading! I'm so happy to be doing this and overwhelmed by the positive response :D
The story is finally starting to move and aside from Dumbledore and Lily, we've nearly met most of the major relevant players(I think).
Lastly I have plans with my GF this coming week and I don't think I'll have the time to write and post next Sunday. I'll try of course but if I don't, I'll try to make it up to you guys the following week. Thanks again for reading!