Harry ended up being a bit bored by the first two days of class. Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense spent their first session going over safety, classroom rules, and theory. Defense with Gryffindor was the only remotely interesting part, and even then, with Quirrell present, even Malfoy didn’t throw more than an occasional sneering jibe. Harry ignored the frequent glares he received from Finnegan, Weasley, and nodded to Longbottom and Granger when he saw them. Herbology was a bit easier; he and Theo usually ended up working with Li and her new friend Lisa Turpin while Blaise, Greengrass, Davis, and Goldstein worked at the table next to theirs. Harry didn’t particularly enjoy Herbology but after years of doing the Dursleys’ yard work he was at least comfortable around dirt. Although the singing flowers were definitely new.
He finally sat down and wrote James on the third day of class.
James,
You’re probably not happy about me being in Slytherin. I hope it won’t cause too many problems between us. I still want to try to be a family. I promise I’m not getting indoctrinated with blood purity ideas. Theo Nott doesn’t hold with that and if anyone else does, they keep it to themselves. Except Malfoy, but I think Jules and I agree about him being a git.
Classes are good so far. I really like Transfiguration. McGonagall is tough but she’s good at what she does. Defense is a joke. The whole room smells like garlic.
Slytherin and Gryffindor have it together. Could you tell Jules to keep Weasley from trying to hex me under the table? It’s getting annoying to have to cast a shield spell every three minutes every class period.
-Harry
He scanned the letter, decided it was a decent length and not too warm, and headed up to the Owlery on his own during lunch, leaving Theo and Blaise to argue about something that came up in Herbology that morning with Sue and Lisa, who’d joined them at the Slytherin table.
Alektra was perched near the ceiling when Harry walked into the Owlery, which smelled a lot like Eylops’ Emporium. He called her name, and she shrieked softly as she dropped down from her perch to his shoulder.
“Good girl,” he said softly, stroking her head and back. The falcon made a quiet kree sound and nipped at his hair while he moved to tie the letter to her leg. “Take this to James, please? I’m not sure if he’s going to respond, but maybe wait a few minutes to see if it looks like he’s going to write back?”
He wasn’t sure how much of this Alektra could understand, but she made another kree, kree noise and took off in a flurry of efficient wingbeats, then vanished out the open window.
Harry leaned out and watched her shoot away to the south, took in the beauty of the Hogwarts grounds spread out in the September sunlight, realized he was possibly going to be late for the study session he’d agreed to go to during their free period, and dashed off down the stairs.
Halfway to the library, he heard Peeves’ distinct voice cackling something about bottles of ink. Harry quickly decided that was not a good sign. Especially since it was getting progressively louder. He turned around and jogged back down the hall to the nearest classroom and tried to open the door. It didn’t budge.
“Alohomora,” he hissed, and when that didn’t work, he tried “Dissolvere incantatem, aperiportus!”
The door clicked slightly, and he shoved it open, slipped inside, and closed it again just before Peeves shot by in the corridor.
Harry sighed with relief.
“Well lookie here,” someone said.
He flipped around, wand out and heart in his throat.
The Weasley twins. Grinning at him.
Harry noticed Broom Twin—he’d figured out how to distinguish one from the other, if not which one was George and which was Fred—tucking a bit of parchment in his bag. The twins were definitely sneakier than most Gryffindors, but between the Dursleys and the Slytherins, Harry was good at both being sneaky and recognizing it in others.
“If it isn’t ickle snakey Potter,” Broom said. “What mischief are you up to—”
“—running around with fourth-year unlocking spells?” Pond finished.
Harry shrugged. “I was hiding from Peeves, and a friend taught me those.”
“What’d you use, Aperiportus?” Broom asked.
“With Dissolvere Incantatem.”
“Impressive.”
“For a first year.”
Harry shrugged again. “So are you hiding from Peeves too, or are you up to something… else?” he asked, eyeing the clean box on the otherwise-dusty table behind the twins.
They smirked in unison.
“Why, Potter.”
“We’re offended you would even suggest—”
“—that we’re capable of mischief.”
“We’re just minding our own business.”
“Completely innocent.”
Harry snorted. “I’m fairly sure you’ve never been innocent.”
Their smirks grew but they said nothing.
“Right,” he said. “Well, if you have pranker’s block, I have it on good authority—” thanks to eavesdropping, gossiping Hufflepuffs named Susan Bones, who just happened to be friends with Lisa Turpin of Ravenclaw, who worked at the same Herbology table as Harry— “that a certain Cedric Diggory plans to sneak out tonight and meet up with a Ravenclaw of unknown identity. And I heard somewhere that you and Diggory aren’t exactly fond of each other after something that happened during a Quidditch match last year.” That story had been retold multiple times over the summer, at least three times in Harry’s hearing.
The twins’ smirks had turned to full-blown grins by the time he was done talking.
“See you around,” Harry said, checking to make sure Peeves was gone before he left the room and hurried to the library. He was meeting Theo, Blaise, Greengrass, Davis, and whichever of the Ravenclaws Goldstein could round up to study the wicked complicated theory behind Transfiguration.
Harry didn’t hear back from James the next day.
It left a cold feeling in his stomach no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he didn’t care what his father thought of him. No matter how hard he tried to believe he wasn’t looking for Alektra’s dark wings and the orange spots on her head among the flurry of owls bringing post over breakfast on Thursday morning.
Theo and Blaise, who knew about the letter, both sent him unreadable looks. Harry ignored them. His family drama was his own problem.
“Study group after classes?” Harry asked.
Greengrass sniffed. “I suppose you lot could be useful.”
“Come off it, Daphne,” Theo sniped. “You’d never have gotten the matchstick Transfiguration down if not for Harry and Blaise.”
“You wouldn’t have, either,” she returned.
“At least I’m not pretending I didn’t find it useful.”
Harry tuned them out and looked at Davis with a raised eyebrow.
She shrugged. “Might as well. I’m having trouble in Charms.”
Harry was having trouble with Charms, too. Transfiguration theory was devilishly complicated, and as hard for him to grasp as anyone else, but he could do the practical work just fine. He’d been second of the Slytherins to transform his matchstick into a needle, after Blaise. It was mostly about exerting force of will on whatever you were Transfiguring. Willpower was something Harry definitely did not lack.
They’d managed to rope Goldstein, Sue, and Lisa into coming, and Harry thought he could convince Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott of Hufflepuff to come along. He’d spent an amiable fifteen minutes chatting with them in the school-wide study rooms on the second floor on Wednesday after class. They both seemed decent. He’d rather liked Susan Bones, but according to Lisa, Jules Potter and Ron Weasley were saying Harry was a Dark Lord in the making, and Susan had taken it to heart.
Either way, he was making alliances in Ravenclaw and had a couple potential inroads to Hufflepuff. Which just left—
“How about Longbottom?” he said casually.
Blaise eyed him over his tea. “I’ve heard he’s absolutely pants at anything involving a wand.”
Harry shrugged. “He’s still from an influential family.” Greengrass and Theo broke off their argument to listen. “And he’s a prodigy with Herbology, which frankly, Blaise, you and I both need help with.”
“I can help,” Theo said, looking affronted.
“You’re terrible at teaching,” Blaise said flatly. “Some advice: if you’re trying to explain something, try to deliver a lot fewer sarcastic insults and a lot more actual help.”
“Well, it’s hard when the lot of you are so stupid—”
“Do you have to bicker with everyone, Theo?” Davis said. “Some of us are trying to be productive.”
“And it’s not as if you need the practice,” Harry added, which got him a laugh from Davis and a smirk from Greengrass, which was as close as she came to expressing actual amusement.
“I suppose Longbottom does come from a powerful family,” Greengrass said thoughtfully. “If he does a turnaround and surprises everyone, it’d be useful to be on good terms with him.”
“We’re lucky,” Blaise said dourly. “He’s the one decent Gryffindor, and you four met him on the train.”
“Speaking of Gryffindors…” Harry muttered, watching Weasley, Finnegan, and Jules come into the hall. They instantly snapped their gazes over to the Slytherin table for their morning glare-at-Harry ritual. Harry just nodded cordially and went right back to his breakfast.
Blaise shook his head. “You’re too nice to that lot.”
“I’m not going to make a show of my sibling rivalry,” Harry said. “If Jules wants to start a fight in here, that’s his choice. I’m not going to make it for him.”
“Which gives you the social high ground,” Greengrass said consideringly. “I had my doubts about you, Potter, but you think like a Slytherin.”
Harry grinned at her. He was starting to figure these children out. He couldn’t drop his guard, but he was comfortable enough to not be as reserved as he had been to begin with. “Why, Miss Greengrass, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She smirked at him and looked away.
Harry caught Longbottom after breakfast. The Gryffindor was heading for Herbology and running late; Harry was risking being late to Transfiguration for this, but it might be his only chance to catch Longbottom alone. He didn’t want to deal with extending this invitation during Defense with all of Gryffindor watching.
“Longbottom!” he called.
Longbottom looked distinctly nervous. “Yeah?”
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to eat you,” Harry said. “There’s a study group happening with some of us from the train. Library after our joint Defense class today; all the first years have a free period. Want to come?”
“Er—sure,” Longbottom said.
“And maybe bring Granger,” Harry said, because he couldn’t exactly ask about that at the breakfast table without bringing up things better left at rest among the Slytherins, but he still wanted Granger around. First because she was some kind of prodigy if she could memorize the contents of the textbooks, and second because he wanted to poke holes in Greengrass and maybe Blaise’s comfort zones. “But if anyone asks, I didn’t specifically mention her, okay?”
Longbottom frowned. “Why?”
Harry sighed. “Not all the Slytherins are as dismissive of blood politics as Nott and myself. No one at the study session is going to make a fuss about it, but I can’t just ask them to include Granger. You’re accepted. She’s not, officially, but if she shows up with you…” He trailed off suggestively.
“I’m so glad I’m not in Slytherin,” Longbottom muttered, then promptly looked terrified. “I didn’t mean—”
“No offense taken. Just suggest to Granger that the two of you come join some of the kids from the train in the library to study,” Harry said. “See you in Defense.”
He took off, barely making it to Transfiguration in time.
Defense was interesting. The Slytherins and Gryffindors sniped at each other across the aisle before Quirrel started class, and after he’d started, they stayed quiet but hostile. Weasley kept shooting Stinging Hexes at Harry until Harry took advantage of Quirrell’s turned back to retaliate with a whispered Jelly-Legs Jinx. Weasley and Finnegan spent a frantic few minutes searching for the counter in their textbooks, which at least kept them occupied for the second half of class.
As soon as it was over, Harry took off for the library. He deliberately arranged the tables for their study group so that they’d have exactly two extra chairs on the end of the table farthest from the seats Greengrass and Davis had claimed last time, figuring that he didn’t have to throw Granger in Greengrass’ lap right at the start.
It worked like a charm. Harry glared Theo away from the seats he had in mind for the Gryffindors, and Theo took the hint; he and Blaise settled to Harry’s right. Justin plopped down cheerfully to Harry’s immediate left and the other Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws mixed up on the other side of the table, with Greengrass and Davis on the other side of Blaise. Longbottom and Granger were the last to arrive, and while Greengrass shot them both an icy glare, Finch-Fletchley and Sue and Anthony responded warmly enough to make up for it.
“Nicely done,” Theo muttered in Harry’s ear as they all pulled out their Charms textbooks.
Harry smirked at him. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Theo agreed, and let it go.
Surprisingly, Finch-Fletchley was the other one to pick up on Harry’s scheming. He pulled Harry aside after they left the library. “That was decent of you,” he said.
“What, exactly, was so decent?” Harry said.
“I know you arranged for Granger to come,” Finch-Fletchley said bluntly. “And I know you’ve probably got Slytherin motivations I’m not seeing, but you just got half the Slytherin first-year class to sit down with two Muggle-borns without a single blood purist comment, which from everything I’ve heard is really unusual. And by the way, Jules Potter thinks you’re some kind of evil sociopathic maniac, and he’s been telling the entirety of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff that on a daily basis, but I think he’s being stupid and I plan to tell him so.”
Harry did not appreciate having his entire plan dragged out into the open like that, especially in front of Blaise, who he’d hoped to keep out of the loop on this one for a bit, but that was Hufflepuffs for you. So open, except when they weren’t.
“I didn’t know you were Muggle-born,” he said, opting for the neutral response. “And I’d appreciate if you didn’t go around telling everyone about… today.” He hoped the Hufflepuff would be clever enough to realize that would complicate Harry’s position in Slytherin. So far, most of the upper years seemed content to ignore the firsties, but some of them were definitely blood supremacists who could make his life difficult if they chose.
Finch-Fletchley nodded. “I understand.”
“What,” Theo said, “did you think Finch-Fletchley was an old Pureblood name?”
Blaise was silent. Harry shrugged, conceding the point. He hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.
“Speaking of which,” Finch-Fletchley said. “You Slytherins are so bloody formal, and my last name is a pain to say. Can we all just go by first names already?”
Harry shrugged. “I will. Can’t speak for anyone but myself, though. See you around.”
He turned and walked away, deliberately leaving it up to Theo and Blaise whether to extend the hand of tentative friendship to the Hufflepuff.
“Call me Theo,” he heard, and then a cheerful goodbye from the Hufflepuff. So Blaise opted out.
Harry suppressed a sigh as the other boys caught up to him, walking with Theo in the middle. It was progress.
“So that was deliberate,” Blaise said, his voice carefully neutral.
Harry glanced over at him. Theo’s eyes were sharp, tracking the exchange carefully. “I didn’t actually know Fi—Justin is Muggle-born.” He left the rest unspoken, which was as good as admitting he’d arranged for Granger to be there.
Blaise considered for a few minutes.
“She’s a good witch,” he finally conceded. “If someone teaches her some manners, I can tolerate it.”
Which was about as much as Harry had hoped for.
“Plus, the look on Greengrass’ face was priceless,” Blaise added. “And I can get behind needling her icy royal highness.”
Harry and Theo laughed, and the tension was broken.
Harry waylaid Granger the next morning.
He’d noticed that she either came into the Great Hall alone or with Longbottom most mornings. The two of them both seemed to be loners in Gryffindor. Frankly, Harry didn’t care about either of their social lives, but he knew the promise of friends would be a powerful motivator to bring both of them to the study group, and that was all he needed.
He lurked at the base of the Grand Staircase until the main Gryffindor herd went by, ducking back before Jules or Ron could see him, and popped out just in time to catch Granger and Longbottom where they followed a bit behind the rest.
“Granger,” he called.
She and Longbottom turned, both looking surprised.
“Potter,” Longbottom said.
Harry nodded to him. “Longbottom. Mind if I borrow Miss Granger for a minute?”
Longbottom looked a little startled. “Ah, yeah—I mean no, I don’t mind. I’ll save you a seat, Hermione,” he added, and went into the Great Hall with several backwards looks.
Granger eyed Harry cautiously. “What do you want?” she said, not unkindly.
“Not here,” he said, and slipped down a small side hall that wound back beneath the stairs. They were still within shouting distance of the front hall, but out of line of sight for all but the most dedicated searcher, or possibly someone with night vision.
He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but your social skills need some work,” he said firmly.
She looked annoyed. “Oh, really?”
“I’m guessing you went to a school that valued classroom participation,” Harry said, since his experience with Muggle schools was that the good teachers liked active classes and Granger had clearly had a good education.
Her expression went from annoyed to curious. “I did—how’d you know?”
“I was raised by Muggles,” Harry said. “I think we were past this on the train by the time you joined us, but I only found out about the wizarding world in July. I spent most of the summer reading and there’s a lot of weird little social things that Muggle-borns miss out on. I’m effectively a Muggle-born except I got a crash course in wizard etiquette over the summer and you clearly didn’t, and I think it’ll be easier for you if you at least acknowledge that.”
Granger looked furious for all of a second before she took a deep breath and visibly made herself admit that he was right. “What would you suggest?” she said.
“For starters, stop raising your hand in class so much,” he said bluntly. “Again, I know it’s a big thing in Muggle public school, but here people take it to mean you think your classmates are too stupid to know the answer. Wait to be called on. And in study groups, try to sound a little less like you’re pointing out everyone else’s flaws and more like you’re helping them improve.”
Granger frowned. “I had no idea… about the hand-raising thing.” She blushed suddenly. “I’ve been doing that all week, haven’t I?”
“I definitely noticed it in Defense,” he said, softening enough to smile at her. “That’s the biggest thing. And—look, it’s obvious you know the material, and that you’re pretty brilliant. I know what it's like in Muggle public schools, but here, you don’t need to try so hard to prove it to everyone all the time.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll… consider it.”
“Ask Longbottom for help,” Harry said. “His family’s an old one, but he’s too shy to say anything to you even if he notices the same things I have.” Which he almost definitely had. “It’s like traveling to a foreign country. Prepping yourself for cultural differences, even a little bit, goes a long way. I’m not saying change your principles or whatever, but—just try for some culture study.”
“Do you have any book recommendations for helping a Muggle-born fit in at Hogwarts?” she asked, a sudden gleam in her eye. Harry recognized it. Theo got the same expression when they started talking about books, and Harry was pretty sure he did, too.
“Several,” he said. “I specifically hunted down that section at the bookstore before the start of term. I think there’s another study session planned for tomorrow—I can bring a few for you to borrow.”
“I’d like that,” she said, and smiled cautiously at him. “Thanks.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Granger,” he said with his most charming smile, the one he used on teachers when he wanted something.
She looked a bit stunned. Harry supposed it was quite a change from the reserve he usually displayed in front of anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin.
Granger took a few steps and turned back, frowning. “Aren’t you coming?”
Harry shook his head. “Slytherin politics,” he said bluntly. “I’m not walking into the Great Hall with a Gryffindor Muggle-born; too many of the upper years might decide to hex me in the halls.”
She looked sad.
“Don’t pity me,” Harry said sharply. “I’d rather Slytherin politics than dealing with the Three Stooges.”
“I assume you mean Seamus, Ron, and Jules,” she said.
“How clever of you.”
She gave him a shockingly condescending look for an eleven-year-old and flounced into the Hall. Harry waited several minutes before he followed and slid almost unnoticed into his seat between Theo and Blaise.
“How’d that go?” Blaise murmured.
“I had to tell her directly that she comes across as a know-it-all and needs to work on her social skills,” Harry said. He wasn’t surprised that Blaise and Theo had noticed his maneuvering.
“Blunt,” Blaise commented drily.
“You’d have to be, with a Gryffindor,” Theo said, just as quietly. “If you tried subtlety you’d still be trying to get your point across by lunch.”
Blaise and Harry laughed.
That afternoon was their first Potions class. Harry was nervous. Not only did Snape seem to contemplate cursing him into oblivion every time he saw him, but Slytherins were expected to be the best in Potions, and it was with the Gryffindors. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with constant Stinging Hexes from Weasley while standing over a volatile brew. He’d spent the previous night going over the first four chapters of his first-year Potions text in detail.
The two groups lined up in the corridor outside the Potions classroom. Harry deliberately ignored Jules and his lackeys, who seemed to now include Parvati Patil, a girl with mousy brown hair, and Dean Thomas, while greeting Granger and Longbottom politely before turning back to talk to Theo and Blaise.
The door creaked open at one-thirty exactly. The Slytherins took the hint and filed in first, carrying their cauldrons and Potions kits and taking over the work stations on the left side of the classroom. They worked four to a table. Harry, Theo, and Blaise ended up at one, while Davis, Greengrass, Parkinson, and Bulstrode shared another and Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle took the last. The Gryffindors came in and made a lot more noise while setting up their cauldrons and workspaces. Parvati and the brown-haired girl ended up at the same table as Granger and Longbottom, which made apparently none of them happy.
Snape entered from the rear in a dramatic flurry of black robes, spun on his heel at the front of the class, and glared at them all.
Harry had never been in a quieter group of eleven-year-olds.
“Lavender Brown,” he said, reading from a scroll.
“Here,” the brown-haired Gryffindor said meekly.
Snape moved swiftly through the attendance sheet. He paused before reading Harry’s name and paused again when he got to Jules’. “Julian Potter,” he said at last. “Our new… celebrity.”
Malfoy and the beefcakes sniggered. Harry, Blaise, and Theo kept their amusement to subtle smirks.
“Here,” Jules said, obviously furious.
When he finished, Snape snapped the scroll shut and looked them over. He was expressionless but somehow managed to make it seem like he was utterly disappointed with the lot of them. “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began, and proceeded to deliver a dramatic but obviously preplanned speech about the potential glories of brewing that cut off abruptly by calling them all dunderheads.
“Potter!” he snapped, and corrected himself. “The younger!”
Jules looked absolutely furious at the reminder that he was, technically, the younger twin. Harry decided maybe this class wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Jules glared. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Fame clearly isn’t everything,” Snape sneered. “Let’s try again. Where would I find a bezoar?”
Granger’s hand twitched. Harry caught the aborted motion and grinned; Blaise did, too, and gave him an appreciative nod.
Meanwhile, Jules was still at a loss. “I don’t know. Maybe if you combed your greasy hair out of your face, you’d be able to see for yourself,” he said with a sudden grin. “Sir.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open.
He controlled himself in the next second, of course, because Slytherins were always composed, but he at least wasn’t the only one. Finnegan and Weasley were delighted, but the rest of the Gryffindors looked sick, and most of the Slytherins had outright shock showing on their faces.
Snape’s eyes glittered with cold triumph. “Fifteen points from Gryffindor for such blatant disrespect,” he said. “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“The difference between shampoo and olive oil?” Jules suggested.
“Another fifteen points from Gryffindor,” Snape said.
“I see why my dad calls you Snivellus,” Jules said with a sneer worthy of a Slytherin.
Harry thought he could’ve heard a pin drop.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” Snape said.
Jules opened his mouth.
“Excuse you, some of us are actually hoping to learn Potions today,” Granger snapped, looking outraged. “So if you’d kindly be quiet and let us move on, that’d be fantastic.”
“She’s got a spine,” Theo whispered, eyebrows raised.
“She’s in Gryffindor,” Blaise retorted in an undertone.
Snape looked Hermione over. “Five points to Gryffindor,” he said slowly. “Mr. Potter, are you quite finished?”
Jules didn’t look finished, not nearly, but he scowled and wisely shut his mouth.
Snape zeroed in on Longbottom, who looked absolutely terrified. “Let’s see if anyone else bothered to crack a book before coming to class,” he said with cold disdain. “Mr. Longbottom, can you tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“Er—they’re the—the same plant,” Longbottom got out. “A-also known as aconite.”
“Five points to Gryffindor.” Snape swept his malevolent gaze over the Slytherin side of the room, and Harry somehow knew exactly who Snape was going to pick next. He swept any and all of his nervousness beneath a cool mask.
“Potter the elder,” Snape said, black eyes gleaming. “Can you answer either of the questions posed to your twin?”
“I can, sir,” Harry said evenly. “Bezoars are found in goats’ stomachs and can be used for curing most poisons. Powdered asphodel and an infusion of wormwood are the key ingredients to a powerful sleeping potion.”
“Five points to Slytherin,” Snape said. “What a fascinating study on the result of nature versus nurture… Can anyone tell me where in the textbook the answers to these questions could be found? Mr. Malfoy?”
“The Draught of Living Death is detailed early in the first chapter,” Malfoy drawled, “as an example, I believe, of basic safety techniques. Bezoars were covered in the list of useful items to have around a potions laboratory in case of emergency. Aconite is one of the first entries in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.”
“Look at that, he actually studied,” Blaise whispered with fake shock.
“Another five points to Slytherin,” Snape said, and waved his wand at the board. Instructions appeared, written in chalk. “Today, we will be brewing the boil-cure potion to assess your basic potions capabilities. Begin.”
Harry and Theo swapped slightly nervous looks and began laying out their supplies.
Harry’s summer potions experiments, limited and untested as they were, paid off. The reading he’d done helped. He and Theo worked easily together. Theo understood the ingredients better but Harry was better with the process and the combinations; something about the delicate balance of one thing with another reminded him strongly of cooking.
He was actually enjoying himself, right up until Longbottom melted Granger’s cauldron.
Within seconds, acid green smoke filled the classroom and the Gryffindors were clambering onto tables to avoid the malevolently hissing potion that spread across the floor. Longbottom moaned in pain as angry boils spread across his face, neck, arms, and legs. Granger whimpered a bit; she’d gotten splashed but not as badly.
“Idiot boy!” Snape said. He waved his wand and cleared away the remnants of the potion. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking it off the fire. Finnegan, get them to the hospital wing.”
Finnegan looked all too relieved to escape the dungeon, leaving Thomas to brew on his own.
Harry kept his head down for the rest of class and turned in a potion that he was almost certain matched the perfect outcome. It was just as good as Malfoy’s and closer to the ideal orange shade than anyone else’s, at least.
Snape examined the vial with an unreadable face when Harry handed it in, then put it with the others without comment.
Theo taught Harry a useful cleaning spell as they cleaned up their workstation. He and Harry stowed their cauldrons and Potions kits in the slots assigned to them in the storage room and joined the rest of the Slytherins for the climb up out of the dungeons for dinner.
The next week, of course, they had to have flying lessons with the Gryffindors.
“I can’t believe this,” Harry muttered. “Are they trying to start fights all the time? Why do they force the houses that hate each other into group activities?”
“Inter-house unity?” Theo suggested with a perfectly straight face.
“We’ve already demonstrated that,” Blaise said acerbically. He’d overslept and was still in a terrible mood even now that it was afternoon. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we’ve already found and adopted the only remotely decent Gryffindors in our year. Speaking of which, nice job taming Granger, Harry, she’s been much easier to deal with this week.”
Harry nodded, barely listening anymore. He was too excited that he’d get to fly again.
The first years lined up next to the brooms on the ground, shuffling around for the best brooms. Malfoy was talking, as usual, complaining to Parkinson and the beefcakes that the school brooms were terrible and his father, who was a school governor, would be hearing about this—
The usual nonsense.
Harry eyed the broom next to his feet. He had to admit, reluctantly, that Malfoy had a point. The broom did look rather sad and battered compared to the Potter Cleansweeps.
“What’s the matter, slimy Potty?” Weasley said. “Scared you’ll fall into the lake this time? I hope you’ve learned to swim.”
Blaise frowned. Theo, who’d heard about the lake incident, glared at Weasley. “Really,” he sneered, “‘slimy Potty’? Did you spend all morning coming up with that onel?”
Harry just faced Weasley, held out his hand, and said “Up” as mildly as he could manage with how angry he was. The broom leaped eagerly off the ground and slammed into his palm.
“You were saying, Weasley?” he said.
Weasley looked startled. Then outraged.
“Look at the way his ears turn red when he’s mad,” Blaise said with the air of someone examining an unusual type of insect.
Jules grabbed Weasley’s shoulder before his friend could throw himself across the space between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. He also looked irate and Finnegan was glowering threateningly at Blaise, but luckily Madame Hooch appeared before things could escalate.
She moved up and down the lines of first years, correcting Malfoy’s grip and Weasley’s food position and nodding approvingly at Harry, Jules and, interestingly, Davis, who Harry hadn’t known had broom experience. They were just about to try pushing off lightly when Longbottom suddenly shot up into the air with a screech.
“Merlin,” Harry sighed, watching his Gryffindor ally slip off the broom and hit the ground with a crack.
Madame Hooch fussed over him. Harry heard her mutter something about a broken wrist before she helped Longbottom to his feet, barked at the rest of them to not move while she took him to the hospital wing, and hurried away.
“Did you see his face, the great lump!” Malfoy jeered, and Crabbe and Goyle laughed along with him. Parkinson and Greengrass smirked. Harry would’ve considered it bad form under any circumstances, but he considered Longbottom something of a friend. So the decision to reach out and yank sharply on Malfoy’s ankles with wandless magic was an easy one. Malfoy tumbled face-first to the ground.
“Draco!” Parkinson shrieked, kneeling to help him up.
Malfoy rolled over, spitting grass and livid. “Who did that!”
The Gryffindors were busy laughing. Harry made a point of keeping his open, wand-free hands where Malfoy could see them.
“Look!” he said suddenly, grabbing something out of the grass. “That fat little crybaby dropped his Remembrall!”
Harry remembered Longbottom carrying the thing around; he thought it seemed pretty useless but it was a gift from Longbottom’s grandmother. Of course Longbottom had to go and lose it and make Harry’s life unnecessarily complicated. He kept his sigh internal, concentrated, and plucked the Remembrall out of Malfoy’s hand.
Malfoy turned red and picked it up again, only for it to scoot out of his reach.
“I don’t think it likes you much,” Greengrass said snidely. Harry could’ve hugged her and he didn’t even like touching other people without a very good reason. He and Greengrass had their differences but she could usually be counted on to knock Malfoy down a peg or three.
“Shut up,” Malfoy retorted intelligently, and reached for the Remembrall. It zipped away again.
“I’ll take it,” Jules said, and elbowed Malfoy out of the way in his hurry to get at the little red sphere. And if Harry knocked it against Jules Potter’s forehead hard enough to hurt before slinging it out of sight, well, he could excuse that as just part of the chaos that was Malfoy and Jules fighting over the thing.
“Where’d it go!” Weasley said, looking around wildly.
Jules and Malfoy appeared to be having some hissing argument.
Harry and Theo stepped in to defuse things between Parkinson and Parvati Patil before words turned to curses, and when Granger shouted something about getting in trouble, he spun around and saw, of all the things, Jules Potter and Malfoy rising into the air on their brooms.
“I had no idea flying lessons would be this interesting,” Blaise muttered. “I might’ve actually been looking forward to this.”
Harry squinted, and saw Malfoy chuck something into the air. Jules’ wand. How on earth had he gotten hold of that?
Jules, of course, sped after the wand, while Malfoy shot back to the group and stepped off his broom. Harry was reluctantly impressed by how deftly Jules caught the wand and pulled up seconds before turning into a pancake on the grass. His brother really was a gifted flyer.
“JULIAN POTTER!”
Jules instantly looked ill.
McGonagall stormed into sight. Harry felt like Christmas had come early. Hooch had threatened expulsion for anyone who didn’t follow her orders to stay on the ground. Not that Harry expected them to throw the Boy Who Lived out in the second week of term, but it should still be interesting to see exactly how far the rules got bent for Jules Potter’s sake.
“Never—in all my time at Hogwarts—how dare you—might have broken your neck—” McGonagall was nearly rendered speechless with shock and rage. She marched up to Jules like an elderly avenging angel.
“It wasn’t his fault, Professor!” Patil protested.
“Enough, Miss Patil,” McGonagall said furiously. “Julian Potter, come with me this instant.”
Jules fell in step behind her. His face had been pale with fear; now it looked distinctly greenish.
“But Malfoy—”
“I said enough, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, which was just the icing on the cake as far as Harry was concerned, and dragged a terrified Jules Potter back into the castle.
Harry tracked Longbottom and Granger down in the library later. “How’s the wrist, Longbottom?” he said, slipping into a chair next to the other boy.
Longbottom jumped. “How do you do that,” he squeaked.
“Slytherin secrets,” Harry said dramatically.
Granger huffed. “Honestly, Neville, you’re just concentrating on your textbook, it’s not some dark spell.”
“My wrist’s better, thanks,” Longbottom said, rubbing it. “Madame Pomfrey fixed it up.”
“Good to hear. Oh, before I forget—” Harry pulled the Remembrall from his pocket and passed it over to Longbottom. “You dropped this when you fell.”
“How’d you get it?” Longbottom said in amazement. “We heard all about how it scooted away from Jules and Malfoy.”
Harry shrugged and opened his Potions textbook. “I went back and looked.” He’d actually whisked it out of sight and then around and into his hand behind his back when everyone was distracted by McGonagall, but Longbottom didn’t need to know that.
“Thanks,” Longbottom said.
Harry started reading and pretended to ignore them.
The silence lasted for all of three minutes before Granger blurted, “Have you heard what McGonagall did?”
Harry looked up with fake surprise. “Hm? Oh, you mean with Jules? No, not yet—it’s only been a few hours, the gossip mill doesn’t reach from Gryffindor to Slytherin quite that fast.”
Longbottom looked a bit nervous. “Hermione—”
“He’s going to find out eventually,” Granger said decisively. “Harry—she made Jules the Gryffindor Seeker.”
Harry lost the battle to pretend he didn’t much care and stared at Granger in outrage. “She bloody what?”
“Yeah,” Longbottom said miserably. “It’s supposed to be a secret, so don’t go blabbing that one around.”
Harry was already considering how exactly he’d let slip to Parkinson that his brother was the Gryffindor Seeker in such a way that Longbottom and Granger weren’t implicated. “Of course not. But seriously—he must be the youngest Seeker in a few decades.”
“A century, actually,” Longbottom said.
“How?”
“Apparently rules don’t apply to Julian bloody Potter,” Granger spat.
Harry frowned at her. “Such language, Miss Granger.”
She looked at Longbottom, who responded with an attempt at a glare. Granger pursed her lips. Longbottom tilted his head. She looked away.
Harry decided to rescue them from their pathetic attempts at nonverbal communication. It might’ve passed for subtlety in Gryffindor Tower, but after only a week and a half with the snakes, he found himself pitying them their transparency. “Clearly, you’ve got a secret that Longbottom wants to tell me and you, Granger, are trying to keep to yourself. Which implies it’s something to do with potential conflicts of house loyalty. Do you want to spit it out or keep playing this clumsy game of eyebrow wiggling?”
Granger glared at him.
Longbottom heaved a sigh. “Apparently, Malfoy’s challenged Jules and Ron to a wizard’s duel.”
“Of course he has,” Harry said tiredly. “It’s almost definitely a trap. Any chance of you convincing the Moron Exhibits A and B from going?”
Longbottom and Granger shared a concerned glance. “You really think it’s a trap?” Granger said uncertainly.
“It’s a very Slytherin thing to do,” Harry said. “I could ask Malfoy, but if the duel’s tonight that wouldn’t help. And no, I’m not going to sneak out and play interference. I prefer my evenings without a side of detention, thanks. Speaking of which, it’s near curfew and I have a long walk back to my dorm.”
As soon as he walked back into the Slytherin common rooms, Harry marked Pansy Parkinson and worked his way over to her as subtly as he could manage. He paused by the end of the couch she was sitting on and pretended to page through an extremely dry book about the history of cauldron making that was lying on an end table. “Parkinson,” he muttered.
To her credit, she didn’t look up from her books, and her posture stayed relaxed. She’d been trained well. “Potter,” she said, just as quietly.
“You didn’t hear this from me.” he said. “According to Ron Weasley’s bragging, Jules Potter’s been made the new Gryffindor Seeker after today’s display.”
That made Parkinson react, but Harry thought it’d fly mostly under the radar. She at least kept her head down. “What?” she hissed.
“It’d be a shame if the Slytherin team didn’t hear about this,” Harry mused. “Such an unfair advantage Gryffindor would have… and I bet Jules Potter’d be annoyed to learn his best made’s carelessness let the secret out.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what to do with this,” Parkinson snapped softly, but she shot him an appraising glance. Harry just smirked at her, closed the book on cauldrons, and walked away as casually as he could manage.
He had to congratulate Malfoy on a clever plot. Even if he didn’t like the other boy, he had to give credit where credit was due.
The next morning, it was all over the school—Jules Potter was the new Gryffindor Seeker.
The entire Slytherin Quidditch team was up in arms, along with half of Ravenclaw’s. Even Cedric Diggory put aside his bitter rivalry with the Slytherin Seeker, seventh year Terence Higgs, to protest the bending of the first-year brooms rule for Jules Potter’s sake. They got absolutely nowhere, because Harry could see even from his exile at the Slytherin table that Albus Dumbledore considered Jules Potter a saint in the making. Fred and George followed Jules around all day to keep him from getting hexed, glowering at everything. Harry caught them in the entrance hall and learned they’d been assigned “babysitting duty” by the Gryffindor team’s captain. Neither of them seemed happy about it. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, paused to thank Harry on the way out of the Great Hall after lunch. “Not that anyone’ll hear it from me,” he said quietly, “but I know you tipped the Parkinson girl off. Appreciate it.”
He swaggered away, flanked almost instantly by Pucey and Bletchley and Bole, but Harry couldn’t help grinning. Having Marcus view him with vague approval instead of outright disdain was definitely a step in the right direction.
“Harry!” someone hissed.
Harry paused, looking around. He knew this corridor; he’d sneaked out three times already to explore the castle on his own. He’d found the secret passage halfway along that connected the first-floor common study spaces to the Charms corridor on the third floor two nights ago. That made it easy to spot Jules Potter and Finnegan lurking in the shadows.
“Look at you being all sneaky,” Harry said, sauntering over to them as if it were normal to be meeting his estranged brother in dark corners thirty minutes before curfew. As if he didn’t have his right arm tensed, ready to flick his wand from his holster. “Are you sure you were sorted right, brother mine?”
Jules flushed and Finnegan glared. “Shut it,” Jules growled, “I know it was you who told everyone.”
“I’m fairly sure that was Weasley. I only heard about it this morning at breakfast from the third years.”
“Yeah, well, Ron swore up and down he didn’t say a word outside the common room, and since he’s not in the house of liars, I’m gonna believe him!” Jules said, voice rising with every word.
“Keep it down, will you?” Harry said irritably. “Not all of us can use celebrity status to dodge the rules. I had nothing to do with your little secret getting out.” Lie. “You can blame Gryffindor lack of discretion for that one.” Truth, technically. “Now if you don’t mind, I have places to be.”
“You’ll get yours at the match, you Slytherin filth,” Jules growled.
“Oh, and if you could stop trying to convince people I’m a Dark wizard, that’d be fantastic,” Harry said sarcastically. “Especially since I’m eleven.”
“Well you hang out with Death Eaters.”
“Again,” Harry said with the tone of someone explaining something rather simple to a small child, “we are eleven. It’s not like we’d even be of use, so we’re hardly targets for dear old Death Eaters, and on top of that, do you honestly think I’d be happy to grow up running around killing people?” He paused. “And since you clearly can’t see what’s in front of your face, I’m hardly on good terms with Malfoy and on shaky footing with Greengrass, Parkinson, and Bulstrode at best. Just because we don’t hex each other every five seconds doesn’t mean we get along. Goodnight.”
Seething, he took off down the hallway.
Granger and Longbottom only got around to telling him about the trapdoor and the three-headed dog two days later, when Harry thought to ask about the ‘wizard’s duel.’
“We’re pretty sure it had something to do with this,” Granger said breathlessly, waving a newspaper at Harry. He plucked it out of her wildly waving hand and skimmed the article on the Gringotts break-in. Apparently the thief had been going after some of the most secure old family vaults in Gringotts. Yet nothing was stolen, and the author seemed to be implying that the target wasn’t gold.
Harry frowned, thinking of the package James had collected for Dumbledore. The Potters were obviously close with the headmaster; he was constantly stopping Jules in the hall to ask about classes and such, and Harry had seen James’ distinctive Great Horned Owl bring the headmaster letters at least three times. It wasn’t surprising that Dumbledore would trust James Potter to guard something valuable in his vault. Something that, if Granger was to be believed, might now be under the watch of a monster in the third-floor corridor.
He told her and Longbottom to stay out of it, that whatever was going on had to do with Dumbledore’s plots and nothing to do with first-year students, but he was fairly sure they wouldn’t. If nothing else, Jules and Weasley had both been there, and they’d never let it alone.
He did go to Hannah Abbott, who loved magical creatures of all kinds, and picked her brain for anything she knew about Cerberi.
Things died down a bit by the time Halloween appeared on the horizon. Harry approached it with a sense of dread and an increase in his nightmares now that he knew it was the night his mum was killed. About the only positive side of his insomnia was that he got a lot of practice creeping around after dark and came to know the halls of Hogwarts better every week. There were loads of secret passages that most people didn’t know about, including one that inexplicably led from just outside the Slytherin common room up to the kitchens but only on Thursdays between one and three in the morning, and it gave him plenty of time to practice with the ash wand. He was still using the holly one in front of everyone, but the ash wand called to him in a way he couldn’t explain. He developed a good repertoire of low-level hexes and jinxes and started teaching himself Protego. The shield spell, like a stunner, needed more magic than he really had at the age of eleven, but he sweated and fought headaches and kept trying until he could cast an uncertain wavering shield for a few seconds at a time. Once every hour. He also made a point of working ahead in Charms, where he had the most trouble. If not for his nighttime practice and Sue and Anthony and Granger’s help during study sessions, he’d be struggling to keep up.
On top of all his homework, Harry kept reading through his books from the Potter library and Flourish and Blots. He quickly developed a habit of plugging his ears with wax to block the soporific effect of Binns’ voice and just reading history books during History of Magic. Theo and Davis copied him before long, and even though Granger looked scandalized at the thought of not paying attention in class, Harry noticed that she started checking history books out of the library, too.
Potions remained one of his favorite subjects. He could ignore Snape’s lurking and looming and leering—honestly, the man wasn’t even as threatening as Uncle Vernon, at least Harry was mostly sure Snape would never hit him—and focus completely on brewing. Theo didn’t have the “touch,” as Snape called it, and was mostly content to let Harry lead the way in exchange for Theo and Neville dragging Harry through herbology homework. They worked well together, and on top of that Snape often humiliated Jules, Finnegan, and Weasley, which meant Harry genuinely looked forward to the class.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t stay that way.
The day of the Halloween feast, the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years trooped down to the dungeons after lunch and filed into the classroom. Harry set up his things with Theo and Blaise like usual, ready to attempt the Energy Potion.
Snape swept in on an even thicker cloud of malevolence than usual. “Potter,” he snapped. “Potter Major. You’ll be working with Longbottom today. I’m curious how Longbottom will do without Granger hissing instructions in his ear.”
Longbottom winced. Harry did his best to keep his face blank but his dismay was probably visible to the Slytherins, at least.
“Have fun with that,” Malfoy snickered quietly. Blaise and Theo said nothing, just sent him sympathetic looks.
“Weasley,” Snape said, “move up here to the front. Mr. Malfoy, you’ll be joining him. Miss Parkinson, take Weasley’s place with Mr. Thomas.”
Poor Dean Thomas looked like he’d rather drink the sludge Longbottom created last week than work with Parkinson, whose grin promised bad things to come. Harry set his Potions kit down on the table next to Longbottom’s cauldron harder than necessary and tried not to think about all the ways this was going to go wrong. Parkinson working with a Gryffindor, Weasley and Malfoy at the same table without one of the more level-headed Slytherins or Gryffindors to run interference, and on top of all that, Harry was going to ruin his O average in the class with whatever nastiness Longbottom managed to create.
He took advantage of the noisy shuffle as students went for the stores and put water bases in their cauldrons. “Longbottom,” he hissed, grabbing the other boy’s shoulder tightly, “I have an O in this class right now. I’m not going to lose that because of whatever curse you have about brewing. You do what I tell you when I tell you to do it and other than that you do not touch the cauldron, the ingredients, the table, or your wand. Got it?”
Longbottom gulped. “Y-yeah.”
“Fantastic.” Harry released him and turned on his most charming smile. “Chop the valerian root, please. Even chunks.”
Longbottom nodded hard and started cutting.
Harry watched him mangle a few slices and stifled a sigh. “Okay, let me,” he said, and elbowed Longbottom out of the way. Part of him wanted to slow down, show Longbottom that his grip on the knife was wrong and it made him clumsy and resulted in the roots being cut into ragged irregular lengths, but he was doing the work of two people this class, apparently, which meant he had no time to be patient and nice.
His hands were a frenzy of motion. Harry thanked Merlin he’d gone over the potions textbook so many times. He had a decent feel for the pattern of ingredients and processes by this point, and several times he was able to make educated guesses about pending disasters. When Longbottom somehow managed to dump too much powdered snake fang into the cauldron, it started turning an alarming shade of pink, but Harry grabbed a pinch of crushed beetles and threw them in before it got too bad. The color stabilized and he added beetles in tiny amounts until it returned to normal, and until the quiet magic of it felt right under his hands.
They were the last group to finish, but Harry corked a vial of Energy Potion that he thought was nearly as good as anything he’d have managed with Theo and handed it to Longbottom to pass to Snape. He looked at his Gryffindor friend’s trembling hands and made sure to cork a few extra vials before vanishing the contents of the cauldron. This turned out to be an excellent idea, since Longbottom somehow managed to trip and drop his vial, shattering it on the floor. Harry saw Malfoy snickering and tucking his wand away, resolved to do something about that later, and wordlessly hauled Longbottom to his feet before passing one of the extra vials to Snape.
He’d been so focused on keeping his and Longbottom’s potion from exploding that he only heard after about the detentions served to Jules Potter and Ron Weasley for ‘cheek,’ and the fact that Dean Thomas had walked out looking shell-shocked and apparently didn’t talk for an hour. Harry was only kind of curious what exactly Parkinson did to him.
As they left the classroom, Harry fell in with Blaise and Theo but didn’t even bother trying to follow their conversation. His brain was numb with exhaustion.
“He’s bloody useless,” he heard someone grumble. “A disgrace to our House. And Granger’s no better, insufferable know-it-all, no wonder she hasn’t got any friends—”
Harry whipped around without thinking, wand out. “Volculeus,” he whispered without thinking, pointing his wand towards the voice as he spun around.
Ron Weasley stumbled back, hand clapped to his chest where the stinging hex hit him. This happened just as Longbottom stumbled over his own feet and Granger pushed past them all, tears running down her face, to vanish up the staircase.
“I think she heard you,” Harry said coldly.
“You git,” Ron spat, and went for his own wand—
Only to find Blaise’s hovering steadily in his face.
Jules and Finnegan were starting to move, too, but Theo drew his wand and covered them, and to Harry’s shock, so did Parkinson. The rest of their classmates had drawn ahead and didn’t seem to notice the stalemate.
“I really wouldn’t,” Harry said calmly. “Weasley here said something rude, he got his, can we all move on?”
Jules scowled, but somewhere in his thick skull, a neuron fired, and he had the sense to retreat. His friends followed with many a backwards glare.
Parkinson lowered her wand and turned her attention on Harry, who tried not to feel nervous. He was mostly successful.
“You’re a lot more interesting than I expected, Potter,” she said with a smirk.
“Thanks,” he said, and gave her the smile that had edges to it.
Parkinson went into the Great Hall without looking back, and Blaise and Theo started to follow them, but Harry—
He suddenly and sharply realized, again, that today was the anniversary of his mum’s death, and in that room was several hundred people, was Jules’ stupidity and Slytherin word games and he suddenly didn’t have the energy for an of it.
“You guys go ahead,” he said finally. “I need… some air.”
“What?” Blaise looked confused. “Harry, it’s the Halloween feast—”
“Idiot,” Theo said. “Think, Zabini.”
Blaise was silent for a second. Then— “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Theo muttered. “I’ll come with you, Harry, I’m not that hungry.”
Blaise looked torn.
“Go on,” Harry insisted, waving at him. “I know how you are about that food.”
“I’ll bring some desserts down to the dorms for you,” Blaise promised.
Theo watched Harry impassively for a few seconds. “Want to walk for a bit?”
Harry shrugged. It sounded better than going down to the common room and sitting, so they started wandering, Theo a steady, quiet presence. The sharp-edged boy managed to settle himself for once and just pad along in silence at his side. Harry was annoyed at himself for how much of a comfort it was.
He wondered when he’d come to consider Theo a friend and not just an ally. He wondered if he even knew enough about friendship to tell what a friendship was.
They must’ve been walking for forty minutes when running footsteps snapped Harry out of the trance he’d fallen into.
He and Theo didn’t even glance at each other before drawing their wands in unison—
Neville Longbottom hurtled around the corner and ran straight into them, sending all three boys to the floor.
“Potter? Nott? What—never mind. Troll—dungeons—gotta find Hermione!” Longbottom babbled.
Harry picked himself up off the ground. “Longbottom!” he snapped. “Pull yourself together.”
The shaking, terrified Gryffindor shut his mouth with a click and stood up.
“What happened?” Harry did his best to channel Snape.
“Quirrell—burst into the hall. There’s a troll. In the dungeons. Parvati said Hermione was crying in a bathroom up here on this floor, she doesn’t know about the troll, I have to warn her—”
“So you sneaked away from the Great Hall to handle it yourself instead of, I don’t know, telling a prefect maybe?” Theo snarled. “Gryffindors.”
“We’re here already,” Harry said. “It’d be faster to just grab her and head back down to the Great Hall. Wait—what about the Slytherins?”
“Staying in the Hall.”
“Perfect. Bathroom’s this way. Let’s go.” Harry took off at a quick jog. Theo fell in behind him, still grumbling about Gryffindors. Longbottom stumbled along behind.
They turned a corner and Harry froze.
A huge, beastly humanoid lumbered down the hall. It paused, half in and half out of a doorway, and for a second Harry was frozen in panic, thinking it’d heard them—
It continued into the room, and Theo lunged forward to slam the door shut, and Harry whipped out his wand and cast a “Colloportus!”—
A scream echoed from inside the room.
“That’s the girls’ room,” Longbottom choked out.
Harry canceled his locking spell so hard the door blew in off its hinges, which meant it slammed into the troll’s back and distracted it from Granger, who was cowering on the floor in the back corner of the bathroom. That was the plus. The minus was that its attention focused on the boys.
“Longbottom, get Granger,” Harry snapped out, again drawing on Snape’s influence, and something in his tone of voice jolted the Gryffindor into action. He fell to his knees and crawled along under the sinks while the troll bellowed and advanced on Harry and Theo.
“You have a plan, right?” Theo hissed.
Harry bit his lip. “Kind of.”
He lifted his wand, thinking of their Charms lesson from that morning. “Wingardium leviosa!”
A large chunk of broken ceiling tile floated up off the ground. The troll stared at it dumbly. Harry flicked his wand, concentrating as hard as he could, and smashed it against the troll’s head. Bits of stone flew. The troll didn’t even seem inconvenienced but at least its anger was redirected towards the wall. It hauled off and hit the wall with its club.
“Top this,” Theo said with a vicious smirk, and cast his own levitation charm. On the troll’s club.
It floated up in the air, hovered for a second, and slammed down on the troll’s head when Theo slashed down with his wand.
The troll bellowed again and staggered back.
Longbottom and Granger came scrambling out from under the sinks, running for the door.
The troll noticed the movement and threw a chunk of broken wall at them. It hit the ground a little to Granger’s left. Stone pellets bit into her legs and she yelled in pain and went down hard on the tile. Harry stumbled; Longbottom slammed into him, and they both went down. Harry’s wand clattered to the floor a ways away.
“Bloody hell,” Theo said, and then he was levitating Granger up and forward, and Longbottom was diving for the door, and if they could only get out of this room alive—
But Harry could see the troll aiming with another bit of rubble. And this time, it looked too alert to miss.
And his wand was still ten feet away.
Harry turned on the troll and thought, fire.
Its tattered clothing burst into flames.
The thing roared again, and stumbled back when it tried to rise. Apparently even its thick skin wasn’t totally resistant to fire.
Harry gritted his teeth, thinking only about how this thing had tried to hurt him, had tried to hurt his friends—
He smelled burning hair. Hear roars of pain.
Registered dimly that his wand might get lost in the chaos, picked it up and moved it back to his hand, cast a verbal Incendio and watched the flames lick higher.
“Potter!” someone shouted, and dragged him backwards out of the room.
Harry blinked, hard.
And choked, and vomited, because the smell of burning flesh was everywhere.
“Oh that is nasty,” he heard Theo say, as if from a very great distance.
“Have some compassion, he just saved our lives!” Granger said, voice shrill with fear and adrenaline.
Harry stared vaguely the puddle of his sick on the floor. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Why was he…
Oh. Right. That was a lot of wandless magic.
Hopefully he could pass off his condition as shock.
“Mr. Potter,” a stern voice said.
Harry knew that voice; he knew to listen to it. He snapped his head up and straightened his back. “Yes, sir.”
Snape blinked, the only visible sign of surprise before his usual sneer slipped back into place. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
“I didn’t want to go to the banquet,” Harry said numbly. “I—Halloween.”
“His mum,” Theo said evenly, stepping in when it was clear Harry’s brain had lost its grip on language. Harry was suddenly and fiercely grateful for his friend. “We were walking about. Longbottom found us—told us there was a troll in the dungeons and that Granger was crying in the bathroom and wouldn’t know about it and that the Slytherins were waiting in the Great Hall. We were on this floor anyway; we figured it’d be faster to grab Granger and head down to the Great Hall again than go straightaway and send a prefect back for her.”
If Harry hadn’t been so tired, he’d have been impressed with how well Theo spun the story to paint their decision in the best possible light.
McGonagall, Flitwick, Quirrell, and the headmaster skidded around the corner seconds later. Theo had to repeat his story. The teachers clucked and fussed over four first years taking down a mountain troll—and burning it alive, no less. Quirrell stutteringly declared it very dead. Harry couldn’t find it in him to feel regret. Or much of anything.
He was so tired…
The headmaster twinkled his eyes at Harry and declared that of course any eleven-year-old would be tired and in shock; Incendio was a third year spell and it was impressive that Harry had been able to cast it enough times to actually harm the troll, and how he shouldn’t feel bad because he’d been in shock and didn’t know what he was doing…
Harry wasn’t so far gone that he told the headmaster the whole truth. He’d burned the troll alive mostly with wandless magic. He’d only cast one Incendio. And he’d known exactly what he’d been doing.
Professor Snape passed Harry a small vial. Harry drank it down and felt marginally better.
“Energy potion, sir?” he croaked.
Snape almost stopped frowning. “Yours, in fact. It was very neatly brewed. Particularly in light of your… handicap… from today.”
Longbottom, behind Snape, scowled at being called a handicap. McGonagall was fussing over him and Granger and bustling them away towards the tower.
“Points,” Harry said. He remembered something about points from a minute ago.
“Yeah,” Theo said with a smug grin. “We got twenty points for Slytherin. Gryffindor got ten, just because of Longbottom’s courage or whatever.”
“He deserves it,” Harry said.
“It was stupidly brave to come alone,” Snape said with a firm tone of superiority, helping Harry and Theo to their feet.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “But he came. For… a friend.”
Snape rubbed his temples. “Mr. Potter, you are in shock, and not thinking clearly. Mr. Nott, help him back to the dungeons and get him in bed; he’ll likely sleep the full night.”
“Yes, sir,” Theo said.
“Thanks… professor,” Harry said, struggling to remember Snape’s title.
The Potions Master looked like he was fighting to keep from rolling his eyes. “Preferably before the rest of Slytherin House beats you down there and turns Mr. Potter’s condition into a cog of the rumor mill, Mr. Nott.”
“Right. Yes, sir,” Theo said, and started hauling Harry down the corridor.
Harry let himself be hauled.
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