Vignette 14: It Will Cost You

AN: I typed this up right after Vignette 13 because I wanted to work on something new as well. It's a little less sweet than the last one, and now that I'm done with it, maybe a good branching point for an AU story.

Harry never knew why he decided to wear his Invisibility Cloak that afternoon, but for the rest of his life, he was glad that he did. He slipped into Diagon Alley behind an elderly couple that were arguing about whether Sirius Black had made his way to the continent or not, and started making his way down the street. Hogwarts letters had just gone out, but it was early enough that the Alley wasn't terribly crowded. The crowd was mostly people charging their way to work. He wasn't sure why he had put the cloak on that day, he had just done it on a whim.

He had had a nightmare last night, and he had woken up with his scar bleeding and swollen. He didn't remember what the nightmare was, but he had seen glimpses of three mysterious wizards walking in the dark and a shadowy figure looming in front of them. Who was that shadowy figure? Was it Voldemort? Sirius Black? Neither of them seemed right.

So it was with purpose that day that he walked towards the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. Dumbledore didn't think there was anything he could do about his scar, and maybe there wasn't, but he ought to look for himself, oughtn't he? If he was lucky, maybe he would find a book on curse scars in there.

He slipped in behind a haughty looking lady and her daughter and was hit by the musty smell of aged parchment and leather. It didn't appeal to him as much as it did to Hermione, he imagined. The door jingled as they walked in, and Harry immediately split from the pair to avoid attracting any attention. The lady and her daughter headed towards the storekeeper, behind whom the Monster Book of Monsters seemed to be waking up and flapping around in their cages.

He headed towards the shelves with medical books and started skimming through the titles. Plagues and Protections: A History of Magical Medicine probably wouldn't have what he needed, and When Bones Won't Behave: Skeletal Spellwork Simplified also didn't elicit his attention. He pulled down A Stitch in Time: Magical Mending for Healers but quickly put it back - it was way too advanced for him. His hand lingered over The Ins and Outs of Magical Anatomy a trifle longer than it had to - the picture of the witch and wizard on it looked more intriguing than they should have on a medical book.

He picked up Burns, Bites, and Blood Magic: A Healer's Guide to Cursed Wounds and was skimming through it when something hard bumped into him and sent him sprawling across the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," came a familiar sounding voice. "Here let me help you."

He scrambled to get up, clutching the book in his hands, and found himself face to face with one of the Slytherin Third Years - Daphne Greengrass. He jerked back in alarm, trying to remember if she had ever been outright hostile towards him. Curious, blue eyes stared at him and he saw them flick down towards his book.

"Potter?" she asked, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here? Don't you live with your muggle relatives over the summer?"

Harry thought quickly. "I'm here for the same reason you are," he said just gesturing towards the book list she was clutching in her hand.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't think any of the third year books were in this section," she said, glancing up at the healing tomes they were standing next to.

He blushed red. "Right," he mumbled. "I was just taking a look here."

Her face softened. "Sorry for being nosy," she said, "and for knocking into you. I didn't see you at all. I could have sworn the aisle was empty."

She looked around, saw his Invisibility Cloak, and bent down to pick it up. An involuntary gasp escaped her. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Harry hurried forward and grabbed it from her. "Yes," he said shortly. "It was my father's."

Greengrass was unimpressed. "Potter, Invisibility Cloaks don't last that long… but then again… the Potters are descended from the Peverells, aren't they?" She stared at the cloak, as if contemplating something.

"The who?"

Greengrass ignored him. She pulled out her wand and cast a whispered spell at him. He ducked, but it was an area effect spell and his cloak started glowing golden… and to his shock and horror, he started glowing. But whereas the cloak's glow was golden, his was red - beautiful and terrible to behold, and spilling into that red from somewhere around his head was a dark, malignant purple, just looking at which made him feel like his insides were about to wither away and die.

"So that's what she did," breathed Greengrass, her eyes shining wildly. "Soul Magic."

"What did who do?" asked Harry, looking around wildly. Everything seemed tinged in purple and red. "And what did you do? You're going to get expelled! Turn it off! Turn it off!"

"Oh don't be absurd Potter, the Ministry can't detect magic in Diagon Alley."

"They can't?" he asked, confusion piling on in his head.

"They can't," she confirmed. "Finite Incantatem."

The glowing ended and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "What did you do to me?" he asked, agitated. "What was that spell showing?"

Greengrass shrugged. "That was a Soul Magic detector spell. And before you ask, it's family magic; I can't just give it to you. Us Greengrasses, we have an affinity for Soul Magic, just like you Potters do for Earth Magic. I thought the spell might tell me the truth about your cloak, but then you lit up like a Christmas tree as well. I reckon it's because you have very powerful soul magic on you. Maybe your mother's sacrifice, maybe whatever the Dark Lord did to you, I don't know what it is, but it's all there."

Harry gaped at her. He didn't know what to think of her. On the one hand, he felt instinctively distrustful of anyone who shared a dorm with Pansy Parkinson, but on the other, despite only understanding about 15% of what she had said, he had learned more from her than he ever had from Dumbledore or anyone else about his scar or his parents' demise. And if there was soul magic in his scar, and Greengrass had an affinity for soul magic… he stared at her in a new light. All of a sudden he did not care at all that she was a Slytherin.

"I could tell you what I know," said Greengrass, her eyes boring into him. "Granted, it's not much; I'm only a third year too, so I haven't been taught much of my family magic. I could, but it will cost you."

"Cost me what?" asked Harry warily. Greengrass was rich; she dressed as well as Parkinson if not better. He tried to remember how many gallons he had in his trust vault. How much could he afford to burn on getting this information from Greengrass? That Firebolt he had been eyeing was almost certainly out of the question now…

Greengrass burst into a broad smile. "Ice Cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. Florean Fortescue's just opened up 5 minutes ago. Shall we go?"

She held out her hand and Harry just gaped at her. She was mad, he decided. Just a bit mad. But he took her hand anyway and tucked his cloak under his arm and let her lead him out of Flourish and Blotts.

It would turn out to be the best decision he ever made.

AN: My muse is probably too fickle and I don't have enough time to expand this into a novel length fic, but I'm debating a sequel to this one. Any interest?