Snakecharmer

Chapter 2

Summerschool

–

The Fields were not what I had expected, with the way Mr. Greengrass had been speaking. Nor did our method of travel to get there. After all that had been talked about, and the liberal use of magic on my relations, I'd expected a portkey like I took with the Weasleys to the World Cup game. Instead, we walked one block, as Daphne's parents talked amicably about the neighborhood, as if they were buying a nearby property.

Daphne and I studiously ignored one another for the duration.

Finally, after nearly half an hour of walking and chatting, we looped back and came to a rather modest if very nice sedan, which I was bemused to see the Greengrasses pile into without much concern or lack of familiarity. Seeing that Mr. Greengrass wouldn't enter till I was settled, I quickly took the back seat beside their Slytherin daughter, and we drove off.

It was half an hour before I couldn't manage anymore, and finally asked, "Why do you have a car?"

From beside me, there was a muttered curse, as both Greengrasses checked their watches. Without another word, Daphne passed her mother a Galleon. "Not all magical families are so entrenched in tradition, or estranged from the modern world. A lot of our business dealings are with muggles, and some of our associates make quite the killing off of using magical means to facilitate imports and exports.

"It has the added benefit of being remarkably good cover for spellwork in public, and lends whatever muggle business we attend to an air of authenticity."

Here around me sat a family that did something I had despaired of ever seeing since my first year at Hogwarts and exposure to the Burrow. They made sense. Thinking my silence was disbelief, Daphne picked up where her mother left off, "Part of the tenet behind why people are sorted into Slytherin is ambition. There are billions of muggles worldwide. We would be fools not to capitalize on that, something our ancestors saw as well."

Brow furrowed, I nodded at the point, never having disagreed after all. Still, one thing caught my attention, "Ancestors? So the Greengrass family had muggle contacts for some time?"

"Like many, we never really stood by the firm division of the Statute. We sort of," here, the elder Greengrass paused, thinking. "I suppose we bend the rules, quite a bit. We employ what squibs we can, but there's invariably too many places to fill. We end up with a lot of muggles, working in places that isolate them from the real fireworks. It's old hat for a number of other families as well."

I had nothing really to reply with, and simply nodded. We rode in silence for a while, the view changing outside the window with unreal speed. It was much like my life, I felt. Out of my control, speeding by, carrying me along for the ride. Suddenly, my freedom from the Dursleys didn't feel so sweet. "You're risking a lot," I hazarded, dipping into my earlier melancholy, weary of the silence and the contemplation it brought. "You know who's after me, don't you?"

I met Mr. Greengrass' eyes in the rear-view mirror, and held them a moment. "We know," he replied quietly.

"Business is well and good, but you people aren't goblins," shaking my head, I returned to looking at the landscape, blurring by. "What else do you want?"

Free to do so, as she wasn't driving, Mrs. Greengrass turned, looking somewhat nervous. "There are a number of sayings, about war and business.

"Some say that war is good business. In some ways, that is true," the older woman admitted with a shrug. "For instance... right now, we could invest in healing potion ingredients, and work to broaden our contracts with the suppliers and shippers of the same. We could then set up frontend companies to supply those same potions to both sides."

I had to take a moment, and reign in my my anger at her flippant comment on possibly aiding Voldemort. Was this business? Profit before morality? I said it before – I'm no saint – but I do like to sleep at night, and be able to look myself in the eye, when I look in the mirror. So far, I'm doing ok. Barring random acts of self-styled Dark Lords. "Go on," I murmured, seeing her waiting on a response.

To her credit, she offered me a small, apologetic smile. "That was just an example. Now, the opposite, that war is bad for business is also true.

"Consider the Death Eaters a moment. These are not political insurgents. They kill, maim, torture." Sighing, the woman sat back and crossed her arms, still talking, but focusing distantly, lost in thought. Shortly, she continued, "Trade and business aren't the goals of those people. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will have no tolerance for the haggling we do to make our livelihood. Already we see hints of his prerogative with other neutral families, who deal with the darker side of things. They don't trade with coin, Mr. Potter. They traffic in threats. Think about the future, Mr. Potter. What kind of world, for people like us, will there be if...hehas his way?"

I'd never given such a thing much thought, and to be honest, it somewhat stunned me what she implied. An economist I'm not, but she had a point – what kind of impact would a maniac like Voldemort have on the way people, from farmers to tradesmen, lived, under his rule? So far, he'd certainly showed little regard for life, much less happiness and the consideration of effort. Wormtail's missing hand, came to mind and I grimaced.

Fear would move some to his side, I knew. The Greengrass' showed me another facet of things, though. One that reflected a more firm grasp of their world and how it related to and was tied with the muggle, as well as a desire to take a risk. I still didn't know why however, and was finding myself impatient with the woman's dodging. "Alright, I understand why you'd not join him, from a business standpoint. You still didn't answer my question, though."

"Why you?"

I nodded. "Why me."

Mr. Greengrass turned, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. "Unlike the Ministry, some have come to regard your... exploits at Hogwarts with some attention. I'm sure we don't know everything, but to an outside observer it seems clear that your fate is intertwined with that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"So, you don't follow the Prophet's propaganda campaign?" I pointedly ignored the venomous glance Daphne shot my way.

"Please, Mr. Potter," the girl's mother chided. "We are business-minded folk. We've learned to see embellishment and sensationalism for what it is."

"And, you're no Gilderoy Lockhart," Mr. Greengrass muttered, glaring slightly as the two women with us blushed in embarrassment.

For the first time in a long while, I relaxed. Here I sat, with my would be kidnappers, having an intelligent conversation. They didn't think I was an attention-seeking madman, or a liar and fraud.

This may not be such a bad summer, after all.

–

"I expect you both to have the first two chapters read by the time we set dinner." The door clanged shut behind a retreating Mrs. Greengrass. The faint sound of a lock caused me to sigh. "So much for an improvement," I murmur with some wry amusement.

"Shut up, Potter," my companion in this irritating situation is of course, my Slytherin counterpart, Daphne. "I wouldn't be forced into doing this if it weren't for you."

"Look," spinning in my chair, I slam the book before me shut. "This isn't my idea. Sure, I'd take any out short of Voldemort to get away from- Oh grow up!" I seethed, seeing the girl flinch at the name. "You know what? Forget it. Just keep your snide comments to yourself, Greengrass."

There are a lot of things I can deal with. Dursleys, Dumbledore, Dark Lords... but a bitchy girl sitting behind me making snide commentary as I read seems a bit much for me today. I manage to put up with it for a handful of minutes, before my anger gets the better of me. With a snarl I spun around and spat a stunning curse at her, monumentally pleased at the look of shock on her features, before her face planted itself in the book she'd been ignoring.

I turn back around, picking up my own text. I've never heard of the mind arts before coming here, figuring most magic was done with a wand. Then again, I'm not Dumbledore – I've only got four years of school behind me. Probably a lot out there I don't know.

A slight snore sounds from behind my desk, reminding me of my unwilling companion. I snicker, returning to my text, dull as it is, "Well, at least now one of us will get through with the reading."

Focusing on texts had never been my strong suit in school, in either world. This proved true yet again, as my mind wandered to why I was locked up in the Greengrass family's basement, with their less than pleasant oldest daughter.

Our arrival had been without fanfare, when the rolling hills and fields gave way to a small valley, shielding the modest manor within from casual view. "The Fields" as it was called, seemed a more than apt name for such a home. With a minimum of effort, the family and myself disembarked, my luggage and things shrunken and carried in my pocket.

Inside, the home reminded me of one of my neighbors, during one of the few times I'd been able to visit along with the Dursleys. It wasn't a doily-strewn nightmare like Ms. Figg's home, the manic clutter of the Burrow, or a stale and sterile showcase like the Dursley's. Paintings, non-magical in most cases, hung about the walls sparsely, leaving large open spaces. The roof was high, much higher than I was used to. I could probably do a few light Quidditch drills overhead without bothering anyone, I figured.

The floors were a polished hardwood, causing our shoes and boots in Mr. Greengrass' case, to tap and thunk as we walked around. I was shown the atrium, which was the tall room, the dining room, sitting room, and main hall, none of which had roofs quite as high as the entrance way. It was, I noted with some happiness, a modest, if nice home. What embellishment was there, seemed more for the home's beauty rather than to aggrandize the owners. Paint was a dark, soothing, night-on-fields green, while accents were a pale cream. It was a rather pleasant combination, and reminded me again that my rather stereotype-breaking hosts were, supposedly, all Slytherins. With a slight start, I had yet to confirm this... perhaps a question for later.

I was then shown to my room, which to my happiness wasn't so large as to make me feel uncomfortable. It seemed the Greengrass family had a comfortable, if not grand, income. Or perhaps they just didn't flaunt it like Malfoy seemed wont to. The room had a private bath, small and cozy, a covered bed, a window overlooking the valley outside, a writing desk, and an empty bookshelf.

While being shown about, I was introduced to the youngest Greengrass, a small blonde child who would be starting her third year at Hogwarts, come fall. Like her mother, she was slight of frame and delicate looking, reminding me somewhat of Luna till I met her eyes. Pale brown, almost hazel, they were the eyes of someone looking over a potential resource, taking in what she could and filing it away for later use.

I had no doubt where this one would go, I had mused as we continued the tour. She made no secret of looking me over, tilting her head and analyzing my admittedly poor dress, but making no judgments. Eventually she'd returned her gaze to my eyes, only paying the slightest attention to the scar, and nodded slightly. I didn't know properly what to reply to such open appraisement, so only nodded once in reply, which seemed to be the right thing to do as she smiled brightly.

This yet again reinforced my opinion that I'll never understand girls, large or small.

Daphne, at least, was rather openly hostile if reigned in by her mother most times. That hostility was beginning to grate on my nerves, as I don't recall doing anything to the girl to earn such venom.

She was, if I remembered correctly, a part of the Slytherin House that didn't toady up to Malfoy's pomp and posturing. She, the boy Blaise, and Tracey Davis had their own, quiet, unobtrusive little clique that kept to themselves, minus some forced interactions here and there within classes. With a start, I realized that Daphne was as often as not, paired with Neville of all people, in Herbology and Potions, these last two years.

It was during that moment of realization that we reached what I decided later to call the dungeons. "These are our safe rooms," Mr. Greengrass had explained, opening up a large metal door that lead to a small classroom, by appearances. "Fully shielded from scrying and magical direction spells. They cost nearly two year's income to build."

"Holy..." I openly gawked at that point. These things? The walls were stone, rough-cut and cold looking, while the floor was of similar stone. The only comforting affects the room carried happened to be a picture, seemingly painted of the view outside, with a couple sitting on a blanket for a picnic. I noted that this one was magical, as the grain fields beyond were swaying to a wind that blew across them, making the expanse look like a golden sea.

"Quite," Mr. Greengrass demurred, smiling slightly. "This is where you will spend your first two weeks here, or until you master the defensive arts mentioned in the books on those desks."

Blinking once, I looked back to those same desks, and noted the thick, new, rather unpleasantly school-like book there. Then my eyes turned to the stone walls and floor, then back to him, incredulously. "Stay... here?"

Nodding brusquely, the man closed the door behind us all, coming to stand by the picture at the front of the room. "This is the classroom. Next door is the spell room, and after that, the bunks. You will only be required to stay in these three rooms till you master a way to mask your mind."

"Why do I need that?"

Greengrass nodded once, seemingly expecting my question. "Two reasons, I can think of with some certainty.

"Your position in our world, as the bearer of the titles I mentioned, requires you to make decisions and know information that would be very valuable to an enemy, competitor, or spy." I blinked at that, considering. Mr. Greengrass seemed to understand my hesitation, and pressed on, "Imagine being an ambassador. You have military and tactical knowledge, that could break not only the political trust of your position, but endanger those same people in your homeland.

"Now, imagine that your position caused you to be in contact with someone versed in the mind arts, allowing them access to your thoughts." I'm no fool – that would be a disaster. It would be doom for not only myself, my position, the status of my country in such a place, and the people implicated...

"I see," I murmur quietly, nodding.

With a smile, Greengrass clasped me on the shoulder. "Good lad. This is something most of the children and heirs of the peerage learn, at least to a degree. It helps keep a good poker face for the inevitable debate, and shields your mind, from casual perusal." Wrinkling his nose, the man sighed. "Unfortunately, a directed attack by a skilled Legillimens will break all but those with some natural talent at the defensive art. That will require a wand, and the incantation, however."

I mull this over and nod. Obviously, a Legillimens, as he called it, is someone versed in the offensive side of the mind arts... interesting. The implications were something that I hoped to follow up on in the texts – provided they didn't bore me to death.

"Now, the second reason, is much less innocent." Taking a seat to the side, Mr. Greengrass motioned me to sit at a desk. "As I said, these rooms are warded. Occlumency, the defensive art, will give you some protection against spells that seek you out specifically."

"How? If the magic is looking for me, why does protecting my mind defeat it?"

Nodding at the question, Mr. Greengrass indicated the book before me. "It relates to the nature of self and magic. To put it simply, if you fully hide the idea of "Harry Potter" from the world with magic, then magic cannot find Harry Potter."

Closing my eyes and trying to work that out in my head, I have to wonder on the laws that govern magic. Sometimes they just didn't make sense. "But... I'm still Harry Potter, regardless."

"Hence, why true Occlumency is very difficult," the man replied easily. "I'm no master, no one in this house is, in fact. So, I won't be able to give you a first-hand account. I do believe in the principal however, as it seems valid."

I consider it, but realize regardless of the how of it all, Greengrass' reasons are sound, and I do need something like this. Besides, I don't really fancy staying in these rooms all summer... "Alright. So, I learn Occlumency, and I get to leave these rooms?"

"Please, don't think of it like a punishment," Mr. Greengrass asked, holding his hands up. "I must protect my family. Even with our wards, a powerful spell seeking you or a trace on you will point here. With the training in that book, much of that can be minimized, and the wards should compensate."

"Should?"

The man laughed quietly. "You will find, that for the moment, I am very much in line with your family motto. 'Who dares, triumphs'. I am willing to take a calculated risk in this, on you."

If there's one thing I really appreciate, it's people being up front with me. It was never so much of a hangup until after Hogwarts, but for the obvious reasons, I've begun hating secrets. I like to think I have a pretty good sense of people, that I know good from bad. Oh, there's no doubt I've been wrong, but Mr. Greengrass strikes me as an alright sort.

Besides, even these dungeons are better than Dudley's second bedroom. Plus, it's not like I have to stay there all summer. Just learn Occlumency, and I'm free.

Should be a snap.

"Oh. And since you are year mates with my daughter, and she will know of much that goes on, she will be joining you for these lessons."

Well, shit.

–

Our first day of study settled down on us with a familiarity born of sharing Potions classes with Snape.

With a slow feel of tension, like a rope going incredibly tight then snapping, the tightness in my back released with a resounding crack. "Aaahh... better."

"Sweet Merlin that's disgusting." With a slight sneer, I cast a Sonorous charm on my hand... then cracked my knuckles. Daphne shuddered, her eyes closing as she paled. "I hate you so much."

Yep, I mused, still got it. "How are your studies going," I asked, peering over my now-raised text.

Daphne shot me a glare, her blue eyes flashing. "Fine. Now shut up so I can continue."

I waited a score of minutes, before humming an annoyingly catchy tune. Without warning, my Slytherin companion whipped out her wand and slapped a silencing charm on me, ending my small serenade. While I was working to remove the charm, the dungeon door clanged open and an angry Mrs. Greengrass stormed in.

"One day," she noted, glaring from Daphne to me, then closing her eyes. "You two have been working on this oneday, and you have accomplished what? Infighting? Quarreling like children?" Pointing a finger at Daphne imperiously, the woman snapped, "Explain yourself!"

Daphne bowed her head and shook it slightly, indicating she had no explanation. Or, at least one that was sufficient. I realized this at about the same time I realized I lacked the same.

It didn't help that the suddenly imposing woman's gaze was on me now. "Mr. Potter? Care to explain?"

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but stopped. Closing my eyes a moment, I just shook my head slightly as well. "I have no good reason."

"Then, I suggest you both put away these childish notions, and concentrate on your studies. This is no game," crossing her arms, Mrs. Greengrass glared at the two of us. "The wards are not perfect. The longer Mr. Potter remains here – and no, daughter, that will not change – the more risk we are all in. Do you think that Dumbledore and his fools will let him go? Do you imagine that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will let his continued existence, and insult to his position and power, go unchallenged? The Ministry too has a stake in you, Mr. Potter."

Leaning back and sighing, I wondered at that. The others I understood. The Ministry... "Why? I thought they didn't believe me."

Mrs. Greengrass snorted. "Fudge is a fool, a buffoon, and an incompetent. You openly challenged his peaceful reign, one that has never had a threat like You-Know-Who shadowing it. He knows that such a thing would destroy him, and hopes beyond sense that you are lying. In discrediting you, he can assure his position."

"But I'm not lying."

"As I said," the woman noted, "he is a fool.

"Regardless, your task is not one for fools," her manner sharpened quickly, putting both of us on the defensive. "Your life, Mr. Potter, depends on this. And since we stand in the way of those who want you, ours does as well."

I sucked a breath through my teeth. She definitely had a way to put things into perspective. "I understand."

The woman narrowed her eyes at me, and I found myself envying the ghosts at Hogwarts and their ability to sink through the floor. If it meant ducking that glare, I was considering ghosthood at that moment. "I doubt that you truly do understand," she replied, but her tone wasn't accusing. "But I trust you will not make similar mistakes in the future." Without another word, she spun and exited the room, leaving behind the familiar clang of the door, and the throwing of locks.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to the still form of my companion. "So..."

Daphne swallowed nervously and nodded. Judging by the princess's paleness, I wager Mrs. Greengrass' bark isnotworse than her bite. "Yeah."

"Truce?" I punctuate the question by holding out my hand.

She takes it, still looking a little pale at our dressing-down by her mother. "Sure," the murmured, before shaking a little more sense into herself. Looking back up with her glacial eyes, she met my own. "But I still hate you."

I couldn't help laughing.

–

House elves, as always, are wondrous and very creepy things.

All I heard was a squeaky voice, and Daphne falling out of her chair with a muffled yelp, as I brought myself out of my meditation.

"...-ssy Nee, Missy Nee! The nasty Knot boy sends you a message!"

Alright. This one isn't Dobby – not enough hats – so it must belong to the Greengrasses. That it seemed intent on relaying its message by screaming in Daphne's ear, while being wrapped around her head makes me wonder if Dobby is actually on the saner end of the house elf spectrum. I am suddenly very glad that somewhere, Dobby is having a nice, happy, free-from-Malfoy life. Far away from me.

"Gally! Get off my face!"

Very glad.

"But Missy Nee! Gally has message!"

I try really hard not to think about the fact that the elf is practically vibrating, while it crows its greeting seemingly over Daphne's head. I know if I laugh, then at some point Dobby will invariably end up mimicking this facehumping horror, and I truly, truly do not want that.

Daphne seems to have had quite enough, as I come to that conclusion. "Gally! Wall! Now!" The tiny salute, don't ask me how this Gally elf could manage it while still vibrating and facehumping, was followed by the elf launching itself at a wall, colliding with it face first then falling down into a heap. "Godsforsaken elf is absolutely mad!"

I blink from one to the other, before losing what control I have and bursting out with laughter. "Oh, oh Merlin that was-"

My little tirade cuts off abruptly, as I'm now face to face with said mad elf. "Who is yous?"

Oh sweet Morgana on a bike, I'm going to die. "Er, I'm-"

Gally – at least I think that's what this one is named – looks me over rather critically. It's dressed in a toga-like wrap, a little dirty but not horribly so. Lived in, I think the phrase is. I scamper away slightly, putting some distance between myself and the crazed little... thing. "Yous is not nasty Knot boy."

That sound of a record skipping? Yeah, there it goes again. "Theodore Nott?" I look over to Daphne, to see her shudder once, a slight green tinge to her face. Frankly, I'm lost. "No, I'm not... Nott." Does being around house elves for extended periods of time make you insane? It would explain Dumbledore nicely. I'm beginning to wonder...

"Nasty Knot boy not be liking yous being with Missy Nee."

"Missy... Nee? Knee?" I do a fair impression of Hedwig, and blink at Daphne, before pointing her way. "Knee?"

"Nee," the elf corrects me, and I know this because it glowers and shakes somewhat like it has some dire need for a restroom. Merlin let it just be insane...

Daphne took this point to clear her throat. "Gally, you are forbidden to speak of my guest to anyone. Is that clear?"

"But, Missy Nee-!"

"Forbidden!"

The insane elf toed the ground and nodded slightly. "Yes, Missy Nee."

Relaxing and slumping slightly, the girl held out her hand. "I'll take the message now." Gally was more than happy to oblige, and I'm more than happy to dodge the little thing's stare and questions. For once I happily agree with my often less-than-pleasant company. Godsforsaken house elves.

Once the tiny terror was gone, we both relaxed, and what started as a chuckle – her at my scampering attempt at escape, me at her hair, which was doing a fair impression of my own at that point – quickly turned into us both laughing ourselves silly. "Sorry about Gally... she's somewhat of a nuisance we picked up some time ago."

"I can tell," I manage between laughs, settling back on my hands. The floor isn't comfortable, but I am, so I let it go. "What was all that about Nott though?"

At that, Daphne winced and I could imagine the tension she'd been showing was over this particular topic. Still, considering the boy and his company at Hogwarts, I'd rather know than not, considering I know precisely how 'loyal' and elf can be, when they choose not to be. "One of my father's contracts called in a debt to the Nott family. They paid with Gally... and I curse that moment at least twice a day."

I stifle a chuckle. "Really? I can't imagine why."

Her glare shut me up, but I was still grinning. "Well, Gally apparently was Nott's personal – Theo's I mean – elf, and I guess he had or has, something of a crush on me."

I shudder, recalling the unkempt, neanderthallish brute from Quidditch. "My condolences," the mocking tone isn't missed, and Daphne banishes a desk into my shin, reprimanding me smartly. Rubbing feeling back into it, I grimace, "So the little terror still has holdovers from dealing with dear Theo?"

"Apparently," she drawled, shaking her head. "Worse, I think at times the little pest is actually spying on me. We bonded her, so she has to follow direct orders, but those can be remarkably leaky assurances."

Don't I know it. "I'm glad I'm not the only one with a crazed elf," I mutter, finally pulling myself up to my desk again.

"You have an elf?" Daphne looked somewhat stricken, before shrugging it off. "Why did you live in that... condition, then?"

I really should have expected that, with how I set myself up. "No, it's not the usual way. At least I don't think so," I murmur, leaning back. Realizing the other half of my conversation was behind me, I flip the desk around. "My elf... well not my elfper sebut rather the one that likes me a lot, I got freed from Malfoy."

This got the dark-haired girl's attention, and she looked thoughtful a moment before snapping her fingers. "Oh, you mean Do-"

I was over our desks and had my hand over her mouth before she got out another syllable. "Shhh! Youwill notsummon The-Elf-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Wide blue eyes regarded me a moment before Daphne started laughing again, and I fell back, letting her breathe. "Sorry. So I guess that one's as bad as..." she made a vague gesture toward her flyaway hair and the letter, to which I nodded. "I see. Why haven't we seen him then? What about that house?"

"He's not bonded," I replied, warming somewhat to the conversation. "I freed him, but he more or less works for Dumbledore now, I think. As for the Dursleys, well." The pause drew out, and I considered what we were doing. Studying and training the mind arts, to protect ourselves and our secrets. I didn't trust Daphne, make no mistake. I didn't know her from Eve. That aside, quite a few people knew about my living conditions already, so why not Daphne? She at least I reasoned had cause not to use it against me, and if she did, there would be hell to pay.

Mrs. Greengrass was not one with which to fuck, it seemed.

I nodded, more to myself than my company, "The Dursleys weren't the kindest people. They hated magic, wizards, all of it. I was, for them, as embarrassing as I understand a squib would be to the Malfoys."

Daphne had the grace to wince at that. "But... you'reHarry Potter."

I smiled mirthlessly. "And to muggles, that means...?"

"Ah," she replied succinctly.

The truth is, I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the sense of camaraderie we had for a few moments. A feeling that she was an anchor in the craziness that was quickly taking over my summer. That in itself was something I was just beginning to come to grips with. I was isolated, cut off from anything familiar – except for Daphne. If I died, right then, no one would ever have to know. That was a feeling, sadly, I was familiar with. Looking back at the moment, just after, I was honestly shamed, a little horrified, and embarrassed. Still, hindsight is 20-20, and I've never shown a talent for strategic planning. Before I continued, I'd unbuttoned my shirt, and turned again, standing. "They hated magic," I declared to the painting, a sense of detachment falling over me. With a flip of a hem, and a reach behind my shoulder, I took hold of the bottom back of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. Seeker's agility is a handy thing.

Behind me, I heard the black-haired Ice Princess of Slytherin draw in a breath between her teeth. My back isn't the prettiest thing in the world, these days. The Horntail left its mark, one that never will fade, thanks to the nature of dragons. That scar arcs over my shoulder, from my collarbone to shoulder blade, and will forever be a dusky brown, reminiscent of the scales of the beast that I had bested. That though, is the only badge I wear with pride.

Crisscrossing my spine, from shoulder to hip, I have scars. Narrow, sometimes wide, all old, all faded, but still there. There are, I recall, three pairs of tracks, where the scars are deeper, thicker, and more ragged. Those weren't the result of belts, like the others, but the buckles and the teeth they had, to fasten them. Tears don't heal as cleanly.

Vernon got better, I don't know whether it was from fear, or just the evolution of the man, but he did. After I turned eleven, he never touched me like that again, but the threat was still there. He got louder, to compensate, and the demands around the house were worse.

If it wasn't for Dudley, a few of those times, before Vernon calmed down, could have been much worse. There's no love lost between my cousin and I. I don't think he opted into my uncle's place to save me, but I won't deny the look of remorse and apology, when Vernon wasn't watching. Dudley 'learned' to hate unnaturalness, and I got a more sympathetic torturer. He never taunted or hurt me again, unless it could get back to Vernon, and we had quiet moments here and there. He shoved bandaids I couldn't get onto my back, under my door a few times.

My eyes close, and the itch behind them annoys me."I won't miss them,"I hiss in Parsel, lapsing, from the force of my memories. In a voice more suited to human ears, I murmur, "They hated what I was."

"They... hated you?"

She's right behind me, and I can practically feel her hand hovering over my back.No. I don't want pity, it wasn't about pity. It's easier to understand this way, butgod fucking damnit I don't want pity!"No," I correct thickly, spinning around and backing up a few steps. "They hate magic. Hate wizards."

Daphne's face is a mask of horrified denial. What the fuck was I thinking... "But you said-"

"You think they left records? Dumbledorehid me," I bite out. "I was a ghost. I tried to find something about my parents in elementary school." She gave me such a blank look that I cursed. "Muggle school. When you're small. I looked up my records one day when the principal wasn't there. I got caught of course, but there wasn't anything there. Just an admittance form. I had no past. I couldn't."

My companion just tracked me with her eyes, as I buttoned my shirt back up, and took my seat again. I ran a nervous hand over the cover toMind Your Mind: An introduction to the mental arts. "You don't get it." I sighed, letting my forehead rest on the thick tome. "Right. Imagine you have no records. Nothing. No Hogwarts files, nothing in the Ministry. You, and your relatives, and that's it.

"Now, remember what I told you. What you saw. They hated magic. They didn't hate me."

"But... your back-"

I hissed out a breath and shut my eyes tight. I don't want to talk about this any more. "I'm still alive."

The silence that followed said enough. She got the point.

We spent a subdued afternoon discussing the text. I have a better grasp of it than she does, but thanks to all the mental noise that clutters my mind, I can't pull my focus down enough to even think of beginning. Instead, we sat aside the books and tempted fate, talking about Quidditch, growing up magical, how muggles are insane, and what we were going to try tomorrow, when the both of us weren't so wound up.

I'm just glad I didn't have to deal with The-Elf-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named along with the rest. Dobby's great and all, but I can only deal with so much insanity in one sitting.

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