Harry did have detention, for one whole week - but not for accidentally blasting back Viola (or for actually intentionallypushing her underwater, thank Merlin that Snape didn't know about that) - but for interrupting the Professor.

"He wrote my parents," Harry moaned. "They specifically told me to be careful around Snape, and they still haven't written me back. They're meant to meet with him... about my accidental magic."

"Sounds about right," Miles said. "And your parents likely have good instincts. Mostly, I'm glad you didn't tell him about Nott." Like usual, they all skirted the topic of Harry's uncontrollable magic. Harry hadn't elaborated, and nothing had really happened except that small incident with Viola.

Harry straightened. "I'm not an idiot, Miles. You were right when you said that Nott getting in trouble could mean worse things for me. He's a kid too, they'd give him more chances to change."

"He won't change," Miles said darkly.

"He seems to be doing smashing anyway," Lucian said. He was picking at the flaking arm of the leather chair he had dragged over to their table.

The three boys were commandeering one of the many abandoned rooms in Hogwarts - this one appearing to look like a mix between a classroom and a plush office. Either way it was in total disarray, and they only chanced upon it through Lucian punching a handsy suit of armour. An afternoon spent on testing the entrance revealed that twisting the armour's arm back until it touched the wall, would open the door. But by the time they figured it out, Lucian's knuckles were smarting.

"Reckon he's practicing dark magic," Miles said.

Harry scoffed, but Lucian laughed. "Course he is." This was incredible to Harry, who equated dark magic to criminals that his dad threw into Azkaban.

"I - really?" He said, astounded.

Miles and Lucian looked to him in a strange way. He couldn't decipher what it meant until later: they had looked at him like an outsider.

The week passed, he survived, and then his parents came to the school. Once Harry had finally gotten a reply from his initial letter of awkward apology, he hadn't opened any of the many he'd got back. He was too afraid to open them - and in Hogwarts it was easy to ignore letters from so far away. It was a nasty shock to be invited once more to Snape's office and find the unhappy faces of his mum and dad. They did their best trying to explain Harry's history of magical 'outbursts', but from what Harry could see, most of this conversation was held before he'd been called in. His dad was stood by the door, and his mum sat perched on one of the chairs - like she unsure if it would come alive at any moment and bite her. Snape was leaning against his desk, but Harry was not fooled by the man's deceptively calm pose.

They didn't like each other, he simplified. That was clearly true from body language alone. His dad never spoke to Snape directly, and McGonagall was there too. Like a mediator. Having the Professor that liked him most witness his behaviour management was a bit humiliating, but she was quite kind about it. In the end, he was sort of glad to have her there.

"It's not the most worrisome display of magical outburst I've yet seen, young man," she told him.

"Control is everything," Snape demanded. "Yet seen - that can be changed - " McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and some silent conversation seemed to pass between the two teachers.

"Professor Snape," she said crisply. "I do not find these two situations to be comparable, and if I did I would certainly have more to say on the subject. But nipping it early on seems applicable here. Mr. Potter - no, James, I mean the younger - I think we can work out some exercises for your magical outbursts. What say you?" Though he hadn't really understood the undercurrents of what they had been talking about, Harry nodded. He understood the last bit of it, at least.

The matter of bullying was an even touchier subject, and Harry was nearly sweating at the idea of anyone finding out what happened on the boats. He felt lucky to be considered more of a victim here, really. His shoulders began to scrunch up with embarrassment as Snape insisted he needed to be more 'impenetrable', and McGonagall interrupted him to tell Harry he should never be afraid to talk about altercations with fellow students. "We are here to help," she said, and Harry didn't miss the small flicker her eyes gave to Snape.

His mum and dad walked out with him, all said and done.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"You didn't write us back," his dad said.

His mum looked at him, through him, like she always does. "Did you even open them?" She asked knowingly.

He shifted on his left foot. Shook his head.

"Harry," she held a hand to his chin. "We always will love you, support you, and stand by you. We exist to do just that. Please don't shy away from us. Just a little over a month away from home doesn't make us strangers."

Something odd choked up Harry's throat - and the weirdest thoughts crept over his mind. Like well I'm not important like Archie Potter, and I sorted Slytherin I'm sorry, and I can't even keep accidental magic under control and I think my classmates like dark magic but I just want to study and have some friends and yet I can't help myself and I think I'm going to get in more trouble because I stole things and I got cursed and I made a vow and I'm a bit scared but I won't ever admit that to no one and I want to be someone important sort of -

"I know, mum," was all he said. That lump in his throat kind of made his eyes sting. "I was just embarrassed. And... it was a girl." He remembered something - "Dad, you said girls can't fight!"

"Did not," he claimed to his wife. "You just shouldn't fight them. It's not proper to. They can hex just as mean as anyone, though, Harry. Ask your mum." He swung an arm around her, lifted her up, and twirled her about - she laughed as he put her down on his other side.

"Archie loved your letter," his dad went on to say. "Though he's still disappointed in your lack of Hogwarts Quidditch knowledge - " Harry twitched.

"I told him, it's not like first years can join. We haven't even had a match yet!"

Before his parents left the school altogether, via Apparition from the far gate, his father pulled him aside.

"I don't care what it was at the end of the day," he said solemnly. "You're my son, I've got your back, but Harry... if there's something going on, with your classmates... or if anyone gives you real trouble... I know about those Richmonds. It's tough to hear, but family matters. That girl hasn't got much of a chance. It all starts early, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," he said dutifully. His dad cracked a smile.

"Ah, don't give me that. You sound like a trainee."

"I don't want to be an Auror," Harry reminded him cheekily.

Dad let his smile fade. "You do need to get a grip on this- this magic, but I have faith it'll come in time. Just work on self-control. Hard thing to ask of a kid," he muttered to himself.

"McGonagall was talking like she'd seen it before," Harry hedged. "So, it's not like I'm the only one."

"No, but you're nothing like... that," his dad insisted.

"What is 'that'?"

"Nothing important to you," his dad said in that one tone, the one booking no argument.

"But what if I am like... that?"

His dad frowned briefly. "You aren't, Harry. And remember, keep an eye out. Keep yourself under control, but keep an eye out. I'm sure the Richmond girl isn't the only one who disagrees with where you come from and that's nothing to be ashamed of. Those people," he hardened. "they should be ashamed of what sickness they pass onto their children."

"Okay, dad," Harry said. "I think mum's waiting on you now." She had indeed finishing talking with Professor Vector.

His hair got a rough ruffle. "Hate when you do that," he muttered.

"Lucky you didn't get my rat's nest hair," he laughed. "And Harry? Don't you ever ignore our letters again." With a final stern eye, his parents left Hogwarts behind.

As if he could smell latent guilt and mild personal crisis, Nott materialised to lure Harry back into troubling territory just the next morning.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "Attacking girls' underthings?"

"I didn't want to see any underthings," Harry said tiredly, having heard this accusation a few times for a laugh at the library or Great Hall.

"Alright then," Thaddeus said, unperturbed. "Onto more interesting topics, if you will."

Harry eyed him sideways. "Like what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." This made Harry a little more cross, because he would indeed like to know.

He said nothing.

"Close with Lucian Bole and Miles Bletchley - though the Bletchley boy is a bit of a coward, at least Bole stands up for himself. Shame about his father, if one puts any stock in rumour."

"Which rumour is that again?" Harry hedged with some interest.

Thaddeus had an air of surprise to him now. "Well, didn't your good friend talk about it? I was hoping you could confirm or deny for me."

Harry shifted awkwardly.

"Not so good friends then," Nott hedged back.

"We are too," Harry denied.

"Bole doesn't put his trust in you," Thaddeus said. "Careful, for someone so young." Harry didn't point out that they were all kids - Thaddeus included. "Do you trust him?"

"I trust all my friends," Harry said uneasily. Conversation with Nott never went where he thought it would, and he was still smarting from the last interaction they had with that scroll.

"Don't," he said, much easier. "Trust is not so lightly earned... not any trust worth having."

"I don't think I should trust you," Harry said. Rather bravely too, he thought. There was no sign of displeasure on Thaddeus' face - but there never was. He was implacable as rock. Except when he had cursed that boy in the Owlery, and when he caught Harry in the cursed trunk. Then his face came alive and the eyebrows danced, and his teeth shone.

Now he just sighed.

"Well, that's the brightest thing you'd said thusfar. I thought you were rather thick after the scroll."

Harry reddened. So what if he thought Thaddeus would share it with him? He'd done all the work after all, it's not his fault the older boy was so secretive.

"So, would you like to know more?" He goaded.

"Know what," Harry said crossly. "This could all be quite dull, for all that I do know."

"Not hardly," Nott said. "You just have to do me a little task. Prove that I can trust you enough to involve you. Or would you think me stupid? Stupid enough to tell you whatever you want just because you want to know?"

Harry was beginning to hate being tested. What was he really going to prove?

And how much did he really want to know what was going on?

"I made an oath," he said testily.

"And that's wonderful," Nott soothed. "But it wasn't unbreakable, was it? Just a bit of pain if you did break it, and really you agreeing to it was more symbolically important than anything. This task... it puts you on the same level as us."

Harry understood this but...

Oh, what did it matter. Nott had him dead to rights. He felt a rush of something (importance) when he spoke to people like Marius Malfoy, Gemma Farley, or Thaddeus Nott. He helped with something (he stole something) - and this was likely not a much harder task, right? Then he would be more important to Nott. Then he would be on the same level.

Harry couldn't put it to words in his own mind, but the truth was that he wanted to impress the older boys and be important to them.

"I want you to put something in Professor Snape's desk for me," Nott had gone and said, like it wasn't completely insane.

"What is it?" Harry said sharply.

"A small drawstring pouch," Nott replied, just as quick.

"Why?"

"It's going to help me fix a lot of problems."

"How?"

"By dealing with Professor Snape."

"What'll happen to him?" Harry braved again. "What does it - do?"

"You're acting like we'll kill him," Thaddeus sighed. "Have a little sense of adventure - or at least common sense. I have no reason to want to kill Snape." Harry had in fact never thought that, but it was worrying that Thaddeus so quickly jumped to denying murder. "I just need something from him. Alive, actually. You'll know all of it, if you succeed. And be wise enough to know what a refusal at this point would gain you." His eyes narrowed in clear threat.

Harry thought he understood quite well. "Will I ever really know the truth?"

A wry smile twisted his mouth attractively. "The less you know the better - at least until it's too late," he said. "So, after," he promises.

"It won't hurt him?"

"No," Nott scoffed. "Hurt Snape? I'm not mad."

Harry wasn't sure this was a fair assessment of Thaddeus' mental state.

"Three o'clock this coming night, in the commons, you'll meet my friend. And you'll take that little pouch and put it into the left side of Snape's desk - listen carefully or on your head be it - the middle drawer on his left, it's the only one not cursed."

"How am I meant to do that?" Nott shrugged.

"Up to you. Get creative. Or fail, and face the consequence." Harry had the feeling that he could no longer back out, and so he accepted with a mix of confusing emotion.

Feeling rather plucky and overly aware of himself, Harry honed in on a distraction from his impending task that night. He returned to a goal he'd made some weeks ago and still hadn't solved: figure out what Lucian had fallen out with Graham over. Nott had reminded him of it so sourly. The opportunity was sudden as he stalked the boy (with Cassius Warrington) down to the Quidditch pitch. There seemed to be the beginnings of a practice in the works. Graham went right for the stands on the far side, while Cass was roped into a tussle with an older boy - likely that cousin of his on the team.

Cassius was avidly discussing something (Quidditch) with that berk Derrick and some other current players when Harry made his way past, to the stairs Graham had took up. A couple reservers were circling the pitch lazily. One daring flyer was doing pull-ups from his broom midair. This was impressive enough that Harry needed to pause, and take it in. Show-off.

With Cassius occupied, this left Montague alone and vulnerable on the stands - sitting and reading through a playbook. Harry crept up on him easily, but before he could say a word the boy had whipped his head about to glare at him.

"And what do you want?" He snapped. "I'm busy."

"Well, I'm Harry," he said.

"Yes, I know, obviously," Graham eyed him. "You do know we sleep in the same room?"

"I was in fact wondering if you did - you've never even spoken to me, as is."

"Didn't take the hint?"

"Look, I've got to know." Harry said frankly. He'd gotten enough of an understanding about Montague by living in close quarters with him for nearly a month and a half. The boy liked direct. "Why don't you talk to the rest of us? What happened that all of everyone knows but me?"

Graham Montague stared at Harry and bit his lip with indecision.

Finally he closed his book and Harry slid eagerly onto the bench beside him. "I asked Lucian to tell me the truth and he wouldn't," Graham said angrily. This didn't surprise Harry - as he had already learned how Montague favoured direct honesty. "His dad is an oath-breaker and went and knocked up a muggle - and that baby's meant to be Lucian. Then - " Here Graham paused, like even he thought the next bit was too horrid to say. "Then when his wife found out, he killed her. After it all he wrote Lucian up as a pureblood on the registry and said he was born of his pureblood wife, but really he's the bastard from muggle." Graham spat. "So I asked, because we have a right to know - and Lucian went and raged on me for wanting the truth. And then everyone takes his side because he's a fright when angry."

Harry swallowed. "If his dad killed someone - that's horrible - "

"He's a Bole," Graham shrugged. "Not so surprising, that - " Harry blinked.

"So what else could you - you're not... you're not fighting because you think he's got dirty blood?" Harry crinkled his nose.

"No! He'd be no worse than you if it were true," Montague shrugged. Harry blinked incredulously at him. "It's not to do with blood, all right? It's to do with lying. If Lucian's dad is a big, fat liar, then who wouldn't want to know? That's not my fault! And I'm not saying it's Lucian's either... But my dad won't talk to the Boles anymore, and I needed to know... if me and Lucian could still be friends."

The truth was far less interesting than Harry had anticipated. It was all so petty! And all of this came down to parents.

"Well you shouldn't go bothering people about things their dads did," Harry reasoned. "Did you try saying sorry? Imagine how Luce would feel finding out that his dad might have killed his mum, er, or wife... or anybody really."

"Why would I say sorry?" Graham sad snootily. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Look," Harry went on hesitantly. "Not to pick on your technique or anything, but it looks like you're only getting along with Cassius right now. You could change that by trying to explain yourself. Else how will Lucian know what you meant?"

Graham didn't say anything.

"Oh, why do I bother," Harry said gustily.

"We only play nice with you," Graham said suddenly. "Because your dad is an Auror. Sure, you're alright, but you'd be no better than dirt if they weren't afraid of what their families had told them about yours. Your parents cursed half our families working for Dumbledore's little group, and we won't forget it."

Harry's face burned. Sometimes he understood how this boy's directness tended to alienate him. "We've talked about how family doesn't - "

"Oh, please! They've gone and passed that Registration Act now haven't they, more restrictions on the personal lives of witches and wizards."

Harry felt cold at the change in direction in the conversation. "What are you talking about?"

"The - the thing that means that the Ministry wants to monitor all wand use, all the time, everywhere? Your mum and dad said it's for muggle protection - like that's going to make us like them any more! It's not right!"

"That's not true, that's - they can't," He said, sounding more confused than convinced. "And my parents aren't politicians."

He stared at Harry. "I mean... a bunch of people made it - wrote it, I mean. But your parents... they're figure-heading it. They're the face of the Act."

Harry felt strangely left on the wrong foot.

"I thought you'd know," Montague said with an odd lilt to his voice. "But I guess... I guess no one wants to talk to you about it. Could set you off, or you'd go and tell your parents just what 'certain' families think."

"They can talk to me," Harry argued. "I just... It's not like my parents tell me anything, alright? It's just work, isn't it."

"You can read the papers," Montague argued.

"Yeah," Harry conceded. "But that's not how you learned about it, is it? Like everyone else, your parents teach you things about this stuff. How was I supposed to know what's going on in your heads? They all can just talk to me!"

Montague was still looked at him strangely, like he was a particularly gruesome blob in one of Snape's preservative bottles. "And your parents don't. Don't talk to you about... about these things."

Harry picked at his sleeve. "I guess not." He didn't add, I didn't know they were supposed to.

"You really aren't prepared for the real world, are you?" He sniffed.

"We're just kids," Harry said. "Don't be so... so dramatic."

"Sure," Graham shrugged. "But this is Hogwarts School. Best in the Isles. Maybe all of Western Europe, really. The best of the best go here - we network, we know each others' families. It's more than just kids going to school. We have to keep up the family name while here, too. And it matters if our parents think stuff or don't get along. I need to represent my father well."

"Well, if you want to do that," Harry snapped, standing. "Maybe stop sulking around always, and say sorry. You're representing yourself as a big prat."


He had to address some of this new information however, while carefully sidestepping that nasty business about Luce's dad, during the class study group that evening.

"It's just politics - which my parents don't even - my da's an Auror. My mum sells potions, and if the idiots in Wizengamot want to act like my parents have got a thing to do with their decisions - "

"But of course it's influential," Higgs argued.

"It's not like - "

"I mean it's the Act itself people care about, and yes - your parents are unfortunately attached but let's focus on what really matters - they're taking away basic rights! Monitoring our every spell..." Lucinda went on.

Harry felt this had nothing to do with him or his parents, and frankly that's all he wanted addressed in the first place and Cassius picked up on it.

"You're a Potter too," sighed Cassius. "Of course you wouldn't care - your brother blew up the most famous dark wizard in the world while still in his cradle, and you lot have the greatest political sway in the whole of England, but, of course, you don't care about politics."

"He wasn't in a cradle," Harry snapped. "Mum was holding him when - and you know what, you don't know anything about my family!"

"And you don't know anything about mine!" Cassius shouted back. It was much louder than the rest of their conversation had been, and it drew eyes easily. He quickly sat again and turned pink.

"Do you lot have a problem with me?" Harry gestured at the first year Slytherins at large. Silence met him, much like he had thought. "I don't think you do. But you keep looking at me and assuming things just because of what my name is. I don't do it to you!"

"Maybe you should," Graham said snidely, clearly and evenly from the left.

"Shut up, Graham," Bole said stiffly.

"Make me," he mumbled rather insincerely. (Bole was indeed a very big and scary boy for his age).

"Sorry if you feel like that Harry," Flora told him sincerely. "We're just listening to what our parents talk about, and well, don't you think this is wrong? The Act? Don't you?"

"Sure," he hedges. "But I know I like you lot just fine. And anything your folks think or do won't change my opinion. Politics aside. Those things haven't got anything to do with us."

"Hear, hear," Miles said heartily, quite over it all. "Now can we all get a move on with this essay?"

Harry actually talked, one-on-one, with quite a few of his classmates later after. It was better than the first conversation that night in the dorm - even though it was complicated topic for a bunch of first years to navigate, they did their best to get on as young children more easily do. But the thing is, politics in the end... had very much a lot to do with this families. Perhaps not yet, but they would. A conversation only can do so much.

Regardless and unaware of the future, having gained some courage from this talk, Harry slept early. And when the time came in the late hours... Harry woke from his sleep ready to face his next test at Thaddeus' hands. Or whoever's hands it was that he was to be meeting in the commons. A somewhat embarrassing measure of pride was worming its way through him, though he had no idea that's what it was called - and certainly no idea what he had to be proud of.

The commons were pretty dark, empty, and cold. It was a while he was stood there, wishing he'd worn more than just socks on the slick, icy floor.

After that indiscernible length of quiet (too quiet) time, the shadows finally melted around the frame of a tall, blond man. Boy, still. Barely. He stepped forward into the light of the fire, and the shadows seemed to pull at his shoulders.

It was Marius Malfoy who had first happened upon Harry's nervous wait.

"Er," Harry said, rather intelligently.

The prefect moved closer, and Harry tried to think of a good reason as to why he was just stood here in his jammies without a book or any purpose whatsoever. In the end, it didn't matter.

"Would do you some good to be more careful," Malfoy told him, that strange smile staying on his face. But despite it all, Harry felt somewhat at ease with the older boy. Mores then Thaddeus, who had only proven himself to be authoritarian and impressively dangerous to the eleven year old. It was easy to listen to Marius, and even easier to see why he was made Prefect. "I've been hearing things, you know. Age doesn't really matter to Thaddeus. He prefers results and proof."

"He's very... direct," Harry offered, unsure of what he could really say about the older boy he didn't know much of - and not any of it good.

"Certainly, and it's a quality he pulls off admirably. Not all can do so." Malfoy waited patiently, for what Harry didn't know.

"Sure," he said back. "Definitely, but um, I can see why you're Prefect."

"I'm quite positive that even if offered the role, Thaddeus would decline it." Malfoy shrugged. "I find it no particular pain."

"That's good." Harry was struggling to continue this conversation, though he was at a loss of what else to do. "Are you very good friends?"

Malfoy frowned a little, as if in thought. "I would suppose so. Though I find myself closer with family than anything else. Outside of that, I imagine Thaddeus and I could be considered quite good friends."

Harry thought of Sirius. "Some friends can be as good as family. It's not just who you're born around."

Malfoy blinked. "Well, yes. That too - though I don't think I am so close to Nott to claim that... I have seen examples of such. It's very admirable. A wise outlook that many people don't manage to broaden their horizons to." He actually went and grasped Harry's left shoulder, which didn't feel condescending or uncomfortable. It felt very manly. Like a man hug, but not a hug, if you will.

Harry cleared his throat. "Thank you."

"You're very polite," Malfoy told him, releasing his shoulder. "I believe last time I met your father - just this very summer as a matter of fact - he said nothing at all to me, but managed to mention in my earshot that Lucius Malfoy had managed to produce an heir as big of a boot-licker as him."

"He doesn't know you," Harry said automatically. "And my dad wouldn't - " He faltered. It did sound like something his dad would say of a Malfoy and he'd sound stupid to deny it. "I mean, he's got opinions on stuff. Very strongly. He's mentioned your family before, from the Wizengamot, though he usually doesn't go to those things with grandfather. Sorry," he cringed.

"Family is so very important," Marius said cryptically. "Beginnings and ends." He turned to face the fire, the light dancing across the contours of his face, young and sharp. "You should be very aware about Thaddeus," he said abruptly. "He's all about results, I believe I've already said."

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, quite honestly.

"I have a brother," Marius smiled beatifically. It was warmer than his other smile, it was personal. "He's about two years younger than you - we are over seven years apart. I have learned how easy it is to guide someone younger than you. They don't see the road you do. Age does matter, no matter what Thaddeus thinks."

"But you aren't going to stop it, are you?" Harry said nervously, aware again that Malfoy was a prefect after all.

"No," Marius said. "You have free will. Now you have a little more information to make informed choices. You are aware and warned of risk - aware that others see it for you, too. Older others. People who know Thaddeus and more of the situation than you. There will be risk of you denying further involvement - and perhaps just as much, if not more, risk if you continue this way."

"Why won't you stop this? If you care?"

Marius raised a brow as he turned back to face Harry fully. "Because you are not my brother, Harry Potter." His hand went into his left breast pocket, and came back out with a small drawstring pouch of purple silk. "I believe you know what to do with this - if you so wish, that is."

"It's you," Harry said blankly. That should've been obvious, really, the commons was abandoned at the late hour of three in the morning on a weeknight. Yet Malfoy had wandered down and over to him and started talking about Nott - of course he was the messenger. A Prefect has the most right to be up and about at night.

Malfoy didn't bother answering, only further outstretched his arm.

Harry felt as if a lifetime passed while he raised his own to grasp the surprisingly heavy, but malleable, sack. Then it was over, and Malfoy was melting away into the shadows, likely to sleep. Harry stood there for a moment too long with his hand dangling the baggie, and once he realised so he hastily placed it into his trouser pocket.

His legs feeling oddly like jelly, he sunk into the foremost armchair by the fireplace. He was already so keen on claiming these prime spots when the time came - the implied respect and influence of sitting at the centre of Slytherin commons enthralled him.

The fire began to dim, as if its eternal flame were going into slumber. The embers glow in the hearth, heat remaining and emanating all the same. Harry felt the plush seating swallow him as he sunk into it further. He knew he should get up, but the whispered tongues of the stone snakes lulled him into sleep.