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Chapter Three—Tangled Threads

"You should read this book about snakes," Blaise says, holding out a book that he first read when he was nine. Potter promptly takes it and flips through it. "It has a lot of information about Parseltongue."

"Brilliant," Potter says absently, his nose buried in the pages.

Blaise catches Mother's eye, and nods. It's true. Potter hasn't flinched once around Blaise, or acted like he distrusted him, or refused to take something from his hands. Maybe Blaise is showing off, a little, because now he has Mother as an audience, but it's also a new experience for him.

He has a kid his own age who won't hesitate to accept something he's just been holding. He can hand things to Harry for a long time before he gets tired of it.

"Can you recommend any books on history in Britain?" Potter asks, surfacing from the book and blinking his eyes behind his too-large glasses. Blaise wonders why he has them. Maybe it's a Muggle fashion, like the large clothes. "I mean, I'm sure the history of magical Italy is fascinating, too, but Hagrid couldn't explain the war very well."

"Of course," Blaise says, and dives behind a shelf. The history books really are around there, but he also caught Mother's eye and knows she wants to speak to Harry at least somewhat alone.

Mother grew up with excellent reason to be paranoid. She's taught Blaise the same reasons, and although Blaise hopes he never has to take his mother's place in a situation that requires the deaths of other people for sheer survival, Blaise respects why she has to make sure Harry is all that he seems.

Blaise blinks when he realizes that he's been thinking of Potter as Harry for the last little bit.

He will respect his mother's wishes if she doesn't want them to be friends, of course. And she said something once about Potters usually being Sorted into Gryffindor, which would unfortunately separate them.

But Blaise really hopes that he and Harry can be good friends if it's at all possible.

Aradia stares down at Harry Potter, who stares back at her and is nothing like she expected. Not that she thought much of the Potter child she knew was orphaned at the very end of the war. She might have thought he would be one of Blaise's classmates, and also that he would probably be raised by Sirius Black, his godfather, but if such thoughts ever crossed her mind, she honestly cannot remember them.

Now here he is, and she must consider him.

"Did you grow up in the Muggle world, Mr. Potter?" she asks softly, making sure that her hand is near the vial of Evergreen Potion she carries with her whenever she goes out, and smiling into his eyes. "It's not a place I'm very familiar with."

Potter considers her in silence for a few long moments, his green eyes cooler than they were when he was speaking with Blaise. Then again, Aradia believes that a natural reaction of children his age.

Not one she would have had herself, but her circumstances were…different.

Potter finally shrugs and says, "Yes. My Muggle aunt and uncle were the only people who could still take me, I think."

"Your father had no relatives?"

"Not that I know of, Mrs. Zabini."

Potter's voice is gentle and polite, and he lowers his eyes to the floor. That tells Aradia things about him that he probably wouldn't want anyone knowing. But she says only, "That must have been difficult, the only wizard in a houseful of Muggles."

That gets her a blinding flash of a smile, although it's gone in an instant. "It was, ma'am. But I didn't know why. I didn't know anything about magic until last night, when Hagrid came and got me."

"You must have…" Aradia trails off as she imagines it and decides that, no, there's no reason Potter would have met anyone who would have paid special attention to him. Who would know or suspect that he was left with Muggle relatives? Aradia has paid casual attention to British politics for years, since Blaise expressed a desire to attend Hogwarts, and she also assumed that there were Potters alive. She just never bothered to investigate.

"No, ma'am. Sorry."

"Why would you be sorry?"

"Hagrid said something about some purebloods being bothered by being around Muggles and Muggleborns? And I reckon you're probably purebloods. So I thought I might be bothering you."

Aradia makes a quick decision and kneels in the bookshop, uncaring of who might look in at her through the windows. "Listen to me, Harry." The boy starts and concentrates on her when she uses his first name, the way she thought might happen. "Of course there are purebloods who place too much emphasis on their heritage, but I think them fools. I have taught Blaise the same. There is only one thing true purebloods respect."

"What's that, ma'am?" Harry's eyes are intently fixed on her.

"Power."

"Oh." Blink, and then Harry nods. "Thank you for telling me, ma'am."

That isn't the reaction Aradia expected. She puts her head on the side. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"Just that I don't know if you'll want me around Blaise, even if you don't care about blood. I'm not powerful."

Aradia blinks herself, and then decides that Harry is probably thinking, as most people do, only of politics. She leans closer and smiles. Harry stares at her, entranced. That reaction is familiar, and Aradia will use it, but at least in this case, she means the object of her enthrallment nothing but good.

That is also unfamiliar, and Aradia enjoys it.

"Power can mean many different things, Harry," she whispers. "Magic and politics are the way that people would think of it in our world, but there is also knowledge. Secrets can give you a power over your enemies that threats could never match. And there is confidence, poise, grace, charm, a reputation for honesty or honor, good looks, a talent at Quidditch…so much is power. People don't always use it, but we all move through the world with power nonetheless."

Harry is totally focused on her, and Aradia has to admit it's gratifying. "What's the difference between using it and not using it?"

"Attitude," Aradia whispers. "Some people don't use it because they're embarrassed, or too modest, or too detached, or have what they want, or don't think they can make a difference. Or because they think that power is only ever power over somebody else, and they don't want that. But power is also power to. To achieve what you want, to defend your friends and family, to keep what you love safe. That is how I use power. That is how I have taught my son to use it."

Harry visibly thinks about that, tilting his head back and forth. Aradia sees a quick wriggle in the cloth of his pocket, and thinks he's probably carrying a familiar. But Harry doesn't say anything about it, which makes her return her gaze to his face.

"Do you think I could learn to be powerful?" Harry asks.

"It would depend on what kind of power you have, and what kind of attitude you have, and your reason for using it."

"I don't know about the first ones yet, but I want to be powerful so I can be a good friend to Blaise. He's my first human friend I ever met."

Aradia's suspicions about the presence of a familiar grow. She only nods and says, "Then I think you could grow to become a good friend to my son if you found out what kind of power you could use to defend him, and accepted that power, and put limitations on yourself."

"Limitations?"

"You can't use power for everything. Or I should say, the same kind of power for everything. Magical power by itself won't make people like you instead of trying to use you."

"Yeah, that's true." Harry again seems to think, and Aradia is struck by how pleasant mentoring a child other than Blaise is. Of course, most of the people who might have given her the chance to mentor such a child would back away from her in horror, and it was not advisable for her to have more than one pregnancy, so she has never done it.

It is still pleasant.

"All right, Mrs. Zabini," Harry says. "Thank you."

Aradia rises to her feet. It is both a natural ending of the conversation and reaching the end of absurdity in Blaise's protracted absence. "You can come out now, Blaise."

Harry watches as Blaise comes back around the corner of the shelf, clutching a history book in his hand and looking a little nervous. Harry smiles at him and says, "Did you find a history book about just Britain, or is that about more than it? It looks big."

Blaise stares at the book in his hands as if he's never seen it before. Then he nods and thrusts it abruptly towards Harry. "Here."

Harry takes it and studies it. It has a large black cover with a picture of an hourglass on the front. He smiles. "A History of the Twentieth Century from the British Magical Perspective. Thanks, Zabini."

"You can call me Blaise."

Harry smiles at Blaise again and carefully doesn't look at Mrs. Zabini. He thinks she might not approve of them moving to first names too soon. "Thanks, Blaise. You can call me Harry."

"I was."

"You were?" Harry thinks he would have noticed that, even with as little practice as he has at having friends.

Blaise clears his throat. "I mean, in my head. So it won't be much of a difference calling you Harry aloud."

"Oh. Okay." Harry nods at him and glances around. "Did you see the Hogwarts books? I suppose we should get those too, but I don't know if they're all together in one part of the shop or in different parts."

"Over here," says Mrs. Zabini calmly, and leads the way.

The Hogwarts books don't look as interesting as the books on history and snakes that Blaise found for him, but then again, those are books about history and snakes. Basic spells are hard to compare to that. Artemis agrees, from the way that she squirms around in his pocket. He put the book on snakes there, and although she can't read it by herself, he hopes that she's having fun examining the cobra on the cover.

"What else will you need?" Mrs. Zabini murmurs, glancing around. "Ah. Perhaps a guide to taking care of robes would not go amiss, since you grew up in the Muggle world…writing with a quill…basic Potions brewing instructions…" She's plucking a series of slim books from the shelves and dropping them in Harry's basket.

"HARRY!"

Harry flinches so hard that he almost drops the basket full of books. Mrs. Zabini whirls to the side and shields Blaise. Harry wonders for a second why, and then sees Hagrid looming over them and glaring at Mrs. Zabini, and decides he knows why.

"What are you doing here with—them?" Hagrid asks, not taking his eyes from Mrs. Zabini.

"I met them and they were nice," Harry says, glaring at Hagrid. Hagrid looks a little startled.

"Harry, you can't know who they are—"

"I do not make a practice of hiding my name," Mrs. Zabini says icily. "Yes, I told him, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid looks hilariously bewildered. Harry feels a little sorry for him, but then he remembers the way that Hagrid yelled at Mrs. Zabini and Blaise, and he doesn't. He shakes his head. "They were nice to me."

"She's a," Hagrid says, and stoops down. He probably thinks that he's being quiet, but his whisper carries all the way around the shop. "A murderer."

Mrs. Zabini's face goes calm and cold. Blaise stands next to her and imitates her. Harry thinks he probably would, too, if someone was insulting his mum. But they aren't, but they are insulting someone who was nice to him, so he glares at Hagrid and says, "And does that mean you think they're going to kill me right in the middle of Diagon Alley?"

"No!" Hagrid blurts. "But Harry, you don't understand—"

"I understand you're being mean to them."

Hagrid looks bewildered again. Harry sighs and turns around to Mrs. Zabini and Blaise. Mrs. Zabini still looks closed-off, but Blaise is staring at Harry with a strange, complex expression he can't read.

"Sorry about that," Harry says. "I think it's stupid to accuse people of murder in public." Either it's not true and it's mean or they are murderers and now they're going to murder you. "But I think we probably have to say goodbye now."

"I think you are correct." Mrs. Zabini holds out a hand, and Harry shakes it. "Good-bye, Harry. I am sure we will communicate."

"I'll see you at Hogwarts," Blaise says, and smiles tentatively at Harry. Harry hates that he seems nervous now when he didn't earlier. Hagrid is mostly a nice person, but he doesn't understand everything, and he can be mean. "I hope that we can ride together on the train."

Harry smiles. "That would be great!"

Mrs. Zabini half-bows to him, and leads Blaise away to pay for his books. Blaise looks back and waves, and Harry waves back madly until they're around the corner of a shelf and out of view.

Hagrid starts right in. "Those are the Zabinis, Harry, you don't want to go getting mixed up with the likes of them. Why, I heard tell…"

Harry tunes out Hagrid. It's not a lot of effort, since he's used to doing it with the Dursleys. He plucks a few more books form the shelves and puts them in his basket, and hopes he might run into Blaise and Mrs. Zabini at the front counter.

But they're gone when he gets there. Harry stifles his disappointment and pays for his books, and then they step outside and Hagrid asks him what he still has to get and Harry talks about the telescope, and they head in the direction of that shop.

"I'm just worried about you," Hagrid says gruffly after a few steps.

It's a thing that Aunt Petunia sometimes said when he was younger, before she stopped pretending to like him. And some of the neighbors, when they pretended to care about him. Harry pastes a bright smile on his face and nods. It'll work best if he can just pretend that Hagrid is making an impression on him, and then he'll probably forget about it and start talking about telescopes.

And that's exactly what happens. And when Hagrid buys him a white owl for his birthday, Harry is delighted. He names her Hedwig, one of the names he saw flipping through the history book Blaise handed him. Hedwig dips her head and hoots, then looks suspiciously at his pocket where Artemis is.

"I do not like a bird that could eat me," Artemis says primly.

Harry asks Hagrid to go purchase a cage for Hedwig, and after he's ducked back into the shop, Harry grasps Hedwig's beak and holds it firmly while he stares into her eyes. "This is my friend Artemis," he says. "If you want to be my friend, too, no hunting her."

Hedwig fluffs her wings and shifts back and forth for a second as if thinking about it. Then she settles down with a cheerful hoot, just as Hagrid comes out of the pet shop with a birdcage in his hand.

"She likes you!" Hagrid says.

Harry smiles at her. "Yeah, she does. This is a great birthday, Hagrid. Thanks."

Learning he was a wizard, getting his first human friend, and his second non-human friend. Yes, it's a great day.

"Do you think I could write to Harry, Mother?"

Mother considers him for a moment, unsmiling. Blaise holds his breath. He knows that Mother approved of Harry, but that's not the same as wanting Blaise to have a regular correspondence with him. She could say that Blaise could just wait until they see each other in a few weeks at Hogwarts.

But Mother says only, "Do you think the owl would cause him trouble with his Muggle relatives? It would have to wait for a response."

"I—don't know. He didn't say it would."

Mother taps her fingers against her lips for a moment. They're in the solarium, which has one window, a vast glass one that throws the shifting purple and green light of the Undiscovered Sun over them.

"You may," she says at last. "But direct the owl to find Harry when he is alone."

Blaise beams. She really approved of Harry, then. That's not a privilege he would have even with some of the few families his mother keeps up with for political reasons. "Thank you, Mother," he says, and kisses her hand.

"Perfect manners, as ever," Mother says, and smiles at him. "Perhaps you'll teach Harry some."

As Blaise goes to find Aldebaran, his owl, he privately thinks that Harry doesn't really need those lessons. Blaise has enough people in his life who are cold and courteous and closed-off. He could stand having a few more who are like Harry: open and guileless and prone to sharing everything interesting.

"What do you think will happen when we return to the house with Hedwig on your shoulder?"

Harry hesitates. He was about to get on the train that Hagrid gave him a ticket home for. Hagrid is gone already. "What do you mean?" he asks, stepping back so that he's out of the flow of people. They probably can't hear him speaking to Artemis, anyway, but he's a little paranoid about meeting another magical person now who could hear it.

Hedwig tilts an eye at Artemis, but says nothing, which Harry supposes has to count as progress right now.

"Hedwig is not pure magic like me, and can't hide from the Muggles," Artemis whispers, projecting her head just enough above the rim of his pocket that Harry can see her flickering tongue. "What do you think they will do to her?"

Harry swallows. "They'll probably hurt her," he admits, keeping one eye on the people going past him. So far, no one has done more than give him a slightly curious glance, so they're probably all Muggles. They're paying more attention to Hedwig, but most of them either seem to assume that she's stuffed or are in too much of a hurry to get where they're going to linger and stare.

"Yes. They won't allow her. And they hurt you, too. I can't tolerate it any longer." Artemis's voice is low and angry in a way that Harry has never heard. He wonders if just seeing Diagon Alley and other magical people walking around in better clothes than he had was enough to upset her. "We should stay here."

"In the train—"

"You are not stupid, so don't act like it!" Artemis orders him, and Hedwig clicks her beak as if she can understand Artemis and agrees with her. Harry tries to ignore the gaping mouths of a couple children being hustled along by their mother, and their questions about where they can get an owl just like his. "You know that I mean Diagon Alley. You have the money to stay here."

"But I have to be careful with the money. What if it turns out that a room for a month is really expensive?"

"Then you can see about doing something to earn money," Artemis retorts.

Harry frowns and opens his mouth.

"It wouldn't work in the Muggle world, but it might here. And if it doesn't, then I can go out and steal money that rolls out of people's pockets and into corners of the street. I saw it happen a few times today, and that was when I was only looking out of your pocket now and then. We will have enough."

Harry nibbles his lips for a second, and then nods. Artemis is right about Hedwig. Even if she stays gone most of the time while she's hunting, she might have to come back for water, and she seems to like Harry pretty well and would probably want to sleep in her cage. The thought of Dudley or Uncle Vernon hurting her isn't acceptable.

And, well, the Dursleys would be just as glad to never see Harry again, particularly after Hagrid destroyed Uncle Vernon's gun. Harry can practically hear the rants about the cost of the gun just standing there. And Harry would be just as glad to never see them.

And what little he's learned about the history of the war from Hagrid and the books and Blaise says that Harry isn't anyone powerful or important. Not like Neville Longbottom or Mrs. Zabini.

You have to choose how to wield your power, Mrs. Zabini's voice breathes in the back of his head.

Harry nods. He's going to choose this, right now. He turns and marches away from the train station, stuffing the ticket Hagrid got him back in his pocket.

It turns out the Leaky Cauldron rents rooms, and the owner, Tom, doesn't ask Harry any questions when Harry explains that his family would prefer that he stay in Diagon Alley for the month remaining until school. In fact, he gives Harry a sympathetic look as he hands over the key.

"There are always some Muggle families who don't value their children with the gift," he says gruffly. "Sorry you're from one of them."

"Thank you, sir," Harry says, touched. It's even true. It's not like he has a proper Potter family to be part of.

And it's not too expensive. Harry lies on the bed reading his history book while Hedwig hunts and then flies back into the room and chirs at him affectionately. Harry scratches her breast feathers with two fingers while he flips through his book, reading some aloud to Artemis. Hedwig ruffles her feathers a little at the Parseltongue, but doesn't fly away.

"The war sounds stupid," Artemis says. "There's an evil Dark Lord, who wants to torture and murder people? And people support him? And not everyone turns their backs on him and runs away like a mouse?"

Harry snorts. "It's probably more complicated than that. It's probably about power, like Mrs. Zabini says."

"What do you mean?"

"This Dark Lord was powerful, and he convinced other people he could grant them power, too. So they followed him, even though it meant they had to murder and torture people. They probably didn't care if it wasn't them or their families."

Artemis shakes herself in displeasure. "It's stupid."

"I know. But people like the Dursleys are stupid, too. All worlds have some stupid people. And I need to understand them so that I can fit in better."

"Read me more."

Harry chuckles and does so, quietly happy that he's in his very own room, in his very own bed, with his very own owl on his shoulder and his first friend curled up on the bed next to him.

Only Blaise is lacking to make it perfect.