KEYnote: I am not claiming this is canon Dumbledore, just the Dumbledore of this story. Don't at me about canon, my respect for it is very slim.
Chapter 4 - The Sketchbook
"How was DADA?" Luna asked as they walked into the woods together, a bucket of meat between them.
Thestrals were carrion animals, but Luna said there was a mare who had been pregnant with triplets last year. The mare and two of the fouls hadn't made it. They were hoping if they brought her extra food she might make it this time around.
Harry had gotten the buckets of raw from the kitchens as Luna's note had instructed. Dobby and the others had been thrilled to see him.
Winky, not so much.
"Uneventful," he said. "Hermione said all the same things, of course. I didn't. Thanks again for the disguise charm. I'm actually ahead on my homework."
"I'm purposely failing Umbridge's class as well," Luna said. "It's not worth it."
They crossed into the treeline and Luna took the Invisibility Cloak off of them, stepping away from him and helping him hold one of the buckets.
Once they were deeper into the forest, she whistle-screeched.
A single Thestral trotted out, prancing in place, its great black wings splayed behind him.
"We brought food," Luna said.
The Thestral approached sniffing first Luna, then the buckets, then Harry.
It snorted in Harry's face, then flapped backwards with a screech. It trotted ahead, periodically looking over its wings at them as it led them deeper into the forest to the larger herd.
Luna went right to the female who was laying down, stomach bulging with foals.
The rest of the herd got tense, but relaxed when first Luna and then Harry went to their knees in the leaves.
"She still has a few weeks until she's due," Luna said, stroking the mare's neck.
Harry opened the top of the first metal bucket.
He held out a hand to halt the others from rushing them.
He picked up a cool piece of meat and passed it to Luna who held out her hand to the Thestral, thumb in as if she were feeding a regular horse a carrot.
Harry began tossing slabs of meat to the others. When they finished the first bucket, a stallion head butted Harry from behind.
"Sit," Harry demanded.
The stallion snorted but folded gracefully to the ground, settling his wings at his sides.
Luna and Harry sat back to back as the light dimmed from the sky, doling out the rest of the meat more slowly, allowing each Thestral to come to them in turns so they would get to know them.
Luna had wooed them last year well enough that they had taken a handful of strange kids to London.
For the violence and strength these animals were capable of, they were extraordinarily gentle and as curious about Harry and Luna as Harry was of them.
"I'm still amazed you figured out how to do this on your own," Harry said.
"I want to be the next Newt Scamander," she said.
Harry smiled, "I don't doubt that you will be."
She turned to smile at him, "The only thing is…"
"Yes?" he prompted.
"Well, I can't draw as well as him, and cameras frighten a lot of creatures."
"I can draw for you," Harry offered, then flushed when he realized it sounded like he was inviting himself into her career. "I mean, if you're desperate. I enjoy drawing, but I'm not the best at it."
But Luna grinned, turning to reach into her satchel, "Take this."
"Luna, I can't—"
"I have extras," she said, pushing the book at him.
It was a teal book with a black symbol of some sort on it. The cover was so smooth, it felt soft. He flipped it open and found blank pages of paper without lines.
A sketchbook.
"Thank you," he said.
"You'll need it," she said. "If you're going to be my artist."
He grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "The Delicate Art of Raising Thestrals written by Renowned Magizoologist Luna Pandora Lovegood, illustrated by her assistant Harry J. Potter."
Her laughter seemed to light the entirety of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry fell asleep too easily that night. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.
Pain tore into him, rousing him into awareness as the Cruciatus Curse ripped and shredded through his every nerve.
He didn't scream, he wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction.
He felt her lips at his ear, her breath, warm then cool as she breathed, "You have to mean it, Harry."
She took his earlobe between her teeth, and bit him.
Harry fell out of bed, scrambling up off the floor. He paused only long enough to grab his glasses before he rushed toward the bathroom. His limbs felt as if they weighed a million pounds and hot liquid obscured his vision. He made it to the sink. He shoved his glasses on before daring to look up into the mirror.
Blood dripped from his scar, painting the right side of his face in crimson streaks.
Shaking, Harry leaned closer, seeing that the scar had not only burst open like a new cut, but that it had widened, chasing down his face for all the world to see.
He would have needed a mask to cover it up.
It stretched from his hairline to the bridge of his nose like a chasm cleaving through his profile. Blood was still actively seeping from the wound and he knew he would need stitches.
Seeing it made it hurt more sharply, but the physical pain of it wasn't the worst.
No, the worst was that one of his irises had changed from green to maroonish red, inhuman and ugly. He leaned forward to see the change more closely.
When he was a breath from the glass, something in his face changed.
Harry knew it was not his own eye.
The thought seemed to give his reflection permission to morph.
The figure that peered back at him was still pale, still skinny, but his hair was lighter and more orderly. His expression changed to something cruel as he looked at Harry with possessive satisfaction.
"No," Harry said through gritted teeth, the blood pouring faster from the open wound until he could taste it on his lips.
But his mouth did not shape the words, and he realized with a renewed surge of panic that he was no longer in control of his own actions.
Tom Riddle smiled wider at him before his reflection threw its head back and laughed.
Voldmort's laugh, not Harry's.
And unlike the Imperius Curse, there was nothing to fight against, to argue with.
His body was not his own.
The only thing that belonged to him was the pain.
Harry woke with a choked scream, and again he fell out of bed, again he ran for the bathroom.
Only he went to the toilet first, thoroughly emptying the contents of his stomach.
Voldemort had failed to possess him, Harry hadn't realized how afraid of that he had been until now.
Would Voldemort have made him like Quirrell?
Dumbledore said Voldemort had been unable to possess him because of his mother's love, for the love Harry held for others, but if that wasn't true…
What if it was something else?
What if Harry was weaker this year? More worn down? And not knowing the possible dangers, Voldemort might try again, only this time, succeed.
He had no one to go to for help with this. He thought Snape might kill him if he tried attacking his mind when he was this weak.
Harry threw up until he was dry-heaving, each empty heave burned his throat and strained his body.
God, it hurt.
Harry's heart was thundering. Something inside his chest seemed to writhe, as a pounding headache grew behind his scar throughout his face.
He had to use the wall to pull himself to his feet. The space between the stall and the sink seemed far too wide as he kept his focus on his feet. Either a lifetime or a minute later, he was back to gripping the sink, just as he had in the nightmare.
He was afraid to look in the mirror, afraid to touch his face.
That suggests that what you fear the most of all is— fear. Very wise, Harry, Lupin had told him once.
Harry let out a long breath, it was only wise if he could face it.
He looked up, and he saw that though his scar was inflamed, it wasn't bleeding and it hadn't grown. He straightened his skewed glasses that he must have fallen asleep with.
Both of his eyes were still green.
He exhaled in a rush.
Just a nightmare.
Likely one that was just a nightmare. No corridors, just his subconscious dragging him through Hell.
His own fault for thinking he could get more than two hours of sleep.
"Harry?"
Harry jumped, spinning, which is when he realized he was without his wand. He panicked, his magic surging.
The mirror shattered. Harry threw his arms up around his face as he was thrown to the ground by the force that had shattered the mirror outward into the room.
Glass rained down around him and the facet heads popped off, so it began to literally raining.
A ringing started in his ears, and the sounds of water were distant, the water dripping from his face oddly audible.
"Get McGonagall!" someone yelled in the distance.
"Harry, don't move!"
Ron, that last voice was Ron.
Harry didn't move as he watched through the water droplets on his glasses, water funnel down the drains. Reddish pink blood dotted the tiled floor to be washed away.
He must have been cut.
"Reparo!"
Harry looked up to see Fred, George a short way behind him.
Harry hissed as the mirror shards were lifted from his side to reform the mirror.
George was suddenly beside him, "Harry? Harry, mate, can you hear me?"
Harry was shaking, he was so fucking tired.
Sirius had died, but he wasn't, the world had fallen apart, but it hadn't.
But it would.
Harry felt like he couldn't breathe, like he would be alright, if he could just catch his damned breath.
But that was asking a lot of the universe. At this point, his life was just one long series of unfortunate events after another.
The water stopped soaking him, and McGonagall seemed to appear out of the ether. Was he losing time?
Was he in shock?
Plausibly.
Sirius, Death Eaters, Voldemort, the forsaken prophecy, his friends getting hurt because of him, and then time travel.
Yeah, shock seemed pretty plausible.
"Mr. Potter, are you alright?" McGonagall said, reminding him she was still there.
His teeth were chattering, the water had been cold, and all he could say was, "Wand."
"I'll get it!" Ron called from where he had been standing just inside the doorway.
"Mr. Weasleys," McGonagall addressed the twins. "Can you help Mr. Potter to the hospital wing?"
Harry shook his head, but he couldn't get the words out to tell her he didn't need to go to the hospital wing.
"What happened?" Dean asked.
"Accidental magic," McGonagall answered tightly.
Fred and George stilled, looking up at her, "He's fifteen."
Almost sixteen, Harry couldn't say.
Seamus poked his head in, "That's literally impossible."
Harry met McGonagall's gaze. He swallowed hard as he got his feet under him with an embarrassing amount of help from Fred and George on either side of him.
"I want to go to class," he said clearly, even though the words hurt his throat.
Note to self, screaming at headmasters takes longer than 48 hours to recover from.
"Mate, you were screaming in your sleep," Ron informed him.
Or that.
"It's dawn," McGonagall said, making Harry notice she was still in her sleeping robes even though her hair was already done up. "You have time for Madame Pomfrey to look you over."
"What happened?" Ron asked, following behind them.
Neville, Dean, and Seamus got out of their way.
"Nightmare," Harry said.
"And the mirror?" McGonagall asked.
"I spooked," Harry answered, watching her profile as they descended the steps.
Her expression tensed further.
He had to know, "I thought accidental magic was common."
"Not so common after a year at Hogwarts," McGonagall answered without looking at him.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his panic returning in a rush as the five of them stepped out of the porthole.
She looked at him sharply, "Absolutely nothing."
"Then why?" he asked.
She finally met his gaze, "Because you are extremely powerful."
"So this happened to you?" he asked her.
Her lips thinned, "It happened to my mother, and Severus's —Professor Snape's— mother as well."
Harry frowned, "How do I fix it?"
She came to a stop, Fred, George, and Ron stopping as well. Fred and George were basically carrying Harry at this point.
"You will not be returning to the Dursleys this coming summer, Mr. Potter. You will be staying with me at my summer cottage if it comes to it, no matter what Dumbledore says. You should never have been placed with them and I am sorrier than I can say that you were."
Harry was at once warmed and chilled by her words.
On one hand, Yeah! No more Dursleys.
On the other hand… Unbeknownst to anyone save Luna, he had been at Hogwarts for months and hadn't seen the Dursleys at all in that time.
So whatever McGonagall thought the problem was, she was probably wrong.
Feeling ill again and having no desire to embarrass himself further, he kept his mouth shut the rest of the way to the hospital wing.
Harry apologised to the twins for getting blood all over their robes.
"Shut up," Fred said.
George nodded, "Bleed on us anytime you like."
"Besides," Fred said, pulling his wand. "We have just the spell for this." And with a swift flick, they were clean. Including Harry, though, as his cuts were still bleeding that didn't mean much as he dripped onto the white of the hospital bedsheets.
Harry glanced at the two witches nervously, knowing it was a bad sign that McGonagall had pulled Madame Pomfrey aside to talk before bandaging him up for first.
When the Mediwitch came back to them, she was scowling as she inspected the cuts and began putting ointment on them, starting with his face.
"You will remain here for the morning and can attend Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon after lunch, which you will also have here," McGonagall said.
"But I'll miss Charms and Transfiguration!" Harry exclaimed.
Ron snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Hermione.
"Today in Charms, the class will be learning the Summoning Charm, which you already proved in the Triwizard Tournament to be quite skilled at. As for my class, I don't doubt your ability to learn the Vanishing Spell."
It was unfair because he knew it already, but he couldn't give them any reason to think he wasn't fit to be a TA.
"I do know that spell, I can do it now if you like," he offered, trying and probably failing to hide his panic.
McGonagall blinked at him, her jade eyes unreadable.
But without further questions, she conjured a snail at the end of his bed.
"Wait—" Madame Pomfrey said.
But Harry already had his wand pointed and a second later, the snail vanished.
Fred whistled.
McGonagall looked surprised, though nowhere near as pleased as Harry would have liked.
Still, she said, "Fifteen points to Gryffindor. But I'm afraid you've just made the point of attending class moot. Aside from those two spells, all you would achieve in class are enduring lectures on the importance of OWLs for future careers. Rest up, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, Professor."
She nodded and turned on her heel without another word.
Harry had the sinking suspicion he was in deep trouble.
"I'll let Hermione know what happened," Ron said. "I need to go get dressed." He was still in pyjamas.
"I'll meet you down at Care of Magical Creatures. Thanks, Fred, George, for the help," Harry said.
They nodded, waving awkwardly as they left.
Harry sighed.
"I want you to stay the night," Madame Pomfrey said.
Harry met her gaze, "One condition."
She raised an amused brow, "Oh?"
"Could I have a dreamless sleep potion, please, just for tonight?" he asked, voice coming out smaller than he intended it to be.
Her amusement fell away, she touched his hair gently, "I can arrange that, Mr. Potter."
He sighed, allowing himself to be shepherded under the covers.
Three days into the past, yet it somehow already felt like a lifetime.
Hard to believe this was just the beginning.
Minerva didn't bother to dress. She went straight to Albus's tower, using her magic to transform her night robes into day clothes.
"Minerva—" Albus greeted, standing from behind his desk.
"Harry lost control of his magic this morning," she said without preamble.
"Is everyone alright?" he asked.
"Aside from Harry?" she asked. "Fine, he shattered the bathroom mirror and suffered only a few surface cuts."
"What was he trying to do?" Albus asked.
"Nothing, he had a scare," she explained. "Albus, he didn't have his wand."
Albus paled and sat back in his seat. He took off his glasses and put a hand to his face.
"My mother did not die from it," Minerva said gently, being one of the few people who knew how Albus had lost his little sister.
"Your mother," Albus said, not looking up at her. "Recovered because she had the freedom and love to recover. What do we have to offer Harry? Sirius is on the run, a war is starting, and Harry is Voldemort's primary target. Especially after he got away again at the end of last year."
"This summer, he will come and live with my brother and me."
"Minerva—"
"Don't you dare, Albus. Malcolm and I should have taken him from the start."
"I didn't want him that isolated."
"Then you failed," Minerva informed him, knowing that an isolated cottage deep within the Scottish countryside would have been far preferable to the life Harry had endured.
Albus's shoulders rounded, "I was afraid to check up on him, I never knew who was watching—"
"No excuse will undo the damage that has been done," Minerva interrupted. "He's breaking, Albus. And a wizard of his power will not fade from existence as Elieen Prince did."
Albus shut his eyes, "What do you suggest we do?"
"We push him," she said.
He stood, so abruptly Fawkes flapped off the back of Albus's chair to his perch, "Are you insane?"
"Arianna was sheltered," Minerva said. "My mother and Snape's mother were both isolated as well."
"And you don't think taking up his every available period is enough?" he asked.
"I want to continue his training over the holidays," she said.
"And how will that help in the here and now?" Albus asked.
"I think you are correct, he has enough to be getting on with, for now. But something has changed, Albus. I think he fears the Dark Lord now, not for what he can do to Harry but for what he can do to the people he loves. We have to pull him into the loop, and be honest with him. This winter holiday, I say you allow the Weasleys to stay at Grimmauld Place, but Sirius, Remus, and Harry will go stay with Malcolm."
"To what end?" Albus asked.
"To give him something to look forward to, come summer."
"But Sirius—"
"Sirius has been imprisoned for a crime he did not commit for thirteen bloody years!" Her voice rose, waking up any portrait that had been pretending to sleep.
"To keep him in that house is wrong, and you know it! Whatever Sirius's faults are, he would have been a better guardian for Harry than the Dursleys, and Sirius would have grown up. Now that man is traumatised in a million different ways and it's a damned miracle he's not utterly insane! Allowing Harry and Sirius time together is not enough if Sirius is bloody miserable! Of course, there is a risk in sending them to my brother, but there is still arguably a risk at Grimmauld Place."
Albus looked at her for a long moment, "Say I agree to this, what else are you planning?"
"Let Sirius and Remus train Harry in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Let Sirius and I begin training Harry to become an animagus."
"Absolutely not," Albus said.
"Give me one good reason we shouldn't?" she challenged.
"He's almost already been expelled, becoming an animagus would put him in legal trouble with the Ministry."
"Yes," she agreed. "But that isn't going to change. If we don't stop You Know Who fast enough, then it very well might be Death Eaters with Auror badges who he will need protection against."
"And his friends?"
"Sirius and Remus are Harry's family. He needs to know he is valued as an individual, Albus. He needs his own family not just to be friends of another's family."
"He seemed rather angry with Remus."
"Remus loves Harry, he might not know how to show that but he thinks the world of him. In fact, I think he might think more highly Harry than he ever did of James. And Harry being angry at him." She paused then pushed forward, "Harry being angry at you, Albus, is a sign he cares for your regard of him. You need to stop pretending that the boy will ever have a normal life or childhood —or year— without violence and loss. That doesn't mean all things are denied to him. He can still have family, still grow to be someone with self-confidence and worth —he can still have hope for the future. But only if we permit him."
Albus closed his eyes and looked away from her, "Alright."
Minerva's heart sank at his acquiescence. She came round the desk, touching the man's cheek, "Albus?"
He looked up at her slowly, placing a gentle hand over hers, "I don't know how to protect him. Last year… he might have lost his magic or worse if we had fumbled getting him out of the tournament. Sirius… Peter, the year before, everything always goes so wrong with him."
Her heart clenched, because she had failed Harry as well, especially in his first year when he had come to her for help and she hadn't known that he wouldn't trust adults enough to take her word on things.
She had alerted everyone, they had gotten extra help.
It was downright embarrassing that three first years had gotten through their obstacles. But they had only been designed to slow an intruder down.
Designed to slow the Dark Lord and/or followers to catch them in the act. You Know Who wouldn't have been able to get around the mirror trap at all.
Harry probably got it out easier than nearly anyone else in the castle could have, knowing what the stone had been.
"The best we can do is teach him how to protect himself," she said.
Again, Albus looked away from her.
Minerva sat on the edge of his desk, "What aren't you telling me? What aren't you telling him?"
Albus sighed, looking back up at her, "Do you remember his dreams from last year?"
She nodded, she had heard of them through Sirius.
"Harry has a connection to Voldemort, he means to glean what is passing through the Dark Lord's mind."
"And?" she prompted.
"What if that goes both ways?" Albus asked quietly.
Minerva's blood went cold, "How?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
"His scar?" she asked.
"Possibly," Albus admitted. "But it's on his face, Minerva. I've discussed it with Poppy, with specialists who treat cursed marks. Do you have any idea what the consequences of treating it are?"
"You mean opposed to what I will presume you are alluding to, being possessed by a dark lord?" she asked.
Albus shook his head, "The scar could grow, it could split open. If we are lucky, we could prevent death by blood loss. But if we are unlucky? Poppy said a scar like that could cleave his skull. If it is something more, something alive in any way, it could lash out. He could lose his sight, his hearing, his ability to speak, and any number of neurological issues. Poppy said, to even begin treatment, it would be years at St. Mungo's. The Killing Curse has only one known side effect and knowing Voldemort, if it wasn't just the Killing Curse… it would be the work of lifetimes to even deduce what he tried or even to determine if the Dark Arts he used in combination were not at all repeatable. I have a suspicion of what it might be, in which case the only viable cure is death."
Minerva sat very still, the words of the prophecy coming back to her.
"Albus…"
"I feel terrible," he said, words flowing like a damn being broken. "I see how much he is hurting, struggling… and I'm afraid to speak with him. I'm afraid that if Voldemort guesses how much I care for Harry that he will use that connection to get at me."
"When did you begin to suspect?"
"His second year, his fourth year is when I realized how bad it could be," he said, dejected.
She took his hand, "Harry is not alone, and neither are you."
"Voldemort could learn where you are if he sees Malcolm through Harry's eyes."
"So we see to it that Harry has a portkey in reach and we have a trap in place," Minerva said. "But we can't send him back to the Dursleys. He might be in greater danger from himself than the Dark Lord now."
Albus squeezed her hand, "I didn't know. That's no excuse, but I didn't understand how badly they were treating him." He met her gaze, "How could they not love him? How could Petunia not adore him? I know he was being underfed, I knew he didn't have many friends… I couldn't have guessed they would hate him. Petunia wanted to be a witch."
"Jealousy is a poison. And even gone, Petunia lives in Lily's shadow. That wound is deepened by the fact that Lily is younger and that their parents are gone."
Albus closed his eyes, "It wasn't until I pressed Arabella this summer did she indicate how bad it was. Her reports always described him as such a compassionate soul, that he enjoyed drawing and reading. She said he didn't get along with his cousin, which is why I assumed he was left behind for family trips. She never implied that…" His voice trailed off in empty defence.
She realized how much guilt he must be harbouring over this.
Minerva sighed, "I think Petunia blamed Lily for their parents' deaths."
His eyes snapped open, "That is not Harry's fault."
"No, but he was an easy target."
Albus looked pained, "I didn't—"
She squeezed his hand in both hers, "You see the best in people, Albus. It is one of your greatest strengths, and one of your greatest blind spots. Petunia is not all evil, so you could not see what evil she was capable of."
"You think I would have learned better at my age," he said.
She knew he was thinking of Grindelwald, and all she could think to say was, "Sometimes, Albus, it is not what we do wrong in the end that matters, but what we do when we realise we are wrong. We cannot undo the harm done to Harry and Sirius, we can help them grow stronger so that they may learn to overcome it."
Albus was quiet for many long moments before asking, "Do you think Malcolm would take Sirius in sooner than the winter holidays?"
Minerva smiled, "My brother always wanted a dog."
Hermione got the Vanishing Spell on the third try.
And allowed herself a small smile when McGonagall granted their house five points.
"Harry got it on his first try."
Hermione looked at Ron, "What?"
Her worry for Harry was immense. Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus all seemed deeply shaken by whatever had happened this morning that had landed Harry in the hospital wing on the second day of term.
It might have been a record, except Harry had been admitted to the hospital wing the night before term started third year because of the Dementor.
Nightmares and accidental magic wasn't a good enough explanation for her.
"Harry, he got it on the first try. He seemed really upset to have been missing Charms and Transfiguration."
"He's changed," Hermione said worriedly.
Ron nodded and said in a low voice, "You should have seen his face. I've never… I've never seen him so afraid, not ever."
Hermione's heart twisted, and saying that of Harry, who had literally faced dragons and dark lords, was no small thing.
"We will be there for him," she said firmly.
Ron nodded and tried and failed again to do the Vanishing Spell.
Harry held the Bowtruckle gently as Hermione sketched out its head. They were all sitting in the grass. Harry had made a comment about never being able to find the Bowtruckles if they got loose, which somehow prompted the entire class to sit circle.
"Thanks for letting us draw you," Harry said to the stick person.
The Bowtruckle blinked up at him and began running its nails over Harry's fingers, as if Harry had suddenly become interesting, as if they were studying Harry as Harry was studying them.
"Talking to the stick, Potter?" Draco asked.
Harry looked between Draco and the Bowtruckle, and with his free hand tapped his chin, "From what I can tell, the Bowtruckle appears to have a greater verbal comprehension than you so…" He shrugged.
"Going to apply for Hagrid's job next?" Draco sneered.
Harry raised a brow, "As opposed to your father's noble profession? What does he do again? Hair modelling for witches' shampoo companies?"
Nott snorted a laugh.
Blaise Zabini looked away to hide a smile.
"You'll be lucky to be a sliver of a man my father is," Draco bit out.
"Malfoy, I shrugged off Barty Crouch Jr.'s Imperius Curse and Voldemort's Imperius Curse. I hate to break it to you, but I'm already a better man than your father."
"Did you really fight the Dark Lord?" Nott asked.
Harry shook his head, "Something weird happened with our wand cores, it was dumb luck I got away. But he didn't break me, at least, he didn't have the time to."
"Then you aren't as arrogant to think you can actually take the Dark Lord?" Nott asked.
Harry nodded, "I think the chances of me dying a natural death at this point is a ludicrous joke."
Hermione made a face, but Harry went on, "Luckily for me, Voldemort's luck appears to be as shitty as mine."
"You're a very positive person," Daphne Greengrass remarked.
He smirked at her, "I'm thinking of changing my name to Sunshine."
Daphne nodded seriously, "The Dark Lord, defeated by Sunshine? It could work."
Harry laughed.
Grubbly-Plank came around, "How's everyone doing?"
"Fine, Professor," Nott answered.
When Harry turned back to look at his friends, Hermione and Ron were gaping at him.
"What the hell was that?" Ron asked.
Harry raised a brow, "What was what?"
"You being nice to Slytherins?" He lowered his voice, "Nott's father is—"
"Stop," Harry interrupted. "I'm not the Dursleys and while Malfoy might be his father's Mini-Me, that doesn't mean everyone is. Or are you harbouring a collection of batteries Hermione and I are unaware of?"
Ron's face turned pink, "Don't you dare say anything about my—"
"I'm not, Ron," Harry said. "I'm just saying we shouldn't judge people by their families. Even if you like your family, that doesn't mean you are who your parents are."
Hermione looked very pleased, "You're absolutely right, Harry."
Ron grumbled a reluctant affirmative.
He caught Malfoy and the other Slytherins watching them surreptitiously as they packed up.
Ron could hold a grudge, something Harry had in common with him, but he also knew Ron would come around.
If Harry could get the Slytherins to loosen up a little, he might be able to set up the DA club earlier. Maybe even have some of the Slytherins to join, aside from Malfoy and his friend group. He wasn't fool enough to trust them as far as he could throw them
Harry would never have bet on Nott being a reasonable person, but maybe Dumbledore was right, about everyone deserving a chance.
"I really like your sketchpad," Hermione said as Harry gently placed the Bowtruckle into its magically expanded home.
Harry smiled, "Thank you, Luna gave it to me."
"When did you two get so close?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged, "We kept in touch over the summer."
Hermione and Ron winced.
Harry didn't understand why until he remembered how he had torn into them both for not telling him anything over the summer when he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place.
He sort of wanted to apologise, knowing everything Ron and Hermione had endured in the coming year.
And yet…
It still hurt that Ron and Hermione trusted Dumbledore more than they trusted him. If he told them today, all that had happened, he had no doubts that they would confide in the Headmaster.
Which meant he couldn't confide in them. And he resented them for it, even knowing, one way or another they would learn to mistrust Dumbledore as much as he did.
AN: Thoughts about the chapter, Bowtruckles, or feedback, pretty please?