Chapter 5: Bad Blood
The day started out fine. The first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors stood on the field, waiting for Madame Hooch's instructions. Harry was content to chat quietly with Daphne about their upcoming Charms assignment, nodding along as she explained the possible applications of Lumos in dueling scenarios. She was by far the best in their year when it came to Charms, and he enjoyed learning from her when given the chance. Then, things took a turn.
Neville Longbottom, whose hands were visibly shaking as he stood beside his broom, kicked off the ground prematurely. Before anyone could stop him, he shot up into the air with a panicked yelp. The entire class watched in horror as he lost control, his broom twisting violently before dumping him unceremoniously onto the ground. A loud crack echoed across the field.
Madame Hooch rushed over, quickly assessing his injury.
"Broken wrist," she announced, before turning to the rest of them with a sharp glare. "Nobody is to fly while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. If I see a single broom off the ground, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say Quidditch."
With that, she guided the sniffling Gryffindor off the field, leaving the rest of the students behind. For a moment, everything was still. Then Draco, unable to resist an opportunity to get under Weasley's skin, snatched up a small, round object from the grass.
"Would you look at that," he drawled. "Longbottom must've dropped this. It's a Remembrall, isn't it? What do you reckon would happen if I tossed it into the Forbidden Forest?"
Weasley's face went red. "Give that back, Malfoy!"
"Come and take it, Weasley," Draco taunted, smirking as he mounted his broom and kicked off the ground.
Harry sighed, already predicting how this would end. Charlie was quick to take the bait.
"You slimy little snake!" he shouted, grabbing his own broom and launching into the air after Draco.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Idiot. Draco had grown up flying. He had boasted about it at least three separate times that morning alone. Charlie hadn't even touched a broom before today. Even from the ground, Harry could tell how unsteady he was. His grip was too tight, his knees locked stiffly, and he wobbled with every sharp turn Draco made.
"This is bad," Daphne muttered beside him.
A bushy-haired Gryffindor girl ran up, looking furious.
"You have to stop them!" she cried, grabbing Harry's sleeve. "He's your brother!"
Harry gave her a flat look. "Is he? I'd forgotten. Thanks for reminding me."
The Slytherins behind him burst into laughter.
Granger's face turned red. "Are you serious? He's about to fall!"
Harry looked back up. Sure enough, Charlie's broom wobbled dangerously as he attempted to keep up with Draco. His movements were jerky, his weight shifting in ways that threatened to send him plummeting at any moment.
"Potter," Daphne hissed, voice urgent. "That idiot is about to kill himself. If he falls, Draco's getting expelled for taunting him up there."
Harry exhaled sharply. Damn it. He wasn't worried about Charlie. Not really. Charlie had spent the last week acting like a victim of a world he refused to understand, throwing tantrums and flailing at anything that didn't fit the version of reality he wanted. But if Charlie fell and hurt himself, then Draco would be in trouble.
Draco had helped him more than anyone else since the Sorting. He had pulled Harry aside early on and taught him the basics of wizarding society. How to navigate the delicate etiquette of pureblood society, what not to say if he didn't want to accidentally start a duel, and which titles mattered when addressing the older students. He had shown him a handful of simple hexes, the kind most wizard-raised kids already knew, and had stepped in more than once when Harry was lost in class and too proud to ask.
Harry hadn't forgotten any of it. He owed Draco. And he wasn't about to stand by and watch him get expelled because Charlie decided to jump on a broom and fly without knowing how. Without another word, he grabbed his broom and mounted it. The moment his feet left the ground, something shifted. The air seemed to recognize him, like it had been waiting. The wind lifted him gently, steady and sure. His balance adjusted without thought, his body aligning with the movement like he'd done this a hundred times before. He had been worried at first, but now it felt natural.
"I'm too small to catch him alone," Harry called, eyes already locked on Charlie's wobbly form. "A couple of you help?"
Blaise and Millicent exchanged glances before grabbing their own brooms, lifting into the air beside him. They formed a tight formation beneath Charlie-just in time for him to lose control entirely.
"H-HELP!" Charlie cried, limbs flailing as he tumbled downward.
Harry, Blaise, and Millicent surged into motion without needing to speak. It wasn't a plan so much as a shared instinct, something that passed silently between them with a glance and a nod. One moment, Charlie was tumbling from the sky, limbs flailing in panic. The next, the three of them were beneath him, brooms weaving into position. Harry reached up first, catching his brother under the arm. Blaise grabbed the other, Millicent locking her grip around Charlie's elbow just as his foot slipped loose from the stirrup. They were stable, barely.
"Lower," Harry said, his voice calm but clipped.
Together, they began to descend. Slowly. Controlled. The grass rose to meet them, inch by inch, until the ground hovered just below Charlie's boots. Harry looked sideways at Blaise. Blaise raised an eyebrow. Millicent gave the smallest nod. Unspoken agreement passed between them with all the weight of strategy. Harry loosened his grip. So did Blaise. Then Millicent. They let go at the same time. Charlie hit the ground with a jarring thud. It wasn't enough to injure him, not really, but it was enough to leave a mark. Dust clouded around him, and for a moment, there was only the sound of his gasp and the rustling of grass.
Harry touched down lightly nearby, broom still in hand. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The point had already been made. He glanced up toward the sidelines. Theo, Daphne, and several of the others stood watching. Some were wide-eyed. Others just nodded, slow and deliberate. Draco landed a few feet away, still holding the Remembrall between two fingers like a prize he hadn't quite decided what to do with.
"Idiot couldn't even stay in the air," he said, loud enough for the remaining Gryffindors to hear. "Too bad they didn't let you really fall. Even Madame Pomfrey would have trouble fixing a broken head."
Charlie staggered to his feet, cheeks flushed, hair full of dirt and grass. His fists curled, and he lunged a step forward.
"Potters. Zabini. Malfoy. Bulstrode."
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked across the field like a whip. Every head turned. Color drained from their faces as she stormed toward them, her robes snapping behind her with the weight of fury.
"In all my years at this school, I have never," McGonagall began, her voice sharp and rising.
"But Professor-" Weasley tried.
"No buts!" she snapped. "Flying without supervision is strictly prohibited for first years!" Her gaze landed on Draco and Charlie with the weight of a death sentence. "Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy-you both started this nonsense!"
Charlie groaned. Draco scowled.
McGonagall turned to the others. "However, I will award Slytherin ten points for the quick thinking of the other Mr. Potter, Miss Bulstrode, and Mr. Zabini. Their actions prevented a potential tragedy."
As the class trudged back toward the castle, Theo turned to Harry. "Why didn't you say you were a good flyer?"
Harry shrugged. "That was the first time I've ever flown."
Theo stopped in his tracks. "What?"
Harry smirked. "What, you think I went riding a broomstick in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood?"
Later, as the Slytherins made their way down to the dungeons, their voices echoing softly against the cold stone walls, a sharp cry rang out from behind them.
"Harry!"
The group instinctively paused, turning in unison. Charlie was barreling toward them, his robes billowing behind him, his face set with determination. Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, already exhausted by whatever new nonsense this was going to be.
He crossed his arms as Charlie finally caught up, panting slightly from the exertion.
"You're lost, aren't you?" he asked, unimpressed.
Charlie skidded to a halt just a few feet away, hesitation flickering across his face. He took a glance around, and only then did he seem to realize his mistake. A dozen sharp, assessing eyes locked onto him. The Slytherins didn't move but they didn't need to move. Their stance alone was enough to send a clear message- Intruder.
Theo raised an unimpressed brow. Blaise tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips curling with amusement. Pansy crossed her arms, shifting her weight onto one foot like she was preparing to enjoy a show. Even Millicent cracked her knuckles slightly, an eyebrow raised in challenge. This was Slytherin territory, and they didn't take kindly to lions in it. Charlie didn't seem to care that he was outnumbered and out of place. He straightened his spine to appear taller and lifted his chin in the air.
"Harry, please," he started again, and his voice was softer this time. "You must still have some good in you. You saved me-I know you care."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Blaise and Millicent saved you too. I highly doubt they care."
Charlie flinched.
Blaise smirked from the sidelines. "That would be correct."
Millicent cracked her knuckles again, grinning at Charlie's discomfort, "Not one bit."
The words hung heavily in the corridor, the temperature seeming to drop further. Charlie visibly struggled for a response, his mouth opening and closing as he fumbled for the right thing to say.
Harry, however, was already done with this conversation. He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly.
"You're confused, Charlie," he said, voice deceptively light. "You still think I'm the same person who cared about what you thought. About what they thought." He gestured vaguely, and they both knew exactly who they meant. "But let me make something very clear to you, since you're having such a hard time understanding…"
He stepped in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"I don't care anymore."
Charlie's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"You're being brainwashed," he hissed, fists clenching at his sides. "You can't hang out with Malfoy-his father was a Death Eater!"
The corridor fell into stunned silence. Harry could feel the weight of the accusation settle over the Slytherins around him. A few of them stiffened. Draco, standing just behind him, went rigid, his expression flashing from shock to unrestrained fury. Harry laughed. A slow, deliberate, almost amused laugh. It echoed through the dungeon passageway, cold and sharp, like the crack of ice underfoot.
"You righteous moron," he drawled, shaking his head. "Draco isn't his father. Do you even hear yourself?"
Charlie recoiled as though Harry had struck him.
"They all are- the Slytherins!" he snapped, face darkening with frustration.
Something inside Harry snapped. Maybe it was exhaustion from constantly being hunted down. Maybe it was the arrogance in Charlie's voice, the audacity of thinking he had the right to tell him who he could and couldn't be friends with. Or maybe it was the countless hours he had spent researching after Draco's casual confession that his father had been accused of being a Death Eater but was cleared of all charges their second night at Hogwarts.
Harry hadn't been satisfied with just Draco's word. He had devoured everything he could find about the war. He combed through every book, every article, every scrap of information the Hogwarts library had to offer. Lucius Malfoy had been accused but never convicted. The Imperius Curse defense was flimsy at best, but the Ministry had accepted it. Calling a titled lord guilty of something he'd already been acquitted of? That was foolish. Pure recklessness. Charlie was going to make enemies of the most powerful people in the wizarding world, and he wouldn't even realize it until it was far too late.
"You know what's funny?" Harry said, his voice deadly quiet. "I actually did my research. Unlike you, I don't just take other people's word for things." He stepped forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I know exactly which families were marked, which families went to Azkaban, and which ones got off clean. Tell me, Charlie, did you do any of that? Did you even bother opening a book before you started flapping your mouth?"
Charlie's eyes darted to the side, as though looking for support, but the other Gryffindors weren't there to back him up. He was alone in a viper den, and all eyes were on him.
Draco took a measured step forward, his silver eyes flashing dangerously.
"My father," he said smoothly, "was cleared of all charges. Maybe your dear friend Weasley should check with his father before talking out of turn. I'd wager he knows far more about Ministry corruption than you do."
Charlie's jaw clenched. "Ron says your whole family is no good. That your mother is no better than a Death Eater and that you're going to grow up to be one too."
Harry felt something sharp twist in his gut. That wasn't a simple insult. It wasn't the usual posturing or name-calling Charlie used to get a rise out of people. That was deliberate. Nasty. Aimed to wound. He saw it hit Draco. Not on the surface. Draco didn't flinch or speak, but Harry caught the flicker of tension. There was a faint shift in his expression that most wouldn't notice. Not unless they had been watching him closely, the way Harry had started to.
Charlie didn't understand what he'd said. But Harry did. He didn't know all the details, not yet. He hadn't met Draco's parents, hadn't been taught all the rules of the political games pureblood families played. But he knew enough to recognize when someone's name was a weapon. And Draco's had just been dragged through the dirt, not for something he did, but for who he was.
Harry clenched his jaw. His mind raced. He didn't know what Lucius Malfoy was truly like. He didn't know whether the rumors were true, or what the truth even looked like in this world. But he did know Draco. And whatever else Draco might be, arrogant, sharp-tongued, prideful, he had never once lied to Harry. He had never treated him like he didn't belong. Charlie had crossed a line, and Harry wasn't sure he could come back from it. For the first time in a long while, Harry didn't feel the need to defend himself. He felt the need to defend someone else. And that made him furious.
Worse still, Charlie's recklessness could drag him down too. One stupid comment, and they'd both be stained by it. Guilt by association. And Harry had worked too hard, learned too quickly, to let his brother ruin that now.
"You absolute idiot," Harry spat, his fingers twitching toward his wand. "Both you and Weasley need to watch your mouths."
Draco's entire face darkened, his grip tightening on his own wand.
Charlie, still red-faced, glared at them both. "It's too late for you. He's already got you corrupted. You're nothing but a-"
His hand dipped into his robes. A few gasps of shock rippled through the small group, but Harry was faster. With a sharp flick of his wand, he cast a Trip Jinx and Tongue-Tying Curse in rapid succession. Charlie yelped as his legs buckled, sending him sprawling onto the stone floor. His mouth snapped shut, his tongue suddenly refusing to cooperate. The Slytherins exchanged smirks as Charlie flailed, his attempts to speak coming out as nothing more than garbled nonsense. A familiar swish of robes entered the corridor. Harry stiffened.
"Dare I ask what is going on here?" came the slow, measured voice of Professor Snape.
Silence fell. Charlie, now sitting on the floor and covered in remnants of the mild but humiliating hexes, shot up and began wildly pointing at his mouth, eyes wide with protest.
Snape didn't even blink.
"Five points from Gryffindor for sneaking about where you don't belong," he said lazily, barely sparing Charlie a glance. "The rest of you, back to your common room."
The Slytherins wasted no time. Footsteps shuffled. Robes swished. No one lingered.
As they slipped into the corridor beyond, Millicent gave Harry a smirk. "You're full of surprises, Potter."
Harry adjusted his sleeve with deliberate calm, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's what they tell me."
Charlie, still scrambling to undo the jinx, didn't follow. Harry didn't bother looking back.
The common room had gone still. The fireplace crackled softly, casting long shadows along the stone walls. Most of the other students had gone to bed or disappeared into alcoves to whisper about the hexing incident. Draco sat near the hearth, his eyes on the flames and shoulders unusually tense. He had been that way since they returned from flying lessons and the confrontation with Charlie that had all of Slytherin buzzed with gossip. Harry approached quietly, uncertain if Draco wanted company. For a moment, he stood there in silence, watching the firelight flicker across Draco's profile. His usual poise was still there, with his spine straight and hands folded. But something about the set of his shoulders looked heavier than usual. He seemed tired. Guarded.
Harry cleared his throat. "Mind if I sit?"
Draco didn't respond, but he didn't wave him off either. That was enough.
Harry sat down on the edge of the armrest across from him, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. The words came slowly, one at a time.
"I'm sorry. About Charlie."
Draco didn't look at him. "It wasn't your fault."
"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry," Harry replied. "He shouldn't have said what he did."
Draco was quiet for a beat, then murmured, "He said it because he thought it would hurt."
"I know. He's good at that."
They sat in silence again. The fire popped.
Harry exhaled, "I don't believe any of what he said, by the way. Not a word."
That got Draco's attention. He glanced over, not suspicious exactly, but measured.
"He doesn't think for himself," Harry continued, more bitterly than he intended. "He parrots whatever someone louder tells him. It's not an excuse. It's just how he's always been. Thoughtless."
Draco said nothing, but his expression softened slightly.
"I honestly don't even like him," Harry admitted, his voice low and certain. "Getting sorted into Slytherin, away from him, was probably one of the best things that's ever happened to me."
Draco let out a breath, something between amusement and disbelief. "You really aren't anything like anyone expected."
Harry gave a faint shrug, "Doesn't seem worth the effort to live up to impossible standards other people have placed on me."
For the first time since the hallway incident, Draco's shoulders eased just slightly. He leaned back against the chair, eyes still on the fire but his shoulders seemed to lighten.
Harry found relief in turning his full attention back to classes, which were steadily growing more demanding. The workload had increased, and he found himself spending more time with Theo and Blaise in the library, making sure he wasn't falling behind. Draco, on the other hand, only studied when it suited him, much more interested in detailing Quidditch plays than reading through their Transfiguration textbook.
Before he knew it, October bled into November, and Halloween arrived in a flurry of floating pumpkins and flickering candlelight. The Great Hall was adorned with Hagrid's best efforts. Massive jack-o'-lanterns sat at every corner, their carved faces flickering ominously in the dim light. Bats flitted through the rafters, weaving between the ghosts who drifted through the room, cackling over old stories. It was one of the first nights that felt… normal.
The students were in high spirits, laughter ringing out over plates piled high with pumpkin pasties and treacle tarts. Even the Slytherin table, usually so composed, was buzzing with conversation. Then, chaos struck. The doors to the Great Hall burst open with a thunderous crack, and a hunched figure stumbled inside, his turban askew and his face pale as death.
"TROLL!" Professor Quirrell shrieked, his eyes wild as he clutched at the front of his robes. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"
The Hall fell into stunned silence.
"I thought you ought to know-"
With a dramatic groan, Quirrell collapsed face-first onto the stone floor. For a moment, no one moved. Then pandemonium broke loose. Screams rang through the hall, students scrambling to their feet, knocking over goblets and plates as they rushed toward the doors. The older students attempted to corral the younger ones, but the sheer panic made it impossible. Dumbledore stood from his seat, a single sharp BANG emitting from his wand, and the room fell silent once more.
"Prefects, escort your houses back to their dormitories immediately!" he commanded.
The students obeyed, quickly filing toward the doors in panicked groups, but as the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs neared the exit, they hesitated. Something wasn't right. Their common rooms were in the dungeons. And the last sighting of the troll… had been in the dungeons. No one dared move forward. The professors had all left to deal with the threat, leaving them alone. Harry stood with the rest of the first-years near the end of the table, watching as the prefects exchanged looks of grim understanding. Gemma and the Hufflepuff prefect. They shared a silent nod before turning back to their houses.
"First through third-years-move to the far end of the table," a seventh year Hufflepuff prefect ordered, her voice sharp and unwavering. "Older students, wands out. If that thing gets in here, hit it with anything you've got. Younger years…keep those wands away, we don't need you causing more trouble."
The first-years scrambled to obey, shuffling quickly toward the far end of the table, pressing themselves close together. Across the room, Cedric was issuing similar orders to the Hufflepuffs. A heavy silence settled over the Great Hall. No one spoke. No one ate. The prefects and older students stood at the front of the Great Hall, wands gripped tight, eyes locked on the massive double doors. A minute passed. Then another. The tension was unbearable, thick as smoke. Every creak of wood or whisper of breath felt like a threat. Harry's fingers inched toward his wand despite the previous instructions, heart pounding so loudly he was sure someone else could hear it. Then the doors creaked open. Dozens of wands flew up in unison, tips glowing and aimed. Several of the younger students cried out, some ducking beneath benches, certain the troll had broken through.
"Lower your wands this instant!"
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked through the chaos like a whip. She stepped into the hall, robes swirling behind her, expression like thunder.
"What are you still doing here?" she demanded, eyes scanning the frozen crowd. "Your instructions were to return to your common rooms!"
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, one by one, the students began to lower their wands, shoulders sagging in relief and embarrassment. Not everyone followed suit. Gemma stood tall near the front, her wand still raised, fury etched into every line of her face.
"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, her voice sharp and rising with disbelief. "Have all the teachers around here completely lost their minds?"
Harry's head snapped toward Gemma at the sound of her voice. She stood unmoving, wand still raised, eyes blazing. McGonagall blinked, clearly caught off guard by the defiance.
Every other student had lowered their defenses, but not her. She didn't flinch. She didn't waver. She looked ready to hex the next adult who gave a stupid order. Gemma had protected them. She hadn't panicked. She hadn't run. She had drawn her wand, stepped forward, and made herself a shield. That mattered more to Harry than robes or titles or the power that came with them. He would trust Farley over a dozen professors- any day.
McGonagall's nostrils flared as she regained her composure.
Her voice was colder than before, "I will not be spoken to in such a manner, even from you Miss Farley. Fifty points will be taken from both Slytherin and Hufflepuff for failure to follow instructions in a dangerous situation."
The reaction was instant. Shouts broke across both tables like a thunderclap.
"That's not fair!"
"We would've run into the troll!"
"We stayed to protect the first-years!"
"Where else were we supposed to go?!"
Even Harry found himself glaring at McGonagall, something he had never imagined doing. He had always thought of her as fair, if a little stiff. But now she looked like just another adult who had sent them down a corridor with a troll and expected them to smile about it. The prefects surged forward, voices overlapping as they tried to explain what had happened, but McGonagall stood her ground. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Her eyes gave nothing away. Gemma still hadn't lowered her wand. She looked murderous and Harry was with her.
Before anyone could speak again, the great doors groaned open once more. The sound sliced through the noise in the hall like a blade, freezing every voice mid-protest. Professor Sprout and Professor Snape stepped inside, both looking pale and drawn. Their robes were streaked with grime, sleeves rumpled, and the sharp smell of cold air and damp stone followed them in. Whispers stilled. Heads turned.
"There you are, children," Sprout said, her voice a tired sigh of relief. "Come along. I'll take you back to your common rooms-"
She stopped short, her eyes narrowing at the wave of angry murmurs rippling through the room.
"My, what's wrong?" she asked, scanning the tense faces.
"Professor McGonagall took fifty points!" one of the Hufflepuff prefects burst out. "From both houses!"
Sprout blinked. "Why on earth would she do that?"
"They failed to follow the Headmaster's instructions to return to their common rooms," McGonagall said, her voice clipped and formal.
Sprout turned to her slowly, her expression hardening.
"Minerva," she said sharply. "Did you forget where their common rooms are located?"
McGonagall's spine straightened, but color had already begun to rise in her cheeks. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then finally said, "I hadn't considered that in the moment."
Her voice lacked its usual edge. It was thin. Flustered.
Snape scoffed, the sound low and sharp. "Evidently," he said.
He gestured toward the gathered students with one hand, his expression unreadable. "As you can see, they took reasonable precautions. Had they followed instructions to the letter, they would have walked straight into the troll. We would be treating injuries- or worse."
McGonagall's lips thinned into a tight line. Her jaw worked for a moment, then she gave a stiff nod. "I rescind my previous statements. The points will be restored. My apologies."
A few students muttered quiet thanks. Others weren't so forgiving. The energy in the room remained tense, shoulders still braced, expressions wary. The apology had come, but the damage lingered. Harry said nothing. He hadn't stopped watching her. There had always been something steady about McGonagall, something reliably fair, even if she was strict. But now she felt like just another adult who had shouted orders and expected obedience without thinking.
"The troll has been dealt with," McGonagall added, attempting to regain control. Her voice was firmer now. "Mr. Potter-if you could come with me, please?"
Harry didn't move right away. His gaze lingered on her face, searching for some sign that she really understood what she had almost caused. His eyes glanced to the other Slytherins. Theo raised an eyebrow. Draco frowned. Blaise looked mildly entertained.
"Go on, then," Gemma sighed, rolling her eyes. "Try not to get expelled."
Harry shot her a look before reluctantly following McGonagall out of the Hall. She walked briskly, forcing him to jog to keep up.
"Professor," he finally asked, "where are we going?"
McGonagall didn't answer until they reached the doors to the Hospital Wing.
She turned, eyeing him carefully. "Your brother and his friends decided that going after a fully grown mountain troll was a wonderful idea."
Harry blinked.
"Did he die?" he asked, a bit too flatly.
McGonagall's head snapped up so fast he wondered if she had whiplash. She stared at him, horror flashing across her face.
"Mr. Potter!" she scolded.
Harry crossed his arms. "What? It's a fair question."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "No. By some miracle, he did not. We found and subdued the troll before it was able to grievously harm them."
Harry sighed, half-annoyed, half-relieved. He had no desire to see Charlie dead, but he also wasn't about to pretend he was concerned.
McGonagall peered at him, her expression softening.
"Your brother confides in me," she said quietly. "He is deeply upset about the rift between you two."
Harry rolled his eyes. "No offense, but Charlie doesn't care about me, and I don't care about him."
McGonagall pursed her lips. "Are you certain of that?"
Harry exhaled sharply.
"I appreciate the concern," he admitted. "Really. But if that's all, I have a Potions essay to finish."
McGonagall studied him for a moment before sighing. "You may go."
Harry nodded and turned on his heel, heading back toward the dungeons. As he walked, he scoffed under his breath. Charlie was upset. Harry didn't see why, and frankly he didn't care. After all, this was exactly what he wanted. Charlie had chosen Gryffindor. Harry had chosen Slytherin. They weren't brothers. They never had been. Just strangers wearing the same last name.
It was a crisp November morning when Harry found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts, his footsteps echoing softly against the worn stone floors. He had ditched the others under the excuse of going to the library-an excuse that earned him more than a few scoffs.
"You're better suited for Ravenclaw," Theo had teased, shaking his head.
Draco, predictably, had admonished him. "You can't hide away forever, Harry. You need to make connections-real ones."
But Harry couldn't be bothered.
Slytherin opinions about him were still divided, and the common room felt suffocating. Every time he stepped inside, he could feel eyes on him, watching, analyzing, waiting for him to slip up. He didn't mind proving himself in the classroom but in Slytherin, social hierarchy mattered just as much as magical skill. And he was constantly being assessed. It was exhausting. So, instead of the library, he let his feet guide him aimlessly, his mind drifting as he studied the towering suits of armor and ancient tapestries lining the corridors. He wasn't paying much attention to where he was going-lost in thought as he traced his fingers along the embroidered edges of a particularly intricate depiction of the Goblin Rebellions.
Thud.
He collided with someone solid, the impact jolting him backward. Harry stumbled, catching himself just in time before he fell completely. He opened his mouth to apologize when he registered who he had run into. A wave of unease rippled through him.
"Professor Quirrell!" Harry blurted, straightening his robes hastily. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."
Quirrell didn't respond immediately. His usual skittish demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he stood eerily still, watching Harry with an unsettling calmness. A strange, almost wrong energy curled in the air around them. It was faint-just a whisper of something foreign, something unnatural-but it made the hairs on Harry's arms stand on end. His breath caught. Something wasn't right.
"Harry Potter," Quirrell finally spoke. His voice was smooth. Controlled. Calculated. "You seem to be out of bounds."
Harry hesitated. Something about the way the words left Quirrell's mouth sent an uncomfortable prickle down his spine. He forced himself to look up to meet Quirrell's gaze and froze. Blood red eyes stared back at him. His stomach dropped. That wasn't right. That wasn't right. His eyes had never once been that color. Something inside Harry screamed at him to run. But he couldn't move. His feet felt rooted to the spot. He needed to say something to mask the sudden spike of fear crawling up his spine. So, he fell back on Slytherin logic.
"Professor Dumbledore merely said it was out of bounds to those who don't wish for a painful death," Harry said, tilting his head slightly. "That doesn't really include anyone who does wish to die a painful death, does it?"
A low chuckle reverberated through the corridor. It wasn't Quirrell's usual timid, anxious laughter. It was wrong. Dark. Mocking. Something twisted beneath the surface of it, and Harry's skin crawled.
"Only a true Slytherin would pick up on that particular nuance," Quirrell murmured, his tone amused. "You are certainly nothing like your brother."
Before Harry could process the words, Quirrell lifted a hand and grasped his chin-tilting his face upward. His fingers were ice-cold. Harry's breath hitched. Quirrell's hand ghosted over his forehead, pushing his unruly bangs aside. Pain flared at the base of his lightning bolt scar. Not sharp but a dull, crawling ache, as if something buried deep within it was being stirred. Harry's heartbeat pounded in his ears. Then, just as suddenly as the moment began, Quirrell pulled back. The magic that had been pressing down around them dissipated. Quirrell's shoulders hunched slightly. His posture shifted.
"O-oh, d-d-d-dear! M-my apologies, M-M-Mr. P-Potter!" he stammered, his voice shaking as he fidgeted with his sleeves. "S-s-so clumsy of me!"
The contrast was staggering. Harry's blood ran cold. Just seconds ago, this man had been someone else entirely. His movements, his voice, his presence. It had all been different. Controlled. Predatory. Now, he was just the timid, bumbling professor everyone knew him to be. Harry's hands clenched at his sides. He should have said something. Demanded an explanation. Questioned the shift but he didn't.
Every scrap of logic in his brain screaming at him that he was not supposed to have seen what he just saw. So, he swallowed his questions and lowered his gaze before muttering a quick, "No problem, Professor," before stepping aside and walking away.
He didn't turn back. Didn't risk another glance. Only once he had rounded the corner, out of sight, did he let out a shaky breath. His fingers etched his scar that still throbbed faintly. Harry exhaled slowly, steadying himself. He wasn't stupid. Something had happened just now. It had made the air taste wrong. Quirrell's presence had felt like it had been coiling around him.
Disclaimer:
I disagree whole heartedly with many of JK Rowling's views.
This is a reupload of a story with the same name and plot. Things have been heavily edited and expanded. Please enjoy.