In The House of the Serpent
Chapter 4
The hall wasn't whispering now. Every student turned to their neighbor, shock was apparent on many faces and the air was filled with controversy. Harry walked unsteadily to the Slytherin table where there was nothing like unanimous acceptance. Some looked shocked, some suspicious, some maybe pleased. At least Nott was among the latter. He made room on the bench for Harry to sit.
"Well done," he whispered when Harry sat down, grateful to be out of sight of the entire hall.
"Thanks. I think everyone's surprised."
"The Gryffindors look disappointed."
They really did. Many even looked betrayed. Several of them stood up in their seats to get a look at him. He wished they would stop staring.
"Well, that was unexpected," Rosier said.
He'd been sorted right after Harry.
"Wish they'd get this started," he groaned, "My stomach's eating itself."
"Didn't you buy anything on the train?" Nott asked.
"'Course I did, not everyone can live on chocolate frogs. By the way, who d'you reckon the jittery gent in the turban is?"
He pointed at the high table. One of the professors was indeed wearing a bulbous onion-shaped wrapping on his head, which wobbled dangerously every time he turned it. Any slight noise seemed to frighten him.
"That must be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor," Nott said knowingly.
"I wouldn't want him defending me." Harry remarked.
"And our head of House is Snape, right?"
"Yep."
They gazed at a sallow-skinned hook-nosed man. He wore robes black as his greasy hair, and his expression forbode a singularly unpleasant individual.
"Well," Rosier sighed, "Better he's for us than against us."
Dumbledore rose to speak. So, this was the famous wizard who was called the greatest of his time. He certainly was impressive to look at. His robes were covered with stars and moons matching the ceiling above, and his long silver hair streamed well past his shoulders along with a magnificent white beard.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down and everyone clapped and laughed. Well, the other houses did anyway. A lot of the Slytherins gave subtle eye rolls.
Suddenly food appeared upon the golden plates in front of them, and Harry's nostrils were immediately filled with the most savory scents he'd ever experienced.
"This is more like it!" Rosier exclaimed as he tore a chicken apart.
Harry heaped his plate with roast beef, mash and gravy and set about filling his growling stomach. He chatted with Nott and Rosier, all three of them becoming more jovial as their hunger abated. Everyone got a fright when the house ghosts came shimmering through a solid wall. The transparent spirits were in the midst of a heated argument and were sad and frustrated they'd missed the Sorting Ceremony.
A prefect named Colquhoun briefed them on the Slytherin ghost, who was called by the ominous title 'Bloody Baron'.
"And since that blood on his tunic came from his wife, I shouldn't raise the subject," he warned.
Finally, their plates were cleared, and the picked-over remnants of their feast vanished. Dumbledore made some announcements, among them an explicit warning that the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds, and more interestingly, that a certain third floor corridor wasn't to be trespassed upon. All who did so were in danger of a painful death.
"Let's chuck in a Weasley to verify," Rosier whispered, causing Nott to smother his laughter as Colquhoun glared at them.
After announcements, Dumbledore bid them sing the ridiculous school song while Harry checked his watch. It had been hours since they left the train, were they getting their luggage back? Salazar was still in the trunk, and as remarkably talented a sneak as he was, Harry didn't think he could get out by himself. At last Colquhoun wrangled the first years to lead them to their dormitories. They went into a dimly lit passage taking a dizzying number of turns. The Slytherin living quarters must be well underground judging by their constant descent, and indeed they went by numerous dungeons. The castle's depths were a stark contrast to the bright and cheerful dining hall. The first years' voices echoed in the empty voids and were swallowed by the blackness. As creepy as it was, there was an odd allure to it as well.
"Here we are," Colquhoun announced as they came to a dead end. "The password changes every fortnight. The new ones are posted on a noticeboard."
He turned back to the wall.
"Anguis."
Like Diagon Alley, the wall disappeared to render a passage through which they entered the Slytherin Common Room. Its shape reminded Harry of pictures he saw of cathedrals. The vaulted ceiling was supported by pillars carved like snakes, and on either side of the room there were stone fireplaces at intervals, with chairs and tables dispersed around them. The walls were lined with portraits of famous Slytherins and paintings depicting storied elements of their past. Many were so high you'd need a ladder to see them properly. The whole place was filled with a slightly green aura emanating from the windows at the hall's end, roundly shaped like a cathedral's apse.
"This is where you'll spend your free time and do much of your studying. You may visit the common rooms of other houses. But," and Colquhoun's face got very menacing, "You are never to invite outsiders in here. There's a world of pain in your future if you dare."
He stared at them, making sure they got the message.
"Your dorms are down to the end," he led them on, "you'll be three to a room. Boys to the right, girls to the left. And now for the pièces de résistance …"
He took them to the far end, where the windows let in that greenish glow. Upon first glance the darkness beyond was the night sky yet peering closer they realized:
"It's the Lake," Nott whispered in amazement. Fish swam by them, then the odd eel. They crowded around and pressed their faces to the glass trying to see further, as Colquhoun stood smiling behind them.
"It's even better during the day. Sometimes you even see the giant squid, that's a real treat. C'mon to bed now, lads and lasses."
It turned out that Harry Nott and Rosier would be sharing a room, located down yet another winding serpentine staircase. It was modeled after the common area; narrow and tall, shaped in a half-circle apse with an arched ceiling. Positioned on three sides were four-post beds carved in dark wood, and above each bed was another window looking out into the lake. Before the beds was a door leading to their bath, illuminated by green-shaded gas lamps and tiled in slick black onyx.
With a flood of relief, Harry saw his trunk at the foot of the right bed.
"If no one objects, I'm in for a bath." Rosier announced.
"Fine," Harry sighed as he sank onto his bed. Tired as he was, he clutched the keys around his neck in anticipation. Nott had fallen asleep upon contact with his pillow and was breathing softly, his feet dangling off the bed. Harry waited until he heard the water turn on before he quietly unlocked his trunk.
"Coast is clear, but we've got to be quiet. I managed to smuggle some food-"
"No need, I had some sssspare mice. Oooohhh, I can't wait to sssstretch my legsss…in a manner of speaking…"
Salazar crawled out of the trunk, his body sliding with a dry rustle across the stone floor.
"Do you want to stay under my bed for tonight?" Harry whispered.
"Nooo, time to explore…meet up with you later, fuzzy-head."
He was up the staircase and gone.
For most of the first years, the week passed in a hail of spilled ink, crumpled parchment, hastily scribbled notes, privately shed tears, tantrums and overall confusion.
Classes had started with a whiplash suddenness. Schedules were distributed early the morning after their welcoming feast, as Harry and his dormmates, bleary-eyed from insufficient sleep, bumbled their way upstairs into a throng of desperate students. Hasty baths and organizing their bags meant they barely had time for breakfast before things got rolling. Just getting to their classes was a job in itself. The moving staircases made the castle a constantly shifting maze, the talking portraits couldn't be trusted for accurate directions, and the upperclassmen seized every opportunity to misdirect the first years. Harry went to Colquhoun humbly begging for help several times, knowing he was duty-bound to assist.
He hoped Ludwig's lessons prepared him adequately, and they had done so. He easily turned his matchstick into a needle in Transfiguration, and earned the slimmest of smiles from Professor McGonagall and envious glances from his classmates. The sterling performance earned him some points as well, and he hoped to repeat it.
Potions, which the Slytherins attended with the Gryffindors, didn't yield such happy results. Harry's suspicions about Snape were confirmed. The way he tore into the Longbottom boy made the nastiest and most vindictive teachers Harry had encountered in the Muggle world look like positive angels. And for some inexplicable reason he singled Harry out among the Slytherins for a dose of the same treatment.
"Potter! Inform me of the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."
Unbelievably, Harry knew this. He read little about potions on summer holiday but Ludwig mentioned wolfsbane one night when he was talking about an experimental serum his firm was developing.
"They're the same plant, sir. It's also called aconite."
Snape sneered.
"Such basic knowledge doesn't merit a haughty tone, Potter."
"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean-"
"Fame will earn you no accolades in this class. Now tell me, where might I find…a bezoir?"
Again, Ludwig's knowledge saved him.
"In the stomach of a goat, sir."
Snape said nothing. He just whirled about to continue grilling the Gryffindors. Harry felt sweat on his back, glad the attention wasn't on him now.
"Nice work, pissing off our head of house." Nott whispered.
"What did I do?" Harry hissed back at him.
"Dunno, but don't you lose us points with him. Keep answering correctly."
"Duly noted."
Harry was certain if he wasn't a Slytherin Snape would bludgeon the points out of him. He watched as Dean Thomas lost Gryffindor five, and Ron Weasley added to the number by protesting.
Nott snickered.
"Not the brightest chaps, are they?"
Defense Against the Dark Arts was a radical shift in tone and substance from Potions. Professor Quirrell was so tremulous and unsure of himself they barely made it past an overview of the textbook.
"It's a useless subject," Draco Malfoy scoffed at lunch, "they might as well teach knitting instead."
"Worse than that, it's a muzzle," Rosier replied through a cheek full of ham, "these muggle-lovers call any magic they don't like 'dark' and make it off limits."
"Just you wait. They won't even teach how to counter the really severe curses, for fear students will learn them." Chimed in Williams, a passing fourth year.
"Makes me wonder if this whole place is a waste of time. Father's right, Dumbledore is a senile old fool." Malfoy curled his lip up at the teacher's table where Dumbledore sat serenely eating a mince pie.
"Fascinating lesson, wasn't it?"
Zabini had joined them after chatting up one of the Ravenclaw girls.
"I nearly wet myself from excitement when Quirrell finished a sentence in under a minute. What's next, Herbology?"
'What're you doing talking with McKenzie, Zabini?" Malfoy interjected. Harry noticed that Malfoy took the self-appointed role as sheriff policing all Slytherin social activity. It was a bit annoying.
"What do you mean?"
"They're blood-traitors."
"Only the aunt. Her parents are loyal to the bone. And what nice bones, too."
"She's two years older than you!" Nott exclaimed, looking impressed. Zabini languidly raised a long eyebrow.
"Doesn't bother me."
"Speaking of 'Bones', I think there's one left unburied," Malfoy said with a smirk, earning a burst of shocked laughter from the table, and glances exchanged as if to say 'I can't believe he said that'.
"Who're you talking about?" Harry asked innocently.
Malfoy cast him a withering look.
"Sorry, was someone speaking? I'm pretty sure this table is for wizards and witches only."
"I AM a wizard."
"In the same way Quirrell is a Professor."
Harry's fists balled under the table. He was painfully aware of Snape's gaze on them from the high table.
"I belong here as much as-"
"If you know so much about our world, which wizarding family has the oldest and largest estate in Britain?"
"Umm…" Harry could feel his face going red under the table's eyes. Parkinson looked gleeful, Zabini haughty, Crabbe and Goyle their usual loutish selves, and Rosier was impassive. Nott pointedly ignored the whole conversation though he was clearly listening.
"That would be mine. And which family founded the Flavian Society?"
Harry gritted his teeth.
"Wrong. Nott's. I doubt you can say which bloodlines fought in the Warlock's Rebellion either, so please, let the real wizards talk in peace."
Harry could do nothing except choke on his frustration, and unfortunately it set the tone for things to come.
By the very first day it was apparent House Slytherin was not a fan of Harry Potter. In the common room, seats and tables were often 'reserved' for friends that never arrived to claim them. Unmistakable looks of aversion warded him away from others and he was forced to retreat to his dormitory, sitting on his bed reading in private. Whispers stung his ears as he went. The only people with whom he might feel comfortable were Rosier and Nott, but they were always orbiting Malfoy's group. The tentative progress he thought he'd made with those boys seemed illusory.
Ludwig had prepared him for a confrontation, but Harry couldn't pull his wand on everyone who made a sneering comment about 'celebrities' and 'secret Gryffindors'. Malfoy in particular was expert in aiming subtle barbs Harry's way. They pricked him painfully but didn't warrant his preferred choice of outright force. Verbal retorts made him feel momentarily better, yet it was like punching the ocean's tide.
"Do you miss your Muggle home, Potter?"
Malfoy drawled as Harry peered at his Transfiguration book.
"Is magic a bit complicated for you?"
"Piss off, Malfoy."
"Or what?"
Malfoy was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His smugness implied he knew Harry couldn't curse him before the gorillas pounded him to mincemeat, but Harry didn't care. He drew his wand.
"POTTER!"
Colquhoun bellowed from across the common room.
"PUT THAT AWAY, OR IT'S IN THE DUNGEONS WITH YOU!"
"You heard him. Control that temper."
Malfoy and his cronies chortled and walked away.
As little as his fellow Slytherins liked him, the Gryffindors liked him even less. They looked at Harry like he'd sold their families into slavery. The boy who ended the Dark Lord's reign of terror couldn't be a member of the house that spawned such a monster, but Harry had witlessly violated that unwritten law, and unkind comments in the hallways surrounded him like angry swarms of bees.
"Enjoying life with the other slimy things, Potter?"
"Fitting they put the snakes underground."
"How's it feel being the second most famous Slytherin, Potter?"
A clandestinely placed stink bomb went off once in Harry's bag, and on Wednesday an anonymously cast jinx struck him from behind. He whirled around brandishing his wand, demanding to know the culprit, and he was met with a sea of blank faces. Heeding Ludwig's advice he kept on guard, but how to defend against hundreds of people? Nott and Rosier could do little to help. They were themselves contesting positions in the first-year hierarchy and weren't keen on leaping into a hex's path for a veritable stranger.
Harry isolated himself in the library, staying busy to stifle his seething resentment. He loved the library. The soft sound of flipping pages and leather bindings creaking, the shafts of sunlight catching the showers of dust from the high shelves, the silence imposed by the strict librarian; it was the perfect place for him to calm down. He tried to focus on Augustus's Theorie of Magic. It was a book basically required of him to continue with Projection of Power, since the author cited it constantly. Other similarly advanced books were cited too; Harry wondered how old he'd be when he finally crammed it all into his head.
"Augustus's Theorie of Magic? Here, this is a better introduction to the concepts Augustus propounds."
It was Madam Pince, the librarian. She handed him a book.
"There's no lack of rigor there, don't worry," she said with a slight smile, "it's just more targeted to the beginner, which like it or not, you are."
"Thank you, M'aam." He sighed. A book, to help understand a book, to understand another book. It really was daunting, but he thought of Malfoy and the Weasleys and all the contemptuous-faced Gryffindors, and decided it would be worth it to blast his enemies into tiny little pieces.
"Oh excellent, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick squeaked later that week, when Harry successfully charmed a wooden spoon into gently stirring a bowl of dough, "Five points for Slytherin!"
"No more Muggle labor for you, then?" Malfoy had hissed. "I guess you've had enough after eleven years."
Great, now he was receiving mockery just for benefiting his own House. There was no winning. Slytherin rebuffed him coldly and the remaining three fourths of Hogwarts shoved him right back into their unwilling midst. He was a man without a country, and he had never felt so cast off.
Where was Salazar? Was he simply exploring around, or had he abandoned him? Loneliness was never part of Harry's life because he'd never had a friend to miss, but now he did, and the pain made him want to curl up in bed and not come out ever again.
As if in answer to his quiet prayers, on Friday an enormous black and white owl dropped a heavy package into Harry's lap at breakfast. He waited until he was sitting on his bed to open it, and a letter fell out.
Liebe Spitze,
I hope you are acclimating to life at school and classes are going well. I am unfamiliar with teaching methods at Hogwarts but if they are not rigorous enough, I encourage you to push yourself. Remember, I will evaluate their results.
Enclosed is a book you may find helpful to your interest in dueling. There is also a treat courtesy of Maria. She is a wonderful baker.
Please let me know how things are going. The owl I sent will find his way back.
L.v.K.
Harry felt his heart swell; he hadn't been forgotten. No matter how far away they were, he had friends in this world. He read the letter again: Maria must be Ludwig's girlfriend! Harry wondered what she looked like. Eagerly he pulled the book out, which was called Sword & Shield and excitedly flipped through, looking at all the pictures of wizard duelists and the diagrams of spell-casting, imagining himself in their place gallantly defeating multiple foes. Then he withdrew a round dense object carefully wrapped in brown paper. It was a Black Forest Cake, rich and delicious and covered in fat ripe cherries. The paper keeping it fresh was surely bewitched because it looked and smelled perfect.
He stashed these new treasures in his trunk and went to the library, setting pen to paper for his response. He gave profuse thanks, telling of his sorting into Slytherin and his success in classes, in particular his achievements in Transfiguration. He described Hogwarts castle as best he could, the turrets, the grounds, the common room, and the great hall. He neglected to mention how miserable he was. Ludwig didn't need to be burdened with his problems, and confessing his hurt even in a private letter seemed like capitulation to his tormentors.
"Potter?"
He turned in his chair. It was Nott.
"You mind if I sit here?"
"Fine." Harry said stiffly, setting his letter to the side.
Nott sat and got his books out.
"You want to work on the Transfiguration homework together?"
"No. I've got it well in hand already."
There was a tense pause.
"Look, Malfoy is just being Malfoy. I know it's been hard for you but you shouldn't let it get to you."
Harry laughed mirthlessly.
"That's why you came up here? To tell me, I shouldn't mind if the whole school hates me?"
"I don't hate you," Nott said in a quiet voice.
"Score one for me, then."
"C'mon, don't be childish. You and I work well together, judging from our time on the train. If you're done with Transfiguration, can we look at your curse book a bit longer?"
Harry bit his lip. Nott was genuinely reaching out, and it would be stupid to rebuff him.
"I guess so. But we've got to review this Augustus thing first, it gets cited by the paragraph-load. Maybe you can help me understand this bit."
They studied for a long while together and made decent progress. Nott was right; they were a pretty good team. They bid each other farewell so Harry could deliver his letter. He found the owlery in a tall tower and affixed his letter to Ludwig's bird. He watched it fly off above the trees of the forest and took in the unsurpassed beauty of the Hogwarts grounds viewed from on high.
That night he was about to put Ludwig's letter in his trunk, but hesitated, and put it carefully under his pillow instead.
The weekend arrived with a collective sigh of relief from everyone except Harry. No classes meant an idle student body, and more opportunity to treat Harry in their hospitable fashion. The weather was beautiful and the grounds were covered with students laying out on the grass and by the lake. Harry figured he'd do so as well since outside, there was less chance of someone sneaking up on him. He took his books and notebook and walked down a rolling hill towards a shady secluded spot by the forest. A large oak had separated itself from its fellows and leaned precipitously over a patch of dewy grass, its branches bent like it was intentionally providing shelter. The wind sighing through the branches and making little waves on the lake made for a serene scene and he got on with his reading nicely.
"…and so in light of the direct relationship between Intent and the temporal and substantial range of application, we can admit Augustus's hypothesis rejecting the innate qualities…"
After a few hours, Harry felt himself growing sleepy in the ambient warmth of the day, so he packed his bag in the best state of mind he'd been in since Monday, and set off towards the castle for a nap. As he trudged up the hill, the sight of an approaching group soured his mood. It was two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff; Mclaggen, Finnegan, and Macmillan, all among the more prolific sneerers and jeerers he dealt with in the hallways.
"The Boy who Lived!" McLaggen announced.
Finnegan guffawed. "He even wears green on the weekends, what a good little mascot."
Harry was indeed wearing his standard bottle-green shirt and dark trousers.
"Better than those rags you're wearing," he pointed to Finnegan's torn jeans, "Which dumpster did you find them in?"
Finnegan's cheeks grew red. Harry knew it was rich of him to insult someone's attire, given he was clad in Dudley's hand-me-downs not long ago.
"Really fitting in with those Slytherin snobs, aren't you?" McLaggen responded.
"I'd rather be there, than stuck with you hopeless morons."
"Y'know Potter," Macmillan said in that annoyingly officious way of his, "Your parents were Gryffindors. They wouldn't-"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
Harry had been casual at first, but not now. Not about his parents.
Other students were looking at them. Macmillan frowned and hesitated, clearly not sure whether to continue. Harry inwardly prayed he would. He was desperate for a fight at this point, even if a three on one was impossible.
"They'd be disappointed to see-"
"Sternutatio!"
Harry's spell caught Macmillan right in the face, and he doubled over in a fit of uncontrolled sneezing. As the adrenaline coursed through him, he heard Ludwig's voice like a bell: "It is a fast little jinx. Light and flighty, a good opener."
Finnegan retaliated with some boneheaded excuse for a spell, which Harry saw coming from a mile away.
"Protego!"
The spell ricocheted and sent McLaggen to the ground, who had been fumbling in his robes for his wand.
"Exos!"
"What the-FUCK!"
Finnegan reeled in wide-eyed astonishment at his boneless hand, then scrabbled in the tall wet grass with his good one, trying to retrieve his wand.
"Impedimenta!"
That would put Finnegan on his backside long enough to deal with-
"Expelliarmus!"
Finnegan's deflected spell had been too weak and McLaggen recovered quickly. Harry watched in slow motion as his wand sailed through the air to land in the boy's outstretched hand. A look of stupid triumph was on McLaggen's face. For a moment Harry thought it was over. Then he heard Ludwig's voice again:
"Run at them."
"What?" Harry had said, nonplussed.
Ludwig grinned. "Run at them. If the worst happens and you are disarmed, charge. A duel is not simply a waving of wands, Spitze, it is a fight. We use our magic, our minds, and our bodies. Yours could use some training if we had time." He'd poked Harry's skinny ribs, making him giggle.
So, he charged, bowling over a shocked Mclaggen as they began wrestling on the ground for control of both their wands. Their fingers intertwined, strained white at the knuckles, grunting with exertion as they peeled and pried at the other's grip, teeth bared. Suddenly Harry felt an arm wrap around his neck as a sneeze covered his ear in spit. Macmillan couldn't articulate a spell but he could put Harry in a headlock.
"Get him, Ernie!" Mclaggen gasped from beneath him.
Spots were swimming before Harry's eyes. His glasses had slipped and his eyes bugged as the pressure increased. Ernie was pulling, twisting, yanking at him but Harry clung for dear life onto the wands clutched tight in McLaggen's fist. It felt like all his blood was in his head and pounding at his temples. He only had one chance. He bent Mclaggen's wrists as hard as he could, using all his remaining strength to direct their wands over his shoulder.
"Impedimenta." He whispered.
It worked. His grip must have been sufficient because Ernie went flying off him. The spell passed close to his own head and he felt slightly concussed, but he used the momentum to tear his wand free of McLaggen's grasp.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Mclaggen's limbs snapped together like he was mummified.
Harry sprang up and ran over to Macmillan, crouched on his chest, and began pummeling every inch of the boy he could reach.
"Ow! OW! Get off, I give, I give!'
But Harry was seeing red. He'd teach him to ever mention his parents, so he punched again and again and again. Ernie shielded his head with his arms, and Harry felt the sharp shock of his knuckles on bone, felt them split. He yipped with pain and drove down with his elbow instead. He'd keep going until Ernie was nothing more than-
"What's goin' on here!? Break it up!"
Someone lifted Harry in the air bodily and sent him tumbling head over heels. He felt around for his fallen glasses and when he put them back on, he saw an enormous shape through their grass-smeared lenses. It was Hagrid, the Gamekeeper.
"Whats the meanin' o' this? Why you lot fightin'?"
"Potter attacked us! We were defending ourselves!"
Macmillan rose to his haunches, his nose bloody. Someone was reversing Harry's full body bind on McLaggen and Finnegan was coming over too, his arm still hanging limply.
"They started it," Harry was breathing hard, anger still coursing through his body, "They were talking about my parents!"
"Hmmm." Hagrid rumbled darkly. "Whatsit you said 'bout Potter's parents?"
Macmillan had the decency to look embarrassed. "Just that…they wouldn't like him being in Slytherin."
Hagrid sighed like a giant bellows. He surveyed the scene, slapping his hands to his sides in weary kind of way.
"No great harm done I s'pose, but I'll be talking to you lot's Heads of Houses. Potter, take off whatever ye've done to Finnegan."
Harry complied and muttered the counter-curse.
"You three go on up to the castle. Potter, come with me fer a bit."
As his anger subsided, Harry started to dread the consequences of what he'd done. All three of those idiots were now up at the castle spreading their version of events. Harry was already hated, and he'd willingly provided the excuse they needed to kick him out. If they did, he'd go back to the Leaky Cauldron and contact Ludwig. He'd know what to do. Maybe he could get Durmstrang to accept him, or Ludwig could teach him privately. Harry could pay him for lessons with the money from his Gringotts vault. All these plans swam around his delirious adrenaline-addled head as he followed Hagrid across the lawn to a hut by the forest's edge, a good distance from the castle. It was homey with a thatched roof and a garden in the back.
"Go on and siddown. I'll make us tea."
Harry was ushered in and hopped into a huge chair by an equally huge table, letting his legs dangle as he looked around. There was a massive bed in the corner, chickens hanging by the ceiling from hooks, and a big hearth with an iron kettle suspended over it. Hagrid added wood to the fire and lowered the kettle on its chain. Harry spoke up.
"Are they going to expel me for this?"
Hagrid glanced up, looking surprised.
"'Course not. If a teacher'd seen ya, it'd sure warrant detention." He looked at Harry again. "Which ain't no light punishment 'round Hogwarts, believe me."
He straightened up. His beard and hair covered most of his face but Harry could tell he was smiling.
"Been lookin' for a chance to meet ye, t'be honest. Look just like yer Dad. Right down to that big ol' cowlick."
He chuckled.
"Got yer Mum's eyes, though. Big green ones she had."
"You knew my parents?" All Harry's trepidation was gone. "What were they like?"
Hagrid's smile was wistful.
"Finer folk you couldn't hope to meet. Yer Mum was the kindest girl I'd ever met. Yer Dad caused a bit of trouble in his time," he chuckled again, "Thas' why I wasn't too surprised, seein' you scrappin' out there on the lawn. But e' straightened up a bit. Reckon thas' when yer Mum started takin' notice."
The kettle started boiling and he poured their tea. Harry listened silently.
"They married n' had you, not long after graduatin' here. Moved into Godric's Hollow in a pretty little cottage. Never seen a happier…"
His black eyes welled up and he blew his nose on a handkerchief.
"Sorry. I'm not the one should be cryin'."
"It's alright. So, what else can you tell me about them?"
They talked for a good while. Hagrid shed a few extra tears discussing Harry's parents, but they also shared some laughs as Hagrid recounted James Potter's exploits in school. Apparently, he ran around with a group that were always getting into trouble. Harry pressed for more information on his Dad's friends, but for some reason Hagrid was hesitant to share much about them. Then they discussed Harry's journey to Hogwarts, and what life was like with the Dursley's.
"WHAT?!" Hagrid thundered so loudly Harry jumped in fright. "THEY DIDN'T TELL YE NOTHIN'?"
"N-no," Harry stuttered, "I found out I was a wizard from my letter. My fr-"
He was on the verge of mentioning Salazar. Something held him back.
"-I mean, I stole some money and went to London by myself. Mr. Ollivander told me about my parents."
Hagrid looked thunderstruck.
"Those lousy muggles. If I ever get a hold o' that Dursley…" His enormous hands clenched into fists bigger than bowling balls. Harry couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of a blow from one of them.
The conversation moved to Hogwarts, Dumbledore ("A great man, Harry, a great man!"), and of course Harry's membership in Slytherin.
"Do you think Macmillan was right? Would my parents be disappointed?"
Hagrid shook his mane.
"They'd be damned proud o' ye. The way you've handled yourself so far, I wouldn'a believed it possible. I think, they'd be chuffed to bits seein' how'ye turned out."
That made Harry the happiest he'd been all week.
End of Chapter 4.