Whispers in Her Hair
by Indygodusk
Chapter 7: Second Year - Dueling Club and Christmas Holidays
Harry's good mood carried over to the Dueling Club two evenings later. They'd broken the meetings up by age, so tonight was limited to only interested second years. Looking around at the other houses, Harry didn't see anyone who looked particularly challenging.
"Welcome to the Hogwarts Dueling Club!" Professor Lockhart strode into the room with a sunshine yellow half-cape tied over robes of sky blue. The careful fall of his golden hair looked like he'd spent even more time on it than usual, which was really saying something. "Led by me, your beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, the famously dashing Gilderoy Lockhart!" Pausing, he sent around a magically-enhanced smile that made most of the girls sigh in unison.
Idiots, Harry thought, rolling his eyes.
Lockhart gestured to the side with a flourish. "As well as someone else you all know—Potions Professor Severus Snape!" A scowling Professor Snape stalked into the room, black robes billowing like a storm cloud come to dampen Harry's good mood. He didn't look too happy to be there. Harry wished he'd just turn around and leave.
Everyone else in Slytherin seemed excited to see Snape. Probably because he always showed favoritism to Slytherins—unless their name happened to be Harry Potter. Harry's heart dropped to his knees as Snape's eyes picked him out from the crowd, pausing to raise a judgemental eyebrow as if asking what a loser like Harry was doing at a dueling club before looking him up and down, curling his lip, and turning away dismissively. Lockhart and Snape were the two professors Harry disliked the most. Dueling had sounded fun, but with those two in charge he was more likely to end up as the class clown and punching bag.
Harry's groan was echoed by the person on his left, who turned out to be Ron Weasley. He couldn't believe he was exchanging commiserating looks with Weasley of all people. Then again, Snape treated the Gryffindors almost as badly as he did Harry and everyone suffered under Lockhart.
Past Weasley, Harry saw Hermione nervously fingering her wand. He thought about going over and saying something to bolster her confidence, but he didn't know where to even start. He wished he could exchange a commiserating glance with her too, but despite his hopeful stare she didn't look over, keeping her eyes glued on Lockhart.
Stupid Lockhart.
Professors Lockhart and Snape started with an exhibition match, which just humiliated Lockhart when Snape disarmed him in seconds and sent him toppling off the dueling platform with his very first spell. Snape looked disgusted and pursed his lips, probably to hold back a biting comment.
Recovering quickly, Lockhart jumped to his feet and turned back to the students with his stage smile firmly in place. "I let him do that, of course. Now, look up everyone."
Glancing up, Harry saw a field of floating green sprigs with rounded leaves and pale blue berries bobbing overhead. They slowly descended from the ceiling to hover over the students' heads. Mistletoe! Stomach lurching up into his throat, he glanced over sharply towards Hermione, only to see her standing next to Greg under a sprig, looking up with a pale, sickly expression on her face.
"No!" Harry gasped, his voice lost beneath the pandemonium that filled the room.
"Ha ha! Now students, calm down!" Lockhart put his hands on his hips and leaned back. While they'd been distracted he'd retrieved his wand from Snape. "This is not Valentine's day after all, it is Dueling Club!" He struck a new pose, arm in the air. "The plants you see are not mistletoe, but instead its much crueler cousin, mistleFOE!" He lunged, fencing an invisible opponent for a moment before standing up again, one hand tucked behind his back.
"Your Professor Sprout suggested we use it after hearing about how I fought through an entire forest full of mistlefoe to rescue six orphans from a colony of deadly and treacherous acromantulas. She insisted on overseeing the setup personally and I couldn't bear to hurt her feelings by saying no." He brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and sent around a knowing, close-mouthed smile. The girls sighed loudly again.
"Now, the plants will pelt you with berries until you find someone to duel. They won't stop attacking until you are fighting someone else. Your task is to disarm your opponent with the new spell I just demonstrated with Professor Snape and then switch to a new opponent. The pressure of the situation should help you learn the disarming spell quickly. Good luck!" He strutted to the windows and twirled around, his yellow and blue robes reflecting like a mirror in the dark glass. "Professor Snape, if you'd like to do the honors."
Lips pursing, Snape whisked his wand through the air and spoke a single word, sending up a cone of bright light that exploded into a glitter shower that released the stasis spell on the plants.
Within seconds the room had filled with the zip and splatter of shooting berries, which stung when they hit you on the arm and arse and made the floor slippery.
Even with the distractions, Harry and his fellow Vipers dominated in every duel (having been taught the disarming spell weeks ago by Valeria), so much so that Theo couldn't hide his jealousy nor Weasley his frustration. Lockhart just stood and admired his own reflection in the dark window while everyone dueled, not even noticing the Slytherins decimating the competition.
Hermione was doing alright from what Harry could tell until she went up against Millicent and started celebrating too early at making Millicent drop her wand, only to find herself charged at and taken down by a classic Millicent headlock seconds later. Nowhere in the rules had Lockhart stipulated magical attacks only (as done in official dueling matches according to Pansy). It had been careless. Lucky for Millicent, though.
Wincing in sympathy as Hermione's face went bright red, Harry almost got hit by a slug vomiting curse cast by Weasley, barely dodging the streak of magic in time. Instead, the jinx overshot him and hit a Ravenclaw girl standing next to Snape, making her spew slugs at Snape's feet. Harry was only sorry that the girl hadn't aimed a little higher and actually hit Snape straight on. The Professor jumped back, face screwed up in disgust, and tripped on someone's dropped wand before skidding on a squashed mistlefoe berry, windmilling his arms before barely catching himself against the wall, his dark hair covering his downturned face and giving him the appearance of a dirty mop. Before he could straighten, a barrage of berries splattered against his head and neck, sticking in his hair and dangling like troll snot.
Snickering, Harry looked back at Weasley, whose lips were trembling violently with suppressed glee. Meeting each other's eyes, they both broke down laughing, for a moment in complete charity with each other. Snape tossed back his hair with a ferocious scowl and took a step away from the wall, only to be pelted by more berries, which slid down his face leaving behind red welts and blue stripes. Snape looked like he'd stopped breathing with rage, his face going red as he stomped his feet, beat his hands in the air, and turned in a circle like a toddler.
"L—Look!" Harry's belly hurt from laughing so hard. Wheezing, Weasley put a hand on Harry's shoulder to keep himself from falling over. Harry braced him, throwing an arm over Weasley's shoulder as his eyes teared up with laughter at Snape's temper tantrum.
"Finite incantatem!" Snape shouted with a snarl, pointing his wand at the ceiling and making the mistlefoe and shooting berries ripple in place before disappearing, though the berries splattered all over the students, floors, and walls remained behind.
Winded and cheeks hurting from smiling so widely, Harry looked over at Weasley and realized that they were draped across each other like—like they were friends or something. Eyes widening, Weasley's smile faltered as he noticed the same thing. Laughter cutting off, they jumped apart and looked away uncomfortably, loudly clearing their throats and tugging straight their robes as they remembered that they didn't actually like each other, that they actually disliked each other quite a lot. It was weird.
Harry wished that that had been the only weird thing to happen that night. Instead, he discovered that talking to snakes—known as Parseltongue—was not a normal wizarding gift and was in fact associated with the darkest of wizards and witches. Stupid Snape for suggesting the Snake Summoning Charm to Draco and stupid Draco for casting it at Harry. How was Harry to know that his conversation with the snake sounded like hissing to everyone else? How was he to know it would make everyone freak out? He had only been trying to save that stupid Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, who'd run off as if Harry had set the snake on him on purpose instead of telling it to leave him alone.
"Finch-Fletchley is a mudblood. Mudbloods are all idiots," Theo opined from his bed where he flipped through a magazine while Harry paced their room later that night and ranted to anyone who'd listen.
"Shut up, Theo," Harry and Blaise said in unison, then smirked at each other and bumped fists in passing.
Huffing, Theo shut his bed curtains with a snap.
Thank goodness Blaise had returned to normal. Right after finding out Harry spoke Parseltongue, he'd had gotten a little spooked and shrunk back from Harry, acting skittish as if Harry was about to attack him or suddenly demand Blaise pledge himself to the Dark side and sabotage Blaise's plan of getting through all seven years of school with his family's grey and neutral reputation intact.
Although Blaise had been the one to explain Parseltongue's bad reputation, Draco had been happy to expand upon it with gruesome historical details of mass-murdering, Muggle-hating, Parseltongue-speaking Dark Lords of the past. Uneasy, Harry had listened to Draco listing the Dark Lords' most loathsome actions and fearsome snake pets, which included armies of small but deadly elemental adders and rare and terrifying giant snakes like bobbing fangfaces, basilisks, and blue titanoboas, the mere threat of which had made powerful wizards of the past surrender and beg for the quick death of a Killing Curse. Harry was pretty sure that holding a conversation with any of those snakes would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. Listening to Draco was giving him the creeps.
"Are you sure those are even real snakes?" Blaise interrupted skeptically, tossing his dirty socks onto the floor and kneeling down next to his trunk to find some clean ones. "I've never even heard of any of those but the elemental adder. What does a blue titanoboa even look like?"
Draco crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip, obviously annoyed at being questioned. "A big blue snake, obviously, sort of like a boa, but bigger." When he lifted his chin and forced himself to give a thin-lipped smile—a sign he didn't have more information but didn't want to admit it—Harry's eyes narrowed, doubt creeping into his mind for the first time.
"And the basilisk and fangface?" Blaise didn't bother raising his head from his trunk, putting his head and shoulders inside as he continued his search, making his voice muffled. "Are they big black snakes? Brown? Or blue too?" He popped out of the trunk with a black and navy sock in either hand. "Oh no, how scary," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes at Draco. "You and your stupid Dark Lord stories. Do you really expect us to believe in something with a stupid name like bobbing fangface? This is our cozy dungeon bedroom, not some flickering campfire in the middle of the Forbidden Forest."
Blaise turned on his knees. "Seriously Harry, don't you know that you're the only one who falls for his tall tales anymore? Stop letting him scare you. It's embarrassing."
"I wasn't scared," Harry lied, looking away and wiping a hand across his nose.
"Well, at least my socks match, Zabini," Draco snapped, reverting to surnames to show his displeasure at Blaise for spoiling his fun. Huffing, he flopped over in bed to face the opposite wall with a parting shot of, "And at least I'm not a Parseltongue like Potter, whom everyone now expects to go on a murder spree through the castle."
Scowling, Harry remembered why he was mad all over again. He returned to his pacing and grumbling, not caring that no one but Blaise and maybe Greg seemed to be listening to him anymore. Speaking to snakes didn't suddenly make him evil! He was the same as he'd always been. It was so stupid!
-oo0oo-
The following morning on entering the Great Hall for breakfast, the first student to see Harry screamed, broke down in tears, and ran out through the exit on the other side of the room. That set the tone for his day. Herbology was cancelled because of a blizzard and then Hagrid randomly strode into the hall with a dead rooster just as news arrived of both Justin Finch-Fletchley—the stupid Hufflepuff he'd saved from the snake the night before—and Nearly Headless Nick—Gryffindor's house ghost—being petrified. Even a gorgon couldn't petrify a ghost, so Harry had to admit that Dumbledore and Hagrid were right as he was sent back to square one when it came to figuring out the monster's identity.
When Harry moved around the castle, the other students whispered and stared more than ever. Even the teachers gave him uneasy and suspicious looks and started tailing him through the halls as if to make sure he didn't attack someone else. Crowded corridors suddenly became easy to walk through as students pressed back against the walls to let him pass. People were scared he'd petrify or kill them next.
Draco thought it was great and was eager to take advantage, but Harry hated it. He didn't want to be feared, he wanted to be loved—well, to be respected, at least, and hopefully known and trusted. The whole thing was sizzling dragon dung is what it was.
The school emptying for the Christmas holidays couldn't happen soon enough.
On the morning that the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to take most of the students home, Harry decided to skip breakfast and avoid the chaos of the Great Hall and all the people gushing about seeing their families again. Instead, he took several random turns in the dungeon corridors, letting himself get lost as he stumbled upon strange old statues and paintings that looked like they'd been tossed down here and forgotten centuries ago. Walking past a painting of a candelabra decorated with the hanging bodies of green ducks and red cardinals (perhaps a Christmas decoration in a hunting lodge?) he turned a corner and came face to face with a floor to ceiling window looking out over an underwater forest filled with odd plants, darting fish, and menacing crustaceans.
Silhouetted against the window stood a small dark-skinned girl with a shaved head and baggy robes. A ropey scar, pale with age, curved up her neck and behind her ear. She was hunched over, arms wrapped around her sides and head drooping as if it was too heavy to keep up, staring blankly out at the darkest depths of the lake with such a hopeless look upon her face that Harry felt moved to say something. "Can I help?"
Before his first word ended the girl's spine snapped straight and her expression blanked, making her seem suddenly older and much more menacing. She shifted to face him with her wand pointed straight at his chest before cutting it down just as suddenly. He hadn't even seen her drawing the wand. "Oh, hello Harry. Did you need something?"
Harry blinked, shocked to realize that the girl he'd stumbled upon was Valeria. She'd cut her several inches of curls down to a bit of brown shadow and put on overly large formal-looking robes in black with a high collar and draping sleeves so only her face and fingertips showed. He wondered if he'd only imagined the bleak look upon her face. His question seemed foolish now.
Valeria stared at him, waiting for an answer. "No… I was just exploring the dungeons to avoid all of the people getting ready for the train." He searched her face, but there was no weakness left, just cool confidence. Maybe he had imagined it. "Are you looking forward to going home?"
"Most people are." She looked back out at the underwater forest. He would've taken her statement at face value if he hadn't seen her minute flinch before she'd turned away.
"Do you have anything fun planned with your family?" It was the first time he'd seen a chink in her armor outside of when Flint had blindsided her by asking her out. He was a Slytherin. He couldn't help but press to see what else he could learn. He was also her friend. If he knew what was wrong maybe he'd also know how to help.
"They always have fun. Me…" she trailed off and tugged at the cuffs of her robes, making sure they covered her to the first knuckle. Something about the action made him uneasy.
"You could ask to stay," Harry suggested carefully.
"No, I really couldn't. I should go. I can't afford the consequences of missing the train." A haunted look flickered through her eyes, as if she was remembering something bad before she ruthlessly suppressed it. Lifting her chin, she turned to go.
It felt wrong. Valeria shouldn't be scared of anything. She was the scary one, wasn't she...?
Like being hit unexpectedly by a Bludger, Harry put the obvious clues together and realized that she was terrified of her family. He recognized that look now, the look of someone bracing themselves for pain while they were at home. It had to be really bad for someone like Valeria to be scared. It was probably even worse than what he had to put up with. Everything was more in the wizarding world, both more wonderful and more evil. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to help her. He couldn't even help himself when it came to having a horrible family. His chest hurt and the inside of his nose stung.
Shoving his hands into his robe pockets as Valeria walked away at a steady pace, her mask of indifference firmly in place, he felt something round knock against his fingers, a piece of fruit he'd stuffed in there yesterday after the last one had gone bad. "Wait, Valeria!" Rushing forward, Harry pulled it out of his pocket and thrust it into her hands. "Merry Christmas and thanks. Thanks for everything. You've been really great to me this year so… thanks." He blew out his breath, frustrated that he couldn't think of anything better to say or do.
"An orange?" She looked down at it, rolling it from hand to hand as the corner of her mouth slowly quirked up in surprise and what he really hoped was pleasure and not derision. "Are you trying to be Nicholas of Myra and gift me a golden ball to dower me and save me from slavery like in the story of the three sisters? If so, you should've put the orange in my stocking."
"I—I'm sorry I didn't think ahead to get you something better. You deserve to be happy at Christmas and I just wanted to cheer you up." Harry winced and looked down, feeling stupid and powerless. Bitterness coated his tongue.
From the corner of his eye he saw Valeria's hand come up and hesitate in mid-air for a moment before darting out and touching his shoulder more gently than snow settling onto a pine. When she spoke, it was just as soft and delicate. "And so you did. Thank you, Harry." Unwilling to say anything for fear of breaking the mood, Harry just met her eyes and smiled.
Cradling the orange to her chest, a warm pop of color against the black of her robes and brown of her skin, she squared her shoulders and left for the train. Harry spent a few more minutes watching fish dart through the floating plants before leaving to continue his dungeon explorations.
-oo0oo-
It came out at the very last minute that Draco was also staying at school over the holidays because his parents were going on a trip without him. He took great pains to make sure that everyone understood that it wasn't a vacation but work (though Harry had been led to believe that Draco's parents technically didn't work because they were obscenely rich) and that his parents felt absolutely devastated to not see him but that it just couldn't be helped. Even though no one asked any questions, Draco kept flourishing the supposedly tear-stained letter from his mother as proof.
Once the majority of students had disappeared on the train back to London, Draco abruptly stopped talking about it. Instead, he tried to cheer himself and Harry up with broom flights, snowball fights, games of wizard chess, breaking into the trunks of people too stupid to secure them well, and (after a lot of arm-twisting) having Harry unexpectedly jump out at students they really didn't like to send them fleeing in terror. That last one was only funny the first couple of times. After that it was just sad. They also spent some time each day searching the back stacks of the library for clues as to what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets could be, but they didn't have any luck, though Draco did find a picture of a forty-foot long titanoboa to show to Blaise as proof (though it looked more brownish-purple than blue in the illustration).
On Christmas Eve, Harry won a set of pristine bookmarks illustrated with the four founders off of a Ravenclaw too bored to be scared of him during a game of exploding snap. Godric Gryffindor had been drawn as a brawny man with curly brown hair in scarlet and gold robes swishing a sword in one hand and a wand in the other. The curls made Harry miss Hermione fiercely.
Salazar Slytherin's card arched one dark brow at Harry and shook his head in disappointment, fingering the emerald shaped S on his locket as if asking why Harry was still being such a dunderhead about apologizing. Harry didn't have a good answer for him, though Helga Hufflepuff's encouraging smile as she gestured with her silver cup got him up on his feet and striding out of the room to do something about it, even though he didn't know what. The Eagle shaped diadem glittering on Rowena Ravenclaw's brow with its outspread wings decorated in jewels gave him an idea, so he turned and made for the Owlery.
Pulling a scrap of blank paper out of his robes, Harry folded the bookmarks inside and—before he could second guess himself—wrote Merry Christmas to Hermione Granger on the outside. Tying the paper shut with a red string he found hanging over a peg and then attaching it to Hedwig's leg, he sent the present winging away. Hedwig's flapping white wings quickly disappeared from sight as she soared between white snow and the winter pale sky.
Grinning, Harry felt like he'd done something right for the first time in months!
It was only as he turned to go back to the castle that he realized that he'd forgotten to write from Harry Potter or I'm sorry or Let's be friends again. In fact, there was no way for her to know that it was from him at all. She'd probably think it was from one of the Gryffindors, maybe even from Weasley. Dropping to his heels, Harry put his head in his hands and groaned. The sharp face of Salazar Slytherin popped into his mind, wondering how such a dunderhead ever got sorted into his house.
After a few minutes the cold became stronger than his need to brood and sent him plodding back into the warmth of the castle. It could be worse, he told himself. He'd get another chance after the holidays. Besides, at least he was still at Hogwarts. He could've been spending the Christmas holidays with the Dursleys like when he'd been ten, locked in with nothing to mark the occasion after he'd finished cooking their dinner but the smells drifting beneath the gap of the door, subsisting on water from the bathroom faucet, the can of cold peas he'd been expected to make last for all three meals, and the few scraps of food scraped from their dirty plates before he did the dishes (usually only Aunt Petunia's miniscule portions since Dudley and Uncle Vernon always licked their plates clean).
Not that a person could starve in two weeks. Harry had made sure to find that out with his first school library visit as a child. It took three to five weeks before organ failure really set in and a person could potentially go up to two months before dying as long as they had water. Magic probably extended that even further. Yes, being at the Dursley's would've been worse.
After putting things into perspective, Harry found his mood taking an upswing, especially when he entered the Great Hall to hear festive music playing from a Wizarding Wireless set on one of the tables and smelled the hot chocolate and apple cider in the air. Draco, with a gingerbread wizard hanging out of his mouth, caught Harry's eye and imperiously waved him over to the table where he was holding court with the other Slytherins staying for the holidays. All in all, a lot of things could've been worse.
-oo0oo-
On Christmas morning Harry woke up and—realizing he didn't have any responsibilities—promptly went back to his dream of playing Quidditch with his mum and dad while flying around on giant forks and chasing plates of treacle tart. When he finally got up an hour later, Draco had already disappeared to floo call his parents so Harry had the dorm room to himself. A huge box of treats from Draco's mum sat abandoned on Draco's bed along with a pile of smaller boxes. The treat box was four times the size of the ones Draco's mum usually mailed him every month.
Harry really hoped the floo call went well because Draco hadn't been good at hiding his hurt and shock at being unexpectedly abandoned at school over the holidays. Despite how much Draco constantly talked about his absolutely amazing father, Harry could tell that he was starting to become disillusioned about his father being the perfect, well, father. Every time the man fell short or wrote him something that turned out to be questionable, a bit of Draco's foundation shattered, leading to Draco disappearing for a while only to return with red-rimmed eyes and brittle excuses. Harry felt angry at Mr. Malfoy and bad for Draco, but didn't know what to say. Draco would get mean if he even suspected that Harry was pitying him. Hopefully Draco's parents would say the right thing to jolly Draco into a better mood and soothe his feelings.
When he got back from using the loo and went to his trunk to get clean clothes, Harry was happily surprised to find a small stack of presents waiting for him. He would've gotten up earlier if he'd known there'd be this many presents! He'd ordered all of his friends treats from an owl-order catalogue left in the common room, but hadn't taken out enough money before school started to get anything really special for anyone. He hoped to do better next year.
There were bits and bobs and treats from his friends and even a mystery gift without a tag, though the wrapping job looked much more neat and precise than the wrapping on the invisibility cloak he'd received last year, making him think it wasn't another gift from the Headmaster. Hagrid sent him rock-hard cookies and an inkwell decorated with dragon scales shed by Norbert. Valeria sent him a book titled Plants That Probably Won't Kill You and Probably Will Kill Them. The book cover had a picture of an orange fruit shaped like a teardrop and a wine glass full of a clump of slimy-looking red weeds. Just touching it made his fingers tingle unpleasantly, so Harry slipped it into his trunk using the edge of his scarf and decided to figure out how to read it comfortably later.
Harry wanted to go slow and savor the opening of each present, but he was just a twelve-year-old boy after all. He ripped the ribbons and paper off with excited abandon, flinging them to the side to be cleaned up later. He received toys from Zonko's and treats from Honeydukes from his friends and students wishing to curry favor with him in Slytherin. Blaise gave him a book about famous Seekers and a hand-made gift certificate "Good for One Free Non-Sucky Haircut" decorated with a large picture of a boy with glasses in a Father Christmas hat snogging a medusa in a red and gold Gryffindor scarf. Cheeks blazing with heat, Harry crumpled up the card and tossed it into the fire, making sure the picture burned all the way through so Draco wouldn't see any hints of it on returning and say something obnoxious. The toothpick from the Dursleys barely fazed him after that. He just chucked it into the fire to join the card.
He'd intended to save the mystery present for last, but he needed a distraction from plotting how to KILL BLAISE when he saw him again so he grabbed it next. There wasn't a name or card inside either, just a package of Toothflossing Stringmints and a small plain tin barely bigger than the palm of his hand. There was nothing remarkable about the tin except the product name written in plain script on the lid: Your Friend in Need. Most people probably wouldn't spare it a second glance. It was certainly much less flamboyant than the other toys currently scattered around him. Curious, hoping for a treat instead of a trick, Harry took a deep breath and opened the lid.
Inside, he found dozens upon dozens of miniature bags about the size of his thumbnail. Holding one up in front of his face, he saw that it was full of sprinkles in various shades of brown. He was still confused. A paper inside the lid of the tin explained that what he'd thought were sprinkles were actually little nuts, dried fruit, and chocolates. The waterproof bags of trail mix had each been shrunk down, packed into a tin magically deeper on the inside than the outside, and preserved with stasis charms to last ten years before going rancid for those adventurous wizards and witches who preferred not to stop for lunch while exploring mountains, jungles, caves, and haunted tombs.
It was brilliant!
Biting his lip hard to push past the hot feeling radiating through his chest, Harry looked around his empty room in vain for the identity of the gifter. It would be a lot easier to carry this around than the bulky fruit and hard rolls he usually stashed in his trunk, school bag, and robe pockets. It was an embarrassing habit, but one he hadn't been able to break. He'd done his best to hide the hoarding, but someone had obviously noticed. That thought made his belly feel tight so he decided not to worry about it. It was a good gift. That's all that mattered. Besides, the fruit hidden under his bed was starting to rot, though not so much that it'd make him more than a little sick, but with these he could probably throw those out without too much worry.
Harry tore open the tiny corner of one bag, which made it enlarge to the size of his outstretched hand. He spilled out nuts, fruit, and colorful chocolates into his hand and popped them into his mouth. They tasted good—salty-sweet and filling. Folding down the top of the bag to save the rest for later, he put it on his bedside table and happily took out a handful of the little trail mix bags, tucking them into all of his things and replacing a little more than half of his old food stashes. He wasn't quite prepared to get rid of all of them just yet.
Even after putting a bag in every item he owned, the box was still more than three quarters full. He'd be able to stash them all over the Dursley's house this summer for emergencies. It was a good feeling. Stuffing the leg of a chocolate frog from Greg into his mouth, Harry returned to opening the rest of his presents and then left to go find Draco and attend the group festivities taking place in the Great Hall. By the time he went to bed that night, his belly was overly-full and his cheeks hurt from all the smiling.
The day after Christmas, Flint sent both Harry and Draco letters reminding them of the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw in exactly one month and laying out a list of training exercises to complete before Slytherin's next official practice. They would've practiced anyway, but Valeria sent a scary missive following up on Flint's—warning them against getting fat and lazy on Christmas pudding. It made them both turn down seconds on dessert after reading it, just in case she had spies in the castle reporting back to her. Besides, Harry was determined to redeem himself and catch the Snitch in the next game. The two friends spent the final week of break on their brooms as often as the weather would allow and the rest of the time playing games and looking up gruesome monsters and famous wizards in the library.
All-in-all, it was one of the best Christmas holidays Harry could remember.
-oo0oo-
Most everyone returned to school after the holiday in good spirits except for when they saw Harry. Unfortunately, the rumors about him being the Heir of Slytherin hadn't died out. In fact, they seemed to be gaining strength as the days ticked by. People watched him with fear, resentment, and—in the case of a few awful people who were vocal about their disdain for Muggles—fascination. It was creepy and uncomfortable. He didn't like it.
Seventh-year William Manic—who was on probation after being discovered torturing the animals in Care of Magical Creatures and who'd always been open about thinking it a shame that Harry hadn't died instead of the Dark Lord—greeted him with smiles now and tried to invite Harry to hang out with him and his friends, offering with a wink to help him with any of his "special projects." Harry had started hiding behind the bulk of Greg and Vincent when he saw Manic coming.
Halle Harper—who he'd helped with her first-year defense homework a time or two—seemed scared of him now. The one time he tried to say hello after Christmas the blood had drained from her face and she'd frozen as if already petrified. When Harry had gotten frustrated and hurt, turning to leave, she'd whispered brokenly after him, "I'm not muggleborn. I promise I'm not. I'm half-blood." Then she'd run away and avoided him ever since. It was disheartening.
Tyrant, despot, and dictator were all titles Harry had no interest in, especially when it was all based on rumors and lies. A house of cards wouldn't stay standing for long. Draco kept trying to convince Harry to use his reputation to consolidate his power over the school and make himself some kind of king, but Draco still didn't understand that Harry didn't want power that came primarily from fear. Harry needed—wanted—a stronger foundation, one based on respect and admiration.
Valeria was much more subdued than usual upon her return, not even drawing her wand on him when he startled her, just freezing in place and taking a quivery little gulp before blinking and giving him a weak glare, walking away slowly. In fact, for the first week back she moved as if she was older than Dumbledore and her joints wouldn't stop aching. He didn't like it. Not at all.
However, Harry didn't think asking about it would help. She probably wouldn't tell him the truth about what was wrong and even if she did, there wasn't anything he could actually do about it. The only thing he could do was be supportive. He dragged his friends into sitting by her at meals whenever Flint was busy politicking elsewhere at the table so she wouldn't be alone with her memories and made sure no one gave her any guff during Viper school, snapping at Draco and Pansy when they started to drag their feet or get pouty. Whenever Valeria's eyes got too unfocused with dark thoughts, Harry found an excuse to shove Flint in her direction. Luckily it seemed to work, as she slowly returned to her normal self as the days went on and regained her usual arrogance and deadpan sense of humor.
At least Hermione returned from the break looking better. She moved around the castle with renewed energy, wiggling in her chair with more excitement than ever when she knew an answer in class and throwing herself into making new friends. She started joining in again on casual weekend Quidditch games, though never ones where Harry was a player. He'd also noticed her attending several of the mixed house study groups she'd turned her nose up at before and hanging out with the Weasley twins outside of class.
In fact, Harry was pretty sure she'd helped the twins with the recent prank in the northeast courtyard that had gotten students from all four houses. A snowball fight had started and just when it hit its peak the snow had turned into custard, leaving everyone coated in gobs of the stuff and smelling strongly of vanilla, with the pristine twins leaning out of an open window and cackling down at everyone, especially when a stampede of animals had descended seconds later. Ron Weasley's ugly little rat had been in heaven along with half the pets in the castle, who'd tried to lick everyone to death to get at the custard on their robes. It would be a few days before Harry could look Millicent's cat in the eye after the way it had tried to assault him. He'd cracked the edge of his glasses trying to scramble away from it all. Blaise—once he'd stopped flinging around custard and laughing—claimed that he'd seen Hermione throw the snowballs that started the fight before she'd ducked through a doorway back into the castle.
Although all of that was distracting, Harry kept most of his focus on preparing for the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game set for the second weekend in January. In their final practice before the game, Flint had pulled Harry and Draco aside and taught them a better bum sticking charm and several weather-repelling and warming charms Harry hadn't even known existed, despite specifically asking Miles and Terence for help before the last game.
"Why didn't you teach us these before?" Draco asked testily, kneeling down and shoving his arm into a snowbank to test his charmwork. "We were miserable up there."
"Slytherin tradition," Flint said. "A player's first game should be hard. Shows the rest of the team what you're made of. Weather charms can only do so much in a storm like that and now you won't expect to always be comfortable. Now you know you can play without 'em. 'Sides, it's a common trick to cancel another player's weather and warming charms. Throws them off their game. Illegal, but dead useful as long as you know how to hide your wand. I saw one of the Weasley twins doing it to Harry while the other was distracting him."
"What?" Harry felt his eyes go wide as he searched his memories. Had some of the devastation caused by their words been confused with failing charm work? Had the burning sensation beneath his skin that he'd blamed on internal hurt actually been external frostbite?
"Sodding Weasleys," Draco muttered.
"Not that Harry had strong weather charms on to begin with, but it wouldn't have mattered considering he'd already let the beaters inside his mental defenses, a mistake I'm sure he won't be repeating." Flint gave Harry a hard look that had Harry swallowing hard and lifting his chin.
Draco stood up and shook the snow off his arm, checking how damp the fabric was and completely missing the by-play between Flint and Harry. "And the stronger sticking charm?"
"That one's for Harry so he doesn't fall off his broom again," Flint said laconically.
"I'm not going to fall off my broom," Harry snapped, unable to help himself.
"Good. Don't." Flint cocked his head and smirked. "Unless it helps you catch the Snitch. Better to know the charm and not use it than need it and not know it. I once saw a sticking charm cast on an opposing Seeker's hands just as he went into a dive—kept him from catching the Snitch. Good trick." Flint taught them how to cancel the spells on themselves, then made them practice cancelling them off each other with wand movements that could be hidden from a referee. Only when he was satisfied that they wouldn't drop their wands midair or get caught casting and cost the team a penalty did he dismiss them to go and shower.
-oo0oo-
Game day arrived with clear skies and crisp air, a marked contrast to Harry's last game. Blaise had insisted on giving Harry the promised "Non-Sucky Haircut" the night before so he'd look handsome during the game. Harry didn't really care how he looked, but if a little less hair made him a little more aerodynamic, he'd take it.
At breakfast he felt his stomach revolting at the thought of eating anything. He sat huddled over a glass of water, staring at it sightlessly. Today's game had to go better than the last one. It just had to.
His glasses were still cracked from the courtyard snowball fight and sat slightly crooked on his face. Yesterday he'd been tripped by Draco into falling on top of Millicent's snow-centaur and ended up in a headlock when he hadn't apologized fast enough. Harry sympathized with her upset but he was done with the weekly headlocks. From now on he was going to be faster on his feet. He was also calling her Millie starting tomorrow... after he caught the Snitch.
Please let him catch the Snitch!
"Here. Eat." A plate was shoved in front of his face with two pieces of buttered toast and half a pink grapefruit. Harry looked up to see Valeria staring at him sternly. He swallowed.
"I don't know if I can," he said hollowly.
"Nerves are normal, but don't let them cripple you or make you weak. You need the energy to fly your best. You need focus." She picked up his knife, spun it over the backs of her fingers in a move that would probably leave him one-handed if he tried it, and neatly sliced his toast into triangles. "Besides," putting down the knife, she pursed her lips and examined his pitiful posture before begrudgingly taking a spoonful of sparkling sugar and sprinkling it over his grapefruit, making sure to give him an even coating from left to right. "I know you'll catch the Snitch this time." Her face showed nothing but cool confidence in his success. That and her care in trying to feed him made him feel a little bit better. "Now eat something, Harry," she said sweetly before her eyes narrowed and went hard. "I won't ask again." A-a-nd they were back to scary threats. Somehow... that made him feel better too.
Picking up a triangle of toast, Harry started eating.
It wasn't long before Harry followed Draco down the Quidditch corridor. All four teams had private locker rooms with further divisions for boys and girls. Portraits of old winning teams guarded each door and required a password to go in.
Slytherin's locker room was guarded by a painting of a team from Medieval times wearing knee-length robes belted at the waist, itchy-looking wool hose, and ankle-high shoes that tapered to long thin points. Since there were multiple people in each portrait, part of the security was giving the right password to the right player. The combination changed every month, or at least it did in Slytherin. Right now the Keeper had to be told "Biting jinx" before he'd nod to the rest of the team to let you in.
Breaking into the opposing team's locker room and pranking it was a proud and honored tradition at Hogwarts, especially because it was fiendishly difficult to do. Even innocently choosing the wrong player to give the password could get you pelted with Bludgers and broken winged Snitches, not to mention sweaty socks and the magical equivalent of muggle jockstraps and sports bras—some so old that they'd crusted over and started growing shrieking stalagmites—while the players in the portraits hurled old-fashioned curses at you like "Churl," "Wand-Wiper," "Doxy," and "Mandrake Mymmergin" until you retreated in disgrace. Part of the hazing new players like Harry had to endure was being told the wrong password and learning that fact out for yourself.
As they got closer to the Slytherin Quidditch portrait Harry's feet slowed. He adjusted his slightly crooked glasses for the hundredth time and tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth to keep his breakfast from coming back up again.
"Harry!" called a loud female voice demandingly, a voice he hadn't heard say his name in months.
Wondering if he was just imagining it, Harry swung around only to see Hermione marching straight for him. Her lips were pressed so tightly together that the corners of her mouth looked white. Her bushy curls bounced and slithered over her shoulders with each stride. She had her wand clutched in her hand and looked like she was going to war.
Harry gulped and stepped back. He thought about pulling his wand to defend himself. Didn't. Couldn't. His back hit the corridor wall as Hermione's wand jabbed straight for his face. Harry squinted his eyes shut and braced himself for pain. This would hurt, but it was still Hermione. He trusted her not to do anything too permanent to him. At least... he hoped not.
"Oculus reparo," Hermione said crisply.
Eyes springing open, Harry felt the glasses straighten on his face and saw the crack in the corner of the glass disappear. Even the smudges from touching them so much this morning were gone. He kept forgetting that he could use magic to fix his glasses now and that their being broken wasn't just another thing to endure.
Hermione was startlingly close, standing toe to toe with him as she stared intently at his face. Or was she staring at his hair? Did she like his new haircut? He hoped so. He'd forgotten that her lips were the same shade as the pink grapefruit he'd eaten that morning and that her front teeth were just a little big for her mouth. She had a mole in front of her left ear and her eyes weren't completely brown but circled by a dark gray ring. And her hair, of course. Up close it defied description. Harry couldn't catch his breath. The tips of his fingers, tongue, and toes tingled.
"Don't fall off today. I'm not there to catch you," she said fiercely.
Harry blinked at her dazedly. "Okay, um, thanks. Yeah. No."
She nodded abruptly and turned on her heel to leave.
Panic seized Harry's chest. "Wait!"
Hermione looked over her shoulder, caution in her eyes.
"Will you… do you…." Harry's mouth worked but nothing coherent was coming out. His mind spun frantically but kept ricocheting off blank, empty walls. He cast his eyes roundabout desperately. Down the hall, the silver snake in the Slytherin crest on Draco's robes caught his eye. The snake and Draco merged together in his mind like ingredients in a potion and Harry blurted out the result, "Do you know if bobbing fangfaces and basilisks real?"
The broomstick flyer in the portrait behind Hermione, who'd been leaning forward eagerly up to that point, slapped her hand over her face and sat back, shaking her head at him. Harry almost followed suit and slapped himself. What was that?!
"I—I don't know? I'd have to research that in the library…." Her brow crinkled as she stared at him.
"Oh..." Harry said in a high pitched tone. Sweat dripped down his face. He wished the ground would open at his feet and swallow him. He felt like he was going to faint. Maybe he had fainted so he wasn't awake and witnessing himself making a complete idiot of himself in the first conversation he'd had with Hermione in months. He needed to say something clever or—or better yet, something kind. Or an apology! Yes, definitely that!
When he tried, nothing came out of his mouth but a squeak followed by a slow wheeze.
"Right." Turning away, Hermione left, her pace picking up speed with every step until she practically flew around the corner and disappeared.
Harry slid down the wall and curled up into a ball, hitting himself over the head with his clenched fists and moaning in despair.
"What was that?" Draco's polished brown flying boots nudged Harry in the leg. "You were about as graceless as a Giant Squid flying on a broom. I've seen Weasley speak more eloquently with a mouth full of mashed potatoes."
"Stop, I know, sto-op," Harry groaned into his hands, rocking back and forth in mortification.
"Whatever, we don't have time for this. We need to get ready to play." Grabbing Harry's arm, Draco hauled him to his feet.
"What's up with Harry?" Terence asked as he rounded the corner, his pace quickening. "Did he throw up from nerves?"
"No, Granger walked up to him and fixed his glasses and all Harry could get out were grunts and moans," Draco said with disdain.
Terence grabbed Harry's other arm and the two dragged him over to the portrait door, giving the password to the Keeper and pulling him inside. "Did Granger want anything else?" Terence asked.
"I don't know…" Harry moaned.
"Well, at least she's talking to you again. Take heart." Slapping Harry on the back, Terence left him to go and get dressed.
"I don't know why anyone would actually want that swot talking at them," Draco began, making Harry rip his arm free and turn with bared teeth and a glare, "but obviously you do, so be happy about it. Get your head out of your arse and back into the game. Go out and catch that Snitch. Impress her. Impress the whole school. Right?"
Blinking at him, Harry found himself nodding. He felt hope blossoming in his chest and excitement starting to thrum through his veins. "Right. You're right."
"Of course I'm right. I'm a Malfoy." Smirking, Draco slapped him on the back before unlocking his locker and starting to change.
Biting his lip to contain the huge grin trying to take over his face, Harry turned to his own locker and got changed too, making sure to cast all of the new sports charms he'd learned along with the classics shared by Hermione. All except for the super strong sticking charm that is. It was too restrictive on his movements and with Dobby's promise to stop "helping" he should be fine. Wait, Dobby had promised to stop, hadn't he...?
Crossing his fingers, Harry joined the rest of the team and flew out onto the pitch.
When he caught the Snitch a bare twenty-five minutes into the game, Harry couldn't help but glance over at the sea of red and gold in the stands, catching sight of a bouncing head full of brown curls before he lost sight of her as he was surrounded by the celebrating members of his team. When he got a moment to glance back up she was gone, but that was okay.
Harry knew that it was his turn to make a move to repair their friendship. After all of this time and her courageously making the first overture, it had to be a big one. He would make sure it was a big one. She deserved nothing less and for the first time in months, he had hope that she'd accept it.
Beaming wide enough to split his face, Harry joined his house in celebrating. Today he felt like a winner.
AN: Thank you to my lovely and long-suffering Betas — Iforgottocall and dizzysappedweak!
Harry's big apology will be in chapter 9. I tried to fit it into 8, but the chapter got way too long. I'm sorry it is taking so long, but thank you for your patience and devotion to this story. I made two early decisions in plotting that I didn't think through all of the way when it came to length. One, I decided to make Harry's angry words at Hermione parallel Snape's angry words at Lily; and two, I decided to keep to canon in having Hermione Petrified around the fourth Quidditch game of the season. I'm really happy with what I've been doing, but I hadn't realized I'd be exploring so many character relationships for Harry in this story or having him be as big of a procrastinator as he was in the Triwizard Tournament with figuring out things and not taking initiative to solve his own problems. Initially I thought they'd only be fighting for two or maybe three chapters. Now it has turned into five. Sorry! I'm still really excited for you to see Harry's multi-faceted apology and character growth though! Also a big conversation / confrontation between Harry and Snape. I also felt like Harry's unhappy procrastination in apologizing now will make him much more decisive and proactive in future years to avoid such feelings happening again and that it could explain the major changes I have planned in those events (where each year will be covered MUCH MORE QUICKLY I hope). I don't intend for there to be any more big arguments once they get through this one in 2nd year. The only thing will be them not realizing their intense friendship is actually romantic until maybe 6th year or so (because serious romance and life-long loving devotion in really young people is hard for me to take seriously and believe in considering the average mental maturity and hormonal changes occuring). But there will be intense devotion and blushing and hugs and maybe even hand-holding that is totally not romantic, not at all, of course not so why am I blushing so hard? And heart leaping out of his chest at seeing her in her dress for Yule Ball. And stuff. I also have two great scenes planned to tip our teens over into Clues-ville romance-wise. Finally, Hermione is levelling up hard-core because of the Basilisk this year and will use that to help Harry escape from the Dursleys early next summer, leaving behind a little gift for the Dursleys in the process.
Anyway, Merry Christmas and thank you again for reading and letting me know how you are getting on. Cheers!
