Snakecharmer

Chapter 1

Whoareyou people?!

I was so close.

Four years of dealing with the seemingly hot and cold running emotions of my...peers, of the whole wizarding world in fact, and I had almost proven myself. The Tri-Wizard Tournament had been a blessing in disguise that way, though it took Rita to really see it, strangely enough. I could win, I could take the Tournament for Hogwarts, and then it would all be so easy. I'd truly began to hope after the second task. A little whisper then, fierce and fueled by my anger at the situation had started making a lot of sense.

"Prove them wrong," it said.

"Show them who you really are," it demanded.

"Win." That beguiling whisper had suggested.

It made sense. If I won – if I proved to be worthy of winning the Tournament, maybe they'd stop whispering that I was the next Dark Lord one month, and regaling me as their savior the next.

Then Voldemort had to come and, true to form, screw everything up at the last minute. All thought of winning, even if it was shared with Cedric, flew away on the tail of a sickly green curse. At that point I knew, no matter what happened, the victory would be empty.

Fudge made that fear a truth. Having the moral fiber and spine of a flobberworm, the coward had denounced me and the headmaster as mad. Sputtering in a rage and all but foaming at the mouth, the fat little man had thrown me the blood money for the Cup, and stormed out.

No more than a day later, the papers were suggestingIwas responsible for Cedric's death. Nevermind his wand showed no traces, or that it was obvious the Hufflepuff champion had been felled with a Killing Curse, something I didn't even know how to cast properly. Barty had been a wealth of information on the Unforgivables, but even he wasn't going to push his luck teaching the Avada to fourth-years. I began to see that truth, at least to wizards, meant less than entertainment. Those same people who had celebrated when somehow I'd vanquished Voldemort as a baby, couldn't make up their mind on whether I was good or evil, but they definitely wanted me, if for nothing else but something to gossip over.

Even my supposed adopted family had bought into the idiocy. Only Fred and George Weasley had stayed by my side despite it all. Ron, Ginny, Hermione... at some point they'd all turned on me. Even my House... in the end, it made sense to hand over the gold. The twins could do something with it I couldn't – enjoy it.

That so many would turn on me, for so little was a bitter pill to swallow.

All my maudlin thoughts were derailed by the sound of wood splintering, and the surprised yelp of someone downstairs, followed by a muffled thud. I cursed quietly, grabbing my wand and creeping to the bedroom door, cursing again the bad luck in it being locked from the outside. Summers weren't so bad these days, but the first week or two were still tense. It seemed that it was just easier on both sides, if we stayed in as little contact as possible during that time.

Shaking off recent thoughts of the freedoms I'd get to enjoy later in the summer, I leaned an ear against the small crack in the door, hoping to catch a hint of what was going on. It was a good thing I was already braced against the doorframe, or I would have jumped in fright when a voice, nearly next to my ear, belted around the hallway beyond the door.

"The bloody hell is this all about?"

There was an answering call from the den, which distance and the stairwell muffled, before the voice – a girl, it sounded like – huffed and replied in a terse tone, "I don't know! It's not like I'm familiar with these...muggles!"

All my breath left me in a rush at that. Not realizing it, I'd fallen back and landed hard on my backside with a quiet curse. "Muggles!? There were wizards in my house?" The silent question was countered by the footfalls in the hall stopping, just past the door. Only then did I realize that the fall wasn't as silent as my thoughts.

"Hello then," the girl murmured, as shadows played just under the locked door. "If I were the Boy Who Lived... where would I be?"

Panic caressed me like a Dementor, and I scrabbled back and away from the door, wand forgotten. The only people that would be asking where I was didn't know, and that meant they were outside of Dumbledore's circle of trust. That almost assuredly meant they were outside of mine as well.

Outside the door, what shadows were moving around suddenly stopped. "In for a knut..." with a snap and creak, the bolts were twisted back home and the door pivoted open, showing me a young woman my age, in rather better matching clothes than the average wizard, her wand out and snapping with faint sparks. With some apprehension, I noted she was somewhat familiar, but could neither place her face or name. "Potter?"

For my part, I finally raised my wand, "Who are you?"

The girl's face – set before in a combination of annoyance and curiosity – clouded and grew irritated. "Four years, and you don't even... nevermind. I can't believe we're doing this," ignoring my question entirely, she leaned back out the door, pointing her wand at her throat and murmuring.

"I FOUND HIM!" Instinct is a bitch some times, and as the words reverberated around my head, I realized that my hands were clasped firmly over my ears. I'd dropped my wand, like a fool. The girl's voice shook the walls, rattling dust from the ceiling and pictures all over the home, and I'm sure there were a few cracked panes of glass as well. The ringing in my ears was still going on, when two other people showed up by the girl's side, one glaring balefully at her.

"Remind me why I taught you that charm, daughter?" The hall's light did nothing to supply details, something I was growing irritable at, and was about to start demanding answers regarding, when the woman who spoke summoned my neglected wand to her hand, making a tisking sound. "Sorry, Mr. Potter. We can't have you jeopardizing things by casting too many spells."

Turning to the other adult, the girl affected an irritated air, "Too many? He didn't do anything. Just sat there and stared at me."

Regarding me intently, the older man raised a brow. "Is that so. How curious. I thought, considering all the news about the lad, he'd be a rather hard one to deal with."

"The Ministry," I mutter, glaring after my wand, as it was put in a pocket. "I can't do magic."

The looks they gave me after that mumbled announcement had me drawing back slightly, as they stared like I'd just told them I had suggestive pictures of Dumbledore and Voldemort fornicating. "You... wait," the older man – I assume he was the girl's father – held up a hand and looked to the side. "You think the Ministry would reprimand you for using magic? Out here?"

Tired of sitting on my backside while people I don't know asked a lot of questions, I stood and dusted myself off. "Well, yes. They've sent letters when I didn't do magic." Shrugging, I recalled the incident with some irritation. "There was a house-elf involved, and I still got a letter."

Again the older members of the group looked at one another. "You think the ward will hold?"

"If they're looking here, specifically, possibly. We should go soon though."

Eying the lot suspiciously, which is the least I should be doing really, I shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere," backing up my gruff announcement, I set my heels and glared defiantly.

The man spared me a tired look. "Of course you are. There's a number of ways this will work. You come on your own, without trouble," the man raised a finger, indicating his points. "Or would you rather we kill the muggles, bind you, stun you, and just handle you like irritating luggage." Another finger rose, along with my hackles at his 'option'. Finally, the man face broke into an unpleasant smile. "Then, there's my favorite, you resist, I let my daughter vent her frustrations on being called out on this errand on you, then we bind, stun... you get the idea."

Wincing, I nodded slightly. "You... have a point."

"Morgana, hecanbe reasonable," the young woman mocked, tucking her own wand into a sleeve. I aimed my glare at her, despite the situation. Turning as if she had nothing to worry about from the Boy Who Lived, which I had to admit at the moment, she currently didn't, the girl regarded her mother. "So, what about the muggles?"

The 'mother' shrugged slightly. "Ask them some questions. I'm sure they know something of use."

Sighing dramatically, the girl nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that." Taking a few hesitant steps forward, the girl reached out and took hold of my arm in a firm grip. This earned her a scowl, as we marched out of the room, trailing a handful of steps behind her parents, who were descending the staircase. "I have to say though, this isn't at all what I expected to find," she muttered quietly, a note of mocking in her voice.

There's nothing really else in the world that gets me hacked off quite as fast as being put down over things I can't control. Every year, every day since I was left in the hellhole that bears the name Dursley, I've endured it. Suffice to say, jerking my arm out of her grip and making her stumble down a few steps was a minor reaction. I blithely ignored her swearing colorfully, as I held my ground above her on the stairwell. Anger still brimming nice and full, I shot back, "Sorry to disappoint. It's all I've ever known."

I know better than to start a full scuffle, so I don't balk when she grabs me by the arm roughly again, the petite black-haired girl pulling her wand and jabbing it into my side, causing me to wince and bend away. "Don't get snide. I don't want to be here; you don't want me here. Just deal with it, since there's nothing either of us can do to change it."

Honestly, I can't argue her logic. We finished the walk down to the den in silence, where I was met with a rather odd sight. Arrayed on the couch, all three Dursleys were sitting peacefully, staring off in a rather serene manner. The sheer unnaturalness – and I hate to use that word – of it all spooked me heavily. On the table before them, an old strongbox was broken open, its hinges rent apart and the contents it held scattered along the table. Old letters, a few wizarding photos that were peering at their frames and out into the world curiously, and the odd junk you always find in such a thing spilled out, as the two adults began to peruse the lot. "Sit down, Mr. Potter. This shouldn't take long."

Grousing about not having a choice in the matter, I slumped into one of my aunt's plush chairs and watched as people I don't know went through what I have to imagine were things left over from mom that Petunia never bothered to tell me existed. A sharp spike of anger drizzled down across my mind, casting the edges of my vision in red as I watched these strangers go through things that they had no right to.

It was a testament to the girl's attentiveness that she noticed the air starting to get heavy in the room, and prodded her father in the side, I later admit. With a gesture, the man shot a small stream of cold water from his wand, which thanks to my somewhat overly focused attention, hit me dead center in the face, literally cooling me off. Sputtering and spitting water, I let the glare that had been fixed on their hands migrate to his face, for all the good it did me. The man was a rock.

Shortly, they seemed to find what they wanted. "This is... " with a wave of a wand, the man made a sound of success. "Proof, finally. Give them the potion, I'll isolate the oath."

I watched the two begin their task, the man dropping an aged letter into what looked like a small, dull-gray box. Runes on the outside flared, as he twisted his wand against a polished stone in the device's side. While this was going on, the older woman dropped some potion into each Dursley's mouth, causing all three to look somewhat dazed and confused, rather than quietly serene.

"You three," the man pointed at the Dursleys with his wand, "Explain to me your relationship to this boy."

Looking from one to another a moment, the Dursleys seemed to come to some silent agreement. Petunia sat a little straighter, and answered, "He's the son of my sister. We care for him, now, over the summers."

That was... not the answer I had expected. Blinking slightly at my aunt's neutral tone, not really mechanical, but just apathetic, I sat back to observe the next question. Being more or less trapped, I figured it was best to gather information, rather than sit and fume. Besides, "I may learn something about my real family," the young wizard mused to himself.

It was the woman that fired off the next query, "Do you know who he is? And I don't mean just by name."

"Of course," the baritone of Vernon answers quickly. "He's a hero to the wizarding world."

I'm glad I'm sitting, otherwise I would have fallen down. It's embarrassing to admit, but I got lightheaded over that admission, and it takes a moment to regain my composure. Still stunned somewhat but curious, I looked between the now pensive wizard and witch, and his so-called family. "What did you feed them? What was that potion?"

Absently, the wizard answered me, "A mild truth compelling draught. Ah, of course." With a few gestures, he unlocked the blocky device, opening the lid. Again the questions were asked, only this time there were more familiar answers. Regaining their belligerence, the three replied to questions with frank disdain and insults as often as not.

"This is such a fascinating thing," the woman noted, shaking her head. "The letter only has a mild compulsion on it, to provide care, but something's gone terribly wrong."

"Muggles," the wizard noted, shaking his head. "Always forgetting that magic just doesn't work the same on them. Would have been harmless in a magical family," the man noted, closing the box again. "Seems to just exacerbate any hostility they harbored, but Merlin only knows what else. This is why there's a department just for this kind of idiocy in the Ministry."

The witch snorted disdainfully. "Right, and I'm sure this was something that Dumbledore would have happily listened to Croaker about." Standing from the loveseat, the woman gathered up the strongbox and its contents. "We'll be taking Mr. Potter with us. Sadly, we have to make some alterations to your memories."

Before a wand was raised, Petunia held up her hands, with a look I'd never seen on her face, as she looked to me. She was worried... aboutme. "Please! Before you do anything... what do you want with my nephew?"

Looking from one to another with grim expressions, the two magicals regarded Harry's aunt levelly. Finally, the wizard replied, "I wish to see his potential. Something he would never achieve here."

Petunia seemed to realize that was all the answer she would get, and relented, sitting back with a tired, worn look about her.

As the pair carefully Obliviated and memory charmed my relations, I began to wonder how bad things were going to turn, as well as wondered what the man's comment could mean. Frankly, it was the first time someone had voiced such a thing... most just expected something of me, or had some predetermined ideal I was to live up to.

It also didn't escape me that without whatever that piece of paper was, the Dursleys were actually nice. Or at least, nicer. I filed that away for later – too much was going on for me to deal with it all right now, and by the looks on the two conducting things, my questions wouldn't be answered. More pressing matters revolved around the two magicians, weaving new memories for my family. Were these people Death Eaters? With a jolt I notice that all three had their arms bared, despite the cold weather, showing only pale skin. Was it calculated? Did they do that on purpose, as a way to prove they weren't Death Eaters, without a song and dance I'd likely require for confirmation? Blinking rapidly, I absorb that little morsel of information and the questions associated, while trying to make sense of things.

A few moments, a few words and agreements later, and the Dursleys had signed away my guardianship to a Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. Obviously it was under compulsion, but none of the agreements looked magical. Regardless, the two made duplicates, and kept them. Never again did the strange gray box get opened.

As I watched, something itched at my memory. It had something to do with the name... "Greengrass," I murmured, as memory supplied a scene to the name. Potions with the Slytherins. With a start, I looked back to the young woman, who I then recognized from the shared classes under Snape. "You're... Daphne?"

"Took you long enough, Potter."

"But, you're a Slytherin!"

All activity in the room halted, as the three other magicals turned slowly to face me. Despite the rising unease I'd had at the situation, it took some will to avoid blushing in the face of all three looking at me with some incredulity. "Why, yes. I am," the girl now owning the name Daphne drawled. "It's amazing how bright these Lions are, eh mum?"

"Don't be snide, dear," Mrs. Greengrass chided the younger witch, earning her a dirty, if veiled, look. Coming to stand before me, I couldn't help but shift nervously. They had my wand, and superior numbers. I suppose I could try to brawl my way out... but who am I kidding? I'm little better than a twig, and they'd have ample opportunity to hex me into next Thursday. The worst part was she noticed, and knew it all, which was obvious by the little smirk Mrs. Greengrass wore as she regarded me. "Why, Harry, would my daughter's House, of all things tonight, call your attention?"

I realized, at that point, secrecy wasn't terribly important. Oh, I'm not going to tell them everything, but honestly... I'm more than a little pissed off about this as well. The damn wards were supposed to keep this from happening! Obviously, someone was lying, as the man who he had to assume was Mr. Greengrass was pulling a Lockhart on my family, and without much effort, the couple had taken custody of me in the eyes of the law. Sure, Dumbledore could undo that, when he found out... I sighed, looking down at my hands, "The wards. They're supposed to keep anyone that means me harm, out."

Daphne snorted, turning away but paled when she caught sight of her mother's glare. "Be quiet, Daphne Marie."

Sufficiently cowed by the look, the young witch demurred, "Yes, mother."

"Harry – Mr. Potter," the man, Mr. Greengrass began somewhat haltingly, "I'm afraid there isn't a ward in existence that can shield you from such a broad range of threats."

"But, Dumbledore-"

"Is a politician," the man smoothly interjected, cutting me off. "He'll say what needs to be said – and no more!" Looking once to the now befuddled and dazed Dursleys, Mr. Greengrass came to join his wife before me. "Now, there were wards in place. We raised one or two of our own, in fact. The one you mentioned was so weak that we didn't notice it, but that may be because of circumstances."

It was no lie, "I don't understand."

Shooting a rather barbed look at her daughter, who cringed and made a quiet study of her shoes after, Mrs. Greengrass continued for her husband, "Well, to make it simple Mr. Potter, we don't mean you any harm."

If this were one of Dudley's telly programs, there would be the sound of a record skipping right at that moment. "E-Excuse me? But you're-"

"Oh come off it," Daphne snapped, glaring openly in my direction, ignoring her parents. "Lets get one thing clear. Are you Ronald Weasley?"

"What? Of course not-"

"Are you Draco Malfoy?"

I matched her glare this time, "You bloody know well enough I'm not."

Daphne crossed her arms, "Are you or are you not friends with Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, and Sue Bones?"

Confused where this was going, and seeing no help from the elder Greengrass couple, I nodded mutely.

"Then bloody behave like you've a mind of your own!" Snapping out the last, the girl turned and nodded once to her parents, before stomping out of the splintered front door. Following close behind, her mother stalked off, a frankly frightening expression on her face. After a handful of moments, Mr. Greengrass pulled up a chair beside me.

"Mr. Potter," he began hesitantly, before seeming to come to a course, "What my daughter is trying so inelegantly to say, is that not all Slytherin's are bad." Leaning back and cracking his neck with a satisfied grunt – and a shiver from me – the wizard went on, "Current trends weight heavy on her, and us. Neutrality, which my family has used to be an asset, is now more a liability."

Good Slytherins? Wait, no... he said neutral. "So... no. You're right, I suppose," I mused, remembering their bared arms. "You're not marked. I mean, you could still be rather evil without it, but-"

"I know it's confusing," the man remarked, somewhat dryly. "You've had years of... training, for lack of a more caustic word, to think the way you do."

I bristled at the implication... before giving it a moment of real thought. Noncommittally I indicated a wary agreement.

Mr. Greengrass's expression softened somewhat. "We don't mean you any harm. We didn't mean your family any either, though it became somewhat strained as we learned more. Regardless of that, the ward you mentioned... it was weak. Horribly weak, and the only thing it does is trigger an alarm. It won't repel or bar entrance from anyone."

The nasty red border was creeping up on the world again, as I thought over those last words, and everything I was told. I had to come back here. Every year, I had to return, and why?

I wasn't stupid, not at all. I learned things by doing – I learned by pressure. The more you put on me, the faster I would go. Professor Lupin showed me that, and I've worked to make that idea mine since then. I thank that, for helping me deal with this latest dilemma. "House arrest," I murmured, eyes narrow. "It's not 'safe' here. He only wanted me here, so he could keep an eye on me."

Greengrass seemed to waffle on his response a moment before shrugging. "Perhaps. I am not one to judge."

Perhaps he's not, but I certainly am. "So. Why are you here then?"

Our 'guest' blinked a moment, as the silence let us hear the blistering argument outside between Mrs. Greengrass and Daphne. Her father and I shared a momentary, if strained smile, before he answered. "Straight to the heart of it. I guess Daphne wasn't joking. Alright, the bottom line of it is, we want your help, and can offer some of our own in return."

"My help," I blurt out, blinking rapidly. If he had asked me to start singing poetry, I'd have been less surprised. "With what? I'm still in school, I'm underage, I'm... well look at me!" Pointing to my rather unimpressive frame, I spare him an incredulous look.

Rather than acknowledge what I said, the man only asked a simple question. "What is your name?"

Mechanically, I answered, "Harry Potter."

With a sigh, the man stood. "And this is how we will help you, Mr. Potter. If you don't even know your full name, and what it carries, you will never live up to it."

"You mean the Boy Who Lived," I snap out, reflexively angry at yet another Lockhart wanting to cash in on my supposed fame – or infamy, more recently.

"No," Mr. Greengrass replied with some scorn. "I mean, Mr. Harry James Potter, of the Most August and Worthy House Potter. Regent Earl Ravensworth, Lord of Northumberland, Heir to the Baronies Collingwood, Evans, and Eslington."

I made a strangled noise, low in my throat, and took a deep breath. "What?"

Shaking his head slowly, the man continued, "Your family, as most wizarding kind has done in some way, married into or were part of the peerage. Old families that continue to have children collect titles like that woman down the lane collects Kneazles. Bring in a war, and they all end up being dumped back on fewer relations.

"In short, what all those words mean, is that your family owned some land, and did the Crown a few favors. That they're all named, rather than just residing under the blanket of Potter, means that it was branches of your family that owned them, rather than say, just your father or grandfather. Mundanes, even. Cousins, aunts, uncles. Hell, half of England can trace their family back to some king or another.

"War destroys families," Greengrass went on quieter, the lines on his face deepening with some weariness. "Those left, must carry on. With Grindelwald, then Voldemort, and now his second rising, those responsibilities fall to you."

What he said made sense, when I considered it. I knew nothing of my mother's or father's family – there could be some minor Barony involved easy enough. I'd heard here and there that some of my classmates had family in this or that circle or wizarding society, Longbottom being one of the more outspoken – and that mostly regarding his grizzly old witch of a grandmother.

My thoughts halted somewhat. Was that why Malfoy had approached me, my first year? A second, less pleasant if that were possible thought crept up then, recalling Mr. Greengrass's words. "My responsibility?"

The man snorted. "You think being a Lord or Baron is all title and pomp? How do you think those things occur? People rely on you for their well being. Those Baronies I listed, are the wizarding equivalent to... lets call them fiefdoms. We run a much more modern model of society, but for simplicity's sake, think of it as such.

"Those people work, tend the land, and pay a tax to you. That is what makes the titles carry weight. You represent your people. That representation gives you power, because it is ultimately you who they rely on for protections, fairness, and to voice their concerns."

I absorbed this with a kind of muted horror. People I didn't even know relied on me to protect them, not as the Boy Who Lived, but as the inheritor of a real responsibility. This... this was something utterly different. "Wha-why wasn't I told," I managed to choke out, still reeling from the information. Honestly, I don't know how many more jolts to the system I could take.

Greengrass regarded me levelly, then shook his head. "I can only conjecture, and that would not be fair," heaving a sigh, the man stood and offered me a hand. "That is why we came to you. Recently, the Wizengamot was approached by a representative of Collingwood. Apparently, whoever it was that masked your peerage from you, has been doing a piss-poor job of managing them as well. Garret Dorham approached the Wizengamot, intending to move the Barony from your family's name, to another, more attentive party."

Brilliant, I thought to myself. Not only was all this hidden, but whoever was doing so, was neglecting people.In my name. Regardless I know less about peerage and titles and land ownership under the Crown than I do of magic. "I don't know what I can do to fix this," I mutter, again looking at my hands. Useless hands, too small, too inexperienced to fix problems of this caliber.

"And that's why we came. The Greengrass family... has also fallen on hard times. I think that in time we can come to an understanding, mutually beneficial."

Before I could snipe out a comment on being used by someone else, what he said actually registered. "Mutually beneficial. Alright... ok. I'll bite.

"So, what next?"

Mr. Greengrass's face broke into a large grin. "First, I rescue my oldest from my dearest, then we get you and your things back to The Fields."

"The fields?" I asked curiously, not really understanding the man's words. The part of me I blame on Fred and George piped up and inquired if I was to work in a farm or somewhat, a question I thankfully stuffed back into the back of my thoughts.

The wizard nodded, standing and rubbing his hands together, "You are badly informed," he noted with a raised brow. "Most families have some name, or title for their homes that shortens the name, for Floo or the like. The Bones family had a rather amusing, if morbid one, for instance. Ours, with the family name being Greengrass, is The Fields."

In a way, it made a wizarding kind of sense. Which meant Hermione would be huffing and building up a rant. Personally, I thought it was somewhat fun. "Alright. I'll go with you..."

At that point I shot a look to my still-docile relations, which Greengrass read incorrectly. "Oh, don't worry about them. We'll fix everything up and have it all sorted out nice and legal by dawn tomorrow."

I let him keep thinking that was my concern. After all, it was better than letting him know that, if I could borrow his wand, I would Obliviate all memory of myself from the lot. I may be the Boy Who Lived – but that never made me a saint.